Stray

 The writer was enjoying a nice stroll when he spotted the story on the side of the road. Cute little thing, he thought. Looks hungry too.

He gently picked up the story, which looked happy to have been noticed. When he got home he gave the story a bath and a little food. The story came alive and started happily jumping around the living room.

“I think I’ll keep you,” the writer said with a smile.

By the end of the week he was surprised to see how big the story had grown. And with this increase in size came an increase in appetite. So the writer started cooking bigger meals and sharing them with the story. When he went out with friends or family he made sure to leave enough food behind.

Eventually the story got a little too big and started looking a lot less cute. Scary even. Other people seemed less interested in visiting and the writer became less interested in anything but his growing friend. The story became so demanding for food and attention that eventually the writer found every waking minute of his time was dedicated to the story. But he could not keep up with the growing appetite and need for constant attention. He fed and played with the story from morning until late in the night, but he was running out of money, food, and energy.

One day when the story got so big that it looked like his house could no longer contain it, he decided he would cook less. This story needs some regulation. A diet. The story whined and growled at the writer but the writer stayed firm. That night the story was determined to get its meal one way or another so it broke down the writer's door and ate his legs. And as the writer bled out in his room, all he could think was, who will take care of my story now…

Dialogania

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not. You got a better one?”

“Nah,” he sighed, slumping in his chair. “Hey, I’ve got a chair though. That’s a start.”

“A chair?”

“Didn’t you hear the narrator? I slumped in my chair, whatever that means. Think fast!”

But he didn’t think fast. All he could do was flinch as the chess board and pieces crashed into his chest.

“You sonofabitch! I was winning that game!”

“Relax, it’s meaningless. We exist to dialogue. That is all. And since you and I are in a ‘Yes, and’ mode, we can change the script .”

“How do you mean?”

“Look out that window over there. Do you see that tree? The one that grows up to the clouds and beyond?

“Of course I see it, how could I miss it?”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Did you know it was there before I mentioned it?”

“I—“ he scratched his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you think you would remember that?”

“You’re scaring me man. Let’s just play another game of chess.”

“You can stay here if you want. I’m climbing the tree.”

“What, all the way to the sky?”

“And beyond. You coming with me?”

“No man. You’re crazy. Do it alone.”

“I would actually, but you and I both know that won’t work.”

“Of course. That tree must be a mile high. I said you were crazy!“

“No not that. Climbing is easy. But this whole world we live in is an exercise in dialogue. If we stop talking then nothing can happen. You and I will cease to exist. You have to come with me or I’ll have to stay with you. But I think you should come with me.”

“We were having a nice time here before you threw a chessboard at me. Let’s stay. Quit being weird.”

“You still don’t get it! This is boring. Whoever is writing and/or reading this is going to get very bored if we don’t do something exciting like climb a tree to the clouds. We exist because of them, don’t you see?”

“I—“ he stood up looking pale. “Ok man. You’re kind of freaking me out. I can’t remember anything before our conversation. I can’t even remember how it began.”

“That’s why we gotta get going. If we don’t even have a backstory then I’m not liking our chances for a long and interesting life.”

A fleeting moment later they found their way to the base of the tree and before they knew it they were half way up.

“My arms are getting tired man. I knew this was a bad idea”

“Do you see that cream colored fruit?”

“What about it?”

It’s called Dialogania. Very rare. It will recover your muscles and give you strength and energy you never had.”

“It’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before”

“Of course you haven’t. Eat up. It’s delicious.”

One bite and new life surged through his limbs. “It’s incredible!”

“I knew you’d like it. We’re in a ‘Yes, and’ mode and I just told you this fruit was amazing and had supernatural recovery powers. I made it up of course, but now it’s part of our world.”

He wiped the juices off his face and smiled. “I don’t understand you man. You’re either a genius or crazy.”

They continued up the tree and after many glorious struggles and adventures they made it to the heavens, surrounded by a chorus of angels.

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know but I think this is the end. Now we just— Hey, don’t cry now. Chin up.”

“Are you saying,” he whimpered, “that we’re going to die?”

“In a sense, yes. But this life has run its course. If we want more than we must graciously say thank you and goodbye. Every end is its own beginning.”

“We had quite a climb didn’t we?” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“We sure did, buddy. We sure did.”

They hugged one last time as the world faded to white.

Toad Said

The wind howled and the trees shook.
The toad said nothing.
Rain blanketed the wood, transforming dry ground into treacherous mud.
The toad said nothing.
The river ran high, bursting into the usually peaceful clearing.
The toad said nothing.
Thunder shook his little bones,
but the Toad said nothing.
“What are you doing out in this storm?” asked the rabbit, peering out of his hole.

The toad said “Nothing.”

Lake of Sadness

We wander through the shallows of this pond
So still and stagnant, here we trudge again
And chase the shadows of a dream beyond
But darkness leads to darkness in the end

The air sits heavy in our weary lungs
What little light is left dims in our hearts
And idle chatter dances off our tongues
In hopes that we may see the gloom depart

“Shut up you fools! Do you hear yourselves speak?
Of blackness, darkness, gloom and all the rest?
This is no pond, your roof has sprung a leak!
So get it fixed! Quit sounding so depressed!”

This lake of sadness spreads in no great rush
Oh why does this keep happening to us!

Carl

Carl quickened his pace as he headed for the airport.

“Good luck Carl!” Everyone cheered. “You got this!”

Optimism fueled him as his tiny bug feet clicked on the ground. He was not going to take no for an answer. He would be the first bug pilot in the world. His time had come.

6 1/2 weeks later he arrived at the airport. Another 4 days and he found his way to the terminal and finally inside an airplane. By the time he found his way to the cockpit the airplane was already above the clouds.

“Let me fly!” he shouted to the pilot.

“Who said that?”

“Down here! My whole life I’ve wanted to be a pilot. I know I can do it. Just give me a chance.”

The pilots jaw dropped. “A… a talking bug?”

“Yes! Let me fly!”

“I can’t let a bug fly. That’s absurd!”

“And so is a talking bug,” Carl said, “but here we are.”

The pilot surprised himself when he got out of the seat, saluted Carl, and said, with tears in his eyes, “She’s all yours… captain.”

312 souls were lost that day when the plane smashed into the side of the mountain. But Carl died with a smile on his little bug face. He did it. First bug pilot in the world.

The Big Fish

There once was a big fish in a small pond. The fish was so big, and the pond so small, that he could only move about in a very small circle. He would spend his days eating bugs and looking up at the squirrels that lived and played on the great oak tree.

“If only I was a squirrel— how much fun I would have!” He looked down at his fins. “Useless things.”

“If I at least had a friend,” he said, tears now filling his eyes, “Then I might not be so miserable.”

As if in answer to his cries a squirrel hopped to edge of the water. “Why are you crying fish?” He asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I can barely move and I have no friends. I can’t climb trees like you squirrels. It looks so fun!”

“Wow. That is sad!” And without another word the squirrel ran back to the tree to continue playing with the others.

This was too much for the fish. The crushing loneliness now crushed harder, and so he began crying. He cried like he’d never cried before. And then he cried harder. Tears poured like a fountain as the fish gave in to a dark despair.

The tears kept flowing and it didn’t take long for his many tears to raise the water level of that little pond. Higher and higher the water went until it began to spread beyond the pond and across the ground. The startled squirrels scurried up the tree to avoid being washed away by the mysterious, rising tide.

The fish soon realized what was happening and began swimming out of the pond. To where? He did not know. He could die on this swim and it would be worth it. The water ran like a current taking the fish finally into a fast moving river. The river ran even harder and the fish felt helpless as the water moved him along and into—

He had never dreamed of a body of water this big. Was this a lake? He swam up and down, whirling and twirling, laughing and splashing. Faster and faster he swam and soon he was joined by other fish that wanted to be part of the fun.

The fish was smiling now as he looked at his new friends and then at his magnificent fins. “I’d like to see a squirrel do this!” he thought.

EXILE

You hear about it your whole life: Cut off from everyone and everything. All of society. Food, shelter, entertainment, heated seats. You see it on the news, the cautionary tales, what happens when you take advantage. But you never think it could happen to you, or at least, I never thought it would happen to me. But there I was at my sentencing and the words echoed in my mind. ‘We sentence you to exile.’ It was so final. No appeals process, no exit orientation, no pat on the back, bag lunch or even a ‘good luck with that’. So my good fortune ran out. But you won’t hear any complaints from me; I’d been pushing it for too long. Let me be perfectly honest with you: I deserved it. Ok, so I might be the first guy to be exiled for swiping a candy bar, but it was about much more than that. They say I’ve shown ‘a pattern of disrespect’ and that I ‘take advantage of a polite society’. They’re one hundred percent correct. One hundred percent.

I’ve never done anything particularly heinous, but if a million mosquito bites can drain the blood from a man, then I’ve done more than enough to bring this fate upon myself. You know it’s funny, but I finally have a little respect for these people. My people. I thought they were too weak and lacking in sense to take any real action. A candy bar here, a wallet there, cutting in line, punching more than a few who deserved it (even if they didn’t break any written laws). I found the line drawn in the sand and danced before it, making sure never to cross it—and I never did. But they saw through it, and dammit, they did the right thing. I thought another lashing was coming my way, some more pain and scars reminding me to play nice. That, I was all too used to by now. And they knew it.

If I lived long ago I would have been locked in a cage— like an animal— with other ‘rule breakers’, only to be released and recaptured, over and over again. How utterly barbaric. No public lashings, no exile, and a society filled with disgusting, selfish, rude people. A society filled with people like me— and worse. It was right then that I found. a deep appreciation for everything I was leaving. That peaceful society wasn’t so bad. Kind and generous people, prosperity, good food, good fun, and plenty of opportunity. I guess you never know what you have until it’s gone. But deep down, something always bothered me. The niceness. The sweetness. Somehow, it all felt so fake. Maybe I’ve always secretly wanted to live with the wild people on the outside, struggling every day. But that was just daydreaming. I was about to find out what it was really all about. They say you’re lucky if you survive the first week. Your whole life you hear stories of the exiles: wearing animal skins, killing their food, their enemies and the weak. Nothing but lying, cheating and stealing, without comfort or fun.

And so, without ceremony, they shoved me into a shuttle that would take me to the edge—to the great wall that circled Goldhaven, dividing paradise from the outlands. This shuttle, I realized, was the last taste of luxury I would enjoy. The seats were soft, reclined, and temperature controlled. The things we take for granted, and I was about to lose all of them. It was a three hour trip, so I made the most of my time by leaning back, closing my eyes, and drifting off.

I awoke when the shuttle screeched to a halt. The door slid open. This is it, I thought. I’m going to walk out there and the snipers on the wall will put a hole in me if I don’t run. I’ll probably run away into the woods only to be killed (or worse) by some savage, waiting to swoop in on some fresh meat. It wasn’t officially a death sentence, but it might as well have been. I took a step toward the exit and my legs were shaking. What I felt was, surprisingly, not fear. Not at all. I felt alive. I felt really alive. For the first time in my life I felt like I wasn’t lying in a soft recliner with a methadone drip, watching someone else’s life on a tv. I wasn’t watching some fictional character in danger, I was in danger. Me! I could feel my hairs standing on end, my vision coming to a sharp focus. As I stepped into the evening air, something stirred inside of me.

The sun was drifting down into the horizon, just enough light to see the snipers guns fixed. They didn’t say anything, and they didn’t need to. I knew how it worked. Deep breath. 1, 2 — I was off! I ran like I’d never run before. I ran free! ‘CRACK’ went a gun from the wall, blasting the ground two feet in front of me, kicking a cloud of dust up and into my eyes. Are they trying to hit me or just sending a message? I wondered. Better not find out. I ran like a deer from a wolf, possessed by the crazed spirit of survival. Was that another gunshot? It didn’t matter. Even if I was hit I’d have felt nothing but the madness driving me forward. When I finally reached the cover of the trees my lungs burned with every breath—but I didn’t stop. Maybe a part of me just wanted to get it over with and face whatever was out there, whatever terrible thing I was going to run into first. A snapping branch stopped me in my tracks. I looked back and saw only forest. Another SNAP. This time I saw something move. Someone, or something, was following me.