The cat lived a million times
There is a cat that does not die even in 1 million years. In fact, the cat died a million times and lived a million times again. It was a beautiful tiger-spotted cat. A million people have doted on this cat, and a million people have cried when this cat died. But the cat did not cry even once.
The fat and the skinny
At a railroad station on the Nikolaevsky railroad, two friends met, one fat, the other skinny. The fat man had just finished lunch at the station, his lips were still oily and shiny, like ripe cherries, and he smelled of white wine and fragrant orange blossoms. The skinny man had just gotten off the carriage, straining to carry boxes, parcels and cardboard boxes, smelling of ham and coffee grounds. Behind him, a lean woman with a long chin probes, his wife, and a tall high school student with one eye squinted, his son.
The warm spring evening was nearly perfect.
After dinner, he and Marla, as they always did, took a circuitous route to their destination. The warm spring evening was nearly perfect. A slight breeze blew in from the east on a night when the sky was clear and full of stars. There wasn't any reason to rush; there were more than three hours before Marla's train departed. They meandered through familiar streets, at times, seemingly without direction. At times they walked hand in hand, raising their voices in laughter as they engaged in their usual rapid-fire exchanges. As they walked the familiar streets, which were once part of both of their lives, Marla came to realize as he had never left her, he would never leave Brielle. He never left anybody. It was in those moments that Marla finally came to realize the unconditional love for which she had always yearned had always been in reach, all she had to do for so many years was reach out and take it. She came to realize nobody would ever love her as he did. A feeling of loss to which she would never admit, came over her as they walked. Marla looked at his face; that face that was ever-present in her life, that face that was once young and wrinkle-free now showed the wear of life, yet the love that flowed from him and the commitment he gave to that love was as strong and it had always been, only now it belonged to somebody else.
Story Pic No. 1 - 5
I take a lot of walks in my spare time. Thankfully, I live in a beautiful neighborhood of a fascinating city (Seattle), which I love to explore; so, whether it's to stretch my legs, gather my thoughts or simply just to get some fresh air, I spend a lot of time walking. I started writing these ‘Story Pic’ flash fiction pieces when—after some self-reflection—I realized that most of my new ideas for current WIPs manifested while I was on one of my walks. So, like any good American, I turned something natural that I did to relax into work. Below are the fruits of my endeavor, each story inspired by something that I came across while exploring and took a picture of (as one might infer from the series title). The stories were originally released weekly on my social media—where they are still available (@willowsfield)—spanning over four months of my rambling thoughts. Please enjoy, if you so choose.
Prologue Ava woke to a gentle voice whispering “danger impending.” Her eyes flew open to see her ROY system blinking the red warning across the heads up display. She felt a prick as her suit injected extra adrenaline in her system. Her night vision flickered on and she cast about, trying to determine what the ROY system had picked up on. Green trees made ever greener peered back, glowing dully.
The Flower Pot
Jason Taric awoke to nothing, just a feeling, an impression that he was alive. His sight was black. His ears filled only with the sound of static. The sense of touch had long since left him. Lost was the sensation of gravity. It was as if he were suspended in air defying the very laws of physics that defined all of existence.
The Day I Left
The day I left the Guardian Angels, when I hung up the uniform for the last time, was a surprise to many. In a lot of ways, I’ve been very lucky in my work as a Pararescueman. PJ for short. I’ve seen action around the world, often in the warzones that captured the minds of many in the short attention span the normal person possesses these days. From the end of the GWOT, to the Taiwan “situation” that the leaders of our country never seemed to realize was, in fact, more than just a “situation”. Natural disasters, war, civil unrest foreign and domestic, even some that I can’t talk about, you name the mission, I probably went on it. At least it seems like it.
Sunrise in the Elven Haven
I close my eyes, planting my feet, and breathe in the fresh, crisp morning air. Elys Shale, the Elven Haven, emanates an ethereal beauty at any time of day, but there is a particular quality to the dawn’s illumination of its temple towers that especially captures me. From my perch within an envelope of mighty pines, the Haven’s rounded walls seem to flatten into their landscape, and I can see the village beginning to stir. Dawn-fires are lit around the temples to frame their bulbous crowns, and in each their turn, thin tunnels of smoke come roving through the mountain mist, bringing on their tongues a distant taste of burning oak to wade through the scent of evergreens. The elves offered kindness and respite, caring both for me and for Moonshine, my coal-colored horse, as their kin. We have already crept out to the hills by the time the light breaks, and, before returning to our path along the hidden mountain pass, I slide off her back and pause to watch the scene transform.
The non-existent girlfriend
One Christmas, the roommate went on a date with his girlfriend. I was alone in my room. I turned the bathroom lights on, turned the hot water light on, and the bathroom fogged up with light, like a miracle manifestation. I was surfing the internet, journaling, tweeting, pretending I was waiting for a woman to finish her shower and come out to have sex with me in a room across from the living room, but I actually turned on the water and no one was in the bathroom.
The Sparrow Falls
[Chapter 1] The Mercedes was just pulling out of the driveway. This time on a ten-week trip. My brother and myself watched as it backed into the side street, switched to drive, and pulled away. He'd only been home four days, but those days were beautiful. He told us stories of all the adventures and how he helped a whole town of people, by treating them for…. was it malaria this time or maybe cholera? He was a great doctor and an excellent story teller. We had spent hours staying up late laughing and he listened intently to everything I had to say. He took us to the zoo and told us of all the animals then ice cream after. We also went to the space museum because my brother. He'd read to us, and make sure to tell us he loves us every night before we fell asleep. The agony of seeing him go was only lessened by knowing he would return, and it would be just as wonderful all over again.
The Golden Autumn
In October, the golden autumn is high and green. The 30th anniversary party of graduation came as scheduled in the eager expectation of the students. Time flies and years go by, the 30th anniversary reunion is unforgettable. Looking back, we have mixed feelings. We have missed our alma mater, our teachers and classmates for a long time.
When you're all alone, do you really chew with you mouth closed? Do you gently dab your napkin to your lip? Do you cut bites that actually fit in your mouth? Or, do you stuff your food into your mouth like a blue whale gone rogue?