Author’s Note: The Coming Revolution

Filed under: Author's Note

I just wanted to note that the bureaucracy in my story is not the one in your city or state, nor is it the one you perhaps work for.

I feel better having cleared that up.

Fiction: The Coming Revolution

Filed under: fiction

He was getting reports about this place, and there were stirrings in his own office that lent those reports credibility. Something looming this large demanded his personal attention.

He donned a disguise for his task, making himself appear to be a white male of average height with dark hair and a Van Dyke beard.

It was late in the afternoon when he walked in the door. The office held all the charm of  a medieval sanitarium, only with overhead fluorescent lighting and Lysol. He took a ticket from the dispenser and waited in the shortest line. It also was the slowest line. Just as he was about to become annoyed, he recalled having instituted that perversity himself. He reined in his attitude; he was supposed to be the author of annoyance, not a victim.

“Six six six,” a flat female voice called, and he stepped up to the counter.

“Last name,” the woman demanded in the same monotone.

“Satan.”

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haiku 98

Filed under: haiku

neighbors’ field
bright under
ringed moon

Fiction: Unmistaken Identity

Filed under: fiction

“Trisha!” the man called.

The woman, on the verge of entering the coffee shop, looked up and there he was, embracing her and kissing her.

“Trisha! I haven’t seen you since oh my God you’re not Trisha.”

She shook her head a little, still caught in the surprise. “Gwen.”

“Oh, I am so sorry. I thought … well, obviously I thought you were my friend from college.”

“Trisha.”

“Yeah.”

“You must have been close to her.”

“We were pretty good friends.”

“Like you’re still close to me.”

He let go of her and took a step back. “Sorry, sorry.” He looked at the ground a moment in embarrassment. Then he looked at Gwen again. “I’m Travis, by the way.”

“I’m still Gwen.”

“Now that I get a better look at you, it’s not like you’re Trisha’s twin or anything. Something about your hairstyle and the way you were carrying yourself, I guess.” He paused. “Actually, you’re prettier than Trisha. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Gwen smiled slightly. “I won’t. If we ever meet.”

“Um, yeah. Which you probably won’t. Part of why I was so surprised to see you, I mean her, I mean…”

“I’m with you.”

“Well, she lives on the other coast. I wouldn’t expect to see her here.”

“OK, then I won’t expect to meet someone who kind of looks like me but I’m prettier than her.”

Travis laughed. “Um … I’m sorry. I must seem six kinds of idiot.” He looked at the door of the coffee shop. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Make it up to you? And, just maybe prove I’m not ready for a straitjacket?”

Gwen regarded him for a moment. “I’ll take that coffee. But you’re going to have to talk fast to avoid that straitjacket.”

He smiled through his embarrassment and she found it charming. He opened the door and she preceded him into the coffee shop.

Forty minutes later, he had her full name and phone number and an agreement to go out to dinner Friday night.

And, he thought, if things continued to go so well, on their honeymoon he could tell her the story of a shy young man who invented a college friend named Trisha to give himself a flimsy excuse to hug and kiss a particular young woman at least once.

haiku 97

Filed under: haiku

respite
snow melts
around the shovel

Fiction: Pioneer Stock

Filed under: fiction

Lara was held spellbound by the young man who was spinning visions of wide-open spaces and new opportunities. Her eyes were lit with a fervor Stephen hadn’t seen in a long while, and it grated on his nerves.

“Friends,” the fellow said, “I’m sure you agree the price to buy into this particular wagon train is perfectly reasonable. It includes your transportation, all the necessary equipment for homesteading, and the deeds to your parcels. Now let’s hear it: Who wants to go settle this new land?”

“I do!” overlapped with “We do!” as the individuals and couples cried out their eagerness to go.

Stephen heard Lara shout, “We do!” and then she looked to her husband for confirmation. His sullen glare shocked her.

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haiku 96

Filed under: haiku

dense fog —
coyotes howl
from the mist

Fiction: Substitute Muse

Filed under: fiction

Acevedo checked Park’s office, just in case the man was ignoring his telephone. But no; he wasn’t there. Acevedo sighed and picked up the phone himself and made a call to building security.

“The atrium. Thank you.”

He shook his head as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He got out on the 70^th floor and walked down another hall; it broadened into a large, open public space enclosed in glass. Various employees were taking their break there, looking out at the city or enjoying the numerous plants and trees that made the area a garden spot.

Acevedo quickly found Park; he was the only one not wearing correct business attire. Instead, he wore a black T-shirt with a wide red stripe across the chest, blue jeans, and yellow tennis shoes. He faced the center of the room and leaned back comfortably against the glass wall. Acevedo suppressed a shudder.

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haiku 95

Filed under: haiku

arctic weather —
warm milk
for the dog

Fiction: Jewelry Box

Filed under: fiction

“Oh, look at the cute little jewelry box I picked up at a yard sale. Isn’t it darling?”

“It certainly is. And it looks wonderful on your dresser.”

“That’s why I got it. It matches beautifully. I put all my earrings in it yesterday.”

“Very nice. Well, grab a pair and let’s go.”

“All right. Wait. It’s empty! How can it be empty? I put every earring I own in here.”

“They’re certainly not on the floor. Is there a hole in the box?”

“No. It sure got dusty under there in a hurry, though. What could possibly have happened to my earrings?”

*     *     *

Scientists tell us that, fiction aside, extraterrestrial life will not have a head, two arms and two legs. Eating and digesting are assumed to be universal, however.