Filed under: fiction
“A squid! A squid!” the children screamed.
“That’s right,” their father said happily. “Your very own squid. Go ahead and jump in the pool with him. Have fun!”
The three youngsters squealed their delight. They peeled off their clothing and jumped into the swimming pool to play with their new pet. Soon the squid was wrapping them in its long tentacles and swirling them around in the deeper end of the pool.
“Martin! A squid?” Alice asked.
“He’s a genetically altered 10-footer,” her husband said. “Just the right size for the pool and the kids.”
“But what if he harms the children?”
“There’s a 96-percent safety rate with this model. At least that’s what the salesman said. And even if something goes wrong, that’s what the backups are for.”
Alice couldn’t argue with that, and together they enjoyed the wonderful family moment, watching their three children – Annie, 12; Ron, 9; and Ben, 6 – splashing around with their new friend.
Alice’s concerns were eventually borne out, though, and Ben was heartbroken when his parents had some people come and take away Neptune the Squid.
“But he never killed me!” Ben sobbed. “Just Annie and Ron, and they were mean to him. He loves me!”
Alice rubbed her younger son’s back. “I know, honey, and Daddy and I are very sorry. But activating the backup clones of your brother and sister – and having new backups prepared – was awfully expensive, even with insurance. We can’t afford to keep doing that. But we’ll get you another pet. A walrus, or maybe a seal. Something the geneticists have really perfected.”
Needless to say, nothing can truly take the place of a beloved squid in a boy’s heart.
Filed under: haiku
since April’s loss
every day is
memorial day
Filed under: Catsignal content, haiku
We are storytelling creatures, we humans. Our sentience notices our mortality and mixes with our fear and so we tell ourselves lots of stories about death.
We tell ourselves that the unjust are eternally punished in either darkness or flame. This is especially popular if the unjust are beyond our reach in this life.
Even more important: to stave off our personal dread of the trip each of us must take alone to Hamlet’s undiscovered country, or to console ourselves that the parting we now make with a loved one is not final, we tell stories about a Valhalla or a Heaven, where we and those we love will yet live and enjoy peace and plenty.
When a beloved pet dies, we may tell ourselves a story about how our furry family member has crossed Rainbow Bridge.
As a storyteller, I could probably come up with something good along these lines. But my stories would be no less wish fulfillment than these others. I am increasingly convinced that the only stories to be told at such a time, the only true stories, are those the mourners hold in still-living memory.
Today, I mourn, and I think this is no time for other stories or for the flights of fancy I create.
The more-than-year-long run of one new piece of fiction a week ends here. Grim, tearful reality now rules as we grieve for a wonderful little dog we knew for almost two years. Perhaps there will be more to say about this later; perhaps the stories I hold of him will work their way into other stories that will then be more true because of the sharing. And perhaps we’ll get back on track next week. For now…
how empty the yard
without him -
our well-loved Archie
Filed under: fiction
"Honey? You really shouldn’t be upset," Alice said on the drive home. "Second place is quite good. I know it’s not as good as being the big winner, but it’s still very good."
"Yes, that’s so," Rodger agreed tightly.
"You should be proud of what you achieved tonight," she continued, lifting his trophy a little and trying to cajole him into a better mood. "I’m certainly proud of you."
"Thank you, dear." He said nothing else, not wanting to take his mood out on his wife, and both were silent as he turned the Packard off Main Street and onto Sixth. Finally, she spoke again, broaching the topic.
"You think he cheated."
Rodger was quiet for a block at 25 mph. "I shouldn’t say that he did because I certainly have no proof of that. It is obvious that none of the judges thought he cheated, and it would be churlish of me to suggest it. ‘Sour grapes,’ everyone would say."
"Still…"
"I’m not accusing him of anything. It just seems … convenient. That’s all."
Another block went by silently.
"Amy’s birthday is in three weeks," Alice said. "She had wanted him for her party. Now, though…"
"Get Buttons the Clown, instead. She’ll like him."
"I’ve heard Buttons is a lush."
"Oh, I’m sure that’s just a nasty rumor started by a rival clown." He paused. "But if you’re concerned, we could have the party in the morning, just to be safe."
"All right, dear."
He turned another corner and pulled into their driveway. Amy was across town with her grandparents for the night and the house was dark. Rodger made no move to get out and Alice waited patiently.
"Alice, it’s just that … well, am I the only one who thinks it’s just a little strange? After three years of winning, I just lost in the city bridge competition to a man who entered for the first time. A man who, in his day job, bills himself as ‘Myron, the Magician Magnificent’ and whose specialty is sleight-of-hand card tricks."
Posted on July 16th, 2009 by bryon
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