Garage sale of Wonder

Alchemy by James Gillray (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Garage sale” a small cardboard sign staked into the decrepit grass read with an arrow needlessly pointing to the rows of clutter heading into the garage. I perused the boxes of junk, old clothes, cassette tapes, grotesque troll figurines. In the shadows of the garage someone  plucked the string of  a ukulele.

Bored with everything outside I decided to move further in. The garage was filled with tall packed shelves and smelled like mothballs. Like My grandmas closet. Everywhere I looked was a strange jar, vial, or some deteriorated book or scroll. It looked more like a laboratory then a normal garage.

“What are you looking for boy?” a voice said from behind a stack of books on a desk.

“I don’t know”, I replied, standing on the tips of my toes to try and see behind the books. Two strums  from the ukulele and the clunk of its wood on the desk.

“Well, you will be surprised what I have to sell.” An old man stood up with cane in hand and wobbled around to stand in front of me, a thick beard and low hat concealed most of his  face. He gestured with his hand outwards toward one tall shelf.

“What is this stuff?” I stepped forward and brushed dust off a jar marked “Curiosity”. Inside I could see a strange pink jelly with what looked like glitter.

“This stuff is mostly what makes us who we are, our core traits and emotions, our most fantastic dreams.” He said, lighting a large candle with a match, illuminating the dark shelves that were beyond my reach.

I saw all the wonderful things he had then, things I barely understood. Bottles of Red gooey “Love”. A box of doughnuts marked “Strength”. A bag of shimmering gold dust marked “Pixie dust”. There were dozens of vials all lined up, with labels like “X-Ray vision”, “Super speed”, “telekinesis”, comic book powers.

“This stuff cannot be real,” I stared up in bewilderment. A clear box on the top shelf read “dragon egg”. On the wall next to a book case marked “Library of Alexandria” was a map with the words Atlantis printed across the top.

“I assure you it is, although you are not the first to question it,” The old man coughed and chuckled to himself.

“Is it magic?” I asked, fumbling with a small voodoo doll, which he quickly snatched out of my hands.

” Magic is nothing other than science that the world has yet to accept or understand. This stuff took me a very long time to acquire. I will only sell you one thing.,” he rested on his cane.

“How will I know any of this stuff works?” The old man grabbed the candle, stooped down to be eye level with me, and held the candle close to his face.

“When I was young I was very sad, so I found happiness,” he tapped a jar. “This won’t happen to you if you’re smart.” His morbid frozen smile stretched ear to ear.  I gasped and backed up. “What do you want boy? Do you want to fly? Do you want to know the secrets of the universe, or maybe taste sorrow so you can understand what it really means to be happy?” I continued to back up as his demeanor become more menacing.

“I don’t know what I want mister, and I don’t have very much money anyway.” He straightened upward and set the candle back on its perch.

“One dollar, for anything on this shelf,” he pointed to a low shelf filled with minor abilities, strange things like “clap twice to turn off all the lights”, “snap your fingers to start a fire”, and “camouflage when you close your eyes tightly”. He stepped back to let me choose.

“This one” I pointed to a vial and handed him a dollar. He picked it up and held it to the light.

“A wise choice for someone so young. Are you sure this is the one you want?” I nodded. ” Okay then, Do me a favor and keep this section of the garage sale a secret. I would rather not sell off my whole collection so cheaply.” He returned to his seat behind the wall of books and began to strum his ukulele.

As I walked home I read the vial over and over again, ” See beauty in things simple and complex.”I drank it later that night, and began my journey to understand why other people couldn’t do it. I returned to ask the old man, but he was gone. My friend Jimmy got x-ray vision.

Darkness on The Edge of Town

Bus stop at night (Photo credit: thskyt)

His fingers fumbled with the lighter in his pocket, too chilled by the cold mountain air. She was on her way he was sure, but he was slowly pacing back and forth. Gas stations make for good meeting places, lighting midnight with their neon light. She had to show up tonight.

He stared down the hill to the dim street lights of their town, and pondered the emptiness of its one main street. He hummed to himself a tune he couldn’t name. A song his dad used to play, before the plant closed and whiskey replaced guitar.

Everyone was tired in his town, like they all suffered from constant hangovers, except for her. To him she was exciting, like a carnival passing through town. Full of mystery, beauty and wonder. The week before they had decided to finally leave. It was what all the kids in the town had talked about but never did.

Nervously chewing on his bottom lip, he checked his watch and reassured himself she would arrive any minute in her dads car. The plan was simple, the old bastard usually passed out by eleven. She probably was just packing and writing a note. He had on his favorite pair of jeans, the shirt she liked best and a photograph of his mom. The lighter he had snagged from the open palm of his blacked-out father.

He walked around back  and puffed a cigarette to life, gazing out into the forest. That late the town was always hushed by the swaying trees and he was sure it was all he would miss. He lost himself watching their shadows sway to and fro.

When he was too small to fight back the drunken blows he would flee to the woods. That was where they met years ago, each showing off bruises and scars. She showed him her favorite spot high up in one tree, overlooking all of town. Together they would laugh and pretend the people below were just ants.

Suddenly He heard sirens. Never before had fear hit his heart with such a hammer. cigarette dropping from his lips he bolted down hill.  When he reached the main drag red and blue ebbed at the far end. It was her dad’s truck. The wind couldn’t keep pace with his feet.

The wind shield was shattered into a foggy spider web. His lungs burned desperately as he shouted her name. The paramedics blocked his view of the door and he was suddenly jerked back from the scene by the sheriff.

“It’s okay” a choked up voice said from behind them, “I am gonna be okay.” He turned to see her shaking and crying, clutching a backpack to her chest like a stuffed animal. An empty bottle of Wild Turkey rolled out of the broken cab and cracked on the asphalt.

They walked away from the lights and shouting to the other end of the boulevard. It was cold so he gave her his coat to wear over her sweatshirt.  They found a seat at the all-night diner that was empty except for a broken down truck driver and a burnt out waitress.

She stared out the window at the bus stop outside, thinking of tomorrow, trying to forget broken things. He hummed, staring over the bus stop, over the houses, uphill, to the safe shadows of the whispering trees, the fingers of his right hand entwined with hers.

Fish lips

A Mermaid by John William Waterhouse. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

As a government sponsored  monster hunter or as they prefer to call me a, “Crypto-biological containment agent”, I have never really believed Monsters could love anything. From most of my experiences “Cryptos” just wanted o gnaw on bones or suck away our souls. I now know I was wrong.

 

I had only nabbed a few mermaids before, two in the Mediterranean and one off the coast of Japan which had taken a decent chunk out of my forearm. Trust me, any ideas you might have about mermaids based on some Disney movie or Peter Pan tale is way off. They lure seafarers and fishermen to very bloody deaths, sometimes causing entire ships to wreck and enjoy picking the bones of every single crew member clean. This case was different.

 

Me and J72, my extremely anthropomorphized and highly intelligent robot partner, arrived at the scene of the crime in our secret jet that I am not supposed to tell you about [Details censored]. Oddly enough, none of the entranced sailors had been eaten, although their faces where slimy, like fish scales had pressed against their face. I had J72 check their soul statuses with his soul-o-meter, its scientific, not religious. Their souls were intact.

 

When we got down to the lower deck of the fishing liner I wasn’t surprised it smelled like tuna but I could tell something even fishier lingered about.  I instructed J72 to do a thermal scan of the area, but we were Suddenly distracted by a large body bursting out of a room at the end of the hall and booking it towards us. It was a man.

 

“That slimy thing touched me!” He pointed behind h his pants undone and dragging on the floor behind him, “Is that a Mermaid, I don’t understand I don’t. . .” I ended his raving with a low grade amnesia dart and set him on the staircase. I know it doesn’t sound ethical but Judging by the state of him and the other crew he would thank me if he knew what he would have remembered. There was a hum that began to grow louder from the end of the hall.

 

Mermaid songs, like other siren type crypto’s, consist of various pitches that when put in the right order can subdue humans into a trance or drive them into a fervor of some kind. I was relieved that my special ear plugs were working and that this mermaid had only incapacitated  her victims.

 

We entered the room and the sight I saw was more or less depressing, a very humanlike mermaid crying salty tears into it’s scaly webbed hands. Continuing its lulling song between hiccups and sobs.

 

“Love?” It shouted t me as it rushed toward me faster than any sea creature has moved on land, I remember its grotesque raw tuna lips pressed against mine, then blackness.

 

I woke up to the odd sight of J72 making out with the very same crypto that had somehow knocked me out. It had completely forgotten I existed. I checked my field-guide ad discovered I had overlooked a rare form of mermaid that had a lips that secreted a knockout poison.

 

Other than sexual harassment of fishermen on occasion this species of mermaid had saved more humans then they had killed. Their population had declined drastically due to Japanese fishing boats, and it so happened this one was lonely.  J72 was a ladies’ man, or well robot, I just never thought he would return the love of a hideous mermaid.

 

So I found out that monsters could love, also that J72  will make out with any humanoid life form, must be something wrong with his programming. I had to flip J72’s off-switch before I bagged and tagged the mermaid for delivery. Probably was bought by Queen Elizabeth to be chopped into exotic sushi, it wouldn’t be the first time.

 

Strange Sacrifice

The headlines read: Local Livestock Disappearing, Sean scanned the front page then flipped to page 8 to finish the article. The media blamed teenagers, farmers blamed aliens, but Sean knew better. He flipped through the rest of the newspaper in complete boredom, wondering to himself who was really behind the livestock abductions.

“Sir, Yoshazaki is on line three, should I take a message?” Sean’s secretary poked her head into his office to tell him.

“No Julie I got it,” Sean replied, pressing three and shooing Julie out of the room.

Staring out his wide office windows forty stories up Sean listened to the normal string of offers, statistics, marketing goals, stock changes and counter offers. He barely had listened to his business partner in Japan, another powerful company that had just invented the newest fastest microchip, he replied in quiet affirmations, congratulated them on recent breakthroughs in research and then made up a reason to get off the phone.

He sighed loudly as the clouds gathered heavy in the skies. From his windows Sean could see the green pastures across the river, the very ones that had lost over 15 cows in the past three months. It could be a stray werewolf, he thought, or maybe a ravenous changeling. Then Sean smelled clovers and whiskey.

“Missing your old line of work eh boy?” the tiny man in green shouted as if he could still catch Sean off guard.

“How did you know and what are you doing here, Eddy.” Sean said, annoyed that the drunken leprechaun was still around.

“because five more cows were taken an hour ago from Jorge the troll’s farm, I saw the whole thing. Plus I know you Sean, you can’t stand any sort of magical mischief on your turf.”

“I am not even going to ask what a 3rd generation Irish American imp like yourself was doing out on a troll farm, just tell me what they look like.” Sean crossed his arms and stared down at the stout man who was mid-chug from an abnormally large flask.

Eddy burped and pulled a large four-leaf clover from his pocket, “Well, they were in black robes and seemed to be using a form of transmutation to steal the cattle, but judging from the weird chant they were singing I would guess they are from that new cult.”

“What new cult ?”

“Oh, Mr. master wizard, high up in his steel tower hasn’t heard about the newest cult yet?”

“Scoff later Eddy, just get on with it.” Sean was already prepping for travel, he had quickly replaced his business clothes with what any normal person would consider a jogging outfit but to Sean was a sufficiently protective suit of armor, and comfortable too. By the time he had tied is sneakers Eddy had updated him on everything and was already prepping the clover for teleportation.

Eddy had explained that the city’s newest cult was just another blood cult, probably being run by a low level demon. An orc bartender had apparently told Ed that their “church was on his street, and that was where he was going to take Sean. He hated traveling by enchanted clover, but it was faster than driving or flying, and he didn’t have his teleportation chalk in his office so he agreed. The leprechaun took another large swig from his flask and they disappeared in a green flash.

There was a sharp pain in his shoulder, unexpected, he felt as if time had passed. His head felt fuzzy, he could hear a murmuring, and it reeked of rotten beef. It felt to him like the right place, he could feel the residue of ritual sacrifice in the air. Sean couldn’t smell the leprechaun. Then he heard him.

“Okay I brought him to you, can I have my gold now?” Eddy said loudly from the other end of the room.

“What?” Sean jolted up, realizing he had been betrayed, and also that he was bleeding. His eyes strained to adjust to the dark but then the large room was lit by a warm pyre behind him. He was sitting on an alter, and in front of him was about thirty men and women in dark robes. He smelled oranges.

“He is up.” a strange gravelly voice said in the darkness behind the fire. an odd clicking filled the silence of the rundown chapel, like a thousand cockroaches scuttling together.

“Okay I don’t want to stick around for whatever you freaks have planned I just want my go. . .” Eddy was gutted by a large cult members axe. Sean was more happy than sad to listen to the pint-sized Judas bleed out.

“Well what do you freaks have planned, and why the hell does it smell like oranges in here?” Sean stood up and held his shoulder. From the walls hung the butchered skeletons of the cows.

“we are going to sacrifice a sorcerer to summon the lich king Grozath” The leader of the Cult members stepped forward, raising his staff into the air, wearing a bull mask. The other occultists cheered.

“So that is why it smells like oranges, Eddy didn’t lie about the lesser demon part after all huh ?And how do you weaklings plan on stopping that sorcerer from killing you all.” Sean materialized a small fireball in his hand through sheer will.

“Like this” The bull mask guy raised his hand and the crowd began to chant some form of incantation. Sean thought it might have been Egyptian which would have been impressive. He raised the fireball above his head but then he went numb.

“Oh shit,” he whispered to himself. “Please tell me your not using blood magic against me.”

“Indeed we are, we have complete control over your body thanks to the blood we took from your arm.” The large occultist with the leprechaun bloodied axe and two others approached him with jagged daggers drawn, bloodletters.

“Do it now, sacrifice his power so that My body can take its true form.” Grozath said scuttling out of the darkness as a grotesque beetle out of Kafka‘s nightmares. Gross looking but frail.

Sean was not much for panicking, it was what made him a good business man, but blood magic was hard to counter, it required unmanageable pain from any normal sorcerer. He struggled to move at all, their spell kept his body locker in one place, but his limbs shivered statically as he struggled to regain control.

“Don’t struggle, it will be over soon,” The cult leader shouted over the hymn of the other followers. ” Soon we will all bask in the light of our benevolent lord Grozath, and live forever.” The large axe-wielding cult member stepped forward like a gentle executioner.

“Live forever ? Doubtful, if it took all those cows to feed your ‘Master’ just imagine how hungry his real form will be.” Talking hurt but some of the crowd stopped chanting and began doubting. Just what he needed.

“Silence him! Kill him Now! He lies!” Grozath the ugly beetle shrieked and clicked his claws together frantically. The Axeman swung perfectly.

Focusing with all his strength Sean shifted to the side just in time. His arm fell to the floor. He grit his teeth so hard he thought he cracked a molar. There was no blood. The crowd chanted louder out of either confusion or fear.

Grozath screeched “Kill him Kill him now! Finish the sacrifice.”

“Sorry guys, your blood magic won’t work anymore” Sean chuckled and ignited a blue flamed orb in his hand which he promptly slammed onto the floor torching the executioners near him.

“How!?” The bull mask guy shouted, bringing silence to the room.

Well you see. . . I am not your normal sorcerer.” The detached arm was pulling itself over to him. “I like to barrow my body parts from different sorcerers I met, only the strongest of course. I won’t bother explaining, it’s very complicated alchemy my friends. Let’s just say, the blood in that arm, isn’t the same as the blood in this arm.” Sean raised his fist and filled it with fire. “I used to be known for outsmarting blood mages, for this very reason.”

The room was filled with fire.

Among the ruins of the building Sean located Grozath trying to scuttle away.

“No Jigsaw, please spare me, I didn’t know it was you I swear!” The demon groveled, most of his torso burned and leaking beetle juice.

“Too late, give Hell my regards, and tell them to stay the hell out of my city.” Sean mashed the bug to death with his clean white sneaker. “Ew, I’ll need new shoes.”

The next day’s headlines were: CEO leaves company to inexperienced secretary and donates fortune to charity. The other featured article mentioned something about a leprechaun corpse found in occult Suicide fire.

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Liquid Static

“Lets go to a rave” they said, “It will be fun.” Oh, how naive I was. Half a crumpled water bottle of vodka later and some tab a cute chick with skittle colored hair placed on my tongue and I am floating in a lake of flesh and sweat. Mom would be oh-so proud.
I don’t know where my friends are, Sammy and Mark were making out against a speaker, Jess was at the bar getting free drinks with her tits, and last I saw Toby he was spinning in a circle of neo-hippies swathed in glow-sticks. We are in the seedy underbelly of urban boredom, an abandoned warehouse that might have been a slaughter house at some point, but drains like the one under my foot can be used for a lot of different kinds of disposal. My face hurts and I don’t remember why.

I am slowly trying to flow to the periphery, maybe find an exit. The mass of kids, some underage, writhe together like a pit of snakes keeping warm in the cool desert night. I tuck in my elbows and hope not to get anything on me, clumps in the crowd shifted from dancing to exploring each others bodies in ways that cannot be described as dancing and edge closer to the definition of orgy. I struggle to breath, the air feels recycled. With each step I take, I feel hands all over me, even if they aren’t really there.

I see a green exit sign dulled by the neon flashes and defunct disco balls, I head for it. As I reach the edge, I find Jess on some mohawk dude’s lap on a scummy couch, and I can’t tell if she is drunk. “Do you have any cigarettes, Jess?” I say, struggling to catch her attention.

“What did you say?” she shouted, frustrated that I had interrupted. . . whatever I had interrupted.

“Do you have any cigarettes? I am going to get some fresh air.” She glared at me in annoyance.

“No, I don’t have any Cigarettes,” She didn’t even check her purse and I know she probably had some.

“Have you seen anyone else ? ”

“No, well maybe, shit, I think Mark and sammy went outside. Wonder what they are up to. ” and she made a vulgar gesture and giggled, I couldn’t hear her laughter over the current club song’s base.

I was about to ask her something else, but a big hand with a spiked bracelet shot up toward me holding a cigarette and a lighter, “just bring back the lighter.” Mohawk guy said sternly. I shrugged and headed for the exit. At this instant, I can only feel half my body, as if I am in a seat of down feathers. Fluid like static.
I thought I saw Toby heading into the bathroom next to the exit with some sketchy looking dudes, but I figured the worst it could be was cocaine, and it wouldn’t be the dumbest thing he had ever done. Who am I to judge anyway? I took a tab from some cute chick who was just messing with me to piss off her boyfriend. Is that why the left side of my face hurts? I press the steel bar to open the door and the music fades to a slow hammering as it closes behind me. It’s cold out but not raining, my breath freezes in intoxicated clouds. I light the cigarette and tuck the bright green Zippo into my pocket, I like the anarchy symbol on the front, I might keep it.

I can’t decide if I can’t taste anything or taste so clearly that I don’t recognize menthol and tobacco. I walk a few steps around the corner and realize Jess knows sammy better than I do. I mumble sorry but they are too high to care anyway. I half turn around to walk away but then I didn’t remember Mark wearing a bright pink hoody.

“Mark?” Sammy glances over with surprise, realizes who I am, and jumps up, brushing off her knees. The guy looks over at me, but I just shake my head and walk away.

“Wait” Sammy calls out, “Don’t tell mark. I’ll do anything.” I don’t care, I keep walking, the sadder thing is I don’t hear her chasing me. It isn’t like Mark is my best friend, in fact most of the time he pisses me off, but he deserves better than this. My arms feel like a thousand cold ants are making their way up the veins in my bare arms, as I head for the door.

Toby suddenly bursts out the doors and comes running toward me knocking my cigarette out of my hands. His nose has bled all over his popped collar shirt. His eyes are even more red than those crimson drops.

“Dude, you gotta help Jess, that guy wont leave her alone!”

“Mohawk dude?”

“Yeah!”

“Shit” and I follow him back inside to where they were.

Mohawk dude has his hand around Jess’s wrist and she is pulling away and slapping his arm. I don’t think twice before my numb fist connects with his ear, lowering him for an unexpected knee to the nose from Jess who is apparently a lot more sober than I thought. She is shouting a string of obscenities at the guy as he collapses to the floor holding his nose. Toby runs in to kick him while he is down, but I only let him get one good one in before I drag both of them outside.

We head in the other direction than where I assume Sammy was continuing her act of cheating, toward the empty lot where all the cars were parked. Mark was slumped against the back of the car with an empty water bottle in his hand.

“What happened to you?”

“I dumped Sammy.” As he drunkishly slurred this fact I heard the door slam open and a group of five or six punks including mohawk guy walk out into the darkness.

“Cool she can stay here then? I looked around at the other three and none of them objected. “K, get your ass in the car, and give me the keys, I am driving.”

“Oh shit! ” Toby whispered, I turned and saw the punks closing in. My hand felt like the ants had now caught fire.

“Thats them! ” Mohawk guy shouted, pointing at us.

We all managed to hop into the car, and I put it in gear just fast enough for one of the psycho’s to pound on the back window with his fist. but they couldn’t do much else. We got away. My foot felt too light for some reason, so we might have been going too fast, but we got out of there.

As we merged onto the highway going home I mockingly said, “Well, that was fun.”

The Guy Next to Me in the Airport said

I left my bags in Miami. Actually, my bags were sent to Miami, and I was sent to Nebraska, and I chose to leave my bags there. The Airline company wanted too much money, and I didn’t have a strong enough desire to get my shit back anyhow.

 My bags were dull and plain, picked out by Celia, my X-wife. In fact the clothes inside were also picked out by her, and were equally as dull. A pile of slacks and a slew of corresponding collared shirts and jackets all in varying shades of grey, beige, charcoal and navy. I hated all my clothes, even the underwear, which she picked out also. The fact is, out of everything left over from my old life I only plan on replacing my toothbrush.
To answer some of your questions: yes, she is a bitch, and yes, the old me was a LOSER. I was a push-over, a wimp, a nothing. I got mugged three times last year alone. It was hard to change. 14 years of letting Celia control me like a puppet made me submissive and weak. Don’t worry, I didn’t kill her, this isn’t one of those stories. However, I did walk in on her banging the pool boy, that was some cheesy Hollywood porno shit.

I left her.

All of those years the old me  accepted Celia’s rules, allowed her to throw away my money on replicas of Victorian busts, or Avant-garde/ minimalist paintings. I watered her ridiculously high maintenance flowers and shaved my face (and body hair) to her specifications. I worked tirelessly as an accountant, a job I hated, because no amount of money was ever enough. I surprised myself, I kicked her out of the house, I ordered up the divorce papers, I told her to fuck off when she begged me to take her back.

It is entertaining to watch people like her when they lose control of their life, when the charade is broken and the mask of polite serenity slips off to reveal the demonic serpentine person beneath.  Her string of curses and threats fell powerless next to her shriveling Begonias as I shut our door in her face. I sold the house, and all of Celia’s “Fine” art, and I bought a plane ticket.

Don’t worry I am not staying in Nebraska. I am just passing through to see my mother, a required homecoming. Then I will buy another ticket, to Guam, Fiji, Brazil, or any of the islands within the Caribbean. If I shave it will be because it is too nice out to look like the Dos Equis guy.  I will buy surf shorts, and one of those colorful Hawaiian-flowered shirts, and maybe one of those funny bucket hats you only ever see white tourists wear in the hot places they vacation to. I plan to drink lots of rum, the most expensive and exotic kinds. I will only dedicate the first bottle to Celia, it will be cheap and strong and most likely taste like ass.  The old me would be infinitely jealous, but fuck that guy anyway.

Anansi’s Lost Children

The sun was beginning to dip down toward the horizon and was pulling the sky with it when Mikal begun scooting out onto the long barrel of the rusted war-beast. He grinned broadly at his siblings who watched him from the less dangerous parts of the tank, each doodling with chalk  onto its red-dusted steel . Chala told Mikal that it was too high and he might hurt himself if he falls, course he was sure he wouldn’t.

Tewla carefully eyed the children from the porch, too exhausted to walk over and reprimand Mikal for his risky behavior. She was sure he would be fine, the fall was not that steep anyway.  Chala was like a tiny mother, bossy but caring, and always correcting Mikal’s behavior before Tewla had the chance. Most of the other kids Tewla watched were careful children, they knew they were lucky.

The old tank had been there a long time, before Tewla came to the orphanage, it stood as a good reminder of what their people had overcome. Tewla was only  a young girl during the long nights of thunder and bloody days of metal rain. Where they sat now was far away from the fallen cities, and an hour walk from the nearest town. Tewla smiled at the thought that her children were drawing smiley faces, stars, and unicorns on the metal flanks of the ancient death-bringer. It was Chala’s idea. “Let’s make it pretty Mama-Tewla,” she had said, and since then the children had attempted to do so with a militant fervor.

Mikal squeezed tightly around the metallic branch and scribbled madly with a pink hunk of chalk. Chala was focused on drawing a large blue and purple web with her friend SeSe, who had spent half the afternoon drawing a beautiful spider in all different colors across the top of the tank.

Earlier Tewla asked her why she drew a spider and SeSe said, “Grandma used to tell me stories of Anansi, Anansi is no spider but a god who sometimes looks like one. Grandma also said that Anansi brought the big rain long ago before I was a baby. Now I hope he brings the rain again for us.” The child smiled up at her caretaker, who struggled to hold back her tears and gingerly hug the little girl to her chest and whisper, “keep drawing SeSe, you are so creative and thoughtful.”

It had been several hard months since it had rained. The world around them was getting hotter and dryer.  Each morning Tewla and the older children would walk four miles to get water. She worried that well would soon run dry, and didn’t have a clue where they would get water if it did.”There could be no life without water,” she remembered her teacher telling her years ago, and she knew in her bones it was true.

Tewla thought about the babies she lost during the last big drought, after the war, the mid-wife had told her she needed to eat and drink more. There was no water and no food. Her own husband had abandoned her in a dark city street because he wanted a wife who could bear him children. Tewla tried not to hate him anymore, he was long gone. She struggled with that hate, it was a loveless arranged marriage, he was a cold man.  He never even let her hold the last breathless child, or see if it would have been a boy or a girl. Her orphan children had taught her how to be kind, and showed her how to forgive.

Tewla watched the sky grow dark and fill with stars and saw the moon brighten its corner of the sky above the children, who were all still at play on top the ruin of a monster from the past. The Machine had now been quilted in scribbles, sketches, tic-tac-toe games and the detailed Anansi spider hanging on his web on the side. Mikal still was dangling from the barrel fearlessly, wanting to complete his masterpiece of a completely pink cannon of which he didn’t know the real function of.

Suddenly there was a roar in the sky that made Tewla Shake from her core, she remembered the bombs, and the fires that wouldn’t go out. She closed her eyes and clung onto the nearest wood beam to pray for the children to be safe. The rumble from the sky calmed long enough for her to hear the cheers of the children, to hear them shout, ” Look Momma-Tewla, Look.” SeSe ran to the porch and wrapped around the sobbing Tewla.

“Anansi brought the rain Momma, see ? Grandma was right.” The other children ran around turning over buckets, bowls and basins to collect the sky gift. Mikal and Chala ran to join SeSe in the gentle pulling of Tewla off of the porch into the rain.

Tewla held her orphans close as the rain fell harder. All of them gathered around her holding her as she cried. She was so happy to be in there in that moment, safe with her children, all of whom were lost or abandoned like she was, some who’s parents had died in the carnage of war. She held them tightly and sobbed.

“Why are you crying Momma Tewla?” they asked her, clinging to her with chalk stained hands, giving her white dress rainbow streaks. Smiling and crying at once she lifted her hands to the sky and said, “these are happy tears my children. These are all happy tears.”

A New Kind of Dodo

The bulbous beaked bird appeared to enjoy being drawn at first. It noticed me watching and turned its head sideways quixotically, its wispy orange plumage bobbing in the breeze. It made some clicking sounds as if to inquire what I was doing. It turned back to the creek it had previously been watching so closely for small crabs and crawfish.

The recently unknown species is a relative of the Long extinct Dodo bird and is formed in that stout and cartoon likeness. it tends to appear docile in nature and is genetically closer to a Central Park pigeon than an angry ostrich. I wasn’t too worried when it turned its attention back toward me and strutted up the rocks.

 

It had caught a bright orange crab in its beak but waited to crush it completely until I was close enough to see, to show off. It cracked the shell and tossed back its head to eat the shellfish whole. It was a violent and quick motion that sent shrapnel pieces of carapace scattering down onto the limestone.

 

Afterwards it seemed to be posing, sometimes looking at me to see if my hand was still going, and it was constantly in motion. Never before had a specimen been so cooperative for one of my infield drawings, never before was I able to achieve such detail in the wilderness. I got all of its scales and spotted feathers, its tiny wings completely incapable of flight. my drawing I must admit was close to perfect.

 

When I felt like I was finished, I stood up and viewed the portrait from a few feet back, the orangey feathered Dodo walked closer to the easel. It rattled its feathers, and stretched out its wings, dipped its head down to preen a feather on its lower abdomen that had been protruding out. It positioned itself next to my stool and gazed at the canvas.

 

It was so odd to observe a bird so intelligent and self aware. It spent several moments staring at the portrait. Suddenly it grew agitated. It shook its plumage and let out an odd sort of honk several octaves deeper than a goose’s honk, spread out its stubby wings and lunged forward knocking the easel backward with its massive beak. I took several steps back and grabbed a branch, but its focus didn’t shift to me.

 

It attacked the canvas with murderous intent. Shredding the paper with its hefty talons and tearing at the wood with its beak. Watching the annihilation of what might have been my best piece of work was painful only for a second, astounded by the destructive engine of the flightless bird.

 

When it completed its onslaught and stood atop the ruble to stare me down I couldn’t find the willpower to run away. It squawked at me and stomped but I held my ground, I had to know hat would happen. It ruffled its feathers and honked at me, I didn’t move. It began to charge. I tightened my grip on the awkwardly weighted club and braced for impact.

 

Wood collided with feathered head and lumpy beak with a ballpark crack.

 

When I dissected the specimens brain I discovered a highly active hypothalamus gland, which effects many functions in the brain, in this case aggression seems to be the main affliction. Despite its extremely territorial behavior it appears capable of some form of primitive reasoning and social skills which is why I was not attacked outright. In further study I plan on learning to communicate with the birds and learn more about their social skills and cognitive abilities. This test has proven that the Didius Retunsus Iracundia (as I have aptly named it) is both aggressive and highly intelligent and does not like being drawn with cartoon features. I may have drawn the wings too small, the beak too large, the belly too fat, and exaggerated that one protruding feather on its side to an enormous degree but I am a scientist not an artist.

Suggestions Needed!

I always want to write what my audience would be interested in reading. Tell me what you want to read! Any and all suggestions are appreciated from Aliens to Zebras.