recently released Telensia, City of AI. We spoke about the origin of stories, supporting creative development during youth, and maintaining family and community in times of challenge. She is gracious enough to let us hear her music during this conversation!

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The first episode of her web series is available now. ^

Storytelling takes so many forms, and Kayla uses all of them. She produces, and performs all the things she writes. We had a very fruitful discussion about the importance of organizations that encourage creativity in young people. She explained an NAACP program called ACT-SO. What a fantastic emphasis. Do you know that what is commonly known as STEM, Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math, is missing a letter? The letter is ‘A.’. I’ll bet you can guess what the ‘A’ in STEAM stands for.

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There’s no way the write up can do justice to this conversation. You’re going to have to absorb this one on your own, for sure. Kayla read some excerpts from her web series, and laid down a good synopsis. She was generous with all that, and some music also. That’s quite a bonus.

Did you know there is a genre called Solar Punk?

The talent I get to interact with on these podcasts is mind-blowing. This episode more than reflects it.

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The Meadow, the Hill, and the Sea

There was a meadow, which one day would become the site for a house and its family, but the concern now is the meadow. One side of the meadow had a healthy stream running by. It bordered a great forest. There was a hill on another side; it protected the meadow from the Sea on the other side of it.

The Boisterous Triumvirate

The meadow had three young trees, an Oak tree, an Elm tree and a Locust tree. They stood like three friends talking all the time… and they were. They formed a boisterous triumvirate. They shared stories of the life they lived and knew in the meadow. Through many sun filled, and many rain filled moments they persevered. Unprotected from the elements like the other trees across the river, whose spans protected one another, they were not as tall, but they were stronger and wiser for it in their own ways.

At the base of the hill stood the Oak, the Elm was in the middle and as one might expect, the Locust stood on the bank of the healthy stream.

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Ominous Ominous!

There came a particular happening that they, and everyone around them, heard a rustling, stomping, and a wild yowl the likes of which they never heard. But it sounded like a noise they had heard about, for they had heard about a legendary creature… a creature of legend, the Legend of Thusaitha.

Thusaitha, thought to be a myth by some, was a creature everyone had heard about, everyone told stories about, and everyone could definitely do without, be it real or mythological.

Madness Madness!

On this particular occasion, Thusaitha was mad. Thusaitha was always, always… mad. You see, Thusaitha, having essence, indeed existing, had an outlook, he had a take on things, as it were. His take was that everything, but everything in existence, everything, everything in the whole Universe, everything known and everything unknown, everything possible, and anything that might be imagined to possibly exist… existed for one reason, for the sole and incendiary purpose of making him unhappy. This is what he knew. It was what was known to him; his perspective, his subjective analysis… it was his ’world-view’.

Thusaitha stood on the bank of the other side of the stream, opposite the three friends. Startlingly, and very loudly, loudly enough that everyone in the general vicinity could hear, with no warning, he roared:
“I DON’T LIKE THE RESPONSE I’M GETTING FROM YOU THREE TREES!”
The triumvirate was perplexed, that had no idea that there was a response requirement, or a non-response that was or was not expected to be appropriate toward Thusaitha.

Even more surprisingly, and with less warning the Locust tree reasoned humbly: “We’re just standing here, what else would you expect us to do? We’re trees.”

Poor Oak Tree

Everyone cringed, because everyone knew, it’s really not best to create any more to serve the sole purpose of making Thusaitha even more unhappy. Because everyone knew that everything existed, and every possibility, every imagination served the sole purpose of making Thusaitha unhappy. It was his ‘world-view’. It’s what was known to him, so one would not take the chance of creating any new possibility by talking, or doing anything else at all for that matter… at least until he went away, and took his ‘world-view’ with him.

Thusaitha looked the Locust tree up and down:

‘I’M GOING TO DESTROY YOUR FRIENDS!’ reeled Thusaitha,

Then he jumped across the stream and bound up into the Oak tree and began snapping limbs and tearing at the leaves like something wild and MAD. This did not please Thusaitha because nothing pleased Thusaitha, but he did deem the Oak tree wise.

“You are wise Oak tree, you know better than to fight me, it’s not going to make me happy, but I’m going to let you live, BUT I’M GOING TO DESTROY YOUR FRIENDS!”

Poor Elm Tree

Thusaitha lit onto the Elm tree and began stripping it’s bark and snapping the branches. The Elm tree never fought back, he allowed his bark to slide off easily. Again, it was no pleasure to Thusaitha that things were going so smoothly for him, because he never took any pleasure, but he did deem the Elm tree wise.

“It is wise of you Elm tree, to not fight me, I am going to let you live, even though it makes me so unhappy. “BUT NOW... I WILL DESTROY THE LOCUST!”

Precocious Locust

Running up to the Locust tree, Thusaitha grabbed a branch and flung himself into the heart of the tree. The branches were not snapping and the bark was very tough, the harder Thusaitha tried to hurt the tree the more frustrated he became. Warning the Locust tree, Thusaitha screamed:

“DON’T FIGHT ME LOCUST TREE, YOUR REGRET WILL BE WORSE THAN MINE.”

The Locust tree just could not be phased by Thusaitha, who was being treated as though he was just another summer breeze gracing the lofts of the Locust tree. The locust branches are by their nature very flexible, they do not snap, the bark is hewn close to the meat of the tree, it does not slide off easily.

The Foreboding Silence

Suddenly, Thusaitha grew extremely silent. This was very disconcerting to everyone.

Thusaitha jumped down from the Locust tree and faced it, furrowing his brow. He latched onto the Locust tree, and with mendacious force he tore the tree out of the ground by the roots. He held the Locust above his head; he turned and faced the hill. Then Thusaitha threw that Locust tree over the hill and into the Sea. The splash was heard throughout all the outlying areas of that particular location.

It is thought by most, that Thusaitha was the very closest he could have ever gotten to having the slightest inclination toward moving to any degree of satisfaction. Unfortunately, as we all know by now, that is not a part of Thusaitha’s experience.

The Fury

Looking at the crater, where the ball of the Locust tree root system once set, Thusaitha surveyed the ground around it. He saw the root paths of overturned soil in all directions. He realized something at that moment as he saw a surviving, root dangling out of the bank on the other side of the healthy stream. He deduced that the tree had grown roots under the stream and it intermingled with its own, the roots of the trees on the other side of the stream. The handsome little root was dangling itself ever so gracefully into the stream, taking in the nutrients and feeding the other trees through a deeper matrix of roots on the other side of the healthy stream.

In spite of the Locust being removed from the Meadow, his influence and significance was still impacting the meadow positively.

Thusaitha did not win.

Thusaitha leapt across the stream and with a mad yowling, stomping and rustling, in the most deep and sincerely heinous, inherent unhappiness… Thusaitha, without any other kind of explanation, since the science of it could not be described... simply imploded. There was a loud “thwack!” and a burst of sick, green light, like lightning. There was a certain odor in the air. That was the end of Thusaitha. There was the concussion and a cloud and the miserableness of Thusaitha was momentarily felt from that point in all directions. It is recorded by some that this event was the actual origin of sadness.

The Time of Sadness

The two remaining friends had a lot to deal with right now. They were devastated; they had lost their dear, lifelong friend, the Locust tree. They had to get on with life, and help one another through this difficult time. In fact, everyone near the meadow who knew the three, and who lived there, all the animals and the other trees, were all very sad, and the loss was felt by all of them.

Memories

Existence continued, and suns came and went, and moons too. The Oak tree and the Elm tree were now a duo, inseparable as usual and of course they missed their friend dearly and thought of him often. There were changing Seasons. They told the wild stories of their lives with the Locust tree there in the meadow, all the pranks and merrymaking, and the sharing of hardships too.

These two had grown older, and taller, and the Oak tree could just about see over the top of that hill, the one that protected them from the Sea. And then one day he finally could.

Utter Joy

The Oak Tree saw something, something odd and curious. He saw the Sea on the other side of the hill, the Sea they had all heard about, the Sea that they all heard when the Locust tree splashed into it so long ago. The Oak tree saw the Sea for the first time and related what he saw to the Elm tree. But there was something else. He saw what looked like the leaves of a tree, waving and gently riding the tides of the Sea.

Could it be?

Well, being land-locked... and... Being a tree, there was no experience, to serve with reason to think other than that he saw his old friend the Locust tree waving to him from just under the surface of the water. He surmised and explained to his dear friend the Elm tree that the Locust must have discovered a method to survive, his roots were growing into the bottom of the Sea and his branches were reaching toward the Sun. The Elm tree and the Oak tree wept and laughed for joy! The Elm tree would have to be content to wait till he grew tall enough to see his old friend, and he did.

Together the two of them would peer over the hill and wave to their friend in the Sea. Occasionally, they would notice creatures that were strikingly similar in appearance to Thusaitha, though they did not appear to be out of their minds. They would see these creatures floating into the Sea and gather up their friend’s leaves and hang them up to dry in the sun. They heard tell that whoever ate the leaves would become deeply nourished, more resilient, and would perhaps enjoy a long-life.

This came as no surprise to the Oak and the Elm. For they had known their dear friend the Locust through much existence, and they agreed, if anyone could adapt to the situation he found himself in, it was the Locust, whom they deeply respected.

And they learned that even as evilness seeks to tear us from our joys and loves, this only serves to push us closer to our greater purposes.

Poor Thusaitha.

The End.
1800 Words

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If artificial intelligence were sentient, it would be jealous of you.

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Where do stories come from?

The Arc of The Bard.

(Pilots are anthropomorphized to benefit listeners and readers)

Four OVALS, Hao, Madrigal, Corcoran and Initiate Peters, hover in low Earth orbit. Peters is participating for the first time in an observation of consequential Earth activity. Therefore, for the first time, he is feeling the angst of helplessness in a situation where he is constrained, not only by policy, but by the nature of space-time itself, to affect.

The Ovals already know how this ends. They learn the fate of their origin planet as children. They watch the historical accounts of all the epoch cycles, and have seen the record of the events currently unfolding before them, as well.

These Ovals are in this calendar location in order to gather some tailing material from a space rock traveling through their origin solar system. Initiate Peters is on a fast track to be a Mission Leader. The Project Team decided to place him in this calendar location for dual-purpose training.

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“It’s gut-wrenching.” Says initiate Peters.

“The humans who know are suppressed.” Hao replies.

“It’s so dumb, they sell their planet off to those lizards, but the whole thing is going to be wiped out by meteors again, in what might as well be five-minutes anyway.” Peters adds.

“All out of spite.” Madrigal responds. “They’re mad that they can’t win, so they do the ‘it’s better to rule in hell’ thing.” She says.

The four of them watch something happening in this location that they have seen records of many times. They know exactly how it proceeds. Even if physics allowed them to intercede, nothing would be affected. Time is what it is, it’s not something else.

Suddenly, they see an Oval diving around and confusing the Earth population during this disturbing time of what has been termed The Inbred Abhorrence, in their Calendrical classes.

“I wasn’t made aware that there’d be an Oval operating in proximity to that location.” Initiate Peters says. “Wait…. Is that? No way, is he real?”

“Fsake Madsen.” Madrigal says.

“I guess you are getting three lessons today, Peters.” Hao says. “He is a broken rule, and he’s testing all the laws.”

“Do I hate loving him, or do I love hating him?” Madrigal asks.

“… all the laws.” Hao repeats.

Corcoran chimes in. “There are some interesting humans, though. They are worth looking at, the species really did have a lot of promise. It would have been interesting to see what they could have done.”

Hao concurs. “They exhausted their tries.”

423 Words.

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I hope you enjoyed Flash Fiction February, ‘26, and this finale. A New Arc of The Bard happens Monday AM, or Sunday evening if you’re eager.

It’s more quiet this morning than usual. It’s the time of year when the windows begin stay open overnight. Usually, at sunrise, there are birds making a lot more music than today. The bats are leaving the evening domain, and retiring to their roosts, wherever they are. Deer are quietly and gingerly rising from their matted grass and moving along.

All of these things are happening, but for whatever reason, it seems more thin. Even less audible than usual. The dawn needs more time to stretch, it wants to take a cautious look around before commencing with fullness.

The warbler sets in the towering Cypress. Typically, he’s vocal, enthusiastically so. Today, however, he perches, head cocked, observing me with one eye, as though expecting a report. “Hello.” I say. Pensively, not presumptuous, at all.

“Look.” I tell him. “I know I’m a two-legged, but I didn’t do all this. They don’t exactly let guys like me make policy.” I say. “Trust me, things would be a lot different.” He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. He finally exclaims something personal toward the sunrise, and goes for a flit around the yard.

The sunlight is a slow tide. The field is washed of the neutral morning twilight. Gold shimmers on evergreen needles. It splashes between waving treetops.

A loud billow of warplanes sweeps across the morning sky.

226 Words

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Q. But do they have to do that, can they change?

A. They do the things they do because that is who they are. People are not other people than who they are, they are who they are, they are not somebody else.

Q. Can you tell them, and then they can do something else?

A. People do the things they do, they do not do the things they don’t do.

Q. But why do they do the things they always do, when the things they do keep them doing the things they do, and it’s always the same?

A. They do the things they do because that is who they are. People are not other people than who they are, they are who they are, they are not somebody else.

Q. How do you know which people are going to do the other things?

A. They are going to do that, because that’s what they do.

Q. Why do they let themselves be taken advantage of by the people who benefit from it, at their expense?

A. The people who benefit from it know that people are going to do that, because that’s what they do.

Q. Why do the people keep perpetuating this cycle over and over again?

A. They do the things they do because that is who they are. People are not other people than who they are, they are who they are, they are not somebody else.

Q. Why do some people not participate in this behavior?

A. Because they have thoughts.

Q. What do the people who perpetuate these cycles have?

A. They have reactions.

Q. Why are they reacting and not thinking?

A. They do the things they do because that is who they are. People are not other people than who they are, they are who they are, they are not somebody else.

Q. Is there a way to get them to react to something else?

Q. Hello? Hello?

A. I’m thinking.

343 Words.

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Terrence Foch leaves the gorgeous little American town. The situation at the campsite was too bad, but it afforded him the opportunity to enjoy a beautiful place with nice people for a day. He’s taking the advice of the deputy, and he’ll take the alternate route to his new location.

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It’s just as the deputy explained. There’s a row of estates along one side of the road, and a ravine on the other. He rides along a ridge, and he doesn’t see a car for a couple of hours. His bike has a light in the front, as does his helmet. The back of his bike has one of those flashing red lights. It’s a great time, riding at night.

As he heads out over a hill, what he sees is unexpected. The deputy must have steered him wrong, because laid out in front of him should not be such a large city. He doesn’t know where he is. Why is there such a large city out here? His map did not reflect this.

It’s dark, he has no phone signal. He’ll go forward. He’ll figure it out when he gets there. He has a couple of days to get straightened out.

As he rides the ridge, the road narrows radically. As he nears the town, he’s practically squeezing between a brick wall and a wooden fence. He comes to an alley, where going the way he came is the only way out. Unless he goes into the building. That’s what he does. Goes into the building. He’s riding through the hallway of a sparsely occupied building. There are glimpses of people, and peripheral evidences of activity.

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He winds all through this building in the only ways that he can. There are no choices. It’s a long corridor. Not well-lit, the hallway has brown, mat carpeting, and the general ambiance of the place is clinical. It’s not residential.

He finally spills out of the building and finds himself in a square, at an intersection. There are a couple of people with him, two women. One of whom he feels an immediate affinity for. The three of them are looking at a map.

The map makes no sense. It’s not a place he recognizes, and it’s not where he needs to be, but he has to understand it in order to get to his intended destination. On the other hand, he really likes being near this woman who is also trying to navigate the strange map.

Terrence feels good about this situation. He feels lucky to have gotten lost, he never would have encountered this woman. His mind and his heart are open to whatever is going to happen. He has something to figure out while he’s in the middle of this important re-location.

463 Words.

Here’s Part 1

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flash fiction february: 3 days remain

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It wasn’t his first long ride. He’s done a few. This one would take about 5 days. He would time his arrival with the arrival of his things, then get everything moved in to his new location, and have a couple of days to rest before starting his new job.

Mapping out all the county and state roads was easy. There weren’t any hilly, or difficult terrain. All the roads were paved. He even felt like some night riding would be safe, especially since he was so familiar with some parts of the route. He liked doing that.

Things went as planned. He got out of town early in the AM on day one and easily made his goal. He spent the afternoon resting, and stretching. Checking his body for issues. He got a good night sleep, and started out early again.

Something he liked to do on trips like this was to pack most of the food he would eat, and shed his dirty clothes rather than carry them. This way the load gets slightly lighter each day. He’d pack oat groats as his main source of fuel, since they don’t have to be cooked, in case there’s no fire. Then he’d stop at little stores and get bananas and beef jerky. That sort of disciplined, Spartan behavior suited him.

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On his fourth night of camping, he awakened, under the open morning sky, to see that, except for his bike, everything he had with him, which wasn’t much, had been stolen while he slept. He had his sleeping bag, an inflatable pillow, a t-shirt, gym shorts and his wallet, which of course, he kept with him in his sleeping bag. Fortunately, his phone was in the campsite office, charging overnight. Now, here he is out in the campsite, barefoot.

The tiny town is close by, right across the river bridge from the campsite. It’s early, just after sunrise. He reports his predicament to the campsite attendants. They offer him a complimentary pair of inexpensive, rubber soled, stretchy slippers. He grabs his phone, and rides across the bridge, into the little town, and wait for the local department store to open.

People are starting to drive by, and mill about. He keeps his eyeballs open for any signs of his clothing to show up, walking around. He figured it had to be someone really bad off, because it was not much, just some groats, instant coffee, some dry milk, a couple of protein bars. A pair of jeans, and one long, and one short sleeve golf shirt. This is all stuff he can replace in 20 minutes for less than a hundred bucks. He’s pretty lucky, really.

When the store opens, he gets a set of athletic underwear, some firm soled training shoes, some thin sport pants that are designed to look like blue jeans and a UV visor biking cap. Taking a walk around inside, to see if he should get anything else, he decides against it. He’ll stay in this sweet little town today, and make the last 50-mile ride into his new location, at night.

Leaving the store, he sees a local sheriff’s deputy. He informs him of his camping experience. The deputy says that there are a number of people in town they have to keep an eye on. They tend to do that. They prowl the campers and also the motel parking lots, preying on trusting visitors.

“Where’s a good place to have breakfast?” Terrance asks the deputy, who will surely know who has the good coffee.

“Right this way.” The deputy says. “It’s the end of my shift, please join me.”

During their meal, the deputy tells him about a shorter route to his new town. “It’s a back road” he says, “Along a ridge. It’s pretty nice.”

Terrence asks him, “How safe is it at night, how much traffic?”

“I’m not sure I’d advise anyone to travel on a bike in the dark on any road, but out there, I doubt you’ll even see a car. It’s private estates on one side, and on the other, down the ravine, that’s National Forest.”

“I have my phone, too.” Terrence says. “So that will give me some peace of mind.”

“It depends on your carrier. There’s only one that gets a signal out there.” The deputy tells him, as they finish up at their table.

For the rest of the day, Terrence relaxes, goes for a walk, and realizes, he doesn’t have much of a signal on his phone. He gets a motel room, has a good long swim, takes a nap and picks up a few items from the delightful little grocery store in town. He’s ready to leave town, and ride overnight to his new destination.

837 Words.

flash fiction february: four days remain

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“It’s not like that other one, out by the river bend.” Judy said. “They set up wine for the locals when they have not the best batches, just to get rid of it.”

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“That’s not a terrible thing to do.” Jerry argues. “It’s probably a good time.”

“I don’t know.” Judy says. “I heard it gives some people a sour stomach, and they aren’t exactly welcoming to the farm folk when the tourists are around.”

“Well, this is nice wine.” Jerry repeats.

“I agree.” Judy says.

“Well, you could have said that the first time, now you have me thinking about the sour stomachs of farmers.” Jerry says, as Judy rolls her eyes.

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They each have a couple more of the little samples of different wines. It is a pretty, fresh day. Spring is coming, pretty darn soon. They enjoy the view of the vineyards, there are a couple of birds singing, and one of the kitchen guys is loading up the outdoor cook stove with wood.

“Wow, we should stay for that.” Judy says.

“I think it takes a while for it to get up to temperature, maybe we can come back for dinner.” Jerry says.

“Let’s see if anyone else wants to join us.” Judy says.

“We’ll end up paying.” Jerry says.

“Don’t be such a cheapy.” She responds.

“When was the last time we went out with friends and didn’t end up getting most of the bill?” He says.

“That’s because we’re always the ones doing the inviting.” Judy says.

“What does that tell you?” Jerry asks her.

She answers. “That we’re nice?”

“No one ever cares to ask us to dinner or lunch, and that doesn’t tell you anything?” He inquires.

“Should it? What? What should it tell me?” She responds.

“That maybe they just don’t like us very much.” He says.

“Now, come on… that’s not what it means, it doesn’t mean anything.” She retorts.

“Do you remember when I was at the butcher yesterday, getting our order, and I told you this new winery was open, and that it looked really nice, and that we should come?” She nods. He continues. “OK. Look over your right shoulder. Go ahead.” He instructs her, and she looks.

“There it is. There’s the meat shop, there is the window. You have a nice view of this patio from that window. Guess who I saw here having so much fun yesterday?”

“Who?” She asks.

“Several of the people we bought meals for in the last year and a half, that’s who.”

Judy is saddened. She has a despondent look.

“You really like them, and you want to think the best. I get it”, Jerry says. “I’m sorry. I think we need to face it. When there’s no reciprocity and no genuineness, the best thing is to just move on from it and try to find better company.”

Just then Judy gets a text. “It’s Sheila. She wants one of my recipes… the one for that French chicken souffle.”

“Ask her what the occasion is, and if it’s not a family thing, but she doesn’t invite you, tell her you lost that recipe.” Jerry suggests.

“You don’t have to tell me twice”, Judy says.

553 Words.

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On the way back, Jake’s car started acting up a little. The electrical system was going a little wacky. It seemed like the solenoids were misfiring, intermittently, and electrical features inside the car were flickering, and turning on and off on their own.

Jake and Renee were trying to comb through their experiences to see if they could pinpoint anything that could have induced this. The car is only a couple of years old and should not be having any troubles like this. Renee noted that often, electrical issues in vehicles can be from critters, getting in the engine compartment and chewing wires. They did a thorough investigation and the wiring was sound.

Another consideration is moisture. If there’s a lot of rain, or merely heavily humid conditions. It can cause issues. Jake recalled the evening they were having a fire with neighbors on Saturday night. It was very foggy. So much so, in fact, that it precipitated a round of campfire ghost stories. “That may have been what started this.” Jake said. “At least now there is something to tell the technician at the auto dealership. It will likely help him troubleshoot.”

“That railroad ghost lady story really freaked me out a little.” Renee said. “That was perfect timing.” Jake said. “It happened on a foggy Saturday night.” Renee interjected. “That’s enough. When the train passed through, I nearly fainted.”

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They made an appointment for after dinner. They’d to go to the dealer, leave the car in the customer parking area, and pick up a loaner left for them. As they pull into the lot, the dash lights and dash cam indicator flicker. “Here we go again.” says Jake. “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve checked the dash cam footage.” Renee says.

They start forwarding through the footage stills, as they get the images of their driving, including the weekend away. They slow it down to recall the fun weekend. “Did you turn the car on during the campfire at some point? I didn’t.” Jake says. “Me neither.” Renee responds. They can see the footage on the foggy night.

“Slow it down. What is that in the fog, by the train crossing sign?” Renee asks. “I don’t know.” Jake responds, “it’s definitely thicker and brighter than the fog, though.” Just as a local train blasts its horn, they watch the screen as the wispy figure in the fog dissipates into the path of the Saturday night train at the lake.

Renee nearly fainted.

461 Words.

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  ---

It happens every year. People get out there, and they start clearing away the last patches of snow. They rake out the yards and prepare the gardens. They feel so lucky and blessed that they get an early start on the new season.

They get out their bikes and other warm weather things. They start wearing lighter clothes, and maybe even short pants and sleeves. It feels so great to be all aired out. They open the windows and get the bad air out. The new air rushes into the windows and fills the house with new life. It’s rather awesome.

What happens next is the streets melt off, and the slush builds up along the curbs, slowly draining into the sewer system, clearing all of that out as well. Of course there is the residue from the entire Winter, building up in that gooey, gray mess. That’s fine. It will pass with a good rain.

The best thing about it is the drier air. It would be one thing if the air was all damp and foggy and dismal, but the air is speeding things along. The evaporation of winter, isn’t all dank and gross, it’s pleasant. And the lifting barometric pressure speeds the thaw along. How nice.

After a week of this, people are all settled in to Spring. They’ve done some planting, they cleaned the screens and opened up their sun porches to the breeze. They’ve washed the salty sludge off their cars and trucks. They’ve waxed and polished them, too. So ready. So ready for the fresh new year.

Like a clock, but as if it has never happened in history, all of a sudden, there is a heaviness to the air, the temperature starts to drop, the sky gets a cover, and here comes the last big storm of the year. Every year it happens, and every year people behave as though they’re surprised.

It’s like when the politicians say, “This time it will be different, we’re going to do all the things the citizens want, and you’re going to be put first, things are going to improve, and your value will be appreciated and rewarded.”

It’s not different though. It’s the same every time. Every cycle, people forget. They thought it was over. It’s not over. You just have a lousy, short, dumb memory. Cool hope, bro.

306 Words.

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These are half inch panes. Pretty thick stuff. Tempered, and tinted 15%, green. Six feet, by four feet. When the client made the order, he understood that it would be a difficult one to fill. He made it clear that he understood the trouble by paying 50% up front.

When Milo asked him what the glass is for, the client would seem to have other things to talk about. Usually these things were for greenhouses, or maybe for custom windows in a large house. That’s what Milo figured. Something like that.

The carriers for windows like this are custom-built. They are angle structures, so the glass leans, and remains held in place by gravity. Four by six planks, very heavy. Two of these frames, holding seven panes each, situated equidistantly, on the back of his large, flatbed truck. Between each pane are two inch thick pieces of heavy foam rubber. They sit on a thick, large, rubber mat, laid out on the bed of the truck. The suspensions for trucks like this are customized as well. There can’t be any jarring or bumpy rides.

Milo is driving the truck out to the client’s property. It’s a long drive from the city to a fairly rural location. In fact, the man asked him about the truck, and the width of it, and said something odd. “I’ll prepare the road for the truck so it won’t be too much of a problem.” He said. “That’s curious”, Milo thought.

As Milo approaches the drive at the address, he has to swing out, in order to get the truck between two large, tall, brick and stone pillars. He waits in front of a thick wrought iron gate. He can’t see a keypad, or a phone box, or any way to let the client know he’s here. Suddenly, the gate sways open. The fine, packed gravel drive melds into pressed cinder stone. Milo is expecting to see some kind of manor, or other large estate structure. Instead, all he sees is a turnaround at the edge of a forest.

As he approaches the clearing, he can see off to the right, a cut path. He stops the truck, and gets out for a better look. The path is wide enough, though barely, and he can see that trees have been cut, and branches recently pruned to make room for his truck. The path has been tamped and smoothed. He can see about twenty feet, and then there’s a left turn.

He proceeds. It’s a very tight left turn, and he has room. Ahead of him it’s fairly steep, and it winds to the right. He doesn’t know what’s up there, or how it looks after that. He decides it will be best to cover the glass. He has large movers blankets, and he fastens them down with bungees. Something to note, is that on highways and open roads, it’s better to let the people see that one is hauling glass. Other drivers tend to keep their distance. That’s good. That’s what one wants.

As Milo drives to the bend to the right, he sees another steep section. It looks tamped and smooth, but it’s wavy. He takes it slow as he comes to another left turn. Now, he has to make a mildly steep, but long descent. He can see that once he gets through this, the little road finally flattens out.

Once at the bottom of this hill, he’s in another large clearing. There are tree stumps and rocks, but there will be enough room to turn around and leave the way he came. He sees no one. He knows he’s in the right place because, as the client said, he groomed the road for him to make the delivery.

Milo’s phone buzzes with a text. ”Harold will be down to help you move that glass. Sit tight a moment?”

“No problem, I’ll get everything ready here.” Milo replies.

He hops out of the driver seat and uncovers the glass. He unlatches and swings down the frames to make the glass available for moving off the truck. Then, he hops down, and slides out the ramps that are stored under the bed of the truck between rails.

Milo hears something coming down the hill at the back of the clearing. He’s expecting some help from a hire of the client. He sees instead a donkey. Riding the donkey is a chimpanzee. A chimpanzee wearing a ball cap and wearing work gloves. Harold dismounts from the donkey and ties him off to a tree. He then acknowledges Milo and runs over to a couple of close standing trees, and pats them. Then points to another set on the other side of the clearing.

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Harold bounds over to the truck. Milo is astonished and a little uncomfortable. Harold calmly walks over to him, being nearly as tall as the five-foot seven Milo, pats him gently on the chest and gives him a soft hug. He then makes a motion with his hand as if to say, “come on, let’s go.”

Harold takes the initiative and takes the first pane of glass by the end, waiting for Milo. Milo obliges, and they begin moving the first set of panes to the trees on the one side. Leaning them very carefully, using the rubber pads between them, as on the truck. Then they repeat the process on the other side.

Harold presses his fingers into the palm of his other hand, and points to Milo’s pocket. Milo surmises that he should text the client that the delivery is successfully unloaded. “Apparently things are complete here.” He texts. “Give Harold a thumbs up sign.” He sees on the screen. He does, and Harold hustles over to the donkey and gets a binder from a pouch draped around the donkey.

Back to Milo, Harold opens the binder and hands Milo a check for the balance of the order. He then reaches in and gives him a fifty dollar bill. Harold mimes as though he's putting something to eat into his mouth. He pats Milo gently on the shoulder, turns around, returns to and gets up onto the donkey and heads back up the hill.

Milo, thinking out loud to himself, says, “Why would a Chimpanzee need a donkey?”

1009 Words

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Karen couldn’t believe the things people were saying. It was as if no one had pre-approved the speeches, or vetted the speakers for their opinions. It was not cohesive to her, and there was no succinct narrative that people could take away from the event.

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Jerry whines to Karen. “I can’t believe they’re not moving things along. They have a speaker, and some Q&A from the audience, which is really just unnecessary, and then they wait 20 minutes for the next person to take the podium. Do they really think people like some noisey jazz trio so much that they want to sit there for 20 minutes?”

“I know right?” Karen says. “And, who are these people, what are their pedigrees? What do they do, just choose random citizens to talk about these things, without any expertise? This is pathetic. Some of them don’t even look like they’re educated, and they use common street language.”

Jerry continues, “People are just milling about, talking to one another in between the speakers. They just get up and walk around, talking, and there is no coherence. There is a table full of random food out on tables in the back. People are just going back there to eat and talk. God knows where it even came from. Why are they even coming here if they aren’t going to pay attention and get their talking points and instructions?”

“It’s ridiculous.” Karen says. “I could organize something better than this in my sleep.”

The MC of the event takes the podium, and asks people to take their seats, or stand over to the side. Very quickly and respectfully, things are calmed down and people are listening.

“What great music today! Isn’t the Plasma Trio wonderful? Thanks, you three for your hard work, and for providing the ambiance and room noise. We really do appreciate it.” The people applaud, whistle and shout their agreement to those sentiments.

“We are so glad we could provide this opportunity to get so many people from different places in life together. We know you’re going through a lot and there is a lot happening. It’s so good to hear common, American voices for a change. There have been so many new relationships started today. There have been some reunions, too. We know you have great plans and are getting things in place for some good forward movement. Please stay as long as you’d like, to finish things up. Finish up the food, and be sure to take some home if you need it. I can’t wait to hear and see what you’re going to do. We are so glad we could create these conditions. Good night everyone.” The crowd applauds and cheers again.

“How pathetic.” Karen says again. “How unorganized.”

“What in the world is that woman talking about?” Jerry says. “What plans? What forward motion? What kind of program is this?”

515 Words.

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Things were going so well. She was relying on success, and felt she needed to get 30% of her family’s requirements from this year’s yield. She’ll be able to replant maybe half of it. The kids are at school, her husband is one of the lucky ones with a job. That’s where he is.

The first things she has to do is get the stuff back into the ground that she can. She can salvage some greens, probably, if she washes them well. There are some squash that made it through, and she’ll make use of the green tomatoes that were left.

She separates the re-plantable things, and rakes out the rest. Then she gets to replanting. As she’s turning up the soil, in the bare spots, she checks the fencing that she and her husband put up. They were so proud of it. They thought they had it handled. It looked hearty and well-made when it was all done. They covered the enclosure to protect it from birds, using wire mesh, as well. It seemed sound and formidable.

“It was all for naught.” She says, frustrated.

The frame of the fence was four by four wooden posts, with wire mesh wrapping the entire enclosure. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to keep a pig from pushing through at the end facing the back of their yard. She sees that there will have to be a solution for that.

When she finishes the cleanup, she goes into the garage and finds some salvaged wood. She gets the cordless circular saw and drill, and some screws. She’ll cut some pieces of wood, place them at the base of the posts to cover two and a half feet up the side of the mesh, to prevent a reoccurrence of pillage.

As she’s hauling these things out to the garden, she hears a noise and sees some brush rustling out back of the garage. She exits the enclosure to get a closer look. She sees the wild pig. She goes to the side door of the garage to get the rifle that is kept hanging inside, up high, above the door. She returns to the back of the garage.

“Hello Naught.”

The family will have meat. They will have sausage.

419 words.

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She assigned an essay about where the kids saw themselves in ten years. This was a tough one for Greg, because the situation in the house where he grew up and where he lived made it difficult for him to prepare for his future. He would try to express himself in the best way he could.

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Greg wrote his ideas down. They were long, run-on sentences. They were passionate, but the piece was cohesive and came to a resolute conclusion.

During their reading assignment, Greg could see that she was reading the essays. He had marked the corner of his, so he’d know when she was reading it. He watched her face as she read it. The best he could tell, he liked the reaction she had to his writing.

Mrs. Smith ended class ten minutes early. She did that when she wanted to give someone special attention. Mrs. Smith asked a few of the kids, including Greg, to stay after class. The other kids knew to stay very quiet in the hallway on their way to their lockers, or else this somewhat rare practice would be disallowed.

She called Greg up to her desk first. She said, “Greg, you have sentences here that are very long. There is one that is 41 words, and another that is 58 words long. Those are long sentences. They have to be broken down into smaller pieces that people can absorb. These are technically correct sentences, though, Greg. It’s actually remarkable. They make sense and they follow. Most people can’t do this, Greg, and most people have a difficult time following sentences like this. I’m going to teach you how to tailor your writing in a way that the majority of people can read it.”

Greg looked at the essay. He noted the red ink, the remarks about punctuation and the encouraging comments. “Thank you.” Greg said.

Mrs. Smith looked up at him. “Greg.” She said. “You have thoughts.”

367 Words.

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“You’re using paper?” His agent responds.

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There is silence. Robert is so sick of stupid people, but he has to try to remember to be nice. It’s hard for him. As he’s gotten older, there is a lot less patience, and unniceness can emerge.

“I was being figurative, or it’s an analogy, or something.” He responds.

There are things he likes about having an agent and the help of a publishing firm. It’s a sense of validation and mutual interest. It has actually been his biggest motivator. That business relationship, where there are responsibilities, and expectations. It’s worth dealing with the foibles of others. He’s aware that he certainly has issues as well.

“What’s happening, something holding you up?” The agent asks.

“I’m trying to figure out if I should do something new, or rework old stuff.” Robert replies.

“Didn’t you say you had some essays you wanted to get to; reread and maybe tighten them up?” The guy says.

“Yes, those are there. I figured I’d get to those between other books. You know, as a quick follow-up in case something goes well. I can capitalize on the success of the previous thing. Like that.”

“Go through those. Get that ready.” The agent says. “You have to get something done now. While you’re tightening all that up, stuff will start to click on this book. But once you start those, don’t stop till they’re complete. That’s my input. That will get you going, and you’ll have something I can report to the underwriters. Win, win.”

“They care about essays and philosophizing and all that?” Robert asks.

“They get it. They get vehicles and techniques and all that.” Is the response.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s what I need. Maybe having that unfinished is bothering me, too.” Says Robert.

“Go get on it. I’ll call next Monday. Good luck, have fun.” He hangs up.

351 Words.

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The guest speakers for the podcasting conference were beginning to find their way into the convention area. It was all types of people, and the chattering would be expected. Bea, and her friend Alice took the liberty of going onto the stage, to check things out. They felt privileged due to being presenters.

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The Emcee of the event was M.I.A. He had an appointment to meet with the presenters in the convention auditorium that was supposed to happen an hour before the start of the evening presentation. It was fifteen minutes to start time.

“He was here this afternoon, Ma’am”, one of the location Staff said. “We haven’t seen him since.” His name was Howard Buckley, a local News Anchor.

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The house was filling up quickly, Alice was surveying the crowd, asking if anyone knew where the host was. People cared, but not that much. Large events like this run into issues, most people understand that.

The presenters were gathered at the front of the house, trying to figure out what they would do. It was decided that if there is no change in the situation in 15 minutes that they would go ahead with the schedule, without the host. Bea went over to the podium at stage right and tapped for a mic test. The sound booth guy turned on the mic and gave her an OK sign. She announced the plan to the crowd, and then stepped away from the mic.

On the stage was a couch and a matching chair, with a side table between them, and a long coffee table in front of the couch. It was a pleasant set-up that included a vase and flower, with a pitcher of water and drinking glasses.

The presenters were the award winners from the previous year, and they would announce and present those awards to this year’s recipients. Pretty simple really. They had been apprised already of the new awardees. This way they could prepare their introductions.

The location was great. It was a soundstage and a studio, with a live performance auditorium. It was a media center contributed to the community by a local musician and actor couple who weren’t nationally known, but who had great success on the business end of show business, as producers. For that reason, the place was equipped with all the things that young, aspiring performers could use to help with their success.

The time they had decided had come, and there was still no sign of the host. The presenters decided to get on stage and use the couch and chair for waiting their turns. They attached their wireless clip-on mics and had some quick testing with the sound both, and everything was go.

Everything went smoothly, right to the very end of the program. It was fun not having a host. Things were spontaneous, there was a lot of humor, and all the other services did their jobs too. All the recipients did their interviews and photo ops, alone and together with their presenters and as a group. There was musical entertainment and a stand-up comic. A fun Saturday night, for sure.

Throughout the evening, people working there grew concerned about the host. The administrators of the place started to consider legal ramifications, and local law enforcement were notified, everyone knew who Howard was.

Howard was a senior news man at the local TV station. He had weekends with his family, everyone was quite concerned. His family was most devastated when he wasn’t even at the station on Monday. Not only was this terrible enough, but it was even worse now, because there was no way Howard would be absent from work unless there was a very serious issue.

A week and a half later, the headline of the news outlet read,

Anchorman Howard Buckley Mystery Solved: Beloved Local Favorite Found Locked in Soundproof Booth at Community Soundstage Auditorium. Deceased.

666 Words.

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Where do stories come from?

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Space.

What are those lights?

Stars.

How did they get there?

How we got here.

How?

From there.

Where?

The stars.

When?

At the same time.

Can we go there?

We are there.

Where?

Space.

43 Words.

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He had a long day at work., but he completed eight hours in six. His sales funnel was on fire. He closed enough business to secure a monthly bonus with a week to spare. He’s lucky as hell to have this job because there aren’t a lot of them to go around anymore. He’s really waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s why he’s been pushing so hard. The only reason he left early is that his supervisor told him to go home after his really good day. He doesn’t see that as a good sign.

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He’s not sure if it means that shoe is coming, or if his supervisor feels threatened by his productivity, or if it was a genuine gesture of rewarding him. He knows how these corporate gigs go. It’s not exactly a merit based system. To be safe, he peruses the job search engines to see what’s out there. He’s a very cautious guy. He has no illusions. Generally, one would think that if a guy is on fire like that, you want to let him keep slaying.

He sees one thing that really perks his interest. It’s a little odd. Not something he would think is in his wheelhouse, necessarily. The headline of the ad reads, Research Analyst: Sales Experience a Plus. The rest of the ad is, Data driven associate wanted for new transportation surveys. Complete interviews with potential customers for the cutting edge in personal transport. Must be comfortable with high-end clientele. There’s no company name, and no more details. Only a phone number, and a very specific call window. Call between 8:00-8:05 Monday.

That is very specific, and his curiosity is appropriately peaked. The problem is that Mondays at 8AM is the beginning of his workday, and Mondays are department required meetings. He’s going to have to make that call, he’s too curious, so he’ll have to find a way to do both.

It’s after business hours now. He can’t contain his curiosity, so he calls the number to see if he can get some insight into the company. There is a not-in-service recording. Now, he’s more curious than ever.

Miles is at work on Monday, he’s early, as usual. At precisely 8AM while everyone is filing into the department meeting, he calls the number. At the tone, please state your first and last name, then wait for further instructions. Hearing the tone, Miles speaks, Miles Travers. There is a digital series of clicks and static, then another recorded message. Your location has been logged. Please await your follow-up interview. Then, the call disconnects. Miles is perplexed.

The department meeting is typical, and over in less than ten minutes. As Miles leaves the conference room, he sees two men in fine business attire. One of the men is holding out his phone, as if scanning. They approach Miles.

“Hello Mr. Travers, thanks for responding to our opportunity. Please give us ten minutes of your time.”

537 Words.

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The conversation invariably comes to how to deal with the growing curiosity of the domestic population. Every method is used. From decoy strategies, to obfuscation, to planting assets as false whistleblowers, to mass distraction programs, to propaganda from Hollywood.

“I’m not sure how much longer we can hold out on this.” says a Senator. “ If the people are ready, then the people are ready.”

The otherworlders have only transactional relationships. The general population really doesn’t have much to offer. In fact, they’re domesticated by their governments. This serves a dual purpose of protecting the interests of the otherworlders, and also to protect caste positions of the political classes.

Hiking on a trail, there is a man. He realizes he’s being observed by a wolf. The wolf knows to keep his distance from the two-legged. There is evolutionary conditioning that has ingrained this behavior into the wolf. The wolf does not know the nature of the walking stick the man uses. There is genetic memory in the wolf that knows it could be quite a treacherous feature of the two-legged. This is a degree of domestication.

The otherworlders provide benefits and advantages to the political class. This maintains an interest in the political class to avail the domestic population as a resource, and their resources, to the otherworlders for the transactional agreements the political class makes with the otherworlders. This is a degree of domestication.

The otherworlders are easily able to maintain this relationship with the political class. They see the political class a control. They know as long as they provide, incrementally, just enough special treatment, they can maintain this easy flow of resources without having to deal with the wild, undomesticated population. These are degrees of domestication.

Another Senator opines. “The more we buttress the levy, the worse it’ll be when she goes.”

339 Words.

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