Streams - a short story

Streams

Ninety percent of all household dust consists of dead human skin cells. The perfect transportation device for a virus.

Suriv Anoroc stood on a flake of dust. Airborne. His view was dim and blurred. One day he floated into a stream of sunlight. When the edge of shadow met the light, he saw millions of others like him as they floated on their respective dust flakes. He was alone. The faces of the others were painted with fear. He imagined his face portrayed hope, but the light caused the same emotion as the others. He and his kind were afraid of the light. Afraid of the reflection mirrored in their faces. But, as quickly as he entered the stream, he left it. Safe from the light. From truth. But truth as he knew it was provided by the darkness. He who was. Destined by the current, he wondered if he would see the others like him again, despite the terrifying light, to know them beyond instinct. Soon shadow turned to utter darkness. 

For the first time he could remember, he landed. The surface seemed unstable and barren. The black void eliminated his ability to see, but he felt at home in the dark. What was this place? A tremor of instinct permeated his body. But it was more than a need to survive which engulfed his being. He stood on the edge of his dust flake and maneuvered down to the surface. The further he wandered, the more he wondered about his purpose.

Suddenly, he felt a tremor and he quickly scurried back to his dust flake which took flight on a new current. He started to feel weak, and slowly drifted off to sleep. Dormant. And he dreamed. Dreamed of a battle. A battle in which he fought and killed. He woke up and screamed. I am not a killer. He trembled at the thought as he floated in the shadows. 

Suriv could not remember the last time he ate. In fact, he could not remember his first meal. He wondered if he was born to starve. He hungered for the truth. His survival instincts became primal. Without warning, a large mass approached his position. It wasn’t long before he and his flake of dust were transported down a long tunnel. In some strange manner he passed through a nearby wall and was quickly swept away by a red stream. Immediately, he was certain of his purpose – search and destroy, and then feast. But he was reminded of his dream. The conflict boiled within him. He felt the stream begin to heat up. Without warning, he found himself surrounded by white objects much larger than he. They began to attack him. He defended himself but he was in foreign territory. As the battle ensued, his strength faltered. In a desperate move, he saw a tributary downstream and he steered himself to the right of the fork, away from danger.

He fought the urge to kill, but he felt the life drain from his senses. He looked upstream and saw others like him killing and feeding. The white army were in pursuit. He remembered the stream of light. But the red stream provided him with the necessary prey to survive. Instinct. Fear. Death. Make death or avoid it. He struggled with the morality of it all. They were at war. Again, he was faced with an approaching force as the white army closed in upon his position.

Self-preservation, or somehow cooperation. He attempted to rally the others like him – including their attackers – in order to persuade them to seek an alternative to this violence. He shouted out his resolution. Nonetheless, his comrades continued to fight. He defended himself, but to no avail. The battle lasted all night, and the white army was victorious. Just before he died, Suriv wondered if it was the white army who were the defenders, protecting their stream from his army of darkness.

His remains soon exited the red stream. Shortly thereafter he floated on a small yellow pond which soon began to swirl in a clockwise direction. And Suriv was swept away by yet another stream.


(Written March 2019)
#coronavirus

Without a Cure - POEM of the MONTH!

Without a Cure

(Love Song)

The sun fell on my heart

When you gazed in my direction

Causing immediate symptoms

Which radiated adoration

Soon it burned into devotion

Like initials on an oak tree

Or the gold smelted into rings

Worn in passionate symmetry

Without a cure

My love is without

Without a cure

Your love is without

Decades of yearning discovery

In the warm sun or cold satellite

Even with occasional absence

Our flame still shines bright

Enjoying the nights by candlelight

And feasting on noonday pure

Thrilled the sickness of our love

Came without a cure

Without a cure

My love is without

Without a cure

Your love is without

Without a cure

Our love is without

Without a cure

Our love is – without a cure

~

"How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eye are doves."

- Song of Songs 1:15

"Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the young women."

- Song of Songs 2:2

Second Chances - POEM of the MONTH!

Second Chances

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only forgiveness and grace could be easily found

like the dimes on the sidewalk

where I inadvertently bumped into you the other day.

I was just carrying my groceries to my car.
But instead of picking up the clearly visible currency of love, 

you lashed out with colorful metaphors and questioned my parentage.

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only I had picked up a few

from the cup holder in my car as I approached your 
front door only to discover you stood me up. 

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only you had a pocket full of them when I yelled at you.

You only forgot to take the trash out ...

what was I thinking when a slurry of saliva spewed

from my mouth along with the superlatives which

sent you into a spiral of sadness.

Even though I eventually asked you for a dime,

we didn't speak the rest of the day.

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only I had taken the time to grab a handful

when you borrowed my car without asking

and crashed it into my ego.

If only I picked up the dime I saw in the hallway

after you struck me down by the slander of misinformed gossip.

If only we could see through our drunken display of insults

at the last wedding we attended a decade ago,

as we both needed to exchange this valuable currency.

If only, ...

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only we could go to the bank and withdraw them in rolls

so we'd have plenty for those close to us; and when out 
and about interacting with the other humans.

It's quite possible I offended you at some point.  

I'm sure I took your seat,

or that choice parking spot

or I flashed a condescending grin after hearing your poem.

Or to you, I'm sure there's something you're stewing over.

Perhaps a lack of greeting

even though I did spread salutations to the rest of your table,

or maybe I cut in front of you in line,

or maybe I have yet to pay you back.

Hey! I'm just like you.

Full of holes in my pockets and sometimes lacking a dime.

I'm just one of the many other human beings

on the streets and in the cafes of any given city ...

"Hey mister, can you spare a dime?"

~

Epilogue

For Heaven's sake, I know someone

with an endless pocket-full of dimes!

The One (a haiku) - POEM of the MONTH!

The One (a haiku)

A boy and his bike

Abandoned on the front porch

Till Love came to play

~

Then Jesus told them [a] parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

-       Luke 15:3-7

Attitude - a short story

Attitude

 

After the verbal torture and drama at the Thanksgiving table and surviving yet another afternoon of gorging like a pack of wolves unsure when the next prey will cross our path, the alpha relatives made their way to the local mall on Black Friday. Growling at the disharmony of my belligerent Aunt and ignoring my brother-in-law after unpleasant discord at lunch in the courtyard, we dragged our newly discovered carcasses of treasure to the trunks of our respective cars. Yes, we mostly drove separately. And alone was the state of strategy of which I craved.

 

On Shop Small Saturday I walked into a new store downtown called Attitude. The       young lady behind the counter offered to assist, but I insisted I was just looking around. After aimlessly wandering and wondering about the events of the preceding days, I motioned for help. A second woman appeared from behind a store fixture. At least she and her co-worker maintained epidermal integrity of their ear lobes, and both kept their natural hair color.

 

"My name is Sandra, welcome to my shop. How may I help you?" She was certainly young. My expression betrayed me. I scanned the many levels of shelves with the intent to hunt on my own, but instantly her confident demeanour dispelled my previous misconceptions. She asked what I had in mind and provided a few options. "Based on what you describe, I'm inclined to point out this popular item," she started as I examined it. "But I need to add, it seems to have a negative effect on people," she cautioned, as I tried it on with ease. Too easy, in fact. She emphasized the store had a return policy, and from her kind tone I could tell it was important to avoid any initial dissonance.

 

With it still on, I detected aversion on the faces of the other customers, as if they were at the ready to dart and scatter like elk on the prairie. Careful not to frighten, I made a second attempt -- this time with significant effort. It felt uncomfortable.

 

Alert to my hesitation, Sandra assured me it would feel more natural over time. I pondered my decision for a moment. As I gazed into the mirror, the results seemed contagious as the same herd of shoppers gravitated toward this new selection. Unlike yesterday, I was gifted with smiles. I stood wondering audibly how it would look outside or at home or at the office. While she reminded me the name of this small shop – Attitude – my groans of indecision prompted the joyful owner to respond, "Well, it is your choice; may I suggest you pick out a good one."

Social Mediation - POEM of the MONTH!

Social Mediation

Social media, or mediation

Directed at polite deviation

And political variation

Middle-school humiliation

To limelight dissociation

Work-place nauseation

Choking family association

Without officiation

To habitual inebriation

Closet asphyxiation

Or dramatic retaliation 

Staging humiliation

Of self-worth depreciation

Can't find alleviation 

Internal appreciation 

Or planet evacuation 

A cry for reconciliation

Courageous initiation

And humble arbitration

Without abbreviation --

In need of social mediation

Since the day after creation

The Tavern - a short story

The Tavern

The piano played softly. Or the soft piano played a melody to smooth out the edges of another rough week. It had an empathetic touch. She never raised her drink to her lips due to the intoxication of song. Cradled by the booth in the back corner she exhaled a deep sigh, as she tried to avoid Monday. A single glass of a local red was a Friday night ritual. But for now, contentment was beyond the grape as a crescendo built up by masterful fingers on keys of black and white.

The beast crouched outside in the dank and dark alley. Its claws grasped fear of tomorrow.

The candles brightened smiles. Or bright smiles reflected off the twenty-one candles. But the wax dripped into the cake like the tears of the birthday girl soaked into her heart. A private party of only two in the reserved back room was spotted with a mix of joy and sorrow as was painted on the face of her eldest sister. The pendulum on the clock down the hall stirred the present moment, and at the same time the grief of yesterday. They forced smiles and fought to celebrate the momentous occasion.

The beast ogled through the frosted window with eyes of red. Raised above its scarred head was anger against loss.

The bent ear heard all. Or the ear of his long-time friend was bent around the corner of the bar -- and listened. Buddies since high school. They were parked on adjacent stools for hours over a couple of pints. One soaked it all in, while the other's blood boiled. One glass was half full, while the other was half empty as he voiced his displeasure of being a useless tool. The spirit of the latter was filled by the dedication of the former. Yet, something lurked in the recesses of his mind.

The beast cracked the heavy wood door open as one foot hovered over the threshold. Hidden behind its back was hatred toward another.

While others danced their troubles into the hardwood floor, the beast charged in as it splintered the door frame. Shards of indifference pierced the ceiling and walls as a dark veil cast shadows of doubt into the minds of the patrons. Under attack, their route of escape was blocked. It smacked fear at anyone who would succumb to it. It hammered down a steady rage of anger. And from its hidden place, it swung hatred in a berserk frenzy. It preyed on their happiness.

The patrons gazed at one another, stunned by the evasion. Or it was an invasion into their refuge. A few begun to shiver and shrink into the shadow. But courage thrived in certain pockets of the tavern. Their strength came not from the spirits displayed behind the bar. Something greater than a strong proof proved a finer flavour. Out from the walls of social exclusion, there arose quality in character. Enough suffered! The fearful woman came to the aide of the birthday girl challenged with anger, while the man tempted by hate turned toward love. In turn, he offered to lighten the burden of anyone who faltered. And they all faced the beast together. For three are stronger than one, or two. And the beast faded into it own shadow until it left the tavern.

~

“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” – Ecclesiastes 4:12

~

Also published on Synchronized Chaos, July, 15 2024.