Shorts

Short stories and articles.

The Stormy Night

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The old priest stood by the big front doors of the church and watched the blizzard. “I feel like I’m in a snow globe,” he said to only the falling snow.  After a few moments of reflection, he closed the doors and shuffled back inside the chapel.  Most of the parishioners stayed home locked safely in their warm houses, only a few of the regulars braved the snowstorm to come to church that evening.  After seven o’clock, nobody came.  The chapel was empty except for one man who had been sitting on the same pew for most of the evening.

It was not an unfamiliar sight to the priest.  He had seen more than a few poor souls racked with torment and guilt.  But this man didn’t once look around to find a priest or to search out a confessional, he kept to himself.  That intrigued the old cleric.

The priest watched all evening as the younger man alternated positions of having his head rest on the pew in front of him and stretching back and looking at the ceiling.  Even though his old body was beginning to slow down, the priest was proud of the fact he still had a pretty good memory – especially when it came to faces.  He knew he had never seen the young man in the church before.

 

The priest started a systematic check of each row to make sure hymnals were put away.  As he worked his way down the chapel, row by row, he glanced at the man from time to time.  When he finally got to the man’s row, he asked, “Excuse me, are there any hymn books on this row?

The man, who appeared to be about thirty, looked to the side of him and then back at the priest.  “No, sir.”

“Mind if I sit?”  The priest pointed to the pew in front of the man.

The younger man sat up and straightened his tie.  “I’m not a member,” he said and waved his hand to signify the building.  “I just came in here because I need a place to think.”

“Oh yes,” the priest nodded his head and sat down.  “Everyone is welcome here.”

The young man looked at the priest and forced a laugh.

The priest looked at the expensive suit on the young man and noticed it seemed to contradict his appearance.  It had been soaked through with snow and still looked pretty damp.  A puddle of muddy water formed at his feet from snow.  It also looked as if he had worn that suit for several days and it had been awhile since he had shaved.   His black, thick hair had apparently been greased back at one time, but now was frizzing giving the young man a wild appearance.  “You don’t believe me?”  The priest rested his right stubby leg on the bench so that he could see the young man’s face.

The man played with a wedding band in his fingers and stared down at the floor.

“My son, what troubles you?”

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The Frog Ball

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Situated in a land far away there once was a magnificent kingdom.  The kingdom is now long forgotten even in the history books.  It is forgotten to everyone except to the local people in a tiny village in the shadow of the ruins. They descended from the people who inhabited this once lavish kingdom.  Their ancestors once ruled and lived in the region.  Of course, the only proof of their claim is a tale that has been passed down from generation to generation.   The folklore is revered and they refuse to share it with the world.   But I recently had the privilege of visiting this land and thanks to my charming ways one of the older inhabitants shared the story. Continue reading →

Meet My Pet Monster: Social Anxiety

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A question I get asked is, “What is it like to suffer from social anxiety?”  Actually, I cleaned up the question a bit, but that’s the essence.  I could counter with, “What’s it like not to suffer from social anxiety?”  Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this problem.  When I was in therapy a few years ago, I wrote an abstract story to describe what I feel like (The Traveler and the Little Girl).  What?  Too trippy?  Let me try and explain a little clearer.

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The Traveler and the Little Girl: Living with Social Anxiety

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* In recognition of May’s Mental Awareness Month I am posting two of the blogs I wrote describing Social Anxiety. I encourage anyone who needs help to seek it.*

The tired old traveler looked down at the invitation he held in his hands and stared at the brilliant white paper with gold ink. He looked at the address on the invitation and slowly looked at the building in front of him and his eyes rested on the corresponding numbers from the invitation. Fate had brought him back once again. He lifted his hat with his right hand and ran his left hand through his silver hair and tugged on his ponytail. He now came more out of a sense of gratitude. All that he had acquired in his life, had come from attending the party in times past.

His deep blue eyes caught a slight movement to the right of the building and he glanced in that direction. To his surprise, he saw a small wooden door. Not as flashy as the main door, it was no surprise he had never noticed it before. Did that lead to the party also? Why would two doors to the same place be so near each other and so different? His curiosity got the better of him and he walked slowly to the small door. As he approached, he glanced at the large flashy door just yards away and knocked on the small brown door.

There was no answer so he knocked again. Still no answer. Curiosity leading him along, he put his hand on the knob and turned it. He squinted as the door opened to a small white room. There wasn’t much in the room, except a large window in the wall opposite him, a bright yellow door in the wall to his left, and a swing hanging down from the ceiling. To his surprise, a little girl dressed in white was sitting with her knees tucked under her chin in the far corner.

“Excuse me,” said the traveler feeling a little embarrassed that he intruded upon her solitude. “I didn’t know anybody was here.” He started to back out but stopped when he noticed the girl didn’t look at him. “Do you live here?” he asked unwilling to leave such a young girl by herself.

The girl glanced at him but did not speak. He could feel her eyes studying him. “I’m sorry,” she said almost surprising herself more than the traveler. “I was surprised when you used my language. It’s been awhile since anyone has spoken to me. Sometimes I forget what words sound like.”

“What is this place?” he asked looking at the nearly bare room. “Surely, no one lives here?”

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

“You don’t live here, do you?” he asked.

She continued to study him for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve spent an awful long time here though. I can’t remember where I live now, if I even have a home,” sadness colored her speech a little and made her voice squeak.

“Who built this place?” the traveler asked.

Her eyes darted around the room before falling upon him again. “I don’t know.”

He put his hand to his mouth and pulled it down over his mouth, “What are you doing here?”

She looked down and back at him. “Do you really want to know?”

He nodded his head slowly.

“When I was a little girl…” she started slowly.

The traveler had to cover his mouth with his hand quickly so she wouldn’t see him chuckle. “Must have been a long time ago.”

She looked at him. “My mother taught me to never to walk through a yellow door. Yellow doors are bad luck and should always be avoided.”

He nodded his head even though it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. “But what about this door?” he asked pointing behind him to the brown door he had come in. “Why can’t you go out this door?”

“Try it.” she said and waited as he searched the door.

“There’s no handle.”

“And no way to open the door once it closes. The people who have passed through this room have all tried.” She saw him glance at the window. “They’ve tried breaking the window, too.”

He sighed as he surveyed the room. “And you won’t go through that door, just to get out?”

“Out?” she asked as she opened a pocket in her dress pulled out a white paper with yellowed edges.

The traveler recognized it at once as it looked like the one he had in his pocket. But he took the outstretched one anyway and looked at it. The corners were a bit torn and it seemed to roll naturally in a certain way. He also noticed little round blurred spots and wondered if they had been caused by teardrops.

He looked at her waiting for more of her explanation.

“I’m invited to the party.”

“The party?” he asked. “The party is right through the door, you are so close.”

She squinted her eyes at him. “I know. I lean against the wall and listen to the music and try to imagine what’s going on.”

The traveler listened for a moment. “That’s ridiculous, nothing will happen to you by going through a yellow door. Come,” he held his hand out to her. “Take my hand and I will show you. We will enter together.”

She looked at his hand and stepped back to the far wall. “You’re not the first to say that.” She motioned to his hand, “Or to offer that. But it’s no use. Once, someone even opened the door for me and I stood on the threshold, but I could not make myself take that step.”

He continued to hold out his hand before slowly dropping it to his side. “So what?” he asked, “you plan on staying in this room forever?”

Her look became agitated and she slid down the wall and sat in the same place he had found her. “I’ve tried everything. I banged on the door, but the music is always too loud. I’ve waited by the brown door for what feels like forever and nobody comes in. Nobody seems to come in until I’ve given up. I didn’t even realize you were in here until after the door had closed. “I’ve even offered people this,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box and carefully opened it. Inside was a beautiful white pearl. “If they would only remember me after they left the party and open the brown door before they left. But a lot of people must have pearls, because no one has remembered to come back for me. All of them tried to get me to come, but I can’t do it. So, they eventually leave me.”

“So you stay here alone?” the traveler asked.

Her eyes got big. “Not exactly alone. I have found a talking spider who likes to sit on my shoulder. Mostly he just tells me how bad yellow doors are.”

“A spider?”

“That’s why I’m glad there’s a swing. It seems that when he gets too loud for me and I start to get a headache, I can swing and calm him down some so that he’ll quit talking to me for awhile.”

The old man squinted his eyes studying her shoulder and sure enough, saw a little black dot on her white gown. “It seems to me that you have to get rid of that spider all together.”

She covered her shoulder with her opposite hand to protect the spider. “But he is my only friend.”

“You don’t need a spider,” the old man started to walk toward her.

“I do, I do need him. He is the only one I can rely on.”

The traveler stopped and backed toward the door as he did so he could see her relax. “I want to help, how can I help?”

The little girl looked down. “After you leave the party, come back and open the brown door for me.”

He nodded his head. “I promise.” His eyes followed her glance to the yellow door. “I guess it’s time for me to leave.” It only took two steps to reach the yellow door, he looked back at the girl just as her eyes began to tear up.

“Don’t forget me,” she cried out.

“Never,” he said softly and opened the door. The party was in full swing and as he shut the door behind him, he soon forgot all about the little girl and his promise. Just as the little girl expected he would.

The Quest for Beauty

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(fiction)

Dylan knew something nobody else realized.  She knew there was something inside her.  Something trying to find it’s way out.  Something beautiful.  And she just knew, if she could find someway to let it out, it would touch other people.  Maybe even help them.  There were only two problems: 1) she didn’t know how to get it out, and 2) she didn’t exactly know what it was she needed to get out.  But she knew something was in there.

 

One day, she heard a beautiful song.  “Maybe,” she said, “my beauty will come out as a song.”  So she sat down at the piano to  compose a beautiful song.  The only trouble was, she didn’t know how to compose music.   It didn’t matter to her, she moved her fingers along the keys just like she had seen her sister do.  But her mom came in and told her to quit pounding on the piano.  “Maybe,” Dylan said, “my beauty isn’t a song after all.”

But what could it be?

A few days later, her mother read her a bedtime story.  Dylan noticed her mother sniffing.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“This is such a beautiful story,” her mother smiled through her tears.  “It’s been my favorite since I was your age.”

A story can be beautiful?  Dylan thought.  Oh, yes, I will write a beautiful story.

The next day, Dylan sat down to write.  But she didn’t know what to write about.  She kept thinking about the story from the night before.  “I can’t write a story that’s already been written,” she decided and put her pen and paper away.

How was she ever going to let the beauty out?

A few days later, her parents took her to a play.  The play made her laugh.  At the end everyone clapped.

“Beautiful,” she heard someone behind her exclaim.

Beautiful?  Dylan thought.  Maybe I can be an actress.

The next time her school had a play, she tried out.  But didn’t get a part.

That night, her mother heard her crying in her bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked gently.

“I don’t know how to get my beauty out,” sobbed Dylan.

“Your beauty?” her mother asked while dabbing Dylan’s tears with a kleenex.

“I tried composing a song, but I can’t even read music.  So I tried writing a story and I couldn’t think of anything to write.  So I thought I’d be an actress, and I didn’t get a part in the school play.  Maybe there’s no beauty in me after all!”

Her mother hugged her gently.  “There’s beauty in you.”

Dylan looked at her mother.  “You have to say that, you’re my mother.”

Her mother smiled warmly.  “Hey, I happen to know it’s true.”

Dylan looked down at the floor, still unable to believe her.

“Some people have to compose a song, write a story, or act in a play to let their beauty shine, but you don’t.”

Dylan sniffed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Her mother hugged her again.  “You don’t need to do all that, you have a better way to let your beauty out.”

“I do?”

“Of course.”

Dylan waited for an explanation.  “How?”

 

Her mother gently clicked foreheads with her.  “Through your smile and laugh.  Everybody loves your smile and they love to hear you laugh.”

“They do?” Dylan asked hopefully.

“They do.  People tell me all the time what a warm smile you have.  I know for a fact, it has cheered up many people.”

“It has?”  Dylan couldn’t help but smile.

“See,” her mom grabbed a hand mirror off the dresser.  “See what other people see?  That right there is the most beautiful thing.”

Dylan couldn’t help herself and looked in the mirror.  She had to admit, It was a pretty good smile.  She might even say, it was beautiful.

Thank You Ms. Szemenski

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His Story…

“Hold the elevator!” I called to Ms. Szemenski.  She scrunched her nose at me as the doors closed.  “That woman is evil,” I said out loud to what I thought was the empty lobby.

“You think so?” I heard a familiar voice behind me say.

I turned around quickly, embarrassed anyone heard me.  “Oh, I’m glad it’s you,” I said to Riley, my gorgeous next door neighbor.  “I thought you were Szemenski’s daughter, then I’d really be in for it.”  It was a supposed to be a witty joke, and Riley was kind enough to smile politely,  “Not that I could mistake you for her,” I thought of how closely Szemenski’s daughter resembled a sumo wrestler, “or anything.”

“Glad to hear it, Kurt,” Riley continued to smile her polite, yet dazzling smile as she pushed the ‘up’ button for the elevator.

I decided the best thing to do would be to change topics.  “So, you’re playing a gig tonight?”  As soon as I said the word ‘gig’ both of us flinched, there’s some vernacular I really shouldn’t try to use.

She nodded and her blue eyes seemed to pierce my very soul. The elevator dinged to announce it’s presence to us.   I thought I had to be  dreaming and yelled, “Five more minutes!”  My arm spastically went flying behind me searching for my alarm clock.

Riley laughed nervously.  “I think you just need to step in,” she said trying to get to the elevator behind me without getting too close to me or my waving arm.

I forced a laugh that probably made her more nervous and followed her in.

The doors closed and we were the only two in the elevator.  Thank you Mrs. Szemenski, I thought, now is the time to be cool and witty.

The elevator car was very quiet.

“So,” she said apparently forgetting about the spastic arm just seconds earlier, “you just getting off work?”

I tugged at my tie to loosen it.  “Yeah,”play it cool, “You?”

She nodded, “Yeah, just in time to change and head to the bar to set up for tonight.”  Her fingers were playing with the top button of her pizza uniform.

“Oh,” I said searching for something witty but my mind went completely blank like a computer screen during a power outage.  “So, you work for We Za Pizza, now?  How do you like that?”

Riley looked at me.  “It’s a job.  Better hours than the department store, so that’s nice.”  She hit the button to her floor again as if to make it hurry faster.

I looked at the doors.  “That’s good,” I had no idea what I was saying.  If only I could think of something amusing to say.  Nothing came to me.  “So, I was thinking, maybe some friends and I might come tonight.  To listen to your band play, of course.”

I followed as her eyes looked down at my feet and slowly made their way up to my face.  “I don’t think we play your kind of music,” she said slowly.

“No, see, I know this is how I look now, but it’s just for work. I clean up nicely, well, not that I wouldn’t be clean if I were to dress…” Danger Will Robinson, will somebody please shut me up!  “That is to say, I mean, I look different now, but that’s just the work side of me.  I have many different sides to me.  I am a very complicated… fellow.”

Why don’t I just use my tie as a noose and put everyone out of their misery?

I held my breath waiting for her reaction to my blundering.  If she never answered, I was prepared to die from asphyxiation.  After my rambling, I would be doing a service for everyone.

To my relief, she smiled again, and I was able to release my intake of air.  Unfortunately, I blew it right in her face.

She blinked her eyes.  “We play at ten tonight.”  Again, she sized me up. “Is that too late for you?”

“No!”  Does she think I’m some kind of kid?  “Today’s Friday, so I can sleep in tomorrow.”  I stared straight ahead after I said it.   Did I really have to share that much info with her?

She laughed.  “Well, it will be nice to have a fan in the audience.”  The elevator stopped at our floor and the door opened.  “I’ll see you tonight.” We stepped out of the elevator and walked to our apartments.

Only after I closed my door did I realize, Who am I going to get to come with me tonight?  I have no friends here, yet. No matter. One way or another I was going to hear Riley’s band. Thank you Ms. Szemenski.

*********

Her Story…

“Hold the elevator!” Kurt hollered as the door was closing.  Whoever was inside, let it close and I figured there was only one tenant in the building who would do such a thing: Ms. Szemenski.

“That woman is evil,” Kurt said.

“You think so?” I answered sarcastically.

Kurt jumped and turned around.  “Oh, I’m glad it’s you,” he said and I couldn’t help but smile.  He was tall, even taller than me, with brown wavy hair, but clean cut, and the most brilliant green eyes.  ““I thought you were Szemenski’s daughter, then I’d really be in for it.” He spoke rapidly,  “Not that I could mistake you for her,  or anything.” Too bad I’m not his type.  I looked down at my bare midriff where my ring was poking out of my belly button.  Definitely not his type.

“Glad to hear it, Kurt,” I can be just as polite as he is, and I forced a smile.  I pushed the ‘up’ button for the elevator.

“So,” he spoke again politely, “you’re playing a gig tonight?”  I flinched because it was embarrassing he knew we were always playing at the same old bar.

The elevator dinged and he jumped.  He yelled, “Five more minutes,” and he reached his arm back like he was looking for an alarm clock.  It was as if he was acting goofy on purpose to cheer me up.  It was working.  “I think you just need to step in,” I said as I laughed nervously and stepped into the car.  How could he possibly of known I had a rotten day and needed to laugh?

The doors closed and we were alone.  I could have asked him several questions like how he liked being here since he moved in a month ago.  Any number of things, but I figured he was used to more sophisticated conversation.   “So, you just getting off work?”

“Yeah, you?” he asked.  I felt like our conversation was like the old Atari game pong.  And just as exciting.

I nodded, and could feel my cheeks turn red as I looked at my uniform. As embarrassing as it was for him to know my band was playing at the same old bar, me working at the pizza place was worse. “Yeah, just in time to change and head to the bar to set up for tonight,”

“Oh,” he said coolly.  “So, you work for We Za Pizza now?”  I closed my eyes as I realized the last time I talked to him, I still had my old job.  I could just imagine him keeping some giant checklist with all the girls he meets and right now my name just received a huge checkmark beside the word FLAKE. “How do you like that?”

I had to be honest.  I looked into his eyes, hoping he’d see the real me, and answered, “It’s a job.” That’s where the honesty ended.  “ Better hours than the department store, so that’s nice.”  Truth was, I got fired for being late too many times.  It’s hard to get up in the mornings after playing at the bar all night.

I hit the button to my floor again to make the elevator go faster.  I really didn’t want him to think I was a complete idiot before we got out of the elevator.

“That’s good,” he said nicely.  “So, I was thinking, maybe some friends and I might come tonight.” I looked at him.  “To listen to your band play, of course.”

He wants to come and listen to my band play?  I looked at him from toe to head and realized, he was too uptown for the dive we play at.  “I don’t think we play your kind of music.”

“No, see, I know this is how I look now,” he spoke rapidly, “but it’s just for work.  I clean up nicely, well, not that I wouldn’t be clean if I were to dress…”  He rambled on.  I was used to guys who weren’t nervous around me at all, they just took what they wanted and said what they wanted without really respecting my feelings or thoughts.  Kurt was different.  Kurt was a nice guy and was a little nervous around me.  I felt flattered and I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

“I am a very complicated,” he continued, “fellow.”

I couldn’t help but smile and I could feel his hot breath on my face.   “We play at ten tonight.”  I looked at him again, worried that he might have to get up early in the morning for work.  “Is that too late for you?”

“No!”  He exclaimed.  “Today’s Friday, I can sleep in tomorrow.”

I couldn’t help myself and laughed.  “Well, it will be nice to have a fan in the audience,” and I meant it more than he realized.  Normally, we just get a bunch of drunks who could not care less for our music and were there for the socializing.

The elevator opened to our floor.  “I’ll see you at ten, then.” We stepped out and walked down the hall. I couldn’t help but smile. Thank you Mrs. Szemenski. 

The Magic of Hoffoody

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(fiction)

Brrrng!

The class bell caused me to jump.  Lunch time, or as I think of it, the worst time of the day.  Slowly, I gathered my books as the rest of the class hurried out the door.  By the time I closed my locker, the hallway was nearly empty.

I used to sneak to the library and eat my sandwich there.  But, one day I was unaware Mr. Peterson was combing the aisles.  Right away, he smelled my peanut butter and tuna fish sandwich.

He caught me mid-bite.

 

No longer was I allowed to hide in the library during lunch time.  I took a deep breath and pushed on the heavy cafeteria door.

Noise surrounded me as I entered.  Eagerly, I looked at the teacher’s table hoping there would be reinforcements for protection. No such luck.  The only teacher sitting there was Nervous Nelson. He earned his nickname because he just sits and sips his coffee.  Even during class.

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