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Month: March 2021

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

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Wake Up

 

“Wake up, wake up…we’ve got to move, patrols will be out soon, we’ve got to get back on the Trail.”

It’s Sunday.

This morning we attended church with a small group of Patriots. Services are different now, they are held quietly and secretly in basements by candlelight since all church buildings were destroyed by the early anarchists bent on eliminating Christian-Judaic traditions.

But that was before the Socialists gained power, ushered in by the failure of leaders to control their left after years of isolation, a pandemic, and the collapse of the economy.

Chaos ensued, opportunity knocked, and the North Korean missiles rained down.  Smoke and ash still linger in the air of the cities.  But in the mountains, the trail once known as the Appalachia Trail, now serves Patriots who want to travel north and south, staying away from the cities controlled by the Communists and their socialist natives in servitude.

The once majestic skyline of our Capital lies broken, its white stones darkened by fire and ash. Yet, the  statue of Saunders, the hero of the Socialist uprising, ironically still stands intact on the Mall covered in graffiti in a language once foreign to our country, a reminder of what can happen when a country loses its values.

But in the mountains and the rural areas, there is safety.  The new Government chooses not to worry about those who are too hard to control.  Besides, there are plenty of “comrades” falling in line in the cities, no need to care about folks like us.

We are traveling to Western Pennsylvania.  We have people there and it’s far from the metropolitan areas controlled by the invaders.  There we will have food and shelter.  We will follow the trail north through West Virginia and Maryland and into Pennsylvania, then travel at night on the rural highways west to the Laurel Highlands and safety, and some home cooking since the once-bustling free enterprises of “Eat More…” and “Have it Your…” have been converted into distribution kitchens serving those who serve our captors.  The food, mostly rice brought in from the homeland and provided by the Government since the fields within fifty miles no longer support crops or pasturing of livestock.

It’s a different world now. Once worried about the burning of fossil fuels, instead now we choke in the carbon monoxide tainted air left by missiles, fires, and barren tracks of land that one day were green, taking in the carbon dioxide and providing us oxygen.

I am sad. Sad for myself, sad for my family, sad for those who didn’t see it coming.

For now, though, I must concentrate on putting one foot after the other as I walk the ridges of protruding rocks. We have many more miles to travel.

 

“Wake up honey, wake up, you are going to be late for class!”

“I’m up, I’m up…wow Mom…I was dreaming, I mean I had this really weird dream.

“It was scary.”

“But it’s okay…

I am awake now.”

 

 

According to Masterclass.com:

Flash fiction is a favored genre … for its ability to convey deep truths and universal human emotions in just a few short paragraphs.

Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages).

 

I don’t like to write fiction, but it was fun to try for a contest.

But I don’t expect I have conveyed deep truths and human emotions as described above.

 

I would prefer to do that with non-fiction.

 

 

 

It’s Palm Sunday.

The day Jesus entered Jerusalem.

I heard an awesome prayer this morning that moved me.

“You come among us in unexpected ways, whoever heard of a king on a donkey, a savior on a cross.  How do we know it is you?  How should we recognize your presence? Will we see you when you stand among us? Will we hear your voice and understand your message?

 Will we wave palms of enthusiasm today, but drop our arms in confusion tomorrow?”

 

The crowd mentality ensued that day.

Hosanna…” save us” they cried.

But that was quickly forgotten and replaced.

“Crucify Him.”

The prayer I heard this morning went on to question our ability to stand on our own beliefs and not to succumb to what may be the popular opinion.

The opinion of the crowd.

 

I guess it’s not so popular to believe in this story anymore.

This story of Jesus riding on the back of a donkey.

It’s certainly not so popular to yell “Hosanna.”

And it’s not so popular to believe Jesus died to save us.

 

But I believe.

And it’s okay.

I am awake now.

 

 

Post Script:

The photo above popped up on my Google memories or Facebook this week.  It’s from a year when we were still able to welcome the community and particularly the children to our church at Easter. We pray that will change again soon.

That’s me under the bunny head.  I get to play many roles in my job.  Even representing the fictional aspects of this season.

Happy Easter!

 

Silly Hair and Silly Socks

Silly Hair and Silly Socks

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Today, in case you didn’t know it or couldn’t guess, was “Silly Hair Day” at my grandson Christian’s school in Hollywood, Florida.

Wednesday was “Silly Sock Day” at my grandson Cameron’s school in Leesburg, Virginia.

Like Cameron and I making fart noises into our walkie-talkies while sitting on my deck a few years ago, and me wishing I hadn’t missed so much with my kids, I wanted to participate too.

Cameron’s silly socks had tacos on them.  Mine had mugs of beer running (Beer Runs) and gorillas playing golf.

Alexa thought my silly hair looked a little like Cindy-Lou Who.

I guess that was appropriate since we recently recognized the birthday of Dr. Seuss on March 2nd and some of his books were in the news for other reasons.

 

These first couple weeks of March seemed to generate a lot of memories.

Of course, it was March 13, 2020, when our lives shut down with the fear of Covid-19, and the first “Would You Like a Lime With That?” was posted.  It’s funny to read that now since, at the time, the scientists felt that masks weren’t necessary.

That’s changed of course.

On March 3rd in 2018, we celebrated the life of my good friend Joe in New Jersey.  That was the last time I saw many of my good friends from home on the Jersey shore.

 

We have grown used to not seeing the people we love.

Used to it maybe,  but we haven’t grown to like it, it has become an unavoidable way of life.

 

On March 2nd I got one of those memories that pop up on Facebook.  It was a photo of my buddy Jim (Jochems) and me running the Reston Ten Miler in 2014.  That year, after putting on a few pounds during the holidays leading up to the New Year, I vowed to change my lifestyle, elevate my activities and wrote about it in a weekly Happier, Healthier Me blog. 

Jim was kind enough to motivate me to run that race when I didn’t feel I was ready and kept me distracted with ten miles of old Marine stories.

At the time when the photo was posted another friend from New Jersey, Donny Brocklebank thought it funny to compare the image of us in our running tights by posting a link to Youtube Robin Hood: Men in Tights dancing video.

It was funny.

It’s even funnier looking now Donny B, seven years later, because I hate to tell you buddy, I started running again and this almost 65 year old body in tights looks way more gruesome.

Yup, after this Covid winter and having the same kind of experience that led to my 2014 need to increase my activities, I started to run again this week.  I actually had a guy on a bike pass me on the W & OD bike trail on Tuesday who said, “Hey I see you got the Covid hair thing going.”

I don’t know who this guy was or whether he knew me or not but I just laughed and said “yeah, it’s my Covid haircut.”

But it was my Covid belly that was really motivating me.

That, and a documentary I watched called The Courage to Run.

It told the story of Chip Gaines, from the cable show Fixer Upper and his quest to run a marathon.

But that wasn’t the real story.  The real story was about his coach, a young lady named Gabriele Grunewald, a professional runner continued to compete over a ten year period while battling and beating a variety of cancers.

But in the end, the rare cancer that she was diagnosed with in 2009, won the race.  She couldn’t beat that one, and on June 11, 2019, she succumbed to her disease. Through it all, she was very brave.

That hit home to me.

I knew someone too who was very brave and lost his race.

And so, I couldn’t wait to start running again.

 

This week I have run 18 miles and I am feeling really good about it.

My wife even told me I seem less depressed and she is happy to hear my sarcasm has returned.

That’s a big deal because Kim doesn’t like my New Jersey sarcasm normally.

And, I even lost a couple of pounds already.

 

And just like making fart noised into walkie-talkies, it’s okay when you are 5 and 64 and 10 and 64 to share silly hair and silly socks.

Because we don’t care.

 

And now if I could just get my vaccine so I can begin the process of growing unused to seeing those I love.

Then I wouldn’t have to share silly hair and silly socks over video calls.

We could just be silly together.

 

 

Postscript:

If you need some TV time, check out The Courage to Run on the Discovery Plus channel. It’s an amazing story.  And also the Brave Like Gabe Foundation website.

Jim and me, March 2, 2014, the Reston Ten Miler
the finish line and my very slow time