Category: Stories

Just Before Sunset

The waxing moon hung in a diaphanous cloud.  He remembered to look down just before he flew over the river.  There she was, looking up.  He could count on her.  Every evening, at sunset, looking up; looking for him.  Once she waved and seemed to beckon him.

As a youngling, he’d considered trying to meet her, his faithful watcher.  But one of the elders, his grandfather or a great uncle, had warned him off.  “Not a good idea.  Women like that are untrustworthy.”

As he grew older, he grew to understand why.  She was a human.  He was a crow.

Image by Robin Anderson

Tom

Once there was a man on a commune in the Canadian wilds. His name was Tom.

One misty moisty morning, we jumped in my Volkswagen bus and hightailed it for the California desert. He was running—I was in love.

A year we spent squatting on that mining claim in the Chocolate Mountains, living a whiskey fantasy, surviving on beans, rattlesnake, and the kindness of others.  I sang for tips in the small-town bar. He got by on charm.

 Finally Tom tired of me-it was inevitable. I returned to my Canadian island. He kept running.

Don’t tell my husband, but sometimes I think of him still.

By Mollie Hunt

photo by Ajay-Karpur on unsplash

Female Trouble

She was leaking.  Again.  It seemed only to happen in public.  At home it was never a problem.  She could sit for hours reading or working out mathematical equations.  Even when staring at the clouds or stars and theorizing, there was no seepage.

But out shopping, at tea, in a ballroom and especially at the subscription library, she had only to open her mouth and the trickle, then torrent, of her words, opinions and knowledge flooded the air.

Her intelligence on hideous display and before she could ratchet her jaw shut, the whispers began all round.

“Bluestocking.”

Image: Portrait of MME De Graffigny by Pierre Mignard via flickr commons

Gift

 

“Take the plaque—the one with the cats on it. I know you love cats.”

She paused. I expected her to punctuate the statement with a swig from the vodka jar she kept by her side, but she didn’t.

“And those birds, the origami ones—take those too. My friend made them specially for me. My son will just throw them away…

…when I’m gone.

The unspoken words echoed through the silent room.

“They’re coming tomorrow at ten o’clock,” she whispered. “The Right to Die people.”

All I could find to say was, “Thank you.”

Story by Mollie Hunt

Photo by Soroush Zagar at Unsplash

1816

It would be the fight of his life.  A duel but not over a woman or an accusation of cheating at cards or even because some Pink of the Ton had cast aspersions upon the arrangement of his cravat.  No, it was far more serious.  The control of his fortune, his title, his estate, his very future was at stake.  And he had no choice of weapons, was unarmed, unmanned, with only his twelve year old brother as his second.  But he must face the challenge.

Bile rose in his throat as he turned to confront his opponent.

“Hello, Mother.”

Embellishment for Haiku

Image:  Portrait of a Young Gentleman via flickr commons

Z’Doom

She was stuck.  None of the buttons at the bottom of her screen were operative.  Eventually they all disappeared.   Why shouldn’t she leave the meeting?  No one moved, no one spoke.  A thin trickle of moisture snaked down her back.  Her palms were wet.  But she continued to stare straight ahead.

Resolved to stand, she found her butt glued to the chair, her feet fused to the floor.  She could not un-rivet her gaze from the screen.  She was frozen as were all of her fellow zoomers.  They stared into each other’s blank, motionless eyes and prayed for unstable internet.

Image by Arteum-ro via Unsplash.com

Many Questions

“Should those plants be touching?”

“What?”

“Should those two plants be touching each other?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No! Should they be touching? Their leaves are mingling.”

“ Why are you concerned about that?”

“It doesn’t seem right. Is it healthy?”

“Are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems bizarre to be concerned about the mingling of leaves. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just wondered if its okay for those leaves to mingle.”

<silence>

“Why are you so dismissive of my concerns?”

“Fine. Sorry.  It is okay for those plants to touch. Better?”

 

“Yes, thank you . . . what about those two plants?”

 

Image by Robin Anderson