Take a walk they said, you’ll like it they said, something different, a new point of view they said. So I’m walkin’ here, I’m walkin’ there. Always late, missin’ out on the best food, the best views. But ya know what, I like it. Givin’ the wings a rest. Takin’ my time.
Thing is, I’ve forgotten how to fly.
Image by Gio Diani via Unsplash
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO THE NIGHT MAIL
The Night Mail launched on May 12, 2017 and we are happy to celebrate our first anniversary by republishing two of our stories with new illustrations PLUS a brand new short screenplay. Hannah Fulop, our website designer, created the delightful graphic art for these three works.
Across our country
Reverberate blasts and cries
Will they hear them now?
Voices of the young
Crescendo, focused and strong
Media may hear
Boots are on the ground
Marching for all of our lives
Lawmakers still deaf
A Dribble
Bright eyes accentuated by black hoods, two square off. Little, never tiny, they walk a long lineage back through time. Wings extend for battle not flight, both are fierce. One will win the life-giving treasure, that Junco now shelters a seed in the clamp of its beak.
She sits beside the river, resting, watching it run. She knows it is time to get in, move on. But she wants a few more moments to breath, think about where she has been and what awaits.
The river has been wild lately. Too much rain and snow melt, too many sharp rocks, hidden snags. But maybe there is a broad beach at the mouth and a sunset. Or a sunrise? Something more than this cold, shadowy ledge.
She takes a deep breath, the wind seems to settle, the current slackens. She slides into the icy water and heads downstream.
Image by Robin Anderson
A Drabble
Thump, thump. Her heart beat, heavy deadened, weary of life.
Thump, thump the pulse echoed from the floor upstairs.
She spread prone on the futon, waiting for it, him.
Thump, thump, resounded from the staircase, even inevitable.
First came the feet, clad in well-known shoes. Then legs, torso, arms, all stiff with rigor. Then the face contorted in the rictus of death.
She lay motionless. He drew near. Thump, thump. The tiny frame climbed upon her chest.
“Mommy?”
The mouth opened wide, clamped over hers.
“Yes, dearest.” She breathed her warm words into his cold lungs.
photo mahyar-tehrani at unsplash
A drabble
“I woke up, found soot everywhere and though it was Armageddon.” Cough
“Smoke and ash raining from the sky.”
“And speaking of rain, what about the hurricanes and floods?” Cough
“Yes, it is positively biblical!
“Sun to darkness, moon to blood.” Cough
“All before that great and awesome day when the lord returns.”
“Global warming, pssh.” Cough, cough
“End of days more like.”
“God will punish the wicked.” Cough, cough, cough
Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough…silence.
“Mildred!”
“She’s not breathing! Someone help!”
“No pulse, ma’am.”
“But she’ll miss the rapture.”
“Sorry ma’am.”
Photo by Bjorn Tore Okland on unsplash
A Dribble
Initial approach at glacial speed. Pause… Little fingers wiggle, signaling the final catastrophic lunge. Unsharable toy snatched
“Waaaaah!” Preschool sister mind offended by greedy brother.
“That’s not yours.” Parental judgment leveled on personal property rebel.
“Waaaaah.” Toddler mind fails to grasp adult-style values.
