Category: random

moon moves in phase
to return in full again
healing takes time

Here’s ‘Bottom of the Stairs, Part 1…’

More sensitive than those around her
She states questioningly, “Hallelujah?”
That is not what it screams, cries, pleads.”
“I wanna hurt you!” she proclaims,
“That is what the thing you call a woman
Shouts from the bottom of those stairs.”
Blood in the room suddenly runs cold.

Ding. It was Reuben’s smartphone announcing that as an Uber driver, he had a guest to pick up at Second and Arlington, in front of the church on the corner.

Within seven-minutes he pulled up in front of the steps leading to the large double doors of the cathedral. Standing to the left of the doors came a tall nun dressed in the traditional black habit of the Order of Saint Benedict.

She stepped, as if floating on air, to the lowered front passenger window and asked, “Who are you here for?”

Her voice was soft and low.

“Sister Mary Francis,” Reuben answered.

“Great,” the Nun responded, “That’s me. A girl can never be too careful, you know.”

She opened the rear passenger door and slipped into the backseat.

“Is 14-oh-75 Mount Vida Street correct, Saint Michael’s?” Reuben asked as he waited for her to fasten her seat belt.

“Yes,” she smiled.

“I didn’t know nun’s were allowed to wear makeup,” Reuben stated as he slipped the car into drive.

“We can,” she answered, “And normally I wouldn’t while wearing such formal attire.”

“Oh,” Reuben said as he studied her face in his rear-view mirror.

He had to admit that she was very attractive and honestly couldn’t understand why a beautiful young woman would become a nun in the first place. Twice he was caught staring at her in his mirrors reflection and both time she smile demurely, looking away.

In less than 20-minutes they arrived at her destination. Reuben got out of the car, rushing to open the door for her.

As she exited, he said, “You know – I’ve always had this secret fantasy…”

“Yes,” she lilted.

“To kiss a nun,” he answered.

“I’m willing to give you a kiss – but you can never tell anyone and only if you’re Catholic and unmarried.”

“I won’t and I am,” he answered all too quickly

She leaned into him and gave him a deep and long french kiss. It was unlike any kiss he’d ever experienced in his life.

“Actually, I lied,” Reuben stated, ashamed of himself, “I’m married and Jewish.”

“I haven’t been honest with you either,” Sister Mary Francis smiled as her voice dropped, “My name’s really Frank and I’m on my way to a Halloween Party.”

He had this weird habit:
Being himself — all the time
Therefore…
Not everyone liked him
And he could care less
And he couldn’t care more

Bed and pillows
Notebook and pen
Dogs
Hot coffee

Peggy Sue Gensaw was born in Crescent City, California on April 26th, 1958 and raised in Klamath, California. A proud member of the Yurok Tribe, she passed away on October 11, 2019 following complications from surgery.

Peggy Sue graduated from Margaret Keating Elementary in Klamath, Del Norte High School in Crescent City in 1976, where she played softball and basketball, and later attended Humboldt State University in Arcata, California. She retired from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, having worked the Title Nine Program under the 1934 Johnson-O’Malley Act.

Growing up with Peggy Sue was always a pleasure to be around. I knew her (and the majority of her family) from a young age, having grown up in Klamath. I knew, like many others, that she’d have a waiting smile and a witty comeback or bit of wisdom when approached.

We even made the newspaper together, along with a couple of other school mates from Klamath.

In the winter of 1975, we had a freakish snow storm that laid down some six-inches of wet slush on Highway 101 between Crescent City, where we were taking the high school activities bus home, and our destination of Klamath. As we approached what we kid’s knew as the 30 mile curve, our van refused to budge as the damp snow was too much for the vehicle to handle.

Under the direction of the CHP, our bus driver, Shirley Baldwin began turning the bus around by making a u-turn. As we came to a stand still, sideways in the roadway, a pickup truck came from the opposite direction and unable to stop struck us broad side.

Only Shirley was injured and had to be looked at by the staff at Seaside Hospital. I was seated in the front passenger seat, with Debbie Wolcott behind me, and Vickie Billy and Peggy Sue behind her.

Everything slowed down — as in a slo-mo movie — as Debbie bounced out of her seat forward, head down towards me. I remember the top of her head hitting me in the face, bending my brand new glasses, jus’ seconds after Shirley shouted, “Hold on, we’re gonna be hit.”

Both Vickie and Peggy Sue bounced around in the back seat. It was Peggy Sue who quipped afterwards, “It’s funny how Tommy’s face is harder than Debbie’s head.”

What a laugh she gave us.

It hurts my heart to know that I will never hear her cheery voice, raucous laughter or any of those witty-wisdom’s she was so generous with throughout our years of knowing one another. And I will for always miss that great big and ever-so willing smile of hers.

Keep the beach fires burning Peggy Sue, we’ll be there before any of us know it.

Between sleep and working 60-hours a week, I haven’t had the time to edit what stories I’ve already written. This is not to say that I’m not writing. I carry my trusty notebook with me to work every evening and throughout the night I jot down my inspirations into words. I have written six short stories since beginning my new job last month and several poems (a couple which I did manage to post here,) before we switched shift-lengths from eight to 10-hours. Please stick around as they are some pretty good stories. I can hardly wait to share them.

Lamont sat quietly at the bar, nursing his bottle of beer. The place was busy and noisy, with one group clacking pool balls around the green felt table and another torturing a karaoke machine.

He had been busy noticing an attractive redhead in the far corner when he suddenly realized someone had taken the bar stool right next to his. Lamont turned and looked at the ‘space intruder.’

Much to his surprise it was a green monster with four large horns growing from its misshapen head, tendril-like whiskers and a single red-glowing, beady but unblinking eye from near its mid-forehead. The scaly beast shook out its leathery, semi-translucent wings before ordering a double scotch.

When the drink arrived, it raised the glass and with a yellowed-fanged grin offered, “Here’s blood in your eye.”

The malodorous oddity tossed the caramel-colored liquid down its ferocious looking snout, then ordered a second one.

“You seem familiar,” Lamont said, before asking, “Do I know you?”

“Yeah, but it’s been a long time,” the monstrosity said, as it held out a grotesquely over-sized green claw, harboring horrifying bony-fingers and massive, dirt-filled nails, “Name’s Zaa-q’ran, but you can call me Ernie and I used to live under your bed.”

She sings glory hallelujah at the bottom of the stairs
She screams hallelujah, standing slightly out of sight
She glides ‘round the corner, misty vapor in the airs
She calls hallelujah, and those willing, hear her spirit
She cries glory hallelujah at the bottom of the stairs.

Blue eight-wheeled Brute.
Catches what filth the world offers.
Seen but not noticed.
Setting in the corner, out of the way.
It will not stock its prey.
Instead, it waits, it waits.
And the world will come to it.
We think we’re the top of the food-chain.
Human-kind is so easily outsmarted.
Such foreknowledge in a garbage can.