52 Stories, 52 Weeks: January

 

So I think 2023 will finally be the year I do this challenge that Ray Bradbury set up: 52 stories in 52 weeks. Then you have 52 stories in one year because "Not all 52 can be bad." So here is all the January stories! One month down, eleven more to go! 

#1: "Moving Out" 

The last box of the move has been gently placed down on the floor. It wasn’t an easy move, but it wasn’t one done in solitude. Your few good friends from high school that stuck around town came down for the form payment they saw fit for helping an old friend out. Pizza and beer can go a long way the more you realize in dire situations.

They toss the empty 24-pack and ditch the pizza boxes in the trash after a quick two-hour trip down memory lane of the glory days. We really outta hang out more. If only our schedules aligned more. That new gig have better hours? Better than where you were, you thought.

They leave you with a pat on the back, smiles on their faces, grease on their shirts. You don’t see them as often as you’d like, but that’s fine. You’re all in agreement that time, nor distance affects your strong bond. The days of running in the dead of night in teenage debauchery is definitely over, thus the 30-year old knees declared.

So there you stand in your new place alone. This alone time doesn’t feel lonely for once. The last relationship didn’t work out so you had to move. Mom and Dad offered to take you in for a bit, but you wanted to play the field a little bit. It can be a little distracting trying to get laid when Mom ruins your game when she asks whether or not you and your ‘friend’ wanted the leftover chicken and lasagna. Of course you did, but that was beside the point. Independence was something that was a must at that point in your life.

Fuck the boxes, you thought as you see that it’s 7 PM. Tomorrow’s the day for today’s problems. So you go to your room. Ain’t too much to look at. Got an unplugged TV for the two streaming services you had and that coveted PS5 that your ex somehow missed as they ransacked your stuff before they dipped. “To hell with the books, my Blu-Rays of the Lord of the Rings Extended Editions, and whatever shit art drafts I had in the process. They can be replaced!” You thought as you tucked that PS5 with all those logged hours on Elden Ring and God of War: Ragnarok under your arms as you got in your car, looking at the old place for the last time. If it had been raining it truly would’ve been an Oscar-nominated moment. “You can take whatever you want, just leave me my memories of getting so angry from dying over and over.”

Beautiful heartbreaking stuff there.

The room wasn’t much, but you realized that it was your room again. That was a start, and start on Day 1 was enough. So you lay down and begin to drift after a long day.

Tomorrow, you will keep at it at making this bare apartment a home.

Someday soon, the boxes will be put away.

Someday soon, you’ll flesh out this place to more of your personality and not some modern minimalist.

Someday down the line, you may have to do this again.

Not right now.

Starting over wasn’t too bad. There was still time for it. There always is. It’s always a work in progress but you’ll keep on keeping on.

#2: "Memory"

Hammer falls upon

The final nail; a perfect

view, framed forever

#3: "The Promise of an Oak"

The seed of a promise came as a whisper to a seed of an oak. Nestling in the palms of the floral-hopeful whispered a dream, “May you grow to be a fine giant.” The seed heard this hope and thought it would do its best; a promise to become a giant indeed. Then they dug a small hole into the earth and buried their dream with it.

Dreams come at a cost. The cost was simply time. Time for nurture, time for growing, time to forget a promise while they lived their life, time for forgetting that the seed had a job to do, and that it was a job done in secrecy. Before they knew it, roots sprouted deep down into the dirt to bear its stance before stretching out, floral fingers reaching for the clouds.

The floral-hopeful forgot with time before they took notice once again that a giant stood where a dream was once whispered. They stood under the giant before laying down to ease the pressure off of now old, tired feet. They had a small laugh to themselves because they had forgot something else, too. Not only did they forget of the giant growing nearby all this time, but they had forgotten that they too were growing without notice. Their roots had changed from a brown to near white. Joints in the hands and knees had grind down and ached time to time. Wrinkles creased where all their smiles in life tended to curl up. All without noticing it themselves.

“A giant, indeed. A fine giant.” The floral-hopeful got up from under the giant’s shadow and trembled back the way home. Perhaps to find a new dream seeing that the oak kept its promise.

#4: "Pending Doom"

The power of the brain is just as fascinating as its short circuits. Some things don’t just click so easily as they should. In all our heads there is a sector known as The Affiliates, a microscopic bureaucracy of micromanagers, do the processing of a vast amount of data and information taken and given in out every day lives. Sometimes that process gets a little… messy…

Out on the usual trail of a runner’s morning routine, Joe Schmoe is blissfully unaware of a running partner following not far behind in the brush next to him. Usually The Affiliates are quick to process this information, acting as Joe Schmoe’s instinct, but the transfer of that information kind of dropped the ball on that one.

“Hey Felix, where’s the paperwork for the ‘Impending Doom’ section of the brain? There’s a whole fuckin’ cougar staring at this guy through the trees for the past half an hour and he’s JUST now noticing. What he doesn’t know is that the reason she’s following him is because he’s inching towards her cub’s location.” Sheila barely entered his cubicle.

“Jeez, that’s a little intense. Who’s responsible for us just now getting this information?”

“Probably Melvin.”

“Fucking Melvin. Anyway, might wanna do something about that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that. I just need the proper paperwork.”

Felix shuffles through the blank paper files in the drawer at his desk. “Hmm,” he lets out curiously. Then he stops with a realization. “They’re not here.”

“What?” Asked Sheila.

“They’re not here. They’re supposed to be but they’re not. Shit!” Felix gets up from his swivel chair. “Sheila, hit the emergency button, we’ve got to do this manually. Go, go, go!” As they calmly walked to the appropriate areas. It was a dire situation, sure, but there’s still protocols, dammit. They’re running an office, not a circus.

Sheila hits the convenient red button square center in the office (in accordance to official protocol) as she calmly calls the attention of the other colleagues. “EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. THERE’S A GODDAMN COUGAR.” They all collectively raised their heads, acknowledged what she said, then sat their heads back down to their screens. Protocol.

Felix pops in a handwritten request to give all Affiliates the ‘Impending Doom’ go ahead into the Main Computer and had to wait.

1%. 5%. 10%.

Felix crossed his arm in impatience.

11%.

“Do we seriously have to wait for an ‘Impending Doom’ signal??” He asked rhetorically.

12%

“For fuck’s sake.” He grumbles.

15%. He attempts to send a second request, this time at an overrule so that good ol’ Joe won’t get mauled by a mountain lion.

2%. “Uh oh.” Not good.

To poor Joe’s luck, he found the so called ‘big ol’ kitties’ (as he called it), tried to pet them, and was immediately subjected to the bigger kitty’s motherly rage in the form of fangs and claws. Details will be minimal as this doesn’t need to get gross, but in about a minute a man was practically turned into a plate of spaghetti. Horrifying shit.

And with that, they all got the notice and the building was down for ‘permanent renovation’ and they all had a moment’s notice to get out. The Affiliates just spare moments to pack up the office and leave a dying body to find a newer ‘office’. They usually call it a ‘relocation’ to lessen how morbid these circumstances are, but that’s a bureaucracy for you.

“Fucking Melvin,” grumbled Felix to himself with his box in hand. He was just starting to get cozy at his desk.