52 Stories, 52 Weeks: April

Here's April's batch of stories - we keep on trucking.

#13: “The Tip of the Arrow”

Arrows fly up ahead, clouding above. Descending like the casting of angels falling from the heavens. On the ground are enemies that need to be made an example of. These arrows will spill out the contents of their targets, showing precisely what they're made of: Fear and blood. 

The first wave was from us. The second wave approaches from the enemy line. Bows pulled back. Release. The arrows block out the sun, for just a moment, turning the bloody day into night. There’s a slight chill in the air, cold even. Then the light came back. The sun welcoming us like angels to the Kingdom of Heaven. With its light comes its angels. Arrows soaring through the air; effortless, majestic, as if to fly. 

The tip of the arrow became God that day. Soldiers on the battlefield became arrows, angels freeing from the Earth with the flood of crimson. Watch us ascend like arrows toward the sky. See just what we’re made us.

#14: “Another Tally Mark” 

My friends have gone away. “Not permanently, only momentarily,” I have to remind myself.

It’s been two consecutive days of great days. Doesn’t happen too often so I do notice when it does. The rest of the week’s been tough, forgettable. So the good days stick out even more. It’s a good problem if you have to ask. It’s another tally mark in favor of the stability of good days, many more ahead. The worst that can happen is if the scoreboard of my record is wiped clean. Who cares? I can just start over anew. The record isn’t isn’t that high anyway.

I, too must go away. I have to find myself and bring it back. Show it off as a trophy. Finding yourself when your head’s been in lost in a dark, dark place is an achievement of itself. I just have to remind myself that it isn’t permanent with the loss. Nothing is. When I recoup and gather the pieces that I’ve lost, then I’ll come back; this time whole. My friends have a way in patience with a grace that took years to form. Just having to keep reminding myself that. The hard part is having to accept it. I never could stomach the love around me. I was starved of it for a long time. Tastes change over time, and I feel the appetite for the warmth. It’s just another tally mark to the scoreboard; winner be damned. It’s all a supplement to the real reward.

#15: “The Raccoon & The Grapes”

The sweetest of grapes are the ones that you labored over as they grow over the summer, but sometimes the easy ones are just as sweet. Just have to keep an eye out. You never know, you might stumble upon the whole treasure trove.

Summer was winding down, but gave its parting gift: Vines and vines of grapes ripe for the taking. It was a particularly hot one that day, so I decided to sit on the porch and to soak in the sunshine before it got too late. The sunset was never bad view either. 

Then I did what I always did when the sun was setting, read a bit. Between the flipping of pages, there was a scurrying sound here and there. I was too invested in the story to mind at the moment. That was until it became consistent enough that it was peaked a quick look. 

Then I finally looked up and saw it about five feet from me: A raccoon. He was a big ol’ fella compared to other raccoons. A little more trash in the can if you catch my drift. Then I decided to see where this would go. If I got bit or be it, rabies be damned. He was trying to get up on the fence to grab a quick snack off the vines. A free meal is free meal. More power to him. Since he was a little heftier than a ‘normal raccoon,’ he was struggling a little bit reaching for the ripe ones. Thought I’d encourage him on. I don’t always stretch far enough to grab the remote control. I get it completely. 

After what is probably the lil trash bandit’s hardest task in life he was finally able to grab a fist full with his little paw-hybrid hands while the other cling onto the fence.

I paraded his efforts. If you want something, you go and get it, right? The raccoon was a damn inspiration. He earned those grapes. Now what I didn’t want to tell the little guy was that there was a bucket of grapes next to him the entire time. He seemed determined for the vines, I didn’t want to bum him out, but you know, work smarter not harder.

I’m sure those grapes were just as sweet.

#16: “Lake Lights”

Eddie Juergen went by the way of living off the land. The usual fishing for his own fish, growing his own produce, living in a van down by the river. The old fashioned way. 

His way of fun never consisted of gadgets or any electronic devices. He preferred pen to paper, and the touch of the page turn in an old musty book. So he’d visit the library for a new find, or some oldie that he somehow missed from his favorite writers. Every time he passed the library doors, before getting into his rusted van, was a lighthouse looking toward the lake’s deep waves. He never did hop in there himself, the stories kept him out.

The main one was the sightings of little grey men exiting flying ships faster than what human aircrafts allow to deliver a message. Out from the waters of the lake, people would be abducted and have God knows what done to them before being dropped off as quick as they were taken. They would come to after a fog of a memory of the last several days and they’d remember those that came from the depths of space but never why. The message was always gone by then. 

Eddie wasn’t one to believe in aliens, but something so close to the water where he’d live close by burrowed “what ifs” in his head like one of those weird tales from old science fiction novels of the 30’s. What if he was abducted? What if he was taken and no one would be there to notice he was gone? What if he was the one to remember the message that everyone else had forgotten? 

It was a day where nothing in a full library interested him. Thousands of channels on the TV, and yet nothing to watch. The lighthouse called to him in a way; He looked the direction it was facing - toward the lake. So he took the rust bucket and went down to the lakeside. 

There he waited. For… some… thing to happen? He didn’t really know how contacting the third kind went about. There wasn’t any telephone number to call, nor a door to knock on. So Eddie was out of ideas there. That was until the lights circled around the middle of the lake. Eddie was just some hippie just getting by. Now today was his lucky day in terms of having a hell of a story to tell the other vagabonds, runaways, people with ears willing to hear him out. 

He didn’t even think about it, but by the time he processed what was going on Eddie was hip-deep in the water, heading toward the lights. 

By paddle by each stroke, Eddie was inching closer to what he’d read about in those musty books. Then there he was, before him five brights lights, everflowing of pinks, blues, and a whole spectrum beyond the human eyesight opening up before - no saucer, no little grey men. No, THESE were the superior life forms to travel across the stars. Of course it was. What better to guide through the light of stars than other sources of light themselves? These lights now traveled across how many galaxies, how many solar systems, possibly universes to get here, precisely at this moment, to face Eddie as a curious new messenger. This was all certainly new to him and just didn’t fit into what he once envisioned the world he knew, nor a future he didn’t care to think about. All of it was… overwhelming…

The lights beckoned to him in unison, without language, directly into Eddie’s head. There was his message. 

“The old ways are through now. The next rung on this ladder of evolution must be passed. We will lead. You will follow as you step into the light.”

Through all of this Eddie was silent. No words passed his teeth, but no message was delivered like they had. He had nothing to say. Damn the new ways. Damn the next step.

With his refusal, he pushed his way away from the lights and toward the darkness of deep water. Eddie was used to his old ways, he didn’t know if there was a chance the way he was, but he wasn’t going to stay and watch the old die away while he was still standing. So he’d be the first to go. He pushed further and further down as the lights stayed where they were. Information they were passing was not going to be pushed onto the willing. 

So there was the old man drifting away. Allowing the message of a new world to be blanketed underneath the current. He denied the message and willed himself toward the bottom of the lake - embracing the oldest obstacle of change there was; the fear of it.

#17: “The Rain Never Hurt Anyone”

I’m out for a run. I smile with the upcoming black clouds forming against a once blue sky. 

The rain never hurt anyone. Calm comes with the sound of thunder, contrasting with a bolt of lightning of yellow against the black backdrop. 

Complaining never did me much good. Those are usually saved for beautiful days where I forget how bad the bad days were. So, I let it wash over me.

Then when I get back home I’ll have the thunder and rain tapping all along the house, the windows to keep me company as I sleep.