Mother - Flash Fiction

  MOTHER

She was just getting ready to rasp a little ginger over the concoctions when the screen door to the mudroom snapped shut.

“Mom,” a disembodied voice called from the foyer.  “I’m home.”

Mom threw a smile into her voice as she returned the greeting, “I’m in the kitchen, Sweetie.”

She glanced up from her preparations as Jerry came through the kitchen door and dropped a thick book with his along with his eight-inch electronic pad with a thump on the counter.  When he reached up and pulled two sides of his pony tail to tighten the Harley Davidson hair tie, she realized she was beginning to get used to his college look.

Nodding toward the counter, she asked, “A book?  I thought everything was electronic now.”

Jerry pursed his lips.  “Yeah, the stupid thing cost a fortune.  They haven’t updated manufacturing factory construction since 1974.”

His eyes lit up as he sidled up to the side of the island.  “Fruit cups.”  He reached for one.

Mom, in a blur that would have put a frog catching a fly to shame, slapped the back of his hand.  “Not for you.”

He jerked his hand back.  Redness already blooming above his knuckles.  “Ow… Just one.”

“Nope, these are for the Women’s social gathering at church.”  She shook the ginger root at him.  “Don’t touch.  I need ten of these.”  With that, she stopped and pointed her finger at the cluster of fruit laden glasses and counted, her lips forming numbers silently.  “Need three more.  You want to help.”

“Sure, Mom.  Just torture me.”  He grinned and pulled over an empty glass and held it up.  It was blue translucent with green swirls and hints of red and purple streaks running through it.  “This is pretty.  What’s it called?”

“Depression glass.  I found a set of twelve at a second-hand store in Leavenworth.”

“Kewl.”  He set it back down.  “How do you want it stuffed?”

“Like the others, Honey.  Just vary the layers some.”  She pushed a bowl of blackberries his way.  “Make it look pretty.”

Twenty minutes later, they gently put the ten glasses of fruit in a box that had been a case of Monster energy drinks. 

“Jerry, would you put these in the back of the CRV.  Be careful, support the bottom.  I have to go up and change.”

Jerry slides the box of the Women’s social treats over the edge of the island to rest on his splayed fingers underneath.  “Get the door, Mom.”

She held the door for him and watched him slowly ferry the precious cargo around to the back of the Honda.   Letting the door close, she went up to change. 

#

Jerry waved his foot under the bumper, and the hatch latch snapped, and the door slowly rose.  He ducked his head and slipped the fruit filled glasses onto the deck and wedged them between the first-aid kit and a shelving kit he figured was a project mom had gotten for dad.  He grinned wondering if dad knew it was there.

Back in the house he gathered up his factory book and personal pad and headed to his room.  Soon as mom left, he would have some peace and quiet until his two sisters got home.  He figured he could get in at least an hour reading.

“Jerry.” 

Through the cracked door to his room, he heard his mom call from downstairs.  He swung off the bed and opened the door.

“Yeah, Mom,” he yelled down the stairs.

She came to the bottom step.  “Would you clean up the kitchen for me, please.”

Oh brother, what nerve.  He didn’t even get a fruit cup, and now she wants him to clean up the mess they made constructing them.  “Okay, Mom.  No problem.”

Jerry clambered back onto the bed and picked up his book as he heard the back-door slam.  With a sigh, he got up and headed to the kitchen. 

In the middle of the island was large flower vase filled to the brim with all the fruit cup fixings.  A card sat on the counter before it.

“Jerry, this is for you, for helping me. – Love Mom.”

SPRING TIME - A Poem

SPRING TIME

In the cycle of all things, there is a time of renewal.

Spring time, when the imagined dead resurges.

Spring time, when sleeping things awaken.

The Earth spins and wobbles

As it axis squares to the sun's marvel

Temperatures start to rise.

The Bear stretches in her cave,

The Woodpecker tests each tree,

The Skunk kits snuggle mama in their retreat.

Flowers tend to peek, as to

See is it really Spring

Yes, on the pedals is lights caress.

Spring, Midwifes favorite time

They prod and pry to new mothers  cry

As Spring time babies squeal in delight. 

New couples begin with a soft touch of hands

As they stroll through Cherry blossom lanes.

Absorbing Springs Fragrance and each other.

Hopes heighten, ambitions quicken

Work, home, families and Friends

Start planning picnics.

Where the Spring well of hope flows unattended

Dip in your ladle for refreshment.

Spring is the time for betterment.

In the cycle of all things, Spring is

Where it all begins.

Spring, the Lodestone of happiness. 

MASTER RISEN AND THE THROWROD - Flash Fiction

MASTER RISEN AND THE THROWROD

By E.J. Hall

"Master?"  The acolyte quietly queried the lean shirtless man hanging by his toes from a bar suspended from the ceiling.   

The master curled up forward and grasped the bar with his hands, unhooked his toes and swung down dropping to the floor silently.  "Yes, Jared."

"There is a sign of a Throwrod,” he spoke with his eyes cast down at the polished red floor. 

The master smiled.  He wiped the sweat from his face and torso with a towel.

"The King said, tell Master Risen, find the Throwrod and implore it to come and bless the kingdom."

~~~*~~~

Risen stepped out on the ice of the River.  He pulled up the woolen hood on his smock and trod out across the snow-clad surface till he came to the first print.

The step the Throwrod left on the surface was unmistakable.  Risen was the only one that could tell when the step was made.  He was the only one that could converse with the beast when found.  Kneeling, he put his hand in the center of the print.  He could feel the surface was warmer with a degree of moisture yet not refrozen.  The Throwrod had passed over the river not six hours before.  An assessment of the last step on the river will give him speed.  With that, he can figured it would be ten hours to catch up to it.

The next Throwrod step was ten yards away.  Risen could see it had made its way across the river in a straight line. 

It was the second time he had encountered a Throwrod. It looked the same as the one before, he expected that. It sat on it's rear with its hind legs sticking out straight reminding Risen of a child's stuffed bear stowed in the corner. There were no feet other than four concave pads that went straight like tree trunks to the body.  The Throwrod was fifty feet high sitting covered in a light dusty gray/green that the King sought.  It had no eyes or ears; it only had a slight lump that could be a neck for want of a head.

Risen approached to see all the Throwrod without craning his neck.  He dropped his hood and spread his hands wide. 

"Hello, Risen."  A voice came to his mind.  "For what do you seek me?"

"Great one, as no man can divine your purpose, no man can alter your purpose or understand your reason, I have been sent by the King to beg your attention,” Risen spoke aloud. 

"I know.  What would your King have of me?"

"He cries for your blessing on his Kingdom.  That you would come to the valley and shake.  The King would impart any payment that he is able."  Risen had seen a Throwrod shake several decades ago, and the spores released caused the land for a hundred miles to flourish for years.

"The winter is a bad time.  I am traveling North.  To go to your valley is not in my way."

          "I see,” Risen acknowledged.  "I will relate that to the King.  Can you come in the Spring?"

"I cannot."  The voice was neutral in Risen's mind.

"One more question, if I may?"

"Yes."

"When the thaw comes, and headwaters melt, would you shake on the river that feeds the valley?"

The Throwrod sat silently for a time, then rose to its four legs.  "I must go.  When the snow melts and the waters swell.  I will shake to your benefit."  With that thought, the Throwrod rose and lumbered on across the snowy high plain.

Risen raised his hood and turned, good news for the King.

All rights reserved by Emmett J. Hall

Lady Ivy - Flash Fiction

LADY IVY

I sat down on the bench across from the prone figure and smiled. The township had made the area a city park shortly after she appeared ten years ago. I was young and impressionable then at fifteen. Thus, to protect mine and other’s sensibilities, until the vegetation took over, the city fathers kept a tarp over her being she was anatomically correct. It appeared as though a naked giant had strolled by and laid down for a nap and petrified.

University professors and scientist from all over the world came to view and test the woman. They x-rayed and ultra-sounded her with results that gave them nothing, no more information than if they had tested a lime stone cliff. Scrapings were okay, but when some overzealous investigator carved a softball chunk from her shoulder, the city shut down further studies. They set up a bench along a bark trail so people could come and reflect on her purpose. After a few years, her novelty wore off for few came by. Now and then tourists came by and sat on her cheek for a picture and then go on their way.

I assumed my usual stance by leaning over with my elbows on my knees. “You know I saw you peek.”

She didn’t move. I didn’t expect her too. She hadn’t moved since the time I was here a couple of years ago when an eye lid opened briefly and snapped shut again. A flake of moss slide to the ground from next to her nose from the action. I pried my finger in the crease of her eye lid but found no purchase that I could use as leverage and gave up.

I got up and walked around her. The chunk taken from the shoulder was little more than a divot now as the weather had smoothed out the ragged edges. “Did that hurt? When they took that piece?” Silence. I caressed the spot. Moving along admiring the figure, I decided the ivy made a fine garment for her. I wondered if she were to stand to her full thirty-five-foot height would her other side would be covered in grubs and worms and roly-poly bugs embedded in the clingy black clotted soil that would be stuck to her side? I wondered a lot of things about her. Did she peek at anyone else besides me?

I, for a time, accepted the notion that some artist had slipped into the forest and carved her out of a boulder. Then when she peeked at me, I knew she was alive. I knew she was in there, somewhere, a consciousness hiding. But, why hid? What happened that put her in this spot?

I had questioned her over and over. Never any response. I put her to my back and returned to the bench and sat again.

The ground began to tremble, then shake. It sounded like a train coming down the tracks. Trees started to sway, and some limbs broke and crashed to the ground. As I tried to stand, the bench lurched and pitched over rolling onto its back taking me with it. I pulled myself up on the seat and looked over at her as I heard a crack like lightning and a fissure opened up beneath the prone figure.

Her feet slipped into the newly formed crevice up righting her slowly. As she began to sink, both her eyes opened. I could see the shock in her aquamarine eyes as she disappeared below the ground. Crawling frantically, I pulled my way along the trembling earth to reach where she had laid for all this time as the ground closed up.

The shaking stopped. She was gone.