Sol's Random Stories

Rick woke up yesterday upset, sweating, he couldn't recall anything, but it felt like some dream had just played out, or some sound outside had jarred an image into a small panic.  Lately, Rick sometimes felt as if his most basic life force was slipping away. It felt like his chest slightly caving in, his breath shallow and labored, and then aching limbs.  Weak and nauseous, he knew something was wrong, but Rick tried to stay calm, drawing in the stale apartment air more slowly, concentrating on breath alone, his head spinning in a weird, semi-frozen motion. Was it his heart? Again? Rick recalled his upcoming appointment, a new Kaiser MD. He'll talk about his meds like the last MD, four minutes or so, order some new blood work, then see ya later, off to the next patient waiting thirty minutes, it's a long day.  The moments passed and his mental fog lifted, Rick felt the knot of ache in his stomach relaxing and disappear, the sickness also gone. Still weak, he decided bed ...

The boy nearly bellowed the words again, louder this time. "Where the f- are the scissors, dad? I need them now, I'm running late! You can't find anything in this goddamn house!" "No, that would be your room, son, try opening the cupboard above the sink, and then look straight ahead. You see I'm on the phone, and you're language is horrible." The teen wasn't satisfied. He then comes barreling down the stairs, his long, bony legs tangling so that he has to grab the rail. "Why can't you just tell them to hold on? Can you do that, dad? And help me look? The Lyft is coming right now! Scissors!" The boy's dad felt a moment of deep sadness, like his heart sinking.  Like when you feel as if you have failed. He got off the phone and tried to talk to his son about his blindspot of entitlement, and his rudeness, but it was no use, front door slamming, he was already gone.

"So then, where is my knife block, and my folding chairs, there was a set of six, remember?" His wife kept asking. "You don't know, Jack? You're the one who did all this, and decided where everything went." "You mean the house renovation? Getting everything organized? Making the place normal instead of the prior endless chaos? I didn't get much help." Jack seldom speaks, this was a lot. She just stared at him, hardly tempering her contempt- this is how it's been, too long now, neither try anymore to hide the daily scorn. "Those were things of mine. My aunt Aida gave me that knife block." She was enjoying it now. But, Jack was actually lying. He was pretty sure he took those things out to the alley awhile back, and other junk that was on the patio for maybe years. He just didn't want to hear it. They're gone; he wanted to be gone, too.

They all thought he had gone mad. Not unusual, folks lost their mind every day over nothing, or everything, the pressures were great, survival was a privilege. Fear ruled across the land, mindless and pervasive, folks destroyed themselves, and turned away from the righteous ways.  They mocked him day and night, told funny stories about him, how driven he was, how focused beyond anyone's trying to reason with him, talk to him, and help him with his demons. Some feared him, others thought he was a harmless fool. But Noah just knew he had to finish what he started. He got the message directly from God. He understood the assignment. And, he saw the sky. Noah knew his doomed critics would soon perish in depths of absolute horror and destruction.

Huh? Entitled? Me? Not really, not when you've always deserved it. Yeah sure, I've heard them all by now, the silly nicknames for my game. Pensioner Pooch, Dowry Dog, Will Wagger, all the jealous losers can go cry in their kibble, what do I care? You'd think I kicked the Old Man's bucket myself, but I had nothing to do with his party life- I didn't even like the mean SOB. But, he sure was generous after the fact, who would have guessed it! So, they can judge me, and I'm still at the matinee show, popping my yummy Jordan Almonds. Can't tell me I'm not living that lucky filet mignon life! Now, sit yourself down over there, and stop all that hard staring, boy! It's rude!

"Be the expert of yourself." The professor always said the five words slowly, each measured by a thoughtful pause. She made the point often, like a defiant lesson for life. Ignore it at your peril was what the tenured  philosophy professor meant. Bernard recalled the statement. He remembered how dreary and cumbersome college became, and his life sunk to a busy depression of classes, study, and disinterest. Family would have to understand at their own pace, or not at all. Bernard knew he made the right decision, with a lifetime to collect degrees and careers.  This just wasn't his time to sit in classrooms of restlessness and marginal passion--instead, he had to go where his mind pointed, no matter the destinations unknown.

After all, it was a good gig. Bear was happy to stick around, so long as the tourists kept coming up to him, and he's not chased off the campground by the hat guys.  Bear has been here since last summer, wandering out of the wild one day, too hungry to care about roaming far from his hill cave, and too close to the human types. But, bear knew one thing--they had food! Lots of it, and all he had to do was learn to lay about, looking harmless.  Not a slam-dunk assignment when you're almost eight feet big, but sprawled out on park benches helps to look smaller, and quite innocent. It's a living, bear mused, and it beats foraging about in the forest for boring berries and such. Bear is lucky, and variety, much better.

It's been forty-eight long years. With only a still reflection for sad companion, the tree longed for company of kind, and nothing the lake could do would console its heartbreak and sense of isolation.

He knew it was the last dusk he would see, and a grand one it was. He slowly turned his head to see every part of it, his very last sky, drawing it all in with a full breath. He knew that morning. The weakness was too much, the nausea, pushing the tray of eggs and fruit aside. The idea of eating seemed irrelevant now; neither did he have thirst. Purging death, a final fasting, the soul will suffice.  "A single sky may span a whole lifetime!", he said out loud, as the clouds of decades passed in order. It wasn't at all the doom or abject aloneness he had dreaded. Dusk took its time till he had his peace.

There once was a door that one day simply appeared in the countryside. Apparently, this door led to nowhere at all, or, that's how it looked. After many generations all knew of it, not that anyone really knew much about the door, although many feigned knowing. Strange stories were conjured up.  Some thought the devil brought it. Finally, after many decades of gossip and rumors, the townsfolk grew very upset over it, this door. So, town officials held meetings. Some folks shouted out, saying the offensive door should just be destroyed. Others said leave it as a stark symbol of evil, something to scare us into behaving as we should, but too often don't. Soon, factions with opposing views actually raged and fought over what to do about their cursed portal to hell. It was soon after the fighting that people became so frightened about the door and its intentions, that some families actually packed up and moved far away. Others followed, then more left the small town, never to return...

All the colors had heard of the rumor, that a secret color existed. The primaries wouldn't discuss it. All three refused to acknowledge the notion, although enduring, and assumed it was just a fairy tale handed down to tease a young one's curiosity.  But, some of the colors had their quiet opinions about it being true.  Orange took a philosophical view, asking whether or not the secret color could join the established spectrum. Purple was excited about it, while pink was cautious. Grey felt ambivalent, or somewhat annoyed that the alluring subject never vanished from history.  Non-colors black and white agreed, it's odd that some color would be secret, not wanting to be seen or proven beyond some claim of exclusivity, how vain is that? Magenta thought the colors were fearing for no reason. What could be bad about a new color, what's really the matter with the others? Would the secret color like them? Was that what they truly feared? Others were reluctant to share their ...

The old pals were well into their second draft and bowl of pretzels, Mom's was an odd pub at 12pm. Maybe true for all taverns that open so early, an opposite vibe that's more cathedral than jovial, quiet and reflective recalling the evening's frolics, what's known, what's said to have happened. Stale tobacco and bleached air, the empty cavern is cool, dark, and protected from the rush of bright traffic outside, far away.  "We had the last best childhood out here, you know? Play outside till after dark, endless summer, nickel ice cream cones, no worry. Then it went to crap."  His buddy said nothing in reply, only nodding slowly, then taking a long draw from the chilled mug. Worlds long gone, never to return.

Walter woke up angry, this topic had taken over his mind, yet he continued to consider the angles. Last night, deep in Scripture, Isaiah, Corinthians, also some Proverbs, he must have fallen into a sleep of frustration and unsettled longing.  Walter didn't like that he doubted so much of what others believed. But, his doubts are refueled each day with new horrors in headlines, more reasons to painfully wonder why a Creator would allow such brutally random suffering of innocents, defying the notions of an ethical structure in control of the universe, and mocking the implied physics of moral justice.  Walter sometimes even wonders if evil's instant face laughs at the nostalgic myth of God being in charge of good and bad. Where is this true, Walter asks? When the harsh, senseless chance of sudden and irreversible tragedy or loss falls upon the virtuous family, where are God's protective scales of fairness?  Sure enough, bad happens to good for no reason every moment all arou...