Sol's Random Stories

The truth, I hated college life, many professors, some others. Everyone pretentious and bossy. Looked for an experience there. But the culture discouraged me. Coming home made sense.

Weeks roll down like drops. There's only inside. Darkness in the bones. Shadows of dust and dead air. Coffee cups fill the sink. Life gets Amazon'd to the door in bags, packages, various boxes. Inside humans by habit now.

Sharp with harsh drama, it was not the kind of pedestrian dream Martin typically had. He was in a vast warehouse, with folks outside yelling for him to exit. Looking for something small, he didn't understand the urgency. Martin continued to look in the corners of his dream, where shadows have profiles, and the strange physics of movement is never a contradiction of gravity. The others outside give up and disperse, as now the warehouse floats down a narrow channel of water, Martin sees trees passing, and he has found what he had sought, holding it in his hand- his grandfather's silver compass.

Sorry babe, it was your therapist's idea. Like I told you both, I was okay with our natural brown.

"Seriously? You're still in there?", Rick's mom didn't mind a little yelling at 6am. Her booming voice sends their cats under the couch, they know her moods. "Mom. Please. I'm having a problem, I'll be out soon." Rick already knew calm reason does not impress his mom; she thinks reasoning is a sign of surrender. Weak people are reasonable, his mom would say, "and they never get what they want out of life." Rick only wanted to be left alone. But, he has wondered what is it his mom wants out of life. He has no clue, as she never expresses any desires or vulnerabilities. Not since Rick's dad died in Iraq soon after he was born. His mom's life and future all changed in one day. He wondered who his mom was before everything changed, and how very different having two parents would have been. Rick checked his savings acount balance on his phone. Not enough. First, last, and security deposit, then his life could truly change. Soon...

The harsh July sun was baking the whole construction site, with heatstroked time only creeping. "Okay, try this. What if being serious is overrated? What if life's just too short for serious, right?" As if feeling a type of pain, Ned looked at his friend and grimaced. "Here you go again, dude. You think too damn much! Let's get this done so we can go eat, the truck's here in ten. Move!" At the same moment, they pulled up the wide handles of their wheelbarrows loaded down with cement bags, and rattled up the wobbly scaffold ramp, one behind the other.  

William was serious. He was always serious. Maybe earnest describes him better, especially when making a point. "Look, it sounds like a nutty conspiracy, but maybe not. Certain candies, yeah, maybe. Like Jujubes? Remember those? Tell me evil dentists didn't concoct a profitable scheme. Create a kid candy, hard as little lumps of granite, and add bright colors and flavor. The children will break all their teeth! Damn brilliant, if you ask me. Big Hunk, Bit-o-Honey, same. Didn't dentists invent Halloween? Evil!" The others just stared, silent. Someone then mentioned the recent snow, and climate change. "Climate change? It always does.", William again. "They want it to stay the same? Create more volcanos than Starbucks? That's what happens quick, you know? Without the climate changing?" William was serious. He was always serious.

This life seems to be something like one long moment, with the constant illusion of a billion passing moments, and a few become greatly impacting, and a few become entrenched in frozen vaults of memory, never forgotten. Rita Beth was mainstreamed into our regular grade school, I recall her starting from around third grade, although she was a few years older, and had major developmental disabilities. Rita Beth made sounds, never spoke words, and always appeared flushed with random excitement. Her long, auburn hair always flowing behind her, very pale skin with bright green eyes, and rose-tinged cheeks, Rita Beth was always out of breath with the most innocent, otherwordly joy, as if she was always hearing stars in their secret choir, practicing in broad daylight.  At recess on the playground, she mostly ran, or galloped, as if she were really a wild, tireless filly in a young girl's body, clearly equine in personality and nature. Running for her was like a release of sheer bliss, up...

Expecting Amazon, any minute.

As a busy commodities broker, you do not expect to be waiting for AAA, in your limo in the snow!

Skipping the track your prey all day thing. Waiting for GrubHub.

When you watch too much news.

Erica awakened to the jarring grind of the lawn mower next door, with her last dream and cut grass all swept up in the catcher. Her affable neighbor was early rising, even on Sunday morning. Some folks don't value the quiet. The motor drone was persistent. Doubling her pillow, burrowing beneath it, Erica imagined again the cathedral forests.

2023, two years after the virus. The fear pandemic continues. Research towards developing an effective fear vaccine has stalled.

From night's cellar of dream, we ascend again the stair to waking.

A few blocks from the Promenade, the shiny Starbucks on the corner of the boulevard was the only thing alive  a half-hour from midnight. Streets were eerily still and empty for a typical March Wednesday. Peter walked in, squinting from the lights. There were a few other folks sitting, maybe five, all silent. "Yes, hello. Here's our menu." Peter saw before him a small man, thin down to the sly smile. He pointed to the board behind him, the choices were endless. "No. Thanks, I know what I'm having. Just the Doubleshot on ice. That's it." Peter looked around at the others. No one sitting at the tables moved at all. The little man cleared his throat roughy for a full five seconds, then stopped abruptly. "Yes, fine. Our most popular cold drink. Oh, so sorry, forgot to mention when you entered- we are a legacy Starbucks. You may sit anywhere while we prepare your order." "Legacy? Okay, good. What's that mean?" Peter was getting ...

The senior detective knew he had the perfect ruse. No one could suspect or even associate him in any way. Just the way he liked it. Still single, twenty-two years on the force, not retiring yet. On the job- or, more accurately near the job- there were too many opportunities for the detective to pursue certain other interests that he found very enriching. Also, which he kept very secret, obviously for his own protection, but the determined detective had other reasons. The seasoned cop never left any trace back to the cash, most important detail. A private person by nature, the detective hid well the multimillion dollar status that his generous family trust fund provided him. Turns out, many cases he caught, there were the worst victims, mostly elderly or young, or both. The detective was able to help swiftly and directly, no red tape. And, no one ever the wiser.

Daphne wandered for another hour, the ancient woods were so gracious a host on that Ash Wednesday, her favorite among the Catholic days of great importance. For her, always a day of self-reflection and gratitude. Daphne felt embraced by the paths and slopes inviting her to continue deeper into an unfamiliar area, a part of the wild overgrowth all around her. But there was still a narrow, worn path to follow. She had an idea where she was, so no worries. Daphne hiked up a canyon hillside to its crest, and noticed the clearing down lower- and a most remarkable site: a bench. Out of place in the middle of nowhere, Daphne was mystified, and walked towards the old bench. Suddenly, the air around her seemed to darken, as if the sun had set all at once. A slow cloud passing, she thought, but at that moment the bench lit up brightly, glowing as if alive and pulsing. The forest canopy above Daphne darkened more, and she first thought her strange vision was some kind of illusion, or some d...

What actually occurs when galaxies collide? Most heavenly bodies move away from each other. However, Andromeda, three times bigger than our Milky Way, is on a glide path certain to collide with our galaxy, but don't cash in your bitcoin just yet. It's billions of years away, relax. But, imagine this: Andromeda has a trillion stars, Milky Way, 300 million stars. The galaxies will merge, lose their spiral shape, and reform to elliptical shape- but here's the mindboggling, impossible fact: the distances are so vast, any two stars actually colliding is extremely unlikely. A square dance of 1.3 trillion stars, and no galactic toes stepped on. Space is that big. But many star casualties are flung off, out of their orbits, or drown in the relentless vacuum of the giant black holes that each galaxy has as its center. During the galaxies' merger, the two massive centers will be side by side, drawing in everything too weak to resist. Meanwhile, enjoy your Netflix.

(Sunday, after dawn, the amateur astronomer awakens, and follows his stray thoughts from a dream.) "Can our own mortal imagination sometimes serve as a mind exerciser, a workout of worldly wondrance, considering the parameters of reality? My own aging pea-brain is too small to somehow contain the universe's hologram of vastness. I really need the expanding brain of space itself to comprehend the nature of the cosmos, the Face of God, which no one sees. For example, the unimaginable distances in space, the basic concept of light years, a universe so vast that my bicameral thoughts must release to consider the physical possibility of such a limitless space, one that contains trillions of galaxies, innumerable stars like our sun. The dimly weak human mind must flex as a muscle does to consider the embrace of space, how unfathomable and big everything is, how nanoscopic and insignificant we are among incomprehensible relationships. The ubiquitous, two-sided tape of stick...

"Okay, I can't believe you asked me that. Of course it really hurt, seven times! I could have been a pig, squirrel, mouse, anything!"

The detective looked nice, so professional and polite, asking questions carefully, listening patiently to old granny's replies. It was a serious but routine visit. A special task force, electronic crimes unit. Some targetted network traffic pinpointed to locations in the area. Granny's address was on the list, so he had to talk to the kindly widow. It was an amiable exchange, the detective soon left after she assured him that she wouldn't know a Wi-Fi from a berry pie. Granny told him she only listened to her Christian radio, day and night. Later, safely back in her secret, well-hidden computer room, old granny allowed herself a chuckle, re-starting the machines, quickly reconnecting to her dark web hobby. Of course, no one could imagine that dear old granny was riding shotgun for a lucrative stolen bitcoin laundering operation. Sure, don't act surprised. You suspected it.

She expected the always tense exchange, the manager's tone and pressure, repeating talking points as trained. No problem. She expected the redundant emphasis on sales, the standard lecture about office costs, the usual warning that longer hours may be required, time-off frozen. She expected the same tired spiel heard at every anesthetized department meeting or seminar, after a tortured year of brand new incompetence from brand new leadership, while her employer's brand suffered a horrible ambush of decimated corporate earnings. She expected fifteen, maybe twenty plodding minutes of her boss's status quo, "Let's up our game!" nonsense, then the short drive, what to make for dinner. She didnt expect she'd be going home to her family, unemployed.

"My friends, let me be clear: a vote for me means more food, like more nuts for the squirrels!"

"Even in my massive wake I can evoke the Wolf of the Oceans!"

Larry Blake got old and ruined his health trying to please his difficult wife, and he utterly failed. She wasn't ever satisfied by nature, but also non-expressive, never vulnerable, and comfortably cold. Blake got a stent in a blocked artery at 63. It slowed him up, but his deep sadness was a worse sort of blockage, with no treatment option. Blake knew he was still alive, no matter how he felt thru out the day and night. Walking in the morning, he saw a side-shadow following. He felt the hard cement beneath his shoes, so there was no doubt.  But, the disembodied shell soon became the man, and the man disappeared into the ghostly afternoon, no matter, nothing personal, like Larry Blake's life.  

Some would call it a soft torture. Being with him was like always being wrong, as if built into the moment, part of his company. Something always needed his correcting, or criticism, or scorn. It had all worn her down. She felt old at 29, tired, waking up alone. He's left to drive his dump truck, most mornings same routine, he has his own rig. She felt dead. Sure, the major organs were still working okay, but that was all- the rest was dark room, bare wall. Years of the same day flying past her mind, like a loop of grainy reel repeating into a clownish infinity.

First date and last date, they both knew it within five minutes, so both hid behind their phones. As is usually the case, young Alice had no idea she was sitting with an alien. His concealed identity, however, was very safe, especially these days. The talk continued despite their screens. Alice resumed her point. "Yeah, I'd like to be in love. Just don't want to get lost, or lose myself with someone, ya know, Garth?" "Well, no.", he said plainly. "How do you lose yourself? Wherever you would go, there you are."  His factory logic came with a hollow expression and monotone words. "Well, I suppose." Her sudden discomfort made her toes curl with caution. "It's what people say. You lose your own life, your independence.", she clarified. "You don't want love to disrupt control on your life and future?", he pressed again for her answer. "No. Yes. That's right. You really do understand me, Garth. I li...

"Ah, missed this so much! It was a long, bad year we'll never forget. We're so delighted that Lake Spa has reopened, my skin is a mess!"

"Why no, my little cupcake, I'm not- ugh- getting a cramp."

When needed most, an eye of forest is found when you're lost, nearly out of luck, or ready to lay beneath the leaves, but familiar voices say no, that's not a choice. From somewhere, ancestors urge us on, soothing bruises of confusion, burdens of faith that defy solution, they lighten over time. But, we keep that keen trust on faith, too. Then, turn over to the caravans of clouds all we cannot control. Pain embraced, no choice but courage and hope.

He saw the spider's shadow well before the long legs climbing down, one, then the other. Glad, he's no longer alone.  

Justin, numbed by loneliness, wouldn't fear an apparition floating out of the dead silent dusk. He'd welcome the company.

With screen-lock accidentally off, Edgar's pretentious smartphone- bouncing about in his pocket as he jogged- can call anyone in its Contacts it wants.

Twenty years ago Becka's mom was a young, married alcoholic. She stopped drinking the day she got pregnant. Clearly, Becka had reason to worry over how her mom would react to the sudden and unexpected revelation.

Memes, tropes, narratives, and trends. Influencers, creators, cancellers, and more followers, followers,followers.  This is American cultural group think.  Most are okay with it, there's an app.  It's easy and fast, with loyalty points. Check Ding-Dong News for the facts.  Both fact-checkers and hat-checkers agreed to re-check all their conceits.  But there's a thief in the congregation. America's whistling past graveyards.  Most don't know what that means.  Crazed culture a remotely-controlled monster made to look like a cool toy. Enemies are both without and within. Memes, tropes, narratives, and trends.

Milleniums enduring, now broken with sadness, the stone creatures knew this may be their final meeting. They launched a star show to mark their gratitude, despite what may be their fate, or terrible last destiny. Some say hammer creatures draw near, others say don't be fearful. Together after dawn, they sing their ancient hymns.

It was certainly a close call. Could have been tragically worse, as they say, like all the things said when a bad moment is averted. Also called lucky. Shayna lost it skidding down the hill, the bike wheels sliding sideways on the grass, and headed for the street. So, the tree was actually a good thing. She glanced it at an angle while falling, scraping the bark so it tore her sleeve.  Shayna landed at the cement's edge, hardly bruised, her bike also okay, no worries. Her mom will never know, except for a missing shoe, already forgotten.

Gordon didn't want to think about it anymore. But he still did. It was just a package, that's all. What's the big deal? True, it was technically none of his biz. Didn't have his name on it, or address. The small package was for his former next door neighbor, Stefan, gone three months past  They shared the duplex for a year, Stefan's unit identical to Gordon's, both small, for one. They got along okay as neighbors but never became friends. Gordon had an odd feeling about him from the start, with his Serbian music and loud phone conversations, but Gordon kept quiet. He just felt that his foreign neighbor was into something unsavory. What did he do? Why was he in America? What did he leave behind in the war-torn country he fled? Gordon certainly had his theories, but what about this delivered package? And, why did his neighbor Stefan vacate so abruptly, saying nothing prior, leaving in one day really, gone. Gordon thought him suspicious, into something secret. ...

In a conversation between facing mirrors, you can imagine how self-focused the dialogue would be. Can you start everything with I, me and my? They would chat right at each other, but repeating into infinity.

Mack Kelly never recalled it before- that was puzzling, given the frequency of his route- but at sixty miles per hour there's no time to think, veering over and gearing down the off-ramp to a quarter his speed. The diner had suddenly appeared out of nowhere on the I40N, just a fuzzy glow rectangle embracing a hillside, with some big rig parking in front. Kelly couldn't see anyone inside, but it was all very bright and open, so he felt lucky. Driving thru midnight desert and mountain highway for hours, a break wAould be good. Coffee. Maybe some pie after a burger. He deftly rolled his 18-wheeler into a safe slot, eventually climbing down. After being in his cab, the diner was almost too bright. Hand shielding his eyes, Kelly saw no one, still no movemenr at all inside. The front door set off a little bell, but the tinkling chime was the only sound. He walked up to the counter and sat down on the round cushion stool. This diner was really old school, Kelly thought, like vin...

I was mad, but now I'm scared. Running away was dumb. Where am I?

The quaint town of Tennison was only on the Texas map because of one man, Theodore A. Tennison, founder of the national chain of Tennison Toy Stores, and America's biggest model maker. For eighty-six years and three generations of family, the company had sold more car, plane, and boat models than anyone. Tennison himself amassed a fortune, with four factories and many stores in many states. The much grown corporation went to Tennison's sons and daughters. Then, strangely and abruptly, a day before turning eighty-five, old man Tennison vanished. From town, home, business, off the face of the earth. Last seen in a barber shop, then vaporized, no trace, no clue. His family went crazy. The police suspected kidnap, foul play, but nothing every gelled, and every lead disappeared into more vapor. That was fourteen years ago, still an open missing person case, and complete mystery to the present. Except for the young, the whole town remembered because Tennison's disappearance b...

The two young rabbinical students were deep into their friendly debate, controversial, but they were alone. Topics that have come up many times, and always there's a stalemate at best. The first student went on with her argument, once again in a low voice, just in case, "It's very plain in the Torah: God punishes bad behavior, for ignoring the rules, living against pious values. It's justified, destroying people who don't obey. That's who the God of our people really is, and it's described right here." She points to the old book for emphasis. The second student also stared at the Torah, considering how to respond to the strong points made. Despite his studies, he long had questioned the prophets' ideas about God's identity. He couldn't believe disease, violence, or hardship was sent by a Creator he wanted so desperately to worship. "How could it be true, this other face of the Torah's God, so cruel and heartless to cause such...

No longer willing to endure their ridicule, vegan blue-footed booby marches off to friendlier company.

The hospital's patients all cured, everyone else also went home.

After making the rounds, Security Turtle takes a short lunchbreak, no time for utensils.

Still at the bar, the two savvy stock traders were getting silly,, as the restaurant got busier. Trash talk piling higher after some shots and beers. First trader says, "Let's say you're a penny stock guy with cash to gamble; which neither of us would be that dopey, but let's pretend. You pile up a ton of shares of something, let's say a hundred thousand at a penny each, so a one thousand dollar investment. The tiny nobody company then stumbles into the product, or patent, or research breakout of the decade, stock zooms to five dollars. That's a grand slam homerun, baby!" Second trader nods in agreement, but then says, "No, wait. A penny to five dollars? That's a grandslam, out of the park and parking lot, city, atmoshere, straight up thru space, than bounces off a moon rock. It's a moon shot, dude. Once in a lifetime, mine hopefully, right?. Never had a rocket like that. Even bottom-feeder stocks, never buy under a buck a share, too risky...

Typically never minding her own business, Rolondo's wife was always so very nosy, insisting on knowing about everything he did. He'd wait until she was safely asleep, then he could order his comic books.

In the park, it was the single question he dreaded the most. "Is she friendly?", asked the man with his little poodle approaching Ralph and his pom-chi.  Sure, Ralph's dog was very friendly, her tick-tock tail wagging even when she reflexively growls at the other curious dogs for no reason. For Ralph it becomes a complicated, even troublesome question.  Friendly doesn't mean knows how to make friends. With people, it's just the same, Ralph thoughtfully reasoned, recalling how he knows friendly, unsociable people, how hard they are to deal with. Or, maybe he's simply thinking of himself, Ralph wondered. Never liked the dog parks, so his dog's socializing lag is also a reflection of Ralph's parental neglect, he fears others may conclude. He'll be judged. "Why isn't she friendly?" "Don't you love you dog?", they're really wondering, the lifelong critical voices in his own head. "No. We're not friendly."...

Each got discouraged at different times, sometimes together, they would swear it was just too hard, especially the breathing. But, only for awhile. Then, they'd start practicing again, the griping done. Determined mammals and athletes, they'll change Olympics Synchronized Swimming forever.