Sol's Random Stories

Sol's Random Stories Stories from random images. solsrandomstories.blogspot.com Sol's Dream Galleries Free association, image, dream stories in real time.  solsdreamgalleries.blogspot.com Sol's Inner Vault Personal thoughts on faith, religion, philosophy, and life.  solsinnervault.blogspot.com Sol's Media Debunk Examining biases and fallacies. solsmediadebunk.blogspot.com

End of this world after a long, lucky life, the last struggles of body, the final moment we're gone, drawn away to the next mystery.

The kids in the building called her birdlady, but it wasn't meant to be rude. Cheerfully eccentric, Lupe loved and tended her bird visitors all day long on her big balcony, with several small baskets of seeds, fruit and nuts. What Lupe's nosey neighbors really wanted to know about was her m ystery boarder, it's been two years now. No one ever sees him come or go, only his sillouette on her shaded kitchen window. Folks speculated he's  ill, or a hermit, or just a loner type who stays home. When they would ask Lupe about her cowboy friend, she would  smile, and tell them he wasn't a cowboy, but he was retired from a long career in law enforcement.

Odd is always a matter of perspective and orientation. But, most of all, odd is a matter of experience. Reba in Unit B didn't dislike her neighbors, or resent talking to them.  When necessary. Daily small talk, however, wasn't her necessity. That's all, nothing more to know. They watched her come and go, mostly at night, switching her patio plants with others in the yard, moving swiftly to avoid any miscellaneous humanity.

Maybe awake, maybe not, maybe those suspended moments in between, before the plunge into earlier depths, seminal ancient stem of the brain's eye taking over, as the long day's trivialities submerge and molt to smaller swaths of color and wordless memory, dropping further down to hypnogogic reveries of influence and impression.  Maybe awake, maybe not, maybe we can never really know which?  Mind travels its neural circuits and pathways beyond our desire's control.

Rhonda sees the creepy guy a moment late as he comes around a parking wall, crazy grinning.  She's trapped, but her savvy action hound isn't having it at all, with this guy approaching. From the backseat, the amazing Harvey leaps out in one move of pure growl, teeth bared for battle, Rhonda's very own super-loyal gladiator and canine of courage. The creep thinks twice about his ambitions, lurches sideways, then bolts down the parking ramp. Harvey protects way above his pay grade, with furious passion, and can bark like dogs many times his size.

Her new assignment was a documentary, not fiction. Only one way to get the real scoop, and the tree's view. So, the brave and determined cat cub reporter somehow managed to embed herself within the raccoon life.

Evelyn and Hal are married for a long time now, she might say a hundred years, he might say a hundred and fifty, but probably would just think it. Never one to parse moments, Evelyn stirred thru the hot  chili, then offered a question: "What's up with the dog's poop lately?" Hal tried to pretend he didn't hear. But as she started again, he warily asked "What do you mean?" "When I take her for a walk , she poops, and it stands straight up. What is that?" Hal wanted to be anywhere else in the universe. "That is great kibble, that's all.", he stands straight up to leave the kitchen fast, clouds looming quickly overhead. "Widgie can do lots of things we can't.", Hal said quietly, but no one heard.

Shiva, creator, destroyer, dispassionate to both, i ndifferent to change, dismissive of time, uncaring of bliss or suffering, moved neither by grace nor evil, galaxies born or crashed together across a cosmos of emptiness, besides a few structures glimmering across imagination, but that doesn't add up, where is everything else that's supposed to be somewhere, lost for now until the next biggest telescope goes online, we'll see farther than ourselves this time, to the edge of all questione, Shiva, creator, destroyer, dispassionate to both .

The sage old parrot passed thru yet another gauntlet of challenge, a brief but intense survival battle. The younger Kea recognized the lack early, his elder having all the experience. A few menacing swoops, some feathers scraped, it was over, for that day at least. A ngling across a darkening New Zealand sky, back down thru the lush valley, the old Kea had already forgotten his aggressor.

More than just ridiculously cute, you could say Rico was a straight up miracle, hard fate's side-wink exception, a long-odds favorite. Found stumbling out of a major forest fire, the singed and dazed lad couldn't even eat for days. Only kind sips of water kept his tiny heart going long enough for hope's self-healing to begin. Just a small second chance that spoiled death cannot touch, Rico will have his good life after all.

It was closer to daybreak,  Jon realized once again that he had been thinking too much. He must write it out once more, last time: "Relax, this note to myself says. I'm in charge of very little, and able to influence less and less. It's really all good, whatever it is,  despite fearful thoughts we have about our own ending . F or prophets and experts,  a hot mess , what's beyond the body's demise, well, it's anyone's artful guess. Let's include nothing is beyond, as that may be part of the mix, an optimistic and hopeful matrix of possibilities, some say imagined. Believers sort out the big issues, questions, and solutions. Faith answers everything for eternity. Those unbelieving feel that if some beyond is a whimsical myth, there will be no one around to care, or know anything is lost. It's really all good, whatever it is." His mind still unsettled yet calmer , Jon thought maybe now he'll sleep.

Car pulls into driveway moment.

"So, these two Scottish lads walk into an Irish pub..."

"Yes, a mammal I am, that's correct. Me, where a mask? Underwater? That's a good one, Dr. Fauci!"

"Thanks, God, for the carrot and the paint job."

The sacred blue waterfall in Madeira is well-hidden, and a tightly kept secret among the townsfolk. They rightly fear the world's instant attention to their protected paradise of legendary healing, and restorative powers. The fall's source lies deep in a nearby granite mountain's core, that too is an unknown location, among vast underground lakes, grotto lagoons, and pitch black caves with timeless streams. The rich luminescent glow even the elders cannot explain, or their ancestors, only gratefully in awe. If you ask nicely and are in need, they'll kindly bring you a cask, so you may feel your soul healed.

The ghostly grey reflection in the water tells the truer story, all color gone from gravity's pull, a certain secret vortex revealed, an exit to another dimension, a portal of unknown destination, appearing for only a hot moment, then gone again for a millennium.

They say it's the last standing phone booth in the entire state. Somehow, it was overlooked as the world moved on to newer wires and cans, and satellites. The company that once owned it no longer exists. City officials have ignored it for years now. Kids use it as a rock target. Drunks use it also in staggered darkness. It stands out during the day, a quaint anomaly, a ghost structure of times gone forever. But, all of that notwithstanding, no one dares get near it, or get more curious about its presence. An ominous mystery the local news doesn't mention, and a town's wary superstition. All its lines fully cut, disconnected from power sources for decades, no one wants to talk about how it simply loudly rings on its own- the 15th of every month at precisely 3:15 in the afternoon, for fifteen long and haunting seconds.

Our Teddy was feeling sad and lonely, all of us so busy with our lives. So, we got Teddy a kitten! You can see how pleased they both are now.

Defying the odds, the critics, maybe defying rationality, Elon Musk has successfully opened tbe first cafe on Mars. Certainly a dubious accomplishment, but its blue neon lights are seen as an alluring, and eventually inviting interstellar watering hole- but there are no plans underway yet for employees or customers, or how to serve everything at -81°F.

Child: "But, then why does God make so many different flowers?" Mom: "Do you mean like God makes so many different people?"

Call it a group mystery, a rare, shared lapse of attention. But, no one could explain how the entire crew could miss the letter R.

Everyone around the world can see it, the strange splash of light seemed to move closer to earth with every passing hour. Governments and media urge people to remain calm, as frantic scientists scramble to identify the ominous mass. Some reports of illness have not been confirmed, while sources cite evidence of emerging public fear. Religious figures are proclaiming miracles at hand, while others suspect interstellar attackers. The truth is that nobody knows. Almost nobody. Thinking he probably better call someone official soon, and still quite in shock himself, one panicking Gary Becham of Springdale, Utah- amateur illusionist- well, he knows.  

Aaron began his twenty-fourth day in total seclusion, the forest his anonymous host, remaining hidden to meditate and pray. He looked over notes from the hours before the day had re-awakened: "Arrival may be sudden, or realized from slow distance of gradual acceptance, no one can know the final corridor before entering, it will be different for all, uniquely designed, no one can know what incense may burn, or scent of spice or oil, or softly echoed chime of psalm heard amidst silence, no one can know this world's passage, instant or lingering, on its designated day." Then, Aaron boiled water for his morning tea.  

He adjusted his collar without thinking. He knew one thing for certain: he felt frustrated in nearly every part of his life. Cornered by details, trapped both by his own tortured fears and circumstance. He was in full turmoil, and felt weak to fight it alone, although he knew that wasn't true, just a mirage of dysfunction. During the day, he was exhausted. At night., he lay awake, unable to sleep. How many years have passed? So many twists and traps, he's made so little progress, still enslaved by his own quiet terror. Then, he reflexively glanced at his watch, 5:45, much later than he thought. The morning was striding forward, he had to quickly prepare. At 6am, his early risers would arrive, unpacking their burdens and expectations. Soon, Father Wills would begin another day of services, counsel of compassion, and public prayer.

Oh no! It can't be! A grey hair?

Driving back home Sunday evening, she thought again about the morning sermon, and the reverend talking about trust, the need to trust the folks around us. She considered how sensible this was, and so much less stressful. Turning into her townhouse driveway, she soon would settle into her nightly routine: short workout, bath, snack, then sleep. Patient and methodical across the way, home all day in his townhouse, he quickly settled into his nightly routine: taking the lens caps off his six cameras and scopes, adjusting each one just so, then brewing up some coffee.

"Yeah okay, workaholic, whatever, I've heard it before. Never from downstreamers, they appreciate me, so it's always relative, right?"

"We're both MENSA material among our feathered brethren, what's the big drama?" "Nothing. Just stupid identity politics."

"Simply another narrative. Of course, they completely misunderstand. Sometimes, we want to forget, just like everyone."

"You never express anything, Elgin. It's time you..." "Please dont say it, Ruth."

Started with a single line on a mirror at someone's party, a few grains hardly enough to sneeze over, only one short year ago. But this new crowd moves faster, soon grams become ounces, now pounds and kilos like it's so much Wonder flour, enough to spill, waste, even laugh over, shiny crystal poisen death powder.

Ghost me back to earlier times, A&W beach summers, shorts and caps in roller skates with my double burger and fries, hang that tray on the driver's side, big Pontiac wings and flair, plush seats and vibro speakers, 1964, your girl's grinning ear to ear, and Chuck Barry croons and swoons a new, restless America with no particular place to go.

Remotely isolated between two tall mountains, Arial was a town that no one visited. And, there was another reason, a dark cloud so old that even the town's elders couldn't know for certain how it all began: the whole town feared the moon, even the moon's light. It had always been so in Arial. There was an old rumor of a  flood that swept thru the region in a horrific wave of destruction, wiping out nearly everyone, all in one horrible day. Some surviving witnesses recalled how right before the catastrophic night, a bizarrely massive moon appeared doubly-large and drifting closer. Then the moonlight somehow turned to raging volumes of rushing waters, bringing sheer devastation to all. The moon had warned, but death came quickly. The elders passed down these vague, frightening stories, and  the whole town got a fear about night- no one trusted the moon, no one went out after sunset, even with the great orb invisible. It was irrational, pervasive, and intractable. Fear- ...

Nothing more real, but maybe it was the ocean's sharp breath, charged with fresh ions that may play tricks on the mind, but who cares even if so? Or, maybe it was his first name Hai, which means "from the sea", but he knows what he heard, although not the source, the joyous laughter of his beloved grandfather with his same name, as when he brought Hai there so long ago, then in a moment's echo his kind voice gone, back to depths of memory.

"Okay now, Widgie, don't start going weird dog on me." Holly saw the strange collie continue to gaze deeply at a certain spot in the night sky. Nothing there. But, the seemingly random area rivoted the dog's attention to a sidewalk staredown- but, with what exactly? Good grief, she thought. Another fun walkie with mom's peculiar poochie, but hey, it's also 2021- everything is strange.  Passing her neighbor Mr. Merrick, Holly had halted abruptly at his porch when the dog froze up. "They hear things we don't. Two different worlds.", the elderly neighbor offered, as they both watched the dog's prolonged and concentrated fixation. "Maybe radio waves, or messages from extraterrestrials. Or, your dog found the Hole In Space." Hole in space? Right. Holly thought this was loony, but politely smiled, shaking her head as young girls do. Now, she was staring, too.

What the...? No one asked ME about bringing home a kitten.

Everything is playing hide-and-seek now. Keys, wallet, names...

No one ever talked to him, they thought him too strange. They thought he wanted to be alone. They thought him an ogre of sorts, the kids in the building would tease and laugh. They only saw him in the hall with his bag of trash. He had everything delivered. Someone said he spoke once to the manager. Neighbors were certain he liked being a loner, but even his cat knew that was wrong, the times when he cried quietly in the dark.

"Of course I know my name. I simply choose not to respond."

Do they dream of honeycomb and trout?

His re-occuring dream came a fourth time, same scene: Paul, pizza delivery guy and college student, steps into an elevator, realizes too late there's something wrong, then both open door and red alarm buttons go dead. Paul looks at the other buttons, blank. There's always a pizza that fits the corner in some perfect cartoon physics.

"Loved is when your dad puts in a new floor that looks like you!"

The customary family ritual of courtship, called Görücülük in the Turkish tradition, was often a stressful event for all involved. The future groom's family visits the bride-to-be and her parents to officially ask for her hand. All are intensely observing as the two families become acquainted. It's so stressful because nothing less than the entire future was at stake, and a lifetime of happiness the prize. Zehra looked over to her love Ahmet as he chatted with her parents on their old, French Colonial couch. She was always startled anew by how handsome he was, how his strong and kindly voice alone quickened her heart. Everyone seemed to get along, and Zehra prayed their home was acceptable to her well-to-do future in-laws. Her own parents seemed at ease, and the cordial atmosphere of friendly hospitality prevailed. Zehra had always learned that welcoming guests to the home was the signature Turkish value, the most important custom going back to ancient times.  The momen...

This was even more than Easter, this year, for one very small child. Cathy Lewis grew up in the 4th floor Chronic-Rehab ward, it was just home to her. The dangerous congenital blood disease she had needed careful, constant monitoring. So, for her first three years, Cathy saw her parents and brothers only at the Children's Hospital. Then, a month after her birthday, there was a beautiful breakthru- an experimental DNA-based enzyme process had yielded stunning results- the blood disorder had been stabilized, maybe for good. Soon after, Cathy was safe to go home for the very first time, and just in time to collect some new joys that her most grateful parents had only dreamed of.

They are shocked and frightened. What has happened, they wondered, not believing their own eyes. Some knew. Others were confused. Their minds and hearts furiously turned in anguished amazement. What does this mean? Yet, it's true. He is gone!

"Who loves to train? But if we nail it, this stack in flight stunt wins it all for us next year."

"Your mom is gone for awhile, we can practice our flip move."

R emotely isolated between two tall mountains, Arial was a village that no one visited. There was another reason, a dark cloud so old that even the town's elders couldn't know for certain how it all began: everyone feared the moonlight. It had always been so in Arial. There was a rumor of a flood that swept thru the region in a horrific wave of destruction, wiping out nearly all in one horrible day. Some surviving witnesses recalled how before that catastrophe, a bizarre moon appeared, drifting closer. Then the moonlight somehow turned into raging volumes of water, floods bringing massive devastation. The moon had warned, but death came too quickly. The elders passed down these vague, ominous stories, and  the whole town got scared about the evening- no one trusted the moon, no one went out after dark. The belief was irrational, pervasive, and intractable. Fear- including mass fear- needs no truth to thrive; only practice, repetition, tradition. Fear quickly becomes an ins...