Supposing Flight

My Dad is an alien from another dimension. Which is how I got my superpowers.

No, really.

Actually I got my superpowers from an artifact that I found while I was exploring an alien spaceship. Which was parked in our garage.

No, Really!

My Dad taught me that word “artifact” and what it means. Space scientists stole it from archaeologists – you know, those Egyptian mummy guys? But it means the same thing to both of them – it means an object made some time or somewhere else. Like for the Egyptian mummy guys it might be a jar full of brains that was buried with a Pharaoh. But for space guys it would be a transformer or a star map or something cool like that.

What I found was a roll of toilet paper. Well, that’s what it looks like but aliens probably don’t use toilet paper. I mean, my Dad does but he’s in human form right now so he has to act like a human. And we all use toilet paper, right? Except maybe if you are on a camping trip in the woods and then you can use leaves or something only not poison ivy because ugh! gross! can you imagine how awful it would be if you got poison ivy all over your butt…..Sam? Sam – are you even listening to me?

“Yes of course I am. Poison Ivy. Butts. Interesting story.”

No, Sam – Aliens! My Dad is an Alien from another dimension and I just found out!

“I’ve always thought your father was a little …..different. Space alien, hmmmm?”

Well, not exactly. I mean, not really outer space kind of aliens. But anyway – here’s the important part – my Dad taught me how to use the artifact to fly!

“Fly? Your father taught you how to fly?”

He did, Sam, he did! See you take this stuff – and you start here in the center of your chest and you wrap it around and down your arm and then across your back and down the other arm….are you watching, Sam?

“Watching! Yes, yes of course I am. Down the other arm you say?”

Yes – and then around and around the rest of your body until you get to the legs and then……..and then……hmmmm. Which leg do I wrap first Sam? Do you remember?

“Me? How would I remember? You said your father taught YOU.”

Yeah, but you were there, remember? You were sitting on my bed, right next to Blue Bunny. Remember?

“Sorry. Not really. Try the right leg first.”

Darn it! If I had known that my Dad was going to be gone for so long I might have paid more attention. But I did the best I could and kept wrapping until I used up the whole role of magic flying artifact stuff. Then I climbed up three porch steps and jumped off, waving my arms in the air. And I FLEW! It was like – it was like —- I guess it was like jumping off the porch steps. I landed flat on my stomach in the dusty front yard and it hurt.

When I looked over at where Sam was propped up against the table leg, his face looked a little sadder than usual.

“Try again, why don’t you?”

Nah, I guess I got the instructions wrong. I’ll just wait until Dad gets back and pay better attention the next time. Only – Mom seems kind of funny whenever I ask her when Dad is coming back. It’s probably because she’s always working….she works all the time now that Dad’s gone – I guess it’s good that she got that animated comics project – but whenever I try to talk about Dad she just draws his face on one of the bad guys in her comic and says she doesn’t know when he will be back……

“If ever….”


“If ever. Your mom always says that at the end of your question.”

Does not. And how would YOU know anyways, Sam?

“Because you always carry me in there with you.”

I don’t know why, but I grabbed Sam and stuffed him down the front of my shirt behind the magic artifact stuff. Then I climbed the corner post to the porch roof and jumped right off the edge hollering my Dad’s name.

We flew out over the yard before we came crashing down and smashed Sam’s face into the dirt. We flew – I swear we flew!

But Sam was never the same again.

An Occurrence at Monday’s Committee Meeting

“Life is not fair.” Kobol slammed his fist down on the table. “Who told you that life was fair?!”

“Well, n-n-no one, sir,” Nybres stammered. “But giving them the idea that it could be fair works to k-k-k-keep them in line.”

“Yes, of course” the Director of Entertainment replied. He moved to the head of the conference table, opened his briefcase and began arranging folders into even piles. “But do not make the mistake of believing it yourself, Nybres. Very dangerous thinking. Very dangerous indeed. Especially for a Publicist.”

“No, sir. I mean, y-y-yes sir!”

The air shimmered with invisible sparks as Miss Melchim entered and dropped her Gucci purse carelessly on the table. She surveyed the room then collapsed cat-like into the nearest chair.”Hell of a day,” she muttered under her breath and smiled brightly at the others. “How’s things? And do you think we could make this short – I’ve got a hot stone massage scheduled in an hour.”

Kobol frowned at her. “It will take as long as it takes.”

“No kidding!” Somehow the tinkle of her laughter sounded more scorching than musical. “Well can I at least make the Treasurer’s report first? So I can leave if the meeting goes too long?”


“Why not?”

“Because that is not according to Robert’s Rules of Order, Miss Melchim. As I’ve told you at each of the previous 7,309 meetings which we have attended together.” Kobol did not even sigh this time. He did, however, raise his eyes heavenward but quickly covered the action with a cough. “We follow Robert’s Rules of Order – rather religiously, you might say, Miss Melchim.”

She rewarded him with a giggle and a pretty pout. But her best efforts were reserved for Paymen when he appeared next to her. Handsome, suave, and very vain, the Master of Ceremonies was quite certain of himself in nearly every circumstance. Except one.

“We’re not having cupcakes again today are we?” he asked nervously. He wiped spittle from his breast pocket with a carefully manicured fingernail.

Miss Melchim shivered a little at the sight of that nail. It was so…..curved. And sharp. Yes, definitely sharp, she remembered that.

Kobol slammed down a gavel in the form of a goat’s hoof. “Call to order….roll call of those present…yada, yada, yada. Let’s skip the Treasurer’s report and get right to Current Business.”

Miss Melchim huffed.

“As Chairman of this Committee and Entertainment Director for the entire realm I have to bring to your attention that the minions are slacking off lately. There have been only 3 instances of children accidentally falling out of windows higher than six stories this week – and all of them were in New York City. The west coast is not keeping up!”

“B-b-but Sir! There are so fewer tall buildings in LA than there are in Manhattan!” Nybres said.

“Doesn’t matter. We have standards to enforce. Make a note – LA deficient in falling children.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Next item: it has come to my attention that one afternoon last week a woman was injured, and her husband was killed, by the family dog. In New Jersey. AND NO ONE WAS WATCHING!”

The Publicist and Master of Ceremonies looked quickly at each other and just as quickly looked away.

“Pray tell me what good it does to have an Entertainment Committee if no one is watching?!”

“Well, we tried,” Paysen said.

“We gave it everything we had, but it wasn’t enough.” Nybres was so upset he didn’t even stutter.

Kobol glared. The tirade came as a whisper.

“For centuries we have used them for our entertainment purposes. They provide…, which sometimes brings a sense of purpose to the realm. Or at least enjoyment. How is it that this week, no one was watching?”

“It’s like this, Sir.” Paysen began. “The sport isn’t as much fun anymore. They just get up and go on.”

A soft crooning warbled its way into their collective consciousness.

Birds flying high, you know how I feel…Sun in the sky…..

“What is that sound?” Kobol sputtered.

…know how I feel…Breeze drifting by….

“It is – er – music, Sir. Singing, I believe.”

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day…

“Who the hell is singing?”

They are, sir.”

They are singing?”

….And I’m Feeling Good!

“I remember singing!” Miss Melchim lifted her face and closed her eyes.”It’s a beautiful sound, isn’t it?”

“Close the damned Earth window, Melchim.”

She didn’t move. No one noticed the small tear which sizzled slowly down her cheek.

Another Pretty Face

Writing 101 – Day One. Unlock the Mind. Free write for 20 minutes.

Hmmmmm —- It’s not so far from midnight after a rather long and trying day so I hesitate to simply free associate here for fear of publicizing some possibly strange stuff. Probably best to control it with a theme of sorts. But what theme exactly….pets, kids, jobs, my return to writing? Ah – that’s the one.

It used to be second nature to me, almost effortless in a sense. Through years of trial and error, practice and just simply doing it I had developed what folks sometimes call “a voice.” My voice. A distinctive way of expressing myself through writing that “sounded like me” and still met all the basic tenets of good writing. In college The Elements of Style by William Strunk, Jr. was ever at hand. I could even quote from it if necessary. My voice was journalistic, “newsy” and restrained. Correct, Objective, Journalistic.

Later I played with poetry classes and creative writing courses and vastly enjoyed both. Again, a voice developed to fit with what I was writing. Creative, Lyrical, sometimes Quirky.

As I moved into the performing arts my style changed dramatically (pun oh so intended) when I began writing plays and film scripts. This “voice” is perhaps one of the most limited I’ve encountered and at the same time one of the most liberating. Suddenly anything you can visualize, any story which you can show yourself in your brain, is what you are attempting to put down on paper. In a very stringent format.

Intermission occurred. I took a break from writing while I pursued a new adventure called “Raising a Family” and after some time I now find myself coming back around to it. But now I’m worried my “voice” has disappeared. I find myself breaking rules, writing half sentences, beginning with prepositions and ending with dangling bits and pieces. It’s not pretty, I tell you.

So will my voice come back I wonder? That effortless confidence that I had something to say and could say it well? As I tiptoe around here trying a bit of this and a little of that, I worry. Maybe it will, but maybe it will continue to be a struggle. Fortunately for me it’s now been twenty minutes since I began reflecting on this subject and I don’t have to come to a conclusion this evening! Ah, procrastination, I recognize your pretty face.

Free Write Assignment: Completed!

The Fade

There is no warning rattle at the door. No scent of myrtle creeps through the keyhole to signal the approach of magic or increase the wild thumping of a solitary heart. There is no dimming sense of the light going, no cloying surge of terrified spittle surging upward.

There is just The Fade.

She is tired of the struggle and finds the Fade more and more comforting each time it comes. HE tells her not to give way to it, to fight, to hope for more. But he is not here now. And the Fade is. She lies back into its grasp and exhales gratefully.

It is a very long time before she inhales again.

But finally she does, and blinks and swallows and notices for the first time the little female jaybird who peers through her window past the Valentine heart. She thinks a bird looking in the window portends bad luck. She knows that a Valentine heart does.

bird-heart-825x350He would not agree of course. Lately they never seem to agree on anything. Lately they never even seem to talk.

Is there any reason to try a bit longer? Is there even a chance of more? Or is it finally time to give way to the inevitable dance among the ruins?

She does not know. He is not here. She is listening for a rattle at the door.

Written for Zero to Hero, Day 22: Try (Another) Blog Event. I chose the Yeah Write Speakeasy Fiction Challenge from prompts provided here.