Category: August Stories

The Beauty and the Mime

Open Media Library

It had been ages since the mime had smoked. He sat in the shade of a spreading tree, sipped a mimosa, and wondered how he might pay for breakfast. 

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked into the cafe. She sat, alone, at an adjacent table. The mime signaled a waiter, who brought a mimosa to the woman.

Her eyes sent an invitation. He rose, sat. The tips of their cigarettes glowed together, their fingers touched, made a slow circle. A crowd gathered, electrified by their mirrored movements, the chemistry between them, and the promise of young love.

The Donkey and the Skateboard

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com

The donkey brayed a breathless alarm at a skateboard whizzing past its enclosure. The rider screeched with abandon, a bullet speeding down the hill. The sound itself was a warning. One after another, pedestrians on the path moved to give way. Old ladies in saris and young mothers with toddlers moved slowly, but move they did.

With a clear path around the pond, the skateboarder took the incline fast. He leaned, leaned too much and landed in the drink. He sputtered algae, happy the day was warm, undeterred by the sudden spill. Past the donkey he trudged to try again.

Exponential Celebration

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Word spread fast. One juggler tossed two primary colored clubs in the air. Four more brought sixteen hoops. 256 arrived with torches. 4096 watched. The park filled; the street was jammed with merrymakers.

The mayor juggled two, four, sixteen apples from his shopping bag in a continuous cascade of 256 rounds without dropping a single pomme. Someone took a picture that went viral.

The governor attended in a wheelchair. She motored over grassy ground, glad-handing as people made way for her under a sky filled with balloons. Above the crowded scene, an airplane drew Exponential Celebration so all could see.

Doomsday Clock

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Sun and rain ravage her wind tossed hair,
jet black strands smooth as onyx glass.
Silken threads like kitten's fur, 
new as morning dew on grass. 

A child, yet grown, eyes intent, 
round with wonder, bright with fire. 
Her night brings monsters, malcontents 
wreaking havoc in dreamland's mire.

Ruled by demons dangerous dark,
audacious lies we can do without.
Perdition's putrid stench arises 
ignoring famine, flood and drought.

An omen for tomorrow? 
Resist the slippery slope. 
Stand together against oblivion, 
build barricades of hope.

The future waits. We can save one another.
Honor the Earth for she is our mother.

Bring a Smile Wherever You Go

Photo by Torsten Dettlaff on Pexels.com

A prince and a commoner competed to cadge a smile from a princess. The prize: marriage and half the kingdom. The prince claimed the right to go first. Noob mistake.

“Look at him. Sad excuse for a man.”

Cruel, not funny, the prince was struck dumb by his own vanity.

The commoner called his posse. All kinds, all sizes of butterflies cavorted around the princess, a cloud of color. Her aroused senses softened her lips.

The commoner entreated the winged creatures. “Best beauties, brush against her ears, her nose, titillate her love of wonder.” They did just that. She smiled.

Labyrinth

Photo by Soulful Pizza on Pexels.com
A locked away monster,
bloody
quiet,
has escaped from the king's central labyrinth.

In the palace drawing room, the cultured crowd,
unaware,
exclaims learnedly regarding a jacket's weave, a jeweled neckline, a nice progression on the piano.

Hoi polloi sneak a peek,
stand in awe, in silence,
until their outside skins harden; turn to pale, plastic cellophane.
They wear tight smiles like lady's spandex girdles.

In voices that strain to be heard
they shriek,
“Let me in; let me be.”

Guards secure
the entrance to the drawing room. Posted on the door: 
Screaming, Crying, Pounding Prohibited.
Inside stand painted silk screens, embroidered room dividers, all crafted at the finest,
most secretive institutions.

Screens to sublimate,
to destroy the mundane and make it sublime,
An industry to craft silk purses from sow's ears.
The sows left bleeding, scatter
pieces of themselves along the path;
find a way away from the maze.

Roads Traveled

Gretel did these interviews reluctantly. She hadn’t been a saint, far from it. She did what she had to after her stepmother kicked her and Hansel out. “We were homeless.” The reporter looked into Gretel’s eyes and seemed to reach into her soul. It was an uncomfortable moment. The reporter’s face softened. “But you… Somehow…”

“There was an older woman. When she died we made a go of the bakery. We built a home to shelter runaways.”

The woman wiped away a tear. “She was my sister. The black sheep in an old Wiccan family. She wasn’t all that kind.”

Amazon Review: Glass Slippers

Slipper by Worcester Royal Porcelain Co. is licensed under CC-BY 3.0

CinderellaCharming

Reviewed in Lancre, August 29,2022

**** Rating

I received a pair of clear glass slippers as a gift from my Godmother. I worried they would shatter by the end of the first dance, but have been pleased at the sturdy construction that lasted through balls, numerous fittings around the kingdom, and an awesome honeymoon. Great for happily-ever-afters.

I would add two cautions. First, everything shows. Get a pedicure, especially if you clean the house in bare feet. Second, pregnancy can be a problem. Glass slippers have no give, so I can’t wear them now. I’ll save them for my daughter.

Epona

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’ve been goddessing since the Iron Age. Born in water, manifested on land as horse/seductress, I lured Roman soldiers to their deaths. There’s a coin to prove it.

But Rome won. They couldn’t bury me; too many loyal followers. A demotion to domestic goddess, that’s all they managed. A warrior at heart, I spent centuries in the kitchen baking and plotting, biding my time.

We struck. Me, Ceres, and Demeter took back fertility and reproduction. It’s what they fear about women. The secrets we know about life and death. The patriarchy can try, but they can’t take away our power.

The Real Story Behind Snow White’s Poisoning

Photo by Elizabeth Tr. Armstrong on Pexels.com

“You’ve got it wrong.” The farmer’s face turned the color of a ripe Gravenstein. “It was magic, not pesticides, poisoned that girl.”

“Now Mr. Darkfruit, our informants have presented credible evidence from underground surveys. There’s run off into their mines.”

“You know, the Queen is my best customer. She wouldn’t like it if you shut me down.”

“I have a warrant to inspect.” The investigator lifted his case full of testing equipment and walked through the open gate into the orchard.

“Nothing will come of this,” said the farmer.

“But it’s my job to enforce the regulations until instructed otherwise.”