Eclectic Narratives #17 - New Year's Resolution to Failure [#150]

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           “In this new year, I’m going to cut down on alcohol, quit the junk food, and lose all this extra weight,” he proclaimed. “By the end of the year, I’ll be a whole new man.”

           “Yeah right, one miracle at a time,” his friend laughed.

           “Have a little faith,” he became agitated.

           “Fine, in this new year, I’m going to cure all the world’s known diseases, end world hunger, and became king of France,” the friend joked.

           “Isn’t that a little unrealistic?” He gave his friend a doubtful look.

           “No more than yours,” the friend countered.

           “Hey, don’t act like it’s impossible for me to improve myself,” he became offended.

           “Improve? No, that’s not impossible,” the friend reiterated. “You might fix one of those problems over two years, with a little help, but not all three in one year.”

           “What makes you think that?” He asked.

           “Remember two years ago when you said you’d become a great painter by the end of that year?” The friend reminded him.

           “Yeah?” He gulped.

           “I think you picked up a paintbrush twice that year,” his friend explained. “Once to paint, the second time to throw it away eight months later.”

           “That was the old me, you’ll see I’ll be a changed man this year, you’ll see,” he stomped away.

           “Knock yourself out,” the friend replied.

~--~ 1 Month Later ~--~

           “So how’d that becoming a changed man thing turn out?” The friend approached him.

           “The what?” He replied, a beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. “Do you mind? I’m in the middle of binging my favorite show.”

           “Sure, I’ll leave you alone,” the friend agreed, “knock yourself out.”

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Resolving to improve yourself is fine and good, but you actually have to follow through for it to mean anything.

Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy

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Strange Sci-fi Tales - Renegade in Your Area [#149]

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           “Attention, Renegade confirmed in your area. All citizens report any suspicious activity,” the robotic voice echoed throughout the city neighborhood. “Remember, inaction is treason.”

           “Just my luck,” she commented as she ran into the dry canal and ducked into a large drain. “I was only up there for a minute, how’d they confirm me so quickly?” The renegade wondered. “Oh, shi-” She held her breath when she heard nearby footsteps.

           The heavy thump of boots on the payment above her filled the area. She could barely hear muffled chatter. Only being able to make out the word “renegade” repeated over and over again. The renegade quickly climbed further into the drain as the sounds grew closer.

           ‘Back to life as a rat,’ she groaned internally as she found her way into am abandoned sewer. The renegade plugged her nose as a rancid odor assaulted her senses. ‘Dear God, I hope there’s nothing toxic in here,’ she hoped, ‘On the bright side if there is, they probably won’t come this way.’

           The renegade slipped through the narrow halls. She tried her best to avoid the many unknown substances that clung to the walls and floor. At the very least, it was quiet, aside from a strange gurgling sound. She didn’t know what to make of the bizarre noise. Frankly, she had no interest in determining what it was, so she avoided it.

           ‘I wonder how long it’ll take them to give up this time?’ The renegade thought, ‘If I’m lucky, they’ll think I escaped to another sector. Wait, what’s that sound?’ The gurgling sound was drowned out by a new noise. It was low and droning and had an uneven pattern. Whatever the sound was, it came from up ahead.

           ‘Do I turn back?’ She considered. ‘I could be walking into a trap, but for all I know, they’ve already got a squad down here looking for me.’ The renegade paused for a moment but came to a conclusion quickly. ‘Running back isn’t going to get me anywhere, time to take a chance,’ she pushed on forward.

           As the sound grew louder and clearer, she slowly realized what it was. It was an alarm, blaring across the entire neighborhood. The sound was accompanied by more announcements from the robotic voice. Both leaked into the sewers through a sewer grate.

           “For your own safety, report all suspicious activity. Aiding and abetting Renegades will not be tolerated,” the voice repeated on a loop.

           ‘I guess that answers my question,’ the renegade sighed. She hastily jogged past the source of the sound and crawled deeper into the sewer. The route was far from pleasant, but she eventually found herself at a large outflow pipe. It was more than large enough for her to move through; however, it lead outside the city and hung about 100 feet over a nearby river. ‘Not my first choice,’ she commented and turned back into the sewer.

           She crawled back through the sewer and found a route that took her back into the city. The renegade popped out of a manhole in the back of a forgotten road. She was surrounded by crumbling buildings on all sides. It appeared quiet and empty, so she began to approach the nearest building that seemed stable.

           However, as the renegade stepped closer, she stopped dead in her tracks. In the window of the building she moved towards, she could see several people huddled inside, and they saw her. The renegade put a finger up to her lips to shush them, but one of the people still ran away, screaming, “Renegade.”

           She turned and sprinted back for the manhole as the once-quiet back road was surrounded by what sounded like an army’s approach. The renegade hopped back inside the sewer right as the sound of footsteps rounded the corner. She dashed through the sewers, a particular destination in mind, as the thump of boots entered the sewers.

           The renegade returned to the outflow pipe, desperate and out of options. She took another peek at the long fall, uncertain of her chances or what might reside in the river below. However, the relentless sound of people approaching convinced her to go through with it. With hesitation, she jumped off the edge. She could hear the sound of missed gunshot above her as she fell down into the river below.

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No one will want to help you out of fear for their own safety. The law will be on your tail. The world will be your enemy. Thus is the life of a renegade.

Pretentious attempts at proverbs aside, you could consider this story part of the GRID stories, but it mostly stands on its own.

Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy

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Enigmatic Fantasies - Santa Is Real? [#148]

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           “I couldn’t help but notice, your kid still thinks Santa Claus is real,” the friend commented as she sipped a cup of warm cocoa in the kitchen.

           “Is there a problem with that?” The mother replied.

           “They’re eighteen,” the friend countered.

           “You misunderstand,” the mother shook her head, “what’s wrong in believing in someone who exists?”

           “You of all people think Santa is real?” The friend gasped.

           “Think he’s real?” The mother raised an eyebrow, “I know he’s real, I’ve met him several times.” The mother moved towards the hallway and opened the door, “here let me show you.” The two friends traversed the long wooden corridor to a small backroom where several framed portraits hung on the wall. Each depicted a familiar man in red smiling while standing alongside a different woman.

           “And this is?” The friend pointed at the wall, their face in utter shock.

           “Here’s a portrait of my great-great-grandmother standing with old Saint Nick,” the mother explained. “It was sometime in the late 1880s.” The portrait was an old oil painting that depicted a young woman in old fashioned clothing with a baby in her arms. She was accompanied by Santa Claus in a snowy field.

           “Well, this doesn’t...” the friend tried to say.

           “And here’s a photograph of my great-grandmother and Mr. Claus,” the mother continued. “I believe it was taken around 1910.” The faded photo displayed a similar scene to the previous portrait. It was a new young woman, a small child at her side, and Santa standing behind both of them in a wintery forest.

           “I guess that’s better, but I...” the friend attempted to argue.

           “My grandmother’s photo is in much better condition,” the mother interrupted. “it was taken in 1946 if memory serves.” The photo showed an older version of the child from the previous picture, but it depicted her and Mr. Claus beside a warm fire.

           “I...” the friend failed to generate a proper response.

           “Here’s a picture of my mother and me meeting Saint Nick for the first time,” the mother presented the next image. “It was taken in the 70s, so I was still just a baby.” The portrait depicted another mother and child beside Santa Claus. This time in a modern living room with a TV in the background tuned to an old Christmas movie.

           The friend remained silent.

           “Finally, here’s my portrait with Mr. Claus,” the mother presented the final framed picture proudly. “It was taken in 1999, so my kid wasn’t born yet.” The photograph depicted the mother and the jolly old man in a toy shop, a newly constructed toy truck on the table in front of them. “Believe me now?”

           “I don’t feel like arguing anymore,” the friend sighed and took another sip of cocoa.

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Once you have proof of the impossible in your hands then is it still impossible?

Until next time, Read, Comment, Enjoy and Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays if you prefer.

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Enigmatic Fantasy - Frozen Figure [#147]

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           The freezing winds beat at the shaky walls of the old log cabin, while she curled up closer to the dying flame in the fireplace. The situation was undoubtedly dire, but she hadn’t begun to panic yet. She didn’t have the energy to do anything so stressful.

           “Not much longer,” she told herself, “it’ll pass soon, and then I can return.” She observed her satchel, which was carelessly discarded to the side. It was empty, and she knew that, yet a small part of her still wanted to peek through it again. Maybe this time she’d find more food. “Forget it, I know better,” she warned herself.

           The weather outside persisted in its intensity. The walls creaked and screamed from the pressure. She held her breath, waiting for the cabin to fall in on itself, but the event never happened. The wind finally died down a little, and the walls settled back in place.

           “Thank god,” she sighed in relief and allowed herself to close her eyes. “It’ll only be a short nap, nothing more,” she assured herself as she slipped into sleep.

           A sudden, sharp creak of the walls snapped her eyes back awake. The wall to her right was leaning in on the cabin. She quickly backed away from that side, but before she could settle, the sound continued along. Her eyes followed the source of the creaking until it curved around the corner and moved past a window.

           There was a figure, with a coat of pure white, standing taller than the cabin. Its clawed hand dragged along the window, leaving deep scratches. The figure stomped past the window until it reached the front of the building, where it stopped in its tracks. Out of view of the window, it pounded on the front door, splintering the wood and letting cold air leak in.

           Her breath died in her throat as she felt her heart stop in panic. She scanned the room in desperation, seeking any tool she could use to defend herself. Her vision snapped onto a fire poker, which she snatched up quickly. The front door finally caved in from the figure’s relentless assault, as she held up her makeshift weapon to defend herself.

           The figure ducked to enter the cabin, hunched over the unknown entity still towered over her. It’s soulless black eyes stood out from its white coat, while its sharp, yellow teeth were only barely visible. The beast took a step forward, and then another, slowly approaching her with no hurry or speed.

           She held the fire poker in trembling hands, her eyes could barely stay open as her heart beat faster. The figure continued its approach, unthreatened by her stance until it stood right before her. It reached out one long, white arm, marked with yellow claws at its end. She readied the poker to stab it right in the eye.

           Her breaths were labored, she sweated bullets, and her head was dizzy. She pulled back her weapon, ready to counterattack. However, she was so tired, and her eyes were so heavy she could barely see straight. Her body failed her, and she felt herself collapse to the ground, right as the clawed hand reached past her into the fireplace.

           She snapped back awake in a panic, scrambling for the poker, but it was nowhere to be found. Her eyes scanned the room to find her weapon, but she stopped as she realized she was now alone. The figure was gone, her fire had gone cold, and the poker was in the far corner. She turned to the front door, which had collapsed to the ground covered in snow. The same was true of both windows, which had cracked open.

           “A dream?” she shivered as she realized how cold she actually was. It was then she noted that the storm had passed, and it looked quite pleasant outside. She gathered her belongings and left the old log cabin. It would be a long journey back, but she did not care. Dream or not, she wanted nothing to do with that long cabin anymore. She spared one last glance at the structure, and for a moment, she could see the figure again, in all its terror and glory. Yet, after a single blink of her eyes, it was gone again.

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The ailing mind loves to play tricks on itself, you can never tell what part was real or imagined.

Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy

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