I pressed myself against the cold tiles of the tunnel wall as another car sped past, and it occurred to me for the first time that this wasn’t going to be the best place to hold a secret meeting.
The headlights of the cars stared at me out of the dim, exhaust choked air as they roared by. They seemed like empty machines, their windows black, but I knew there were people in there. Drivers. With cell phones. Any one of them could call in, “There’s a skinny girl in a jean jacket walking the curb in the freeway tunnel.” I kept my head down, my eyes on the toes of my boots, and hoped that at least no one would be able to get an identifiable pic of me while they were driving by at eighty miles per hour.
By the time I reached the “Emergency Exit” door at the center of the tunnel I felt dizzy from breathing the sour air. All those car fumes, I was probably going to get cancer just from walking this tunnel. I didn’t change my pace, just leaned on the door. They’d said they would disable the alarm, but still I held my breath as the door opened and I slid through it. I was sure sirens were going to start blaring and the police would come whizzing around the corner.
A chilly, dark tunnel with a little water trickling down one side stretched away behind the door, lit by one old-fashioned lightbulb in a wire cage. I grinned, loving the sense of adventure. Look for the utility door on the left, Maddie had told me. I walked past a fat, rusted pipe, then found a metal door with no handle, only a keyhole. I tapped on it and it swung open.
The guy at the door was a total screen zombie, one of those people with absolutely no facial expression. I’d seen plenty of them, but it still gave me a turn, trying to figure out what he thought of me standing there. He stepped back and let me pass, so I went into the room beyond.
I wondered if I’d come to the wrong meeting. I don’t know what I was expecting, monks dressed as the Dalai Lama maybe, or hippies with long hair and little round John Lennon glasses, but this sure didn’t look like the peaceful resistance crowd. Didn’t matter, I was open-minded. Someone was standing on a platform at the middle of the room, trash-talking the government. “Well, yeah,” I thought, “We all know that, but what about organizing a flash protest or doing a text blast or something?”
The crowd was muttering angrily at the end of every few sentences from the speaker. This had to be the wrong meeting. I looked around for Maddie, but didn’t see her.
“What are you doing here?” said someone beside me. Keith Ange, the last person in the world I would have thought to find here. The tone of his voice, the disbelief, the disappointment in his eyes, put a twist of betrayal in my stomach. This absolutely was the wrong meeting. What had Maddie been thinking?
“What are you doing here?” I snapped back, trying to keep some of my pride as the terror of how deep in trouble I might be for being here came crashing down on me.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Monday, December 29, 2014
#68 Thank You Notes
Mom made me write thank you notes for all my Christmas presents. “Can’t I do it later?”
“No," Mom said. "If you don’t do it now we’ll forget to do it at all.”
Dear Uncle Fred, I wrote, thanks for the yo-yo. I was really excited about it until I noticed that the middle was loose and it wasn't letting the yo-yo come back. Love, Charlie
Mom came out of the kitchen to check on how we were doing.
“Leonard, have you finished your notes yet?” Mom asked my brother, who was zooming his new quad copter around the room.
“I’m making a thank-you video,” he said. The copter hovered over his pile of loot, then turned its little camera eye toward Mom, who was not looking impressed.
“Written notes,” Mom said.
“Aw!”
She came to read over my shoulder. “Where’s your yo-yo?” she asked me.
I picked through the bits of wrapping paper and open packages on the floor until I found where I’d dropped it when I realized it didn’t work.
Mom tried it.
“See?” I said when the yo-yo just sat, whirring, at the bottom of its string, when it should have rolled back up to mom’s hand.
Mom took it over to the computer and typed something in. The yo-yo company’s website came up, along with a video of some kid doing all these super fancy tricks.
“Oh, I see,” Mom said, sounding a little disappointed. “This isn’t a regular yo-yo. It’s a trick yo-yo. Would you like me get you a regular one instead? It’s going to be hard for you to learn to use this one.”
“No,” I said, watching in fascination as the boy in the video made his yo-yo dance and whirl and bounce off its own string. “I like this one. How do I do it?”
Mom had to go back to making Christmas dinner, so Dad helped me find a trick to learn.
We watched a video that showed us how to make the yo-yo come back up. The guy in the video made it look so easy, just wrapped the string over his finger, then under the yo-yo, then a little tug and snap! The yo-yo went right up into his hand.
Dad tried it and did it the first time.
I tried it and nothing happened.
Dad showed me again and again, but for some reason, when it was my turn, I just couldn’t do it. After a while Dad went to help my older brother with his copter and then it was just me and the yo-yo.
I wound the yo-yo up and threw it, just like Dad had showed me. I wrapped the string over my finger, under the yo-yo, a little tug, and... drop! It just spun there at the end of its string.
My brother’s quad copter buzzed my head.
“Fly that thing away from people!” Mom said. “At least until you’ve learned to control it!”
I tried again. This time the yo-yo actually climbed the string about one inch.
Another try, and the yo-yo smacked into my other hand.
Once again, and this time the yo-yo whirled up its string and leapt right into my palm, almost as if by itself. “I did it I did it!” I yelled, dancing around.
Mom clapped and cheered for me. “Do you want to write a new thank-you note now?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“No," Mom said. "If you don’t do it now we’ll forget to do it at all.”
Dear Uncle Fred, I wrote, thanks for the yo-yo. I was really excited about it until I noticed that the middle was loose and it wasn't letting the yo-yo come back. Love, Charlie
Mom came out of the kitchen to check on how we were doing.
“Leonard, have you finished your notes yet?” Mom asked my brother, who was zooming his new quad copter around the room.
“I’m making a thank-you video,” he said. The copter hovered over his pile of loot, then turned its little camera eye toward Mom, who was not looking impressed.
“Written notes,” Mom said.
“Aw!”
She came to read over my shoulder. “Where’s your yo-yo?” she asked me.
I picked through the bits of wrapping paper and open packages on the floor until I found where I’d dropped it when I realized it didn’t work.
Mom tried it.
“See?” I said when the yo-yo just sat, whirring, at the bottom of its string, when it should have rolled back up to mom’s hand.
Mom took it over to the computer and typed something in. The yo-yo company’s website came up, along with a video of some kid doing all these super fancy tricks.
“Oh, I see,” Mom said, sounding a little disappointed. “This isn’t a regular yo-yo. It’s a trick yo-yo. Would you like me get you a regular one instead? It’s going to be hard for you to learn to use this one.”
“No,” I said, watching in fascination as the boy in the video made his yo-yo dance and whirl and bounce off its own string. “I like this one. How do I do it?”
Mom had to go back to making Christmas dinner, so Dad helped me find a trick to learn.
We watched a video that showed us how to make the yo-yo come back up. The guy in the video made it look so easy, just wrapped the string over his finger, then under the yo-yo, then a little tug and snap! The yo-yo went right up into his hand.
Dad tried it and did it the first time.
I tried it and nothing happened.
Dad showed me again and again, but for some reason, when it was my turn, I just couldn’t do it. After a while Dad went to help my older brother with his copter and then it was just me and the yo-yo.
I wound the yo-yo up and threw it, just like Dad had showed me. I wrapped the string over my finger, under the yo-yo, a little tug, and... drop! It just spun there at the end of its string.
My brother’s quad copter buzzed my head.
“Fly that thing away from people!” Mom said. “At least until you’ve learned to control it!”
I tried again. This time the yo-yo actually climbed the string about one inch.
Another try, and the yo-yo smacked into my other hand.
Once again, and this time the yo-yo whirled up its string and leapt right into my palm, almost as if by itself. “I did it I did it!” I yelled, dancing around.
Mom clapped and cheered for me. “Do you want to write a new thank-you note now?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
#67 The Silver Bell
My aunt opened the glass-windowed doors of the china cabinet. “Pick something you like out of here. Anything you want. My brothers have already been through it, and I don’t want anything.”
I scanned the trinkets inside. Figurines, vases, even a few things that looked like they must have been my uncles’ high school art projects, all the things my grandmother had collected over a lifetime. At the back, a glint of silver caught my eye, and I reached for what looked like an old bell.
The ornate loop of the handle turned out to be the tail of some kind of creature that coiled around the rest of the tarnished bell. I picked it up and gave it a shake. No sound.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Not sure. I think they got that on their trip to Scotland,” my aunt said.
I turned it over to look inside the dark cup of the bell. A bent wire inside must have held a clapper at one time, but now the bell couldn’t ring. The creature on the bell had a beak and wings like an eagle, but a long snake-like body and four paws like a lion.
“I like this,” I said. “Maybe I can find a clapper for it.”
It went into my suitcase, along with some of grandma’s books I’d picked out, and the program from grandma’s funeral. I zipped it all up, said goodbye to grandma’s house, and rolled my luggage out to my aunt’s car so I could get to the airport and catch my flight home.
Once I got home, I put the bell on a little curio stand in the corner of my apartment. There it sat, still silent, for over a year. I found it one day while putting out Christmas decorations. Once again, I turned it over and studied the bent wire inside, forming in my mind the sort of thing I’d need to make the bell sing again.
While out shopping for Christmas presents I found what I was looking for. A pack of metal beads, just the right size. I bought them and brought them home.
It took some doing to get the wire unbent, slide the bead over the end, and bend it up again, but when I was done the bell rewarded me with a sweet peal of music. I thought about hanging it up on the miniature fake Christmas tree on my kitchen counter, and turned to carry it over there.
I screamed and dropped the bell. Something stood, or more like filled, the room behind me. A black beak like an eagle’s gleamed inches from my face, white feathered wings waved gracefully, a lithe golden body, lion’s paws, silver eyes with narrow slit’s like a snakes or a cat’s studied me with a sort of arrogant dismissal.
“For what have you summoned me?” it purred, as if it knew quite well I hadn’t been expecting it at all.
I scanned the trinkets inside. Figurines, vases, even a few things that looked like they must have been my uncles’ high school art projects, all the things my grandmother had collected over a lifetime. At the back, a glint of silver caught my eye, and I reached for what looked like an old bell.
The ornate loop of the handle turned out to be the tail of some kind of creature that coiled around the rest of the tarnished bell. I picked it up and gave it a shake. No sound.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Not sure. I think they got that on their trip to Scotland,” my aunt said.
I turned it over to look inside the dark cup of the bell. A bent wire inside must have held a clapper at one time, but now the bell couldn’t ring. The creature on the bell had a beak and wings like an eagle, but a long snake-like body and four paws like a lion.
“I like this,” I said. “Maybe I can find a clapper for it.”
It went into my suitcase, along with some of grandma’s books I’d picked out, and the program from grandma’s funeral. I zipped it all up, said goodbye to grandma’s house, and rolled my luggage out to my aunt’s car so I could get to the airport and catch my flight home.
Once I got home, I put the bell on a little curio stand in the corner of my apartment. There it sat, still silent, for over a year. I found it one day while putting out Christmas decorations. Once again, I turned it over and studied the bent wire inside, forming in my mind the sort of thing I’d need to make the bell sing again.
While out shopping for Christmas presents I found what I was looking for. A pack of metal beads, just the right size. I bought them and brought them home.
It took some doing to get the wire unbent, slide the bead over the end, and bend it up again, but when I was done the bell rewarded me with a sweet peal of music. I thought about hanging it up on the miniature fake Christmas tree on my kitchen counter, and turned to carry it over there.
I screamed and dropped the bell. Something stood, or more like filled, the room behind me. A black beak like an eagle’s gleamed inches from my face, white feathered wings waved gracefully, a lithe golden body, lion’s paws, silver eyes with narrow slit’s like a snakes or a cat’s studied me with a sort of arrogant dismissal.
“For what have you summoned me?” it purred, as if it knew quite well I hadn’t been expecting it at all.
Friday, December 26, 2014
#66 The Semester Ball
So far the semester ball had been something of a disappointment. Balls, Janae thought, were much more entertaining to prepare for than to actually attend. She had been excited to wear the new gown that her aunt had sent her, but now that she was here she realized that though it wasn’t exactly out of style, it was something an older woman would have worn. The large roses and all the pleats and ruffles had seemed luxuriously elegant when Janae had first pulled the gown from the box, but now that it was on her she couldn’t help thinking that she looked rather like a self-important set of drapery that had been tied about the middle with a bow.
Janae looked around for Tessa and spotted her along the other wall, chatting with a group of friends. The dim gaslights in the assembly hall, the tall windows, the decorations, made it almost seem like a romantic place. If only Janae didn’t feel so out of place here. This wasn’t the kind of thing she liked at all. Balls were only entertaining, she thought, if someone was paying attention to you.
“Miss Flandry?” Janae heard Madame Zabriski calling her. She turned around to see Madame coming toward her, a big smile on her face, and a young man in tow. Janae’s eyebrows twitched up when she recognized the boy from last week’s fencing club adventure.
“Janae Flandry, this is William Clifton. He asked me to introduce you. I understand you encountered him at the fencing club last week, but that he never got your name.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Janae said, a little stiffly, as William shook her hand.
“I don’t know if you’re free at the moment, but would you care to dance?” William asked.
Janae stood up, watching William warily. Was he up to something again? “Certainly.”
The band was playing a moderate waltz. Janae thanked her feet for not stumbling for the first full turn around the floor. William spoke first. “I just wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings on account of you utterly humiliating me last week.”
“I should hope not,” Janae said, “Since it seemed rather obvious you were trying to humiliate me!”
“Humiliate you?” William seemed honestly shocked. “How so?”
“Taunting me like that, letting me get ahead, and then mowing me down to the last point.”
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you,” William said. “I merely wanted it to be more of a challenge…”
Janae made a strangled sound in her throat. “So you’re saying that otherwise I wouldn’t have been a challenge?”
“Not exactly what I meant,” William said.
Janae stumbled a little, and William stopped for her to regain her balance.
“Sorry,” She said, “I’m not as practiced at my dancing as I am at my fencing.”
“You’re not? What a shock.” He nearly laughed. “Madame Z said you’ve put in more practice hours than many of her team members.”
“I love it,” Janae said. “It’s a fantastic game.”
William led Janae through the same figure that had tripped her before, and she stumbled again. “Trying to trick me up, are you?” she asked.
William let go suddenly, and Janae stopped herself two steps away from him.
“That’s your trouble!” he said, like it was a revelation. “All round this floor, I knew something was wrong. You think we’re having a battle. That dancing is some kind of contest. Fencing is a debate. Dancing is a conversation. Now, come, try again, and this time, listen!”
Janae stepped forward, felt him take her hand, felt the other hand securely on her back. Determined to show him she could do this, she tuned all her senses to his movement. The music played, he stepped forward, and she glided back, her eyes on the chandelier, her heart beating faster. He was right, she had been thinking this was a contest. William led her through the figure again, and this time she kept her balance, twirled out and back, and then continued the dance in perfect time.
Read the previous scene: Fencing Club
Janae looked around for Tessa and spotted her along the other wall, chatting with a group of friends. The dim gaslights in the assembly hall, the tall windows, the decorations, made it almost seem like a romantic place. If only Janae didn’t feel so out of place here. This wasn’t the kind of thing she liked at all. Balls were only entertaining, she thought, if someone was paying attention to you.
“Miss Flandry?” Janae heard Madame Zabriski calling her. She turned around to see Madame coming toward her, a big smile on her face, and a young man in tow. Janae’s eyebrows twitched up when she recognized the boy from last week’s fencing club adventure.
“Janae Flandry, this is William Clifton. He asked me to introduce you. I understand you encountered him at the fencing club last week, but that he never got your name.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Janae said, a little stiffly, as William shook her hand.
“I don’t know if you’re free at the moment, but would you care to dance?” William asked.
Janae stood up, watching William warily. Was he up to something again? “Certainly.”
The band was playing a moderate waltz. Janae thanked her feet for not stumbling for the first full turn around the floor. William spoke first. “I just wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings on account of you utterly humiliating me last week.”
“I should hope not,” Janae said, “Since it seemed rather obvious you were trying to humiliate me!”
“Humiliate you?” William seemed honestly shocked. “How so?”
“Taunting me like that, letting me get ahead, and then mowing me down to the last point.”
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you,” William said. “I merely wanted it to be more of a challenge…”
Janae made a strangled sound in her throat. “So you’re saying that otherwise I wouldn’t have been a challenge?”
“Not exactly what I meant,” William said.
Janae stumbled a little, and William stopped for her to regain her balance.
“Sorry,” She said, “I’m not as practiced at my dancing as I am at my fencing.”
“You’re not? What a shock.” He nearly laughed. “Madame Z said you’ve put in more practice hours than many of her team members.”
“I love it,” Janae said. “It’s a fantastic game.”
William led Janae through the same figure that had tripped her before, and she stumbled again. “Trying to trick me up, are you?” she asked.
William let go suddenly, and Janae stopped herself two steps away from him.
“That’s your trouble!” he said, like it was a revelation. “All round this floor, I knew something was wrong. You think we’re having a battle. That dancing is some kind of contest. Fencing is a debate. Dancing is a conversation. Now, come, try again, and this time, listen!”
Janae stepped forward, felt him take her hand, felt the other hand securely on her back. Determined to show him she could do this, she tuned all her senses to his movement. The music played, he stepped forward, and she glided back, her eyes on the chandelier, her heart beating faster. He was right, she had been thinking this was a contest. William led her through the figure again, and this time she kept her balance, twirled out and back, and then continued the dance in perfect time.
Read the previous scene: Fencing Club
Thursday, December 25, 2014
#65 Fencing Club
Janae did not think she was ready to go to fencing club. Tessa practically had to drag her. That is if dragging her was picking her up at her dormitory and then walking with her through a light fall of snow all the way to the gymnasium, their fencing bags over their shoulders.
“Fencing club is for people on the team,” Janae said.
“No one said we couldn’t come. It’s an open practice session, and they’ve invited the boys fencing club. There will be a lot of people. Beginners too.”
“Ugh!” Janae said.
The gymnasium was warm and bright with yellow light when Tessa and Janae stepped in. They signed in under “visitors” on the roster, then went to the locker room to get in their gear.
There were two fencing strips set up at one end of the room with bouts going on. Several people were standing watching, some in gear and some just in plain clothes. Around the room others were practicing on their own or in pairs, but most of it was just watching or talking. Janae had imagined something more intense for a practice session. She felt herself relax, and at the same time was a little disappointed. She had wanted to learn something tonight.
Self-consciously, Janae went over to a corner to warm up, then started looking for someone to practice with.
“Over here,” Tessa called, grinning. “You’re up, Janae. On the platform.”
Janae shook her head.
“Come on,” Janae said. “You’ll do fine.”
Janae kept her head down as she climbed the platform steps. When she reached the strip she looked up and saw to her horror that there was a boy at the other end. One of the boys on the fencing team no less. This was going to be over quick, Janae thought.
Apparently he thought the same thing. Barely looking at her, he pulled his mask on and gave her a perfunctory salute. Janae returned the gesture sharply, then got into position.
“Ready? Fence!”
Two seconds later, Janae had her point planted in the middle of her opponent’s jacket. She stepped back. A lucky shot, she thought.
When she landed the third point, she knew he was toying with her. She narrowed her eyes and thought she caught a grin behind the wires of his mask. Maybe it was her imagination.
Fourth point went to Janae as well. Now she steeled herself. The match went to five points. Now he was going to try to come from behind and smash her.
Sure enough, after that fourth point everything changed. He parried everything she threw at him, and when she didn’t go on the offensive he had the point before she had time to think. Before Janae knew it, it was four to four.
She didn’t even care anymore. She knew it was suicide, but this time she was simply going to go for a simple, straightforward, explosive lunge and see what happened.
“Ready? Fence!”
Janae launched herself forward, and this time evaded her opponent’s parry with a perfect, tiny circle of her blade. To her surprise, her point landed.
“Point LEFT!” the referee shouted. Janae had won.
Janae stood there, stunned, while the crowd applauded. Her opponent was laughing as he took of his mask and shook out his damp curls. A little late, Janae remembered she was supposed to take off her mask to shake hands, and so she quickly pulled hers off too. “Good match,” He said sheepishly, shaking his head as he put out his hand.
She couldn’t help grinning. She grinned all the way home.
Read the next scene: The Semester Ball
Read the previous scene: Fencing Lesson
“Fencing club is for people on the team,” Janae said.
“No one said we couldn’t come. It’s an open practice session, and they’ve invited the boys fencing club. There will be a lot of people. Beginners too.”
“Ugh!” Janae said.
The gymnasium was warm and bright with yellow light when Tessa and Janae stepped in. They signed in under “visitors” on the roster, then went to the locker room to get in their gear.
There were two fencing strips set up at one end of the room with bouts going on. Several people were standing watching, some in gear and some just in plain clothes. Around the room others were practicing on their own or in pairs, but most of it was just watching or talking. Janae had imagined something more intense for a practice session. She felt herself relax, and at the same time was a little disappointed. She had wanted to learn something tonight.
Self-consciously, Janae went over to a corner to warm up, then started looking for someone to practice with.
“Over here,” Tessa called, grinning. “You’re up, Janae. On the platform.”
Janae shook her head.
“Come on,” Janae said. “You’ll do fine.”
Janae kept her head down as she climbed the platform steps. When she reached the strip she looked up and saw to her horror that there was a boy at the other end. One of the boys on the fencing team no less. This was going to be over quick, Janae thought.
Apparently he thought the same thing. Barely looking at her, he pulled his mask on and gave her a perfunctory salute. Janae returned the gesture sharply, then got into position.
“Ready? Fence!”
Two seconds later, Janae had her point planted in the middle of her opponent’s jacket. She stepped back. A lucky shot, she thought.
When she landed the third point, she knew he was toying with her. She narrowed her eyes and thought she caught a grin behind the wires of his mask. Maybe it was her imagination.
Fourth point went to Janae as well. Now she steeled herself. The match went to five points. Now he was going to try to come from behind and smash her.
Sure enough, after that fourth point everything changed. He parried everything she threw at him, and when she didn’t go on the offensive he had the point before she had time to think. Before Janae knew it, it was four to four.
She didn’t even care anymore. She knew it was suicide, but this time she was simply going to go for a simple, straightforward, explosive lunge and see what happened.
“Ready? Fence!”
Janae launched herself forward, and this time evaded her opponent’s parry with a perfect, tiny circle of her blade. To her surprise, her point landed.
“Point LEFT!” the referee shouted. Janae had won.
Janae stood there, stunned, while the crowd applauded. Her opponent was laughing as he took of his mask and shook out his damp curls. A little late, Janae remembered she was supposed to take off her mask to shake hands, and so she quickly pulled hers off too. “Good match,” He said sheepishly, shaking his head as he put out his hand.
She couldn’t help grinning. She grinned all the way home.
Read the next scene: The Semester Ball
Read the previous scene: Fencing Lesson
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
#64 The First Christmas
This is a story you have heard before, but perhaps you have not heard it told the way you will hear it now.
Once upon a time in a land far away there was a beautiful princess. But this princess did not live in a palace, only in a humble house in a small village. In the days of her ancestors, her kingdom had been conquered by another nation, and then another, and then another. Five times over, her kingdom was taken into bondage, and now was only an unimportant province of a vast and cruel empire. And yet, she was of the ancient royal line, and a princess. Perhaps she knew the secret, perhaps her grandmother had whispered it to her once, you are a princess, in hiding, and one day your kingdom will rise again.
One day a messenger came to this princess, crying hail, a greeting that would be echoed to her name by untold lips through the coming ages. Fear not, Mary, he said, and told her that she would bear a son, and that to this child the ancient kingdom would be restored. Startled, confused, Mary asked how this was to be, as she was not yet married. The messenger told her that the child she was to bear would be a miracle, unlike any child that had yet come into the world.
In this tiny village where Mary lived there was a man named Joseph, a prince, the heir to the ancient, much conquered, but never forgotten kingdom. He was engaged to Mary, but when he knew she was going to have a child he was deeply troubled. He must have felt a sting of betrayal, and great sorrow. It was his right to call for a public trial and execution, but gentle Joseph desired mercy. He thought to privately end his engagement to Mary. But then another messenger came, in a dream, and told him to take Mary as his wife, for the miracle that grew within her was the Son of God, and would sit upon the ancient throne of his ancestors.
As the time for the child to be born drew near, Mary and Joseph were ordered by the rulers of the land to return to their ancestral home and be counted for taxation. They made their way to Bethlehem, the birthplace of the ancient king from which Mary and Joseph descended. When they arrived, the city was so crowded they had to stay in a stable, and it was there that the child was born.
Mary and Joseph might have wondered why, if this baby was so important that angels had visited both of them to announce his coming, why he must be born in such a humble and rude place. But then as they rested, weary from the birth, relieved at the coming of their new beloved son, a small band of shepherds entered the stable. They had a story to tell! Angels! Angels had come to the fields and told the shepherds they would find the baby wrapped in swathing clothes and laid in a manger! For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord! Glory to God, Peace on Earth, Good will to men!
And so heaven was still mindful of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus on that night in Bethlehem, a third witness of angels had come to bear testimony that this baby was the Son of God in the flesh, and would be King over all the earth.
Once upon a time in a land far away there was a beautiful princess. But this princess did not live in a palace, only in a humble house in a small village. In the days of her ancestors, her kingdom had been conquered by another nation, and then another, and then another. Five times over, her kingdom was taken into bondage, and now was only an unimportant province of a vast and cruel empire. And yet, she was of the ancient royal line, and a princess. Perhaps she knew the secret, perhaps her grandmother had whispered it to her once, you are a princess, in hiding, and one day your kingdom will rise again.
One day a messenger came to this princess, crying hail, a greeting that would be echoed to her name by untold lips through the coming ages. Fear not, Mary, he said, and told her that she would bear a son, and that to this child the ancient kingdom would be restored. Startled, confused, Mary asked how this was to be, as she was not yet married. The messenger told her that the child she was to bear would be a miracle, unlike any child that had yet come into the world.
In this tiny village where Mary lived there was a man named Joseph, a prince, the heir to the ancient, much conquered, but never forgotten kingdom. He was engaged to Mary, but when he knew she was going to have a child he was deeply troubled. He must have felt a sting of betrayal, and great sorrow. It was his right to call for a public trial and execution, but gentle Joseph desired mercy. He thought to privately end his engagement to Mary. But then another messenger came, in a dream, and told him to take Mary as his wife, for the miracle that grew within her was the Son of God, and would sit upon the ancient throne of his ancestors.
As the time for the child to be born drew near, Mary and Joseph were ordered by the rulers of the land to return to their ancestral home and be counted for taxation. They made their way to Bethlehem, the birthplace of the ancient king from which Mary and Joseph descended. When they arrived, the city was so crowded they had to stay in a stable, and it was there that the child was born.
Mary and Joseph might have wondered why, if this baby was so important that angels had visited both of them to announce his coming, why he must be born in such a humble and rude place. But then as they rested, weary from the birth, relieved at the coming of their new beloved son, a small band of shepherds entered the stable. They had a story to tell! Angels! Angels had come to the fields and told the shepherds they would find the baby wrapped in swathing clothes and laid in a manger! For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord! Glory to God, Peace on Earth, Good will to men!
And so heaven was still mindful of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus on that night in Bethlehem, a third witness of angels had come to bear testimony that this baby was the Son of God in the flesh, and would be King over all the earth.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
#63 The Christmas Ornament
The clock struck three.
Adri waited for more bells, but the clock stayed silent. “Only three?” She asked. “But it’s eleven in the morning!”
Grandma laughed. “That poor old clock. It’s over a hundred years old, so we just let it do whatever it wants to and we don’t complain. We’re just glad she’s still ticking.”
Adri stared at the fancy black hands in the clock’s age-speckled face. The long hand to the eleven, the short hand to the twelve. What good was a chime in the clock if it didn’t tell the right time?
“Come and help me, Adri,” Grandma unwrapped a yellowed piece of tissue paper from around a glass ornament. It was shaped like a lemon, sort of, a lemon with very pointy ends. “Do you see this? It’s very old too, almost as old as the clock. Your great-great-great- I don’t know how many great grandmother brought them over from Europe.”
Adri cupped the shiny thing in her hands. Hand-painted leaves and berries circled the mirrored surface. She held it close to see her reflection. Then she almost dropped it.
The little girl’s face in the reflection wasn’t hers.
“Grandma,” Adri whispered, staring at the other girl. She had her dark hair in long braids, and wore a dress. The room around her was different, too. There was no piano, and the couch was more like a wooden bench with a cushion on it, and over the little girl’s shoulder Adri could see a huge fireplace, and on the fireplace mantle, Grandma’s old clock.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice Adri at all. She only stared back at Adri for a moment, and then the reflection began to move as the little girl stretched out her arm. The curved surface quickly made the girl look tiny while her hand and the lacy end of her sleeve remained huge. Green pine needles appeared, large around the edges of the image, and then the little girl let go of the ornament and bent to get another one out of the box.
“Hurry and hang it up, dear,” Grandma said. “There’s lots more.”
“Grandma, the reflection,” Adri said. “There’s someone else in it!”
Grandma squinted at the ornament. “I’d need my glasses, sweetheart.”
The whole box of ornaments showed a different room than the one Adri and grandma worked in. There were several children who came and went, a woman with a pile of dark brown hair done up on top of her head and an apron over her blouse and long skirt, and a man in a suit. Adri wondered who they were.
An hour later, the clock chimed again, this time Adri counted the twelve bells, just as it should be. The Christmas Tree was finished, and Grandma was putting all the wrapping paper away in the boxes. Adri checked her magic ornaments again, and this time saw herself reflected, with the clock on a bookshelf behind her.
Adri waited for more bells, but the clock stayed silent. “Only three?” She asked. “But it’s eleven in the morning!”
Grandma laughed. “That poor old clock. It’s over a hundred years old, so we just let it do whatever it wants to and we don’t complain. We’re just glad she’s still ticking.”
Adri stared at the fancy black hands in the clock’s age-speckled face. The long hand to the eleven, the short hand to the twelve. What good was a chime in the clock if it didn’t tell the right time?
“Come and help me, Adri,” Grandma unwrapped a yellowed piece of tissue paper from around a glass ornament. It was shaped like a lemon, sort of, a lemon with very pointy ends. “Do you see this? It’s very old too, almost as old as the clock. Your great-great-great- I don’t know how many great grandmother brought them over from Europe.”
Adri cupped the shiny thing in her hands. Hand-painted leaves and berries circled the mirrored surface. She held it close to see her reflection. Then she almost dropped it.
The little girl’s face in the reflection wasn’t hers.
“Grandma,” Adri whispered, staring at the other girl. She had her dark hair in long braids, and wore a dress. The room around her was different, too. There was no piano, and the couch was more like a wooden bench with a cushion on it, and over the little girl’s shoulder Adri could see a huge fireplace, and on the fireplace mantle, Grandma’s old clock.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice Adri at all. She only stared back at Adri for a moment, and then the reflection began to move as the little girl stretched out her arm. The curved surface quickly made the girl look tiny while her hand and the lacy end of her sleeve remained huge. Green pine needles appeared, large around the edges of the image, and then the little girl let go of the ornament and bent to get another one out of the box.
“Hurry and hang it up, dear,” Grandma said. “There’s lots more.”
“Grandma, the reflection,” Adri said. “There’s someone else in it!”
Grandma squinted at the ornament. “I’d need my glasses, sweetheart.”
The whole box of ornaments showed a different room than the one Adri and grandma worked in. There were several children who came and went, a woman with a pile of dark brown hair done up on top of her head and an apron over her blouse and long skirt, and a man in a suit. Adri wondered who they were.
An hour later, the clock chimed again, this time Adri counted the twelve bells, just as it should be. The Christmas Tree was finished, and Grandma was putting all the wrapping paper away in the boxes. Adri checked her magic ornaments again, and this time saw herself reflected, with the clock on a bookshelf behind her.
Monday, December 22, 2014
#62 2014: A Christmas Carol
I heard my parents come down the basement stairs. “We’re going to bed now, Eb. Better turn off that game and come up,” Mom said.
“Sure, Mom,” I said on automatic while focusing all my energy on destroying the enemy Galactazoid fleet. “I will.”
“Santa can’t come until you’re asleep,” Dad offered.
“Yeah, right,” I said. I’d heard Mom and Dad moving around upstairs for the last hour or so, putting all the loot under the Christmas tree. Santa had already come, whether I was in bed or not.
“Good night,” Mom bent over to give me a kiss on the cheek. I had to be careful not to miss a shot because her head blocked some of my view of the screen.
Once Mom and Dad had gone upstairs I settled in for some serious blasting. I was going to beat level 37 tonight if it killed me.
A face appeared on the screen. Not part of the game, but reflected off the surface, a person’s face. I shrieked and nearly dropped my controller. It looked like… like my dead friend Jake!
The face vanished as I totally got toasted by enemy fire. Game Over appeared.
With my heart still pounding, I clicked the button to start the game again. Back at level one again. No way.
I must be getting really sleepy to be seeing things like that. Jake had died three years ago in a bike accident. Just thinking about it gave me the creeps. Now I was dreaming his face on my computer screen.
Good old Jake, we used to do a lot of gaming together.
“Yo, Eb!” I heard a voice behind me.
“Jake?” I gasped, afraid to turn around. If I did, I wouldn’t make it past level one. Embarrasing!
Jake, or what was left of him, came drifting sulkily into view. He was only half there, I could see stuff that was behind him. He was wearing a stained t-shirt and cargo shorts, I guess that was what he had died in, but the weird thing was, he was all tangled up in game controllers and computer cables. The controllers made funny plastic clicking noises as he moved.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Hey, could you drift a little to the left? I can’t see the screen.”
“I’ve come to warn you, Eb,” Jake said.
“What’s with all that junk?” I looked him up and down real quick while my ship was teleporting to the first quadrant.
He spread out his arms. A computer mouse rattled against an ipod dangling from knotted headphone wires. “These are the chains I forged in life. Your chains have grown even longer than mine in the three years since my death.”
“So, they got any good games on the other side?” I asked.
Jake made a kind of wailing, moaning sound that pretty much meant, “No! You wish!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “What did you say you wanted?”
“You must change! Repent! Mend your ways! Three spirits will visit you tonight…”
“Whoa, no way, no need for that. I get it. I’ll change. I won’t play so much video games anymore. I promise.”
“Beware!” Jake said as he vanished.
I meant it, too. I was going to change. Just as soon as I beat level 37.
“Sure, Mom,” I said on automatic while focusing all my energy on destroying the enemy Galactazoid fleet. “I will.”
“Santa can’t come until you’re asleep,” Dad offered.
“Yeah, right,” I said. I’d heard Mom and Dad moving around upstairs for the last hour or so, putting all the loot under the Christmas tree. Santa had already come, whether I was in bed or not.
“Good night,” Mom bent over to give me a kiss on the cheek. I had to be careful not to miss a shot because her head blocked some of my view of the screen.
Once Mom and Dad had gone upstairs I settled in for some serious blasting. I was going to beat level 37 tonight if it killed me.
A face appeared on the screen. Not part of the game, but reflected off the surface, a person’s face. I shrieked and nearly dropped my controller. It looked like… like my dead friend Jake!
The face vanished as I totally got toasted by enemy fire. Game Over appeared.
With my heart still pounding, I clicked the button to start the game again. Back at level one again. No way.
I must be getting really sleepy to be seeing things like that. Jake had died three years ago in a bike accident. Just thinking about it gave me the creeps. Now I was dreaming his face on my computer screen.
Good old Jake, we used to do a lot of gaming together.
“Yo, Eb!” I heard a voice behind me.
“Jake?” I gasped, afraid to turn around. If I did, I wouldn’t make it past level one. Embarrasing!
Jake, or what was left of him, came drifting sulkily into view. He was only half there, I could see stuff that was behind him. He was wearing a stained t-shirt and cargo shorts, I guess that was what he had died in, but the weird thing was, he was all tangled up in game controllers and computer cables. The controllers made funny plastic clicking noises as he moved.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Hey, could you drift a little to the left? I can’t see the screen.”
“I’ve come to warn you, Eb,” Jake said.
“What’s with all that junk?” I looked him up and down real quick while my ship was teleporting to the first quadrant.
He spread out his arms. A computer mouse rattled against an ipod dangling from knotted headphone wires. “These are the chains I forged in life. Your chains have grown even longer than mine in the three years since my death.”
“So, they got any good games on the other side?” I asked.
Jake made a kind of wailing, moaning sound that pretty much meant, “No! You wish!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “What did you say you wanted?”
“You must change! Repent! Mend your ways! Three spirits will visit you tonight…”
“Whoa, no way, no need for that. I get it. I’ll change. I won’t play so much video games anymore. I promise.”
“Beware!” Jake said as he vanished.
I meant it, too. I was going to change. Just as soon as I beat level 37.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
#61 One Pound of Butter
One pound of butter. I stared at it while I felt the cold from the refrigerator case pour down over my shoes. One pound of real butter, not margarine. That was all I needed to make the Christmas cookies my grandma had given me the recipe for, the kind I used to snitch from the big glass jars at her house when I went to visit. I could still feel the hard, cold glass, smell the sweetness of sugar, lemon, and butter, the bright red and green candied fruits like jewels on top.
One pound of butter. So much more expensive than margarine. I sighed at my half-empty cart. I never spent more than we had. It was a pride I clung to, a game I played. There wasn’t quite room in the grocery budget for one pound of butter this week. Maybe next time. Christmas was still a few weeks away. I could buy the butter next week.
At the check stand, I gave a quick, apologetic smile to the person in line behind me as I handed the WIC vouchers to the cashier. The person behind me would have to wait a little longer than usual while the clerk scanned the vouchers for the milk, the cereal, the juice that otherwise would have been back there, un-bought, along with the butter. I gave a quick thought to my husband and baby daughter, it was nice that he had a light school schedule on Tuesdays so I could go do some shopping on my own while he watched our little girl. It would be so nice to give them both a taste of my childhood Christmas memories. I almost wanted to go back and get that pound of butter, forget the budget, it’s Christmas! But there was the clerk nearly done with the things on the conveyor, and this person behind me trying to be patient.
I’d get it next week.
On my way to the car, a scrawny man with wild gray hair straggling out from under a tattered baseball cap wheeled his rusty bike up right next to my cart. “Do you have any spare change?” he asked. “I’m trying to get a bus fare to Salem.”
I paused for a moment, then opened my purse. “I haven’t got much,” I said with a nervous smile. There were no bills in my wallet, just a few coins in the pouch. I gave them all to him.
“Hey, thanks,” he said, and rolled away.
Stunned, I rattled my shopping cart over the parking lot toward my battered blue car. I opened the back hatch with my key and loaded in the few bags of groceries that would feed us this week. Angry, why was I so angry and bitter that I’d given away the last of my change to some stranger who had just asked me for it? Here I had food, a home, a family, he might not have anything but that bike he was pushing.
I closed the hatch back and got in the driver’s seat, then collapsed against the steering wheel, sobbing. Shame, anger, frustration, all raining down in a torrent. And then peace, a sort of resigned peace came over me. I sat up and turned the key in the ignition. Time to go home.
The man with the bike was still standing there, watching me, puzzled, as if curious as to why I was crying.
I didn’t really understand it either. But I wondered if he would still have asked me for money if he’d known about the pound of butter, if he’d really, really known.
One pound of butter. So much more expensive than margarine. I sighed at my half-empty cart. I never spent more than we had. It was a pride I clung to, a game I played. There wasn’t quite room in the grocery budget for one pound of butter this week. Maybe next time. Christmas was still a few weeks away. I could buy the butter next week.
At the check stand, I gave a quick, apologetic smile to the person in line behind me as I handed the WIC vouchers to the cashier. The person behind me would have to wait a little longer than usual while the clerk scanned the vouchers for the milk, the cereal, the juice that otherwise would have been back there, un-bought, along with the butter. I gave a quick thought to my husband and baby daughter, it was nice that he had a light school schedule on Tuesdays so I could go do some shopping on my own while he watched our little girl. It would be so nice to give them both a taste of my childhood Christmas memories. I almost wanted to go back and get that pound of butter, forget the budget, it’s Christmas! But there was the clerk nearly done with the things on the conveyor, and this person behind me trying to be patient.
I’d get it next week.
On my way to the car, a scrawny man with wild gray hair straggling out from under a tattered baseball cap wheeled his rusty bike up right next to my cart. “Do you have any spare change?” he asked. “I’m trying to get a bus fare to Salem.”
I paused for a moment, then opened my purse. “I haven’t got much,” I said with a nervous smile. There were no bills in my wallet, just a few coins in the pouch. I gave them all to him.
“Hey, thanks,” he said, and rolled away.
Stunned, I rattled my shopping cart over the parking lot toward my battered blue car. I opened the back hatch with my key and loaded in the few bags of groceries that would feed us this week. Angry, why was I so angry and bitter that I’d given away the last of my change to some stranger who had just asked me for it? Here I had food, a home, a family, he might not have anything but that bike he was pushing.
I closed the hatch back and got in the driver’s seat, then collapsed against the steering wheel, sobbing. Shame, anger, frustration, all raining down in a torrent. And then peace, a sort of resigned peace came over me. I sat up and turned the key in the ignition. Time to go home.
The man with the bike was still standing there, watching me, puzzled, as if curious as to why I was crying.
I didn’t really understand it either. But I wondered if he would still have asked me for money if he’d known about the pound of butter, if he’d really, really known.
Friday, December 19, 2014
#60 Challenges Excepted
Today's story by Benjamin Carlson has a clever twist at the end. Enjoy!
Dave stared at the ornament.
It was a spherical Christmas tree hanging, with a hook on the top holding onto one of the many plastic stems of the fake Christmas tree his parents set up every year. From halfway across the room, ornament looked exactly like every other shiny orb hanging on the tree. Except that it was pitch black.
Dave stepped closer. The orb seemed to be pulling at him, encouraging him to peer further into that endless depth of mysterious darkn—
“Oh, no, no way. Not this time, you don’t!” Dave wasn’t having it. “There is no way I’m doing this today. I’ve got too much to do and not enough time.” Dave turned away from the deep black ornament and started to leave the room. The room promptly began to warp and fade into darkness.
“Oh, bother.” Dave sighed with frustration and looked around. The room had become a world devoid of anything visible. Suddenly a green light appeared, forming a ring a couple meters in diameter around his feet. The green changed to light blue, then to blue, then purple. It kept changing color, kind of like the ribbons on Dave’s computer’s screensaver. The circle then stretched, extending outward in front of him. Just like it always did.
“Right. Here we go again.” Dave said, resignedly. He walked down the “path” edged by the colorful lights. He wanted to stop looking at the lights. They were starting to give him a headache. They almost always did, but if he looked away from them, he would have no reference to tell him if he was still on the path.
After the light had extended to a certain point it split, one arc going upward, forming a doorway, the other broadening, forming a large circular area that would be “safe” to walk on. He’d tried walking outside the colorful edge. The results had not been pleasant.
Dave walked through the doorway. Almost immediately after he did, a voice sounded, visually represented by ripples of color-shifting light expanding from the center of the large circular “floor.”
“David Green, you have been chosen to face a series of Challenges. For each Challenge you complete, you will receive—”
“Oh, enough already. You’ve already told me this stuff a bazillion times. I don’t have time for your silly games today. I have to write a research paper and read the first ten chapters of “Pride and Prejudice” by tomorrow. Just let me Return Home, already.”
The voice grumbled, “No champion may leave without completing a Challenge. To this Rule there are no exceptions.”
“Then just give me a Challenge that will get me Home if I complete it!” David said, frustrated. He was really not in the mood for this today.
The voice hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
“Very well.” Five doorways, outlined by colorful light, appeared on the edge of the circle farthest from Dave. “One door leads back Home. All other doors lead to Challenges. Choose wisely.”
Dave stood there for a moment, thinking. Then he smirked. “I accept this Challenge.”
Dave turned around, walked through the door he had come through, and appeared back in his house.
Dave stared at the ornament.
It was a spherical Christmas tree hanging, with a hook on the top holding onto one of the many plastic stems of the fake Christmas tree his parents set up every year. From halfway across the room, ornament looked exactly like every other shiny orb hanging on the tree. Except that it was pitch black.
Dave stepped closer. The orb seemed to be pulling at him, encouraging him to peer further into that endless depth of mysterious darkn—
“Oh, no, no way. Not this time, you don’t!” Dave wasn’t having it. “There is no way I’m doing this today. I’ve got too much to do and not enough time.” Dave turned away from the deep black ornament and started to leave the room. The room promptly began to warp and fade into darkness.
“Oh, bother.” Dave sighed with frustration and looked around. The room had become a world devoid of anything visible. Suddenly a green light appeared, forming a ring a couple meters in diameter around his feet. The green changed to light blue, then to blue, then purple. It kept changing color, kind of like the ribbons on Dave’s computer’s screensaver. The circle then stretched, extending outward in front of him. Just like it always did.
“Right. Here we go again.” Dave said, resignedly. He walked down the “path” edged by the colorful lights. He wanted to stop looking at the lights. They were starting to give him a headache. They almost always did, but if he looked away from them, he would have no reference to tell him if he was still on the path.
After the light had extended to a certain point it split, one arc going upward, forming a doorway, the other broadening, forming a large circular area that would be “safe” to walk on. He’d tried walking outside the colorful edge. The results had not been pleasant.
Dave walked through the doorway. Almost immediately after he did, a voice sounded, visually represented by ripples of color-shifting light expanding from the center of the large circular “floor.”
“David Green, you have been chosen to face a series of Challenges. For each Challenge you complete, you will receive—”
“Oh, enough already. You’ve already told me this stuff a bazillion times. I don’t have time for your silly games today. I have to write a research paper and read the first ten chapters of “Pride and Prejudice” by tomorrow. Just let me Return Home, already.”
The voice grumbled, “No champion may leave without completing a Challenge. To this Rule there are no exceptions.”
“Then just give me a Challenge that will get me Home if I complete it!” David said, frustrated. He was really not in the mood for this today.
The voice hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
“Very well.” Five doorways, outlined by colorful light, appeared on the edge of the circle farthest from Dave. “One door leads back Home. All other doors lead to Challenges. Choose wisely.”
Dave stood there for a moment, thinking. Then he smirked. “I accept this Challenge.”
Dave turned around, walked through the door he had come through, and appeared back in his house.
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