Thursday! The E-Zine for February 5, 2024
V4, I11
Last week I had nothing. This week, I have…something! Yes. Something is what I have and something is what I will give you! Admittedly, the selections this week do not amount to a sumptuous literary feast1, but they’ll do just fine as tasty amuse bouches with which you can amuse your bouche2.
I have a plan for a subscriber story, but my time this week is spoken for more than usual. I’ve become the primary teacher for the adult Sunday school class at my church plus I’m filling in for Friday’s Bible study. That means lessons for Friday and the next three Sundays. Time I might otherwise spend with a story and narration will have to go to study and preparation.
It’ll be okay, though. I need the demands on me so I can get better with managing my time and making sure I can do all the things I truly want to do (teaching, writing, relationships, Thursday!, looking for a new job) while limiting the things that cut hard into those things.
In short, a new3 subscriber story is coming, but it might be a couple of weeks. Cool? Cool.
Poem
Stories
The Night Lords
The moon lords over the Earth, Sends forth its Dukes and Sheriffs, Awaits their reports as it paces With measured patience from horizon To horizon. The Shadow Dukes creep above and Below and watch and remember. They grow tall and bold then shrink And fade and crawl back to their lord To report. The Silent Sheriffs listen around corners And from behind closed doors. They Whisper and whine in the distance Train whistles and owl screams To our ears. The night passes and the moon Receives the secrets of the dim hours, The residue of our dreams and desires From its lesser lords, then quietly gives way To morning.
The Plant Lady
Rachael dragged the last pot onto her porch, shoved it into place with a weary grunt, and collapsed into her chair. She smiled even as she noted the ache in her biceps. The palm trees had been on sale for six dollars apiece, pot and all. How could she resist? Her husband had asked her not to buy any more plants, but that was such a silly request. Fifty plants wasn’t too many, especially since they all had names and she knew exactly how much sunlight they desired and when they needed to be watered and what food they liked. Oh, the food they liked. That had been the largest expense. At first, she bought a large bag of plant food, then two. Soon she needed help lugging the bags from the store to her new truck, which she bought to carry the plant food — oh, how her husband had balked over that! — and soon, well… At least he didn’t make such silly requests anymore. She sighed and relaxed into the thatched cushion of her chair. Leafy fronds rubbed the tense muscles of her shoulders and biceps. She had three new trees that needed names and nourishment. Perhaps she would ask that wild-eyed young vagrant who watched her as she left the house every day to help her bring in the plant food tomorrow. He seemed strong. She might even use his name. It’s not like he would need it…after. Rachel slipped into a happy dream, surrounded by her plants.
Death Comes for Seth
Seth Sethman, world-famous motivational speaker looked in horror at the bony figure standing with a foot on his antique desk. The scent of brimstone fought valiantly against incense and lavishly-applied body spray. Death hefted a spear inscribed with the word “Finis”. “Your time has come, Seth.” Its voice held neither fear nor favor. “H–how? I’m hella healthy! I eat clean! I Crossf–” “SILENCE! You summoned me!” Seth shrugged and Death continued.. “Last week you said, ‘If my book isn’t finished in a week I’ll literally die’.” “And?” Death’s shoulders sagged as if it had sighed. “Is your book finished?” “Well, no.” “There you go.” Death aimed the barbed tip of the spear at Seth’s heart. “Whoa!” Seth held up a protesting hand. “I was speaking figuratively!” “No”, Death said. “You weren’t.” “My book will be great! It’s called Who’s Awesome? You’re Awesome: Oh Yes You Are. You’re Totally Awesome! It’s going to change the world! And I only need another week.” Death raised a nonexistent eyebrow. “Or you’ll literally die?” “Yeah. I’m telling you, man. The world needs this book. Come on. Be cool, bruh.” Death stopped and shuddered. “Did you…did you call me bruh?” “Yeah, bruh! We’re all related in the world! Brothers and sisters! All seeking our passionate awesome! That’s what my book is about! And the speaking tour afterwards! And all the blog posts! And the YouTube channel!” “ENOUGH”, Death shouted loud enough to rattle the entire office suite that once had been an abandoned warehouse. Seth slumped back into his leather chair. “Okay, bruh. But can I ask just one more question?” Death paused. Considered. “Very well.” “What does that word mean on your spear? Finis.” “It means ‘the end’.” “Literally?” A sharp light shone in his empty eye sockets. “Literally”. The spear thrust forward.
(Photo Credit: National Library of Medicine, Flickr Archive)
Are any of my stories or poems a feast of any sort, though? Pretty sure the answer is “no”. Also pretty sure I’m just fine with that.
Trust me. This is far better than what you might do with a hors d’oeuvre.
Well, kind of new. Is it '“new” if I take 100 words and expand it into many times that? I think it probably counts.