Written for RDP where Punam’s word of the day
is ‘chimera’ and for Sue and Gerry’s Weekly Prompt –
The One Day Prompt. Here’s where the prompts took me.
Tag: Accident
Warning Sign
Written for Only Murders In My Mind
Weekly Writing Prompt #81 and the
photo prompt shown below. Also for
Fandango’s One Word Challenge – ‘horoscope’.
Here’s where the prompts took me.
RDP Saturday: clutch
Today at RDP, we are asked to share a story,
poem, photo, painting, essay, etc., focusing
on the word ‘clutch’. Here’s my take.
Pretty Painted Nails
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
#432 where we’re asked to be creative in exactly
85 words using the word ‘eavesdrop’. Also for
Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge –
‘lilac’. Here’s where the prompts took me.
Bones Of Steel
Introduction: More Italians have emigrated to the United States than any other people in Europe. When they first arrived, speaking no English, they learned very quickly the only jobs available to them were in sanitation and construction. They took pride in their work. The resulting cathedrals and skyscrapers dotting Manhattan are testaments to their craftsmanship and determination.
I will not lie; this is not a new piece. It’s been
whittled down from its original 746 words to
250 words for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative using the photo
below as our inspiration. This is my story.
Not My Kid
Written for OLWG #399, our three prompts
for this week are shown below. This my story.
Afternoons With Tom
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Dazed and Confused: An Ovi
Written for dVerse Poets’ theme:
Poetics: Dreaming up a Poem.
This is my Ovi based on a dream.
We were in the car
Hadn’t gone very far
Not a cloud the sky to mar
It was a glorious day
We went to the casino
Hoping to win lots of dough
Trying not our money to blow
The slots were on our side
The sun was bright in the sky
We were happy, spirits high
The road was clear, I could fly
Where should we go for lunch?
Suddenly a huge traffic jam
On my brakes I did slam
Fishtailing, I felt the ram
Some guy hit me really hard
No way could I stop it
Roll roll roll flip into a pit
All we could do was sit
Gravel poured through the cracked sunroof
Police and ambulance appear
Anyone in there? Can you hear?
I’m in shock, feel no fear
We’re rushed to the hospital
I’m ok but my husband’s hurt
There’s so much blood on his shirt
He’s dazed and confused, not alert
God, please let him be ok
Dream ends and I wake up
I reach for my water cup
Heart is racing, thump thump thump
This is a true story
NAR©2024
This ovi poem is based on a horrible rollover accident from 2001 in which my husband and I were involved. The photo above is what was left of my car. I believe in God and I’m sure he was watching over us. It’s been 23 years but I still have dreams of that day.
This is “Dazed and Confused” by Led Zeppelin
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Condo
Written for Six Sentence Story where this week
we are challenged to use the word “faint”
in a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s mine.
After the boating accident, I returned to New York but didn’t have the heart to stay in the condo where Kevin and I used to live; I drove to my parents’ beach house in Amagansett, leaving the apartment untouched, thinking to return one day when I summoned the courage.
Too many memories and sleepless nights at the beach house brought me no comfort or closure …. an impossibility since Kevin’s body was never recovered …. and I now found myself back in Manhattan staring up at the window of my old condo and seeing ghosts …. ghosts of Kevin.
An overwhelming force drew me closer and I slowly entered the building and climbed the stairs to the apartment we once shared. Approaching the door, I could hear faint music, laughter and the sound of familiar voices; a man and a woman were inside, unaware of my presence as I stood outside the door for what seemed a lifetime …. and in that passage of time I knew beyond a doubt who they were.
Blood pounding in my head, I raised my fist to knock on the door, then stepped back.
Resolutely and silently, I walked away.
NAR©2024
This is “Ghost Behind My Eyes” by Ozzy Osbourne
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
On The Rocks – Part 2: After The Fall
The story continues.
Here’s Part 1.
The waiter silently glided up to my table carrying a silver tray with an empty glass, a decanter of ice cubes and a bottle of chilled limoncello. I watched as he expertly filled my glass halfway with ice, then with ease poured the moonglow yellow nectar over the cubes. I watched, mesmerized, as the oro liquido trickled down the inside of the glass and gently caressed the ice. A little twist of the wrist and he was done.
Not making eye contact, I thanked the waiter and told him to leave the bottle. He obliged.
I reached into my breast pocket and retrieved my silver cigarette case. Selecting a Muratti, I tapped it three times on the case and placed it between my lips. There was an ashtray and a book of matches on the table, compliments of the hotel; I lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply. I always got a rush from the feel of the slow burn of that first drag. I exhaled slowly watching the smoke rings break away and drift off.
Raising the glass of limoncello, I took a healthy sip and swirled it around in my mouth, savoring the refreshing lemony sweetness as I swallowed. I immediately began to feel a calm wash over me and I took another generous pull; it was unexpectedly heady. Placing the glass on the table, my hand remained suspended in midair as I spied the cursive inscription on my cigarette case:
To Nigel
From Camilla
Christmas, 2010
Plain, boring and emotionless …. exactly like Camilla was to me …. and I to her, no doubt. I quickly realized I hadn’t thought about her since that afternoon, since the accident. Even if there was anything left, which was doubtful considering the height of the cliffs and the number of times her frail body hit the rocks before disappearing into the choppy Mediterranean, there was no reason to assume it was anything but an accident. And that’s exactly what it was …. difficult to prove, though, if certain facts came to light
I put the cigarette case back into my pocket and thought about my next move. I refilled my glass, lit another Muratti and stared at the lights from the ships on the water. The longer I sat the more comfortable I became with my plan of action. It was imperative that nothing be rushed, not even a whiff of anything unusual lingering in the air.
Tomorrow I will leave Agrigento as planned. After lunch I’ll check out of the hotel; if anyone asks about Camilla, she had personal business to attend to. The concierge will arrange for my rental to be out front. Camilla preferred to travel light; it will be easy to add her bag to mine.
The waiter floated to my table, filled my glass with the last bit of limoncello, nodded politely and left, taking the empty bottle with him. I felt all traces of tension leave my body.
Tonight I will sleep peacefully.
To be continued….
NAR©2024
This is Umberto Tabbi with “Ciao Siciliano”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Desperation
Bits and pieces of an old one,
patched together for
The Unicorn Challenge;
this is my 250-word story.
Three years ago my darling Nina, my life-force, my soulmate, was killed in a ghastly accident while riding her bicycle to the library. I’d offered her a lift but she declined; Nina hated my motorcycle, calling it a deathtrap.
I remember the call, the ambulance and police, the excruciatingly long ride to the hospital, the lonely wait in the eerily quiet emergency room, the surgeon’s voice .… his words that torment me day after day after day. My wife is dead, our all-too-short marriage erased.
I am lost, blindly wandering Gehenna. I shut myself off from everything. Well-meaning friends brought Nina’s bicycle to the studio where she taught ballet. I heard it’s a lovely memorial but I can’t bring myself to go by.
It’s time for me to leave, escape the painful memories and the desperation. Our friends stopped calling long ago and there’s nothing left to do. It’s time for me to go.
I remove my wedding band and place it on the dresser next to my phone and wallet.
“Will my motorcycle start up?” I wonder “Or has it died, too?” I grab my helmet and walk to the garage. My bike stands in the corner, covered by a tarp now buried under three years of regret and bitterness. I strap on my gloves, open the garage door and climb on my bike.
It is pouring rain; I have no idea where I am going. It doesn’t matter; I’ve stopped caring. Now I need to stop the heartache.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is The Dirty Mac with “Yer Blues”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
THE BIG STING
Open a map of New York, go as far east as possible and you’ll find the town of Montauk – a laid-back fishing village kissing the Atlantic Ocean. I lived there for the first 18 years of my life with my brother and parents before heading off to college.
Winters were harsh and barren, a sharp contrast to the summers teeming with tourists escaping the cramped and sweaty streets of Manhattan in search of the perfect wave, the perfect tan and the perfect lobster roll. Springtime in Montauk is mesmerizing with trees budding, flowers sprouting up through the ground and the delicious smell of the ocean. We’d keep the windows open at night and fall asleep to the sound of the waves.
Our house was off the beaten path, with only two neighbors within walking distance. In the house on the left lived a young couple with rambunctious five year old triplets: Timothy, Thomas and Theodore – ‘The Terrorizing Trio’. Befitting their status as triplets, the boys had identical mountain bikes – one red, one blue, one green – which they rode with wild abandon on the dirt road, through our back yards and down to the beach.
Our neighbor on the right was the usually phlegmatic Doctor MacGregor – never-married, retired history professor-turned-nature-enthusiast. He was particularly particular about the upkeep of his yard and the glorious profusion of flowers attracting all varieties of birds and insects. His pride and joy was a tall redwood apiary which housed eight honeycomb trays. Inside reigned the queen, surrounded by her working and droning subjects. Mac, our secret nickname for the professor, would don his protective gear every day and inspect the hives and the honey production, all the while puttering and muttering, making sure everything was as it should be.
And it always was …. except for THAT day when mom happened to be outside hanging the laundry; she looked up at the sky and saw a huge black swarm rapidly approaching. Mom ran into the house and yelled for us to “close all the windows and doors”; we watched anxiously as thousands of buzzing bees hovered over our house, took a sharp turn and headed straight for town. After the bees took off, we were shocked to hear the usually mild-mannered Mac angrily shouting and cursing; we ran over to see what had gotten him all riled up.
Trevor, the triplet’s father, raced over from the other direction to see what all the commotion was about. We all arrived at the professor’s yard at the same time to discover a disheveled and blustering Mac wandering around the remnants of his beloved apiary. Splintered pieces lay in a heap on the ground, the redwood gouged and marred with clearly visible traces of blue, red and green paint. Trevor groaned audibly and raced out of Mac’s yard toward his own house, yelling out the triplet’s names as he ran. It was obvious they had crashed their bikes into the apiary and were probably hiding from the inevitable fallout.
As we silently helped Mac clean up the mess, we became aware of screaming and shouting off in the distance; it was coming from the village as horrified townsfolk ran for cover from the angrily stinging horde of bees.
It took a long time for the residents of normally tranquil Montauk to settle down after that day; the only one who benefited from the bee attack was the town G.P., who was kept busy tending sting after sting after sting.
As for Timothy, Thomas and Theodore …. they were found hiding behind their garage crying and covered from head to toe in bee stings. The boys were in a lot of discomfort (not to mention trouble). Trevor felt sorry for his sons and he was not unsympathetic but the triplets needed to be punished for the damage to Mac’s apiary. They were grounded for three weeks – one week for each boy – and their scraped bicycles were temporarily locked away in the shed.
As for Professor MacGregor …. he’s taken up birdwatching.
NAR © 2023
Join me today
for the third installment of
I’m With The Banned.
It’s a good one today!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
PROMISES
Ever since he was a small boy growing up in Fairfax, Missouri, Will Horton was obsessed with baseball. Every chance he had he’d play ball with his friends and when no one was around, he’d spend hours bouncing a ball off the old shed behind the house.
In 5th grade Will was one of the starting pitchers for his Little League Team, the Badgers. They practiced three or four days a week after school and played a game every Saturday against the rival team – the Coyotes. By the time Will entered 7th grade, he qualified for the traveling team playing both home and away games.
Most nights during baseball season, Will and his dad Tom would hunker down in front of the TV and watch the local major league baseball team, the Kansas City Royals. Will dreamed of one day playing with the Royals in Big K Stadium; he longed to go to a game but tickets weren’t cheap and Kansas City was 100+ miles from Fairfax. “Some day” Will would whisper to himself and fall asleep every night clutching his mitt.
On his 10th birthday Tom surprised Will with two tickets to the Royals game. Will talked nonstop all the way to the game, quoting all the Royals stats. Arriving at the Big K, he swore it was the biggest building in all Missouri. Will was the happiest he’d ever been. The smell of peanuts and hot dogs filled the air and the crowd was anxious for the game to start. Finally the Royals ran onto the field to cheers from the fans. They played a great game and won with a staggering score of 16 to 2. All the way home Will and Tom talked about the game.
That night at bedtime Will made himself the biggest promise ever – to one day be starting pitcher for the Royals against the most famous baseball team in the world: The New York Yankees.
Time went on, Will graduated high school and was recruited by the University of Miami as pitcher for the Miami Hurricanes. In the evenings he delivered pizza, saving what money he could. He was living his dream. One night that dream abruptly turned into a hellish nightmare when Will’s delivery car was sideswiped by a truck and slammed hard into the side of a building. Will lost consciousness and woke up in the hospital; his pitching arm had been amputated just above the elbow.
Will was devastated; his baseball days were over before they even started. Needing to get away from Miami and reminders of the crash, he transferred to a college in Cincinnati which happened to be located across from The Great American Ballpark, home to the Cincinnati Reds. On game nights he’d go up to the school’s rooftop alone to watch the games.
One particularly dismal night about eight months after his accident, Will pushed himself up onto the ledge of the roof and inched his way to the edge. Hugging the stump of his right arm, he stared at the twinkling lights coming from The Great American. Will swayed slightly; there was nothing to hold on to. He looked straight ahead at the stadium, then closed his eyes and slowly lifted his right foot off the ledge. What did he have left in his life?
In the heavy silence of the night, Will was aware of a barely imperceptible click as the door to the roof quietly closed. A soft voice by his side asked “You don’t really want to do that, do you?”
“What’s it to you? You don’t even know me.“
“That’s true” came the reply “but if you jump, who’s gonna go to tomorrow’s game with me?“
Planting his foot back on the ledge, Will glanced out of the corner of his eye. There stood a petite figure wearing a baseball cap. From the back pocket of her jeans she produced two tickets and placed them down on the ledge.
The shadow of a smile crossed Will’s face; this girl had spunk. Offering her hand, Will reached out, grabbed hold and climbed off the ledge.
“Hey, I’m Kate.”
“Will Horton” he replied.
“Well, Will Horton. Do we have a date?”
He paused for just a second. “Yeah. Why not?”
“If you play your cards right, Will Horton, there’s a couple of good games coming up in June and July. Ever hear of a little team called The New York Yankees?”
Will suddenly realized he was still clutching Kate’s hand. It felt really good having someone to hold on to.
NAR © 2023
It’s October – World Series month here in the USA and the games begin in just 10 days. Unfortunately for us here in NY, the Yanks fell short again but if you’re a diehard baseball fan like me, you’ll watch any game that’s on TV. Here’s a great song in honor of America’s Favorite Pastime – “Centerfield” by John Fogerty. Play ball!
I hope you’ll join me today
as we continue our
musical journey
In The Groove.
Hold onto your baseballs!
⚾️
https://rhythmsection.blog/
THE IMMIGRANTS
Francesco glanced down from his perch 60 stories above the streets of New York City; that translated into roughly 900 feet in the air. As he ate lunch, he talked casually to his companion, Giuseppe, who sat across from him on a ledge about four feet away. Francesco lit a Camel cigarette, tossed the box of matches to Giuseppe and both men lounged on their beds of steel. Francesco took a long drag on his cigarette, keeping his eyes open to maintain his balance on the 18-inch-wide metal plank. A whistle blew, its shrill notes informing the men that lunchtime was over.
Giuseppe pitched the matches back to Francesco. They rose to their feet, now old pros at this daily death-defying ballet they performed. When they first arrived in America, they learned very quickly that the jobs of police officers, firemen or train engineers were not meant for them; those positions were reserved for the Irish and English immigrants. The Italians and others who didn’t speak English were forced into manual labor – jobs in construction or sanitation where grunting and nodding were the main forms of communication. They took pride in their work, the resulting cathedrals and skyscrapers testaments to their skill and determination.
An errant gust of wind made its presence known; it swirled around the men’s feet and scooped up the wrappings from lunch, tossing the papers about before they slowly drifted out of sight. Both men held on to a nearby vertical beam, silently waiting until the wind stilled.
Looking below at the large wind flag, the men saw that it was white; it was safe to continue working. A yellow flag meant to exercise extreme caution while red indicated dangerous weather conditions. The crew worked through many different elements, but if a red flag was up, no one climbed the beams.
There were no harnesses to prevent a catastrophic fall, no safety nets should someone slip … nothing to protect the men, to save them. All they had to help them scale the beams were ropes dangling from above, good balance and guts.
Calmness restored, the men strapped on their tool belts containing welder’s gloves, hammers and tongs. A pulley system was used to hoist beams and buckets filled with iron rivets in white hot coals. Using their tongs, the men removed the rivets one by one from the coals, inserted them into holes in the beams and hammered them into place. After every hole was filled, the men climbed up to the next level and repeated the process.
When the end-of-work whistle blew, Giuseppe reached for the rope to begin the long, slow descent to solid ground. A slight misjudgment caused him to lose his footing and he slid off the beam like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Francesco yelled out in horror “No, Giuseppe, no!!” as he tried in vain to grab his friend’s arm. The crew watched in stunned disbelief as Giuseppe fell headlong to the sidewalk far below, his screams echoing throughout the canyon of steel.
Francesco slumped over, his head in his hands, silently weeping as a single mournful thought invaded his mind: he didn’t even know Giuseppe’s last name.
NAR © 2023
Please tune in today
for a very special
In The Groove.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
AND THE BAND PLAYED ON
Promenaders strolled down the sun-streaked boardwalk of Atlantic City, New Jersey; ladies twirled their parasols while gents tipped their straw hats and stroked their handlebar mustaches as they passed each other for it was Labor Day weekend, the unofficial end of summer, a perfect day with sunshine, blue skies and laughing children!
Margaret Wilson and her boy Sam came from Philadelphia for the fresh sea air, to gaze in awe at the hotels built like fairytale palaces along the seafront and to admire the piers dripping with neon lights, the most famous of which was the Steel Pier, known for its dance bands, water circus and other such attractions; in fact, it was revealed that the renowned composer John Philip Sousa and his band would be performing that very afternoon.
There were barkers selling salt water taffy and cotton candy, minstrel shows, fairgrounds and the famous Diving Horse, specially trained to charge up a 60 foot ramp to a platform atop the Steel Pier where a woman clad in a smattering of sequins leapt onto its back just before it plunged off the pier; horse and rider flew through the air, hitting the water to the applause of delighted throngs waiting below.
But one didn’t have to venture far from the boardwalk to sample less wholesome activities in venues like the Paradise Club where tourists could watch nearly naked women dance to jazz music and, if they wanted something not just risqué but illegal, they could visit the gambling dens and brothels catering to every taste; there was the criminal element, too, with occasional holdups and shoot-outs.
However today was a holiday and the children laughed gleefully as they rode the giant carousel on horses painted pink, yellow, white and green, even the smallest tyke straining to reach the brass ring while their parents strolled in their most fashionable clothes and made small talk; with the start of school the furthest thing from their minds, nothing could spoil a day like today.
Suddenly the cacophony of gun shots rang out and people screamed and scattered as gun-wielding robbers ran from a pawn shop, jumped into a waiting car and took off, bullets flying wildly; a momentary silence overtook the Boardwalk only to be shattered by a piercing wail that rose to the heavens and everyone turned to see Margaret Wilson cradling the body of little Sam, shot in the heart by a stray bullet (in his jacket pocket a folded essay, now stained with innocent blood, entitled “How I Spent My Summer Vacation”); the police arrived, removed mother and child and the band played on.
NAR © 2023
Originally published 2018
Written in response to GirlieOnTheEdge and Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt. The rules: six sentences – no more, no less. Punctuation be damned! The magic word this week is CAROUSEL. 🎠
TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS
A little step back in time as I recount
a true story of events experienced by me
in the hospital after hip replacement surgery.
The hallucinations were as real as my 2008 accident
and I remember even the minutest of details.
Originally published in 2021.
“Use the call button on the side panel of your bed if you need a nurse. My shift is almost over. Can I get you anything before I leave?”
It took me a few seconds to remember where I was as I stared at the friendly face of the nurse standing over me.
“Pain meds would be lovely” I answered, grimacing.
“You’re hooked up to a morphine drip; you should begin to feel much more comfortable very soon. Until then, try to get some rest” the nurse suggested.
I had been in an accident a day or two earlier, falling off a three-foot-high deck and landing on my left side with tremendous impact. As I lay stunned on the hard ground, my face resting on my outstretched left arm, I felt absolutely nothing. I thought I had survived the fall unscathed. Then I realized I could not move my feet or wiggle my toes. When the emergency medical teams arrived, they tried to gently and ever so slowly shift my body in order to slide a stretcher under me. That’s when it hit. Moving even a millimeter caused the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced in my life. It shot all the way down my motionless leg to my unmoving Apple Green painted toenails.
My hip was not broken; it was demolished.
I’m a firm believer that copious amounts of pain medication should be dispensed frequently to patients in need. I smiled wanly at the nurse and asked for my iPhone; while I waited for the morphine to take me to another dimension, I would lose myself in my playlist.
If you’re sick or injured, a hospital is the last place you want to be. Trying to rest is next to impossible. Patients pleading, buzzers buzzing, machines murmuring, carts careening, elevators elevating, doctors discussing, nurses needling. Even the mourning doves who kept watch on my windowsill were cooing ceaselessly.
I slipped in my earbuds and cued up The Beatles “Helter Skelter“. No matter how horrendous I may be feeling at any given moment, listening to that masterpiece makes life perfect for 4 minutes and 29 seconds.
Someone wheels in my dinner cart. Lifting the lid I see a salad, a medium-rare hamburger, a beverage and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Not feeling hungry just yet, I go through my collection of albums trying to decide which one to play. Ah, “Revolver”. You can never go wrong with that beauty. I close my eyes and revel in the brilliance of “Tomorrow Never Knows”.
I’m suddenly aware of a rush of air and find I am now outside floating uptown over the streets of Manhattan, my hospital gown flapping like laundry on a clothesline. I hear the old Klaxon car horn sound of “AHOOGA!” behind me and swivel round to see a flying ice cream truck being driven by none other than John Lennon. Somehow, as bizarre as it all is, it seems perfectly normal.
“You getting in? We don’t want to be late” John says.
“Late for what?” I ask.
“For whatever comes next” John replies with a grin and I slide onto the seat beside him. “It’s very rude to be late, isn’t it?” and we zoom off.
“AHOOGA!!“
“What’s on your bucket list, me darlin’?” John asks me and I answer without hesitation “To go to Liverpool!”
“Ah, lovely Liverpool. I won’t be going back there again, I’m afraid. Next stop: The Dakota!” John calls out and we swoosh away.
“No, John. You mustn’t!” I beg him and I start to cry.
“Oh, but I must! Now dry those green eyes. It is my destiny and we can’t change that.“
He was silent for a moment, deep in thought, then he spoke very quietly to me:
“Nancy girl, listen to what I’m going to say. Aim for the stars. Love with your whole heart. Work hard. Be the best person you can be but never ever forget to have fun. Time is fleeting and tomorrow never knows so always eat dessert first. Got it? Good! Now, let’s be on our way.”
As I nod in agreement I can hear the faint words “Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream.”
And in a flash John and his flying ice cream truck are gone.
I open my eyes and gingerly prop myself up on my hospital bed pillow. Dinner is still there, right where I left it, and I find I’m suddenly starving. Ignoring everything else on my tray, I go directly to the Ben & Jerry’s, pop open the container of ice cream and dig in.
And in that moment I realize nothing in my life ever tasted so delicious.
NAR © 2023
Check out my post today
At The Movies.
I think you’re gonna like it!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
FORMULA FOR DISASTER
Eugene was a wreck – disheveled clothes, bloodshot eyes, tired, hungry and freezing. He had been working in the lab nonstop throughout this sleety March night, frantically perfecting a classified formula. He still had 300 small black-capped vials to fill, wrap securely in packing materials and stash inside porcelain statues before he could neatly stack them in crates and deliver them to the transportation facility before dawn. A HIGHLY TOP SECRET ASSIGNMENT, he was told.
The harried chemist was momentarily startled by a swift scurrying motion across the room. A rat? “Keep going – no time to dilly dally” he muttered to himself, choosing to ignore the unwelcome intruder.
There it was again, that scampering scurrying movement. Eugene glanced in the general direction of the noise, then did a double take, squinting. He removed his thick glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. Putting his specs back on, he snuck another peek. On a shelf, partially hidden behind urns and sculptures, sat a leathery-skinned troll with enormous eyes and long, pointy ears.
“Great”, Eugene mumbled. “Now I’m hallucinating.”
“Real, am I. Working too hard, are you. Weebly will help”, whispered the troll in a raspy voice.
“What the…? This is insane!” Eugene rubbed his eyes again and took a swig of his now cold coffee, grimacing at it’s acrid taste.
“Finish, you won’t. My help, you need. Watch.” Raising one gnarled finger, Weebly pointed to the formula and magically poured it into the vial, sealed it, carefully wrapped and hid it inside a statuette and gently placed it in a box. Eugene was too stunned to move.
“Understand now, you do? Work together, we will. Four hands better.” Weebly cocked his head to one side, his long finger rubbing his chin.
Despite his incredulity, Eugene accepted the fact that this clever troll was his only answer if he hoped to finish the project in time or face the deadly wrath of the powerful men in charge. Working together, the duo swiftly got the job done. Eyeing the clock, Eugene saw he had ten minutes to carry the heavy crates to the terminal across the compound.
“Weebly’s help, you need. Too heavy, they are. Transport you, I will”, offered the sage intruder, but Eugene dismissed him. Straining, he placed the boxes on a hand truck and walked toward the stairs.
“Beware the stairs! Frozen, they are!”
Unwisely, Eugene ignored his helper’s warning. Struggling up the frozen stairs, his feet suddenly flew out from under him and he lost his grip on the hand truck. Eugene tumbled backwards, crashed into a shelf and knocked over a hefty basilisk statue which crushed his skull, killing him instantly. The hand truck slid down the stairs and landed with an incredible crash inside Eugene’s laboratory, scattering its shattered contents everywhere.
“Listened, you should have” clucked the wise old troll before scurrying away.
NAR © 2023
BEYOND THE PALE
Chloe’s wedding was planned for the end of the month. As she was being fitted for her gown, she noticed how washed out she looked; the white crepe fabric and her dark brown hair against her pale skin made her look anemic. Chloe decided she would get some highlights in her hair and build up a tan before her big day and honeymoon in Barbados. This was going to be her one and only wedding and she wanted to look stunning.
Chloe heard about a new tanning salon called “Beyond the Pale” which had opened in town and she stopped by to check it out. When she arrived, she was surprised to see a high-tech device attached to the exterior wall; there were buttons, a speaker and a monitor which was flashing a neon red message:
“THIS PROPERTY IS PROTECTED BY
AN ELECTRONIC SECURITY SYSTEM.
TO SPEAK TO A RECEPTIONIST,
PRESS THE BLACK BUTTON BELOW.”
Times have certainly changed!
Chloe pressed the black button and was surprised when the message on the screen disappeared and was replaced by the image of an attractive young woman. Her voice came through the speaker: “Welcome to Beyond the Pale. I’m Nicole. Please press and hold the green button while speaking. So, how can I help you?”
Chloe pressed the green button. “Yes, hi. I’m Chloe and I’d like to talk to someone about your tanning packages.”
“Sure! I’ll beep you in. You’ll hear a buzz and the door will slide open. Take the elevator to the 2nd floor.”
After the door slid open, Chloe entered the tiny hallway, jumping slightly when the door snapped shut behind her. She took the elevator to the 2nd floor and was greeted by the same woman she saw on the screen.
“Hi, Chloe. Sorry about all the security. It’s the way of the world these days. So, you want to hear about our tanning packages?”
The two women discussed the various packages available and Chloe told Nicole about her upcoming wedding. Chloe chose a package suitable for her and Nicole showed her around the salon. She was surprised to see she was the only customer there. Nicole explained that Mondays were always slow and Chloe had picked a good day to come by; she could have her choice of any of the tanning beds. Chloe looked forward to her first session and was excited to have a deep golden tan for her wedding.
Chloe chose the futuristic Masterson 360 tanning bed; she entered the room and the door closed behind her. She noticed the keypad on the wall was flashing a red “5”; Nicole told Chloe during their tour that meant she had five minutes to undress and apply lotion before getting into the bed. Nicole further explained that Chloe had to say “Start” when she was ready to begin tanning; the lights would turn on and the cover of the bed would automatically lower and lock in position for ten minutes. At the end of her session, the tanning lights would turn off and the cover would open by itself. If Chloe needed to end the session at any time, all she had to do was say “Stop”; the lights would turn off and the lid would disengage and open. Chloe loved the easy, hands-free system; it was unlike any tanning salon she’d been to before.
Meanwhile, back at the reception desk, Nicole answered another call from the front door. Checking the video monitor, she saw it was her boyfriend Dean. She beeped him in and pressed a different button which changed the message on the screen in case any customers showed up. The message read:
“NO ONE IS HERE RIGHT NOW.
THE SALON WILL REOPEN IN 15 MINUTES.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.”
Dean sidled up to the front desk, smarmy as ever. Nicole couldn’t resist the slick and fawning type of guy.
“Hey, baby! You’re looking fine today. You gonna show me how happy you are to see me?” The words practically slithered out of Dean’s mouth.
“I sure am, babe! I’ve been fantasizing all morning about getting it on in the massage room. You ready?” Nicole replied.
Dean grabbed her hand and placed it firmly on his crotch.
“Do I feel ready, Nic?”
Nicole giggled as Dean followed her into the massage room, fondling her ass on the way. Nicole playfully pressed her finger against his lips saying “Ssh” as she listened for the sound of Chloe’s tanning bed starting up. Confident that Chloe would be occupied for at least 10 minutes, Nicole pressed a button on the wall keypad which electronically locked every door in the salon.
“There! Nobody can interrupt us. Now, show me what you got, baby!”
Dean and Nicole started going at it hot and heavy, the heated vibrating massage bed adding to their pleasure. They were really getting down to business when there was a sudden muffled “WOOSH” and the room went black.
“Whoa! What was that?” Dean whispered.
“Must have been a power failure. No worries, babe. It’s all high-tech stuff but I know how to override the system” Nicole answered. She tapped her iPhone flashlight app and padded over to the keyboard panel on the wall. She began pressing one button after the other but nothing happened. Nicole tried repeatedly to bypass the system with no luck.
“Shoot! It’s not responding. I’m gonna have to call for help; get dressed, Dean” Nicole commanded. To her dismay, she discovered she had no cell service. Getting dressed as quickly as she could in the darkened room, Nicole told Dean to try his phone. He also had no service. They soon learned the salon phones were not working either.
“Okay, no reason to panic. The salon is connected to a main security facility. I’m sure they’re getting our alert right this minute. We just need to sit tight and wait for them to reset the codes. This is a foolproof system. No worries.”
The duo sat on the massage bed waiting for the power to come back on. Nicole elbowed Dean saying “Listen! Do you hear that?”
“I don’t hear nothing” Dean brusquely replied, annoyed that their sexcapade had been cut short.
“Well, I do. It sounds like a tanning bed is running.”
“How can that be if everything’s shut down?” Dean asked.
“Well, it shouldn’t be. But listen. Can’t you hear it?”
“Yeah. I can hear it now.”
“Oh my God!” Nicole cried out. Her hands sprung to her ears trying to block out the sounds. “I can hear her!”
“Hear who, Nic? What are you talking about?”
“Chloe. Our new client. Dean, she must be stuck in the tanning bed. Oh, God. Why didn’t the bed turn off? We have to help her!”
Dean tried desperately to open the massage room door; it wouldn’t give. There wasn’t even a window in the room they could try to open or break. The air conditioning had shut down and they were both now dripping wet. Nicole was starting to become frantic.
That was nothing compared to how Chloe was feeling.
☀️ ☀️ ☀️ ☀️ ☀️
Fifteen minutes earlier Chloe was oiled up and ready for her first tanning session. She slid onto the bed, said “Start” and chuckled a little imagining herself on an episode of Star Trek. The lights turned on and the cover slowly came down and locked in place. As the warmth enveloped her, Chloe smiled thinking what a great decision she made coming to Beyond the Pale. She relaxed.
Chloe thought about getting a new hairstyle for her big day and how fabulous she’d look walking down the aisle. And, of course, her mind drifted to her honeymoon in Barbados. She was so content, so happy and certain nothing would get in the way of her perfect wedding day.
The temperature in the tanning bed started getting pretty hot; this was only Chloe’s first session and she didn’t want to get burned. She had lots of sessions to use to build up a nice deep tan. Remembering what Nicole told her about turning off the bed at any time, Chloe said “Stop”. The bed did not turn off. Chloe squinted and tried to locate the speaker system thinking perhaps there was a button she could press. The glaring lights were too much for her eyes; even wearing the eye protectors, Chloe couldn’t locate anything that felt like a speaker. Her vision was obscured and she became more agitated.
The tight quarters of the tanning bed left no room for her to move around but Chloe managed to bend her arms until her hands reached the cover above her. She pushed on the lid to open it but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, more forcefully this time, but nothing happened; the lid was securely locked in place. “Okay, calm down” Chloe said to herself. “The session is probably almost over and the door will pop open any second now. You can do this; it’s just a little heat.”
Chloe started doing her deep breathing exercises, slowly counting off each breath as she went along. She began to relax and was even able to ignore the heat, but then she realized she had counted to 75 and the lights had not turned off. She was definitely in the tanning bed longer than the allotted time and it was getting dreadfully hot. She pushed against the lid once more; no luck.
Chloe panicked.
She began pounding on the tanning bed, screaming for someone to let her out. She was acutely aware of her delicate skin beginning to burn. She was in pain now and could feel her skin sizzling like bacon in a microwave. She began hearing little crackling noises and her face was incredibly hot. Wriggling her arms up to her head, she recoiled in horror when she realized her hair was singed. Oh God! If she didn’t get out of there soon she’d burn up!
Chloe turned into a madwoman as the pain reached new levels; her skin began blistering and oozing. She could smell her body and hair beginning to burn. Her eyes throbbed and felt enormous in their sockets. Chloe screamed like a woman possessed and reached up to cover her face with her hands. Overcome with excruciating pain, Chloe passed out.
🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥
The emergency alert from Beyond the Pale reached the security facility almost 15 minutes earlier. When their attempts to get through to the salon failed, they called 911. The police and fire department arrived quickly but were faced with tremendous difficulty gaining access to the building. Since the salon was a free standing building with no other businesses nearby, there was no access other than through the salon itself. The door was made of industrial strength metal; the fire fighter’s axes didn’t even leave a dent and because it was a sliding door, there were no hinges to remove. There were only a few windows consisting of thick impact-resistant lucite cubes. The fire chief paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to get inside. As far as he could tell, the salon was in violation of many building safely codes; it was a horror show waiting to happen. In a last-ditch effort, the chief and a small crew climbed up to the roof and began carefully chipping away at the tiles. The last thing they needed was for the roof to cave in.
After what seemed an impossibly long time, a crack appeared in a section of the roof. Painstakingly making the opening larger, the team lowered a ladder into the opening and climbed down. Others followed and found themselves in the salon’s reception area; it was dark and hot and there was a low humming sound coming from one of the rooms down the hall. They also heard faint voices coming from the far back area of the salon.
Tubes of tanning lotion had burst in the heat, emitting a saccharine Tropical aroma, but there was no mistaking the smell coming from the tanning room; it was one first responders never forget – the stench of burning flesh.
One group of fire fighters followed the voices which led them to the massage room. They could barely make out the sounds inside and when they called out, no one responded. The door to the massage room was not a sliding door so the fire crew removed the hinges but it took an additional ten minutes to open the door wide enough for someone to squeeze through. Inside were Nicole and Dean; they were alive but overcome by the intense heat and suffering from dehydration. They were carried out by EMTs and transported to the hospital. A police car followed; once the patients were able to talk, questions needed answering.
Another team followed the smell to the Mastersun 360 tanning room; the door was searing hot and a bright glow was visible from under the doorframe. A fire hose was snaked in through the hole in the roof and the tanning room door was sprayed with water in an attempt to cool it down. It sizzled and crackled like fajitas in a Mexican restaurant. It took a long time for the door to cool down but at last the fire fighters were able to remove the pins from the hinges and pry the door open. To their disbelief, the tanning bed was still running; clouds of smoke billowed and sparks danced across the room.
There was no discernable way to turn off the bed. A risky decision was made to cut the thick cables with a giant bolt cutter. Everyone took cover as the fire captain started attacking the cables. They spit and hissed, sparks arcing, but eventually he cut through and the tanning bed ground to a halt. Now that the room was quiet, the feeblest of murmurs could be heard coming from the bed. Grabbing a crowbar, the fire captain went to work on the latch which kept the lid locked in place. With a loud SNAP the latch detached. It took four people to lift the lid.
What they saw made even the most seasoned veterans among them cringe; a few became physically sick. Lying on the tanning bed was what remained of Chloe; her body was seared and oozing, taking on the heinous appearance of a massive slug. With excruciatingly slow movements, Chloe managed to tilt her head a fraction of an inch in the direction of the fire fighters, made a low gurgling noise and died.
A specialized detail was called in to remove Chloe’s molten body. The salon was cordoned off and an investigation would begin immediately.
Poor Chloe. All she wanted was a golden tan for her special day. She wanted to be a beautiful bride, something all women hoped for. Was that too much to ask? How could Chloe know her simple wish was unattainable, something beyond the pale?
NAR © 2022
“THI
T“TTHIS PROPERTY IS PRO
“THIS PROPERTY IS PROTECTED BY
AN ELECTRONIC SECURITY SYSTEM.
TO SPEAK TO A RECEPTIONIST,
PRESS THE BLACK BUTTON BELOW.”Times had certainly changed!
“NO ONE IS HERE RIGHT NOWTHE SALON WILL REOPEN IN 15 MINUTES.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.”Dean sidled up to the front desk, smarmy as ever. Nicole was always attracted to the slick and fawning type of guy.“Hey, babyoDean’s mouth.
THE GET-AWAY
It had been quite a long while since Rob and I had a chance to take a vacation, to escape the noise of the city to someplace remote and peaceful. Skiing sounded like a nice idea, a break after the uncomfortably hot summer. All we wanted was a little get-away to relax and unwind.
Our Google search brought us to a place called Marmot Basin located in Jasper, an alpine town in Canada’s Alberta province. The photos were breathtaking; the area was one of the most natural and unsoiled landscapes we’d ever seen. The site said Jasper was “an authentic mountain community that managed to retain a cozy, warm and ‘real’ atmosphere with a laid-back vibe”. It was also one of North America’s largest protected nature preserves. It would be great to get lost for a few days, forget about our hectic lives.
The flight to Jasper was interminable; eight hours with a connection in Denver. The time change did a number on us physically but our welcoming and romantic chateau more than made up for the tedious travel. It was rustic yet charming with beamed ceilings, comfy furniture and a huge fireplace. We spent our first night snuggled up in bed.
Right after breakfast the next morning we set out for a day of skiing. Hoping to find a secluded trail, we consulted one of the guides who gave us a couple of suggestions. We headed out, delighted to see a pristine layer of powdery snow. Looking around we realized we were the only people in the area and there was nothing in sight except evergreens on the hillside.
We started off slowly then gradually picked up speed; the conditions were perfect. About ten minutes into our run we came upon a split in the trail. Taking a break, Rob leaned against a tree and consulted a map, deciding which way we should go. Suddenly we felt movement beneath our feet and the ground gave way in what sounded like a whispering waterfall. In an instant we were tumbling down, enveloped by cascades of snow.
It seemed like an eternity before I came to a stop. I was unable to move but realized I was still clutching my pole. Somehow I managed to wrangle my arm free from under my body and began whacking the snow above me. I didn’t know if I was under three feet of snow or thirty; I had to try to free myself. Snow kept falling on me as I hacked away. Slowly my grave became brighter and I realized a sliver of sunlight was peeking through. I heaved myself into an upright position and broke through the snow.
It was a struggle but I managed to climb out and started yelling for Rob. All I heard was my echo; everything was deathly silent. I found my phone in the inside pocket of my ski suit and dialed Rob’s number hoping to hear his phone ring; I heard nothing. Checking my phone I noticed there was no cell service in the area; I couldn’t even call for help. Gingerly I walked around a bit, all too aware the ground could give way at any moment. My only hope was to try to find help.
I must have walked for miles; the sun had set and I found myself surrounded by trees. I had no idea where I was. Exhausted, I fell to my knees, sobbing. If Rob was still buried in the snow there was no chance of finding him alive.
Through my tears I thought I saw a glimmer of light. I squinted and could barely make out the shape of a cabin in the woods. Was it real or was I hallucinating? I had to keep moving or I would surely die during the frigid night. Slowly I got to my feet and walked toward the light, praying it was not an illusion. I was so very tired; maybe just a little rest before I continued.
NAR © 2021
The Elephant's Trunk 