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Poetry and life go hand in hand; neither can truly be understood, but both are greatly adored.

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Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

"Beyond The Weeping Trees"

This is a short story for Halloween. Oct. 27th, 2014

"Beyond The Weeping Trees"

By

Antonio Garcia








“Hmmm-Hum-Hum-Hmm-Hummmm-Hum.”
The little girl hums in her pretty dress—dressed as if heading to church on a Sunday morning, but today is not Sunday, and the sun rests halfway between noon and nighttime. The girl, in the back of the car, plays with her doll. The doll resembles the young girl from the long, wavy brown hair to the style of dress. She curls the dolls hair around her finger.

“Hi! Are you having fun?” the girl says pretending it is the doll.

“I don’t know, Ruth, it’s been a long ride.” replies the girl.

“Where do you think we’re going?”

“I don’t know that either, but I know it’s somewhere new.”

While driving the mother says: “We’re headed to our new home, Ruth.”

The little girl holds the doll up to her ear and listens intensely—

“Mama, Ruth wants to know why we’re going to a new home.”

“Because, darling… we’ll have more fun where we’re headed.”

“But, I liked our home. I don’t want a new one.”

“Trust me, honey, you’ll make plenty of new friends. You’ll love it when we get there.”

“Is Mr. Gerald going to be there?”

“Yes, sweetie, Mr. Allows will be taking care of us.”

The girl quickly holds the doll up in the air—

“Did you hear that, Ruth? Mr. G will be there!”

“I like him, he’s a nice man.”

“I wonder where we’ll be living—I’m sure it’s nice.”

“Oh, it has to be! Do you think we’ll make lots of friends?”

“I hope we do.”

“What happens if we don’t make any friends, though?”

“We’ll still have each other, Ruth. As long as I have you I’m happy!”

The hour grows later, and the sun hides behind the trees, beyond the horizon. It casts gentle, red rays like blood on the clouds and beams through the trees. The red light of the setting sun moves like a gentle strobe over the face of the doll as the innocent girl rests her eyes.

Before long the sun is gone and the mysterious moon begins to rise in the haunting sky. The moon casts bright, gentle pools of light among the trees that line the empty road. 

The little girl is now awake—

“Hello, Ruth. Did you have a good nap?”

“Why yes, yes I did! Did you have a good nap?”

“I had a good nap also.”

The young girl looks out of the window—

“Ooo, look at the trees, I can see faces and figures in them. Can you see them, Ruth?”

“Yes, I think I can.”

“Look there, it looks like a boy running along side our car.”

 “I see it, I can see a dog running with him.”

“They would have to be running fast to keep up with us!”

“Maybe he wants to tell us something.”

“Maybe he does. I’ll lower the window and ask.”

The little girl lowers the window—

“Hello! Is there—”

—She pauses as her face grows stunned—

“Mama, Mama! There’s someone out there!”

Among the shadows of the trees there stands a figure, as dark and mysterious as the openings in trees where no light reaches, but there the figure stands, gently visible in a pool of light cast by the moon.

“There’s no one out there honey, it’s just your imagination.”

“But, there is! I see them.”

The shocked girl watches the figure. The figure turns its head, watching the girl as the car passes. The figure raises its hand and slowly waves. The young girl, dumbfounded, waves back with the hand the doll is in. She is unable to make out the face, it was covered in shadow. Her imagination played dancing images, attempting to see the face. As the car continued to drive, the figure faded out of sight behind them.

“Darling, it was probably just a tree or something. Please roll your window up. It’s cold out there.”

Quietly the young girl responded—

“Yes ma’am.”

The little girl sat quietly in the back for the rest of the ride, trying to make out what she saw. Who was that figure, and why were they out there? She couldn’t get that figure out of her head—she kept hoping they were ok and could keep warm through the night.

The young girl eventually slips off into sleep again. She dreams peaceful, innocent dreams. From the back seat of the humming car, she glides off into sunny days in the park and learning to ride a bike, holding a new puppy and running around in a lush, green yard—perhaps this will be her new life, she likes it. The puppy slips from her hands and runs off into the trees. She calls out to the puppy and follows it. She goes into the trees, looking around she sees a clearing. As she stumbles out of the trees, she sees something in the very middle of the clearing. The figure stands there perfectly still. She waves to it, and it slowly waves back. She begins to move toward it. With every step she takes there is a gentle tap—as if someone tapping a knuckle against wood. With every step the taps grow louder and louder. She is half way through the clearing when suddenly she awakes. She wakes up to a dark, unfamiliar room—the tapping turns into a knock.

She screams out—

“Mama!!”

The knocking stops.

“Mamaaaa!!”

Kicking and flinging her arms and legs, she knocks the sheets and pillows off the bed in a furious panic—

“Mammaaa!!!”

The door flings open and the light comes on—

“Baby! It’s ok, it’s ok! Shhh.”

The mother holds the little girl and calms her down—

“What’s wrong, honey?”

With tears running down her red face, the little girl says—

“I saw that person again.”

“It’s ok honey, it was just a dream. Everything’s just fine.”

In a weak voice the little girl says between sniffs—

“Where are we? I’m scared.”

“We’re in our new home. We’re safe.”

“I don’t like it, I wanna go back home.”

“Go back to sleep, baby, you'll be able to see the home in the morning—you’ll love it. But, for now, go back to sleep. I’ll be in the next room if you get scared again.”

The mother begins picking up the covers and pillows, fixes up the bed and tucks the little girl in.

“But, I wanna sleep with you tonight.”

“You’ll be ok, honey. I’ll be in the next room.”

The mother picks up the doll and places it in the little girls arms—

“Ruth will sleep with you tonight.”

“Ok, goodnight Mama.”

“Goodnight baby.”

The mother turns off the light and closes the door behind her.

The young girl closes her eyes for what seems like a minute. She opens her eyes when she hears a strange sound—a whisper. She sits up in her bed. She looks down—the doll is not there.  She flips the sheets, looks under her pillows, looks on the ground, Ruth is not there. She hears more whispering, very gentle voices. She slides out of her bed and walks to the door. She hears a strange voice say something… she leans closer, she hears it again, this time it says—

Rooth.

The young girl jumps back from the door, a terrified look on her face.

Rooooth.”

The voice whispers like a gentle breeze brushing across her ear.

With a weak voice the girl says—

“Ruth?”

It is silent… She speaks again—

“Ruth, where are you?”

The haunting voice shimmers like a whispering groan—

Roooootheee.

The scared girl opens the door to her mother’s room. The room is lit only ever so slightly by the gentle light of the moon. The young girl quietly walks to a side of the bed and gently whispers—

“Mama.”

“Mama, wake up.”

She hears an unfamiliar voice—

“Mmmmmmmmm.”

Afraid that her mother is not there, she turns and quietly goes through another door—

“Ruth, Where’d you go?”

Rooth.

Every room the little girl walks through she becomes more and more lost. There is nothing familiar in this house. She feels as if she is stuck in a maze.

Roooooth.”

She follows the mysterious whispering.

Finally, she comes across a door, the largest door she has come across yet—it must be important. Slowly and quietly she walks toward the door, staring at it with frightened eyes, she turns the nob and opens the door. As she walks through the door, she walks into a long hallway. A hallway stretching far into darkness to her left, and a hallway stretching far into darkness on her right… she stands in the hallway, baffled. When suddenly the voice comes so close that she can feel the breath move the hair around her ear—

Rooth!

She quietly squeals and turns toward the voice—nothing. Looking down the hallway into the darkness she hears distant whispering again—

Rooth.”

She begins to follow the voice, slowly walking down the hallway—

Roooooooth.”

“Ruth? Where are you Ruth?”

Roooooootheeeeeeee.”

Noticing something at her feet, the little girl bends down and picks it up, it is hair, hair exactly like her own. The haunting voice echoes from the reaches of the hallway—

Awe, Roothee, you will do just fine.”

The terrified, little girl begins to walk again. With a weak voice she says—

“Ruth, please come here.”

There you go Rooth. You look beautiful.”

“Ruth, I need you.”

The whispering voice, getting louder—

Don’t worry Roothee, you’re not the only one.”

The little girl begins to cry—

“Ruth, please.”

Tonight is a very special night, and you’re the star, Roothee. You’ll bathe in the moonlight.”

“Please…”

The haunting voice becomes silent. The little girl, trembling, continues to slowly walk down the hallway. Out of the darkness to which she is headed, she sees something. As she walks closer she can see it more and more. Finally, she reaches straight out and touches it… Strung by a thin string from the ceiling, the doll hangs in the middle of the hallway. The hair is cut horribly and the dress is torn and barely remains on. On the belly she sees strange markings. Crudely drawn across the forehead is “HURT.” As her heart sinks she hears the haunting voice surround her—

Isn’t she pretty? Won’t you join her?

The little girl turns around—the figure from the woods stands over her—

Come with me. I have something special for you—

—The figure slowly reaches out and places a hand upon the forehead of the little girl—

“—it’s beyond the weeping trees.

The innocent girl closes her eyes then opens them again. She is laying on a rock in the middle of a clearing surrounded by twisted, sorrowful trees. The moon casts a perfect pool of gentle light over her. With a straight face she begins to hum—

“Hmmm-Hum-Hum-Hmm-Hummmm-Hum.”


The
End

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

"The Interesting Tale of the Pretentious Crane and the Prudent Toad"

Finished Monday, June 16th, 2014



"The Interesting Tale of the Pretentious Crane and the Prudent Toad"
A fable by Antonio G.

It was a day, a day like any other. The sun beams brightly shining, curving around the clouds as they cast shadows beneath; provisions for the creatures below to acquire for solitude among the rampant heat that others soak in. Within the shadow of a mightily sailing cloud, there is a Crane, a Crane and a Toad.

The Crane asked:
"Toad, what is it you see down there?" 

The Toad responded: 
"By what is the object of your question? It seems your meaning evades me." 

"My meaning is this," replied the Crane, "what is it about the moistly seasoned ground and the quenched dirt that you find so much solace?"

The Toad was puzzled. "I guess I haven't thought much about where I am. I am too preoccupied with what is above me."

"Then why do you choose to revel in such filth?" Inquired the Crane.

"You seem to be mistaken, Crane. I do not have such love for this muck. I desire to be high above. But, indeed, every time I reach for such hight, I'm brought back to the earth."

The Crane responded:
"I see. What an unfortunate plane to wallow upon."

"Indeed, it is increasingly unfortunate."

"Toad, why have you not grown the means to reach your desires? For I too was once bound to the drunken earth, but I decided it was for me no longer. Why do you not grow like I decided to?"

The Toad became flustered. "Crane, do you think that if I could grow like you I would ever return to this filth? If you are so dedicated and successful, why do you return here? Why not remain in the heavens?"

The Crane was baffled. "Well, Toad, because I have the choice. My fortunes brought me to the heavens, and so I return from shear choice."

Getting angry, the Toad spoke: "I do not believe you understand the magnitude or source of your fortunes, Crane."

Becoming defensive, the Crane responded: "Whatever do you mean, Toad? I am the one who has learned to fly!"

"Simply because your parents gave you wings."

"I am the one who stands tall!"

"Upon the legs your parents gave you."

Getting angry, the Crane lashed out. "Look at my regal, white appearance. It's far better than your earthy garb. It is a symbol of the severity of our deficit."

"Kept clean by the falsehood that is your accomplishment."

The Crane, cloyed by the Toad's incessant quibbling, said: "Toad, if you do not renounce these ridiculous recriminations, I will be compelled to forgo your company."

The Toad, jaded by the Crane's pompous demeanor, said: "That is precisely the response I expected from a privileged creature as yourself. It's as if your exempt stature has blinded you from our positions in nature; you do not even realize my place to you."

The Crane was thoroughly befuddled. "Yes, Toad, I know your position, and it is well beneath me."

"Indeed, but to what extent, Crane?"

The Crane continued, ignoring the Toad: "It seems conversing with you is an aimless venture, and aimless ventures are for the foolish."

"Well, Crane, perhaps it's best for you to remain in the heavens. Where I could only wish to reach with means to agitate you further."

"Finally, wise words come from your inebriated mouth, yet still a few thoughts behind. I shall fly, and may I never hear your daft mouth again." The Crane flew away, way into the sky that not even a shadow cast could paint shapes upon the ground.

The Toad began to smile. "Yes, fly, and may your ostentatious wings carry you perpetually. For it's the pretentious fool that allows his prey to belittle him and swindle him out of food. Your pride will preserve you in heaven until veracity weakens your wings and propels you back to make this soak filled earth your bed."

- Antonio G.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Into the Dying Forest

This is the short story that has been published.


The sun was shining brightly, bathing the ground and trees in its warm rays. The smell of dry dirt and bark was strong out here. The grass was faded and tall, and broken trees made a straight path impossible. Pillars of gnats separated into their own hectic communities. Too often one would fly into my face as a burning man would rush into water. The buzzing of the ever elusive cicada rang in my ears. With sweat pouring down my face and my body viciously trembling, I struggled through this dying forest. Parched, I wished for water, but there was none here. The ground beneath me cracked and crunched at every step. The trees would nearly crumble if I braced against them. It felt as if the air was absorbing what little water still remained in me.
I knew I was going to die, but I refuse to die like this. Back in civilization the doctors told me I had a few weeks. My body had been corrupted, my innards turning on themselves. I felt as if there was a blade churning and blending my insides. I attempted to cure myself, but failed at every end. I was determined to find a way. I wandered into the woods and it led me here. Trying anything is better than trying nothing.
I have forced myself further than should be possibleI I have walked through where seemingly no man has been. Still I am struggling through this dying land, stumbling and falling, my body violently shaking and trembling. It is difficult to take a step when your leg refuses to listen.
As the last of my hope was fleeting, I came to a clearing -- a small opening with no trees. I stumbled to the middle of this clearing to a broken tree laying on its side. I sat and rested but gained no energy. My health did not stop for a break on its way to death. I decided this is where I am to die.
In the distance I noticed movement. With all the strength I had left I forced myself to find what it was. I stumbled back into the trees, frantically looking around and searching. My legs gave out, I fell to the ground and I could not move. I began to cry, but had no tears to shed. The darkness began to encroach around my vision. It was all becoming blurry and dark. There was a tingling in the back of my brain, as if falling asleep for one last time. A man stirred me before I lost consciousness. He looked very familiar. The man spoke, "You've been busy." I stared at him but could not place him. He continued, "There is always a way." I looked around and realized I have been here before. This place is somehow familiar. As if on queue the ground slowly began to swallow my immobile body; the feeling was so familiar. As the dry dirt began to cover my face I looked up to the man standing above me. In the last second of light, I recognized him... he was me.

By Antonio G.