(Ragnorok: Part Two, the conclusion to last
Tuesday’s short story, will arrive next week. Today, I
present the following New Year special)
Night swallowed
the beach. The New Year party only began. The clock wouldn’t strike midnight for
several hours.
He sat beside a
small, Mexican-style restaurant that sat on the sand. A thin, manmade river
rushed in an endless loop around the restaurant. The cold water raced over the
countless, polished river rocks that sat within the display.
He removed one
stone at random. He wanted its absence to affect the river’s course, but the river seemed none the wiser.
She stood with her
arms crossed. “I mean it. Quit this nonsense, or our relationship ends.”
He shook his head.
“I can’t quit.”
“You already
lost!” She stomped her foot. “Nobody wants or needs this stupid invention of
yours. The prototype barely functions. I stood by you for years while you
piddled your small business loans. You’re broke. It's over.”
He stared at her.
She averted her
eyes. “Please don’t pretend that you're on the verge of victory.”
“I wouldn’t lie to
you,” he said. “I’m not even at square one. I can’t quit, though.”
“My father offered
you a job washing windows on his skyscraper. It pays well, and few people can
handle it.”
Heights never
bothered him.
He plopped the stone back into the lake.
“The New York Giants signed my little brother straight out of high school.
Then, a week after he leaves for the big apple, something misfires in his
brain. He dies.”
She sighed.
Waited for him to continue.
He did. “I
asked my grandfather, ‘What gives God the right to kill my brother?’ He told
me, “People cannot place stars in the sky.’
“When you
consider,” he continued, “how every event in history lined up for your parents
to meet, have sex right while you waited in the chamber of your father’s pistol, and for you to reach your mother’s egg first, you see that life isn't fair, but it's beautiful. It's a magnificent gift.”
Several strangers filled the beach. They lit Chinese sky lanterns, let them fill with heat, and released them into the sky.
Some of the
lanterns flew high. Some merely floated above the ocean as enchanted jellyfish. Others
hit the water and sank.
He wondered how much distance those stars would cover in
their short lifespans.
“How could I,” he
asked, “hold such a gift in my hands and wash windows? I must do something different,
something special.”
She refused to
meet his eyes.
"I don't need you to believe in me," he said, "but I wish you did."
“Then you should've given me something in which to believe.” She turned
to leave. “After you get your stuff out of our apartment, leave the keys on the
table by the door.” She paused. “You ought to feel terrified for yourself.”
He didn’t watch
her go. He watched one lantern turn in the breeze, catch fire, and burn.
One family
released a lantern that didn’t appear fully inflated. He wanted to yell, "Wait!" before they let it go.
Their lantern limped across air,
towards the ocean. A slight breeze blew, straightened it.
Their lantern soared.
A little girl
clapped her hands. “It flies, Mommy!”
Mommy knelt beside the little girl. “Make a wish, Sweetheart.”
He closed his
eyes. I don’t want to feel afraid.
I publish my blogs as follows:
Tuesdays: A look at the politics of
the entertainment world at EntertainmentMicroscope.blogspot.com.
Wednesdays: An inside look at my
novels (such as Daughters of Darkwana, which you can now find on Kindle) at
Darkwana.blogspot.com
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