A Calendar of Tales: May

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

 “What is the weirdest gift you’ve ever been given in May?”

“An anonymous Mother’s Day gift. Think about that for a moment.”

Aaron picked up the small package and looked at it. It was addressed to Shelby Jones. Jones was his wife's maiden name. There was no return address.

“Hm.” He brought it in the house. “Hey, Shel, you home?”

“Yeah, babe, I'm working,” Shelby called from the office. Aaron saw her sitting there with one leg tucked under her as she always had, and he was struck by an image of her ten years ago, doing the same thing. She smiled up at him and wrapped her arm around his hips. He bent down and kissed her, then showed her the box.

“Hm.” She took it from him, snagged a box cutter from the desktop and opened it. Inside was a wrapped gift and a card. Shelby opened the card. Her eyes widened, she dropped the card and put her hands over mouth. Tears filled her eyes and her face pinched as she fought them.

“What is it?” Aaron said, grabbing the card from her lap. It was a Mothers' Day card. He looked at her, horrified. Who would send a mother's day present to a woman who couldn't have children?

Shelby grabbed the gift and unwrapped it. She reached in her hand and pulled out a beautifully carved wooden figure. It looked like an owl. She turned it over and over in her hands, stopping with the owl upside-down and its foot showing initials VWJ. Shelby seemed to melt into her chair, holding the owl close to her.

“Shel...” Aaron said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and seemed to cringe. “Do you know what all this is?” he asked her.

“VWJ. Victor Winter Jones. He's...my son.”

Aaron sat down on the floor of the office. “You don't have a son. You can't. Because...of the cancer.”

Shelby shook her head. “I told you about the cancer. It was all I could do. The rest...I...just couldn't. It was all too much.”

“You really do...have a son?” Aaron didn't know what to feel about Shelby having someone else's child, even back before they met. He was more worried he'd say the wrong thing right now and lose her.

Shelby nodded. “I was very young, there were a few candidates for baby daddy and none of them seemed very promising, but as soon as I knew he was in there I loved him. It didn't make any sense. Probably hormones, or something. It was on the first ultrasound that they found the cancer.”

Aaron scooted closer to her on the rug and touched her knee. She gathered his head into her lap and stroked his shaggy, dark hair. “I loved him. I wanted to keep him. I tried. But it was just too much. The surgery, the chemotherapy after, and I didn't have anyone to help me. So I gave him up. You know the rest.”

Aaron did. She recovered from the cancer, and then set about trying to destroy herself with drugs and booze.

“Someone asked me who I wanted to be when my son found me, and that became the focus of my recovery. And I did. Find him, I mean. He was three. I wanted to cuddle him so badly, but...I was terrified the family would reject me and I'd never see him again, so I just started sending anonymous birthday presents. I see him every now and then, but I've never interacted with him.”

“How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

Aaron got up and put his arms around her. “I'm sorry you couldn't tell me. I'd have helped you choose the gifts.”

Shelby snortled a bit of slightly hysterical laughter and shook in his arms. “I think I thought I deserved to go it alone.”

“I'm glad you changed your mind.” He looked at the owl in 

Shelby's hands. “I think Victor has figured out a few things on his own.”

“He's smart.”

“And talented. I bet he carved that owl.”

Shelby nodded. “And sent it to his bio mom to show off to her.” She placed the owl on the desk next to her laptop.

“Come hang out with me in the kitchen,” Aaron said, grabbing her hands and pulling on her arms.

“The kitchen?” She resisted, but eventually stood up.

“Yeah. Take a break from all this heavy shit. I'll make some tea.”

“You just want me to make you food.”

“Oh, you're going to make me food? What a woman!” He wrapped his arms completely around her and gave her a huge kiss.

A Calandar of Tales: April

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

 “What’s your happiest memory of April?”

“When the ducks would trust us again; my father & I fed them fresh bread stolen from the inn he worked at.”

“Jack!” said Mrs. Ostraman in her deep and rather snooty voice. “That feral daughter of yours is out on the deck. With...things.”

Jack glanced over to the deck door from the table at which he stood, covered in plates of food. “Yes, I'll take care of it in a minute, Mrs. Ostraman!” he said.

He delivered the plates and had a few words with the people at his tables, then he opened the door out to the patio. There were a few people out here, but not many; it was very early in the season. Mrs. Ostraman was a permanent resident, and was always either out on the deck or just inside. Jack always wondered why, since she actually seemed to hate outside-related things.

The wooden deck formed a second-floor patio, and a large oak tree grew up through the center. A bar was set up out there for when it got really busy, but for now it was unmanned. A set of wooden steps led down to the gravel driveway.

At the top of these steps was a little girl with a bright red bucket. Little blonde wisps of hair stuck out from the french braid Jack had made this morning. She still wore most of her drab school uniform, except that she had taken her shoes and stockings off. The bottom of her skirt was wet and so were the sleeves of her jacket.

His heart broke with love for her, and not just because of her resemblance to her deceased mother. “Daddy!” she shouted, thumping the bucket onto the top step. “Look what I got!”

Jack crouched and peered into the bucket. It was half-full of water, and at the bottom rested two reddish-brown salamanders. “Salamanders?” he said.

She grinned and nodded.

“Baby, what are you doing? Didn't you go to school?”

Her delighted face fell. “I...did. For a little while.”

“What happened?”

“We had to sit down and write letters,” Aurora said.

“Letters? To who?”

“No, just letters. As and Bs and Cs. Over and over. I told Ms. Smitts that I already know how to make letters, but she didn't care. Then Alice called me a name, and I left during first recess.”

Jack could not be mad at Aurora. He remembered only too well being cramped in a classroom on an early spring day. For a little girl who already knew how to make her letters, the stream out of which she'd caught those salamanders offered so many more interesting lessons. “If it was up to me, I'd let you catch salamanders every day, Baby. But we'll both get in trouble if you don't go to school.”

“I know, Daddy, I'm sorry.”

Jack sighed. “It's all right, Baby. Listen, would you do something for me, please?”

“What?”

“Don't bring things like this up the stairs, please?”

“I just wanted to show you.”

“And I wanted to see. But I've got to work, so we can keep staying here.”

“Ohhhkay,” Aurora said, sounding disappointed.

“Hey, chin up. I thought I saw some ducks down by the lake earlier.”

“Ooh, ducks? And ducklings?”

“Maybe.”

“I want to see little baby ducks!”

“I'll take my lunch in about an hour; why don't I meet you on the archy-bridge and we'll have a picnic.”

Aurora grinned. “Okay!” she said, and she gave Jack a big wet hug. “Bring some bread for the ducks!”

Jack laughed. “Okay, Baby. I will.”

She kissed Jack on the cheek and hauled up her bucket, then walked slowly down the stairs. Jack crossed the deck to go back inside. “You're spoiling that child,” Mrs. Ostraman said. “She'll never learn to sit still or obey.”

He smiled at Mrs. Ostraman. “There are worse things,” he told her.

A Calendar of Tales: March

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

 “What Historical figure does March remind you of ?”

“Anne Bonny and her rapscallion heart, dreaming for a ship of her very own.”

Annie ran down the corridor and stepped into the med bay. Inside were two kids about the age she was when she graduated from the academy twenty years ago. Both turned from their work and looked at her, surprised at the intrusion. “Lieutenant Richardson?” she asked, looking between the boy and the girl.

“Yes?” said the girl. She was a little thing, short and thin, with black hair tied up in a neat bun. She was all business, but it hid a great nervousness. It was probably her first time in charge of anything; everyone had been tapped to help with the evacuation.

“I'm Annie Bowman, I've been assigned to assist you in the med bay as long as I am able.”

“Commander Bowman?” said the boy, his eyes wide. He was a local boy, big and broad shouldered, his brown hair streaked with sun-bleached yellow and his skin very tan. Richardson frowned, looking at Annie with new eyes.

Annie smiled at the boy. “Mister...?”

“York, Sir. Ensign.”

“Very good, Ensign York. I'm only Commander Bowman until we get out of the planet's gravity well. Then I'm a civilian contractor. That's how it works when you have--”

“Debilitating space sickness,” breathed Lieutenant Richardson. Her brow furrowed. She must have been thinking that Commander Bowman had been sent along with her on her first mission in charge of an entire med bay to evaluate her and to take charge if she screwed up. Really, Annie had wanted to stay behind and help with the rest of the evacuation on the ground, but she'd received orders. She wondered if her father had anything to do with this.

“Space sickness?” said Ensign York. He looked extremely confused. “But...you saved my brother on the Alexander when that big storm hit...”

“Space sickness is different from sea sickness,” Annie explained. “But we don't have time--”

“We don't have time for chit-chat,” said Lieutenant Richardson. “We've got to get webbed down for launch. Commander, you first, please.”

The kid might be nervous but she knew what she was supposed to do. Annie lay on her couch and pulled over the manual harness. Richardson hit the button and the automatic webbing closed over her. She didn't need to be reminded to strap a vomit-mask to Annie's face. “Do you want a shot, now? We'll probably have to maneuver.”

“No,” Annie said.

“Really?”

“If I'm going to die, I'd rather die spewing bile than half asleep.”

Richardson shrugged and helped York with his automatic webbing.

The increased Gs of the launch didn't bother Annie in the slightest as they pressed her down in her couch; down was just stronger. Then the captain announced they were in maneuvers. Annie's stomach clenched in anticipation.

Down shifted crazily. Annie felt like she ought to be rolling around, rather than fixed in her couch. She tried to hold it back but soon all she could do was vomit and weep.

Annie came to, but she didn't open her eyes. She stayed still. The suction on her vomit mask had taken it all away, but now it was dead. She braced her head back against the couch and opened her eyes. Only dim emergency light showed. Red globes of blood floated in the air in front of her; not a good sign. She shut her eyes again and carefully turned her head toward the couch next to her. Her head swam, but she managed not to lose control of her position, and she didn't vomit.

The next couch was empty. The one beyond was full of Lieutenant Richardson, unconscious, with one arm floating out of her manual harness. It looked like she'd been able to get into hers when the automated one failed, but York hadn't been quick enough.

“Richardson!” Annie called. “Lieutenant! Lieutenant Richardson!” Richardson moaned and turned her head. Annie put as much command into her voice and shouted, “Richardson!”

The girl's eyes snapped open and she turned her head. “Commander Bowman!”

“Ms. Bowman,” Annie corrected. “We're in freefall conditions. You're in charge, Sir.”

“Where's Max?”

“Ensign York? I don't see him.”

“What should I do?”

“Use your head.” Annie shut her eyes. “And find me a manual vomit mask, please.”

Annie heard Richardson open her harness and begin to move around the room. She felt her remove the old mask and put a new one on, and press the switch into Annie's hands so she could control the suction. Sometimes just having that breeze against her face helped, but she didn't want to wear out the battery pack.

Then Richardson gasped and made a retching sound. “Oh, God,” she said.

“Is it York?”

“Yes.”

“Is he dead?”

“I don't know. There's blood everywhere. He's...oh, God, he's breathing. He's unconscious. The blood's coming from his leg. God. The bone's sticking out.”

Annie opened her eyes and saw Richardson hauling York's body over to his couch. She pulled the manual harness across his body and secured it, then flipped over so she was head down. Annie closed her eyes and tried very hard to imagine Richardson as a dolphin; she was swimming underwater. Down was down. It didn't help.

“Ms. Bowman,” Richardson said.

“Annie.”

“Help me, Annie, I can't do this.”

“What's wrong? You know what you're doing.”

“Yeah, but this is Max!”

“I can't help you,” Annie said. “I will only be sick if I cut loose. You can do it.”

“Ack! Tell me a story. Please.”

“What story?”

“I don't care. How did you end up in the Navy with space sickness?”

“Urgh. I was recruited before the anti-gravity tests, and I tested through on the old tests. Then, once I got to real freefall, blargh. I was here on scholarship from the colonies, I couldn't afford to get back home on my own. So I joined the academy and trained as ground-level civil defense.”

“Have you left Garault since then?”

“I go out to the colonies nearly every year to visit my family. On most trips, the gravity works, and it's fine. Otherwise, yeah, they have to ship me like a leaky package.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I appreciate it. It was my dream to be a starship captain, but I had it all right on Garault. It's a beautiful planet, all over. Well...it was.”

Neither of them had any idea what the aliens would do to Garault once they claimed it, if it was even their goal.

“All right. I think that's done it.”

“You think?”

“I've never done this before except in simulation. Fortunately the medpacks survived...whatever happened, even if nothing else works in here. Max'll be okay. Are you all right?”

“I'm not injured.”

“Um...” Richardson put her hands back over her tattered bun. “Everyone's stable...so...I should...communications.” She pushed off from York's couch and floated up to the main instrument panel. Annie shut her eyes again.

“Captain? This is Med Bay, checking in, over.” She said it, then waited, muttering to herself about blocked and open corridors. Then she repeated, “Captain, this is Med Bay--”

The line crackled, and a few jubilant hoots carried over. “It's great to hear from you, Med Bay. What is your status?”

“We've got emergency power, but no gravity. Ensign York is severely wounded and Ms. Bowman is incapacitated. What happened, Sir?”

“Our transport made it, that's what happened. We're dead in space. Everyone left is heading for the shuttle, and we could really use some medpacks.”

“Can you send someone to help us, Captain? I don't know if I can get both these men to the shuttle by myself.”

“Do your best. When we can we'll send someone your way.”

“Understood. Med Bay out.” Richardson was quiet for a while. It sounded like she was tinkering with something. “Annie, I'm going to give you the anti-vertigo shot,” she said. “As soon as you're able to, I want you to take that pack and move as fast as you can toward the shuttle bay.”

“I'll never make it before I pass out.”

“That's all right. I have an idea. If it works, we'll be able to drag you the rest of the way. If it doesn't, I'll have to come back for you.”

“I'm ready.”

Richardson gave her the shot. Annie immediately reached up and opened her harness. The sudden movement of her body made her float free of the harness and spiral, slightly. She pressed the suction button on the vomit mask and heaved. Richardson caught her and steadied her spiral. “You weren't ready.”

“No. I'm ready. Push me toward the pack and then I'll pull myself up the wall. I've got to get started.”

Richardson braced her feet and pushed off, giving Annie a little momentum. She floated over to the backpack, overshot and banged her shoulder into the wall. She sat down on the wall next. The backpack was just above her. She grabbed it and put it on her back. Then she pulled her way to the door and through it.

Fortunately, it was mostly one long corridor from Med Bay to the shuttle. The vertigo was gone, replaced by a feeling like she was moving through increasingly viscous gel. For a long time she was alone. After five eternities, Something shot by. It grabbed at her. She resisted, but found herself swept along. “It's all right, it's us, Annie, look,” Richardson said. She reached out as they floated and pulled on a passing hand hold, speeding them up and slightly altering their trajectory.

“Good thinking, kid,” Annie said. “I'll hold on.”

“Max has got you.”

“Commander,” said Ensign York.

“Annie.” Everything seemed to be falling away, and in a sense it was, as the corridor flowed by. In another sense, it was Annie's perception as she fell unconscious under the sedative.

When Annie opened her eyes again, she was strapped into a couch again, but down was down again. She released the harness and sat up, rubbing the side of her head. She felt weak.

Richardson approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. The gravity is back on. Where are we? What's going on?”

“We're in the little med bay on the shuttle, heading for Earth.”

“We escaped the xenos?”

“Yeah. The captain had us hide in the shuttle bay until he had a clear path out of the gravity well, and we hit hyperspace before the aliens noticed us.”

“You did really well, Richardson.”

“Call me Mary,” she said. “And thanks.” Richardson shook her head. “Most of the transports made it, but we were one of the few escorts that escaped. Why are they doing this?” She sat down and put her face in her hands.

“I don't know,” Annie said, patting Richardson on the back.

A Calendar of Tales: February

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

 “What’s the strangest thing that ever happened to you in February?”

“Met a girl on beach, searching for her grandma’s pendant, lost 50 years ago. I had it, found previous Feb.”

The pebble plonked into the Sound, casting ripples on the surface of the water. Mark didn't even bother cursing his inability to skip a stone; he felt as gray inside as the day.

He stuffed his hands down into the pockets of his coat. The air was freezing cold but very still. Even if there had been other people around, he wouldn't have been able to see them through the fog. He doubted anyone was there. In this weather the only cheer to be found was inside.

He walked slowly down the beach. It wasn't even his favorite. There were more rocks than sand here. There was a beach just north of here that had lovely yellowish sand, and, on a summer day, had a gorgeous view across the Sound to Vashon Island, and beyond it to the Olympic mountains.

This was the beach where he had seen her, last February. It was on the 9^th day of a streak of bitterly cold and foggy weather, and Mark had fled his cramped apartment following an urge to destroy things just to break up the monotony.

The only thing this had done was save his things; it was just as claustrophobic out in the fog as it had been inside. Then she had appeared out of the mist.

She wore nothing but a little blue summer dress, and there was yellowish sand on her bare feet and legs. Her blonde hair was long and straight. She'd seen him and smiled, becoming very beautiful, and then she'd taken one of his gloved hands and put something in it. He was frozen solid by this apparition. The light that touched her was not gray but a dazzling summer yellow. She'd kissed his cheek and run off into the fog.

By the time he thought he might chase after her, he knew he'd never find her in the fog. He'd have wondered if he imagined her if he hadn't been holding an aqua-blue, teardrop-shaped pendant in his hand.

Since then he had come back down every chance he got, and sometimes when he should have been doing something else. It had been nearly a year, and he had nothing to show for it but a pendant and a poor review at work. Every time he came down here, he resolved it should be the last, but it never had been.

He turned around. The visitor's center and small parking lot at the bottom of the hill were hidden by the fog, so he headed up the beach away from the water toward the path that lay at the edge between the forested hill and the beach.

A figure emerged suddenly from the fog and Mark's bones tried to leap out through the back of his neck. He knew immediately that this was not the girl who had given him the pendant; this person was as bundled against the cold as he was. He slowed and turned toward the figure.

As he approached, he saw it was a girl with long, straight blonde hair, but hers flowed down from under a purple knit cap, and her hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of an old wool coat. She noticed his scrutiny, looked him over, and smiled at him warily. “Good morning,” she said.

He shrugged, looking around at the fog. “Is it morning? Who could tell?”

She gave him a nod. “It's smart to come early. Gotta get down here before all the tourists so you can claim a good spot.”

Mark let out a little laugh. “I live here and I don't even recognize the place.” He turned and looked toward the Sound. It may as well have been a pond for all he could see.

She followed his gaze, and looked out at the fog, and stood near him in silence for a short while. He looked back at her. It could have been the same woman, he decided; they were of similar age, and her facial features were close. Still, he didn't see much of that other girl in this one. This was a winter girl.

She caught him staring at her and raised an eyebrow. “So what brings you to the beach on this fine morning? I mean, other than to soak up the sunshine?”

“Ah, sometimes it just gets too cramped inside, and then you think,” Mark shrugged, “Maybe it'll be better outside, but then, you know...it's not, really.”

“Ah,” said the woman.

“That sounds weird.”

“No, I get it. This weather sucks.”

Mark sighed. “Actually...I met someone here about a year ago and haven't seen her since, and I was...you know, I was hoping...”

“She'd show up again?”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a nod and looked back out at the Sound. Mark looked at his shoes, feeling awkward, and was beginning to think he might as well excuse himself, when she said, “I grew up here. Those apartments just behind Fourth Avenue.” She pointed up the hill. “My grandparents and I. Grandma would always bring me down here, whenever I wanted, even when it was snowing. I...come down here to remember her, and to look for...” she hesitated, obviously feeling awkward, too. “Well, my grandmother's pendant. Grandfather gave it to her when they were just teenagers, but she lost it somewhere before I was even born. She's always come here, so why not here?” She sighed. “It's a chance in a million, really, right?”

“What does it look like?”

“What?”

“So if I see it I'll know whose it is.”

“Well...it's a...blue, teardrop shaped...”

Mark took the pendant he'd been given out of his pocket and showed it to her. She froze in place, staring for a moment, then she moved the two steps between them and reached for it. He gave it to her, and for a moment she seemed to curl up around it. She wrapped it in her fist and pressed her fist to her chest. Then she looked at it again, and looked at him. “Where...how did you...”

“Well, the lady...the person I've been hoping to see again...she gave it to me.”

She looked up at him. “Really? That's...”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty weird.”

“Oh. Yeah. Weird,” Mark said. He hesitated only a moment; he had to at least try. “You want to get some coffee?”

“Like...right now?” She looked around and considered, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute. I'm April, by the way.”

“Mark.” He wandered down to the water but didn't go far; he didn't want to lose her in the fog. He picked up a stone and tried skipping it. It plonked right into the water.

A Calendar of Tales: January

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

Question: Why is January so dangerous?

Answer: Because an aging veteran just retired, to be replaced by a dangerously unqualified youth, no more than a babe in arms.

“Grandfather!” Kopi wailed, watching as the beam from the Enemy's weapon cut his father's father in half. He fell upon his grandfather's torso and wept as the Enemy swept past them. Kopi didn't acknowledge them, nor they him, for he was unarmed and only a child. “No, no, no,” Kopi moaned.

Kopi lay over the blood-covered corpse of the last adult he had known alive, weeping but not sobbing. Other dead lay nearby, but he didn't look at them. There was no point. There was no point to any of this.

The Enemy came down from the sky and slaughtered The People until only children were left, living unprotected in the wilderness. They guarded the People's meager dwellings against the children until the forest reclaimed them, and would let none of the children's crude structures stand.

The Enemy were not people, but empty shells that looked like people. There was a tiny thing inside them that glowed. Kopi had seen it flee when one of them was killed, but he didn't know what it meant.

Kopi searched his grandfather's body for things he could use. He took only the smallest weapons, the most easily hidden, for the enemy would kill even a child if he was armed. Other children crept out of the cold forest and approached him. No one said anything. They all looked at the fallen man that had once been their leader, or they looked at Kopi.

A skinny girl who had been alone in the forest longer than anyone put her hand on Kopi's shoulder. He looked up at her. Her face was grim, all their faces were, but hers was especially so. It was she who finally spoke: “So what do we do?”

Kopi looked down at his grandfather. Of course, it passed down to him now. Grandfather had said as much. “It's all up to us now,” he said softly.

The girl gave a single nod and bent down to remove the old leader's badge of office. She moved to pin it to Kopi's shirt, but he stopped her. None of the other children were so well-dressed as he; the girl beside him wore nothing more than a hip-length sack dress. Clothes were not what made him leader. Blood made him leader.

Kopi's father had told him stories of their ancestors wearing their status in rings on their ears, so he moved his shaggy back hair away from his. The girl nodded fierce approval; she'd also heard these stories. She pinned his new badge of office through the cartilage of his ear. It hurt, but Kopi didn't mind. It was the least of all his hurts right now.

Many of the other children were bigger than him, but Kopi was the leader, now. He lifted his chest and gave his first command. “Gather everything you can from the dead. Food, clothing, weapons.”

“Where will we hide?” another child asked.

“We can't hide,” Kopi said. “We have to fight.”

Please comment if you feel so moved!