Refracted Neurons

Something strange happened this month: I missed my 12 Short Stories deadline.   There have been many things changing in my life, and I’ve realized that there are a few things I will need to put less energy into.  That doesn’t mean I won’t write anymore, but that I may write less, or may just focus on longer pieces.  That being said, I did write something, it just didn’t meet the word count. So here is one more story.  It’s not a story about politics, it’s a story about human nature and human feelings. ——— The war is over, or at least that is what they say.  But how do you stop such a thing once it is started? Charles sighed when I asked him, “You act as if you don’t understand politics.” “I don’t,” I scratched a sliver of paint off the window with a razor, “I’m not even sure we should be doing this.” “They said we could remove the blackout paint,” Charles swiped an even curl of latex to the ground.  It fell among the budding roses, an artificial petal. “But...

  Cecilia was standing in front of Aunt Betty’s coffin when it happened.  Calvin squirmed out of her arms and, yelling a stream of semi-gibberish, launched himself into the casket.  It took a moment before she spotted the tiny sandal lodged between Aunt Betty’s left shoe and a wooden box.  Calvin hated being barefoot. Before she could reach for it, Bryson took her by the elbow and steered her away.  Calvin toddled behind, still crying.  They proceeded out of the church into the dry heat of the parking lot, not a strip of grass to be seen. “Why do they never put lawns in these places?” Cecilia scooped up Calvin.  He stopped sniveling and handed her a square of card stock.  On it was typed “Hab 2:9.” “They need the parking,” Bryson shaded his eyes, “On Sundays, this place overflows.  You’re lucky to find a spot, and that’s with running two services.” “Then you must know what this means,” Cecilia held up the card. Bryson took the card, then crum...

Image by Arek Socha  from Pixabay   It was six in the morning and already I could hear voices outside.  Not wanting to move the curtains, I peered through the slit in the center.  There they were, with their vans and cameras, notepads and microphones, swarming the sidewalk like ants that have found the remnants of a chip bag.  Sliding back into the darkness of the living room, I dialed a number that I knew by heart.  It rang through to the voicemail and I hung up.  Before I could dial again, my phone lit up. “Hello?” “It’s May 19 again, isn’t it?”  He had a drawl that lulled you into thinking of iced tea and buttered corn. “Meriweather, I don’t know why, but they’re here at my house,” my pulse jumped in my neck, pulsing against the hand that held the phone. “Don’t you watch the news?  It’s the thirtieth anniversary of the LEAP disaster.”  There was the jingle of a belt buckle. “Where are you?” “Well, I was in bed.  Now I’m putting m...

  Charlotte was gazing through a set of field glasses.  Even at five times the size, the people looked like ants.  She tried to count them as they swarmed over and behind the sand dune.  There were more than six, at least two were armed, and three were engaged in water summoning. An arm snaked around her waist, legs kicking hers from behind.  Without thinking, Charlotte drew manna into her hands, releasing it through her fingers with a crackling pop.  Her assailant jittered, then dropped, pulling her with him onto the shale. “Coulda seen who it was first, Charlotte,” the man panted.  Like her, he had tan skin and curly hair, and like her, he wore a belt tooled with storm clouds. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people, Rossi,” she pulled away from him.  The added heat of his body was unbearable. “See anything good?” “Yeah, you?” “Nope.” “There’s three Mages summoning water over by that dune,” Charlotte pointed. “How’s that good?”  Rossi sat up, blo...