Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The floof spoke.
The man regarded the animal. “You want to go back out? You sure?”
The floof replied.
The man stood and followed the animal. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”
The animal veered to the kitchen and headed for the sink.
“Oh, you want water.” He filled the animal’s glass.
Water. Outside. The two words sound so similar in flooflish. It’s easy to mix them up.
7 AM. I open the blinds because I know sunrise was at 6:59.
No sun. Droves of fat flakes lash the window and veil the world. It’s 37 degrees F so it’s not sticking.
I meander through the house TCB. An hour later, I’m at the kitchen window. 37 F. Sunny as Florida.
Florida comes to mind because my wife spoke with her sister yesterday. Sis lives in Florida. She was in her pool. 80 F.
Back in Ashlandia, ten minutes later, it’s dark and gloomy. Low clouds hide the mountains.
It’s 37 F.
This is Tuesday, February 21, 2023. Winting rules Ashlandia. Weather sages tell us the high will be 42 degrees F later today, then we’ll drop into the twenties for the night. Snow is expected to fall after sunset at 5:51 PM.
10 AM. It’s a broken blue and white sky. No sunshine.
Papi, the ginger marvel, has been galloping around the house, wailing to be let outside, beating on windows to come back in. He is not a fan of winting weather.
I have “Jumper” (1997), Third Eye Blind, looping through the morning mental music stream. The cause mystifies me. The Neurons must have something in mind but they’re not telling me. Behind the song was a story of a high school committing suicide after being bullied about their sexual identity. The song was played for Republicans in 2015 at the convention to protest the GOP’s anti-LGBT positions.
Stay pos. Enjoy the weather as best as you can. It’s almost sunny here now. No, wait, clouds have skated in. It’s snowing. No, it stopped. Look, it’s sunny.
Here’s the tune. Where is my coffee?
Here comes the snow. Cheers
People were running in positions as though they sat in cars, following lanes marked with white lines and arrows. I did the same, jumping into the left-turn lane toward my home. The streets were narrow, lined with tall cement and brick buildings pink, yellow, white. The setting reminded me of Okinawa outside of Kadena Air Base’s main gate back in the 1980s.
Arriving home, a tall, old, cement building, I encountered friends. One needed to leave but his son’s baby sitter hadn’t arrived.
“I can take him,” I volunteered.
Ted, a Black friend, answered, “You sure? I don’t want to burden you.”
“Miles isn’t a burden.” Miles was the boy, a light-skinned Black child with a sweet, happy face, an oddly muscular body, and a head topped with soft curls. “We’ll have fun, won’t we, Miles?”
Miles agreed with a grin and words I didn’t understand, tottering over to show me something in his hand, which was empty.
“Okay, thanks.” Ted left.
Miles and I walked down the street to another building. People there seemed high or tipsy. Performers, I knew. Students. Singers, actors, musicians, artists.
Miles and I spent time chasing one another or playing hide and seek. People knew him more than they knew me. They started asking, where is his father? Why do you have him?
I explained that I was watching the boy for his father because his father had an appointment, but his mother was coming to pick Miles up.
“What was the father’s appointment?” I was asked. “Why isn’t he here?” They were disapproving, even though I’d already explained that the baby sitter had an emergency.
“He was counter-protesting a protest.”
Oh, that makes sense. That’s important, others agreed.
Miles disappeared from my watch. I panicked and searched for him. His father came in just as I found Miles. I said, “I was so worried that something had happened to him. I took my eyes off him for just a second and he was gone.”
His father, who was now another person, said, “I know what you mean. That happens to me all the time.”
Woo hoo. It’s Monday, February 20, 2023, and we did it. Sunrise is at 7 AM in Ashlandia today. A surfeit of daylight and sun greeting me upon admitting Papi back into his house after his 6:37 excursion.
It’s Presidents’ Day in America. Time to sell some cars, furniture, and appliances at significant savings! Doesn’t change the weather. Winting stands strong, 29 degrees F at dawn, 38 F now, 62 F later. Dusk will resume around sunset, 1750. Winter warnings are out. Apparently, winter is coming back for another engagement.
“Faint” by Linkin Park (2003) plays in the morning mental music stream. There are lines in the song about not being ignored and don’t turn your back on me. I was trying to ignore Papi’s request to exit again (he’d come in fifteen minutes before, and the sun wasn’t yet up). I told him, too, “We’ve had this conversation. You need to stop going in and out. I need sleep, please.” His response was a yowl, which my FVD Mark IV said meant, “I will not be ignored.” Ah, said The Neurons, “here’s ‘Faint’ by Linkin Park.”
Here’s the music for you so you can see how music sounded twenty years ago. Stay pos and take over your Monday like a floof boss. I need coffee. Already ate waffles for breakfast. Maybe I’ll have a brownie with my coffee. For energy.
Here’s the tune. Cheers
She brought me a small white plate.
Two dark pieces nestle on it. I stare at them, then shift the stare to her.
I had been smelling them since I came into the house after my coffee house writing session. Chocolate.
K is on a diet. Today is day 30. She is allowed to add one thing today. She added vegan honey to her breakfast amaranth. Now she waits three days to see if there’s a reaction. If a reaction — pain, a flare, stiffness — is experienced, that item is banned from her diet. Forever. Then she resets for a few days and adds another item. If no reaction is felt, she adds another item and waits three days. So it goes.
This means that she can’t eat what’s on the plate.
She’s hosting book club next month. The moderator opted for something lighter for March. Lessons in Chemistry. Bonnie Garmus. Kay is making vegan brownies studded with chocolate chips. These are vegan chips from Trader Joe’s. Vegan butter was used. This is a test batch. A Ghirardelli mix was used.
“Taste these,” she tells me. “Tell me what you think.”
She can’t have them. Diet. Two of the Ashlandians in the book club are vegan.
I force myself to eat a chewy, gooey vegan brownie.
“Wonderful chocolate taste. Not too sweet. Greasy,” I announce. That makes sense to her. There was something about the vegan butter melting and then measuring it again. She didn’t do that. “And they’re not done enough.”
“Five more minutes?”
“Maybe just three.”
She nods. She’ll make another test batch this week.
They go great with black coffee on a winting Ashlandia afternoon. An entire tray waits for me in the kitchen.
I’ll need to pace myself or it might be death by chocolate.
I was visiting my sisters and their families. Someone was in the kitchen preparing food for us but I couldn’t see them. The kitchen was shallow and narrow, with silver and stainless-steel machines across its front, on top of a breakfast bar. We were all laughing and talking. I don’t recall anything said until I said, “Hey, how do you get into that kitchen?” I wanted to go in. “There are no doors.”
That wasn’t answered because at that point, I felt a powerful energy, a humming vibration, sweeping around me. Raising my hands, I stepped back to feel it better. “You guys feel that?” They all said no so I explained, “A powerful energy is flowing through here.”
Acting on an impression that struck, I moved back into an empty space in the adjacent living room. “Watch this.”
Putting my arms straight out to my sides, keeping my body stiff, I let myself fall face forward. As expected by me, I never hit the floor but levitated above it by several feet. “See that?” I called to them.
The children were watching and gasping in amazement. “How are you doing that?” several asked.
“I’m must using the energy. You can do it, too. Watch.” I landed on my feet and then repeated my act of falling forward and levitated again. The children were trying to copy me.
“I think I can higher and control myself,” I said. Then I changed my hands and moved forward, flying higher. Understanding that flight control was possible, I flew toward an open window.
Dream end.
