(Author’s note: Mental health is very important. I’ve had to take a few weeks off, again, because of too much information overload. As I grow older, it seems my capacity for information has grown to be lesser. I am doing fine today, but who knows how I will be next week. Let’s enjoy today, and this fictioneers piece. Please enjoy the music, and the story that goes with it!)
2000 feet above the Yamhill Valley, Patricia breathed in the air.
“If I could stay up here forever, I would.”
“Not a terrestrial person?” Her husband responded, turning the valve to take them a slight bit higher.
“There’s just so much down there. So much going on, so much trouble.”
She didn’t seem wrong, in her husband’s eyes. The more peaceful a place, the better.
“We’re going to have to go down eventually.”
“I know. I just want to stay up here as long as I can.”
They started a very slow descent, mirroring the setting sun out in the distance.
The winter came early for the people of Charleston-upon-Avonlea. Bitter cold came in mid-September, unannounced.
By early October, the river Avonlea had frozen over. 4 of every 10 people got supplies.
November came quickly, and the cold persisted. The river seemed to be nearly frozen solid. Attempts to do some ice fishing came up with very little except more ice.
The people were so used to doing their own thing, they didn’t ask for any sort of help from other places. They didn’t know how.
By the time the soft rains of April showed up, there was no one left alive. Even as the bustling village of Newport, 7 kilometers away, went about it’s own business.
Author’s note: Hey everyone! I keep promising more stuff on the blog, but school and job hunting gets in the way. Once something comes along, there will be more posts. Otherwise, you get to enjoy Friday Fictioneers from me! My good blog-father, David Stewart, got the picture for this week, and I think it’s a beauty! Enjoy the story!
The rust on the gate was quick. Brand new last year, now tarnished.
Only one rainfall came that summer, but it was a blessing. A year’s worth of crops came in a month. It was incredible.
Then they came to the house. Claimed all sorts of charges, all sorts of lies. They said the rain didn’t want to come. I asked them how they knew the intent of the rain.
They didn’t tell me much, didn’t even allow me the chance of getting a lawyer.
(Author’s note: Heyo! Classes are a bit hectic, but I may actually have some real stories up this week, depending on how things go. I realize that writing a bit longer-form may actually help me with my classes [especially my short fiction class], so be ready for some experimentation to come. Anyhow, here’s the latest Fictioneers offering.)
I feel as thought my heart has been pulled from its place, but I know it is still there. Despite what might have been, I still am able to continue on. I am confused as to why you had to go that route, though. Why would you submit yourself to all of that dreck?
I am not sure which direction to go now, as my path has been shaken up. I still hear your voice in the dark night, telling me the things that I want to hear.
But I hear a different voice now, one that says “time to move on.”
Lacey Opheim sat under the bus stop canopy, trying her hardest to stay out of the downpour that was currently plaguing the city she lived in. Summertime was always a worrysome time for the rains, especially if they came early. On this early July afternoon, the rain was coming down in buckets and showed no signs of letting up.
It fit her mood perfectly.
She sat and looked out over the rice fields of her city, trying to make sense of all that had happened. She looked out and sighed heavily, knowing that when she arrived at work, hell was going to break loose and she was not going to be all that pleased about the results. As the editor of a foreign language newspaper, it was her responsibility to take care of errors and issues, and she had a big one run through the morning edition like a runaway freight train.
She sat under that canopy as though it were a dark cloud. She barely even noticed when a young man walked in from the rain.
“Mind if I sit here?”
She waved him in, without taking a second look at him. An awkward silence filled the air
“Looks like today it’s really coming down,” he said, leaning back and relaxing his elbows on the railing behind him.
She didn’t say anything, and just kept staring at the rice fields across the road.
She looked up at him with a face full of ‘go away’ written all over it.
“And I’ve seen that face too many times to mention,” the man said.
Lacey saw that the man was Asian, either Japanese or Korean. She didn’t really know the difference, as she was “one of those ignorant foreigners”. She also noticed that the asian man was wearing a stetson, but otherwise was soaked through.
“You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t take care of those wet clothes,” she responded, hoping that he would leave her alone.
“Young lady, I’ve been through too many rainstorms to have to worry about my clothes. I make it a regular event to walk in a downpour.”
She turned her head back to the rain and the fields.
“So what are you supposed to be, sir? Some sort of a rain-soaked counselor?”
The man just chuckled.
“Well, I reckon that I am merely here waiting for the bus downtown, and that you have something going on that you are just wanting to get off your chest.”
She sighed, as he hit the nail on the head.
“I made a major error. One that could get me fired. And it wasn’t even something I knew about. It was just automatic approval.”
“What was it?”
“If you saw the front page of today’s newspaper, you’d be likely to see the error.”
“You mean the headline story about how the mayor was suspected of having an illicit affair even though everyone seems to know that it was not true?”
She groaned at this.
“What if I told you that when you go into work today, you’re not going to be fired? You’re not going to be yelled at. Nothing will happen to you.”
“Let me put it another way. The story was not in error. And just before you exit the elevator on your floor, the floor with the editors and the desk jockey journalists, you will be given a notice about a developing story about the mayor’s resignation due to accusations of sexual assault by no less than five teenage girls.”
Her mouth just dropped.
“How do you know this? How the hell do you know all of this?”
The man chuckled, as he pulled out his cell phone and smiled.
“I’m the mayor’s chief of staff. I know his secrets, and I’ve been waiting to tell them to someone.”
Lacey looked at him, and fell backwards into unconsciousness.
Music and Fiction 