Could You Not Watch, and Other Stories is an electronic book available for Kindle.
The book consists of 7 short stories, some of which have previously been published and others which have not. Stories include:
Could You Not Watch. As society moves toward regularizing assisted suicide, this story explores where it all might end. (Originally published in Hereditas Magazine)
A Rose in Fatima. It's easy to get carried away with enthusiasm when you're young and in Fatima.
From East to West. What's really important in everyday life? The residents of a small town are about to find out. (Originally published in The Annals of St. Anne de Beaupre)
Hannah's 'Mater Farm. A pleasant diversion about Hannah Hodgkiss, the poet laureate of the tomato.
Decisions, Decisions. If someone told you that you would die today, what would you do?
Credo. In a dystopian future, a totalitarian government decides to put a final end to the Catholic Church.
Darkness at Night. In a world of oppression and darkness, two young people make an emotional connection.The next posts have the beginning of each story.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Beginning of Darkness at Night
Mia lay on her mat and watched a large red ant traverse the ceiling. It went one way, and then another, in quick, jerking movements.
"You don’t know where you want to go, but you’re in a hurry to get there," she said aloud.
The ant stopped, as if it heard her, and then resumed its trek.
She had no clock in her room, but when she heard the high-pitched shriek of the factory whistle, she knew it was 6 pm.
"Not much longer now," she said to the ant, which finally made its way to one corner and disappeared into some unseen crevice.
In a few more minutes, the sun would set, and the last workers would leave their factories. Once the factories were locked up securely for the night, the electricity would be shut off throughout the city. Her father had told her about a time, many years ago, when electricity was available whenever you wanted it.
"You could take a trolley car downtown at any hour, to restaurants that served beautiful dishes to beautiful people. Department stores were open all night, too. I loved to look in the windows at the wares imported from all over the world. But the best thing was the lights. Colored lights everywhere. Like the very stars of heaven had come down to earth," he said.
Mia could not dream of such a thing. It was so long ago, and she lived only now. If all went well, perhaps soon she would see a place with such lights.
For now, when the sun went down, the light went with it.
But that was not all bad, because the darkness had benefits of its own. It was the darkness that brought Baye to her.
"You don’t know where you want to go, but you’re in a hurry to get there," she said aloud.
The ant stopped, as if it heard her, and then resumed its trek.
She had no clock in her room, but when she heard the high-pitched shriek of the factory whistle, she knew it was 6 pm.
"Not much longer now," she said to the ant, which finally made its way to one corner and disappeared into some unseen crevice.
In a few more minutes, the sun would set, and the last workers would leave their factories. Once the factories were locked up securely for the night, the electricity would be shut off throughout the city. Her father had told her about a time, many years ago, when electricity was available whenever you wanted it.
"You could take a trolley car downtown at any hour, to restaurants that served beautiful dishes to beautiful people. Department stores were open all night, too. I loved to look in the windows at the wares imported from all over the world. But the best thing was the lights. Colored lights everywhere. Like the very stars of heaven had come down to earth," he said.
Mia could not dream of such a thing. It was so long ago, and she lived only now. If all went well, perhaps soon she would see a place with such lights.
For now, when the sun went down, the light went with it.
But that was not all bad, because the darkness had benefits of its own. It was the darkness that brought Baye to her.
Beginning of Credo
Clang, screech, clank.
The bolt on the steel door slid back and the door began to swing open. The man, sitting on the bed, was reflexively filled with a sense of dread. That door was rarely opened, and when it was, the result was never good. The man was not sure when the door had last been opened, but it had been a long time. Months perhaps, or maybe even a year. It was difficult to keep track of time when there was no sunlight to mark the passing of day and night. To a man sitting alone in a jail cell, the concepts of day and night start to lose meaning. Perhaps it was just one endless day that the man endured; or one endless night.
As the door swung open, the man shielded his eyes from the bright light that shone in from the corridor and bathed his cell in a glow to which he was unaccustomed. He prayed that if they took him out again, they would kill him so that he could be free of this life. He had prayed for death many times, especially during the torture, but it had never come. Perhaps, he had thought, there is still more for me to do in this life. But what that could be, sitting in isolation in a jail cell, he knew not.
Two men entered the cell, one dressed in the usual uniform of a prison guard, a submachine gun tucked under one arm, anticipating some act of resistance that the prisoner could not possibly offer. The other man wore a different uniform, one the prisoner did not recognize, but it was clear that he was no lowly prison guard. His uniform jacket looked new and crisp. His dark gray pants sported a perfect crease, and his black boots reflected the light from the corridor as if it were the sun. The newcomer was splendidly decked out, probably some high-ranking officer in the army or the secret police.
The officer spoke, "Stand up, prisoner."
The prisoner stood, as quickly as he was able.
"Turn around, let me look at you," said the officer.
The prisoner turned around slowly.
"Hmm, I thought that after so many years here you might have gone mad or be on the verge of death. But you don’t look so bad. I think you will do after all," he said. He then called out some words in a language the prisoner did not understand. In a few moments, another officer entered the room, carrying a large parcel.
"I have something for you here. These are the clothes you were wearing when you arrived. I’m as surprised as you that they weren’t burnt first thing. But that worked out well for us. Providential, you might say," the officer said with a little laugh. "In any case, get out of that prison outfit and put on your clothes. I will be back in fifteen minutes to collect you. Then we are going on a trip."
The other officer put the parcel down on the bed and the two officers and the guard left the room, leaving the prisoner in his twilight again. The prisoner sat on his bed, next to the parcel. He pulled the brown paper away from the bundle, and saw a flash of red and black. It was a robe, a sash, a cap, a pair of soft shoes. At first, he did not recognize these items as being his. But the officer said he had worn them when he arrived, so they must be his. Yes, he began to remember, they were his. He had worn them in what seemed like another life, during another age of the earth--an age that had passed away and perhaps would never come again. He slipped out of his prison uniform, and slowly began to dress in his own clothes.
The bolt on the steel door slid back and the door began to swing open. The man, sitting on the bed, was reflexively filled with a sense of dread. That door was rarely opened, and when it was, the result was never good. The man was not sure when the door had last been opened, but it had been a long time. Months perhaps, or maybe even a year. It was difficult to keep track of time when there was no sunlight to mark the passing of day and night. To a man sitting alone in a jail cell, the concepts of day and night start to lose meaning. Perhaps it was just one endless day that the man endured; or one endless night.
As the door swung open, the man shielded his eyes from the bright light that shone in from the corridor and bathed his cell in a glow to which he was unaccustomed. He prayed that if they took him out again, they would kill him so that he could be free of this life. He had prayed for death many times, especially during the torture, but it had never come. Perhaps, he had thought, there is still more for me to do in this life. But what that could be, sitting in isolation in a jail cell, he knew not.
Two men entered the cell, one dressed in the usual uniform of a prison guard, a submachine gun tucked under one arm, anticipating some act of resistance that the prisoner could not possibly offer. The other man wore a different uniform, one the prisoner did not recognize, but it was clear that he was no lowly prison guard. His uniform jacket looked new and crisp. His dark gray pants sported a perfect crease, and his black boots reflected the light from the corridor as if it were the sun. The newcomer was splendidly decked out, probably some high-ranking officer in the army or the secret police.
The officer spoke, "Stand up, prisoner."
The prisoner stood, as quickly as he was able.
"Turn around, let me look at you," said the officer.
The prisoner turned around slowly.
"Hmm, I thought that after so many years here you might have gone mad or be on the verge of death. But you don’t look so bad. I think you will do after all," he said. He then called out some words in a language the prisoner did not understand. In a few moments, another officer entered the room, carrying a large parcel.
"I have something for you here. These are the clothes you were wearing when you arrived. I’m as surprised as you that they weren’t burnt first thing. But that worked out well for us. Providential, you might say," the officer said with a little laugh. "In any case, get out of that prison outfit and put on your clothes. I will be back in fifteen minutes to collect you. Then we are going on a trip."
The other officer put the parcel down on the bed and the two officers and the guard left the room, leaving the prisoner in his twilight again. The prisoner sat on his bed, next to the parcel. He pulled the brown paper away from the bundle, and saw a flash of red and black. It was a robe, a sash, a cap, a pair of soft shoes. At first, he did not recognize these items as being his. But the officer said he had worn them when he arrived, so they must be his. Yes, he began to remember, they were his. He had worn them in what seemed like another life, during another age of the earth--an age that had passed away and perhaps would never come again. He slipped out of his prison uniform, and slowly began to dress in his own clothes.
Beginning of Decisions, Decisions
"I heard they found him dead. Did you hear that?" Mrs. Tolliver said, to no one in particular, amid the assembled crowd.
"I heard that too," said Mrs. Miller, "but you never know for sure until they bring him out. Sheet over the face—dead!"
The crowd continued to speculate about the reason for the two police cars and the ambulance which were parked in the driveway and on the street fronting the home of Dr. James Jallek. The spinning lights from the three vehicles swept across the facade of the house and across the faces of the onlookers, causing dazzling combinations of color, light, and shadow to appear and disappear.
"I bet he killed himself," said Mrs. Tolliver. "I bet he did. He never seemed very happy to me, always ... distant and too busy to bother with people."
"He wasn’t really unkind, though," said Mrs. Miller, "just pre-occupied. Always had something better to do, I guess."
"I heard that too," said Mrs. Miller, "but you never know for sure until they bring him out. Sheet over the face—dead!"
The crowd continued to speculate about the reason for the two police cars and the ambulance which were parked in the driveway and on the street fronting the home of Dr. James Jallek. The spinning lights from the three vehicles swept across the facade of the house and across the faces of the onlookers, causing dazzling combinations of color, light, and shadow to appear and disappear.
"I bet he killed himself," said Mrs. Tolliver. "I bet he did. He never seemed very happy to me, always ... distant and too busy to bother with people."
"He wasn’t really unkind, though," said Mrs. Miller, "just pre-occupied. Always had something better to do, I guess."
Beginning of Hannah's 'Mater Farm
Kate and Robin were visiting for the week. It was not often that they went to see Grandmother Hannah, since it was so far from their home, which made this a very special occasion. And Grandmother had a way of making the girls feel very special themselves. She was quite wealthy, and lived in a huge house with many servants, and priceless little knick-knacks everywhere. Invariably, the girls would return home with splendid gifts.
Now they were having a fancy tea. Grandmother had brought out her best bone china, with the delicate hand-painted roses that Robin loved so, and served little watercress sandwiches. No one else treated the girls like they were princesses, newly imported from some Eastern land. The girls loved their Grandmother very much, and the Grandmother adored her grandchildren.
Robin looked around her at all the lovely things. Then, one item in particular caught her eye: a little plate, in its wooden stand, upon the mantle. She had never noticed it before. In big red letters upon the plate was written "Hannah’s ‘Mater Farm." Around the edges of plate, in neat gold lettering, was written "We accept all major credit cards. Leave your paper money at home and come to Hannah’s."
"Grandmother. . . "
"Yes, Robin, what is it?"
"Well, that plate on the mantle, the one that says ‘Hannah’s ‘Mater Farm’, what is that Grandmother?"
"Oh, Robin, have I never told you that story?"
"No, Grandmother, tell us, tell us," chorused the girls.
"Well, children, that was quite a time, and it wasn’t so very long ago. . ."
She settled back in the plush couch, and began her story . . .
Now they were having a fancy tea. Grandmother had brought out her best bone china, with the delicate hand-painted roses that Robin loved so, and served little watercress sandwiches. No one else treated the girls like they were princesses, newly imported from some Eastern land. The girls loved their Grandmother very much, and the Grandmother adored her grandchildren.
Robin looked around her at all the lovely things. Then, one item in particular caught her eye: a little plate, in its wooden stand, upon the mantle. She had never noticed it before. In big red letters upon the plate was written "Hannah’s ‘Mater Farm." Around the edges of plate, in neat gold lettering, was written "We accept all major credit cards. Leave your paper money at home and come to Hannah’s."
"Grandmother. . . "
"Yes, Robin, what is it?"
"Well, that plate on the mantle, the one that says ‘Hannah’s ‘Mater Farm’, what is that Grandmother?"
"Oh, Robin, have I never told you that story?"
"No, Grandmother, tell us, tell us," chorused the girls.
"Well, children, that was quite a time, and it wasn’t so very long ago. . ."
She settled back in the plush couch, and began her story . . .
Beginning of From East to West
When the first pale light of the sun fell upon the roof of the tallest building on East Main Street, barely more than six hours remained. When the townspeople woke, sleepily cursing the regularity of their alarm clocks, even one of those hours had already perished.
Did anyone know that shortly after noon that day, the most awesome power known to man would be unleashed?
The people of the town, heedless of such ultimate ends, went about their daily activities as if the purpose of life were a full stomach and a clean-shaven face. If someone had told them they would meet their maker this day, would they have cared? Perhaps. Would they have changed? Doubtful.
But if someone had said that this was the day they would all render up their souls, it would not have been true. Not all would die this day. Some would live on a little longer, but none would live as long as he thought or believed or imagined.
Did anyone know that shortly after noon that day, the most awesome power known to man would be unleashed?
The people of the town, heedless of such ultimate ends, went about their daily activities as if the purpose of life were a full stomach and a clean-shaven face. If someone had told them they would meet their maker this day, would they have cared? Perhaps. Would they have changed? Doubtful.
But if someone had said that this was the day they would all render up their souls, it would not have been true. Not all would die this day. Some would live on a little longer, but none would live as long as he thought or believed or imagined.
Beginning of A Rose in Fatima
There are few places in the world like Fatima. The presence of the Virgin is so strong there, it can feel like her appearances never stopped. The people who come are so glad to be there, so filled with religious fervor, that it is easy for anyone to be swept up in the emotion. It is a place where believing in miracles is easy. Not believing is the hard thing.
Jim Harrison woke up in bed in his hotel room. When he woke, he had a vague sense of something not being right, but was unsure of what. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at the clock. 3:30 a.m. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he saw her. She was not far from the foot of the bed, seeming to float in the air. She was dressed in a white robe and a blue veil, trimmed in gold. On her head she wore a gold crown, and wrapped around her hands was a luminous rosary, made of white pearls.
At first, he wasn’t sure she was really there. He decided to close his eyes and then reopen them slowly. He didn’t know whether he was more afraid that she would be there or that she would be gone. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest, he opened his eyes and found that she remained where she had been, looking at him, with a slight smile on her face.
What to do? What do you say when the Blessed Virgin appears to you? Is there a protocol to follow? Do you speak, or do you wait to be spoken to?
Jim Harrison woke up in bed in his hotel room. When he woke, he had a vague sense of something not being right, but was unsure of what. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at the clock. 3:30 a.m. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he saw her. She was not far from the foot of the bed, seeming to float in the air. She was dressed in a white robe and a blue veil, trimmed in gold. On her head she wore a gold crown, and wrapped around her hands was a luminous rosary, made of white pearls.
At first, he wasn’t sure she was really there. He decided to close his eyes and then reopen them slowly. He didn’t know whether he was more afraid that she would be there or that she would be gone. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest, he opened his eyes and found that she remained where she had been, looking at him, with a slight smile on her face.
What to do? What do you say when the Blessed Virgin appears to you? Is there a protocol to follow? Do you speak, or do you wait to be spoken to?
Beginning of Could You Not Watch
The two files lay there.
Their owners sat in easy chairs across the desk.
Two files, two lives. This was what they came down to. Would they live or would they die? Who could make such a decision?
Dr. Kenneth P. Johnson could. It was all in his hands, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Not by a long shot. But, somebody had to do it, and he was somebody. He rubbed his eyes a bit, and picked up the first file.
Their owners sat in easy chairs across the desk.
Two files, two lives. This was what they came down to. Would they live or would they die? Who could make such a decision?
Dr. Kenneth P. Johnson could. It was all in his hands, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Not by a long shot. But, somebody had to do it, and he was somebody. He rubbed his eyes a bit, and picked up the first file.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)