Twilight

The Child wandered through the small village. Houses had been ram shacked; some burned down. Debris was all over the street and glass glimmered in the twilight.  Darkness was slowly descending upon what must have been a striving little town.  The Child stopped before a worn down, scaly, painted house with no windows, no doors, and half of its roof caved in.

“Who lived in such a shack?” She said loudly.

“A family of eight,” said a voice behind her.

The Child screamed and turned to face the unknown voice.

“Who are you?”  She asked looking down at the pair of eyes observing her.

“The name’s Coon, my dear Child.”

“I’ve never talked to a raccoon before.” She said and began to laugh. “Never even knew they could talk.”

“It’s Mr. Raccoon for you,” he said, hurt at her laughter,  “And there’re lots of things that you don’t know, Child.”

“Okay, Mr. Raccoon.  Am I dreaming?

“No.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“Passing through.”

“Passing through? It’s twilight and too dark to travel.”

“Not for me, Child.  I travel at night.”

“Oh.”

“What are you doing here, Child?”

“I was hoping to find a place to sleep tonight.”

“Won’t find a place here.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you see the village is deserted?”

“Yes. I was wondering where all the people were.”

“Hiding in the mountains.” 

“Why are they hiding?”

“Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m on my way to meet someone.”

“Well, then, I’ll be seeing you.”

“Don’t go, Mr. Raccoon. Don’t leave me alone.”

“But you’re meeting someone.”

“I am. At least, I hope so, but I don’t know when.”

“In that case, you’re welcome to travel along with me.”

“Okay, but I need to rest.”

“Not tonight, Child.  If you’re going with me, we’ll rest during the day.”

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Giggles

“Great, Mr. Eagle,” The Child said, giggling.  “I love to see your wings spread out.”

The eagle, flying above her, circled, then glided, letting the wind carry him, and The Child spread her arms wide to imitate him. Giggles of suppressed laughter erupted out of her mouth.

“I’m an eagle too, Mr. Eagle.”

“Gaaaak, Gaaaak, Gaaaak.”

“ Are you laughing at me?”  And The Child flapped her arms.

“Gaaaak, Gaaaak, Gaaaak,” said Mr. Eagle, swooping past her.

Coming up behind her, he latched onto the collar of her blouse with his beak.

“Oh, Mr. Eagle, don’t drop me.  I can’t fly,” she said, as he glided with her out on the ocean.

“Looks like you can, Child,” said The Prophet.

“Prophet!” The Child shouted, hanging from the eagle’s beak. “Mr. Eagle, there’s the Prophet I told you about.”

The eagle glided toward the lily pad and released her, and then flapping his wings, he flew upward.

“Don’t fly away, Mr. Eagle.”

“He’ll be back, Child.”

“How do you know? And where have you been? And where is Mr. Whale?”

“Come, Child. Eat some of this fresh fish. You look tired.”

“Turning that hourglass of yours, being left alone with sharks coming at me, who wouldn’t be tired, Prophet?

“You were never alone. Your Mr. Eagle was here.”

“But he flew away.”

“Did he return?”

“Sure, he returned, but…”

“But what, Child?”

“I never knew when.”

“Come, eat, so you can sleep.”

The Child giggled.

“You’re giggling.”

“I can’t help but giggle.”

“Why’s that, Child?”

“Because you haven’t answered my questions.”

“Would you like to hear a story before you sleep?”

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Thank You

The Child looked at The Prophet, her big brown eyes clouded with tears. Mr. Whale was ready to take off to his winter retreat, and the lily pad had banked on a large patch of seaweed near the cove that rose upon the embankment of the small island they had chosen for a rest until The Child had once again found her rhythm in the newly acquired skills she had learned.

"Prophet?"

"Yes, Child?"

"Same time next year?"

"Your Mr. Whale will return same time next year."

"And the lily pad?"

"The lily pad will be ready to go by then too."

"And you, Prophet? Will you stay here with me?"

"If you want me to, I will, Child."

"I want you to."

"Thank you, Child."

"Thank you, Prophet."

The Child looked on the water at Mr. Whale. He was slowly treading out into the deep water.

"Thank you, Mr. Whale," The Child yelled out loudly. "Don't forget to come back at the right time next year. I love you." Then she turned to the lily pad and said, "Thank you, lily pad.  I love you too."

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To participate in The A to Z Blog Challenge is an enormous effort for a writer. Your support, your listening ears, your comments, your likes on Facebook, your tweets on twitter were gifts for which I am profoundly grateful, and as The Child said to The Prophet and The Prophet to The Child, I say  to you, thank you.

Shalom Aleichem.

Peace to you.

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Zing

"Zing zing, zing," sang The Child, sitting on Mr. Whales' back as she zoomed by The Prophet. The Prophet lying comfortably, his body stretched out on the ocean observed her.

"My, you're zesty this morning."

"My seaweed tea tasted very good this morning, Prophet."

"Then you must drink the same kind of seaweed tea next time. It makes you hum like a hummingbird."

"Really, Prophet?"

"Yes, really. Zing once more."

"Zing, zing," said The Child and Mr. Whale zoomed with zest. Suddenly, The Child heard a sound coming from The Prophet.

"Zzzz, Zzzz, Zzzz."

"Prophet, are you sleeping?"

"No, Child. I'm resting my eyes as I look at you have fun."

"Why do your eyes need rest, Prophet?"

"Good question Child. You'll find out the answer one of these days."

"And when will one of these days come, Prophet?" The Child asked as she and Mr. Whale zoomed passed once more.

"Child, I like your zingy spirit. It makes you zesty and curious."

"Is that good, Prophet?"

"Sure, Child."

The Prophet got up off the ocean and returned to the lily pad. The Child was having the zingiest  time of her life.

"Zing, zing, zing."

"Come, Child," said The Prophet. "It's time to zing forward."

"Zing forward, Prophet?"

"Yes, Child. It's time to move on."

"Will I come back here again?"

"No, Child. Your footprints fade as you walk out your journey. No one else can walk them, but you."

"You mean they disappear?"

"Yes, Child. You'll still be zinging but at another point in time."

"Wow," The Child said, and she stopped zinging; Mr. Whale stopped zooming, and flipped her playfully on the lily pad.

A faraway look came in The Child's eyes.

"What are you thinking, Child?"

I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

And I, Prophet,

Well, I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.*

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

*The Road Not Taken. Robert Frost. 1916. Published in a collection. Mountain Interval

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_Not_Taken