Session December 31, 2016

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The two friends were sardonic, cynical, hypercritical, anti-establishment, irreverent lovers of wilderness.
by BG

The two friends had a great trek through the desert. They'd just gone in to take a quick peek. It really was a truly amazing endeavor. It was overwhelming and it was quite eerie. How did the Egyptians think up this stuff? Everything was so huge and dark and foreboding. It was going to be really hard to deal with being here, but they had had so many experiences together and after all they were together in this situation and that was important. But still, the two friends were sardonic, cynical, hypercritical, anti-establishment, irreverent lovers of wilderness. How were they going to persevere in this place with no sunlight, no moonlight, no wind, no rain, no sky, no clouds, no trees, no sea, no mountains? All the things they were for, they were going to have to do without. How could they be stuck in here with no chance to see it all again, shut away from all that was important to them? 

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Foolishly, I argue with him, as if it would make a difference.

By CC

It seems we were born for one another. Perhaps, in a prior life we were gladiators, or drug kingpins jockeying for supremacy. Yes, that implies we go in for the kill. Such is the level of our ire towards one another in this lifetime. We are well known as the Battling Jones.

But of course my ire is justified. Look at the birds he brought home, for example. He said they are called “Battling Sparrows.” He finds it funny that they scrap and fight as much as we do. But ought we to be exacerbating this trend? Shouldn’t we seek a way to live together more harmoniously? Foolishly, I argue with him, as if it would make a difference. Of course he ignores me, and the birds go in the aviary.

The next morning I got up to check on the birds. I could hear them banging against the aviary walls. When I arrived, one of them had the other in a death grip. The bird flapped its wings frantically seeking escape. I banged on the glass which caused them to pop apart and fly away.

Then I realized that we need a bang on our glass, too. But I never could have imagined what would happen next. I opened the door to the aviary and the birds flew out into the house. Then I heard Jared jumping out of bed. I heard his pillow whump against the wall across from the bed. I heard his high pitched cries of frustration as the birds apparently decided he should be their next target.

He ran into the room, arms fluttering above his head to deflect the sparrows. Suddenly he fell to the floor – laughing. For a moment I wondered if he was ill, then it hit me too, and I started laughing with him. Even the birds found this odd, and perched on the back of a chair to watch us.

The mood stayed with us for a few days, unlike the birds, who shot out an open door as soon as they could find one. Later we fell back into old patterns. But I remembered the birds fondly now. And hope for another bang on our glass.

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You were meant to be here. You are one of us.
by TNT

I made it in time - although the street was rutted and there were men lounging on the street corners with metal toothpicks stuck between their teeth. They looked menacing. They all wore holsters with revolvers and a sneer on their lips.  I had never been to this part of town. I took out my nunchucks and short sword from behind my shoulders. It wasn't much good against guns. But I wasn't to be deterred at this point. I stopped the driver and told him I'll walk from here. He was relieved and asked me for the regular fare - I gave him twice that. I promised him a tip if he returned here in two hours. He nodded and drove away.

I strode down the sidewalk as if I owned it (not to look weak or uncertain). When I reached the building there was a man lying in the lobby bleeding. I walked around him without looking down. Screams from an apartment echoed in the long, dark hallway. I didn't trust the elevator. I could be trapped in there so I went to the circular staircase. No-one there. Good. I went up cautiously, my hand on the rail. 

I was going to meet the old lady who gave me ballet lessons, and another who showed me how to make blintzes. It was OK. They told me, "You were meant to be here. You are one of us."

I removed my sword and nunchucks and put on my ballet slippers as the old lady put on a classical piece of music from an old phonograph - Stravinsky of course. Le Sacre du Printemps. I began to dance.

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“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything before, but this has been difficult to talk about,” he said.

By RC

 “I’m sorry I didn‘t tell you everything before, but this has been difficult to talk about,” he said.

“Okay. Take your time and tell me in your own words,” the psychiatrist replied.

Charles leaned back in his chair for a moment, and then he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and then finally he sat upright to tell the strange story.

Uncle Charlie, for whom Charles was named, had gone out in his boat, as he had done almost daily for years, off the northwest coast of Ireland. He had been a simple fisherman for his entire life, as was his father and his father’s father, going back many generations. However, Uncle Charlie was always looking for things other than fish while he was pursuing the family tradition. He had a small net for plucking things out of the water. He’d collect old bottles, items which had been thrown into the sea by people and happened to float past his boat—you name it.

One time when he returned from an outing he handed Charles an old alarm clock—the wind up kind that had the two bells on top. It still worked, and Charles actually used it when he wanted to get up on time, which was rare. It had a fine patina of age on it, although it didn’t really look old.

There was one thing that Charlie in particular always scanned the coast for when he was close in, and that was mermaids. Yes, I know, it’s an old sailor’s legend, but it also happens to be an Irish legend, and there are some who insist that mermaids are real. Only they mean it a little differently, since the idea is that the seals transmute in body to that of a lovely young lass, leaving their skins in some secret place the meanwhile, until they want to go back to the ocean.

When Charlie didn’t come back at his usual time, Charles had gone looking for him. He sailed up and down the coast for hours, until he spotted just such a thing; I mean a mermaid. She was in Uncle Charlie’s boat, which was getting farther and farther out to sea.

“Uncle Charlie,” Charles shouted. “Uncle Charlie, what are you doing?”

“Tell me wife that I’m all right,” Uncle Charlie shouted over the blowing wind, “but I’ll not be coming back home.”

“But why?” Charles had shouted back.

“You’ve seem your aunt, have you not?” Charlie came back again, his voice more distant now. “One day with this lady is worth a lifetime….” His voice faded away, and a fog that had been coming on hid him from Charles.

Charles didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t bring his uncle back against his will, even if he could locate him. He thought that the best thing to do was not speak of it at all to anyone, but to say that he hadn’t found him. However, this had weighed heavily on his conscience.

Later, he thought again about what Uncle Charlie had asked him, and he thought about his own wife, and all the scolding, and the rest of it. Perhaps he could have chosen better. Perhaps Uncle Charlie was right. “I’ll make a final visit with my shrink,” he said to himself. “Who knows? I might get lucky, like Uncle Charlie.”

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The rain and snow turned to hail, which pelted Harry and stung his face.

by RMAF

The rain and snow turned to hail, which pelted Harry Carry and stung his face. So he took his mother's orange and white bed spread and wrapped it around his head for protection against the elements.

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Put away the SAT vocabulary study guide: It's too late for that now.
by MD

"Define contrition and use it in a sentence," Grandma demanded. 

I wanted to tell my grandma, "Just shut up!" Then I noticed the book she was holding - in Aramaic characters, reading from left to right. 

"Grandma," I yelled. "That's not the SAT vocabulary guide. That's your Old Testament!"

"Put away the SAT vocabulary study guide," Grandma replied. "It's too late for that now."

"What are you talking about, Grandma? You're supposed to be quizzing me to get ready for the SAT so I can get into Vassar. Or Smith. Or Barnard."

Grandma merely smiled. "No, I see it right here, in the Book of Daniel. The prophecy. The end is coming. We're knocking at the door to the end of days. The apocalypse. The last judgment. The only vocabulary you'll ever need then is the word of contrition. 'Sorry.'"

I gulped and just before I conked her over the head with my SAT vocabulary study guide I murmured in her ear, "Sorry." For my grandma, it was indeed the end of the world.