Spoken from the Heart

fum. fum. fum. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore it. Such a frustrating contradiction. I feel comfortable sleeping on my back, head on my pillow, turned to the right; my body wants to do it. But as soon as my right ear presses against the pillow… fum. fum. fum. I hear my heartbeat pulsing in my ear.

I lie down and relax into that most comfortable position, and fum. fum. fum. I hear it, and I try, I try, I try to ignore it, and it keeps me up. I have to switch to another position before I can sleep.

And sometimes no other position will do. Tonight is like that. My body wants only this position; my ears want anything but. And no matter how studiously I ignore it, there is my fum fum fum, boring its way into my brain. I’ve heard how sounds you hear over and over tend to disappear, but it’s never worked for this.

Dammit. I’ve spent so long trying to ignore it, maybe listening to it will help. Like meditating by listening to breathing, maybe. Here goes.

fum. fum. fum.

fummm. fummm. fummm.

fum. fum. fum.

Wait. Is that Morse code?

A+

“His gaze transfixed her. Though she still held the knife behind her back, she knew she could never use it so long as he looked at her like that. No, not even if his hands made good on the promises his eyes were making…”

Ms. W looked up at the author, sitting across the desk from her, then back down at the paper, then back up. The author was her student. The assignment had been to write something that inspires you. The class was second grade.

“Did your mother write this?” asked Ms. W.

“No,” said the boy. “She told me not to turn it in.”

“Did she say why?”

“She said it wasn’t appropriate for school.

“She’s right. Why did you write something like this for the assignment?”

“You said to write what we really wanted to write.” His voice was rising, his face looked  headed toward tears.

“It’s okay, Michael. It’s very good.” He relaxed. “It’s just, in the future, you should probably write on a different subject.” He nodded. “And…”

He waited.

She leaned forward, one hand unconsciously on the paper as though she could touch the characters described there.

“Can you tell me what happens next?”

Hammet and the Walnut

Hammet left his village with only his clothes, a lantern, a bag of walnuts, and an uncanny ability to crack open a walnut with his bare hand. Hammet left to seek his fortune, for he had four older brothers and sisters, and there was nothing left for Hammet.

Hammet came upon a small forest beside a small kingdom. The king had promised his daughter’s hand to any who could chop the whole forest in one night. Hammet dropped his lantern as he passed in the night. In the morning the king saw his forest burned to the ground and was dismayed; the princess was secretly pleased.

Hammet discovered a rabbit that claimed it was a mighty general, who had been cursed by the wizard king she served. She asked Hammet to pierce her ears with a golden needle to free her. He ate well on stew that night.

Sleeping one night in a cave, Hammet awoke surrounded by gold. Taking all he could carry, Hammet left for home, but the devil confronted him. In exchange for the gold, Hammet’s soul, unless Hammet could best the devil at a wager.

“I bet I can open this walnut with my bare hand.”

Equal Time

“So, I thought that was strange until the Centauri ambassador took me aside and said—”

“Erin, ask me how I’m doing.” The image on the other end of the telecall stopped dead.

“What?”

“It’s just, look. I love that you call. I know it’s expensive from across the galaxy. But it’s great that we stay in touch. And you really do have great stories. I love telling my friends about my sister, interstellar diplomat to the Galactic Council. But you never, ever ask about me. About my latest year of med school—”

“You’re in med school?”

“See! This is exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve been in med school for three years, now, and yes, it’s great, I’m thinking about burns as a specialty.”

“Well—”

“But you’d never know, because when we talk, it’s all about your glorious job, and the fantastic aliens you’ve met, and on and on and on.” A moment of silence.

“I’m sorry. Look, let me just finish the sentence, okay? Then it’s all about you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“The ambassador said that the Ursans are declaring war on us. We don’t have a chance in hell.”

Silence again.

“So,” said Erin. “What’ve you been up to?”

The Dragon is Dead

She basks in the crowd’s adulation. But at the banquet honoring her, she feels a twinge of disdain for them, followed by guilt at the unfamiliar emotion.

Her shield caught in the dragon’s maw, she twisted its head and plunged her sword through its crop into its brain.

She keeps only the customary tenth of the dragon’s horde, the rest going to Queen and country; even so, she is wealthy. No one charges the dragonslayer for anything. Gratitude wars with condemnation for people so eager to pay a tribute for their protection, their weakness.

Her scream echoed through the ruined palace as scalding blood streamed down her arm.

She secludes herself in a manor with a view of the palace. Servants gossip about her: her demands for obeisance, her mockery for those who earn their coin rather than winning it, her diet of raw meat that her infirmity makes difficult to eat, and her growing cruelty.

Her arm curled reflexively to her chest, even as the skin blackened and crisped.

She rakes the blackened flesh with her fingers until it peels away, and she stretches her new scaled limb and flexes her talons. She sets her eyes on the palace.

Buffalo

“I am a buffalo,” he said, standing at the bus stop, leaning forward with his arms hanging, perhaps reminiscent of a buffalo’s front legs.

“Are ya now?” asked the bus driver. “Yer not the guy who just crashed that fancy car into my bus?” Delayed passengers stood around and glared.

“Definitely not,” said the man. “It’s imperative that I be a buffalo just now. The herds are thinning. I must protect the cows.” He fidgeted. “Also, it wasn’t my car.”

“Then whose was it, I wonder,” said the driver.

“I’m just a buffalo,” said the man. He lowed. “I couldn’t know it was my brother’s car.” The buffalo figure shrank a little. “If he finds out, he’ll make the buffalo extinct.”

The driver stuck her hands in her pockets. Looked at the sky. Tried to balance mounds of paperwork against the soft lowing of this gentle, majestic creature.

“Well,” she said, “looks like whoever rammed me ran off. Someone who didn’t look anything like a buffalo. Probably stole the keys off a friendly buffalo.” The buffalo smiled up at her. “Who should get outta here and, uh, protect some cows.”

The buffalo lowed gratefully as it swayed through the crowd.

Short and Sweet

She ran all out. Dogs ran after her. She leapt to climb a wall; it crumbled, and she rolled. Back on her feet. Lead dogs snapped at her; she turned, snapped off one shot, two. Two dogs dead, the rest scared. For now.

Others would hear. She had little time. Climb a tree? Die treed by dogs. Keep running? Die exhausted. Stand and fight? Die torn to shreds and shot. She stopped on the bridge over the gorge. Jump to the river below? Die wet and broken.

Looking ahead, lights and sirens at the compound gate. Looking behind, fire and smoke of her distraction. In her pocket, a microchip that could end the world—or so she’s told. So, the mission: to return it to the authorities. At least they wouldn’t end the world.

Barking and motors from all sides. She looked over the edge of the bridge again. One chance….

Hours later, after the furor had died, the scent tracked to the middle of the bridge, the river searched, her broken gun found, her broken body not, she climbed out from the lattice beneath the bridge. Time to get the rest of the way out.

All in a day’s work.