Granny

"I wish your grandmother could remember your name," the nurse said.

I snorted.  Of course I knew my own granddaughter's name.  The dratted man never got it right.  I just couldn't open my mouth fast enough to say anything before he spoke for me.

He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.  "But Granny's raised four fine children and enjoyed seven grandchildren, including you, and now it's time she was involved in her own mind and not everyone else's."

"I know," Lucinda said.  "I just wanted her to meet Matthew before we married.  Granny's always sent me love notes, and I wanted to say I love her back before life gets crazy for the two of us."

I sniffled.  "I love you, too, dearest child," I almost said, but obnoxious-nurse interrupted.  "Let's wheel her into lunch and you three can talk."

As though I watched a motion picture, Lucinda and her fiance dissolved, and my dragon touched his great, warm snout to my forehead.

"George," I exclaimed, delighted.  "I haven't seen you since last fall.  Is it really almost summer again?  How were the hot springs?"

"It's Matthew, not George, ma'am," he answered, and I waved his answer away.  "You always did have a sense of humor, George.  I'd know you anywhere."

I scratched the beast under his chin, where the scales were the most sensitive.  He closed his saucer eyes, and smoke curled from his nostrils in pleasure.  "There, you see," I said.  "I bet that's all you were missing.  You needed me to come scrub your back, didn't you?"

"You guessed it on the button," George chuckled, and as I read the deeper tones in his voice, I sat up in my chair.

"You mean that," I smiled widely.

After all these years of him leaving me... I had to wait for him to come back, every time.  Time all blurred together, now.  Light, dark, a muddy ice.

"I do mean it," he said.  "How would you like to fly with me?  I have this itch I haven't been able to reach since 1965."

1965.  I wrinkled my brow.  Wasn't there something else that had happened in 1965?

"It's when you were married, Granny," a girl's voice broke into our conversation and I squinted, confused at how George disappeared again.  Every time he left, coldness enter my bones.  "You went to the hot springs for your honeymoon."

"My honeymoon," I whispered, trying to remember.  All I could think was that the darn chill was spreading through my body.

"We're going there for our honeymoon, too."  The girl gazed into the eyes of the strange man sitting beside her.  Her... her fiance, wasn't it?  George.  No, George was bigger, much bigger.  "Matthew," I forced out.  Finally.

Lucinda leaned forward over the... what were those, peas?  I couldn't stand peas.  Excitement filled her eyes.  "That's right, Granny," she said.  "This is Matthew."

"You're going to the hot springs," I murmured.  I nodded, as well as I could manage through my shivering.  "George..." I began.

And George materialized in front of me again.

"Yes, Marinda," he rumbled.  "Is that a yes?  You'll come with me to the hot springs?"

I rubbed my palms over my arms, unable to stop the shaking.  "I think... I think you'd better fly me there quick," I said.  My body couldn't seem to stop shuddering, even with the blanket.

George's enormous snout opened wide and he guffawed.  A wave of sulfury breath engulfed me with a promise of warmth.  He always did make me feel warm.  "Who said anything about me flying?" he said.  "You're going to fly on your own wings."

I stared at him, a strange feeling expanding my chest.  My deepest dream, taunting me with filaments of hope.  "You mean that?" I said.  "You really mean that?"

He nodded.  "It's time your scales shined, Marinda.  Let's get on our way, shall we?  When we get there, I'll scrub your back."

The shudders overtook me.

"Granny," I heard panic, and I found enough control to grin up at my granddaughter.  "Lucinda," I said.  "I'll meet you at the hot springs."

I cried out, and that dratted nurse said, "She's been waiting for George for a long time."

Well, for once he'd gotten it right.  I let go, and thrust out my wings.

__

Happy National Backwards Day!  I'm going on a backward run and wearing my clothes inside out to celebrate :).  What are you doing to be backwards?

To read more inside-out stories, visit Suzanne Warr's blog hop.

Cliffdiving

I'm breaking the rule of flash fiction today and making it flash, instead.  The deal is, this week's prompt is to show parental love, but all my muse is giving me are non-fictional examples.  Things like wiping bums, and cooking food... again.  Sewing up seams in the unraveling bird-toy collection.

Sharing the notebook with your daughter's algebra problems.  Tearing out a page with your other writing on it accidentally.

And sharing your laptop.  Trying to remember how to breathe.

Waking when the world is asleep to check your son's blood sugar.  Waking again to get your daughter to her early classes.

Waking from a snatched catnap to teach your children (again) that "contention is of the devil."  Reminding them of more constructive projects, like learning that "cleanliness is next to godliness."

Oh... cooking food.  Did I mention this?  Wishing you weren't eco-conscious so you could toss the dishes and forget about washing them.  Remembering you have built-in dishwashers that need to learn how to work.

Lessons about money.  And service.  And saving money so you can serve.

Building talents and skills with hours of encouragement of all types.  Praying to know what kind of encouragement to give.

Wanting them to be successful now and later.  Wanting them to know how to be good people, and to choose to be them.

Parenting's crazy.  It's a feat you have to take seriously and want to do, so that when it's breaking your soul, you can still smile at your kids.  I see moms and dads around me doing such an incredible job at this, showing their children kindness and love while sweating to provide for them, that I just want to give those people heartfelt hugs and applause.  They're giving their children life... their own lives and their kids' future lives.

You amazing parents are what our earth revolves around.

In the spirit of this, I'll leave you with an image.

If all of that up there were fiction, then my real life would be cliffdiving.  Thrusting myself over the edge into a crystal blue sea.

It's the emotion I define raising my children with.  Exhilarating, scary, a long, long fall.  Your insides don't make the trip.  Explosion and tightness in the water.  Coldness countered by thrumming blood.  Popping your ears.  Holding your breath.  Laughter.

And glorious views.

Worth the experience.

Resolution

"Are you on your way in or out?" a man's voice behind me demanded.

I hunched my shoulders and murmured, "In."

"Well, can you get a move on? You're holding up the elevator."

I mumbled a 'sorry' and took another tiny step that didn't move me anywhere. My black dress gathered at the edges of the doors. They kept trying to close.

"Mommy," I heard a child say, "I think that lady is stuck."

I closed my eyes.

The mommy couldn't speak quietly enough. "I think so, too, darling. Maybe we should take another elevator."

"There aren't any more elevators!" The child's voice faded with their footsteps.

"We'll take the stairs," came the faint reply.

Dignity, I told myself.

Another voice came from my back side. A nicer man's voice. "Ma'am, are you going in or out?"

I couldn't answer. Tears were threatening. I raised my chin.

"In, then. That will be easiest. Ma'am, on the count of five, I'm going to give you a push. I want you to know that I'm not intending any sort of harrassment, only help, is that clear?"

I nodded.

"I need your verbal consent."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Right, then. I need everyone to clear the area, please. One," he began to count.

Please, I uttered a silent prayer. Please let this be as quick and painless as possible.

"Two."

A traitor tear leaked out.

"Three." His voice came from a distance away.

Please let him never see my face.

"Four. Five."

I heard footsteps. Oh, lord, he was running. I turned my head to see but the impact came first. His whole body jammed into me, and I slid into the elevator as the doors began to forcefully close.

"Unnhhh," I heard him groan to general applause in the lobby. "Whoever had the idea of putting Weight Control on the eleventh floor ought to be shot."

The doors shut and I moaned. I was turned the wrong way. I couldn't see which button to push. And I couldn't see a way out of the elevator. No wonder ZapFatFast had a 100% success rate. It was their plan to make their victims die of over-exertion by climbing the stairs, or--why didn't I look before I stepped?--to wither in embarrassment because they couldn't fit into the teeny elevator.

The elevator rose and stopped. "Second floor," a soothing female voice intoned. The doors opened but I didn't hear anything. Thank heavens no one was there.

The doors closed again and the elevator climbed another level. "Third floor," sang the voice.

Shuffling of feet and clothing. Then, "Ma'am, do you need some help?"

I shook my head.

"That's all right, we'll just wait for the next one."

Snickers of laughter. A muffled "That elevator is loaded to max capacity." The humming slide of the doors.

Max volume, not weight, I thought stubbornly, or it wouldn't have gone up.

My spirits lifted slightly and a memory tickled my brain--my Russian godmother kissing my cheeks during my torrent of self-hateful tears, saying, "Fat souls have wills; skinny souls have wishes. You have power. You will find the way."

At the time, I'd snorted at yet another of her sayings. Now... well, did I have power? Wasn't it I who came to visit these psychos in the first place?

The elevator dinged. "Fourth floor," the voice toned. The doors opened.

A nasal simpering. "Ma'am, can you scoot over? We're in kind of a hurry."

I spoke to the wall with more assurance than I felt. "What do you think I am, a supermodel? This elevator is mine. You'll have to take the stairs."

The doors slid closed and I swallowed, desperately visualizing my godmother. Did I do okay? I asked her.

Perfect, I could see her mouthing.

The elevator churned for a while. "Tenth floor." The doors opened.

A chorus of groans. "How in the world did she get in there?" "Does she ever have a problem." Groans turning to laughter.

I raised my voice. "See this?" I tried to wiggle my backside but it really was pretty tight. "I'm in here to show people like you how to respect others. I am NOT the one with the problem."

The laughter died and the doors slid shut.

Keep going, my godmother whispered.

"Eleventh floor." The doors opened.

A man's voice spoke. "This is Weight Loss and Management, ma'am. I think this is your floor."

I noticed a blurry reflection on the polished steel wall before my face--a skinny figure in a brown suit with a crowd of all sizes behind him. Dang. If I'd noticed that before, I could have seen their reactions as I made my way up.

This one's for you, I told my godmother.

I raised myself up to full height and felt my weight re-settle. It was quite a bit more comfortable. "Actually, sir, I'm managing my weight just fine. But you all seem to be concerned about it, seeing it's your floor, so why don't you go take the stairs and save yourselves a few years to your lives? I'll be just fine in here."

The doors shut before I could glimpse their faces, but mine glowed. I did have power. Maybe, if I held myself tall, I could squeeze out of the elevator. But, really, I didn't even care. I'd never felt so good.

___

Today is National Ditch Your Resolution Day, but I'm having trouble with that because my own resolution, to rewrite my WIP, is coming splendidly (chapter four, yeah!).  Mostly, though, I believe resolutions can change you for good, on the outside and on the inside, however slowly it comes.

In saying that, this story is NOT about making fun, even though it was fun to write.  It's about the idea that people are born to be beautiful.  Whatever you set your mind to doing, you can do when you keep your sights on the goal, but when it comes to being, being YOU is best... and incredible.  I hope your resolution is to love you, and don't you dare ditch it!

Enlightenment

"Before we make any decisions, what would you say we have learned about survival on this planet?" The Great Ozak pointed first at the pictures on the wall, then at Ogin to answer.

"The dino-things died out because they were too big," Ogin said.

"No, they didn't," I objected.

Ogin glared at me. "When the cold came, the plants died out and couldn't sustain their huge bodies."

"They died out because they didn't have fur," I said. "That's what's common among the next bunch. The mammoths had it, and see, men wanted it so they stole it." I wrinkled my nose at the little creatures wearing borrowed hair, when they already had plenty of their own.

"Yes, yes," the Great Ozak said. "We can say it was both a decrease in size and fur that helped the next inhabitants to survive."

"Men were smallest, so they survived longest," Ogin drove his point home.

"Not compared to the dinosaurs," I said. "They were on the earth for billions of years. Men weren't alive long at all, comparatively."

"Well, they would have been," Ogin amended, "if they hadn't blown themselves up." He smirked.

"Right," the Great Ozak said. "So size doesn't necessarily correspond to survival.  Now, if we're going to go in there and put the planet back on track, which species would you choose to become?"

Ogin and I grumbled.

"It's on the edge of another ice age," the Great Ozak prompted.

"Right, so nothing too big... and nothing too small, either," Ogin muttered.

"What form did our last Bandaid take?" I asked.

"Mammoths," the Great Ozak said. "But they ought to have chosen a man-predator, wouldn't you agree?"

"If there are really no men left..." I hedged, then sighed. None of the options sat right. "I wish I knew what else lived there."

"Yes, well, all records burned in the incineration," the Great Ozak said. "All we have are glimpses from when the Planetary Recycling Board took snapshots of the action.  We honestly expected them to go farther than they did.  Even stabilized the sun for them." He shook his head. "Which brings us back to our predicament."

I squinted at the pictures, trying to make out the lumpy details. "Wait, what is that? In every picture there's the same bump. Is that an eye?"

The Great Ozak broke out into a wide smile. "Very good, very good. Those, in fact, are turtles. I wondered if you would notice those. You have nothing to fear from radioactive turtles. As you can see, they have stood the test of time and remained the same through all the ages."

I rolled my eyes. "Then it's obvious. I want to be a..."

At the same moment I said "turtle", Ogin burst out with "mammoth."

"What?" I gaped at Ogin. "Why mammoths again?"

"They're in the middle," he said.

"But the Great Ozak said they didn't last long at all."

"Only because men killed them for their fur. All the men are dead, now. I'm going mammoth."

"No way," I shook my head. "Turtle."

"Very well, we'll go with mammoth turtles," the Great Ozak chortled. "Let's get you outfitted and on your way. This time, we'll show the Planetary Recycling Board what true enlightenment is."

___

This is a very random story which came from a discussion on mammoths and evolution at our dinner table.  I really think mammoths ought to have stuck it out longer, because aren't they the coolest animals?  On the other hand, we have a turtle, and I'm always surprised while watching her eat how stubborn and tenacious she is with that beak.  And how wise.  Too bad the mammoths and turtles couldn't have figured things out, somehow... but I guess that's for the future.  What animal would you choose?

Check out other creative stories here!

Inside the Fire

Maya scowled at the flames.  Their heat scorched her face but she couldn't back into the night.  Her grandmother was burning, and family honored the closest watch to the Change.

This idea frustrated Maya.  She didn't see a need for change.  Her grandmother's warm girth and wizened cheeks soothed her the way her mother didn't.  Her arms welcomed, her mouth loved, her words protected.  Why change a relationship so perfect?

Hours of heat without sleep made Maya's legs wobble and her eyes feel blind, and desperate not to dishonor her parents and sink to the ground, she bit her tongue as hard as she could.  Blood filled her mouth, and she focused on the metallic flavor instead of on the idea that the flames had melted her eyeballs away.

The heat crackled in a bright haze but she didn't dare look aside.  She had to make sure that the body emerging from the ashes carried the same soul.

Maya began to shake uncontrollably.  She wrapped her arms around her middle, and then a warm pressure tickled her back.  Peter, her distant cousin, stood behind her.  His own grandfather had Changed just a month ago.  Why was he looking at her and not the flames?  Had he felt the same way?  She resisted the temptation to glance behind her and straightened her spine.

And waited.

As the fire cooled and relinquished its color to the pink strands of dawn, Maya found herself leaning toward the bier.  What would she really find in the ashes?  Bones or soft skin?  How could the story be true? How could such delicate skin as a baby's not be incinerated by the heat?

A gasp familiar as day came from beside her, and floating scarves filled her vision.  Blinking, Maya watched as her mother dug her bare hands into the shimmering soot and pulled out a small, gray form.  She detached a scarf from her neck and wrapped it swiftly around the ball.  She held it a moment to her chest and then turned.  Triumph lit her face as she thrust the baby into the air.  It wailed.

"My mother has returned," she announced to the cheers.

Her icy eyes settled on Maya's, and in another burst of scarves, she shoved the baby toward her.  Startled, Maya opened her arms and looked.

She didn't understand how death could transform into life, how fire could dissolve and create.  But as the baby's warmth crept through Maya's stiff body, an urge filled her chest.  An urge to welcome.  An urge to love and to protect.  Carefully, she rocked the bundle and stared into its dark eyes, where her grandmother's had been white.

"Grandmother," she whispered.  "I guess it's my turn."

___

My own grandmother passed away last summer, and I think this story owes some of its poignance to her.  I loved and still love her dearly, one thing in the turning new year that won't change.  But there are all sorts of other changes I'm excited for, like new stories, yeah!  Seriously, nothing makes me happier :).  What are you looking forward to in 2014?

Happy New Year!