FF – Born Under A Wandering Star

Thanks to Russel Gayer, long-term Fictioneer and great humorist, for the photo.

Born Under A Wandering Star

I was born under a wandering star, but roots grow deep without meaning to. I stopped when my truck died on the highway, thought I’d work a few weeks to pay for a fix. Then I met Gloria.

Two guys together don’t roll into a new town round here unless they want to be rolled right back out, so we stayed. He’s been Gloria for years, so they’d all gotten over it before I arrived.

Truck’s all grown up with ivy now – kids climb in and dream of traveling the world. Been there, done that. Turns out it’s right here.

If you’re in the mood for a musical interlude, check out one or more of the links below, which came to mind as I wrote this story.

FF – Empty Chairs

Photo copyright Brenda Cox

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

We giggle and order everything we’ve dreamed about for months – it’s a good feeling to be out together again.

At the next table, the man tells the waitress to remove her mask, says he’d rather die than wear one. He gets angry when she refuses, starts shouting about infringement of liberty.

An older lady approaches from where she was sitting alone. She’s a full foot smaller than him but there’s strength in her eyes.

“A little more caution might have meant my husband was with me today,” she says. “Is a mask a greater infringement of liberty than death?”

FF – The Discovery

Photo copyright Alicia Jamtaas

The Discovery

This is the News at Five

After yesterday’s discoveries, our historical experts have been investigating the impressive collection uncovered by the Earth lander. A reminder than excavations unearthed a near-perfect collection of plastica objects believed to be from some time around 21^st century of the Earth Epoch.

In spite of their age, the items are almost intact and indicate a hitherto-unknown faith held perhaps universally by our ancestors. The crowned Goddess depicted on each sacred drinking vessel appears to be nautical. Waves of hair cover her naked form and tail-like shapes appear to flick behind her.

Her name was Starbucks.

Extroduction

This wasn’t the story I was planning. I can’t decide if it’s a bit cliché these days. But I was talking to the boys literally yesterday about what would happen if humans suddenly disappeared from Toronto. How fast the plants and animals would take over, and what would remain. So I guess this photo took me there.

FF – The Destination

This photo, courtesy of Dale Rogerson , reminded me of the Big Apple we pass on our drives out East. The story that follows is fictional, but we’ve never stopped. Perhaps we should.

The Destination

Whenever we drove East, we passed the Big Apple. Mom said it was a pie store, and we couldn’t stop because pie’s not good travel food. I recently discovered there’s a whole play park there too. I asked Mom why we never stopped.

“Honestly? I wanted to. I asked Dad every year, but it’s such a bad location. If we stopped there, we’d never get to the island.”

“Isn’t the point of a vacation to enjoy the trip?” I asked her.

“Dad always wanted to get where he was going,” Mom replied, tapping the urn. “And now he’s made it.”

FF – Ooops!

Photo credit – Liz Young

Oops!

“Oops!” was one of Mum’s words.

Graze your knee in the playground? “Oops!” Crash the car on your driving test? “Oops!”. Knock red wine all over her new carpet? “Ooops!”

We joked that if we killed someone she’d maybe add an o or two, but still reach for “oooops!”.

She died before I realised it was a defensive mechanism; a reaction to the punitive parenting – if you can call it that – of the nuns who raised her. There was no room for “oops” at the convent, and Mum was determined everyone have space to make mistakes. Even herself.

N.B. Like most of my stories, this one is entirely fictional. I do say ‘oops’ a lot, mostly while watching motor racing crashes.