The Ferret

The ferret pops its head out of its hole welcoming a day just like any other. We pan to the left and see the sea of the world just a treetop away. We pan to the right and there's that little ferret again, sniffing the afternoon breeze. Let's pan more to the right to the forest, dark and mysterious, not unlike the ferret's burrow to an unknowing animal or a too large human.

Shall we see what the ferret's day will bring? Pan to the right again to see the boats and the people and the cars and there's the sea again and then there's our little ferret friend. Still sniffing the breeze, just its little head poking out of its little hole. I wonder when it will make a move...

Maybe if we name the creature it will become more lively. First of all, is it male or female? Is it fair to us, as bi-standards to label this simple ferret with a gender for our own selfish purpose? Of course not.

“Little ferret,” my whisper becoming the breeze. “Little ferret, would you prefer a manly man's name, or perhaps a girly girl's name? Or a beautiful boy's name, or some sort of lavish lady's name? Really, the choice is yours.”

The ferret blinks, bows his head and ducks back into the hole. That is not an answer in the slightest. I guess I'll have to get creative. Reggie is as good as a name as any other. Reggie is your name you little ferret. Reggie the ferret that resides in a hole, a treetop away from the sea. Reggie the ferret that doesn't like to go into the forest alone. Reggie the ferret that is on the move!

Look at him go, bouncing along the earth. Why is Reggie stopping behind that tree so close to the sea?

I hear giggles. That certainly is not Reggie. Pan down to the waters edge. Why, there are humans down there. Is Reggie watching the humans? They are captivating. Are they practicing some sort of witchcraft? Picking up stones and having them dance along the surface of the water before plunging in seems like an odd game.

Maybe I am out of touch with the humans. Maybe I should take after Reggie and spend my days watching them. Their laughter and buoyancy is so odd compared to this simple ferret named Reggie. Should I give these two names?

“Excuse me laughing humans. Would you like to choose your names?” But, alas, my whisper was simply the breeze.

57 Past the Old Mill

"Take a left on Sudbury. It'll be the next street." She curses herself and wonders if anyone else doubts themselves this much while giving directions. You've been here before, Janis. Calm down.

"What number is it again?" He remembers she said 57 earlier, but wants to ask just incase he remembers wrong or she thinks it's weird that he remembers. Dammit Deryl, is this awkward?

"It's 57, just past the old mill." That's how her friend described it to her when she was driving last time. Poor Tammy. I wish she was in the car now.

Deryl pulls into the dirt driveway. He swallows loudly in anticipation. Did she hear that?

Janis makes no attempt to get out. She's still thinking about Tammy. Was it my fault? Will the same thing happen to me? To Deryl?

"You came here with Tammy, right?" You told me you did once.

"I, uh, yes. We came here once. It was my first time here." Is this too much information?

"Have you been back since the, uhm..." Accident. 

"No, not until now," I never wanted to come back. "I guess we should go inside." Maybe we should just leave.

Deryl unfastens his seatbelt and opens the door. When he steps out Janis does the same, mentally preparing herself. They approach a door set in three meters of brick wall.

"Do we knock?" Please don't make me knock.

"No, I have to open it. Next time you'll open it." Just like Tammy said.

Janis opens the door. A field is located on the other side. The continuation of the field where they are standing.

The door leads to nowhere. There is no magic. Janis is a loon.

"Just do what I do. Don't forget." I'll see you soon Tammy.

Janis backs up a few steps and runs into the piece of brick wall to the left of the now open door. With a 'pop' she is gone.

Deryl stares at the plain brick wall. Before he can act, a figure comes out of the right side.

"Where's Janis?" Tammy asks Deryl looking very dishevelled.

"She's gone." The door slams shut. Silence takes over. The two head back to the car. They are together again.

No names or faces

"Why do you do that?" Teasing.
"Do what?" Caught off guard.
"Smile like an idiot when I walk in the room." Laughing, joking.
"I... I didn't. I just wasn't expecting you this early..." Nervous.
"I'm actually late." Sits beside.
"Oh, I must have lost track of time." Lying.
"It doesn't matter. Give me some of that blanket."
"Do you want the remote?"
"What's on?"
"I was watching this dumb movie."
"What's it about?" Leaning.
"Two people, unexpected friendship, the usual."
"Do they fall in love?" Smiling.
"I haven't seen the ending." Bites lip.
"Maybe we should keep watching." Silence.

Stories don't need names or faces. They can start and stop where you want. They need a writer, a reader, and imagination. These two people are who you want them to be.

Ralph and the Bath

"And where were you, Mister?"

Blink.

"Don't look at me like that."

Woof...

"Ralph, do not use that tone on me." Ralph bows his head and sticks out his tongue, not so much as in a gaped mouthed, playful way, but in defeated anguish with just the tip showing. His scrunched up face giving him the look of absolute sorrow.

"Apology accepted. Now, you need a B-A-T-H." Mary spells out the b-word as to not alarm Ralph. Bath is one of his trigger words. Others include: walk, bad, bye-bye in the car, and balloon (something to do with his complicated childhood). Mary doesn't want Ralph to flip out in his current, muddy state. She pictures Ralph getting too overwhelmed and... jumping... on her... white... couch cushions. She visibly cringes and shakes her head to try and make the image disappear.

Grabbing an organic dog biscuit, Mary tries to lure Ralph into the bathroom where lukewarm, sudsy water awaits the rambunctious pug. Ralph shows no interest to the biscuit made with real, green, leafy vegetables. Mary sighs and switches it for a treat that resembles bacon. She only bought the organic ones in an attempt to change the round body of Ralph into something more oval.

Sniff, sniff.

Mary waves the fake bacon in her hand slowly from side-to-side as she walks backwards towards the bathroom in an awkward crouch, beckoning Ralph. He waddles over to the treat, trying to taste the flavor that fills his tiny nostrils and makes his head swim.

With no recollection of how he ended up there, Ralph and Mary face each other in the bathroom. She gracefully closes the door and laughs at Ralph a little too manically for his liking. His little ears press against his head as realization dawns on him.

He's in what the human calls 'bathroom'. He smells hints of lilac and vanilla, common scents traced to cleanliness. He looks at the porcelain object referred to as 'bath', with it's bubbly substances spilling out, and up at the human which he loves. The human that takes him on walks and pets him for hours. The human that feeds him and feeds him again. How could human do this to Ralph?

Mary knows the light-bulb went off as the pug's face turns to horror and betrayal. Her heart breaks a little staring into his eyes. She frowns and squats down to pet him, the treat still securely out of reach. She sees his short fur coated with dirt and smells traces of wilderness on him. She knows what must be done.

Mary waves the treat in front of Ralph's face again. He snaps out of his trance and becomes memorized by the Ecstasy within reach. She tosses the bacon substance into the tub and Ralph soon follows suit without a second thought. Content with the treat, Ralph allows Mary to clean him and all is right in their world again.

Ralph loves human; Mary loves Ralph.

Last Day on Earth

           The last day in my home. The last day with my friends and family. I've never been good with goodbyes... So I really hope this camera quality is clear. I hope the audio quality is clear too. I've heard that in space sometimes alien transmitters can get in the signal's way.

           Though it is my last day on good ol' Earth, it doesn't have to be my last day living. See, I've been planning this for years. I've built my spaceship. I've gathered supplies. I've selected a crew that I'll be able to live with for years without getting sick of them.

           It's my duty to go off and collect random objects from space to send them back to Earth for scientists to do their scientist thing. I collect, they study. It's a simple process.

           Well, it was a simple process... until everything went horribly wrong. My carefully selected crew started disappearing one by one. Murder? Space madness? Alien invasions? The remaining five crew members and I didn't have a clue. That is, until Stacy disappeared.

           I know what you're thinking, “You really picked a girl named Stacy as your crew member?” And I will reply with a yes. She is cooler than her name lets on and is a dedicated... was a dedicated member to our team. Okay, she was the worst, stop giving me that look.

           Stacy was found in the storage room. Her face stuffed with dehydrated mashed potatoes. Her hands clinging to packaged snack-cakes. Her eyes darting between our faces as she was very much alive.

           It seems as though Stacy was ditching off crew members one by one so she could have extra food. Murder is a crime in space law, but stealing food is an unforgivable offense. We had no choice but to send her off in an Earth Pod with some space junk we collected.

           Oh no... we didn't fill the Earth Pod with supplies!? Stacy was supposed to do that... yes, we'll blame her. (Just like it was so easy to blame her for the murders.)

Space transmission out.

____________________

Another journal entry that I am using for my final project and reading in front of the class... Only because this was the teachers comment:

"Okay- you are scary talented. This piece is so edgy and funny. I'm in awe! :)"

Hehehe

Henry and the Small Shovel

           Henry grabs the shovel. He grasps it easily with one hand... it really is a very small shovel. Does that make it a spade? Who determines what is a shovel and what is a spade? Henry examines the tool closely.

Where did I get you? He thinks to the shovel. Was is at Tom's or were you a gift from my mother? For the life of him, he can't seem to remember.

           Defeated by his memory, Henry sits down by his garden. The flowers reaching his eye level as the vines, bushes, and trees tower over him. He doesn't realize his slacks are going to become mucked up in the dirt. He will curse himself later for that. But for now, Henry is content by his garden.

           No, my mother couldn't have gifted you to me... I seem to recall every gift my own mother has presented me with. The cufflinks for Christmas, the bar stools for my birthday, the Price Is Right season two DVD for my housewarming. You don't fit in anywhere little shovel. Little shovel seems appropriate because I think you're too big to technically be a spade! I should Google the proper dimensions to differentiate between the two. Now wouldn't that be preposterous? Henry laughs out loud to his own internal discussions. He looks around to see if anyone noticed, but alas he is alone.

           I need to really stop doing that... Henry laughs out loud once again.

           Henry, noticing his pants have become dirtied, quickly stands up.

           Now I've done it. These are new pants! That nice man down at... oh brother! Where did I get these pants? The nice man... okay, I can see his face. He has a nice smile. I wonder if he's thought of my face since. The nice man, with the nice smile works at Tom's! Yes... Maybe I should go Tom's and see if they sell small shovels...

           Henry places his small shovel near the bulbs he was going to plant and gets in his car. Dirty pants and all.

____________________

I don't really know what this is. It just kind of came out, but I love it. Maybe I will make this a thing where Henry just gets into a bunch of awesome situations. I thought it was cool how the whole story is based around his thoughts and not dialogue. 

Anyways, I hope you like it.

A Girl, A Boy, and A Graveyard short story

           He visits her gave for the first time. He regrets not going to the funeral, but he couldn't let people see his face; he couldn't let people know.
           They said it was an animal attack. He wishes he could have been there to protect her like he said in the letters. He wishes he could have been between her and the animal so it was him in the grave and not her.
           His final letter weighs his bag down. It will never have a destination. It will never make her smile. She will never know it's from him.
           As he reaches her grave a tear falls on the newly turned earth. He breaks down and says everything he's thinking, not caring who hears.
           "It's not your fault," whispers a voice from behind. He turns to see her standing before him, white as a ghost. As a ghost. Without pause or shock he gives her the final letter. The letter that would finally allow then to meet.
           She fails to grasp the letter. Wisps of tears begin flowing down her face. He tries to make them disappear but his hand cannot touch her. They will never be connected.
           A wolf saunters into the graveyard. The girl and boy lock eyes. She nods and he eagerly obeys. He charges after the wolf. It is not a fight.
           Hand in hand, the boy and girl descend back into the grave. Into their new life.

____________
This was another journal, but a music journal with no topic. Her comment was just answering a question I asked, which is sad. Anyways, enjoy.

Over thinking

This was one of my journal entries I thought I would share because of the feedback I got from it today. It's kind of a short story.

           The moon was high in the sky. Well, I guess the moon is always high in the sky. That will make me sound dumb. Maybe something about how it is full? But is it full or is it in one of those awkward stages when it looks full but it secretly has a sliver taken out of it? It's probably in an awkward stage like me. He's known for a while. Why am I just finding out?
           Wait... did he just say something or was that a yawn? His mouth definitely opened. Should I flip my hair and laugh like one of the Kardashian's? I wonder if he likes them. Maybe I should say that the woman ahead of us kind of looks like Kim. But what if it makes me seem that I like them when I really only like when they make fun of them on SNL? What if he is a member of the Kardashian fan club and ditches me to try and get a picture with the fake Kim?
           I sip my drink. That's safe. Sipping a drink, not talking, and not making eye contact. Just sipping and trying not to choke. Choking will not help my case right now.
           "Wow, the moon is huge tonight. It must be full, right?" He spoke. He spoke. He said something. It didn't even sound dumb. I make sure to carefully swallow my drink before answering.
           "Yeah, it looks pretty full to me." Am I smiling like an idiot or like a sensible woman? Probably like an idiot.
           "I dare you to go up to that woman and ask her for her autograph." He wasn't smiling like an idiot. This is too perfect though; I had to ask.
           "Which woman?"
           "The one that looks like that one Kardashian... what's her name? They do a great impression of her on SNL. Do you watch SNL?"
           I feel like this is the start of a great evening.

__________________________
I seemed a lot longer in my journal, but I think it's cute. There was no topic for that one, just whatever you wanted.

This was the teachers comments: "I LOVE THIS! You have talent! Write a book. I will buy it. I will read it!"

I am still smiling. She also came up to me and told me that she loves to read my journal and that, "You will make a great comedy writer one day," and that's when I couldn't stop smiling like an idiot in class. I think some other people heard her tell that to me so that was also awesome.

What would you do?

What would you do if you opened your bedroom door and your bedroom was not inside? Your bed was gone. Your clothes gone. Your beloved fish just gone. You're not even looking at the inside of a house. There is a grassy hill in the distance that you barely even notice because about one hundred meters away you see a house. Maybe you wouldn't call it a house, it's more of a cottage. I quaint little stone cottage. You think they are stones anyways, each one set in the wall is such a bright, unnatural colour. You've been staring at this foreign country side for hardly a minute when it hits you. This isn't your bedroom.

Do you run?

Do you close the door and walk away?

Do you call for help?

Do you think you've gone insane?

Do you walk up to the house?

Do you see what's beyond the hill?

Do you continue to stare unblinkingly into your bedroom hoping it will disappear?

What if you do close the door. What if closing the door makes this strange world move on into the next non-expecting persons bedroom? Would you risk it? If you close that door and what you just saw is gone, you will think you're crazy for the rest of your life. You can't prove it was ever there. You can't tell anyone about it because no one will ever believe you.

So you slowly walk in. The ground definitely feels like grass. There is a slight breeze and the air smells like cinnamon. It's coming from the house. That's a friendly smell, right? You decided to release the doorknob and step further into the strange surroundings. Bad idea. The door slams shut. Panic washes over you. What if your house isn't on the other side?

What's done is done. If your house is on the other side, great, If not, well, you're stuck here. Before you test your fate you decide to check out this world anyways. As you make your way closer to the house, the smell becomes stronger. You tentatively knock on the door. There is no answer and the door is ajar. You make yourself known but there is no answer back. You step into the house. It's beautiful. It is just so you. All of your favourite things are already there. There are fresh cinnamon buns on the counter waiting.

You spot an envelope with your name on it. Confused, you open it. It reads:

I'm glad you made it. We are very happy to have you here. Please do not be alarmed. You were chosen among many. You have unique qualities that can benefit everyone greatly. Of course, we will make you feel very welcome. I am getting ahead of myself. You have a choice. If you go back now, your house and your old life will be waiting on the other side of the door. If you stay, your life will be fulfilled. Everything you've ever wanted. Everything you ever need. Relationships. Companionship. We have endless possibilities to make your life the best it will ever be. This is a big choice. Choose wisely. At 12am your door will disappear forever. Hopeful to meet you soon. 
P.S. Whether you decide to stay or not, help yourself to a bun. They are delicious.


You look around and easily spot the clock. It is 5:34pm. Time is ticking away.

What will you do?