Chapter 1: FingerNale Tales

 

These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of a life’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.

 

The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknown uncle

The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed

The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire

Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign

Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal

Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion

Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets

Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glass shatters

First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day

At the End – life’s long years

 

A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a few minutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself in there!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder. Enjoy!

This is the first morsel from FingerNale Tales (the stories are all quick reads):

THE OLD MAN

Memories from childhood are frequently enlightening in adulthood.

 THE OLD MAN knocked on the door quite loudly. Dad told me in no uncertain terms to stay put - children do not open doors, he said.

I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we were having tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dad peremptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.

Just moments ago, the old man walked up the garden path, and we noticed his slow progress through the lace-covered dining room window, and my dad swore. My mom told him to shut up, but as usual he ignored her.

Mom was at the basin washing dishes as dad opened the door, but I could swear her ears moved a bit, she was listening that hard. I was listening that hard.

A mumbled conversation followed, one neither me nor mom could quite make out, and I knew both of us were highly curious. Usually the neighbourhood kids came to knock, either asking for me to come out and play, or with one of those sponsorship forms my dad hated so much. An old man was something different. The only old man who had walked up the path before was the Elder from church when mom was ill. This wasn’t him.

Eventually we heard the door slam, and I wondered if it was dad being rude or the wind taking it away from him, as it often did. That door was always slamming, as if daring someone to leave it open for a breath of fresh air. Then again, dad was always being rude, too.

The old man walked ahead of dad into the kitchen. Well, we were flabbergasted, mom and me. This was another unusual event. Dad allowed the kids in, if only briefly while they waited for me to grab a ball or something, but never anyone else. He even told the church Elder where to go off and hide.

There was something familiar about this old man. I felt as if I knew him. When mom dropped the pot she was scrubbing, letting dirty water splash everywhere, I realised she knew him, too, but she had not forgotten as I obviously had.

A clear plastic bag filled with peanut clusters, tied closed with a red ribbon, landed on the table in front of me and I could do no other than look away from that lined face to the yumminess resting there where I could actually see it. I heard dad clear his throat. Children do not need sweets, he always said, and I knew he wanted to snatch it up but could not, not with this old man watching.

And then I heard my mother say a name, and I knew who this old man was. My uncle. My dad’s older brother, the one everyone believed had died in the war up north. I knew him because he looked like my dad, but I had never seen him before.

He stayed for an hour and I really liked him. Even dad laughed. Mom seemed to watch dad more than my uncle though. Strange.

Funny thing, I never saw him again, but I will never forget him. My uncle Ed. I often wonder what happened to him, but dad never said, and mom always said to ask dad.

Those were the best peanut clusters I ever ate, I tell you.

FingerNale Tales