Sunday, June 9, 2024

FingerNale Tales: 10 excerpts!


FingerNale Tales: 10 Bite-sized morsels!
Read the first 2 paragraphs for a feel of the shorts 😍 

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!




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.


THE CAT HAS no name she is aware of. She sleeps most of her days away curled up and silent, and most of her nights, too. Occasionally she stretches, and enjoys the attention it brings her. When she chooses her place of slumber, it is best to leave her in peace.

Sometimes she hears a sound, and it is familiar to her, a sound often repeated, but she cannot duplicate it, for it has no meaning to her other than that sense of familiarity. She knows this word heralds a summons for her presence. She sits up from her slumber and listens briefly, and then chooses whether to answer that command or not, for she is in control of her fate, not another.


LOOKING ACROSS THE waters darkened and stilled by night’s undeniable influence, I viewed the shadowy silhouette of the far mountains highlighted by the half-moon setting beyond. It was a familiar sight, one I often stared at during daylight, and watched at night as the moon tracked across the heavens.

This night familiarity was altered.

In the centre of the rugged range an almighty scarlet glow dominated the night sky and seemed to flow into the invisible waters of the bay, like a sphere vanishing into the depths.


AS WE DROVE along the quiet road in the early morning, a young couple embarking on an adventure with the tank filled, trailer loaded, kids sleeping on the back seat, we wondered if we had made the right decision.

Others told us we were mad, but we ignored them. Was leaving civilisation behind for a life in the wild a choice we could deal with long-term? Those others - family - said it was stupidity.


ENTERING THE TOWN, it felt as if we had entered another time and dimension. The name on a signboard about a kilometre back told us we were on the right road, this was the town we had marked on a map, but what we found could not have been explained by any means.

The usual was in place. Store fronts were lit for temptation at night, and some shops were still trading. There were streetlights, the typical tarred main street, a park opposite - fronting the ocean, for we could hear waves breaking - bins for rubbish, advertising on walls and boards, street signs and so forth, but there the usual ended.


THE VEILS OF sleep take my consciousness into the sub-conscious, layer upon gradual layer. When my imagination departs from my body, I open my eyes upon a different set of veils. These are as diaphanous, but they are not as benevolent.

Sticky crisscross patterns adorn my path, then another pattern and another veil, seemingly into eternity. No arrangement is quite the same, although they are entirely geometric, therefore deliberately designed. I am faced with an elaborate set of traps, webs meant to ensnare.


THERE ARE EYES on its wings. Many have this subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore the concept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective tool of disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.

This is a …

That is the problem - what is it?

This is not the wild either. I am standing here at the corner of a high-rise building, seeking escape from the frigid wind howling through this city, and this winged wonder does not belong here.


THE GLASS SHATTERED first and then the roof shook resoundingly. One would think it should be the other way around. First the roof shake and then the glass breaking. Warnings came first. One would expect the warning to come first, a herald to danger. But no; the glass shattered first and then the roof shook resoundingly.

But this was not real.

He was in an aeroplane.

Snorting, he snatched the first breath of sudden awakening and stared around him. Right. The flight from London to Glasgow.


MOM IS AWAKE first, as always, but this is a special day. My heart pounds when I hear her slippers slapping as she goes down the passage towards the kitchen.

Today I will go to big school for the first time.

I hear the kettle make a noise, and know she will soon come in with my tea, but today I will wear my uniform, not my normal clothes as I did before to go to my old school.


I NEVER THOUGHT I would get old. It comes as a surprise to sit here at age ninety. Really it does. This, for me, is merely a number, for I do not feel nine decades old and, despite those sets of ten and the various injuries sustained over their progression, my body tells me it is a lie.

Is my mind as sharp as I believe? You be the judge of that. Base it on these ruminations, perhaps.



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