Archive for category Short Stories
Daring Moonbeams
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Short Stories on Sunday, March 7, 2010
I lay in a deep slumber after a week of travelling and an arduous workload.
buzz….Ring….buzz…Ring….Ring
I awake to a fuzzy and out of focus bedroom with moonlight still filtering through the curtains. An eerie tune pierces my subconscious, as I glance over to find my mobile vibrating across the bedside table. I go to grab it but my arms are not quite obeying my brain yet. Finally, I make more effort and am able to grab it. I gaze, vision still blurry, at the caller id and lay in shock for a moment.
It can’t be. What’s she doing calling me after all of this time?
In disbelief, I answer the incoming call.
“Hello”, I mumble in disbelief.
“Hello stranger”, a quirky feminine voice says.
“What time is it?” I demand while wiping sleepiness from my eyes.
“It’s time for you quit dreaming and talk to me. It’s 9A.M. and brilliant out.” She states in a chipper tone.
“Aaarrgghh….That means it is 4A.M. here”, I exclaim while trying to get my bearings.
“Early to bed, early to rise, right?”
“Auld Ben would be proud to know that his proverbs are still being reverberated around the globe”, I mutter whilst primping.
“I would hope so, yes.”
“I’m very glad to hear from you, but it’s early so what are you after?”
The silence and lulling buzz of thousands of miles of wires is deafening.
Don’t screw this up JD. She called for something.
“I’m sorry. It’s just early and you know how I am before dawn”, I utter in an apologetic fashion hoping to hear her beauteous vocalisations again.
“I called because….” Her voice broke while trying to tell me why she was calling.
“It’s alright. You can tell me.”
“I….. I had a dream about you last night. I dreamt that I was walking alone in a moony ancient misty woodland. instinctively, I walked between two rows of old oak trees. I searched through the hauntingly thick fog to no avail. I could only see the naked limbs of the trees stretching out and almost touching one another above my head. I peered through the bare branches to discover a clear yet starless night sky. Only a lone and focused moonbeam lit the path ahead of me….”
“Oh, this is getting good…” Says i with a wee bit of a humorous tone.
“Don’t interrupt. Anyway, as I was saying, I was following this moonbeam through an ancient woodland when a silhouette came into focus. I couldn’t tell who it was but I felt that I had to reach that person, so I walked faster being guided by the brilliant moonlight. The light stopped and shone on the person at the end of the forest. Suddenly I realised that it was you standing at a fork in the path spreading out in four directions. You motioned for me to come closer. My heart was racing, as I jumped into your warm embrace. You grabbed my hand and a brilliant white light flooded the dark forest with rays of a warm summers day. In an instance, we were standing atop a mountain overlooking a valley covered in wildflowers….”
“Wow”, I yell in awe of her incredible story.
“Almost finished so zip it. Anyhow, we ran through the wildflowers hand in hand laughing and….”
“What else did we do?”
“You took me to a clearing in the tall wildflowers where a cloth had been laid and food was waiting. We talked and laid there for hours and you promised to never leave me. We fell asleep in each others arms. I awoke to find myself back in the misty woodland. I searched and cried your name in that lonesome place for what seemed for an eternity. I woke up this morning screaming your name.” She cried, whilst trying to hold back her emotions.
“I bet yer husband didn’t like that?” I laughingly enquire.
“We…We are separated. I couldn’t care less what that gobshite thinks.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I tried to make it work but we got married for all of the wrong reasons”, she answers, as her tears rush through the phone weakening my knees.
“I’m sorry. I know….”
“Dammit, it’s yer fault”, she exclaims whilst squalling.
“How is it my fault”, I demand in a serious tone.
“Because…Because, I still love you, Jefferson Day-vees.”
A great chill ran down my spine as a lone tear ran down my sleepy countenance. I had waited so long to hear those words from her.
“I have never stopped loving you, my dear”, Says I, as a warm surge of life leapt back into my body.
“Well then, come and see me, and let us see how it goes. I can’t the weight of being without you any longer.” She pleads whilst breaking down over the phone.
“I’ll be on the next plane out, so I should be there by tomorrow morning”, Says Iin a hurried manner.
“Call me back as soon as you get an arrival time and gate number. I’ll be there to pick you up. I love you.”
“I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”
The next thing I knew, I was packed and on a plane crossing the Atlantic. As the plane approached and crossed over the familiar rolling green hills, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that she’d be in my arms in just under an hour. While looking out at the cloudless horizon, which was rare for this area around this time of year, I discovered a bright orb approaching our position at an incredible speed. It was flying towards the very window overlooking the left wing that I was facing.
Suddenly, I was blinded by the incredible radiance emanating from the orb.
I jumped from my seat screaming her name and realised seconds later that I was back in my bedroom alone. It took several minutes of head scratching to realise that the entire episode was just a mere dream and that I was back in the real world.
Exhausted and in disarray from such an eerie dream, I slowly looked out the window to see a bright and tepid Saturday morning. So, I got ready and went for a walk in the sunshine to clear my head.
Sometimes I wonder why we have such whacky dreams. Mind you, I had to fill in a few gaps where the woolgathering memory lapses. I’ve never been able to understand why I and others can remember our dreams and others can’t recall anything from a dream. I think our dreams are an effort of our subconscious enacting what we truly want. Some may dream of flying into space, while others may dream of changing something in their lives or hearing words they’ve wanted to hear but know they’ll never hear.
Dreamland is a mysterious place to visit but not a place to stay. 
Campin’
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Short Stories on Saturday, August 22, 2009
On the 13th of this month, Dr. Don, his three boys, and myself went on a camping trip up to the mountains. I had promised them a camping trip several months back and the start of school was near. So, we headed up the winding roads with camping gear and food.
I made the campsite arrangements over the phone. I asked the kind lady to give us a riverside site close to the trail entrance. I knew we’d be carrying a lot of gear up the rocky trail and wanted to make it as easy as possible on the lads.
We arrived and geared up. I carried 80lbs. worth of supplies in my backpack along with the tent and a lantern. After going about a mile up the trail, we collapsed at the first bivouac. It was number eight, so I left the kids and headed further up by myself to see what the next number was. The next one was number nine. I surmised that the lady put me at the other end of the trail which was another seven miles up a craggy path.
After talking to a few hikers, we decided to take number eight since no one was using it. After all, I paid for a full size site, so it was not like I would be cheating the park service out of any money.
The kids went fishing while I put up the tent. Dr. Don’s only duty was to bring dry wood. He brought WET wood. It took us about half an hour to get the fire roaring. He crashed in the tent, and I started unpacking supplies. The boys returned with a bucket full of wee trout for eating.
I decided to return to the truck to get some fuel for the lantern. I discovered the ranger looking at my truck, when I got to the parking lot. He asked what site we were on and I explained our wee dilemma. We went to the rangers station to see if anyone would be staying on #8 that night. Unfortunately, someone was supposed to be on that site that evening, so he checked to see if anything close was available.
Luckily, #9 was available, so I headed back up the trail with the bad news that we’d have to move. I told the lads that there was a much better site on the other side of the ridge and proceeded to pack up the tent and supplies.
Again, we headed up the rocky path to our new destination. We arrived and unpacked yet again. The youngsters played in the river, as I worked on yet another fire. Dr. Don took another nap! You would truly be amazed how quickly a fire can boost moral.
Dr. Don’s oldest son and myself worked on the fire for almost an hour before we got it roaring. The lads wanted to cook their fish over the fire. I laughed and told them how good they were going to taste when the guts exploded. So, I taught the boys how to clean fish. We cooked steaks, trout, and beans over the open flame. Protein is a must when out in the wilderness.
As darkness fell over the pine laden mountain range, the lads roasted marshmallows and told scary stories. I sat back and inhaled the crisp mountain air. There’s nothing better for what ails you than a bit of time with nature. It helps us appreciate what we have.
We all turned in quite early, exhausted from the trip. But, about midnight nature called and I had to oblige its beckoning. When I returned from the woodlands illuminated by a lantern, I discovered a figure sitting by the fire. Dr. Don’s eldest was up as well. He couldn’t sleep, so we decided to make a late night trip back to the truck to get more water for the morning.
Only illumined by the wee lantern, we found the trail brimming with life. We encountered field rats, eastern diamondback rattlesnakes, and king snakes. We were very wary of the diamondbacks! It would be unwise to leave one’s tent open at night. They like warm places.
The next morning we got up and made a unanimous decision to hike up to Rainbow Falls which is only about three more miles up the trail. However, it is one of the hardest trails to hike around due to the 2,000 foot ascent.
The boys were so excited and in such a hurry that we missed the turn off. We continued on Jone’s Gap Trail ‘til we reached Jone’s Gap Falls. We were content with that, so we settled down and let the boys play on the slippery rocks for about an hour. They climbed the rocks and slid down to the collecting poll at the bottom of the falls. I had a blast just watching them have so much fun.
We arrived back to our tent without any water. I have excellent water purification skills but did not want to take a chance on the lads getting sick. So, we packed up and headed home. The lot of us went home exhausted yet happy. The lads are still telling stories of our escapades in the woods, and I have a new appreciation for the loo!
P.S.: Like a true eejit, I left me camera at the door on my way out. All photos were taken with my phone. A bit crappy, but eh?
Martian Baby
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Short Stories on Monday, June 29, 2009
I had a dismaying yet hilarious dream the other night. For whatever reason, I have some of the most vivid dreams that I can recall on cue than most folks. It’s as though I have lived countless lives in one lifetime. My mother is a reincarnation nut. She consumes books on the subject, thus she enjoys interpreting all of me dreams.
Before I started counting sheep that night, I had been on the phone discussing subjects that shall not be disclosed on the blog. Sheep started hopping over the bed, so I drew closed my weary palpebras and travelled to that mythical place we call dreamland.
I awoke to a fiery woman screaming for me to get out of bed, for she had important news. So, she sat me down and told me that I was going to be a pops.
We went to the doctor to verify such a suggestion. She was indeed with child, so we started making preparations for the baby. I was a happy man, and so was my family. I had finally done something right, so to speak.
Eight months flew by with the snap of a finger and I found myself in the delivery room. The fiery woman in question had transformed from that of a slim recherché figure to that of a bus with long pinkish-red marks along the side to boot.
She grabbed me by the hand and squeezed harder and harder with every contraction. The doctor told me look because the baby was crowning. While still under the clutches of her grip, I glanced down discovering the utter destruction that is child birth and cringed, almost passing out.
In that brief second, I noticed something weird besides the budging and ripping of skin and flesh. There were two green antennae pushing through to the outside world.
Seconds passed as she made the final push. I heard a great cry from beyond the belly, and the doctor said, “Look Dad”.
He proudly held up the radiantly green baby, pointing at the ten fingers and toes and wiggling antennae.
“Beep…Beep” Said the baby, as the two short antennae atop his head darted from side to side and an ominous grin overtook his wee green countenance.
With my mouth agape, I screamed, “That’s not my baby”.
The fiery woman squeezed my hand immensely harder, and exclaimed, “He’s yours”.
“There ain’t no way that martian is any of my genes”, I yelled whilst trying to get away from her death grip.
I ran out of the hospital with an enraged woman and crawling baby Martian following close behind.
Beep…Beep
So, it’s your turn to analyse one of my whacky dreams. God help you.
Ever dream of martians?
A flash of broken Mirrors
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Me, Myself, and I, Pictures, Poems, Short Stories on Sunday, June 21, 2009
Wednesday afternoon I was in city centre doing a quick walkabout to stretch my legs. As I sauntered past the white collar littered promenade at lunchtime, a crowd of suits sped past me. One of them pushed me and my camera gear up against a brick building facade.
Normally, I would have brushed him off as an eejit and went on my way. But, I had something eating at my gut, so this little incident sent me slightly over the edge. I have nothing against people in suits. I have a lot of suits. I enjoy looking professional, but being that I’m a country boy, I am much more comfortable in denims and a t-shirt.
“What is your problem?”
He turned around, looked at me, whispered something to a cohort, laughed, and continued on his way.
Just the mere mannerisms and holier than though attitude infuriated me further, so I bit my bottom lip and lectured, “Between me and my family, we pay over a ****** ******* dollars to this state alone every year, so as long as I’m following the laws and mores of our wee society, I’ll walk where, when, and how I want…I’d be more careful of who I knock over, if I were you”.
“Oh Yeah?” He enquired whilst cockily crossing his arms and snickering with his twenty something pals.
“Yeah”, I boldly stated.
“Who’s your father then, tough guy?”
““*** Davis.”
“The *** Davis?”
“The one and only”, I answered whilst sighing.
“You’re kidding me, right?” He jokingly asked whilst destroying a piece of gum.
“No.”
“*** Davis has no son…he has three girls. I know him. My firm, *********, does work for him”, he laughingly hollered as a crowd gathered.
“He has six children, whether you know it or not”, I muttered while turning to walk away.
“If I were you, I’d be more careful about lying to make yourself feel big", the chump yelled whilst pushing his comrades forward.
The English lady from the coffee house that I was standing in front of patted me on the back and told me not to mind him. I had a café noir fuelled walk and went home.
Later that night, I was sitting here at my desk fuming about what the bloke said. As hard as it was to swallow, it was almost the truth. I had not talked to him in months. We had a wee bit of a falling out over a wee money issue. I had called his phone on numerous occasions and left messages trying to rectify the situation, but to no avail.
I went to the kitchen cupboards to fetch some Earl Grey and there peering out of the dark recess was a brand new bottle of a precious beverage from Ireland. I grabbed one of my grandfathers favourite glasses and the green bottle. Humour flowed from a TV show I rarely miss loosely based on the FDNY as well as the bottle.
A crack of thunder rattled the windows, as I searched the darkness for the incoming light show. The rain had lightly been pelting against the office window all night. While trying to grab a ciggy and a light, I stumbled a bit not realising how much I had consumed.
I stood at the back door and gazed out into the blackness of the garden. While smoking that one ciggy, a thought popped into my bevvied head. So, I grabbed my keys and phone and headed out the door.
I ran from one wet street to another until I approached the main thoroughfare. Soaked from head to toe, I stopped and gawped at the quarter moon peering through a gap in the heavy mist. I gazed at the moon, while standing on that sidewalk, enquiring as to why things are the way they are. Then, a suburban whizzed by covering me in road muck.
So, I decided to run to the 24hr bistro, encountering heavy raindrop laden puddles, like broken mirrors illuminated by lightning strikes along my path. When I got to the bistro, one of the waitresses that I know offered me a towel to dry off and brought me a cup of coffee. She asked if I was alright, and of course, I said I was fine. She knew better because I never show up in the middle of the night. She told me to call Red, an off and on again petite amie.
12:30AM Ring…ring…ring…ring
“Hello”, she whispered.
“Hey”, I hollered in a half inebriated manner.
“What time is it?” She pleaded as the ruffling of covers and feathers could be heard over the phone.
“It’s 12:30. I’m at the bistro. I need you to pick me up so we can talk.”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” She enquired with a bit of disdain in her tone.
“No.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Only slightly”, I uttered whilst trying not to laugh.
Click
I reasoned that she was mad at me for waking her up, so I finished my coffee. The kind waitress offered to call me a cab, but I benignantly refused. I took my time walking home. The thunderous storm had passed and a murkiness thick enough to cut through with one’s body had settled in its place.
It was around 1:30 in the morning, when I turned onto my street. I sneakingly walked past the other houses, hoping not to wake my ever alert grandmother that lives two houses down.
By the time I approached my front yard, the audaciousness and silliness had wavered. I discovered a glint of something on my front stoop. Scared, I drew closer. A figure came into view through the vapours. I got closer and realised it was…
It was her. She walked up to me shivering, her countenance filled with rage and worry.
Slap
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again”, she whispered in my ear.
I had never been prouder than at that moment. It was not my intention to worry her or anyone else, but it was nice to know that she cares.
For Her:
Freckles is a savage word.
How about dapples of lust,
Honey sisters,
Blunders of the Sun,
Love in lace,
Damsel’s shivers,
Silent baubles,
Caramel kisses,
Blotch of arcs,
Or a serene flock?
To Pops: Happy Fathers Day, dude! You’ll always be my pops, and I hope to make you proud one day. A little bit of time is all I’m asking for.
P.S.: Drinking and smoking are not things that I condone or would suggest that anyone start. I don’t have an addictive personality, so I can get away with the occasional drink or gasper.
P.P.S.: Most of us have father issues in one form or another. Our fathers are our fathers no matter what. Tis best to love them, because we never know when we or them may not wake up one morning.
Honour thy Father and thy Mother.
Thanks Gramps
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Pictures, Short Stories on Thursday, May 14, 2009
As the sound of splintering white oak limbs reverberated across the large ravine, I thought of my grandfather. If it were not for him, I wouldn’t have known what to use to shelter myself from the horrendous rainstorm that blew out of nowhere deep in the wilderness trails of Caesar’s Head State Park. I would not have known how to get safe drinking water, when my water reserves ran out. And, I certainly would not know how to track, kill, and clean deer or bears, if such an extreme were necessary.
Saturday morning I decided to go hiking by me self. It is irritating when someone offers to join me, yet he or she only has a two or three hour window in which to hike. That is utterly useless. When I go hiking, I hike for at least four hours. I go on wild walkabouts simply for the journey. The constantly changing elevation and terrain is better than any tread climber. The scenery isn’t bad either.
On a usual trip, I see snakes (this time too), wild boars, bears, wildflowers, and of course, huge squirrels. It is indeed a treat to hike through the mountainous terrain that is my home.
Grandfather and I spent every summer of my youth camping, fishing, and hiking. He taught me everything I know about how to survive in the wild. He spent ages teaching me which wild berries are edible along with how to clean animals. I didn’t always enjoy it, but sitting here today, I am very grateful that he passed it on to me.
His parents died in a car wreck, when he was seven. His mothers family on the Cherokee reservation took him in and raised him ‘til he was thirteen. The elders of the tribe treated him as one of their own, even though his father was ‘white’. He was taught all of the traditions that were still being passed down through the generations at that time. Sadly, most of these teachings are fading away with the memory of the trail of tears.
Gramps was on his on from his teens until he met my grandmother at a dance in 1949. They were head over heels for each other from that point forward and married in ‘50. Both had jet black hair yet managed to have three blonde haired, blue-eyed children.
Everyone called him Abe, because he was a spitting image of Abraham Lincoln. I don’t know if he fashioned his beard like Lincoln’s on purpose, but he definitely got a kick out of the remarks. At 6’5”, he had the stature of a giant and the posture of a titan. Throughout his life, he had five heart attacks. I never heard the man whine or whimper once in the seventeen years that I knew him.
When I was a wee lad, he would take me bowling. This happened quite frequently, since I was sick a lot and unable to go to school. On one occasion, a drunk started mocking me because of the way I talked. He made the mistake of calling me retarded. Gramps hit him so hard and fast that the man slid halfway down the alley.
He taught me a lot about life, but the most important one of all was to keep going down that wacky, and sometimes wicked, trail we call life no matter how arduous it may become. So, I kept going down that lengthy trail soaked from head to toe and already exhausted. Five miles later, a few blisters and bruises, and wrecked knees I emerged victoriously. Fifteen miles through some of the toughest mountainous terrain the Southern United States can provide.
Survivor Tip: If you are in need of water and it happens to be raining (lucky you/me), simply ring out your clothes. I got enough water out of my t-shirt and a few leaves to almost fill up the water bottle. I could have used water from the rivers and streams that surround the trails, but I would have had to set up camp, start a fire, and boil the water. Because of pollution and disease, the water in the rivers and streams is not safe to drink unless boiled. You’re not supposed to drink from rivers right after it rains anyway due to the animal faeces that washes off the banks.
How ‘bout some pictures?
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