Waking

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He woke to ‘Time Warp’ from Rocky Horror, rose from bed, sat cross-legged on his meditation pillow, and set the timer. He tapped the Tibetan singing bowl, then guided a wooden mallet circularly around it. At first, the bowl resonated monotonically. Then, the tone changed subtly, differently. He ceased moving the mallet; it still sang. He tried to lift the bowl from his hand; it didn’t move. Instead, the vibration encompassed his hand, arm, and body until his entire being became an epic organic symphony. He lost consciousness.

He woke, an infant just born. He took seven steps and said, ‘I alone am the world-honored one.’ His mother named him Siddhartha.

Obligation

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He pulled into the driveway; the car’s clock struck midnight. When did life become an obligation, he wondered. A tear snuck into his beard.

He reluctantly grasped the doorknob to his bedroom, stopped, retreated to the kitchen. He prepared hot chocolate – complete with marshmallows – and transported three mugs into the living room.

‘Wake up,’ he gently shook his two young sons in turn. ‘I have a surprise.’ They sleepily followed and settled around the coffee table.

‘Do you want to hear a story about the woods down the street?’ They nodded. ‘There’s magic in them.’ When their eyes grew wide, he knew that being a dad would never be an obligation.

Haunted

This basement is haunted.

Yeah, right.

My grandfather killed himself right over there.

You’re making it up.

No I’m not; he hung himself from a pipe.

You’re trying to scare me.

Well, yeah.

Why?

I don’t want you here.

Well, I don’t want to be here. But whatever. Your grandpa isn’t a ghost. You just don’t like me and my dad living here.

I don’t. That’s why my grandpa is gonna get rid of you.

Whatever.

[He smiles.] Try to get up.

What?

Get up.

[He tries.] I can’t.

I’ll have him punch you too, just so you know he’s real.

[His nose begins to bleed.]

And that’s just the beginning.