Bob Gillen

Healing through story

Author: Bob Gillen (Page 6 of 28)

shortfiction24 – shot dead in the ER

July 12, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Riley Rowan did not expect to die in her own ER. The spirits were ready to escort her to the afterlife. Riley had other thoughts.

I hope you enjoy the short story. Comments and Likes are always welcome. And for all you short-film makers out there, my stories are available for rights.

Shot Dead in the ER

Bob Gillen

Riley Rowan’s spirit hovered over her body. Her bloody, lifeless body. The scene in the ER was chaotic. A gunshot victim had succumbed to his injuries, despite the efforts of Riley and the rest of the trauma team. As Riley had been covering the body with a sheet, a security guard escorted an already distraught brother of the victim into the ER bay. Riley had turned to the brother, said “I’m sorry,” when the brother whipped out a handgun  from the waistband of his pants. He shot Riley three times in the chest before the security guard wrestled him to the floor, kicked away the gun and handcuffed him. 

The trauma team rushed to Riley’s side. The trauma doctor found her unresponsive, no pulse. The overhead florescent lights gleamed against the pool of blood spreading across the floor. The doctor called the time of death. 

As the trauma team stood in shock, some in tears, a spirit appeared at Riley’s side. “Hello, Riley. I’m here to escort you to the afterlife.”

“Who’re you?” Riley’s spirit asked.

“I am Jonny Angel. Your escort.”

“Jonny Angel? Seriously?”

Jonny’s spirit took a step back.

Riley ignored Jonny Angel, watched as a degree of routine settled on the ER. 

“Riley, it’s time to move on.”

“No, no. I’m not ready. They need me here.”

“Riley, you’re dead. You can’t do anything for them now.”

“Don’t spirits hang near loved ones? Talk in their ears?”

“Doesn’t happen as often as you think.”

“I gave eighteen years of my life to this ER. I train new RNs. I have to stay.”

“Riley, I repeat. You’re dead.”

“Says you. I can still help here.”

Jonny Angel swirled around Riley.

“Look,” Riley said. “This is my life. Saving people. I don’t want any part of the afterlife.”

“You don’t have a choice. You’re already on your way.”

“Nope. I’m not the kind to sit around all day listening to harp music. I need to be doing something.”

“First of all, there’s no ‘time’ in the afterlife. No one sits around all day, as you say. They simply are.”

“Boring.”

“It’s pure joy…forever.”

Riley’s spirit shook its head sharply. She pointed down to the ER. “This is pure joy. Saving lives.”

“And you did it well. But it’s time…”

“Not yet.” Riley swirled off to the hospital’s operating room. A man lay on a gurney in pre-op, his left leg black with gangrene. She moved close to him, whispering in his ear. “It’ll be okay. No worries.” The man did not react.

She swirled off again, this time to the ICU. An elderly man lay alone in a cubicle, tethered to multiple IVs and lines. Riley hovered next to him. The man opened his eyes. Sensed Riley’s presence. He took a breath. Closed his eyes. Died. Alarms went off and staff rushed to his side. His spirit was already apart from his body. Hovering. Then gone.

“See, Mr. Angel. I can help patients with their illnesses. I can make a difference.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Riley.”

“I’m not going with you.”

“You don’t get to choose.” Jonny said, “Come with me.”

The two spirits moved to the oncology unit. Jonny lead them into a room. A twelve year old girl lay in the bed, her bald head covered with a scarf, tethered to multiple IV lines and monitors. The gir’s mother sat next to the bed, holding the girl’s hand.

“Her name is Meghan. She will pass any moment now.”

Riley saw another spirit appear next to Meghan. Jonny said to the spirit, “I got this one.” The spirit disappeared.

Monitor alarms beeped as Meghan passed. Her mom rushed away tears, got up and stroked Meghan’s cheek. An RN rushed in but it was too late. Meghan’s spirit appeared to Jonny and Riley. 

“Hi, I’m Meghan.”

“Hello, Meghan. I’m Jonny. I will assist you as you pass to the next life.”

“Who’re you?” Meghan asked Riley.

“She’s transitioning too, but somewhat reluctantly.”

“I just died down in the ER. I’m trying to convince Jonny I’m not ready to go.”

Jonny said, “Riley was an ER nurse for quite a while. She was shot by a distraught relative of a gunshot victim.”

“Oh, wow. Right here in the hospital?”

Riley nodded.

“Did you like your job?”

“I loved it. I lived for the thrill of saving lives.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“I was twelve. I never got to reach any of my goals and dreams.”

“What was your dream?”

“To  a marine biologist.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“Who knows? I never got there. And look at my mom. She never got to see me graduate with a degree. Never got to see me work. She didn’t even see me get to grow proper boobs!”

Riley smiled. “I did okay in that regard…And yeah, I was lucky with my life.”

Jonny said, “It’s time.”

Riley said, “Can I see the ER one more time?”

Jonny shook his head. “Afraid not.”

Riley said, “Jonny, I guess you got me. Meghan, see you on the other side.”

The three spirits disappeared.

***

shortfiction24 – a boy and his knife

June 28, 2023 / / 0 Comments

The boy finds a fishing knife and uses it, treasures it all summer. Easy come, easy go?

This story was also inspired by a writing prompt: “What does a character carry in his pocket?” I hope you enjoy it.

Comments and Likes always welcome.

A Boy and His Knife

Bob Gillen

The twelve year old boy welcomed his first day of summer vacation. He would start his first job ever the next day. His mom had arranged for the job to keep him occupied. 

But today was freedom. His friends were all busy with family activities. The boy rode his bike to a sandy field near his house.  He skidded the bike around in the soft earth. He pedaled fast, then braked hard. In one skid he spotted something glinting in the dirt. He retrieved a silver pocket knife. Someone had lost it. 

It’s mine now. 

The boy tapped the knife against his bike frame to shake out loose sand. He opened it. Measured the blade against his open hand. A four-finger blade. 

The boy wiped the knife on his shirt, tucked it into his right front pocket and continued riding his bike.

The next day he showed up early for his new job. Delivery boy for the local meat market, Pat’s Meats. Pat was ready for him.

“Good morning. Before I open the store, I need you to get the sack of sawdust from the back and spread it around all the floors. There’s a rake in the back. Spread the sawdust evenly.”

“Why do you do that?”

“To soak up any blood or scraps that hit the floor. When I’m cutting.”

The boy dragged the sack out to the customer area. He pulled out his pocket knife to cut open the sack. Pat saw what he was doing. 

“That knife looks too dull for that.” He handed the boy a pair of scissors. 

Later that day, after closing, the boy swept up the sawdust into a garbage can, spread fresh sawdust. While he did that , Pat used a steel brush to scrape the top of his cutting block. The block’s surface was hollowed from months of scraping. 

“Good job today,” Pat said. “See you tomorrow.”

The boy’s second day was quiet with only a few deliveries. He watched Pat cut meat, hone his knives continually on a honing rod. The trimmed fat and scraps went into a barrel for pick up by a rendering company. 

At  the end of the day Pat used a whetstone to sharpen his knives for the following day. Pat stroked his knives across the surface of the whetstone while the boy followed every move.

“Could I sharpen my knife too?” the boy asked Pat.

“Let me see it,” Pat replied. He examined the knife. “All aluminum. A fisherman’s knife. It won’t rust.”

“I found it.”

“Lucky find. It’s a good knife.”

The boy smiled.

“Go in the back and wash it with soap and water, then I can sharpen it for you.”

Pat put the boy’s blade to his whetstone, then showed the boy how to do it himself. “Be careful with it now. It’s very sharp. Good for gutting fish.”

After a week of deliveries and in-store tasks, the boy was ready for a day off. He took his sixteen-foot skiff out in the bay to fish. Bottom fishing for fluke and flounder. He caught a half dozen fish the first day. He carefully sliced and gutted the fish on his boat, dropped the innards overboard for other fish to feed on. He wiped the knife carefully, tucked it in his pocket. At home his mom fried up the fish for their dinner.

The summer passed quickly. The boy worked five days each week, fished the other two.

Every day he patted his pocket dozens of times, feeling for his treasured pocket knife. Every Saturday, after closing, he sharpened the knife on Pat’s whetstone.

As Labor Day approached, the boy took a day off from fishing and wandered the neighborhood on his bike. A feeder road to the highway near his house sloped down to the local streets. The boy left his bike at the bottom of the slope, climbed up halfway to the top. He took out his knife, began tossing it into the ground to see if he could stick it in the dirt. He traced a target in the grass with his fingers, tossed the knife over and over. He speared the target most throws. 

This is cool, he thought. 

The boy stepped back a few paces, closed his eyes, tossed the knife at the target. He opened his eyes.

The knife was gone.

The boy searched the target area. Nothing. He ran his fingers through the grass and weeds. Still nothing. His search ranged up and down the slope. He found nothing. 

For hours the boy searched for the knife. It must have bounced away from the target. He gave up his search when it was time to go home for dinner.

The boy showed up for his last work day at the meat market. He repeatedly felt his empty pocket for the knife.

“You’re very quiet today,” Pat said. “You okay?”

“I lost my knife yesterday.”

“How?”

“I was tossing it at a target in the ground. I looked away. It just disappeared.”

“First of all, not a good idea. That will dull the blade.”

The boy said nothing.

“You found it, right?”

“Yes.”

“I could say, ‘Easy come, easy go,’ but that won’t help you feel better.”

The boy cast his eyes down.

“You lost your knife. That’s a tough break. But look at it this way. You had a good summer with it. You learned to care for it. You fished with it…And you did a good job working here. No knife, but good memories.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

For weeks after school started, the boy reached for his pocket, only to find it empty every time. All through that school year he could still see the knife settled in his hand, feeling the heft of it. Longing for it.

***

shortfiction24 – luke dumped me last night

June 21, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Morgan Ward is blindsided by her boyfriend dumping her. It’s all mind-numbing, he had said. All too easy. Morgan doubts herself. Is it me?

This is another story resulting from a story prompt I found last month. I hope you enjoy it. Does it resonate with you? Comments welcome.

Luke Dumped Me Last Night

Bob Gillen

Morgan Ward slumped at her kitchen table, head in hands. The oven timer dinged. Morgan slid her dinner out and plated it. Packaged chicken Marsala and mashed potatoes. The red neon sign on her kitchen wall cast a pinkish glow on the potatoes.

She and her partner Luke had found the neon sign at a garage sale. It read Vacancy.

Luke Perrault dumped Morgan after almost a year together. Now he was gone. Vacancy was a harsh reminder, staring her in the face.

Last night Morgan and Luke had spent a pleasant evening over ribs and beers at their favorite bar. Actually, Luke’s favorite bar, because they served Molson’s Ale. During dessert Luke told her he was leaving. Leaving Southern California. Leaving her. Moving back to his native Montreal. Morgan had felt blindsided. She had no hint of a breakup. 

Luke had told her he missed his native city.

“I miss the struggles in my city. I miss the cold. I miss snow, ice, rain. The challenges to my daily routine. I miss working my way through it all. Life here is too easy.”

“Too easy?” Morgan gulped her beer.

“Yes. Life in Southern California is mind-numbing. Nothing ever changes.”

“Are we too easy?”

Luke nodded. “Yes, we are.”

“Isn’t that the point of a good relationship?”

“Perhaps, for some, but not for me.”

Morgan had wiped away her tears with a greasy napkin. “Give me some time. I can go with you.”

“No, Morgan. I need to do this alone.”

“This is crazy. Why is it wrong for love to be easy?”

“I can’t explain. I have to do this.”

And earlier today Luke had left his furnished apartment behind, and flown to Montreal. Flown back East to immerse himself in the changing seasons. And perhaps a tumultuous relationship with someone else.

Leaving Morgan devastated.

Devastated and uncomprehending.

Vacancy. A welcome sign for many travelers. For Morgan, Luke’s sudden absence created an unwelcome hole in her heart, in her life. Pushing her to wonder why ‘easy’ did not work for Luke. For them. 

Luke had said it was all about him. Morgan wondered, is it about me too? Am I settling for ‘easy’ in my life?

Morgan pushed the food around on her plate, managed to eat some of it. She washed it down with a beer. The last Molson’s Ale left in her fridge. 

My life is not easy. What is Luke talking about?

There was a knock on the back door. Morgan let her friend Debbie in.

“I’m on my home. I only have a minute. Rod said the kids are off the wall today.”

They hugged. “Good to see you. Want a beer? Wine?”

“One beer. Then I go. I heard about your day in the ER. That’s why I stopped.”

They sat. “We lost two patients. One gunshot wound. The other a car accident.”

“I keep telling you. Transfer up to Med Surg with me. Long shifts but we rarely lose anyone.”

Morgan sipped her beer. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Luke dumped me last night.”

“Oh shit. No. Why?”

“Life was too easy for him. He suddenly hates LA. He thinks our relationship was too easy.”

“Too easy? Seriously? That MFer!”

“Debbie, am I too easy?”

“Hell no. You have an easy-going personality, but you got a few rough edges too. Who doesn’t?”

Debbie turned to face the neon sign. “Speaking of rough edges, that thing has to go.”

“I was going to keep it. Kind of a fuck-you to Luke.”

“It has to go. Too much of a reminder.”

Morgan shrugged.

Debbie finished her beer. “I gotta go.” She stood, hugged Morgan again.

“Think about transferring. Reduce your emotional stress.”

“Today I couldn’t stop compressions on the car accident victim. She was in her twenties. Dr. Felice had to pull me away. He told me not to come in tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you. No way you pick the easy way.”

Debbie left. Morgan got a stepladder and took the neon sign down. She set it outside the back door.

She tossed the empty Molson’s bottle in the trash.

“Easy isn’t me,” she muttered. “It was not me killed this relationship.”

The following morning she showed up for her shift in the ER.

***

shortfiction24 – the handoff

June 14, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Tracy Anders adopts a black lab from a cancer patient who can no longer care for him. The handoff is swift, tearful.

Enjoy the short story. This is the 100th free short story I have posted to my blog. More to come! Comments are always welcome.

The Handoff

Bob Gillen

Tracy Anders brought her SUV to a stop curbside behind a silver Honda sedan. She slid out and approached a park bench, where a man and his black lab sat. 

“Edward?”

The man tried to turn, made it halfway. The lab turned, eyes glowing, tail wagging.

“Tracy? Come sit with us.”

Tracy shook hands with Edward, held her fist out for the lab to sniff.

“Tracy, this is Ollie. Ollie, meet Tracy.”

The lab wagged his tail vigourusly. Tracy rubbed Ollie’s back. 

She looked at Edward. A man rail-thin, tee shirt hanging loosely on his frame. Under a flawlessly blue sky, his pallor was the color of melted candle wax.

Tracy sat.

“Thanks for doing this,” Edward said. “Ollie is a big dog, almost 80 pounds now. I can’t keep up with him. He needs better.”

“He’ll have a good home with me. How are you feeling?”

“The big C is beating me. I’m sliding down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

Edward took a yellow tennis ball from his pocket. Ollie jumped off the bench. Edward threw the ball out into a grassy field. Ollie chased it.

Edward pushed himself up from the bench, stepped to his car. “Pop the lid on your SUV.”

Edward took a box from his trunk and slipped it into Tracy’s SUV. He sat again.

“The box has his food and water bowls, his toys, a few days worth of dog food. And the name and number for his vet. He’s up to date on all his shots.”

Tracy nodded as Ollie returned with the ball.

A tear oozed from Edward’s eye. “I need to do this fast.”

He rubbed Ollie’s back, grabbed the tennis ball, tossed it far down the field. Edward walked to his car and drove off.

Ollie came back with the ball. He looked puzzled. He sniffed the space where Edward had sat. Dropped the ball, sniffed where the car had been.

Tracy patted the seat for Ollie to join her. He jumped up on the bench.

“It’s you and me now, buddy. Edward is too sick to keep you.”

Ollie placed his head in Tracy’s lap. She scratched his ear.

The two sat on the bench for a while. A few dog walkers appeared out on the field. Tracy clipped the leash on Ollie.

She set her palms down on the bench. The paint was cracked, broken. Brittle. She shuddered. Broken. 

“I’m broken too,” she said to Ollie. “I’ve got cancer, just like Edward. Mine is not curable, just like his, but mine is treatable. Manageable. You and I, we got some good years together.”

Ollie reached his head up, licked Tracy’s cheek.

She stood. “Let’s go home, buddy.”

                                ***

shortfiction24 – a stairway to money

June 7, 2023 / / 0 Comments

A client brings P.I. Frank Derringer a new case, and a chance at a lucrative bonus. My attempt at noir.

Please enjoy the story. Comments always welcome.

A Stairway to Money

Bob Gillen

The stairway echoed with the clang of dress shoes on the steel steps. Frank Derringer reached the third floor landing where his office was located. He paused to catch his breath. No wonder I have no clients. No one wants to climb these stairs with the elevator out of order. Again. 

Frank turned to his office, stopped short. Sitting on the floor in front of his office door was a woman. A beautiful woman. Blond hair. High heels and a black suit with a white blouse. Her long legs spanned the width of the corridor.

Wow, that’s gotta hurt ya, he muttered under his breath.

Frank stepped closer to the woman. He caught a whiff of a perfume foreign to his experience. “Can I help you?”

The woman waved her thumb towards the stenciled glass panel in the door. 

“If your name matches the name on the door, then yes.”

“I’m Frank Derringer. Derringer, PI.”

“Help me get up and find me a chair.”

Frank offered his arm and the woman rose gracefully from the floor. Frank unlocked the door and ushered her in. He moved straight to his desk, brushed an ashtray full of cigarette butts into a waste basket.

The woman sat opposite Frank. “I need your help in finding someone.”

“Before we start, I should say I take a twenty percent deposit before I start any assignment.”

“Seeing as you were an hour late in opening your office, I see no need for me to pay you a deposit. Take the job or I’ll find someone else.”

Frank opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it.

“Okay, how can I help you?”

“My name is Lily Collingswood, I want you to find my husband.”

Ah, another easy divorce case.

“What can you tell me about him”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“The  cops shot him two nights ago.”

“And you don’t know where he is.”

“Well…he’s in the morgue. They’re holding him till they finish their investigation.”

“So…you know where he is.”

“In the morgue, but they will only let me see him through a glass window.”

“Did you identify him?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you need me?”

“It gets complicated. I need a picture of the tattoo on his arm.”

“Lady, this is getting weird.”

“I need that picture before they bury him.”

Frank let a cigarette. “Smoke?”

“No, thanks. Can you take the job?”

“You want me to go to the morgue, access your husband’s body, and take a photo of his arm?

“Yes, and more precisely, his left bicep.”

“May I ask why?”

“My husband stole a satchel full of diamonds three years ago. That tattoo is the key to where he hid them.”

“Haven’t you seen the tattoo already?”

“Yeah, but it’s a little esoteric. I would need to study it.”

“And if you find the diamonds?”

“Your fee would then be ten percent of what I get.”

“That’s generous…but I could lose my license dealing with stolen stuff.”

“Your decision.” Lily sat back in the chair, letting Frank stew over his answer.

The following morning Frank was at the city morgue. The medical examiner was an old friend. Frank stood over Lily’s husband’s body. His story, he was representing a client who was considering suing the city over the shooting. The medical examiner had shrugged, turned away.

Frank palmed his phone down behind the morgue table. While his friend examined another body, Frank slipped the cover down, spotted the tattoo, and snapped several photos. He pulled the cover sheet back up to the body’s chin. He then thought to look for surveillance cameras, but did not see any. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

That afternoon, in a coffee shop with Lily Collingswood, he shared the photo. She studied it for long moments. “This is a tough one.”

“Nothing obvious?”

“No.”

Frank sipped his black coffee, watched Lily intently.

“There are no numbers here. No names. Only symbols.”

Frank had already studied the tattoo before sharing it. Nothing made sense to him.

“Tell you what. You pay me my usual fee and I walk away. I trust you that if you recover the diamonds, you might remember me.”

Lily took out her checkbook without a word, wrote a check paid out to Frank Derringer.

“Deal.”

Frank stood to leave. 

“I won’t forget you.” She said.

Frank nodded.

Back in his office, a cigarette burning down in his ashtray, Frank pored over the tattoo picture. He transferred it to his laptop screen for a larger view. Nothing jumped out pointing to a hiding place. 

If I can get to the diamonds before Lily does, I can offer her the ten percent cut.

Three days later Frank paced in a downtown subway station watching for passengers to clear the platform. When it was clear, he stepped around the south end of the platform and entered the tunnel. If he was right, the diamonds were stashed just inside the tunnel, under a patch of broken concrete.

Using his phone as a flashlight, he groped around for the satchel. Another light flashed over his shoulder. He whipped around.

“Shit” 

“Shit yeah. So much for trusting.”

Frank stared at Lily. 

“You.”

“Looks like we both figured it out at the same time.”

Frank stood away from the concrete. “Fair is fair. He was your husband.”

Lily stepped around Frank, poked around at the spot, and pulled back with a maroon satchel in her hand. She slipped open the drawstring. “Diamonds. Uncut.”

Frank took a few steps back, not wanting to appear threatening. He held up his hands. “They’re yours.”

Lily smiled. “Yeah. For the years of grief he gave me, I deserve this.” She shoved the satchel into her pocket. The two peered into the station platform. Still clear. They walked out into the light.

Up on the street, Lily signaled for them to step into an alley. She took out the satchel, removed a single diamond, slipped it into Frank’s palm. “No idea if this is ten percent, but my gesture of thanks…even if you were apparently going to screw me over.”

Frank shrugged, muttered a thank you. 

Lily walked off down the sidewalk.

Later Frank climbed the stairs to his office, called a fence he knew. Maybe I can afford an office with an elevator now.


***

shortfiction24 – santiago’s bones

May 31, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Leland Strong’s quest for a moment of genuine prayer leads him to reflections on Hemingway’s fisherman Santiago, A somber story of an old man’s search for the meaning of his life.

Enjoy the story. Comments are always welcome.

Santiagos’ Bones

Bob Gillen

Eighty-two year-old Leland Strong sat in the last row of the empty church. A church he did not know. The afternoon sun sprayed stained glass color over the middle of the interior. The color did not reach Leland’s row. That was fine with him. He was not there for beauty or inspiration. He sought solitude, a respite from the noise in his heart. He yearned for the few moments of silent prayer that had eluded him till now.

Leland jumped as outside on the street a motorcycle screamed through its gears moving past the church. He settled back in his seat.

Leland’s thoughts wandered. An avid reader, he sometimes compared himself to a protagonist in the stories. He smiled as his mind now ran to the opening line in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. He paraphrased silently. ‘He was an old man who lived alone in the stream of life and he had gone eighty-four days now without a prayer.’

Running with the comparison, Leland pictured himself as Hemingway’s fisherman Santiago. A man who knew only one thing. Fishing. And he showed up for that every day. Even after eighty-four days without a fish. In his own lifetime Leland had known more than one thing. He was now long retired, living alone, most of his family and friends gone. And he showed up every day, searching for true solitude, for meaning. 

Leland scowled as he heard the backup beeping of a truck. More noise. In the parking lot the driver slammed trash bins as he emptied them into the truck’s maw. 

Quiet descended on the building. The day Santiago caught his great fish, Leland told himself, he had gone out far beyond his usual fishing waters. He had gone deep into the sea, beyond the other fishermen, beyond his own familiar locations. And in the deep he had found his great fish. Now, sitting alone in the depth of this church, Leland hoped he had moved beyond his usual routine as he sought his personal deep waters. Going beyond the usual places where he sought peace. A dark hollow had inched its way into Leland’s heart. A hollow he yearned to fill with prayer.

Leland cocked his head at the sound of shuffling footsteps. A man entered Leland’s pew from the far end, moved closer to him. He carried a plastic bag stuffed with what looked like clothing. He wore baggy, soiled jeans, a dirty white tee shirt, sandals on his feet. Long unkempt hair. A homeless man.

“You’re in my seat,” the homeless man said.

“The entire church is empty.”

“I have a deal with them.” He gestured to the front of the church with his thumb. “I sleep here every afternoon till they close up.” He waved an arm at Leland. “You have to move.”

“Whatever.” Leland shrugged, moved across the aisle to the other last row.

The homeless man stretched out on the pew. He tucked the bag of clothing under his head for a pillow. In moments he was asleep, breathing softly.

Leland stared across at the homeless man. It’s hopeless trying to find a quiet place. The homeless man began to snore. Loud enough to distract.

Leland continued to stare at the homeless man. He took in the man’s gaunt frame, highlighted by clothes that were much too big for him. The bones in his arms stood out, stretched over his sun-darkened skin. Leland looked down at his own frame. He too wore a tee shirt a size too big for himself. He held out his arm. Do people see me as gaunt, thin? 

A thought niggled at Leland’s mind. As he gazed at his arm, he began to realize…he was no Santiago. The metaphor was all off. No, he was Santiago’s fish. To make the metaphor more precise, he was the skeleton of Santiago’s fish. He was a reflection of what was left of Santiago’s quest. The remains of his own lifelong quest. Nature had chewed at Santiago’s fish. Bitten off chunks of flesh, down to the bones. Was he no different? A lifetime of living had chipped away at Leland’s ego, leaving him feeling empty, desolate, without depth.

That was it. Only Leland’s bones remained. Bones that told a story. Bones that pointed to a once full body. His hope was that the bones would reveal the fullness of what he had been and done in his lifetime.

Leland thought, I may have been a great fish at one time. Moving through my seas freely. I have lived a good life. I have cared, given, loved, been loved. Now, at my age, life has chewed away at my greatness, bitten chunks off my ego, until I am simply a skeleton of my earlier self. My bones are now what people see. A withered old man. Age spots, a shaky walk, hesitant at times, uncertain of much. But the image tells a story.

Leland grinned. In the dim light of the church, a homeless man snoring nearby, he saw himself as the skeleton that, like Santiago’s great fish, revealed its earlier glory. When Santiago had rowed back to his village, his fellow fishermen stared in awe at the bones of what was once a great fish. Leland realized he cannot control what people see of him. Even what he sees of himself. His hope – in his meager exterior, in his bones, they see what brought him to this moment in life.

Leland stood, leaned on the back of the pew in front of him. Alone in the church, except for the homeless man, he extended his arms forward. “I am a man of bones,” he whispered, “standing as a testament to a life well lived. I have swum freely in the sea of life. I have been hooked, lashed to life’s boat. Picked apart.” 

Leland found his moment of prayer.

***

shortfiction24 – an act of kindness, returned

May 24, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Gina Rubin’s comfortable life is about to be upturned by a single act of kindness. She opened her door to find a mannequin. A mannequin who talks.

This story resulted from another writing prompt I came across last week. “When I opened the door, I never expected to be hit by ‘that‘.”

I hope you enjoy it.

An Act of Kindness, Returned

Bob Gillen

Gina Rubin put the shopping bag from the mall at the foot of the stairs. She headed to the kitchen to make her afternoon green tea. The doorbell rang before she could fill the kettle.

Gina opened the front door to come face to face with a mannequin. A female mannequin. A mannequin wearing black slacks, an ivory blouse, a black blazer, black flats. No jewelry, no makeup, no wig.

What the hell?

Gina stuck her head out of the doorway, looking right and left. No one. She stepped around the mannequin to look out to the sidewalk. Still no one.

I don’t like being pranked.

She started to close the door when she heard a voice, “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

Okay, now I’m hearing voices.

She stepped back from the door. The mannequin walked stiffly past her, moving inside, through to the kitchen.

Gina followed.

The mannequin quite awkwardly sat, placed its hands on the table.

Gina said, “This is some kind of joke, right?”

The mannequin shook its head slowly. “No.”

“There’s a ventriloquist behind you somewhere. This is all explainable.”

“Just me,” the mannequin said. “I followed you home.”

“How did you do that?”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“Why?”

“You helped me. You were kind to me.”

“You’re a mannequin. How could I have helped you?”

“You were shopping for shoes. You sat in a chair next to me. My left shoe had slipped off. You reached over and put the shoe back on.”

“Yeah, I remember that. I’m kind of a perfectionist. You looked awkward with one shoe off.”

“Well, you were kind. I am here to return the kindness.”

Gina shook her head. “This is seriously weird.”

“I get that. This is the first time I’ve done this.”

The two sat staring at one another. Gina got up and finished making her tea. “I don’t suppose I can offer you a cup of tea?”

The mannequin shook its head. “I have a purpose. How can I return your kindness?”

“What can you do?” Gina warmed to having a kindness done for her.

“Pretty much wide open.”

Gina gestured with both hands. “I’m sitting at my own kitchen table…talking to a mannequin…a mannequin who speaks…saying she can do me a favor.”

“Weird for me too. Actually, I don’t even know what I can do for you. Gotta try me.”

Gina looked around her kitchen. Several pots and pans needed washing. No, don’t waste this on on dirty dishes. Laundry should be done. Again, don’t waste a favor on laundry.

Okay, we can make this work.

“Does anyone live here with you?” the mannequin asked.

“I’m alone.”

“What do you need?”

Gina thought for a moment. “Well…I was thinking about getting a cat.”

“Too easy. You can go to the shelter and get one. Gotta be more than that.”

“More? All I did was put your shoe back on.”

“And I need to return the kindness.”

“I’m at a loss.” Gina sipped her tea.

“Where do you work?”

“I got laid off last week. I was in customer service.”

“Maybe I can help you find a new job.”

“How?”

“I don’t really know.”

The mannequin appeared to be thinking. “I know…you must be tense after being laid off.”

“To say the least.”

“How about a massage?”

Gina smiled. “That could work.”

She grabbed a kitchen towel and walked to the couch.

“The towel will keep me from smearing makeup all over the couch.”

She stretched out, face down. The mannequin knelt next to the couch, began massaging Gina’s back.

“Wow, it feels good, but your hands are really stiff.”

“I didn’t tell you…If I actually help you, if I do a genuine act of kindess, I have a chance at becoming a real person.”

“Huh? What is this? Another version of Pinocchio?”

“What is Pinocchio?”

“Never mind.”

The mannequin continued the massage.

Gina pushed herself up, leaned on one elbow. “Wait a minute. If you become a real person, where would you go? What would you do?”

“I don’t know. There was one mannequin I knew, but after she changed she never came back.”

Gina stretched out again. “Do all mannequins get this chance?”

“Apparently no. Very few. Before the department store, I worked at a vintage clothing store on Magnolia Blvd. The Magic Shoe. Most of the mannequins there are head mannequins. They model hats and scarves. I was a full-body mannequin. Madam Ruby touched me.”

“Madam Ruby?”

“She had gifts. But she herself was a head mannequin. Anyone full-body she touched had the chance to become a real person. I was lucky.”

Gina snuggled down into the couch, enjoying the massage. “So what happens if you become real? Do you have ID, a personal history? Can you get a job?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

Gina popped up again. “Wait a minute. If you become a real person while you’re here with me, am I responsible for you?”

The mannequin shrugged.

“Do you even have name?”

“I always liked the name Meghan.”

“Okay, I’ll call you that.”

The mannequin gazed at Gina. “If I become a real woman, I could stay here with you.”

“Hold on.” Gina sat up, swung her legs to the floor. “You would need an ID. A personal history from birth till today. You would need a job, a place to live.”

“You can help me with that, no?”

Gina shook her head. “What you’re telling me is, you return my act of kindness, Meghan. I then become your keeper. I have to set you up in the real world. You want to move in here with me…Your one act of kindness would create a huge burden for me. It would turn my life upside down.” She shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

Meghan the mannequin looked down at the floor. “I see what you mean. I would rely on you for everything.”

Gina nodded. “Exactly. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“I should go back to the department store. Leave you alone.” She stood.

Gina watched Meghan the mannequin walk toward the front door.

“Wait. Do you know for sure that you would become a real person?”

“That’s what Madam Ruby said. If I perform a genuine kindness, I become real.”

Gina sat with her head in her hands. Her mind ran to her comfortable life. Alone, yes, But all to her liking. No one to hassle with. Her choices were all hers.

Meghan the mannequin stood with her hand on the door handle. “Goodbye. I hope I get anothr chance at this soon.”

Gina looked at her. “Come back to the massage. We can think this through. Maybe you would come with a package to get you started in the real world.”

She lay back on the couch. Meghan the mannequin returned to her position, continued the massage.

Gina was about to comment again on the stiff, hard hands when she felt a softening. The fingers on the mannequin’s hands spread as they massaged. Gina heard Meghan moan. “Something is happening.”

Gina propped herself on an elbow. The hard features on the mannequin softened as she looked on.

Meghan the mannequin stopped massaging, stared at her hands.

“I’m becoming a real woman!”

In a matter of moments Meghan the mannequin morphed into Meghan a real woman. Hair sprung out on her scalp. Fingernails grew on her hands. 

Gina felt a tremor pass through her body as she realized there was no going back. Meghan the woman was now her responsibility. 

Shit! Now what?

***

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