“Sell me this toothbrush and the job is yours” egged John with a smug expression. The position was for a high-paying sales role at a big firm.
Unphased, Tom the prospect quipped “When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”
“This morning after breakfast.”
“How long did that take before heading here?”
“About 5 minutes”
“What about after lunch?”
“The same, dentist’s recommendation”
“And at night?”
“Yes and floss”
“Have you ever missed a day?”
“Nope, not since several cavities developed years ago.”
Tom picked up the toothbrush, studied it carefully for a minute, and quickly snapped it in two by the neck. Holding the brush-head in one hand and pulling out a packet in the other he replied,
“I have pocket toothbrush, lightweight and portable for on-the-go use by the busiest of executives. Retail sales price is a dollar a head but for you, I’ll throw in a pack of mints.”
Tom won the job.
“It is but a flea in a haystack of manure” Tommy exclaimed. “Am I to rend all the speckles from your silverware too?”
“Yes” remarked Matilde with a slight haught and raised chin. “And despeckle the grainy bits from the photo collection afterwards. I expect the highest diligence from you without grievances. Do I make myself clear?”
“Grievances?!” yelped Tommy and turning red from the insult. “I’ll have you know you’ll be getting more grievances than diligence by the time I’m done!”
30 years later and ongoing
“Eeek! There’s a bug in my soup Tom. Get it out! Get out!”
“This one’s for the permanent collections :)”
Mobius woke up to the blaring horn of a runaway cab and the shriek of the dying. Dying so he thought as a women’s pleads for help would only reverberate through empty gallows in this 2 am ghetto. The night did not stir as innocence dare not intervene lest they wish to follow suite along the string of misfortune.
The woman had starting sobbing before a hard knock on reinforced doors interrupted the dirge. A metallic voice rasped through the cracks. “Mobius, I know you’re in there. Where my money? You owe me twice for that last hit”. Mobius knew very well that his proceeds had long dried up. A clandestine retreat down the fire escape was in order. Lifting up the broken windowsill and climbing onto the thin railings, he descended with cat-like precision as the distant wails would provide his cover. A lucky break he thought before landing on the ground when a heavy thud struck his lungs, expunging the air for either breath or thought. Stars and darkness overtook him as he lay face up starring into the night’s sky. Last he heard was the woman’s voice from above. “Is that our Ace?” to which the metallic rasp chuckled “Nearly turned him inside out”.
A student of the Buddha once mediated on a rock by a lake. Day in, day out he would arrive before dawn, rest his feet in the lotus position, and contemplate atop the boulder till dusk.
*I am the rock, the rock is me… I am the rock, the rock is me… he would chant but his concentration would always break at the slightest distraction.
Frustrated, he picked up a nearby pebble and threw it into the waters below.
*ploop the sound it made as the pebble struck the surface and sank to the depths. A long silence then ensued.
The next day, the student arrived atop the boulder and to his surprise discovered the same pebble that he had previously thrown. Understanding the significance, he threw himself into the lake and to survive, suspended himself in a deep meditation. Centuries later after the lake had dried, some archaeologists discovered a statue of the Buddha on site. It was made out of solid rock.
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Entry to this week’s Friday Fictioneers! Image courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our lovely host.
At the start of winter, the four gathered around the ring. Born into servitude, beasts-of-burden they were. If they did their work, a haystack would magically appear in the ring the following day.
Life was good until one Monday, the four woke-up to an empty feed. Bewildered, they redoubled their efforts in vain as the ring would stayed empty all week. By next Monday, three were in denial, believing things will improve if they stuck to their old ways. The forth left to find green pastures in the white landscape. By winter’s end, only one survived, no longer a beast-of-burden.
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Entry to this week’s 3LineTales. Photo courtesy of Grant McCurdy
Broken camera by the sea. Shattered and forgotten. The waves hunger.
But I saw you there. Corner of my eye. A glint of light on overcast day.
And you saw me. Whom the sea threw back. O’misty lens lifeline.
The trees… They used to walk you know. Across the land they roamed, over tall mountains, under deep canyons, beneath great lakes even. Drawn they were to the whims of a sun that could never sit still, forever rising, forever falling.
O’Mighty star, they implored. Won’t you be still and grant us reprieve? For we are weary of eternal march, trek, and quest. The sun who had heard their pleas grinned and acquiesced. Slowly it drifted to a halt, suspending motion and flight for as far as the eye could see. The trees, exasperated yet rejoiced, fell into an immense slumber, eager to rest and feed.
Eons had passed and the sun remained still; a drop in a bucket within one lifetime but a thousand generations in another. The trees had wedded themselves to the ground for their roots dug deep and their trunks grew tall. Asleep they all were when the destined day arrived and the sun imperceptibly moved. Little by little it accelerated, regaining the flight it once had ages yonder. And so the slumbering trees woke up to a frosty dew and a new witness. Day and night had been born.
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