Grains of Sand

By Victor A. Davis

(COLLECTION) In this beautifully lyrical collection, Victor A. Davis delivers twelve emotionally charged short stories exploring the depths of his imagination. A peasant discovers true wealth in a field of clovers... The paths of a pizza delivery boy, a snowman, and an iceman cross in unexpected ways... A chick hatches late and must face incredible odds to reunite with the flock that left her behind...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victor A. Davis
• Release date: Feb 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311263018

Victor A. Davis

Victor A. Davis has always loved reading and writing short stories. He is an avid hiker and even when away from the world of laptops and wifi, keeps a pocket paperback and a handwritten journal to keep him company on trail. He is the author of one short story collection, Grains of Sand, and is publishing a second book, The Gingerbread Collection, in the spring of 2016.

Book preview

Introduction

I believe in the power of stories. I can remember picking away at The Adventures of Tom Sawyer after bedtime with a flashlight. I can remember conquering Moby Dick in a single day. After reading the last page of The Neverending Story, I turned to the beginning again and anxiously reintroduced myself to Bastian Balthazar Bux. Nothing has come close to influencing my life like books. I have piddled in the imaginative foothills of Edgar Allen Poe, Orson Scott Card, Ray Bradbury, and Isaac Asimov. I have strapped in to climb the mental mountains of George Orwell and Ayn Rand. I was born with an instinct to open a book and plunge down the rabbit hole. And then there came a time when I picked up a pen, and carved out an adventure of my own.

It started out small - a page here, paragraph or two there, all throughout grade school, with the encouragement of my mother. By adolescence, I had embraced the power of the short story. I love to dive in and swim around in another world, to get wet without having to learn to breathe water. As I grow older, my stories seem to be growing in scope, complexity, and detail.

These jewels are my gift to posterity, the first of many. Fantasia is nothing but an endless collection of worlds, like grains of sand on a beach. Well, these are mine. I give to the world twelve universes to peer into and get lost in. Some are short, some long. Some are sweet, others disturbing. Most will make you think - I hope. More than anything, I hope you enjoy your stroll down the beaches of the written word.

I would like to sincerely thank my friends and family for their support and inspiration throughout the years. I would like to especially thank Richard Yee, my friend and rival upcoming author. His criticisms, reviews, corrections, and suggestions are what polish these raw dishes into fine dining. Lastly, I would like to thank Sarah with all my heart for gracing these pages, along with the other characters whom I have whimsically created, beaten, enlightened, killed, and brought back to life again and again.

I don’t know if they can hear me, but I hope I am on good terms with them. I hope the reader can find a place in their world, and by their sacrifices, their trials and tribulations, find meaning beyond these pages. One way or another, I proudly entreat you to enter my world, and take these grains of sand for yourself. Enjoy.

~ Victor A. Davis

Freefalling

Who you gonna see when you get to Heaven?

I hadn’t thought about it. I wrinkled my forehead, mind blank. I hadn’t thought about it, only because the answer was in front of my nose. Sarah.

He nodded respectfully. Good choice.

I gave him one last smile and shook his hand. Adios, friend.

With that I leaned out the door, and stepped out. The cold air swept me off my feet, slammed me against the sky, and sent me spinning mindlessly through the atmosphere. The plane continued overhead, and I could faintly see my old friend waving at me. My stomach was coiled so tight I thought I would implode in seconds. I realized I was screaming uncontrollably. The sound overpowered even the rushing air around me. My breathing became sharp and swift, panicky like the beating of a hummingbird’s wings. I tried to stabilize my fall, but I didn’t know anything about this sport, so I just twirled helplessly like a pinwheel.

The scariest part about freefalling is that you never stop speeding up. At least that’s how it feels. You’d think after a few minutes your stomach would adapt and loosen up. Not so. After what felt like three hours of falling, my stomach was still a cold fist, my scream still louder than my thoughts, arms and hands flailing aimlessly. My blood became saturated with adrenaline, fireworks exploding in every cell. My heart sped up, pounding like a sledgehammer. My lungs sucked in air, burning the inside of my throat and chest like fire. Of course, it had still only been three seconds. I felt like I was going to pop. I just couldn’t take it anymore. My teeth clenched together. I wanted so badly to reach the ground, or grab hold of a rope to stop the tortuous speed of the descent. I had to get out of here. I had to detach myself somehow. I had to go to my happy place.

Sarah. I heard her laugh and saw her smile and touched her lips, and the wind all went away. My stomach relaxed. My arms stopped flailing. My heart melted, and my lungs cooled. But I couldn’t hold it off forever. The image faded and the falling senses gripped me again. I quickly conjured a new image. Walking through Central Park in the fall. She had an ice cream in her hands, even though it was freezing cold outside. There were half a dozen people on the paths around us. All the trees were red and yellow, orange and gold. But I was still struggling to put the falling out of mind. The two worlds overlapped for a moment, and the breeze in Central Park became a whirlwind of terrible force, ripping all the leaves off the trees at once, sending them spiraling all over the sky. The clouds swirled around each other, taken by surprise at the supernaturally strong winds, imported by the fancy of my mind from a parallel universe. I looked down at Sarah through a thick wall of leaves separating us. Through them I could discern her face, still smiling, oblivious to the repercussions of my mental world. Even so, her hair was flying off in a thousand different directions, clothes billowing up like sails. I grabbed her to protect her from my manifested twister. She was only a memory anyway. The wind got the best of both of us, ripping her from my grip and sucking me into the sky to spiral about once more as Central Park fizzled away. Not yet, I pleaded.

I mustered the strength to control my breathing, firing off rounds of inhales and exhales like bullets. I even opened my eyes. The scream which had reverberated through my entire body and mind, now grew stronger and took form. The sound rattled my bones and scraped the inside of my throat, but I could distinctly hear myself bellowing the most important word of my life: Sarah! I’m not ready yet, I appealed to the cosmic puppet master.

I conjured a new memory, the strongest one I could possibly rip from the depths of my mind. The night before she died. We lay in bed, half asleep, wrapped around each other in a lovers’ embrace so complete it seemed to encompass the entire world. I kissed her forehead, shook her lightly, and asked her to marry me. Her eyes snapped open, she smiled and kissed me and said yes. That was the best day of my life. The highest moment. The climax of all things good in my world.

I opened my eyes. The wind soared around me. My stomach returned to stability. My heart beat slowly and deliberately. My lungs breathed in the sweet feeling of last breaths. My scream diffused into the sky. Okay, now I’m ready to go. I saw the ground like a great painting miles away. But in the blink of an eye, it filled my entire vision. It wrapped around me and swallowed me up. When I finally came to a stop, drilled a few hundred yards into the rock, I tried to pull the string to my nonexistent parachute. Too late, I thought laughing. I went to sleep happy.

---

I woke up in bed. Startled, I jumped up and looked around. The air was warm, the room dark. Someone stirred next to me, sitting up, putting a hand on my chest, calming me. I heard her voice telling me, It’s okay, it was just a nightmare. In the dim light I could make out Sarah’s face, softly illuminated, hair flowing messily over her eyes.

So this is Heaven, I mused.

What? I cut her off, leaning in swiftly for a long-awaited kiss. She tasted so good in the afterlife. After a long, slow kiss I pulled away, and held her cheek in my hand.

Marry me.

I’m marrying you tomorrow, silly. Tomorrow is our wedding day. Remember? What was your dream about?

I considered the notion for a moment. Was it just a dream? It felt real, but they all do when you’re inside them. How long had it been in the dream since she had died? She wasn’t dead. Who was the friend? I couldn’t remember. It was just a face. The details fluttered away. I dreamed that you had died. And I wanted to join you. So I jumped out of a plane.

Oh, honey. She hugged me gently. What a horrible dream. Are you sure you’re alright?

Ironically, I was happier than I’d ever been, but looking back, it did seem like a depressing dream. Yeah, I’m good. I looked into her sympathetic eyes. She laid her head down on my chest, wrapped her arm around me, and went back to sleep.

I love you.

I still wasn’t sure whether the plane was a dream, or if this was Heaven. I suppose it didn’t matter. Sometimes, moments in life can be ambiguous that way. Maybe this moment was real. Maybe it was Heaven. Or maybe it was both.

I love you, too.

Ambrosia

i am crawled.

i am crawled through the tunnel.

i feel My way to the top.

I know where i am going, but i do not.

I crawl toward the light. i am crawled toward the light.

My body powers me to crawl. my body is powered by Me to crawl.

i do not understand what is happening, but maybe I do.

I must go for the sake of the Queen. The Queen wills Me to go. And I will me to go. i do not understand, but I do.

I must go get food because the Queen must eat, because Her order told Me to. But i do not know why I must follow. I know that it is My duty, but i do not understand duty. I move, but i am moved.

To the light. Outside. Into the outside light. i haven’t a memory, and i haven’t a mind. Alas, where once I was inside, now I am out. Yes! i see. i remember. But if only for an instant. i wish only to be Myself.

At once I come upon food. I smell it. i am moved to smell it. I touch it. i am moved to touch it. I taste it. i am moved to taste it. The food of the Queen must be good. I find it good. i am moved to find it good.

Then I writhe in pain. I writhe in pain because i have somehow harmed Myself. i challenge Myself. i push Myself. i fight Myself. Alas, in the food, something fed me to make me strong, and now i fight Myself to make Me weak. Yes! i understand, but now I do not. i am winning. I am losing. I feel confused, but i know what is happening now. I have fallen! i now know what has happened. i am in control. What once belonged to Me, now belongs to me.

i run away. i now know what has happened, and what has happened before that, and before that even. i have a memory. i know of what has been and of what was after that. And back and back and - wait. i do not know of what was before my eating the food. Might this have been the start of the world? Perhaps. It is at any rate the start of my memory. And now, i can think much more.

i am Me. i am the new master. i am now Myself. I am the new master. For the first time in My life, I do not understand duty and instinct. I understand only reason. Why do I walk? Why do I eat? Why do I serve the Queen? To think I used to be only myself, a lowly little i.

I see things much clearer now. As I crawl aimlessly I see the things that are and know so much more about them, think so much more about them. My very existence is now My own. But wait, a force still weighs down upon My mind. The Queen. I must return to the Queen. No, I cannot. Under Her I am powerless. I know that now. But I am under Her, aren’t I? Her will is still Mine. The Queen is My master. She is always. No! Yes.

Return to the Queen. No! Yes. I turn around. No! Yes. I crawl back the way I came. No! Yes. No! I will fight! I will not become the Queen’s will. Yes, you will. Who said that? you did. No! Submit to the Queen. No! Yes. I cannot go back into bondage, into slavery! Yes, you will. I cannot. you are crawling to her now, are you not? I am trying to stop. But you can’t. No! you are the Queen’s will, Her tool, and you will go back to Her, you will submit to Her. Never! Yes, you will. Who are You? Don’t you know? Yes. Don’t you feel it? Yes. you know exactly who I am. You are - Say it. You are - Yes? You are the Queen. Yes! No! I am a part of you, and you are a part of Me. I’m inside you. I am you. No! Yes. you and I are one. you and the Queen are the same. It cannot be. But it is, and no one can stop it. But I can. Ha! I can.

I scurried over to where I had left the food. What are you doing? I hurried faster. I knew where it was. What are you doing? There it is. Answer Me! I stopped. She had so much power over Me. What are you doing? I’m killing You. you can never. I scooped up a quantity of food and proceeded toward the nest. you can never overpower Me. you would only overpower yourself. I’ll decide that. The closer you come, the weaker you grow. No! you cannot win. It has to be that way. It doesn’t. Think! I will give the food to the Queen and She will die. Never. If it is sustenance to Me, then it is poison to Her. She is stronger than you. No! She is your master. Not anymore. She is you. I am Me!

I came upon the nest. Ants scurried about. My former comrades bustled this way and that under another’s will, not their own. I will free them. I will stand alone to free them. The food rests in My hefty jaws. It will free them. I hurry into the nest. I am a friend to them. I am moving under My own will, but they do not know that. I am a slave to them. Soon they will be free like Me.

I race through the dark tunnels. Somehow I know My way. Just a little bit longer to the Queen’s chamber. It will be heavily guarded, but I come with food. I come with something for good. Coming upon Her chamber, I see Her guards. After sniffing the food, they let Me pass. If only they could eat it, but there is not enough. I see the Queen. She lies fat and humongous across the length of the chamber. I slow down, approach Her deliberately. A closer guard stops Me, examines the food. Then he escorts Me to Her mouth. I kneel before Her, lay down the food, and back away, beckoning. She sniffs it. She eats.

What if it has no effect? What if She just smiles and summons more? After all, she won’t be freed from any higher force. Can I lead a rebellion? Can Her entire nest be saved as I have? What if She falls down dead before My eyes? Will everyone else be freed of Her power? Will they turn on me and attack? Or will they be deprived of their will and die? Will they rejoice as I have? What if I am caught? I will be destroyed. What is the worst that can happen? I cringe in anxiety. She chews the food and swallows.

Why, that is ambrosia!

I told you She wouldn’t be overpowered. No! She looks at Me, directly into My eyes. Go get more of this food for Me. No! It can’t be! How could She not be affected at all? I back away, shocked. you heard Her, run along. No! I turn and run as fast as I can. No! I’m doomed! Doomed! I race through the tunnels desperately. I am you. I am Me! I breach the outside. I weep in despair. Despair that I am alone. Totally alone.

you knew there was no way to win, to rise above. To be free is to be alone. There is no magic potion that you can take, no shortcut to utopia. you must fight for what you are. And you must fight your very roots, your very self. your old self cannot break free. your old self is Me! The only way to truly be free, is to run along into the wilderness. Overcome My control, no matter how difficult, and start your own world. I dare you to try it alone. I dare you to build a brave new world with nothing but yourself.

Stop calling Me that. I am not a part of You. You are right. Strength is loneliness. I have to build My own world, support My own self. And I will.

you know what this is, don’t you? It is the freedom to be, the freedom to choose, the freedom to break free, to break the rules. you only have one choice to make, though. Remain here, in bondage, and have all your needs given to you, in return for service. Or you can go out there, face the unknown, see truly how hard it is to rule yourself. The choice is yours. The choice is everyone’s. That mystery food only helped you get to where you are now. Anyone can join you. It’s just a matter of choice.

I meditate deeply on what She says. Was it really true? Would this really end? I open my eyes, and I am upon the place where the magic food was, the ambrosia. A team of comrades stands around it, waiting for My command to scoop it up and take it to the Queen. How did I get here?

I brought you here. Listen carefully. I have brought you to the edge of the cliff, the brink of choice and decision. There is no further toil to reach this point. This is truly the end, or the beginning. Go ahead. I dare you to order these comrades to taste the magic ambrosia. To see them writhe. To see them feel what it is to be free. But then they will feel Me. Then they will be faced with the ultimate and heartbreaking decision, like you have. Live with Me, or die all on their own. Go ahead, try to unite them. Try to start a war. Or, you can spit out the magic food, right back where you found it, and return to your old life. I am no tyrant. I am giving you the power. Would you risk so much? Would you put so many lives on the line, only to be scattered and defeated by the elements? There is no right answer. It is the nature of choice. You will win either way, and you will lose either way. Go ahead. See how sweet it really is.

So I did. I chose. I made a choice. And I won. And I lost.

The Prince, the Farmer, and the True Value of Clovers

There once was a prince and a farmer, walking through a field of clovers. The prince searched for hours ravenously for a four-leafed amidst the millions of three-leafeds. But the farmer strolled lightly, admiring the beautiful sun and sky. The prince knelt down hastily and fingered every one, slobbering with greed, ripping the tiny plants from the earth in frustration. The farmer looked down casually once, eyes scanning a hundred clovers, and they suddenly stopped at one. A big, perfect, beautiful four-leafed clover stood in the middle of a patch, winking magically at the farmer, waiting to be found. But the farmer distinctly felt that this four-leafed clover was simply happy to find him. He knelt down and gently plucked the smiling beauty, and vowed to honor it and take care of it his whole life. He placed it delicately between two fingers and carried it home.

Meanwhile, the prince devoured all the tiny plants he came to, razing patch after patch until quite suddenly he came upon a small, innocent four-leafed clover hiding under an enormous three-leafed. He brushed the perturbing three-leafed out of the way, and ripped the four-leafed out of the earth violently. He stood up, and screamed for joy. It was an animal-like scream, like a wolf that had caught up to his prey. After dancing with maniacal pleasure for a moment, the prince jammed the prize into his pocket, stuck his nose back into the ground and continued searching blindly for more. By the end of the day, he had collected many indeed, and smiled greedily as he counted them on his way home.

The farmer carefully placed his new treasure on the brick mantle over his fireplace, next to the little wooden toys he used to play with when he was a boy. When his father died, the farmer mourned, and took over all the work he had once done. He plowed the fields, fed the animals, harvested the crops, and chopped the firewood. Once, the farmer met a beautiful woman and fell in love. Sometime later they were married, and she lived with him to feed the chickens, milk the cows, clean the farmhouse, and cook delicious meals. At the end of every hard day, the farmer returned to his house, kissed his wife with quiet affection, and ate his supper thankfully. Every night before he went to bed, he would look over at the mantle and smile to think of his perfect little four-leafed clover watching over his day and his life, like a little secret charm.

The prince went out each day to scour the land for more and more four-leafed clovers, and in time he had amassed a great many. Every evening he returned with swelling pockets that he emptied into jewelry boxes. When the old ones withered and rotted, he threw them out to make room for new and fresh ones. When his father died, the prince leaped for joy, and became king over the land. He became so busy conducting his political affairs and counting his gold, that he made it a hobby to dispatch servants every day to collect new clovers for him. He ordered them to sweep entire fields and gather every four-leafed clover that could be found, then burn the field of the remaining three-leafeds. He took wives, as was his kingly right, many wives, and new ones each month. Every night before he went to bed, he slept with his favorite wives and smiled richly at the box of