Assortment 1: Assortment, #1

By D. Reed Whittaker

This is a collection of short-stories mostly resulting from contests. There is no coherent theme, only an exploration of the human condition. I try to focus on friendships, family, and lovers. I don't always succeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Intercede LLC
• Release date: Apr 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540176264

D. Reed Whittaker

Retired engineer creating worlds I'd like to live in and people I'd like to know. It's been fun meeting/creating MarieAnne, Steve, Bill, Maggie, Sylvia, Smitty, Linda, Billy, Suzy, Ken, Molly, Dad, John Henry, Melody, Sally, and George. I think you'll like meeting them, too. 

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Author’s Notes

This is a collection of short stories mostly written for contests in writing.com. There is no theme or structure. Some may be only 500 words and only dialog – no beats, or tags (he said, she said). Others may be 2,000 words or more.

Table of Contents

Whispering Dreams

The Change

Hike

Soup

Wine

Balcony

Just One Look

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Mistletoe

Rise Up

The Lady from Hell

A Story for Billy

The Surveyors

The Wall

The Key

The Rose

New Year’s Eve 2015

Afterword

Whispering Dreams

Introduction

What can you do with a two-word prompt: Whispering Dreams. Enjoy.

Though lost to me forever, he is with me always. He whispers to me still in my dreams. Those whispers speak of a love everlasting, a passion deep and wide. Of a desperation fulfilled and longing without depth. Of a temporary need met, and a timeless desire created. A want satisfied and hunger inflamed. While our time together was brief, our souls are endlessly entwined.

He stood between the cowering bully and the vengeful victim. A quarter ounce spewed from the muzzle. It found his heart, my heart, our heart. It stopped, he stopped, we stopped. His life was over. We were no more.

He came out of the morning sun, striding through the trees. The rhythmic beat of his feet pounding against the path broke the stillness. Thud, thud, thud as he came closer. His cadence matched my heart, then my heart beat faster and faster. He was all a vision should be, all a wish could be, all a dream was meant to be. My future was running to me.

He smiled in passing but did not stop. The thud, thud, thud faded. So did my heart, my hopes, my dreams. The trees gave no solace. The birds no cheer. The sun lacked warmth and could not dispel the gloom. I sat with head in hands. Raindrops fell from the cloudless sky, down my cheeks and off my chin. My heart slowed. Time stopped.

The thump, thump, thump of my heart became thud, thud, thud. He was running back into my life. This time he stopped, never to leave. Never more would we be alone. Together we would face the world, embrace the world, be the world–until. The until changed it all and changed nothing. While I could not touch him, I could still feel him. While I could not smell him, I could taste him. He lingered on my tongue like the first kiss. The kiss that changed everything. Not the expected lightning jolt, but the building, rising intensity of oncoming lava. That lava flowed over us as enfolding chocolate–warm, sweet, satisfying.

We didn’t need the world; we wanted the world. The world wanted us. My friends became his friends, his became mine. We made new ones. Everyone was welcome. Food tasted better. The sky was bluer. The days were too short; the nights were heaven. A heaven of two bound souls wrapped ever tighter in those bonds–bonds of love, of desire, of union. We filled voids we didn’t know we had. Until the until.

What once was easy was now impossible. What once was joy was now dread. Mornings held no pleasure. Nighttime was a drug induced haze. A fog so thick it was like walking through water. I felt nothing, and yet everything hurt. I ached and ached. The pain was deep inside. No drugs, no wine, no person could reach it, lessen it, stop it. Then he came back.

No thud, thud, thud, but just a peaceful purring. It was a gentle breeze, breathing life back into my being. He pulled my soul into the brightness, into the warmth of love. What we had did not die, it reasserted itself–it was reborn.

Our new love was quiet, but profound. It was with me always, but never seen. Always known, never felt. Always comforting, always true. Filling my dreams, whispering ever so quietly. It would murmur and console, sigh and soothe, breathlessly breathe life into my being, my soul. My soulmate came back for me.

As Plato promised his moon children, "I am willing to fuse and 'synphysize' you together so that the two become one and as long as you live you will be one, sharing a common life until death approaches, and then you will also be one in Hades (not two), having a common death."  I await our common death. I won’t hasten it, won’t seek it, won’t encourage it. I will welcome it when it comes. I don’t fear death, for I enjoy life. I have known happiness and sadness. Happiness is better. I will strive for happiness to honor what we had. Seek joy to celebrate what we had. Be grateful to have known what few have or will. I am fortunate, blessed – I have whispering dreams.

To have loved once is to love forever. We loved. We love. We will always love. We have whispering dreams.

The Change

Introduction

Another contest, this one about a post-apocalypse world. I set it in Salt Lake just for the hell of it. Enjoy.

Hike

A father and daughter sit atop Ensign Peak overlooking Salt Lake City and the valley below. It is mid-January; a foot of fresh snow covers the landscape. The Mid-Day Sun causes the snow to sparkle, laying a carpet of diamonds before them. The cerulean blue sky thrusts the sugar-coated mountains within touching distance.

Dad, have you ever seen a more beautiful day? asked the girl. I’m glad we hiked up here.

So am I. The dad puts his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. No, dear, this is about as beautiful as it gets. He looked down at his daughter. I’m glad we can enjoy it together.

Do you miss mom?

Pause.

The man nodded. Yes, I miss her, I miss her every day. She should’ve been here with us. This day was made for her, and she was made for this day.

Are you sorry I lived?

The man pulled the girl to him, shaking his head. No, as much as I miss your mother, this is the way she wanted it, the way I want it.

Why did she have to die? Why did I have to kill her?

The man sat down on the snow-covered bench and turned the girl to face him. He put his hands on the girl’s shoulders. You didn’t kill your mother. She lives because you live.

Huh?

You have her eyes, her soul.

Her soul?

I’m sorry you never knew your mother, you would’ve liked her, loved her.

As you loved her?

You may be too young to understand, but I still love her. She is gone, but she is with me still. She is here when I look at you. When I hear you. She would’ve said, ‘Sam, have you ever seen a more beautiful day’, just like you. You could be her; you are her. The man shook his head. I didn’t mean that, not exactly that. You are your own person. It’s just you are so much like her. So much like her. The man closed his eyes.

The girl hugged her father. Please don’t cry, Dad. Please don’t cry.

The father hugged back, then wiped his eyes on the back of his hands. Are you warm enough?

Enough for what? asked the girl.

This may be the time to tell you about your mother, about our life together, about how things used to be. It’s a long story, so this may not be the place.

I’m warm enough.

It can wait until we get home.

Please Dad, I want to know. I need to know.

The father nodded. Yes, you need to know. The father stood and looked around. We came up here often. This was our spot. The father laughed. Not ours alone, but it was our spot. Back then, you would seldom see the sky as clear, the mountains so close. Back then, we had inversions.

Inversions?

The father nodded. Not to be too technical, but when it got cold, like today, the air would not move. It would just sit in the valley. Back then, we burned all sorts of things. When you burn things, you make smoke and other things, and that stuff stayed trapped in the valley.

Why?

Why what? asked the father.

Why did you burn things?

That’s a good question. Some because it was convenient, some because there was no choice, some because... because...

Because why?

I was about to say because we didn’t know better, but we did. We knew better.

The girl shrugs. What does that have to do with mother?

The