Shadows Edge

This is a new challenge for myself.  I’m always coming up with a couple of sentences or an idea that might be the kernel of a story.  Unfortunately I rarely write them down or do anything with them.  So I’m going to try to write them here and possibly even do something with them. We’ll see how it goes.

Here’s the first Little Bit :

The stately path the stars traveled had not altered for eons. Or so the scholars had said for as long as they had studied them.  They might even have been right.

But studying the past did not prepare them for the present.  All their studies, all their notes, helped them not at all when the stars stopped their nightly dance.

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They were crouched on the floor of their room, waiting for Mikhail.? The streets were full of angry and confused people, some of them resorting to violence to express themselves. No one knew what was going on or who was in charge.

Justin shifted in front of Nessa as the door swung open, then relaxed as he recognized Mikhail. He had no clue what to do, how to get through the streets safely, but the captain would.

——

Mikhail studied the two civilians in front of him. They had done well to get as far as they had, but things were getting dangerous out there, even for his men.? “You sure you don’t want me to take that container off your hands, Justin?”

The young man only shook his head. “I appreciate your help, but…”

“You don’t completely trust me. I know. We’ll wait for dark to move then.”

—–

It had been full dark for two hours before they ventured into the streets, keeping to the shadows and the side streets. They were noticed, but no more so than many of the others who were still on the streets. No one hassled them or tried to stop them.

Justin and Mikhail had to help Nessa over the wall that separated them from their goal. It slowed them down just enough.? Justin dropped to the ground and the captain and Nessa started to move away from the wall.

There was a flash of white light, followed by orange flames and then the explosion sent them all tumbling.

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The dust cleared and as the ringing in her ears died away, Nessa rolled over. Something resembling a gymnastic move succeeded in getting her out from between the wall and the debris. Taking a deep breath, her dark eyes scanned the chaos, searching.

Where was Justin? He’d only been a few feet from her when the explosion happened. He’d been talking with the captain.? Despite his dislike of the military, Justin and the captain had become friends of sorts, finding similar motivation from the circumstances they found had found themselves in.

Nessa found herself moving forward as she recognized the captain climbing from a pile of debris. As she arrived at his side, she heard a familiar voice cursing. They both started grabbing debris and moving it, throwing it aside.? It took both of them to move the final piece, the one that pinned Justin’s ankle to the ground.

She threw herself at Justin, her arms encircling him as she buried her head in his shoulder, grateful that he was alive and uninjured.? Justin, wrapped one arm around her, but his attention was on the captain.? He shifted, dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to the other man.? “I don’t care what you do with it, Mikhail. Just keep it away from Nessa and me.”

The captain studied the small container, something like a film canister, for a moment. “This will put things right again, Justin.? Thank you. But I can’t let you and Nessa take your chances while there’s still rioting. Come with me, at least until things have settled down some.”

Justin grimaced, then looked down at Nessa, who was still holding him tightly. That seemed to decide him. “All right. But only until things quiet down. I just want to go home.”

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It wasn’t often the average citizen of Raethes crossed paths with the powers that controlled the country.? Few citizens would have refused the first invitation, much less the second. Fewer still would still be protesting the meeting when government security arrived to escort them to it.

Justin was one of those few.

After all that had happened, everything that he and Nessa had seen, he wanted nothing more than to return to the life he’d had before all the excitement.? Well, his old life with one alteration - Nessa.

It seemed that a quiet life was not to be allowed them though. David Mestiere felt a need to meet with them and credit Justin and Nessa with the safety of the government during the recent events.? How the man had jumped to that conclusion, Justin still didn’t understand, but they were apparently stuck with results.

He and Nessa had never had a chance to escape the capitol city. Given Mestiere’s persistence, it was unlikely that they’d have succeeded even if they’d managed to get home. And Justin couldn’t say that they’d been in any way mistreated, really.? The short trip from their accommodations had been comfortable enough and the room they were currently waiting in was far more elegant than what they were used to.

None of that meant that Justin had to be happy about it.

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So, I was looking for something to shake things up a little in my head. Didn’t have a clue how to do it until I was trying to get to sleep the other night. I always tell my stories from the beginning. Why not try telling one from the end - telling it backward, one scene at a time. So here goes.

---

And so it was, after everything they’d been through, that Justin and Nessa found themselves somewhere they’d never thought they’d be.? In a very few moments, they would be escorted from the quiet room they were in, to accept the highest thanks of their government. Neither was quite certain exactly how they’d ended up there, even though they both remembered every step of the way. . .

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The Abridged Tales of Odo the Great

“Dont worry - it only happens to certain monkeys,”? the orangutan gestured to the monkey in the cage.? The monkey that was trying to pull its fur out and whimpering almost rhythmically.? Odo looked at the monkey, then at the orangutan.? There were five cages, each holding a monkey, each monkey exhibiting different symptoms of insanity.

“How many participants did you say are in the program?” Odo asked.

“We have five hundred participants at this location, Mr. Odo.? Not all are full participants as they do not have a scientific background.? About sixty perenct are solely test subjects.”? The orangutan gestured to the five cages, “These are all from that category of participant, sir.? none of our researchers have had anything like this occur to them.”

Odo nodded and observed the laboratory.? It had been a human lab at one point, abandonned long ago. The vegetation had began its attempt to claim the outside.? The cabinets and tables were too tall for monkeys but there were plenty of boxes and bricks that could be used to reach things.? The visible supplies were mix and match but that was the usual state of things.? Humans rarely left much behind other than their buildings. Supplies were brought in from wherever the lab techs could scavenge them from.? But the equipment worked, even if it wasn’t top of the line.

“And the living quarters?” Odo asked.? Humans would be astonished if they ever observed a primate run lab or the primate societies structured around those labs.? All those humans who refused to believe that they were related to primates would have found themselves shocked by the similiarities between their culture and that of the “animals.”? Of course, those were the same humans who didn’t seem to understand that they were animals too.

“The living quarters are several minutes away, sir.? Its a bit inconvenient, but it makes it less likely that we’ll be discovered.

“I’d like to see them, if its not a problem.? I have certain standards for those as well as the labs.”? Odo turned his attention to his escort, watching the orangutan closely.? He was almost surprised by the immediate agreement he say in the orangutan’s expression.

“Of course, sir.? I think you’ll be pleased by the way the living quarters are arranged.”? He led? Odo to another room that was furnished with comfortable chairs and piles of cushions. “I’m required to stay here, Mr. Odo, but I’ll have an escort for you in just a minute or two.”

Odo nodded and waved the orangutan on to his work.? He folded his hands behind his back and walked the perimeter of the room, gazing at the seating and the walls.? The dark eyes were thoughtful as he waited for his new escort.? ? Odo found the labs up to his standards. it was likely, though by no means guaranteed,? that the living quarters would meet the same standards.? ? A facility that had over five hundred participants? in its program obviously had the perks to attract and hold those participants.

Odo hadn’t been surprised at the level of respect the orangutan had given him.? He knew he was one of the elite when it came to? research monkeys.? There weren’t all that many monkeys that managed to get out of the labs and into the wild.? The primate run labs all wanted to get any research monkey they could.

Odo had been a research monkey, raised from a tender age by humans, but as smart as they thought he was, they never really considered that his intelligence might equal theirs.? He was smart enought to chafe every time he was treated as an exceptionally well behaved pet.? He was smart enough to study and memorize the things the humans did every time they took him out of, or put him in, his cage.

And then one day there was a brillant flash of light and darkness.? For a brief moment, the lab was plunged into darkness as the electricity died.? Odo made th emost of the brief span of time and of all he had learned.? By the time the lights came back on, he was slipping into a trash bin to be carted out of the facility later that night.? It didn’t take long, once he was outside, to find others like himself and to find his way to the community other monkeys had formed.

This was the fourth facility he’d toured and the one that had been highest on his personal list.? As long as the living quarters were reasonable, he already knew this would be his choice.? This particular facility was near where he’d been born and had proximity to human settlemnts.? That made it ideal for Odo’s needs.

Odo knew, being from a human research lab, that the facility would be keeping an eye on him.? That was standard operating procedure since reserach monkeys might have long term effects from the experiments the humans had done on them. But they would also be watching him to learn more of the scientific method, to see how he would run experiments and record the results.? That was his true value? and why facilities vied for his attention.

His escort arrived, a fine example of the feminine side of the primate species. Odo grommed her fur briefly in greeting and she chittered for a moment before introducing herself as Mimi.? She walked out of the door and he followed her as long as he could politely do so, watching the way she loped along the trail.? Odo grinned to himself, it looked as if he’d just found another reason to choose this facility.

Mimi kindly showed him the cafeteria and the common areas first, highlighing the variety and room available to each resident.? She seemed a bit hesitant to show him him the actual residences, but when she did, Odo found himself quite pleased.? Private rooms branched off? of common rooms.? Each room also had a private entrance which suited odo very well indeed.

He groomed Mimi a bit more when she returned him to the laboratory and left him in a room that obviously served someone as an office.? ? ? She didn’t seem to mind his attention and the wink she gave him as she left the room seemed to imply his attentions would not be ignored should he choose this facility as his home.? And added and unlooked for benefit to? be certain.

There were only two things he needed to be quite happy here. If the facility, or the nearby human habitations could provide him with paper and pens, Odo the-soon-to-be-Great would be satisfied with the arrangements.

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Life’s Little Issues

For some, the end of existence as we know it is a cause for mass panic, repentence of sins, expectations of rising to a higher plane where perfect peace and harmony would reign for eternity.? ? For October Henry Tudor, it was a faintly inconvenient event that interrupted his 2 am bowl of corn flakes.

October, or Tobey as he insisted on being called - hating his name, had yet to see his bed and had only just sat down and poured the mild over his cereal when there was a flash? and the lights went out.? ? He sat, perfectly still, senses alert.? Nothing happened though and after a moment the lights flickered back on.

Tobey sighed in annoyance, then got up and made a quick circuit of his flat. There was nothing out of place, at least at a quick glance, so he sat back down and started eating his corn flakes.

His cat, Bess, twined around his feet waiting for him to finish and put the bowl down for her.? Tobey reached down with one hand and scratched her behind the ears while he chased the last few flakes around the bowl with his spoon.? Once the last spoonful made its way to his mouth, he set the bowl on the floor and watched Bess lap up the milk in its bottom.

He reached for the milk carton and just as his hand touched it, his phone rang.? Not his home phone, but his cell. The one that only four people had the number for.? The ringtone told him which of the four was calling.

Tobey stood up so fast that his chair fell to the ground as he lurched for the counter where he’d left the phone to charge. In the process, he kicked the bowl, sending it spinning and spiraling across the floor, splattering drops of milk across the room as it went. He grabbed for the phone, flipping it open as he lifted it to his ear.? His voice was breathless as he answered the phone. “Yes, sir.? I’m here.”

The young man listened carefully, all of his attention directed to the voice of the other end of the call.? He nodded onece, pulling a PDA from his belt and making a note.

“We just had a brief blackout here, sir, but I didn’t notice anything unusual afterward.”

He tapped teh PDA stylus against teh counter as he listened for a few more minutes.

“Yes, sir.? I’ll be ready when the car gets here.”

He lowered the phone, closing it and setting it back on the counter.? ? Rubbing his eyes, he sighed, grabbed a dish towel and made a quick, cursory attempt at cleaning up the mess his mad dash for the phone had created.? Picking up the bowl, he looked at Bess. She just sat there, looking up at him, but when his eyes met hers, she meowed pitifully. “Okay, Bess, okay.”

Tobey grabbed the milk carton from the table and poured a little in the bowl before setting it on the floor for Bess.? He scritched her ears and stood up to put the milk away.? He dried his hands on a dish towel and took a minute to think.? Mentally he put things in order and headed for the bedroom.? It wouldn’t do to show up in fornt of his employer in wrinkled clothes, no matter the hour or how recently he’d left Mr. Radcliffe’s presence.

Five minutes later he was running a damp comb through his hair.? A quick glance verified that his shoes were shined. He grabbed his phone and PDA on the way out, giving Bess one last scratch.

Tobey checked the lock, pulled the door shut behind him and took the stairs down to the street two at a time.? ? He had just enough time to catch his breath before a limosine pulled up in front of the building.? As soon as it stopped, he opened the door and slipped in, settling back in the expty passenger compartment for the drive to his employer’s residence.

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Not So Model Behavior

In the time before time, a hunger was born. It was, and still is, a universal hunger. Men feel it more than most other animals, but its there in all of them. if you understand it, you can do quite well for yourself.

Some people, quite a few acutally, will tell you it’s immoral to provide satisfaction for this hunger. Which only shows how hypocritical most people are, really, since they are the same ones that will come to you in secret and shamefully so that they can have it fulfilled. I don’t think it is any less moral than speeding or cheating on your taxes, neither of which I’ve ever done.

They, whoever they are, say the profession I practiced in my younger years caused the break up of marriages. I disagree. Someone who came to me knew that the business we contracted was temporary, a physical thing. There may have been liking, or even friendship in the rare case, but never were the emotions or heart more involved than that. My patrons came to me because they did not want their emotions to get tangled up, because they wished to keep the relationships they already had, but for a brief moment needed something they were not getting.

My name is Vivelle Johnston and I am an old woman now. But once upon a time, I was a courtesean, respected and sought after. Certainly sex was something I provided, but it was a small part. More often I provided relaxation and an affirmation of ego. And it wasn’t just men who sought my company. There were women too. In my day there weren’t many, true enough. But there were some. And the few that still live remain friends.

Most of my contemporaries are old sticks-in-the-mud. They do little but play bingo and complain about the cost of things, about their aches and pains, and about the young people of today. They grow older and more inflexible everyday. The ones who know what I was look down their noses at me, as if they’re better than me because they married and had children, because they spent their lives being what their families and society expected them to be.

Their loss. I prefer the company of youngsters anyway. The younger people who are a quarter of my age are considerably more pragmatic and far more accepting. To them, I am something exotic - like an American geisha. They are willing to spend hours in a restaurant, bar or my home listening to my stories of a bygone time or asking questions.

The openess of their minds is a wonderful thing that they are yet too young to appreciate. The breadth of their knowledge is remarkable to someone of my generation though the depth of that knowledge does leave something to be desired. As does their fashion sense at times - but that is my age showing.

I have never before kept a diary, or journal, so one might ask why I am choosing to do so now. There is much to tell of my life, lessons others can learn from it and things I want others, especially my young friends, to know. Recently, yesterday in fact, I was reminded of my mortality. A flash of bright white light, a twisting, tearing sensation in my chest, and then utter blackness. it lasted only a few moments and luckily I was seated, but I am heeding the warning.

So I will set my stories, my histories to paper as I never did in the past. There was too much danger in the past - that a patron might suffer for it if such writings were found. But most of my patrons are dead, or at a point in their lives where such stories will not damage them overly much. Still, I will refrain from naming those who are still alive. I have always been discreet.

So I will record my stories and my thoughts here, and I will tell the young women who are my friends that I am doing so. These young women are strong and inquisitive. Ther are vulnerable in ways I never was, but they have, at the same time, a far greater sense of themselves as people, than most women of my time every did.

No doubt some of the women of my generation will be appalled at the secrets I leave here, if they ever learn of it. Perhaps, when I am gone, this memoir will find its way to publication - one or two of my young friends are in the publication business. If there are any of the old bats of my generation still alive, they’ll probably have heart attacks on reading it. It would serve them right.

I’m not bitter. If anything I feel pity for those dried up old sticks. Most of them never really lived. They may think they did, but they never had their own lives. They went from their parents’ homes to their husbands’. And if their husbands passed away before them, they went to their children’s homes, or, in some cases, an old folks home. most never had reason or opportunity to lean or use the strength they had within themselves. And they allowed it, because it was the way it was supposed to be.

I’ve always been a rebel. I’ve always questioned what I was told. And I’ve never accepted “that’s the way it is” as an explanation. I’ve lived. I have regrets, things I wish I hadn’t done or said, but even those things made my life more vivid, more real. And they are far outweighed by the experiences and opportunities I’ve had. It’s time to share that knowledge and to show other women how to live while they are still young enough to appreciate it.

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Beer, Brawls and Baubles

Tom Onsof was surprised to wake up on Monday morning. But only because he clearly remembered the world ending on Sunday afternoon. Or at least he thought he did. Maybe it was Saturday afternoon. The memory was pretty clear though. As clear as any of his memories these days, anyway.

Bare feet slapped the tile floor as he sat up on the edge of his bed. Bloodshot eyes blinked several times as his vision steadied and cleared. The aging B-list star rubbed his had over a chin that bore at least two days worth of stubble and yawned carefully. His head was already throbbing and his stomach was threatening to eat his backbone.

When had he eaten last? He considered the question as he stretched and ran a hand through his mousy shoulder length brown hair - or tried to anyway. His fingers got stuck halfway through, caught by a rat’s nest of tangles and hair spray. Tom groaned as he disentangled his hand, wincing as he managed to pull out a few hairs in the process.

Heaving himself to his feet, Tom gave up on the questions and headed for the shower. He looked at the bedside clock, noting the time. if it truly was Monday, and he was still none to sure of that, then he had a scheduled gig in a few hours. A shower, food and a dip into his stash were in order before Ginny showed up to drive him over to the club.

Tom let the hot water pour over him for a few minutes, eyes closed and unthinking. Finally he roused himself, dumping shampoo on his hair and scrubbing. He knew it was going to take at least two washing to get the hairspray out - of course, he’d just be putting more hairspray on it when he got to the club. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat. And finally, when he could dectect no more stiffness or stickiness, conditioner. Too much probably, but he didn’t feel like pulling out half of his already thinning hair when he tried to comb it out.

He scrubbed quickly, knowing he wouldn’t have much hot water left. His lanky body was dripping as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel that hung on the knob of the bathroom door. He towelled his hair until it no longer dripped then finished drying himself off.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he wandered back out to the main room of the studio apartment that served as his current home. A quick check verified that he’d neglected to set the coffeemaker up, so he filled the water reservoir and dumped some grounds in the basket before pressing the On button. He pulled open the door of the mini-fridge and frowned. Creamer, a tupperware container with some leftover spaghetti and some parmesean cheese. A survey through the few cabinets yielded only some saltine crackers, sugar and a half-empty bag of stale tortilla chips.

Tom noticed his hands shook slightly as he poured a cup of coffee. Leaving it on the counter, he returned to his bed, rummaging through the pile of clothes at its foot until he found his jeans and a a t-shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled. Dressed, he wandered back into the bathroom and concentrated on dragging a comb through his hair without losing half of it. When his hair was de-tangled to his satisfaction, Tom went back to the coffee he’d poured. Heavy doses of sugar and creamer made it drinkable and he contemplated the container of left-over spaghetti in the mini-fridge.

It kept him from worrying about where he’d put his stash, at least for the moment. He pulled the container out of the fridge and looked at it. It had a date written on the lid - Ginny must have left it for him. A quick tally of days in his head told him it was probably safe to eat, so Tom opened it and shoved it in the microwave to heat up. When the spaghetti was ready, he scarfed it down, tossing the fork and container into the sink to be dealt with later.

His hair had dried while he was eating, so he went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Tom grimaced. His hair wasn’t exactly straight, but it wasn’t curly either. The only definite about it was that it was frizzy. He sighed and shook his head as he grabbed a hair tie and his brush. It only took a minute or two to pull it back and secure it.

Tom took a moment or two more to search the drawer and medicine cabinet. He even checked behind the toilet tank. Still no stash. He felt a tinge of panic and forced it down. There were still places he hadn’t checked. Not many, perhaps, but he still might find it. And eve if he didn’t, he could always get his hands on some more. It wasn’t that hard to find. He just had to hope he had the money for it. Well, that and hope the import shop was open.

He finished getting ready, tuned his guitar, and sat, fidgitting. Even the emergency stash he’d kept in the guitar case was gone. Tom cracked his knuckles, then got up and paced as much as the small studio would let him. He had to turn his mind to something else, had to get it away from his missing stash.

If the world had ended yesterday, and he was still fairly certain it had, how was it that he and everything else was still here? What exactly did he remember from yesterday anyway? He’d just taken a hit, so he’d had his stash then. . . and then there’d been a noise like a thunderclap, a bright flash of light, and then darkness and the sense that he’d been falling. And he’d woken up in his own bed. But he hadn’t been at home. He’d been at Jasper’s place.

Now that he thought about it, there were more blank spots in his memory than he’d thought there were.

The knock at his door startled him and he jumped off the bed and to his feet. it only took a couple of steps to get to the door. It took a couple of seconds more for him to get the lock to disengage and wrestle the door open.

It was Ginny, hand raised to knock again. She lowered her hand and looked him up and down. “Jeez Tom, what were you up to this weekend? You look like you just got out of bed.”

“Just the usual.” If his voice was a touch sullen, Ginny was used to it. She laughed softly, still standing at the door. “Come on, Wonder boy. We’re running late.”

He swore but went to get his guitar, returning a moment later. Ginny gazed at him with a raised brow, then took a closer look at him, noting the slightly shaking of his hands and the bloodshot eyes. “How much Fairy Dust did you have this weekend, Tom?”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “all of it” and Ginny couldn’t help a little laugh. She shook her head and gave him a rueful smile. “You’ll just have to manage without it until after the gig. I don’t know how you can even stomach that sugary stuff in the first place. And you’re the only person I know who could manage to get himself addicted to a candy!”

Tom shrugged, checked the lock, double checked that he had his keys, and pulled the door shut. He followed her down the hallway and stairs and slid into the passenger seat after carefully stowing the guitar in the back. He drummed his fingers on the armrest, tapping one foot and generally fidgetting, but Ginny only glanced over a him once or twice and shook her head.

The drive to the club didn’t take long and Ginny ushered him in, showing him to the stage and then to the “green room” such as it was. Tom slumped into a cheap chair, staring at nothing for a long moment. He was going to have to do this gig without his Fairy Dust. How long had it been since he’d done a gig without the stuff? Too long for him to remember.

He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and pushed himself to his feet. Fear filled him, made him restless and he paced, trying to get rid of it. He checked and rechecked the tuning of his guitar, gulped down what seemed like gallons of water. The sound check went by in a blur and he found himself back in the green room with no memory of how he’d gotten there.

Through the walls, he could hear the thump of dance music as the club opened its doors. he turned to Ginny. “Ginny, I don’t think I can do this.”

She looked at the wide, bloodshot eyes and smiled gently. Putting a hand on his arm, she led him to a chair and pushed him into it. “You can do this Tom. You’re looking better - getting some color back in your face. You know these songs so well you could do them in your sleep. And Lighthouses will always be yours.”

Tom only nodded, sitting still for a moment. It was then that he realized the canned dance music had stopped. He sent a frantic look at Ginny before nerves moved him up and out of the chair to grab his guitar. He fidgetted as he stood offstage waiting for the DJ to introduce him.

“Welcome to Red River, folks! Tonight we have the honor of having the songwriter and artist responsible for a song that hit number one on the charts ten years ago with us tonight. So help me give a warm welcome to the artist responsible for ‘Lighthouses’, Jarboe!”

Tom took a deep breath, plastered a slight smile on his lips and took the stage. Every light but the spot died as he strummed the opening chord of ‘Lighthouses’ and looked out at the sparse crowd, wonder how he’d get through the set without the boost he usually got from his Dust.

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Where Are You?

Mary Gibson planted both hands on her hips and glared down at the turtle. “You,” she said, “are wasting my time.” The mother of six looked at her youngest son’s pet turtle - or maybe it was a tortoise - she could never remember. It wasn’t one of those cute little turtles though. It had to weigh forty or fifty pounds and she couldn’t lift it out of the sandbox.

That was a problem, since she suspected that her keys were lying underneath it. Running a hand through frazzled blonde hair, she sighed and knocked on the turtle’s shell. “Come on, Pokey, move.”

Mary tried pushing, pulling and even digging. Nothing worked. Pokey wouldn’t move. Finally it occurred to her to try tempting the turtle with a treat of some kind. She went back inside and opening the refrigerator, rummaged in the vegetable bin for a moment. Suddenly she grinned as she pulled her hand from the bin, the missing keys dangling from her fingers.

Mary set the keys on the kitchen counter and rummaged around in the vegetable bin again. She pulled out a few carrots, opened a drawer and got a knife out. A couple of cuts whittled the carrots down to a reasonable size and she took them out to the turtle.

She was on the way back into the house when a sudden, bright flash of light startled her and made her eyes water. Mary blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes until she could see without spots. Green eyes looked up at the cloudless sky and then she shrugged and went back inside.

A quick look at the clock told Mary she was now running a little late. She went to the bottom of the stairs and listened for a moment. No noise. That meant the kids were dawdling.

“John, Timothy, Mary Beth, Anthony, Sally, Mark! Get your butts down here in less than five minutes or it’ll be extra chores this weekend!”

Mary remained at the bottom of the stairs for another minute, listening. Doors slammed, feet ran down the hallway, water ran. She nodded. Now the children were moving and hopefully they wouldn’t end up running too much later than they already were.

Mary returned to the kitchen, making sure that each of the six different reusable lunch bags had the appropriate lunch items in them. That done, she opened the freezer, surveyed the contents and pulled out a lean cuisine. Setting it on the counter, she looked at the counter, remembering for once that she’d set her keys there. She had, hadn’t she?

No keyes anywhere on the counter. Mary bent down and scanned the floor and under the appliances. Still no keys. She stood up with a sigh, just as the kids came trampling down the stairs in a noisy herd. Mary Beth looked at her and started giggling. “You lost them again, didn’t you, Mom?”

Mary shot her oldest daughter a look of exasperation, before nodding. As soon as they had the confirmation, asll six of her children spread out and started looking in every niche and corner. She was forever losing her keys and the kids knew the drill. The sooner the keys were found, the less scatter brained and frazzled their mother would be.

Only Mary Beth stayed nearby, a grin on her young face. “Okay Mom, think for a sec. Where is the last place you remember having them?”

Mary blushed. “I found them in the vegetable bin in the fridge and set them on the counte. Then I took some carrots out to Pokey. When I came back inside, the keys were gone.”

Are you sure you actually took them out of the vegetable bin, Mom?”

Mary nodded but opened the refrigerator anyway. Embarrassingly enough, she had - on more than one occasion - thought she’d moved her keys, only to find them in their original location later. She knew she was scatter brained, but it seemed odd that she could be so certain of the having done something only to discover that she hadn’t actually done it.

Mary looked at all the shelves of the fridge first - if she had pulled the keys out of the vegetable bin, it was possible she’d set them down on one of the shelves instead of on the counter.

No luck.

She sighed and opened the vegetable bin, green eyes hesitating before she looked inside it. Wilting lettuce, a couple of tomatoes, and unopened package of carrots. . . unopened package? Hadn’t she opened that package to give a few carrots to Pokey? She lifted the carrots, and there, sitting on the bottom of the bin, were her keys.

Mary grabbed the keys and slowly closed the vegetable bin and then the refrigerator. As she turned around to look at Mary Beth, she shook her head. Her daughter only grinned and yelled to her siblings. “Found ‘em!”

The rest of the children piled back into the kitchen, turning it into a scene of momentary chaos as each grabbed their lunch bags and headed out to the SUV.

Mary remained for a moment after the last child left. She looked around the kitchen, keys in her hand. There was something weird about this, but she didn’t know what. After a moment, the sound of car doors slamming got her attention and Mary Gibson, mother of six, grabbed her frozen, diet lunch from the counter and left the house, locking the door behind her.

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