The Mailbox

Allow me, dear friends, to paint a drama that unfolded over the course of many years.  It started as a tale of vengeance, but ended as a tale of perseverance and humanity.  Perhaps with a bit of comedy.
And the entirety of this drama is played out on my weekly drive to church.  I can only imagine the true story behind what was observed.  So, of course, as a writer, I did just that.  But first, you, dear reader, should see what we saw.

Five years ago, when we moved in, we found a house like all the others on its block but with one change.  Its mailbox was not on a normal mailbox post, but rather something larger and reinforced. It was interesting, but we passed by and thought nothing of it. A few weeks later, that mailbox was down on its side, having been struck down by some ne'er-do-well. The following week, the box itself was all that remained, sitting on a concrete slab.

A few weeks later, we noticed that the owner of the mailbox had put in a new one, a metal pole, buried in the concrete. We figured this must have happened to him before, and he was tired of it, so he took a few precautions.
Lo and behold! Within a month that mailbox, too, was downed by a driver who could not stay on the road. Was it the same person? Do they know each other? Is there history there?  Here lies the story, that I shall leave unto your imaginations.

Over the next several years, this became a thing. Bigger and better mailboxes, in all shapes and sizes, all defeated, until the owner took out all the stops. He laid, by hand, a brick fortress, no less than a 4 foot cube, covering all but the very front of that mailbox. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The only thing it was missing were gargoyles to ward off its foes. It also took him a month to complete and it stood there for at least two years.

Then, a few months ago, on our drive to church, we noticed that the foul villain, whoever it may be, had demolished the mailbox. There were deep tire tracks leading up from the curb into the lawn. Mortar dust and brick shrapnel were all that could be seen of the poor mailbox. It was like that for weeks, a shameful wreck of what it had been. It seemed that this was it, that our evildoer had finally broken the spirit of the mailbox owner, and not simply his mailbox.

Until a couple of weeks ago. As we were driving by, I noticed the mailbox was once more standing erect, defiant, like a giant middle-finger towards its foe, albeit a skinny one. It was basically taped to a broomstick handle stuck in the yard.

I suppose this is a cheaper, easier alternative than replacing the thing every time.  But still, it is a testament to a spirit that did not break, but learned how to bend.

Recurrence

This is a piece I wrote to practice some thoughts on a novel I am writing.  I will be reading it at a local Write Night later this month.  It is based on a true story about my older sister who died of cancer when she was a child.  Warning, it is a sad tale.

            “Are you warm enough?” I asked Lilly as the gravel crunched under our feet.  Her soft, panting breath hung in the air like a fog.  It was colder than we were used to in southern California.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said.  I didn’t have a coat to give her to stop her shivering, so I made sure she wore lots of layers, including my old flannel shirt.  It still didn’t stop her shivering. 

“Do you want me to carry you?”

She glanced at me, but that pout she was so good at wasn’t there.  “I’m eight,” was all she said.

I kept walking, but her footsteps stopped.  “Lilly?  What’s wrong?”

She was holding her midsection, her head down.  Although bangs covered her face, I knew she was crying.

“I don’t… want to go in there.”

My blood froze solid where I stood.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t think.  “I know it’s hard,” I eventually said.  “We can make an appointment for next week.”

“I DON’T WANT TO GO IN THERE!” she screamed with a strength I haven’t seen from her in years.  The last time she made a noise like that the doctors were pushing a needle into her spine for testing.  Then, as now, I turned white.

“Dear, it’s okay.  I won’t make you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I knelt down before her.  She was nearly as pale as I was.  “But we need to stay strong.  When we go back to the hospital, I’ll ask if there’s any new procedures or something less-“

“No daddy.”  She leaned into me, sobbing, arms around my neck.  “I’m done.”  I don’t know how long I just held her as she trembled against me.  When her sobbing finally settled down, I wiped away her tears.

“You know what this means?” I whispered.  Any more than a whisper and she would be able to hear my heart breaking.

She nodded to me.  I picked her up and carried her back to the car.  She was lighter than I remembered, but the burden I bore had never been greater.

That was the last time I saw Lilly cry.  To this day I don’t know if those tears were the last remnants of hope flowing out of her or if she had simply come to peace with her fate.  I left that flannel shirt folded up on her grave in case she needed it and because it only reminded me of the day I saw my daughter lose the fight.

The Dragon and the Librarian

I just submitted two short stories to this weeks-long contest, hosted by Signum University.  This week's inspiration is "Here Be Dragons!"

If you would like to vote for my short stories, please do so QUICKLY by following the link here.

The first is entitled "The Librarian and the Dragon," and is a piece of flashfiction about a librarian who discovers a dragon who hoards books.

The second is entitled "The Dragon and the Librarian" and is a piece of flashfiction about a book-hoarding dragon who is discovered by a librarian.

Yes, they are the same small story, but from differing points of view.  I hope you enjoy them and please vote!

Cerebral

This short story is rated PG (though the subject matter would probably be PG-13).
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“So have you gotten any acceptance letters back, Sumners?” Mitch asked with a knowing smugness.  The locker room was where we always had out little tête-à-têtes, no matter how crowded it got, which it usually was after gym.  To be honest, the crowd was part of the fun.

“Yeah, a couple,” I said with as much disinterest as I could muster.

“Oh really?   Where to?  Anything good?”

“Well my fallback came through,” I said and suppressed a grin as I pulled my shirt on.  To give him the full impact, I waited a good 10 seconds before telling him.  “Carnegie Mellon.”

More than a few eyes turned my way.  Whispers of “fall back?” and “Jack Sumners?!” made that grin blossom into a toothy expression of victory.

Mitch did not seem phased.  “Oh, Carnegie.  It’s good.  Of course, not as highly rated as Duke,” he replied.

The speed of disappointment could be measured in my face.  It was on.  “Of course, that’s just my fall back,” I said.

“Mine, too,” Mitch replied. 

“I think we all know who your number one is.  You’ve been trying to get to Oxford since you were ten.”

“It’s better than you could deliver.” He closed his locker hard and glared at me.  “So what’s your numeral?  CalTech?  They’d never bring you interrobang.”

“What was that?  You were mumbling.”

“I said they’d never take someone with your fuselage.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, then looked around the room, but everyone else was pretending not to be listening.

“My fuselage?  What are you talking about?  Besides, I’ve got plenty of extracurriculars, and my SATs are perfect.”

It was Mitch’s turn to stare.  “What?  You’re not making sense.  Do you applebottom spouse yourself?”

I shook my head.  “What?  I’m not the one making no sense.  Are you feeling alright?”

“Jack you tire booze of lingular.  Drizzle you wombat?” He walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.  More gibberish came from his mouth.

“What is going on?” I gasped as a thought occurred to me.  “Oh my God, Mitch, I think you’re having a stroke.  Can you smile?”  I’d learned all about strokes after my grandfather had one a few months before.  The best way I knew to make certain was to see if his smile was crooked.

“I…” Mitch started, but he must have realized we couldn’t understand each other.  He grabbed John, who was on his way out, and pulled him towards me.  More gibberish came from Mitch.

“John, you’ve got to help Mitch.  I think he’s have a stroke, but he can’t understand me.  The same thing happened when my… what?  Why are you all looking at me like that?”

At this point, the entire locker room was staring at me.  John tried to help me sit down on the bench. I resisted.  “Tutor brickelage?”

“Is this a prank?  It’s not funny.  Get away from me!”  I pushed at John and Mitch, but my right arm didn’t seem to work.  My balance shifted and I tried to catch myself, but my leg wouldn’t move, either.   Before I knew what was happening, I was falling.  My head hit the bench hard.  Everything went black.

I was told most people don’t survive their first stroke.  I wish I hadn’t.

A Sinister Love - Temptation

The following short story takes place in the universe of my upcoming novel, A Sinister Love.  I hope you all enjoy this glimpse into the world.  Please let me know what you think and feel free to share the link to this page.

This story is rate PG-13 for mild adult themes.

A Sinister Love: The Temptation

(by Spencer Hixon)

           “Come along, Mud-Face,” the serpentine lizard said as it crawled along the verdant floor of Paradise. 

“It’s Brown-Noser, sir,” replied the smaller lizard that skittered along beside him.

“That’ssss a terrible name.  You should get a proper name, a good name, a name like, ‘Rotworm.’  Now there’s a good name!”

Brown-Noser rolled his yellow eyes.  “Sir, that’s your name.  I’m not going-”

“Then Rotworm Junior.  I don’t know.  Shut up!  Do you remember the plan?”

“Not really, sir.  The last seventeen plans didn’t exactly work out.”  Brown-Noser began to run to keep pace with Rotworm.  It seemed the underbrush in Paradise was no hindrance to the larger lizard’s stride.

“What do you mean?  I nearly had her with the Forbidden Fruit Salad.”

Brown-Noser let out a cute little sigh. “Until it turned out she was allergic to the strawberries you added.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?  I didn’t know human bodies could do things like that.”

“Don’t forget the time you tried to hypnotize her in her sleep.”

Rowtorm’s forked tongue flicked about as he hissed a laugh. “Oh yessss, that was fun.”

“Or when you tried to throw the Fruit into her mouth when she was yawning.  I thought she was going to choke to death.”

Rotworm stopped and looked at the lizard with a predatory sneer. “Aren’t you suppose to be helping me?  You’re not very good at your job, are you, Dung-Sniffer?”

Brown-Noser stood perfectly still on one of the roots of a large, nearby tree, staring at his superior as if his worried gaze alone could keep him at bay.  “Um… no?”

“And don’t you forget it.  Now, the plan.  Once I have the woman talking to me, all you need to do is knock down the Fruit.  At my ssssignal.”

Brown-Noser nodded quickly.

“Remember my signal?”

Brown-Noser shook his head.

“When I say the words, ‘If only you could reach them.’  Got it?  Good.  Now quickly, scamper up that tree.  Don’t let her ssssee you.”

“Why are we doing this, again, sir?”

“Get going!” Rotworm hissed and watched as his subordinate quickly pitter-pattered his way up the nearby tree.

Several hours passed with Rotworm curled into a ball under the tree's brightly-colored foliage.  He had fallen asleep and was completely oblivious to the dark-skinned, naked, young woman walking towards the tree, following a path of berries.  A path that led right up to the lizard.

“Ah! Get offa me!” Rotworm cried out as she stepped on his tail.

“Ahh!  I’m sorry!” the woman cried and backed up.  “Wait.  Did you just speak?”

“Oh, Eve! It’s you,” the lizard replied, ignoring her question.

“Y-yes, it’s me.  But… you’re not Adam.  How are you… talking?”

“Me?  Talking?  Well of course I can talk!” Rotworm rattled out. “It’s not like animals can’t talk, right? I mean, I’m no demon or anything, possessing this poor creature.  I can talk.”  He gave an all-too-innocent laugh.  He was sure that he was caught.

Eve tilted her head some and nodded to Rotworm. “Well, I’ve never heard other animals talk. And you’re not a demon, you said so yourself. So... are you an angel?”

A stunned expression settled into Rotworm’s features, amazed that his desperate lie seemed to actually work.  Slowly it faded to a smile. “Ah, I see.  You are not used to the acts of prevarication, deception, or fraudulence.”  As predicted, Eve just stared at him blankly.  “Yes, an angel!  I lured.. er… left that trail of berries here for you to follow.  I wanted to talk to you.”

“But how are you able to talk?” Eve replied.

Rotworm frowned.  “I told you, I’m an angel,” he said, but Eve just looked him over.

“You don’t look like an angel.  Maybe you hit your head and only think you are an angel.”

With a sigh, Rotworm said, “Fine, it’s evolution.”  Nothing.  “Anthropomorphism?  Wishful thinking?”  Eve continued to look confused.  “It’s a miracle,” he stated flatly.

“Ah, a miracle!  The Lord has certainly been surprising us with those lately.”

Rotworm let his tongue sniff at the air in front of him as he slinked up to Eve’s leg.  “You know, all of those big words I’ve used aren’t so hard to understand.”  His tail flicked up towards the tree, pointing at one of the bright fruits it bore.  “The Fruit of Knowledge can show you what they mean.  If only you could-“

“But God told Adam that we weren’t supposed to touch it.  I shouldn’t even be here.”

Eve started to back away.  Rotworm, sensing he was losing her, curled around her legs and spoke in the most soothing voice he could manage. “He told Adam, not you.  Besides, there are other benefits to this fruit.  They... uh... contain high levels of Vitamin C.  And they’re great for weight loss!”

“What?  Well, Adam says we’re equal.  If he shouldn’t do it, neither should I.”

“Pssh! If you were equal, why does God always talk to him, and not to you?”  Rotworm nudged her towards the trunk of the tree, and she let him.  “If you eat of this fruit, you’ll already know what God has to tell Adam, so God won’t need to talk to you.  Right?”

Eve held out a hand towards the tree for a moment, then pulled it back.  “That’s true… but then… then I’d know more than Adam.  That’s not being equal, either.”

The smile that formed on Rotworm’s serpentine lips could make a mouse faint at a hundred yards.  “Oh yessss… however will you both be equal?”

Eve lit up suddenly and waved her hand frantically to Rotworm. “Oh, I could give him one!”

“Say, that’s a great idea!  I’m sure he’d appreciate that.  Hmmm... if only you could reach them.”  Silence fell between them.  Eve rubbed at her arm a little.

“Yeah, if only.”

“Ahem.  I said, ‘IF ONLY YOU COULD REACH THEM!’”  With that, Rotworm thumped his foot against the trunk of the tree.  An adorable little yelp was heard from somewhere in the branches.  A moment later, a fruit fell, landing on Rotworm’s head.  He grimaced as Eve picked it up.

“It just… fell.”

“Nnggg... ouch.  Y-yes, fell.  Almost like God wanted you to have it.  You never can tell what the Big Guy really wants, can you?”

“This is perfect!  I’ll bring this to Adam and then we’ll both be equal!”  She started off back down the path but stopped after a few steps.  “How will I convince him to eat it?”

“You could lie… oh well, I suppose you can’t.”  Rotworm looked over the woman, at her full, nubile figure, bathed in the light of the sun, her hair flowing over her pert breasts as the wind caressed her skin.  She was the perfect image of youth and fertility.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Eve looked down at herself and then nodded to Rotworm, as if for the first time she understood something he said.  She ran off out of sight, the foliage of Eden soon leaving Rotworm alone at the trunk of the tree.

“Mission complete.  Let's get going, Butt-Kisser!” he said and thumped the tree again.  The little lizard fell from the tree.

“Ouch!  What’s the hurry?” he asked.  “And it’s Brown-Noser!”

“Whatever.  We’ve got to get out of these bodies before God decides to dole out punishments.  I don’t want to be in here when he does something crazy, like tear all of its limbs off or something.”  Rotworm hurried away from the tree back the way they had come, his long, thin body winding all around.

“What?  God would never do something like that.  Right?” Brown-Noser asked as he ran alongside.  “I mean, isn’t that a little extreme?”

Rotworm gave him a sideways glance. “Why not.  Have you seen what happened to the platypus?”