A Year of You – Valletta Finklestein’s Dilemma

Valetta looked out the window for the eleventh time in the space of thirty minutes. At the kitchen table behind her, Ignatius snapped the paper. “You know she’ll be home when she’s home.” He said. “Hasenpfeffer has her own mind about these things.”

Sighing, Valetta turned from the kitchen window. “Well I have to worry about somebody.” She said to the newspaper. “You won’t let me worry about you. What the hell else am I supposed to do, cooped up in this fucking house all day?”

The paper snapped again. “I really wish we didn’t have to have this conversation again. Every. Single. Day. You know how it tires me.”

One of the hands disappeared and Valetta heard the click of a lighter. When the paper came down, Ignatius Finklestein’s head was covered in a cloud of smoke. “She’s a thirteen-year-old girl and she will do as she likes.”

Though Valetta couldn’t see his face, she knew he was scowling at her. “And I stopped needing you to worry about me a long time ago. Why don’t you get yourself a job?” Ignatius barked. “And not another one of your god damn causes again. I won’t be dragged to another charity luncheon, I hate those fucking things.”

He turned and left the kitchen then, the smoke from his cigar trailing behind him. He left the scent of sour grapes in his wake, the smell festering in her nostrils. She could always smell him before he was coming, hours before he would be coming home. It was always the smell of grapes that preceded him.

Turning back to the kitchen window, Valetta resisted the urge to look in the cupboards. She knew what was waiting there for her, knew without a doubt that she would eventually look anyways.

Giving in was easier, she decided. She went to the cupboards and pulled out a decanter and a tumbler glass. She poured herself a hit of Rose Hip Sherry. The burn down her throat was like fire. Then she poured herself another.

“I need a job, do I?” She whispered. “Just you wait, Ignatius Finkelstein.” She took another hit of sherry. “Just you wait.”

*          *          *

Later, when Ignatius was out of the house, Valetta went to her bedroom. She lit herself a long cigarette and smoked it using a holder. She did this because her mother had always said “If you’re going to do something dirty, try to do it with a bit of class.”

Valetta took a small drag and positioned herself on the bed so that she could have a good think. She thought that the smoke added a nice effect to everything, made everything very alluring. She pictured herself in black and white, like a silent film siren.

Everyone looked better in black and white after all. It was far more flattering. Valetta didn’t like to think, but believed that, like all else, she should be as beautiful as possible doing it. Sighing, she flicked a bit of ash into a crystal ash tray and let her mind wander.

She had to get out of this house that much was clear. She could never leave Ignatius; despite the hate between them, they needed each other in some way. But how could she escape him temporarily?

She wasn’t good at anything, for fuck sake. She was a high society housewife. What the fuck did they do when their life went sour? She made a mental note to call Moxey Pickle; she would know what to do.

There was a knock at the door. “Yes?”

Geeves, her butler, entered the room. His name wasn’t really Geeves, of course. It was actually Walter Fickus, but all butlers were supposed to be called Geeves, right? He was the third in his family that had served their house. So technically he was Geeves the third. Valetta wondered if she should give him an official title?

“Miss Finklestein?” He said. Geeves’ voice was always soft and demur and she was always a Miss. Even at sixty seven, she could feel young again. “There is a woman downstairs to see you.”

“Oh, a guest, how fabulous.” Valetta sat up and readied herself. Perhaps this was the distraction she’d been waiting for. “Who is she Geeves? What is she here for?”

“Well, that’s just it Miss, she says she’s your daughter.” Geeves’ voice was a little softer than usual, as if he were uncomfortable delivering this news.

“You mean Hasenpfeffer?” Valetta let out a little laugh. “But that’s ridiculous; of course she’s my daughter.” Valetta let out another nervous laugh. She had a feeling that this was going to turn out to be a very bad day. She could feel it. God was fucking with her again.

“No, Miss.” Geeves said. He looked at her then and she knew that he was serious. “It is another girl and she says that she is your daughter.”Valetta nodded. “I see.” She stubbed out her cigarette and pulled her robe more tightly around her. “Well, Geeves.” She tried and failed to put some false cheerfulness into her voice. “Let’s go see this mystery daughter, shall we?”

Small Rituals – A Flash Fiction Story

Sian stared at the castle. It took over the sky and could almost block out the sun. It seemed to grow larger every year. Sian knew the truth.

She approached the bridge that crossed the moat. The drones appeared, sliding into vision when they sensed her presence. One held a laser assault pistol and the other looked at her with an unblinking red eye. She knew they had cloaking software, but they were still fucking creepy. They scanned her face and her body. The air was filled with the sounds of electric current. Sian knew that this came from the moat itself. She could see tongues of the current reaching into the air.

A chime sounded from the drones. She had been given the all clear. She bowed to the drones with a flourish. She didn’t know why she bothered. Human emotions like humour were lost on them. Walking past them, she approached the electricity that thrummed and moved like water. Watching it, she was almost mesmerized.

Looking down as she crossed the bridge leading to the castle’s front entrance, Sian knew that the electric current could kill in a seconds thought should the drones wish it. Thankfully, this was her home, so she was safe. She could still be awed by the display below. When she crossed the bridge, the front door slid open and she made her way inside.

“Jessia?” Sian called out. “Jessia!”

“Must you shout so loud?” Jessia said. “I’ve told you how loudly things echo in here.”

Her sister appeared. She was more android than woman. Though her face and hands were human, large portions of her were made of metal. Watching her, Sian didn’t know when Jessia had stopped being her sister and had instead become her protector and general. She still felt guilty, however. Sian would never be able to make it up to her.

Jessia saw something in Sian’s eyes and came towards her and enveloped Sian in an embrace. “Stop thinking like that.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I can see it on your face. You always look at me that way whenever you see me.”

“What do you see in my face?”

Jessia reached out and caressed Sian’s face. “With pity.” Beat. “And fear.”

“A part of me dies every time I see you. I wish I had been there.”

“You were leading the alliance against the rebellion. How were you to know that they would target me?”

“I should have known!” Sian said.

“You can’t keep beating yourself up over this. Here, let me make you some steeped tea.” Jessia went toward the kitchen and took out a tea press. It looked old and the glass was cracked. She took out some loose-leaf tea and poured it into the press. She poured boiling water from a kettle onto the leaves and the scent of lavender filled the air.

“I don’t know why you still use that thing.” Sian said. “Mother and father used to make their tea that way.”

“I know. It’s the small rituals that keep them alive.”

After waiting for a few minutes, Jessia poured them both a mug of tea. They clinked their mugs and Sian said, “To Mom.”

“To Dad.” Jessia said.

There was the sound of air moving outside the castle and they heard the electric current out in the moat rising up angrily. Something exploded and there was the sound of gunfire. Something struck the castle and the whole place shook, but Jessia and Sian went on drinking their tea.

“It looks as if the rebellion has found us.” Sian said. “What would you like to do?”

Jessia took a sip of her tea and put the mug back on the counter. She let her dress fall to the floor, revealing a body that was almost entirely made of metal. There were touches of humanity left, like her hands and one of her legs. She was more robot than mortal.

Thankfully her eyes were still human. When Jessia looked at her, Sian could see the fire within them and she was looking at the sister she knew, the sister that had always been her protector.

“Why don’t we make them feel welcome?” Jessia said. Then she blinked and her eyes were filled with fire.

Jessia lifted her hands and spread her fingers. Sounds of gunfire filled the air and Sian head the sizzle of electricity fill the air. Sian marvelled at Jessia’s control, though it shouldn’t have been surprising.

When Sian had found Jessia after the attack on their home, the castle had been in ruins. Sian had found Jessia amongst the rocks and pieces of broken glass. Sian had gathered Jessia into her arms and had taken to someone who could help. His speciality was the manufacturing of androids.

The only way to keep her sister alive was to make sure that she was more android than human. When she had the castle rebuilt, Sian was astounded to see that, though her sister never grew much taller than her five-foot four frame, the castle grew for her. She was less and less human every year. Jessia became more a part of the castle with each day. Calwalder had warned her this could happen.

Sian knew that every blow to the castles walls was a blow to Jessia. That every window or brick that broke meant that something within Jessia broke as well.

“Can you see who is out there?” Sian asked.

“Yes.” Jessia said. “It seems the rebellion has sent a large number of visitors.”

“What are we going to do?”

Her sister didn’t answer. Outside, there was a brilliant flash of light and Sian watched as light began to flow from her sister. Jessia looked at her with horror and when she opened her mouth, the light consumed her. Sian knew that it was the electricity from the moat, once their protector, now it was their ending.

When the light faded, Jessia was gone.

A Year of You – Hasenpfeffer Finklestein’s Bad Day

Hasenpfeffer Finklestein was having a bad day.

 No, make that a very bad day.

David Hasslehoff was trying for a come back again with a music album. Please, as if that sick fuck should even sing; or be famous for that matter. He had even come out with t-shirts that said “Don’t hassle the Hoff!” This was assuming that anyone with any good sense would do so in the first place.

But it never failed. Every time that stupid fuckwit tried to become popular, it became her downfall. Some of the popular kids had come to school today wearing t shirts with her face on them.

Has had felt a moment of embarrassment at seeing the photo; then there was only the hot, fierce pain that flared every time she knew it was going to be a bad day. She had sighed inwardly and prepared herself.

And, as always, her preparations were never in vain. She was treated to people playing the loser’s fuckwit song, some even showing her the retarded video on their god damn fuckwit Ipods. The small screens blinked at her as she walked down the hallway.

Three times that day, Has had excused herself. Everyone knew that she was going to the washroom to cry, she could see it on all of their faces. But she couldn’t help it. There had to be a moment of release or she would burst.

“God damned fucking stupid David Hasslehoff.” She said.

“That certainly sounds better than fuckwit pisshead asshat.” A voice said. “And much easier to say.”

Has turned. Yhestin Rosebude was sitting on the school steps beside her. “Thanks.” Has smiled.

“It’s not even really original, not really.” Yhes said. “Rhyming Has with Hoff.” He gave out a small, low chuckle. It fell awkward in the air. “I mean, that’s barely above forth grade wordplay. Any fuckwit kindergartner can figure that shit out.”

Has experienced a small pain behind her eyeballs. She massaged her temples. “Remind me again why I talk to you?”

“I’m not agreeing with them.” Yhes said. “I mean, it’s not even like you’re names are all that similar. Like Hasenpfeffer and Hasslehoff? I mean, they don’t even rhyme if you put them together. But I suppose you could make some interesting anagrams, oooh, like a I am Lord Voldmort sort of thingy, but you’re not evil and scary, you’re just evil.”

The pain behind Has’s eyes increased. She wondered if someone was playing soccer with her eyeballs. She sighed and remembered her therapist’s recommendation to breathe. Yes, she had to remember to do that. “Do you have a point to all this inane chatter?” She asked.

To her credit, Has did try to keep her voice light and even, but she knew that she hadn’t really succeeded. Yhes didn’t even notice her annoyance. It was one of the things she loved about him. “Well, what I mean is, like, what are you going to do?”

Has sat there for a moment before answering; she had indeed been thinking of the very answer to this question. And the answer always amounted to the same answer. “Oh, the solution is quite simple.” Has said.

She took out a small slim case from her purse and removed a silver case. Out of the silver case, she plucked a long, thin cigarette. It was black and when she lit it, the smell of cloves filled the air.

Yhes waved at the air in front of him. “Christ, why do you smoke those?” He said. She would smack him if he coughed. “You’re like thirteen, right? Those are bad for you.”

Hasenpfeffer again reminded herself to be calm. She was a tree, she could bend. She could whip someone’s mother fucking ass with her branches. “I need to relax.” She said. “They help me cope with my stress.”

“What do you have to be stressed about? You’re thirteen!”

Has shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You just don’t understand what it’s like to be creative.” She said. Has tried to centre herself and find her chi, or whatever the fuck it was. “Don’t you want to know what my plan is?” She asked.

“Huh?” Yhes looked at her. “For what?”

The pain behind Has’s eyes flared. “You know, for someone so smart, you’re pretty fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, well for someone really nice, you can be an ice cold bitch.” He huffed at the cloud of smoke that floated around him like incense. “So what’s you’re great fucking plan?”

“Oh, it’s really quite simple.” Has said.

This had been the point of lighting the cigarette in the first place. Every great dramatic moment needed something sensual. “We only have to do one thing.” She took a drag of her cigarette and tried not to cough when she released a cloud of smoke.

“We have to kill David Hasslehoff.”

The Next Chapter – A Poem

We have turned the page

and a new chapter is before us.

Looking back through our book

that we have written together,

the pages whisper

as they slide through my fingers.

There is the sound of laughter

and of our voices raised in joy.

The new chapter is blank,

nothing written on the page

except the chapter heading.

As I flip back through our book,

I marvel that so much time has passed

when it feels like only a year has gone by.

I stop at certain moments

so that I can relive them again:

when I saw you for the first time

and you were bathed in light.

The first time that we kissed,

and it was as if I had finally learned to fly.

That moment when you told me

you loved me and I told you the same

and it was like I discovered actual magic.

The moment when we joined our hearts

to beat forever as one and it was like

I had found the other half of me

that I hadn’t known was missing.

I look at the blank pages ahead of us,

the stories we have yet to live,

the moments that will fill these pages,

memories that we will make together,

adventures that we have yet to live.

I look forward to all of this with you.

My life changed the day I met you

and it continues to change every day,

filled with so much light and life

that I hardly recognize it as my own.

I am in awe of you every day

and I can’t wait to fill the pages

of several books with you

with the words we have yet to write.

I can’t wait to see

what the next chapter brings.  

A Year in Art

When I began painting in January of 2019, I had no idea where it would lead. I was just having fun. I’ve always done art in some way and was comfortable using cante and charcoal. I wanted to do something different.

So, I started working with acrylic paint and, as they say, the rest is history. I finally found my voice on the canvas. I leaned towards doing abstract art, somewhere where I’ve always felt at home.

I painted over twenty canvases and even sold my first piece! I’m so thrilled that others like my work as much as I do! It’s hard to believe that I did all these paintings in 2019.

Here’s to 2019 told in art. May 2020 bring even more.