Down the rabbit hole.

Down, down the rabbit hole the warrior mice went.  Their paws never moved away from their tiny swords, for they didn’t know what horrors waited for them, but they knew they weren’t rabbits.  Something foul had moved into the warren, scaring off the rabbits and forcing them to run to the mice for help.  And so it was that the Gouda Guard was assembled and sent down, down the rabbit hole.

Commander Fenniwick was prone to nervousness, making him an odd choice for a commander, but he pressed forward with his jaw set tight.  The men and women of the Gouda Guard looked to him for support and assurance, so he would not show a cowardly face to them.  And he didn’t.  At least, not until he slipped on a big black something and let out a frightened squeak.

The others came over to him to help him up, not wanting to leave the commander sitting in the mud.  As they pulled him upright, they noticed that the big black something was, in fact, a huge feather.

Turtle love

“‘Turtle Love…’”  Sergeant Silver scratched his head as he looked at the woman’s resume.  “You mind telling me about that job?”

“I help make and distribute handcrafted jewelry,” the woman named Joy said, looking nervously around the interrogation room.  “It’s an online business, so you won’t find any branches in a mall.”

“And would you be able to remember a piece of jewelry that you made?” the detective inquired.

“Certainly,” Joy replied proudly.  “I means, if I went back several years, it might get tricky.”

“Then maybe you can tell us about this.”  Sergeant Silver dropped an emerald ring in front of her, which she immediately started to examine.

Describe the last time you laughed so hard you cried.

Let me tell you about the time I laughed so hard that I actually cried…

This was a while ago, before I finished my college education at Santa Cruz.  During one of my breaks, I was down in San Diego with my family and we decided to go to a theater production where a friend of my brother’s was acting.  The play was called Noises Off and it was being held at a community theater in Old Town.  I had no idea what to expect, so I sat down and prepared myself for anything.

I could not have prepared myself for this.

The play was hysterical!  I think I actually had some of my neighbors complaining because I was laughing throughout the entire third act.  The basic premise was that the people in the play… were putting on a play.  Each act showed a different aspect: the first was a disastrous rehearsal, the second took place backstage during opening night, and the third showed a weary and broken cast going through the motions with everything going wrong around them.

"I have something to tell you..."

“Johnny…” the old woman said, wheezing for breath, “...I have something to tell you.”

“What is it, Mom?” Johnny said, leaning toward his mother’s frail form.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t tell you sooner…” she struggled to stay awake as the light started to fade from her eyes.  “But… you have… a brother…”

Johnny’s jaw hit the floor.  “...What?” he stammered.  “I had a brother this whole time?  Why didn’t you say anything?!  Does Dad know?”

“...j-jacket… pocket…” his mother whispered, before closing her eyes one final time and passing away.

Barely registering the shock of her death, he rushed over to her jacket on the chair and scrambled through the pockets.  After three tries, he found a letter with a simple message on it.

“Johnny, you should know that you don’t actually have a long lost brother.  I just wanted to see the look on your face when you thought you did.  I imagine it was a lot like that of your father and I when you faked your kidnapping five years ago to try and get ransom money from us.  See you at the funeral.  Love, Mom.”

Snow

There is nothing as pure as freshly fallen snow, hence why in some cultures it is a sign of death.  The tribes to the south see it as the frozen tears of the Guardians that weap for a fallen innocent, while the witches of the west see it as a sign that a pure soul has entered the beyond, their radiant goodness falling from the sky.  Blizzards are a little more complicated in the witches’ eyes, as you can imagine; for how can so many innocents die at once to provide such a downpour?

Myself, I believe that the snow belies both death and rebirth.  In a way, it is the world going to sleep to renew itself.

The last piece of the pie

The last piece of the pie, sitting in its tin tray or pyrex pan, always represents a bit of sadness that is to come.  For you see, there is never enough pie.  Now some cake enthusiasts would argue that the last slice of cake has the same problem, but cake is a filling beast, much like the bread it is based on, and leads to bloating and overstuffing.  Pie… pie is something special.  From the golden flakey crust to the smooth, sweet filling, there’s something about it that simply makes magic.

But back to that last slice, there really is something melancholic about it.  Once you finish it, it’s gone and you’ll have to wait for the next party or baking run to make another.  I suppose you could eat pie every week, but that would make it rather hard to get out the door, now wouldn’t it?