August 2026 Story

This story is the property of Yi Ching and AI was not used to write it.

Leaving

She sat on the edge of his bed and watched as he packed an oversized olive drab duffle bag. He’s so tall now, she thought, He was such a beanpole and now he’s a man. He really filled out even from last year. My little boy’s all grown up. “You sure you have enough underwear so that you don’t need to go to the laundromat every other day?” she asked. “And how about socks?”

“Jeez Mom,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “Don’t worry. I can figure out these things for myself. Just trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Daniel” his mother Rachel said. “ I know you’ll do just fine. Just that—I don’t know— this will be your first time going away for such a long time. I guess I’m just a worrywart.”

“Well try not to be be. And it won’t be that long. I’ll be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas,” he said, “And besides, I’m only three hours away.”

He sounds so sure of himself, she thought. Oh Daniel, I just pray your confidence is justified.

His father Ralph appeared in the door,”How’s the packing going, Danny?” He entered the room, swiveling the desk chair around that was at the foot of the bed, before sitting down.

“Good, Dad, I’ll be done in plenty of time to get to the train station without rushing.”

“Glad you’re so well organized. That’s really important in college. I guess we did a decent job raising you, after all,” he said, smiling.

“You did a great job,” said Daniel,” looking at his mother. “That’s why you don’t need to worry.”

“I’m glad you feel that way now,” said his mother, thinking of their arguments over cell phones, curfews, school work, use of the car. “We tried our best to raise you well.”

Yes we both raised you, Rachel thought, but I made you. Inside of me. Growing cell by cell. Flesh from my flesh. Bones from my bones. Taking from me what you needed to grow. Ounces turned into pounds and you were big at birth. Eight pounds. And I had to push so hard to get you out. And then you were separate from me, crying at being expelled into a cold world. And now you are leaving again. Anxious to go. Your time to try your wings my fledgling. Fly high!

She looked at her husband. Yes, half of Daniel is from you. From your sperm. Spark to my egg. But you didn’t carry him inside of you, growing larger and heavier, feeling slower. Then feeding him afterwards. Milk from my breasts made from the food that I ate. For six months.

Ralph glanced sideways at Rachel, “Are you all right? You look very thoughtful.”

“Just thinking,” she replied.

He nodded, “Yeah. I know.”

Rachel looked around Daniel’s room. So many memories. The small tarnished plastic-bronzed trophy from five-year old tee ball on the upper shelf. Two plastic model airplanes he’d made on the next one. Poster of LeBron in his Cleveland Cavalier uniform tacked up on the wall across from his bed after he decided to concentrate on basketball full time. Bulletin board with his senior year high school schedule still pinned to it along with his two varsity basketball letters. Team picture. Photo from senior prom. The scruffy brown Teddy bear that he used to lug everywhere; kept just for good luck he said. Geri, his girlfriend’s picture that’d been on his study desk already packed. But going to a different college. What happens next? She liked Geri.

“Are you taking Teddy?” she asked.

“Yeah, I don’t want you to throw him out while I’m gone,” Daniel replied. “You might get into one of your cleaning frenzies.

”I wouldn’t do that,” she said, feeling somewhat indignant that he thought she might toss Teddy.

“I know, I know, just kidding.”

His father got up to look at Daniel’s basketball letters. “You sure you don’t want a jacket or a sweater to wear your letters?”

“Yeah Dad, nobody wears their letters now.”

“Still got my letterman jacket,” Ralph said.

“Well you can wear it to your next high school reunion,” laughed Daniel.

“Come on dear,” said Rachel, rising from the bed. “Let’s let Daniel finish packing in peace.” She slipped her arm into Ralph’s. “Yell if you need anything,” she called as they went out into the hall.

“Feeling a little sad?” Ralph asked as they walked in the hallway towards the kitchen.

“A little. He grew up so fast. Where’d the time go? Our little boy.”

“I feel it too. Empty nesters already. No more games to attend or teacher conferences or waiting up for him to come home. Maybe we should have had two kids.”

“Well its’s too late now,” Rachel replied. “I’ll start making an early lunch for us to eat together before we drive Daniel to the station. And a couple of his favorite peanut butter, banana, and jelly sandwiches for him to have on the train.”

July 2026 Story

This story is the property of Yi Ching and AI was not used to write it.

Pausing Life

Human cryopreservation after death was first offered in the late 1960s in an unproven hope that at some future time, with advances in medical science, it would be possible to revive the corpse and cure its cause of death.

Advances in cryogenics now enable the preservation and thawing of viable cells and tissues, notably ova and sperm. Small animals in the size range of worms have also been frozen and revived, apparently none the worse for their experience. Some feel it is only a matter of time before this can be achieved with larger animals.

—————————————————————

“I’m so very sorry that I have to tell you that the scans show that your cancer has progressed, Eve,” said her doctor, leaning forward in his chair towards his patient. He waited for his words to register.

Finally she asked, “How bad?”

“It’s stage 4,” he replied.

“What does that mean?” asked her husband Cyrus. “Give it to us straight.”

“It’s spread throughout Eve’s abdomen and it’s inoperable.”

“But I had so few symptoms!” she cried. “Just some fatigue and loss of weight, a slight loss of appetite, some nagging pain. that’s all.”

The doctor nodded sympathetically. “I know. It’s known as a silent cancer, often with few symptoms until it’s spread. I’m truly sorry.”

“How about treatment like chemo?” Eve asked.

“At present, chemotherapy is not curative for stage 4 cancers. Even experimental treatments have so far only extended life by months.”

“What have been the results?” asked Cyrus.

“Around two years. But remember, that’s an average.”

“Two years!” she turned to Cyrus. “And Jonah is just entering college. I won’t even see him graduate.” Eve sat silently, head bowed. Finally she dabbed away the tears and asked, “What is chemo like? Is it painful?”

“In all honesty, it won’t be easy,” said her doctor. “I can go over the side effects with you now if you wish. or wait till you’ve had a chance to absorb all of this.

——————————————————————————

Cyrus Aurum was a pioneering AI billionaire who had been totally devoted to growing his company until, at age 37, he met and, much to his own amazement and that of those who knew him, crashed head over heels in love with Eve, a 25 year old graduate student and intern at his company. He remained totally committed and enthralled by her after 18 years of marriage. And now, with their son Jonah ready to enter college, this devastating diagnosis for Eve.

They sat side by side holding moist hands on the leather love seat in Eve’s study after returning home from the medical center where they had been presented the risk-benefit details of possible chemotherapy and even the alternative of doing nothing

“I can’t accept that you’ve got only two years or less to live,” Cyrus told Eve “Chemo sounds rough and isn’t curative. There’s got to be a better alternative. I love you. I just can’t even think about losing you.”

“I’ll do the chemo if it will let me live a little longer to at least see Jonah part way through college,” said Eve. “Maybe get a second opinion? Whatever we decide, we’ve got to let Jonah know.”

“I’ll put the staff on it to search. Just got to look at anything that might have a chance. Even the marginal and unorthodox stuff,” said Cyrus. “You can’t die. We love each other too much.”

“We told the doctor we’d let him know in two days,” said Eve. “And Jonah will be home soon.”

————————————————————————

Cyrus sat in his office and reviewed the search results. The regular medical and scientific literature, the presentations of early research at meetings, the hints in informal email communications between scientists. There was nothing that suggested a breakthrough or even the hope of one. He looked through the catalogue of non-traditional treatments from visualization to colonic purges to herbal teas. Nothing. But there was a small note about a PLC Foundation—“Pausing Life Cryogenics.” This was something different. Cyrus investigated and found that it was based in Saudi Arabia and he made inquiries.

“Yes, Mr. Aurum,” the voice on the other end of call said with a British accent. “The Foundation is dedicated to the cryogenic preservation of human life. If you are interested in pursuing this further, please fill out the questionnaire that we will send you today to evaluate your level of interest and to see if you qualify to receive further information.”

He dutifully filled in the information about Eve’s diagnosis and prognosis and her previous health history. There was also an extensive section inquiring into their financial situation and asking for a copy of their latest tax return. And also for three references. That gave Cyrus pause, but if there was a chance that the Foundation could help Eve, why not. And then he waited impatiently for a reply.

Two days later, the reply came. “Good news Mr. Aurum,” Your wife qualifies for consideration.”

Qualifies? Consideration? And references? thought Cyrus. Is this a medical institution or a very exclusive private club? Whoever they are and what ever they do, they work quickly.

The voice continued, “Our representative will fly out to meet with you and your wife tomorrow. Would two PM your time be satisfactory?”

“Very satisfactory,” Cyrus said, surprised and gratified at how quickly things were developing. “And he will be able to answer all our questions?”

“Yes, she will be able to. I hope you will find that our services will meet your wife’s needs.”

She turned out to be an impeccably dressed and coifed attractive mid-thirties Arabic woman named Aaliyah with a firm handshake. They sat down in the living room. She declined coffee but took a cookie.

“First let give you background on the PLC Foundation,” she began. “As you are aware, cryogenic preservation of persons after death has been done for many years, in the hope that at some future time, when science has developed a cure for the person’s cause of death, that person can be revived and treated successfully. To date, no one has been revived.”

“Researchers in Saudi Arabia began to look for a better way. They began by first cryopreserving small animals such as mice, then progressing to larger animals such as dogs and apes and successfully reviving them. Before preceding further, five men who had been condemned to death for various offenses were given the opportunity to volunteer to be cryopreserved and revived and to be pardoned for their crimes if they survived. All five did. Their brain functions were tested before and afterwards and found to be fully intact. Don’t look so shocked, Mrs. Aurum. These men would have been beheaded. Instead they were given a chance to serve science, repay society, and live.”

“Before you go further, I’m amaze that none of this has appeared anywhere in the scientific community,” Cyrus said. “Why?”

“Our king prefers to not publicize this for the present but to honor the privacy of our clients,” said Aaliyah. “We usually receive clients through word of mouth by personal referral. That’s why when your unsolicited inquiry arrived, it caused some confusion and you had to be carefully vetted. And the scientists and staff are extremely well compensated to keep their secrets. Any other questions at this time before I continue?”

Cyrus and Eve shook their heads ‘no.’

“Cryopreservation after death even when done quickly runs the risk that the process of organ breakdown and decay has already begun. PLC takes the approach of cryopreserving the living body to avoid postmortem damage.”

“You mean that if I did this I would be frozen while still alive?” Eve asked.

“In a word, yes. But let me first describe how this is done”

Aaliyah concluded her presentation by discussing the financial requirements. “If you decide to proceed with PLC We will come for you by private jet and fly you to Riyadh. From there you will be taken by helicopter to the secret underground PLC site in the desert where your cryopreservation will take place and where you will be stay until the time of your awakening. Should you decide not to proceed, you will be asked to sign a non-disclosure document and of course there would be serious consequences if that agreement were broken.”

“No wonder they wanted your financial information,” commented Eve, after Aaliyah left. “Am I really worth it?”

Cyrus kissed her gently in reply.

Later that evening, Cyrus said, “I’ll go along with what ever you decide.”

“Then I will do it, the cryo,” said Eve. “It’s an uncertain chance, but the only one I have. To put my life on hold with the expectation that a cure will be found.”

Cyrus had thought about what he would do if she decided to be frozen. To face life without her was unthinkable. He knew he would have been devastated if she had died during chemo. But now she would still be alive with PLC. There was no question in his mind. “I will be frozen with you,” he declared. “To also put my life on hold until we are both awakened.”

“Cyrus, I know how much you love me to do this. But you need to stay behind for Jonah’s sake,” said Eve. “It’s unfair that he loses both of us just as he starts life. He will need you as he goes through college.”

“I don’t want to live without you, Eve.”

“You have to. Please, for Jonah. Take care of our son.”

Cyrus knew that she was right, even as his heart ached. Finally he said, “I’ll stay with Jonah until he graduates from college in four years. Then I will join you.” I’ll be fifty-nine then, almost an old man, while you will still be forty-three, he thought.

“You might meet someone else during that time. If you do, I’ll understand,” Eve said.

“It’s always been you. Only you, Eve. And I will come to join you.”

————————————————————————

They had already told Jonah of Eve’s diagnosis and the certainty of her death with the current state of medical treatment. Now they told him about their decision to proceed with PLC.

“I will have a chance with them, Jonah,” Eve said. “Maybe slim, but a chance. And this way, I won’t be dead, just away. And Dad will be with you while I am gone.”

“How long will that be Mom?” asked Jonah.

“No one knows. It depends on when a cure for my cancer is found and then they will revive me to be cured and then we will be together again.”

“Dad, and you’ll stay while I’m in college? And then you will be frozen with Mom?”

“Yes, that’s the plan. I hope you can understand that it’s not that I don’t love you. It’s just that I love Mom and want to be with her.”

“No, I understand. Will I be able to visit both of you?” Jonah asked, thinking I hope I can someday find a woman whom I will love as much as you love Mom and who will love me as Mom loves you.

“As our son, you’ll be allowed to be there when we are first cryopreserved. And you’ll be notified when we are restored and can be present,” Cyrus said. “But otherwise no.”

“So I could still be in college or be an old man before that happens.” Jonah said.

“I hope that it will be the former and not the latter,” said Eve.

————————————————————————-

A week later, accompanied by Aaliyah, they were aboard a black, luxuriously appointed private jet to Riyadh. Then whisked by helicopter out over the desert, touching down on a helipad seemingly in the middle of nowhere. An entrance appeared in the side of a dune and a van drove out to the helicopter. Aaliyah led them aboard and the van retuned to the entrance as the helicopter prepared to leave. An elevator took them down into the site. After introductions and instructions, Cyrus and Jonah were offered the opportunity to watch Eve undergo the cryo process. Jonah could not bring himself to watch and declined, but Cyrus did. Before being wheeled into the operating room, Eve kissed and held her son for a long time, telling him, “I’ll see you again, okay? Dad will be with you. Study hard in college. Remember I love you.”

Speechless, he could only nod yes.

She kissed and held Cyrus, saying “I love you so very much. Take care of Jonah. We will waken together.”

Jonah fidgeted in the waiting area, too nervous to watch television programs from around the world or to read or to use the computers or play the games that were available. He had no appetite, but forced himself to nibble at the food that was brought to him. After almost a day, Cyrus came for him when the cryo process was complete.

They donned down parkas, gloves, and insulated boots before entering the sub-zero temperature family viewing area to see Eve before she was placed into her alcove. She lay on her back in a glass enclosure, nude body as pale, as beautiful, and as frozen-hard as a marble statue, her blood having been drained and replaced with preservative fluid, to be stored separately and reinfused on awakening. Skin smoothed of all wrinkles, young again, appearing as if she were quietly asleep. Both men gazed at her in awe, lost in their own thoughts

Bless you, Mom, I love you, Jonah thought, choking up. I pray they find your cure soon.

Sleep well Love, you are so beautiful, and I will come to join you in four years, thought Cyrus

—

May 2026. Story

This story is the property of Yi Ching and was written without the use of AI.

It’s Raining

“It’s sure looks like it’s going to storm,” Mary said to her husband, looking through their kitchen window, trimmed with guazy white curtains that were tied back to the sides of the frame, and out into their side yard where she kept a plot of vegetables. They lived in a small white bungalow on a half acre lot situated on a side road, optomistically named Third Avenue, coming off Main Street in Praireview, a town of plus or minus two thousand, an hour and a half drive out from the Big City. Their lot was at the end of the avenue on the edge of the town.

“Winds’s starting to pick up too,” replied Bob, her husband. “But there’s been no tornado warning. Still I’d better bring in the lawn chairs or at least to put them in the tool shed. Don’t want them blowing around.” He opened the screen door and crossed the pine boards flooring the front porch. The floor was painted grey and squeaked as he stepped on it. There were two varnished wooden rockers on the porch. After going down two steps to the walkway and out to the yard, Bob began to fold up the aluminum-tubed lounge chairs with green plastic fabric straps.

Mary went out with him to the front yard and looked up at the sky. “We could use some rain for the corn.” There was a patch of corn planted in the side yard along with squash, beans, and lettuce. Nothing like fresh corn picked and immediately popped into boiling water. But corn harvest was still a month away. So rain would be welcome. Just not too heavy and not too windy. The wind was from the southwest, and the approaching clouds it carried looked dense and dark, laden with moisture picked up from the warm waters of the Gulf. “Grass is looking a little dry too,” she noted. The leaves of the oak tree that had shaded the lawn chairs began to rustle in the wind.

“Won’t have to water if it rains,” Bob replied as he opened the tool shed door and made room for the lawn chairs. “Been a hot, dry summer. Rain will help cool things down.” He bolted the shed doors.

“Let’s go in,” said Mary. “The storm’s almost here.”

“You want to sit on the porch and watch it?” asked Bob.

“Not really. I’ve seen enough storms. You know I’m afraid of lightning. But you can.” They could hear the rumbles approaching.

She went in, leaving Bob sitting in one of the rockers. “Want some iced tea?” she called after a while from the kitchen.

“Thanks. I’m good,” he replied.

“Stop bragging,” she joked.

“Good one!”

Now it was getting darker and the thunder was louder. Wind and the first drops of rain arrived, fat drops that plopped, spotting the walkway. Then more arrived, wetting it down and tapping on the roof. The rain started to blow in on the porch and Bob gave up, opened the screen door and went in.

“Got to be too much for you?” asked Mary looking up with a smile that said ‘I told you so’ from the chicken parts she was preparing to fricassee for dinner.

“Was getting wet,” he replied.

Flashes of lightning quickly followed by the boom of thunder. A steady drumming on the roof.

“I’ll make sure the windows on the south side of the house are closed,” Bob said.

“Thanks. Good idea.”

There was a thump on the roof. “What was that?” Mary called out. Then another heavier one.

“Probably something the wind picked up,” said Bob from the living room.

More thumps along with the drumming of the raindrops.

Mary looked out the window into the rain and screamed, “Oh my God!”

Bob came running, “What happened? Are you okay Mary?”

She pointed out the window, “It’s raining cats and dogs!”

“Yeah,” Bob said, “It’s a hard rain all right.”

“No look,” Mary said. “It’s really cats and dogs!”

And indeed, a scattering of cats and dogs of various sizes, colors, and breeds were falling out of the sky along with the raindrops. As they looked on in awe, they saw Chihuahuas, Siamese, Beagles, Persians, Pugs, Shepards, tabbies, French bulldogs, Burmese, Abyssinians, Poodles, mutts and more landing in their yard. And all the while they could hear intermittent soft and heavy thuds on their roof, while lightning flashed and thunder cracked almost immediately following.

The cats were coming down lightly and, with their nine lives and their agility, shook themselves off after landing and looked for cover from the downpour. The smaller dogs, terrier-sized, splashed down, bounced a little, lay on the ground a short while looking dazed then got to their feet, shaking the rain off. A Saint Bernard came crashing down into the corn patch with a heavy thud and just lay on the battered corn stalks, whining and twitching.

“Oh poor dog,” Mary exclaimed. “We’ve got to help him.”

“Better wait till after the rain,” said Bob. “We don’t want to get hit by anything that heavy. I just hope our roof holds up.”

Many of the cats sought shelter on their porch as did some of the dogs, all too wet and shocked to growl or hiss at each other. The deluge of animals seemed to go on forever but it was actually just seven minutes, though the rain continued for longer. When the worse of the storm passed, Bob and Mary went out to survey the damage, carefully opening their side door so that none of the cats would get pass them. There were other large dogs that had either not survived their fall or were too injured to move. Their neighbors across the road, Sam and his wife Joanie, had also come out.

“What the hell happened?’ Sam called. “Look at these poor dogs and the cats are all over the place. What a mess.” He took out his phone to take pictures.

Mary had knelt to comfort the Saint Bernard who looked up at her with sad eyes and whined. She said, “I’ll call Dr. Long,” the vet who lived in the next town twenty miles away.

“And I’ll call Judd (the mayor),” said Bob.

“No really, there was a storm and the dogs and cats just fell out of the sky,” Mary said on the line to Dr. Long. “No, this is not a prank. I’m telling you there is a St. Bernard who is badly hurt and some other big dogs too. No, I have not been drinking! Please come, the dogs are hurt and really need your care. Look, I’ll put our neighbor Sam on and he’ll verify what happened.” She motioned to Sam who took the phone to speak with Dr. Long.

The mayor’s phone was busy and when Bob finally got through, his call was answered by Sally, the mayor’s secretary. After he explained why he was calling, Sally said, “Yes, Judd knows. Everybody’s been calling. No, he doesn’t have a plan yet. When he does, he’ll let you and everyone else know.”

Someone must have called the news desk at KORN, a television station in the Big City which dispatched a news team that arrived in the lingering sunset after the storm had passed. By then the cats had pretty much scattered, and Dr. Long was tending to the stricken dogs. Some of the most badly hurt he euthanized, including the Saint Bernard. The reporter took eyewitness statements and names and viewed the cell phone videos and pictures, copying them.

It made the regional news the next day and then the national news as an oddity. Meteorologists at the state university were interviewed and said they’d never heard of anything like this. Falls of fish and frogs, yes though very rarely. Yes, small tornadoes or water spouts could suck up water containing the animals from ponds and then deposit them over land. But dogs and cats? Never. And there had been no reports of missing pets either. On social media, many claimed it was all a hoax, the videos and pictures faked with the aid of AI. Others opined that it was mass hysteria. It was a miracle sent as an omen said others, but foretelling what? The news cycle moved on.

Mary and Bob buried the Saint Bernard in a corner of their lot with a simple marker. There was no corn to harvest that summer. And they had been adopted by two of the cats, a tabby and a Burmese.

March 2026, story

The Erew

The full moon was just rising, glowing through the branches of the black silhouetted fir trees that crested the low dark hill to the left, beginning to dim the stars of the dark night sky. He felt the prickle in his nose that signaled the beginning of the transformation and he paused his movement towards the farmhouse. The change would become complete once the moon’s glow fully bathed him and he did not want it to occur too close to where he could be seen from the lighted windows of the house or be scented by the dogs.

The aching was familiar, as his ears shrank, becoming puny and less capable of picking up the warning noises that his life depended on, his eyes migrated towards the front of his skull, nose shortened, jaw and teeth too, as the change proceeded from his head downward to his body and limbs, where his spine lengthened with creaks and snaps that he could faintly hear, body fir reabsorbed into a fine brown fuzz and lastly, his limbs stretched out, his paws extending into fingers and toes, and he could finally stand erect on two legs.

Inside the farm house old man MacDonald and his wife were finishing dinner. “Those damn rabbits are getting into the vegetable garden again. Digging under the fencing I put up,” he said. “And I’m worried the coyotes might be prowling around the chicken coops.”

“Yes, I heard them howling last night,“ said Mrs. MacDonald. “What are you going to do?”

“I hope the dogs will help scare off the rabbits, but I don’t want them to get into a fight with any coyote that might be carrying rabies.”

“Oh, that would be bad,” she said.

“I think I’ll load up the shotgun with number four shot and keep an eye open tonight. With the full moon it’ll be easy to see any rabbits. Maybe you can cook us up a rabbit stew tomorrow night,” he replied.

“Now don’t you be shooting a lot of holes in the cabbages and lettuce with the shotgun,” remonstrated his wife, “And I don’t want to crack a tooth on a pellet. If it’s that bright tonight, why don’t you just use the .22?”

“Okay, that’ll work too,” he replied. “No need to shred the cabbages into cole slaw.”

The erew-man moved cautiously from tree to tree, ever closer to the garden. He was six-feet tall and had a human’s intelligence but with the same appetite and grace of movement that he possessed as an animal. He sized up the situation. There were the farm dogs—two of them. And the farmer himself. The fence around the garden that he’d dug under on other nights was low enough that, as a human, he could easily vault it. Or why not just open the gate and walk in?

How did he get to this condition, his human mind wondered? Maybe it was from the coyote that he’d barely escaped when he was young. Got nipped on the left flank but somehow managed to get away. He’d heard the legends told among older rabbits that there were some wolves and their cousins the coyotes that could change back and forth from human to animal. Could that coyote have been such a changeling? And with the bite, made him one too?

No matter, here were vegetables ready to be eaten. He moved still closer, now out in the open. The dogs caught a whiff of his scent and came dashing, barking, from their kennels beside the house. Then they almost tumbled to sudden stops, completely puzzled—smells like rabbit but looks like man? He lunged toward them, raising his arms threateningly and growled from deep in his human throat. It was too much, too confusing, the dogs turned and ran, yelping.

Inside the house, old man MacDonald heard the barking and stood up from his Lazy-boy recliner where he had been watching a movie rerun on TV and stretched, limbering up his knees and hips. Okay! must be the rabbits, he thought and he got his trusty old bolt action .22 from the gun chest and loaded five bullets. The barking turned to yelps and he wondered, could it be coyotes? No matter, he was armed.

Dogs gone, the erew-man easily leaped over the low fence. Cabbages and lettuce. No, not tonight, he was tired of them. But now the carrots were ready. Ah. He began to pull them out by their tops. I’ll just gather a whole bunch and take them back to my den.

Old man MacDonald opened the kitchen door, standing framed in the light, and squinted into the grey of the moon-lit garden. What? Stunned!! No rabbits but a big buck-naked man pulling up his carrots in the moon light? He rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Hey,” he shouted, finding his voice at last, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The erew-man glanced over at him and, giving a throaty grunt and with an armful of carrots, bounded over the fence and loped off towards the woods, leaving the farmer yelling at his vanishing back.

Mr. MacDonald went back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

“What was all that about?,” his wife asked.

“First rabbits and coyotes, and now some damn hippie just stole our carrots and took off for the woods.” he replied. “Just as naked as a jaybird. I’ll talk to the sheriff tomorrow.” He unloaded the gun, stored it away, and sat back down in his Lazy-boy. “What did I miss in the movie?” he asked.

The erew-man slowed as he neared his burrow in the woods, setting the carrots down, sat on the fragrant, needle-covered ground, and waited. After the moon set, the process would reverse and though it would ache as always, he would again shrink down and become a rabbit. Until the next full moon. He brushed the dirt off a carrot and began to chew on it while waiting for the change to occur.

January 2026 story

this story is the property of yi ching and no AI was used to write it.

A Surprise Visit

She pushed open the front door of the building where she had a small studio apartment and then stared at the familiar-looking car parked at the curb. sure looks like Tim’s car, she thought, but it can’t be since he’s at grad school. The driver’s-side door opened and a very familiar figure got out and waved. oh my God it is Tim. “Tim,” she shouted and rushed forward as he did the same, almost dropping her laptop.

“Amy, surprise!” he said, as they embraced and he buried his nose in her hair. And then kissed. that wonderful familiar scent I’ve missed. and her soft lips.

“What are you doing here, Tim. Why didn’t you call?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is great now that I’m here. With the three day weekend, I thought I’d just drive down and surprise you. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Oh me too. But it’s such a long drive. You must be tired. I’ve got a class now. Do you want to rest?”

“Why don’t I walk with you to class and wait outside till you finish. We can have lunch. And then catch up at your apartment?” They walked hand in hand, under the fall-colored trees lining the walk, to her red brick seminar building and he waited outside, sitting to one side of the concrete steps for the duration of her seminar, tired but happy. seven hour drive, but so worth it. she looks just great.

She came down the steps after the class and sat next to him. “You must be so tired after driving all night. After lunch you can come to the apartment and rest on my bed. I’ll just work on my thesis.” They stopped at McDonald’s for quick meals of crispy chicken and fish fillet. “You’re crazy to drive down seven hours just to surprise me,” she said. “But I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Just believe you’re worth it,” said Tim. “How’s senior year going? Your thesis coming along okay? You said you were worried.”

“Yeah, it’ll be okay. My advisor just warned me about using AI for info without double checking the sources. But what about you? Is the masters program everything that you expected? And where are you staying?”

“With Pete. Gave him a call before coming and he said sure.”

“And you couldn’t give me a call,” she said with a smile.

They continued to catch up with each other’s lives through lunch. Afterwards they returned to Amy’a apartment where Tim rested while Amy sat with her laptop at the desk by the foot of the bed, but she found it hard to concentrate on her work.

i’ve got to tell him when he wakes up. what will he think and do? he’ll be angry. what will he do? what will i do? we’re both so happy now but then what afterwards? But i have to tell him.

When Tim began to stir, she went over to sit down beside him on the bed, waiting till he was awake. He opened his eyes, groggy at first, and then smiled when he realized where he was and that she was sitting there. He reached up for her and she bent down to share a kiss. “It’s like a dream that I’m here with you again. You know I love you,” waiting and hoping for her reply.

“Oh Tim, I wish I could say I love you too. I like you. I like you a whole lot. But I’m not ready to say I love you and mean it with my whole heart. I hope you understand.”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I’ll wait till you’re ready.” i hope. i know that you had a hard dump before and you worry about it happening again with me. “Well, we have almost three whole days to ourselves, what shall we do?”

he’s not making this easy, but i have to tell him now. “Tim, I wish I didn’t have to say this, but—-I have a date for tonight. I didn’t know you were coming. And now it’s too late. I hope you can understand.”

she’s dating. what else has she been doing while i’ve been gone? “Can’t you break the date?” Tim asked in a flat voice, already knowing her answer. no she won’t, that’s not her. why’d i come? she doesn’t love me. i’ve lost her.

“Please don’t hate me,” she said in a rush. “You ought to know I can’t do that. It would be like breaking a promise. I haven’t been seeing anyone, and Sally said she thoughtI was working too hard and not having any fun so she suggested we double date with a guy she knows in Gov. I don’t know him. Please. Can you understand?”

“Yeah.” thanks Sally. yes i do know you, Amy. you can’t lie or break a promise. even for me. you’re too damn straight. what else do i know? you don’t care enough for me to break a date with a guy you don’t even know? no, that’s not fair to you. one of the things i love about you, you’re honest. but— “I think I’d better get over to Pete’s. You need to get ready to go out.”

“Tim, please. I’m sorry. You don’t need to go yet. We have time.”

“What are you sorry for? I didn’t let you know I was coming, and you planned a date for tonight. Simple. I’ll go.”

“Tim. Look, I’ll call you when I get in tonight, okay?”

“I guess. Good bye, Amy.” why, to tell me what a great time you had?

Amy wiped her eyes after he left. oh Tim, you sounded so hurt. don’t go away. please don’t leave. it’s all messed up.

maybe i should just get in the car and go back to school. she’ll never love me. but what’ll i do if she’s really gone? why do i still love her? do i still? damn it. Tim got in the car, turned on the ignition and the radio come on ”—And here’s another golden oldie from way back—1976, Firefall —‘You are the woman that I’ve always dreamed of, I knew it from the start, I saw your face and that’s the last I’ve seen of my heart.’” i don’t need to hear this crap right now. He quickly stabbed the off button and kept driving numbly until he pulled up at the cottage that Pete shared with two other guys who were away for the long weekend, lugged his overnighter up the wooden stairs, and rapped on the door.

“Hello Pete,” he said dully when the door opened.

Pete looked Tim over and said, “You look like shit, what happened?”

“Amy’s got a date tonight.”

“Downer,” said Pete. “Sorry you drove all the way to get hit with that. She been dating him?”

“No, first time. But it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s really tough. Look, you can use Mike’s room. It’s kind of messy but I’ll give you a sheet you can throw over the covers to sleep on.”

“Thanks Pete.”

“And here’s a towel to wash up.”

Tim washed his face and then went out to the living room where Pete was watching a football game on ESPN. “Maybe I should just drive back to school,” he said.

“You need to get some sleep before you take that drive,” Pete said. “Sleep here and then go in the morning if that’s what you still feel like doing.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Look, me and some guys you probably also know are going out for some burgers and beer tonight. Why don’t you join us instead of moping around?”

“Thanks but the way I feel I’d just be a drag.”

“If I happen to see Amy, you want to know what he looks like?”

“Hell no.”

Tim really didn’t feel like eating after Pete left. He tried to watch TV but couldn’t get interested in what was being shown even after flipping through multiple channels. what do i feel? loss? fear that she’s gone? hurt pride? coming in second? what’ll i do now if she’s really dumped me? but she was so happy to see me. did she really mean it when she said she liked me a lot? is that enough for now instead of love? but she went out with some other guy tonight. am i just being strung along? should i just go now and not get hurt more later on? The questions kept circling in his mind like bats in a dark cave, finding no place to perch.

Amy wasn’t enjoying her date. “You seem to be preoccupied tonight,” he’d commented during dinner, even as Sally and her date laughed and joked.

“I’m sorry, I have something on my mind,” she’d replied. oh Tim, will i see you again? i just couldn’t break this date. i hope know me well enough to understand.

When he drove her back to her apartment he asked if he could come up and she said no. He leaned over to kiss her and she turned her head so he kissed her on the cheek. He didn’t ask if he could see her again.

Amy let herself into the apartment and glanced at the time. It was 1035. She sat on the bed, took out her phone, and braced herself to call Tim. will he take a call from me? what if he doesn’t? he was so hurt this afternoon. maybe he’s already left town. She hesitated a moment longer then took a deep breath, brought up Tim’s name, and pressed ‘call.’

Tim’s phone chimed and he glanced at it, knowing that it was she. And waited as it chimed again. she’s calling like she said she would. of course. can i take whatever she says? if we’re over i want to hear it from her. love goeth before pride. answer it. keep my voice neutral if i can. “Hello Amy.”

She saw his location displayed and felt a flood of relief at hearing his voice. he’s still here and he answered! “Hi Tim—I’m glad you’re still up after that long drive,” she said inanely.

“How was your date?” he blurted out, unable not to ask.

“It was—okay,” she paused, a long pause. i think i know what he wants to know. so i’ll just tell him. “It wasn’t much fun. He tried to kiss me when he dropped me off at my apartment but I turned my face so he kissed me on the cheek.”

she turned her face! dropped her off at the apartment so he didn’t go up. what a relief! “You didn’t need to tell me,” he said, trying to sound cool.

“I thought you would want to know,” Amy said.

“You really know me too well. Am I that easy to read?”

“You could never lie or cheat,” Amy said.

never cheat? she’s thinking like we’re committed! “I would never cheat on you. You know how I love you.”

“I—,” she hesitated, “You know I—really like you too.” i know he’s waiting for me to say i love him too. just not yet. to commit completely, all in, with no doubts, no fears.

“As I’ve said before, I can wait. I’m just glad tonight I got the lady and not the tiger.”

“Lady and tiger?” she asked.

“A story my father told me as a kid. Remind me to tell you another time.”

“Well I’m glad that I have the tiger, tiger,” she said. “Will you stay the whole weekend?” she asked, surer of him now.

‘have the tiger,’ she means me! “We’ll have almost two whole days together,” he said. it’s almost love. patience.

“Why don’t you move over from Pete’s in the morning? I get up early, I’ll make us breakfast,” she said. “We can flip later for bed or couch.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Tim said, and then with a smile. “And by the way, I usually sleep in the nude. oops, too far even as a joke?

“TMI!” she said. but interesting “At my place you keep your shorts on.” but….

———————————————

You are the woman that I’ve always dreamed of, I knew it from the start.

November 2025 Story

Coach

The present—

“How the hell does Jake do that? He seems to know what defense we’re calling every time. Disguised corner blitz, and they send the tight end to the spot vacated. Drop back in deep coverage just before the snap and they break a big gain with a quick, short pass over the middle to the running back.”

“When we saw what they’ve been doing to the other teams they played, I wondered if they were hacking into the headsets, so I had the IT folks look into that. They said there’s no way they could do that. The system is secure. I don’t think they’re stealing our signals. But I agree, they sure do make a lot of changes right at the line of scrimmage.”

“Then Jake must be a effing mindreader. From seven and ten to leading the Conference in one year.”

A year and a half ago—

Jake Bowzer, the offensive coordinator for the NFL Madison Mudhens, was worried as he walked outside the empty practice facility to a meeting with the general manager, Tom Tussle and his head coach, Bob Buffo. Yeah, seven and ten isn’t great, and we missed the playoffs, but we did better than last year’s five and twelve. I hope the new owner doesn’t want immediate results. I thought me and Bob agreed that it would take a few years to get to where we wanted to be.

He climbed the stairs and opened Tom’s office door and was shocked to see the team’s new owner, Ziggy Smart also there. Oh, oh, Jake thought, must be something big for Smart to be here. Am I gonna get canned? His armpits started to sweat and his palms got wet.

Ziegfeld Smart—who got into artificial intelligence at the start, and was still THE major player in the field. His net worth was a closely guarded secret, for he was a very private person, but from what could be gleaned from records, he was a more than enormously wealthy person. Given his nature and presumed lack of interest in sports, it came as a great surprise when it was announced that the new owner of a mediocre NFL franchise, the Madison Mudhens, was he. It’s said that he was given his unusual first name as a take off on an old Broadway show, the Ziegfeld Follies, by his father because he was the unplanned last child in his family.

Jake wiped his right hand on his pants as he stepped into the room to shake hands with the three men present.

Tom said, “Jake, I don’t think you’ve met Mr. Smart, our owner, before.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Smart, sir,” Jake said. “You must be a very busy man, so it’s a surprise and an honor to find you here.” Oh God, is he going to lower the boom?

“If you’re worried about why I’m here, let me put your mind at ease. I thought you made satisfactory progress with the team from last year to this,” Smart replied.

Jake felt a huge sense of relief, thinking—satisfactory progress—he’s okay with this year’s results.

“But of course we can’t just be satisfied with satisfactory,” Smart continued.

“Oh I fully agree,”Jake said. “Right Bob?” Buffo nodded.

“And that’s why I asked you to come to this meeting,” Tom Tussle said. “As you must be aware, Mr. Smart is THE leader in the field of Artificial Intelligence. He’s shared his ideas with Bob and me and now wants you to be included.”

‘To be included,’ Jake thought. Man this must be really something big. And I’ll be in on it too.

“But whatever we talk about and decide, you can never repeat. Not to anyone. Not ever! If you don’t think you can agree to that, then it’s best that you leave now. Take a minute to think about it and decide,” Tom continued.

To not even know what I’m agreeing to and I have to decide blind? What if it’s a criminal act? But Bob agreed and he’s the most straight up guy I know. Really honest, ethical. So if he’s in on this——? “Bob, you know what this is all about and agreed?” asked Jake.

“Yes,” Buffo replied.

Jake took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m in.”

“You can call me Ziggy too,” Smart began.

“Thank you sir—I mean Ziggy,” Jake said. Call him Ziggy too? Wow.

“You know that analytics in all sports is routine now,” Smart began. “It started with baseball and as owners and coaches saw that it gave the team using it a leg up, everyone began to copy. Football was no exception. What were the odds of a favorable outcome in going for it on fourth down at what yardage, which stage of the game, given the opponent, and so on. Follow?”

Jake nodded.

Tussle interjected, “Excuse me Ziggy, but one last check before you go further. Jake, if you sense where this may be headed, one last chance to opt out if you’re worried.”

“No, I’m still okay.” Opt out? This gotta be big. But what? Analytics? And Smart is an AI guy.

Smart continued, “In your case, as the Mudhens offensive coordinator, what if you knew what the defense would do before you called a play, 94.7 percent of the time?”

“It’d be like mind reading their defensive coordinator,” Jake said. 94.7 percent!? Pretty specific figure. Wow! Got to see where this goes!

As if Smart were a mind reader himself, he said, “The 94.7 figure is not something pulled out of thin air. It is real. Three years ago, out of curiosity and boredom, I looked into the quality of the number crunching and analytics that NFL teams use, and discovered it was fairly basic. And I thought, I bet I can do better. I began by looking at all sixteen teams in the conference the Mudhens were in—it was just a coincidence that it was the Mudhens conference. I set up a program, I called it Lombardi, to put every game, every situation in each game, and the plays that each defensive coordinator dialed up, into computers, along with the characteristics and records of each of each team’s defensive players. “

Holy shit, thought Jake, ‘Lombardi’, he is the AI god. Is this covered in the rules?

Smart continued, “I decided to start with the defensive side. And over the course of a year’s worth of data, each defensive coordinator’s tendencies emerged based on the situation, the look of the offense, and the personnel involved. And if there were changes in staff or personnel, that too was fed into the program. I tested it with real time games the following year, and that’s how the 94.7% figure was derived. Follow, Jake?”

“Thank you, Mr. Smart,” Jake replied, “No, you explain it very clearly. But how-ah-do the rules cover this?”

“They don’t, and that’s the beauty,” Smart said. “Then when I learned that the Mudhens might be up for sale I saw a chance to test Lombardi in the real world. The Mudhens were, before you and Bob came on of course, the bottom feeders of their division, and so their price was not astronomical. And if things didn’t work out, I could put them up for sale again and not take a huge loss.”

So we’re nothing more than a test of concept to him, thought Jake. A rich guy’s plaything. It was a deflating moment. He said nothing and waited.

Buffo said, “Jake, I hired you as my offensive coordinator, because Tom and I were impressed with your work as quarterback’s coach with the Waco Warthogs even though you were young. You’ve more than justified our decision. Now you’ll have a great chance to do an even better job.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jake replied. To be handed their playbook in each game. Not quite honest, but not covered by the rules. What if this gets out? And if we win, how much is from me and how much is due to Lombardi? “Yeah, I mean let’s do it! Is Chaz (the Mudhens’s defensive coordinator) in on this?”

“Not for now,” Tussle replied.

“So just the three of us,” Jake said. “And mum’s the word.”

“Yes,” said Smart.

“I’ve got a lot to think about and absorb. Thank you Mr. Smart—I mean Ziggy—for trusting me,” Jake said.

“And let’s get beyond ‘satisfactory’ this coming season,” Smart said.

“Absolutely!’ Jake said. With a little help from my friends or AI.

After Jake left, Tussle said, “He’s a good man, I’m glad he came on board. You won’t tell him about ‘Belichick’?

“No, but I’ll be comparing what plays Jake runs, with what my offensive program ‘Belichick’ suggests. As long as what he decides works well and we win, there’s no need to make him feel pressure or to worry him,” said Ziggy. “The players need to have a person they relate to calling the plays. And they like Jake. I don’t think they’re ready to have an AI as coach. But who knows—maybe someday.”

Yeah, Buffo thought, ‘someday’ AI on offense, AI on defense; so who’ll need any coaches at all and we’ll all be out of jobs.

October 2025 story

Arachne

The large circular web sparkled with dew drops in the morning sun, and Cindy felt a familiar shiver, the hairs on the nape of her neck prickling, as she eyed the large black and yellow spider waiting patiently in the center of the web, its eight legs held in pairs to form a X. Another one! She hurried back to her garden supplies on a bench under the wide roof overhang to get the insect spray.

She cautiously approached the web, spray can held before her like a sword, ready to deal death to the spider. As if it could sense her intent, the garden spider dropped quickly on a strand of silk into the bushes, out of sight and escaping. “Damn,” Cindy said aloud, “Got away!” She got a rake and tore down the web any way. Why don’t you things stay out of my garden, she thought.

That afternoon her friend and workmate Lucy visited. The day was warm and humid and they retired with ice tea and just baked peanut butter-walnut cookies to the backyard, sitting in the shade of the roof.

“Ugh, “ Cindy said with a shudder as she looked up and saw another large web spanning a gap between two rose bushes, black and yellow spider in the center of the web. “I’m going to get the bug spray.”

Lucy shook her head, “You really have a phobia Cindy. Spiders are good for the garden. They eat bugs that would lunch on your roses and vegetables. Biologic pest control. Better for your health too than using a lot of bug sprays.”

“I don’t care,” said Cindy. “I hate spiders. Always have.” She sprayed the spider and the web with a generous cloud of insecticide, then tore down the web and its dying weaver. “Got ya this time,” she said with satisfaction.

“Have you always felt this way about spiders?” Lucy asked.

“I think it all started when I was eight and I was hiking with my folks and I was in front and singing so happy and looked back at them and walked right into a spider web and it got all over my face and stuck in my hair. I can still feel the shock of that and how it felt. And they had the nerve to laugh as they pulled the web off me!”

“Poor Cindy,” said Lucy. “But you’re fifty-five now.”

“Well, some things never change. I remember that scene in “Lord of the Rings” where Frodo and Sam are trapped by Shelob, the monster spider? Oh God, I had to walk out of the movie! That was the worse!”

“Well,” Lucy said, taking a bite of her cookie, “Lucky for you no monster spider in your yard. Just helpful garden ones that you insist on poisoning.”

“I wish the hell they’d go somewhere else where they’d be appreciated. Like with you.”

“Sorry, live in a condo. No garden.”

“Well they sure seem to like mine. Every day at least another one that I have to exterminate.”

Luckily there were no more spiders that afternoon so they were able to chat, refill their glasses from the pitcher of ice tea, and munched on the cookies until it was time for Lucy to go.

“And here’s Monday tomorrow again,” she said. “Weekend seemed to fly by. Pick you up same time?”

“Yes, same time. I’ll be ready.” Cindy replied as she put their glasses and the cookie platter on a tray to take inside the house.

“I’ll get the pitcher,” said Lucy.

After dinner Cindy watched TV for a while till, bored with the program, picked up the fantasy-romance novel she had started yesterday and read till she was ready for bed. A beautiful young girl fleeing danger, a mysterious man, dragons, and sex, she thought as she brushed her teeth, same formula, but it works. Time to get eight hours of sleep.

She was wakened from sleep by a woman’s soft voice singing a song about weaving. There was a dim light from the hallway that led to the living room. Must have left the TV on, she thought. But that can’t be, I distinctly remember turning it off, she then recalled. Strangely she did not feel afraid. I must be havng a dream, she thought, but that’s strange because I usually don’t realize I’m dreaming until I wake up. Cindy rounded the corner into the living room, where the soft light seemed to come from the air itself, and she saw a beautiful young woman weaving at a loom, dressed in a yellow and black Grecian-style tunic. The woman rose from the stool she had been sitting on and smiled at Cindy.

“Hello Cynthia,” the woman said. “Did you know that your name is of Greek origin as is mine?

“Who are you and what are you doing in my home?” Cindy asked, still not frightened.

“I am Arachne,” the woman replied, continuing to smile.

Arachne, Cindy thought, that kind of rings a bell. Something about a Greek myth.

As if she could read Cindy’s mind, Arachne said, “Yes, I challenged the Goddess Athena to a contest to see who could weave the most beautiful tapestry. Unfortunately for me, Athena was a poor loser and so she punished me.”

Greek Goddess and a weaving contest, Cindy thought, what a wild dream. Maybe the story I was reading before bed?

“Did you know that your name Cynthia is another name for Artemis, the sister of Apollo, and the virgin Goddess of hunting and the wilderness?” Arachne continued. “And you Cynthia have lived up to your name too well, hunting down my followers.”

“Hunting your followers?”

“Ah, you’re not aware of the consequences of your actions,” said Arachne.

“Consequences of my actions? What are you talking about?” Cindy asked, puzzled.

“Why do you hate my followers so much? Why are you killing my followers who are helping you in your garden?”

“Killing your followers? And in my garden? Wait, wait. What? You mean spiders?” Cindy asked, feeling a chill run down her spine, a weakness in her knees, backing away.

“Poor Cynthia, your are frightened. Let me ease your mind,” said Arachne, spreading her arms wide and approaching Cindy. “Come, let me embrace you and kiss you, in peace and forgiveness.”

Cindy was frozen in place in fascinated terror as she watched Arachne come closer, as she saw her two arms become four, to fold her closely even as she kissed her left cheek. And Cindy felt her fear drain away to be replaced by a feeling of peace and contentment as she was held tenderly, lovingly even, as black and yellow garden spiders streamed into the room through the open windows.

———————————————-

The next morning Lucy pulled her car to the curb in front of Cindy’s house. “She’s late coming out this morning thought Lucy. Usually she’s so prompt, standing here on the sidewalk unless the weather’s bad. After waiting another five minutes, Lucy got out of the car to ring the front door bell. No response.

“Cindy,” she yelled, knocking hard on the door. Nothing. Beginning to feel worried, Lucy went around to stand on tiptoe peering over a hedge, covered with spider webs, into the living room. She screamed at what she saw, but still had enough presence of mind to call 911. Then she retched again and again, sobbing uncontrollably.

When the firemen arrived they broke down the front door, then stopped at the entry from hall to the living room in horrified awe at the sight of Cynthia, suspended in the center of a giant spider web, wrapped in a cocoon of silk with just her face visible, eyes closed and a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. They carefully cut her out of the web. As one of the firemen gently laid her body on the floor, he remarked “She’s so light.”

May, 2025, Story

A Night Walk

Time to take that nightly walk, Olivia thought. The night was still warm from the heat of the summer day. and there was hardly any breeze. No need for a sweater or a scarf. As usual, she used the toilet before going out. I don’t want to have to rush home and risk a fall even though I’m just going around the block. It’s a long block and I walk slowly. I guess I could wear one of those adult diaper-type things, but I like to think I haven’t got there yet. But someday who knows.

Her cane was by the door next to where Lucy’s collar and leash still hung from one of the clothes pegs on the left wall in the entry way above the bench where she sat to put on her walking shoes. No laces she thought, glad they came out with these velcro straps. Old Lucy, I miss you. Fourteen years old. You didn’t pull hard anymore like you did when you were a puppy, after you became slow, just like me. We were two old dogs out for a walk. If Tommy had heard me say that he would have laughed and said, “Glad you didn’t say two old bitches.” Well now there’s just one, me. Check and double check to make sure I have the key before I close the door. Don’t want to lock myself out. Turn on the outside light.

She carefully descended the two steps to the cracked concrete walkway leading to the sidewalk; holding on to her cane with one hand and the stair railing with the other. How did I ever manage this with Lucy too? That was two years ago, and I was steadier on my feet then. Just two years, what a difference. And long before that, I walked with Tommy every night, no problem. Lucy was a big support for me when you suddenly died and left me, Tom, and it’s been thirteen years. No warning, Tom, that was the worse part. When you didn’t come in for lunch, I went to the garage and found you stretched out on the ground next to the car. Gone. I think I hated you for doing that to me, even as I cried and loved you and missed you. Oh Tommy. We had a good life together, didn’t we? Except for the ending.

It was a safe neighborhood. Not gated, but with neighbors who had been mostly living here a long time; who’d raised families and stayed even when their children had grown and gone. Just like ours Olivia thought. Jerry. Gone to the Big city where the jobs and opportunities are. How’s that song go—‘New York, New York it’s a wonderful town?’ Not many kids on this street now. Though that nice new family moved in down the street last month with two young kids. Linns. Said they left the big city so their kids could grow up with grass and they could walk to school by themselves safely. Guess that’s why I still stay here. Even though Jerry keeps telling me I should move to a retirement community. Said there’re some in the City so I could be closer to him. Or at least one in Connecticut that would be nearer to him than I am here. Our home with so many memories that are hard to leave. And our town where I can walk safely at night by myself. Try doing that in New York.

The street lamps cast their light through the canopies of the elms that lined the street making a pattern of shifting light and dark shadows on the sidewalk and street. Olivia knew every crack and uneven rise in the sidewalk by heart. But she still walked with her head bent slightly forward so that she could watch where she stepped. She seldom met anyone else. She preferred it that way. Not that she was unfriendly, but standing still and talking was really hard on her back. Walking during that in-between hour when dinner was over for most people and they were watching TV and too early for the dog owners taking their last walk before winding up the day. Like I did with Lucy.

I used to be able to hear the programs that each neighbor was watching, especially during the summer with the windows open. But now, even with my new hearing aids, it all sounds muffled and distant. Bad ears, bad eyes, bad back, bad knees. Like they say, ‘growing old is not for sissies.” Tommy, you were no sissy, but you didn’t stay around long enough to find out if that was true. Just seventy six. And just retired eight years. You left me to find out about growing really old all by myself. You were so active and strong, Tennis three times a week. Gardening. Volunteering. Still liked sex. And yes, I did too, and I didn’t need to take a blue pill. Well, I still think about us. Dirty old lady—ah, if they only knew. It took me a while to get used to not having you around. When you were first gone, I’d start to say something to you when my back was turned and then realize that you weren’t there. And I would ache all over again. Who ever said time heals all things? Baloney. But we learn to adjust and cope and survive. If it had been me to go first, how would you have done? Would you have found someone to replace me? Like trading in a car? I wear the wedding ring you gave on a chain around my neck. Fingers got so arthritic that it wouldn’t fit on my fourth finger any more. Funny, I still feel for it there every once in a while. I put your ring and my engagement ring in with your ashes. Ah Tommy, I like to think that you’re still around me somewhere and you can hear me. Guess that doesn’t fit with Rev. Mathew’s idea of Heaven.

She’d made her way around three sides of the long block, and was now rounding the fourth corner and heading home. Up ahead, under a street lamp, Olivia saw a person in a black hoody walking towards her. But all in black? Not the safest way to dress at night. A young person’s walk, she thought. She decided it was a man, feeling a momentary worry. Not many young men in our neighborhood now. Maybe back from college, visiting parents or grandparents? Should I cross the street? If he plans to hurt me, I couldn’t out run him anyway. I’ll just say good night as we pass. Hs face was still hidden by the hood as they drew closer.

He spoke first, a pleasant tenor voice, “Good evening, Olive Oil.”

That stopped her. “Wait. What? Why I haven’t been called that since I was in high school! Do I know you?”

He laughed, “Oh, I know everything about you, Olivia.”

“Who are you? Please take down your hood so I can see your face. What a surprise.”

He pulled back his hood, revealing the face of a smiling young man with head of thick, black hair.

“I don’t recognize you,” she said after studying his face. “Did I meet you at your parents’ home when you visited?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m here tonight just to see you, Olivia. But I think you already know me.”

“I know you?” Then the slow realization, as she watched him waiting patiently, still smiling. “Yes, I have been expecting you. But you’re so young and good looking. What took you so long to find me?”

“To each in their own time. And I like not being stereotyped.” he replied. “But now, are you ready to go? Shall we dance?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve danced. I’ve forgotten how to.”

“Take my hand and I’ll lead. It’ll be easy.”

March 2025 Story

The Maze

….it’s getting late and i keep running into dead ends. how’d i get into this maze anyhow? the cornstalks are high and closely planted. why can’t i remember? another wrong turn. the dirt is so black, so uneven to walk on. big clods. don’t want to spend the night sleeping in here. the corn rustles. don’t know if there’s something coming through them. wolves? do i play dead if one comes for me? okay, got into a row that seems to be leading somewhere. another dead end! backtrack and turn left. i must have gone out for something. it’s darker. did i turn this way before? should I yell for help? my phone! why didn’t i think of that before. i’ll call sarah so she’ll know i’ll be late. what’s the password? i can’t remember the password. the battery’s almost dead….

Oh, thank God. I woke up just in time. It was just a bad dream. I’m awake but where am I? I must be lying on my back in this white place. Now I remember. The ceiling looks so high above and the walls so far apart. My dream had color—it seemed so frighteningly real. But there’s no color in this place. I can hear activity around me. Soft muffled voices. Wheels rolling by? And there may be people moving out of the corners of my eyes. Why can’t I move my eyes to see them? Am I still dreaming or awake? It must be breakfast time if I just woke up. But I don’t feel hungry. I’ll get up and look around. The back wall keeps receding as I walk towards it and I don’t see a door so how can I get out to see where I am? Guess I’ll go back to bed and just rest….

….where’s that sandwich shop that we went to the last time we were visiting. the pastrami was really piled on. And sauerkraut. i’ll bring it back to the hotel. it was half way down clement street. or claremont? i’m here, but where is it? excuse me mister, but did the tasty sandwich shop move? “it’s now in the mall.” oh it’s in the mall now? thanks. huh, really small door to the mall. and i should have asked where in the mall. there are so many corridors and it’s not very well lit. no direction board. try the middle corridor that looks like there are some food stalls—got colorful awnings. pizza, dim sum, fish and chips, chicago hot dogs, waffle cone ice cream, but no sandwich shop. there’s another door at the end of the lane. up spiral stairs, dark and musty smelling. push open this heavy grey door. now what? just a long hallway with closed sanded glass doors and no signs. where’s a rest room—i need one now. look quickly down the hall. here’s one. it’s not very clean with paper towels on the floor. smells bad. but i’ll use the stainless steel trough. ah, that’s better. back in the hallway. but how do i get out? ask this guy—excuse me but where’s the exit? “you just have to follow the office workers out at quiting time.” thank you. open this metal door and go up more stairs. another heavy grey steel door. up on the roof. a really lush garden here and green grass i should phone sarah that i haven’t found the sandwich shop. wrong number? what’s the right number? try again. wrong number again. try later. great view, the city looks really spread out from up here. all the way to the sea. maybe i can walk back to the hotel….

Such a real dream. Too bad I didn’t find the sandwich shop. Sarah and I really liked their pastrami. But it was just a dream. Who’s coming up? Oh, it’s Dr. Long with someone new.

“Good morning, James. James is our patient who’s been with us the longest with locked-in syndrome,” Dr. Long said to the new resident he is orienting. “James, this is Paul who will be assisting in your care.”

“Hi James,’ says Paul hesitantly. “He can see and hear us?”

“Yes. James is unlike most people who are locked-in, in that his eye muscles are also paralyzed. So unfortunately he can’t use eye movements to communicate with us. But we think he can hear us because his auditory region lights up on functional MRI (fMRI) when we talk to him. Likewise his visual cortex when we show him pictures of his family.”

“What about his EEG?” asks Paul.

“James’ EEG shows wake patterns as you would find in a waking person, and sleep patterns when he’s asleep. We think he dreams too, because he dips into and out of REM sleep tracings. During waking periods, the fMRI motor areas will light up at times so we think he is walking or doing other motor tasks in his mind.”

Dr. Long steps back from the bedside so that an attendant can access James’ ostomy port to feed him his liquid lunch, and then change his urine drainage pad.

‘”James, Paul and I will be back later today. We’d like to run some more tests on you. Nothing painful. Okay? See you later.”

Okay Dr. Long. Guess I really don’t have a say in the matter. Oh Sarah, we had such a happy visit to San Francisco. It’s great to remember. And the Cliff House at sunset….

Outside of James’ room, Paul asks, “Dr. Long, is he still sane? I mean locked into his mind with no way to communicate. I can’t imagine how horrible that must be.”

“We try to keep him engaged with travel and science programs on TV as well as movies. PT visits daily. We found out from his wife what music he enjoyed and play those. And she and the children visit regularly.”

“What about the testing today?”

“We’re trying out a new scalp electrode cap to see if he can be taught to answer yes or no questions by activating discrete parts of his cortex to communicate at least in a minimal way.”

“Aren’t there experiments with implanted brain electrodes?” asks Paul.

“First we’ll see if James can be taught to communicate in a simple yes or no way. And then if he is capable of that, we’ll speak with his wife Sarah about next steps.”

February 2025 Story

The Forward Observer

Glossary of substitute words:

Fug: used by Mailer in “The Naked And The Dead” to get around censorship in 1948.

Bustard: a large Asian bird

Sheet: a bed covering

——————————————————————————————–

He had been very lucky so far. To escape before he was murdered by his captors, in the confusion of the explosions from the swarm of low flying kamikaze attack drones he had called in from his forward observation post just before he was captured. He had volunteered to be a forward observer after the enemy had learned how to nullify the high flying scout drones that done the job previously. And he had done such an infuriatingly effective job that, after his capture, the angry officer in command ordered his execution, contrary to the formal rules of combat. But in this war, rules were often ignored by both sides.

Now the man was huddled in a bomb crater in no-man’s-land, faced with a major problem. How to get back to friendly lines without getting killed since his FIDS dog tag had been ripped off his neck by his captors. (FIDS or Friend Identification System is an electronic signal that identifies the bearer to all drones as a friend, not to be targeted.) His captors were probably planning to use his in an infiltration. At least it was night, and until the engineers figured out a way to restore vision to the scout drones, attack drones would be directed to their targets by human forward observers like him. It was autumn so the nights were not freezing cold and yet cold enough so that the corpse he shared the crater with was not sickeningly-foul smelling, just rotten. Rain water pooled in the bottom of the crater. Not potable since the corpse lay part way in it. One of them, not us, he noted with satisfaction.

The whir of a drone over the background clatter of artillery and distant explosions. He kept very still as it passed to the left. Ours or theirs? Didn’t really matter since without his FIDS he would be a target. And he would be called a friendly fire statistic if anyone ever knew. I’d better try to move. Crater to crater. Earthy wet dirt smell, whiff of rot, mingled with that of TNT and burn. Stop listen for a whir, try to spot drones against clouds and patchy starry background. Nothing. Then move quickly. Gotta get beyond the sight of the enemy by morning. He hoped that the squad that captured him had been so decimated in the attack that their replacements would not know of his escape and would not specifically send out a drone to look for him.

The sky was turning grey to the east. Sun up soon. Time to find a deep crater and spend the day hiding. Think I’m about midway across no-man’s-land. Attack drones will likely not pay as close attention here than closer to the battle lines. Luck! A crater without a body or puddle. Getting thirsty and hungry. Just got to suck it up. And wait. Don’t even raise my head to look around. Just gotta hope they don’t send out a squad on foot to probe our defenses. Whir of a drone quadricopter. Sheet—damn fly walking across my face and I can’t move! Flying low towards the enemy line judging by the sound. Must be one of ours. Just one, so it must not have a specific target—just out to seek and kill some bustards. Damn—missed the fly! Aren’t they supposed to be gone now that it’s cold? Guess there’s a lot of corpses around for them. I’m not one—go find a real dead body. Like the one in here. But I could become fly bait if my luck runs out.

At last, sunset then twilight, and night with just a thin, waning moon in a partly cloudy sky. Dark enough. Time to move. He dared to lift his head at last and look around. Crater to crater again. And luck—a recently killed body to judge by just the faint odor of decay. One of theirs. Check the backpack. Yes! Full canteen and an unopened meal ration. Take a drink. No time to eat. Get closer to our lines, then I’ll stop and eat.

The man froze whenever he heard a drone, worried that if there were nearby explosions he would be unable to hear the soft whir. He was within a mile of friendly lines by first light. He found a shell hole. Now I can eat and have another drink. And plan. If I try to get closer by sneaking from hole to hole and get spotted, they’ll take me for an infiltrator and drone or shot me without a hesitation since those bustards took my FIDS. Or if I wait for one of our patrols to stumble on me, again someone will shoot before I can identify myself. Fat chance to have one of our patrols just happen to come my way anyway. I’m stuck. Sheet.

Night came at last. A waning crescent moon. He began to edge forward, praying that he wouldn’t be spotted through night vision glasses. He was in luck and by dawn he had found a shell hole within a half mile of friendly trenches. Now what? A plan, I need a plan. How can I let them know I’m one of us without my FIDS? If I move by day, they’ll just shoot first without questioning. But they’ll be especially trigger happy if I try to move closer by night. He was tired, hungry, filthy, and out of options. I’m fugged. And now the sun was up and head down, he hugged the earth. It’ll be noon, soon enough. So close. What to do?

In the forward trench the two drone controllers, Max and Jakob, had their virtual reality goggles on, as well as monitoring a large screen displaying the sector in front of them. The drones they oversaw were autonomous killing machines, programmed to attack any moving object without FIDS. The controllers’ function was to provide oversight and override through their goggles, seeing what the drones’ cameras viewed, so that the drones did not waste their weapons or themselves (if they were the kamikaze type) on a mistaken target or a dummy. It was noon.

“Look at that crazy bustard crawling out of that hole,“ said Max. “He’s buck naked and waving his hands in the air.”

“Civilian?” asked Jakob. “What’s he doing in no-man’s-land? Look he’s dancing! Fugger must be nuts!”

“No weapons, no clothes. Not a suicide bomber.”

“Drone’s zeroing in on him,” said Max. “Won’t matter anyway.”

“Wait,” said Jakob, pausing the drone. “Suppose that fugger is one of ours? Got lost out there.”

“No FIDS, can’t be,” said Max.

“Leon’s position was over-run four days ago and we don’t know what happened to him,” said Jakob.

“That crazy bustard. Did he get lucky?” asked Max. “I’m going to fly the drone up close so I can see his face.”

“The fugger isn’t running from the drone. In fact he’s standing there and waving his arms like he wants the drone to get closer,” Jakob said.

“Damn! Dirty as hell, but it sure as hell is Leon!” Max exclaimed. “Holy sheet!”

“Pause the drones and bring him in,” Jakob said. “I’ll tell the boys in the trenches to hold their fire. Leon’s coming home.”