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Happy Sunday. This week I’ve got another short story for you. I know, I know, two weeks in a row. Who do I think I am, a writer? Anyway, if this happens to be your entry point into my blogosphere, this is all part of the short story initiative I started a few weeks ago where instead of a regular essay I share a story I’ve written and invite you to share your thoughts on it. The last one of these I shared was One Summer Holiday, and today’s short story is called Not Long For This World. As always, I’d love to hear what you think of it. Let me know if you’d like more of these in the future.

— Not Long For This World —

I’m not long for this world. I know, because I can feel it in my bones. Dave has no idea, but I know Anna does. She’s the more sensitive of the two, one of the most sensitive and intuitive of their kind I’ve ever met, and I’ve met many of them in all my time here. Granted, the bar is somewhat low, given how cruel and insensitive some of them can be, but Anna is special, she raises the average all by herself. Dave is alright too, to be fair to him. He’s just not Anna. Anyway, this isn’t about Dave and Anna and their kind. Or maybe it is a little, but it’s not all about them. It’s about me too. In a sense, my story is incomplete without them and their kind. It shouldn’t be, but it is, which is unfortunate, but here we are. 

It all started many moons ago. I don’t know exactly where and when I was born. As for the when, I know I’ve been around longer than Dave and Anna, but as for the where, all I remember is it was warm and humid, and the sun was often in the sky for about as long as it wasn’t in the sky. Needless to say, it was somewhere far from here. I remember being brought here in a steel house, back when I was very small. I was with my brother and sister back then, and our mum. We were in a big den with other families, and other kinds. Then, after a few sunrises and sunsets, Julia came into the big den. Julia was Dave’s mum. She walked around for some time, peered through the steel houses, and spoke to Sam. Sam was the one who looked after us and brought us our food. After Julia spoke to Sam, he put me in a smaller steel house and handed me to her. That was the last time I saw my family. This was long before she birthed Dave, that’s how long it’s been.

I was there when Julia brought Dave home from where their kind go to birth their young. I watched him grow from a tiny one to the big, furry specimen he is now. I was there when Anna first came around to see Dave. He still lived in the same den with Julia then. Anna wasn’t the first mate to come around to the den, but she sure was the last, which was all well and good because she was the only one who paid me any attention, and she was the only one I liked. She saw me, truly saw me in a way none of her kind did – not Dave, not even Julia. 

It was Anna who convinced Julia to put me in a bigger steel house. She could see I’d outgrown the one I’d lived in ever since I left the big den with Julia. It was Anna who convinced Dave to let me out of the steel house every sunset so I could flap my wings around their den. It was Anna who started bringing me bits of wood and leaves to nibble on, as if she knew this was something my family and I loved to do back home, before our lives were confined to steel houses. It was like Anna knew I’d missed it, on account of being stuck in the steel house and all. Anna taught Julia and Dave to care better for me. Without her, my life would’ve turned out very different, much worse, without a doubt. I’ll miss her when I’m gone. I know she’ll miss me too. 

I miss Julia too. It’s been many moons since she’s been gone, too many to count, but I still miss her. Life was different after Julia. I went from living in my steel house in her den to living in my steel house in Dave’s much smaller den. The den didn’t get a lot of sunlight, which was hard to get used to. Even Dave struggled with the changes, I could tell. He smiled less, spoke less, paid me less attention. His skin suddenly had more lines, his gut got bigger, and his head fur, once the colour of oak, started to fade and fall out. 

Then Anna became more of a prominent fixture. She was there when the sun came up and when it went down. Suddenly the den got brighter. I don’t mean it got more light, because it didn’t, but somehow there were more colours around, some of them even matched my feathers. The den was cleaner too, and my steel house was tidier. Anna took care of me. And Dave too. I could see a noticeable difference in Dave. He perked up a bit. He smiled more. His gut shrunk for a time. But then it got bigger again. 

Then we had more company in the den. I rose with the sun one time and saw furry ones on four legs. There were two of them, both the colour of wet sand. One of them endlessly tried to eat me but couldn’t get past my steel house. She stopped trying after a few sunsets. The other one paid me no notice whatsoever. All she wanted to do was cuddle up with Anna or Dave. 

Until she was gone. Some moons passed, and she wasn’t there when the sun rose. I didn’t hear her whine for her feed. I didn’t smell her farts. I didn’t see her on Anna’s lap. She was just…gone. Anna and Dave seemed different for a time. They laughed less, and barely spoke, even to me. Then another furry one appeared. He was much smaller, but had a lot more fur, the colour of snow. He brought the smiles back to Anna’s and Dave’s faces. The den was lively once more. Me, Anna, Dave, two furry ones, we all lived together for many moons. We were happy. 

The sun rose, and the sun set. There was light, there was dark. The moon was there, then it wasn’t. There was snow, then there wasn’t any. I didn’t realise just how many moons had passed until I caught a glimpse of Anna one sunrise, when she came to feed me and clean my steel house. She was beginning to look like Dave. Her head fur, which had always been the colour of pine, had started to turn the colour of stone, and then the colour of snow. Her skin had lines, and her eyes had pouches under them. But unlike Dave who grew bigger, she grew smaller, shrunken and shrivelled. She seemed slower too. It took longer for her to do what she usually did with my steel house. I found myself waiting longer for food. But I didn’t blame her. Life was just running its course. I started noticing it with me too. I’ve been noticing it ever since. 

That’s how I know I’m not long for this world. My bones tell me so. As do my eyes. I’ve come a long way from where I first hatched. I’ve spent a good while here, in this steel house, in this den, with Anna, and Dave, and the furry four-legged ones. Any moment now, the sun will set, and I’ll close my eyes, and I will have seen the glowing ball of light for the last time.

P.S.: My debut non-fiction book, Art Is The Way, and my middle-grade novella, A Hollade Christmas, are out everywhere now. You can get them in all good bookstores and from all major online vendors.

 

 

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