This story was inspired by some light lines and a blob in a dark corner of an abstract painting, and the Travelocity garden gnome. To see the picture go to http://ozlandbard.blogspot.ca/2011_03_01_archive.html
Gnarly, Gweedy Gnibby Gnobs sat in the shelter of the small, shallow cave and cried. He was so tired, and very, very hungry and thirsty, and there was nothing to eat or drink on this bare shelf part way up the mountain.
He had started his travels much lower down, in an area that was full of trees, and alive with small animals and birds. And, unfortunately for him, there were also larger animals. Every time he had tracked and neared his prey, and was about to pounce, a fox or something else, larger and stronger then Gnibby had pounced at him. He had barely escaped several times, the last time the fox had got his claws in Gnibby’s shirt. Only a mighty, desperate pull had saved him. And torn his shirt. After that, he had headed up, hoping to get above those dangers and still find rats, moles, squirrels or rabbits that he could catch. But that didn’t happen, and now, here he was, alone and lonely, and afraid he would stave to death.
Taking a deep breath, he shook his shoulders and muttered ‘get hold of yourself, Gnibby. You certainly will starve if you sit here crying!’ He sighed, and wiped his face and nose on his ragged shirt tail. Then he looked around carefully. Oh! Over there, was that….? yes, it was! A tree! It was growing out of the steep face of the ledge, and….yes, out where the branches joined, a nest! And it looked like there were eggs! Before his mind had made a decision, his body had taken over, and he was on his way to investigate.
Yes, there were eggs, three of them, and they were big ones. One of them would fill his belly with both food and liquid. Making sure his bag was securely set over his head and shoulder, he turned and slowly, carefully, let himself down. His feet searched and finally he felt the bark of the tree under his right foot. Cautiously he looked down, keeping his eyes on the tree, until he could get both feet firmly planted. Then he let go of the ledge and squatted. For a moment he didn’t move, just concentrated on recovering his breath and his balance.
When his breathing and heart beat had slowed, he slowly turned until he was facing outward, toward the nest. Inching his way forward he approached, and at last was able to grasp the side of the nest and pull himself up enough to look in. Three beautiful, wonderful, eggs! Still kneeling, he straightened his body enough to reach in and cup one of the eggs in both hands. Surely, the birds wouldn’t begrudge him one, he thought
free verse, inspired by the picture of the lightning. Written Saturday, September 4, 2010. To see the picture go to http://ozlandbard.blogspot.ca/2010_09_01_archive.htm
He’d been sleeping, mighty Thor,
A sleep that lasted aeons long,
Nestled snugly in a fleecy cloud
Content to leave those lesser beings,
Humans, to their own devices on the Earth.
His underlings were well supplied
With lightning bolts, just to keep those
Crawling, weakling slugs reminded
Of his power. Of mighty Thor.
Hovering there, far beyond the planet,
Their petty battles disturbed him not.
And so, in peace, the mighty one slept on.
But then it came, roaring, belching flame,
A metal monster carrying a crew –
Human men and women, venturing out
Away, beyond their proper sphere,
Their place of birth. And in their
Going, audaciously they ripped away
A part of that cloud, his soft nest
Wherein he slept. He woke, roaring,
Cursing, in violent anger raged
And reached for his store of weapons.
Some he flung after that manmade dragon.
But it was gone, far beyond his reach.
The rest he flung at Earth, pelted all
As ‘round it turned below him,
Bent on complete destruction
Of all that moved. Great was the
Devastation. But other Gods protected,
Guarded this creation. And so
Thor’s Armageddon failed, and
Earth, and Man, lived on, and flourished
written Tuesday, August 17, 2010 inspired by picture of the corner of a saloon room showing a table chair and dead body
Zeke and I had been prospecting in the mountains for nigh on two years. It turned out to be a total waste of time. In that whole time, we didn’t get enough gold to fill a tooth. We finally decided to head back to civilization, or as much as we could find in the area around the foothills. On the way down, we ran into an unseasonal snow and sleet storm, and had to hole up in a small cave. We were stuck there for three days before things cleared enough for us to move on, and it stayed cold for the next week.
The mule didn’t seem to be well, even more loathe to move than usual, and off his feed. We hadn’t been trekking for three full days, when he up and died, right there in the middle of the trail. There were streams along the way so we had water in plenty, but we were already getting short on food. After three weeks more of travel, we were out of the mountains and well into the foothills, and had been out of food for two days. We expected to be able to hunt small animals, or even snakes, but unaccountably they seemed to have migrated or something. There just wasn’t a one to be seen.
At long last we staggered into Morgan’s Town, filthy, starving and weak. It was just after sundown on a Friday night, and the saloon seemed to be doing a roaring business. And I do mean roaring! Not just the usual high spirits, but what sounded like the start of a small war.
“Hmm…,” Zeke’s voice was raspy from thirst and lack of use. “Wonder what’s happening? Doesn’t sound like the usual high jinks.”
I stopped and listened for a minute, then said “Let’s go see. We might be able to cage a bite to eat. I’d be happy with some water and stale bread!”
We move along, and dropped out gear on the porch, then cautiously pushed the door open, and I peeked in. Everyone was standing and yelling, tables and chairs were overturned. I beckoned to Zeke and we slipped in, moving along the wall a bit. Some of the boys were waving guns, and suddenly one went off. That seemed to be a signal, because there was a fusillade of shots. I pulled my gun and joined in, shooting up to the ceiling, motioning to Zeke to join in.
In the middle of the uproar, the doors swung open and the Sheriff, his deputies and several other armed men walked in. “All right, boys!” the sheriff shouted, “Parties over. Everyone, sit down, put your guns on the tables, and your hands on your heads.”
Most of them did as ordered, and soon quiet reigned. Zeke and I sat down, put our guns down, and our hands on our heads, and waited. That was when the Sheriff’s Deputy saw the body, against the wall over in the corner.
“Sheriff, Ed Stanley is dead, shot through the chest,” he called.
“Oh, is he?” Sheriff Sam said. “Well, we certainly have enough witnesses – and suspects.” He frowned around at everyone. “So who’s going to talk first? Don’t be shy, boys, you’ll talk eventually.”
That started them, and it all came out in a flood, at first. Then he stopped them and had them tell their stories, one at a time. Most of them hadn’t used their guns, so he told them to scram. What they did tell him was that Big Bart and his boys had walked in, shot Ed, and then shot around at random, making sure no one would follow, and left. The uproar had been an argument, some wanting to head out after Bart, others saying they should call the Sheriff.
“Ok, we’ll get a posse together later and go after Bart. But first, we’ll check all the guns. The owners of those that have been fired will be locked up. You all know gunfire in this town is against the law. Bob,” he turned to his second deputy, “start checking the guns. Rafe,” he looked over his shoulder at a man who had come in with him. “Go get Doc, tell him we have a murder victim here.”
They each went about the duty assigned, and about a dozen guns were soon piled on the bar, ours included. Zeke leaned over and whispered “Jeb, why did you start shooting? Now the Sheriff has our guns!”
I looked at him. “Zeke, use your head. What do we need more than anything right now?”
“Well,” he said, “I could use a good meal, a good wash, and a good bed in a warm place.”
“Right!” I grinned at him. He stared at me for a minute, and then a grin grew in his beard, and he nodded.
“All right, you boys who decided on a shooting spree tonight, line up here.” he pointed to the floor in front of him. I motioned to Zeke, and we joined the line. There weren’t enough handcuffs, but no one seemed inclined to argue, and we were marched out, surrounded by several of the armed citizens who had come in with the Sheriff.
Off we went to the jail house, where our names were taken, and the charges listed. Someone muttered that Zeke and me should be charged with polluting the air with our stink, so the deputy in charge took the two of us out where there was a shower rigged up. We had a good scrub down
and he gave us clean pants and shirts.
Soon we were all settled, two to a cell, Zeke and me together, feeling much more civilized and comfortable. I looked at him and said softly “Well, have I provided all that you said you wanted?” He chuckled and nodded. Then he looked thoughtful.
“But Jeb,” he said slowly, we are charged with shooting in town. We’ll likely be locked up for I don’t know how long.”
I nodded back, grinning. “That’s part of the plan, friend. Where else do we have to go? Where can we live, without money?”
Just then the jailer came along, shouting “Chow time!’ He was followed by a nice looking middle aged woman pushing a wheeled table thing, with bowls, mugs and spoons on the lower shelf, and a big pot of something that smelled heavenly, three loaves of fresh, crusty bread, and a big urn of coffee on the top shelf. They went from cell to cell, opening each and handing out mugs, bowls and spoons. They filled each mug and bowl, added a couple of pieces of the crusty bread for each man as they went. Zeke and me were waiting anxiously, and thanked them whole heartedly when we were served. As we settled down on the bunks to eat, I looked at Zeke, and winked.
“One thing for sure,” I told him. “There is always hot chow at the hoosegow.” Everyone looked at us as if they thought we were loco, because we both howled with laughter.
inspired by the picture of the log lodge by the ocean; to see the picture go to http://ozlandbard.blogspot.ca/search?updated-min=2010-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2011-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=50
The Lonely House – by Florence Simpson – prose poetry
It stands, dark, quiet, alone, blindly gazing out to sea. No sounds but the sighing wind, the seabirds, waves crashing on the rocks. Outside, the Christmas decorations are dark, unlit. Will Christmas come? Will this dark old house once again echo with voices, footsteps, laughter, carols? Inside, the decorations, green swags, red bows, icicles, colourful balls, are dull with dust. The lights on the trees are dark, dusty. Dusty too are the gaily wrapped gifts, piled high under the tree. The house is lonely, only faint echoes of joy and laughter linger. No enticing odours of turkey roasting, apple wood logs burning. The fireplaces hold only the ashes of the last fires, three weeks old. Where is the family?
The old house stands, dark, silent, alone, blindly staring out to sea. Then, empty windows facing inland reflect movement. Two racing dogs, Irish wolfhounds, bounding happily over the snow. Behind them, running, shouting, the children! The family comes! Soon the old house glows with light, outside and in. Dust is gone, trees sparkle, laughter rings. Fires blaze in warming hearths. The heart of the old house warms, too. Christmas will come again, and love, and joy, and feasting. The family is here, where it belongs, and all is well. Christmas will be Merry
this story was inspired by a picture taken by a storm chaser of four lightning bolts, from bright to faint. Written September 2010. To see the picture go to http://ozlandbard.blogspot.ca/2010_09_01_archive.html
The attack came, unseen, unexpected. Thousands of drones hidden behind the moon struck, and all communications satellites failed, the space station disintegrated and the settlements on the moon and Mars died in flames. We saw the flares from earth. We had no communications left but line of sight, here on earth. Then the drones flooded down and within twenty four hours, billions were dead and the last of the power grid was gone.
It took almost a year of hiding, digging more tunnels taking chances to gather food, clothing, books, everything and anything that we thought we’d need for however long it took to beat those cretins. Now, at last, thanks to the Big Brain guys and gals, we can fight back.
I was safe enough, as long as I wasn’t silhouetted against the sky. The new Chameleon cloth “Cammy” suits reflected back every search method – radar, infrared, heat seeking or whatever. The suits covered us completely, and the material was even proof against the poison mist the drones spread. It was a contact poison, so if any touched your skin, you were dead – horribly.
I stood high among the rubble over the entrance of the tunnel that had been the subway near Davisville Station. I scanned sky and land to the south, watching for drones, and for a light at ground level. With the whole world dark, even a small spark would be noticeable, and that is what I was watching for. Professor Andrews, one of the think tank boys, had come up with a new lighting system. Another brain boy had invented a portable version, and it was being tested today.
The enclave near Queen’s Quay were going to place one groundside, and we would watch what happened. Sure enough, there it was, a faint gleam of light near the ruins of the Air Canada Centre. And, as expected, what looked like bolts of lightning speared down, and the light was gone. So were most of the ruins around it.
I blinked my eyes to change the lenses to infrared, and continued to watch. Shortly, I saw them, heading this way. “Six, coming this way from the tower,” I barely whispered, and gave the co-ordinates. I watched and waited, until I heard a soft “Got ‘em” in response.
We were fortunate that so many who had sheltered in this section of the subway system were big brain types. The aliens were picking us off like helpless infants. After the first surprise attack, there had been several thousand sheltering here. Many insisted on trying to reach home, but it was soon apparent that any movement, vehicular or pedestrian, would be spotted immediately, and they would die from the lightning-like bolts, or the poison contact mist. Until the lads and lasses in the brain trust were able to create a tight barrier to close us in, the poison floated down; in the first three weeks, upwards of 250 thousand succumbed.
My musings were cut short by the soft “pssst pssst” of the ground to air weapons, and I watched as, one after the other, the enemy drones came apart. These weapons were a gift from a brain trust in Russia. It was three or four months before we could contact anyone we couldn’t physically reach through the tunnels. Then several people came to tell the leaders that they seemed to be in touch with others, not just in Toronto, but in the rest of North America, the U.K., Europe, South America and Asia. They were tested and it was true. Telepaths had appeared in almost every enclave on earth. Now the Espers kept the survivors in touch, and new inventions and methods of fighting were passed along as quickly as when we had the World Wide Web, and telephones.
One of our brain boys had taken the basic idea of the DAD and improved on it. DAD being Distance Atomic Disintegrator; nothing nuclear, just a ray of some sort that caused the atoms in any material in its path to lose cohesion. Don’t ask me how it works, I’m no science geek. I just know it does – and that makes me very happy.
A whisper came to my ears. “Got the Mother in sight,” I heard. “Bringing Big Daddy to bear.” “Ok,” I responded, and blinked again. Now I could see clearly, right through the cloud cover. I scanned, and yes, up there in line with Mars, what seemed to be a small dark object. “Waiting,” the same voice whispered; “Coming straight at us, fast!” Yes, I could see that it was growing rapidly. Two minutes later I heard Big Daddy speak, sounding like a dragon sighing. The Mother ship came apart just like the drones had.
Loud cheers from below nearly deafened me – except that I was yelling just as loudly. I blinked back to infrared in time to see more of the lightning bolts streaking down, out around the airport. And, just as quickly, those drones fell apart. Finally, we had weapons that could reach the big Mothers. And they couldn’t find them, the rays made no trail to trace.
It would take time, but one day, earth would be ours again, free and safe. And maybe, other aliens would think twice about attacking us. Rebuilding would be a long job, but this had made us into a united whole, no more national or religious fighting. With the Big Brain lads and lasses to help with healing and renewing the land, and espers to keep everyone open and honest, we could do it!
the prompt for this story was to write a coming of age story with a first paragraph that grabbed the readers’ attention.
Grg was terrified. He hoped he was hiding it, but still, he was so afraid he could hardly breathe. The Mammoth was huge; taller at the shoulders then any of the men and the body even longer than the height, and it had to weigh at least 2,500 pounds. And it was coming straight for him; head down, big, sharp horns aimed at his chest, snorting and bellowing in anger and pain. In a daze, he raised his spear thrower, aimed and shot with his eyes closed then stood waiting for those horns to hit.
This was the biggest Mammoth the Tall Tree Clan had ever hunted, and they were short three men, who had been injured in a previous hunt. That is why Grg, Prt and Nig, three novice hunters, had been included; usually they were only in hunts for smaller game, like reindeer, foxes or hares. Grg had been on two such hunts, and even those scared him. Suddenly he became aware of two things; first, he was still standing and hadn’t been hit, second, the others who had been stationed at the rear of the mammoth were all yelling and slapping him on the back. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the Mammoth, horns only about two feet from his toes with his spear in its left eye. He was stunned. He’d killed it? HE’D KILLED IT!!! He was both stunned and overjoyed; he had made his first big kill. How Wonderful!
The noise and excitement died down as the adult males, who had been in front of the animal waiting for it to charge in their direction, away from the annoying spears and rocks thrown from the sides and rear. Instead, a spear Prt had thrown by hand had hit it in the most vulnerable spot, and caused it to leap and turn back to put an end to those puny, insufferable things that had caused it so much pain. The surprised adults had stared in amazement, and when the noise broke out among the lesser hunters, came at the run, thinking the younger hunters were in trouble. During that run, Ulf, the master weapons and tool maker, had caught his foot in the entrance to a burrow and fallen, breaking his leg. They left him there, but when they saw that the mammoth was dead and the hunters all safe, two went back to bring him to the site of the kill.
Rph, the chief of the clan, stood for a moment staring at the excited younger hunters, amazed that one of them had killed the huge beast. He soon realised that Grg was the lucky hunter, and his heart swelled with pride. Walking over to Grg, he put both hands on his shoulders. “Grg,” he said, “I am so very proud of you, not only as your chief, but also as your father! Welcome, you are now a Full Hunter!” He grinned at Grg who looked stunned for a moment, and then grinned back, shoulders straightening in pride.
Rph turned to the others. “Start butchering the kill, we must start back soon. There will be a heavy load for each one to carry.” He looked at Ulf, sadly. “My friend, you are one of the most valued members of the clan, but we can’t carry you and the kill.”
Ulf looked up at him, face set firmly to hide the pain. “I know, Rph, it was my own fault, I should have been watching for burrows. Mft’s skills in weapon making are developing well, I’m sure he will be able to take my place. Be easy, friend. I know my fate.”
Everyone stood staring, muttering sadly. Mft was coming along well, but he was nowhere near skilled enough to make all the weapons and tools the tribe needed. Grg looked from Ulf to Rph, hesitated, and then said “Father, I helped Oogtag when Mrg broke her arm, and Blt was tending granfer. I can fix Ulf’s leg, if some of the others can gather googlegum tree leaves, a lot of them. And a stick long enough to go from his knee to his ankle. It should be about two inches thick and split lengthwise down the middle. Then I can fix him a stick to help him walk back home. He might need someone to help keep him steady.”
Rph looked at Grg for a moment, and asked “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Grg said. “I am very sure. And if the mammoth is skinned carefully, perhaps I can suggest a way to get it all back home, even the bones and tusks. Remember how I used to move things for Mrg when they were too heavy for me?”
Rph laughed. “Yes, I do. I thought you were wasting time until I saw how well it worked. But those were small sticks. You couldn’t move that big animal on them.”
Grg grinned. “No father, but we could do it with those.” He pointed to a stand of ten very straight trees, with boles about ten inches in diameter, and a good five feet long from root to the first branches. “If the meat and as much else as possible is wrapped and tied in the skin, it can be pushed along by Brsh, Lrg, Luf, Drf, Zlt Vrk. With Prt, Nig, Flt, Wift, Volf and me; we can catch the logs as they roll out and run them to the front. That leaves you, Zrsh, Trg and Srv to help Ulf and carry the large bones and the tusks. Wouldn’t that be all right?”
“That would be perfect, son.” Rph turned to the others. “OK, you heard him everyone, get to work, we have a lot to do before we can go home.”
Grg quickly set Ulf’s leg, wrapped it in the googlegum leaves which stuck together when pressed, and contained something that promoted healing. He took the strips of wood and wrapped them in place on each side of the leg for support. Then he found a small tree, with a bole of about three inches diameter and branches that stuck out opposite each other. Trimming it down so that only two branches were left, he wrapped the leaves around the Y shape at the top and made a handy crutch for Ulf to use.
(Editor’s note: an insertion by Mary Duncan – I had been watching and listening to it all from hiding as I often did for the hunts, so I quickly gathered some of the googlegum leaves and joined the hunters who welcomed me with reverence. I offered to help Grg but he was managing well, so when the liver was extracted, I made a fire and cooked it, as was the tradition. The hunters always ate the liver of a kill on site, and with great ceremony, honouring the beast who gave it. Everything went as Grg had suggested, and the hunters returned in triumph with an abundance of meat, a huge hide, many bones and the ivory tusks for the making of handles for weapons and tools, and the full tribal celebration ensued.)
One of the younger boys was on the watch, and shouted the news when he saw them coming. This brought everyone out to see the triumphant return of the hunting party, and they were awed when they saw the size of the bundle, and the way they were moving it along. One of the older men, not agile enough for a big hunt had taken some of the younger boys out on a small game hunt and had brought back two hares and a fox. The women and older girls had been gathering fruit, berries, nuts and roots, to add to the food store. When they saw the men returning with a mammoth, the women quickly went back to the cook fires. By the time most of the mammoth meat was stored in a hidden, cold cave, the feast was ready. Everyone fell to with gusto, and after the worst of the hunger was appeased, Prt, the joker and apprentice storyteller, gave a lively, humorous account of the killing of the mammoth accompanied by much laughter and great enjoyment of the tribe. The feast ended with fresh red berries, and fermented grape juice.
After the women had cleared things away, Bft got out his bone flute and started playing. Soon Stph, Grg’s sister, started singing. Then some other flutes joined, and Dlg started hitting a Cave Bear skull with the palms of his hands, adding a driving beat. The whole tribe sang, crooning in harmony, thanking the Gods, their resident Goddess, and the Mammoth for the feast, and the good Ideas Grg had had to get everyone home safely.
Afterword: The above story is based on a large store of flat rocks stored in a cave near a 1966 Archeological dig in a small village of Pit Houses, in what is now Mezhirich in central Ukraine, overlooking the floodplains of the rivers Ros and Rosava. Buried deep among the rocks was a plastic wrapped parcel containing three modern notebooks, giving a fifteen year history of the lives and doings of the clan who lived there at the end of the Upper Paleolithic age. The archaeologists had been stunned; they couldn’t understand how prehistoric rocks could have modern writing engraved on them, until they found the notebooks. Carbon dating had placed the rocks at around 26,000 BC. When Paul Anderson opened the first notebook, he gasped, and exclaimed “It’s written by Mary Duncan, our archaeologist who disappeared last year! She wrote it! it was buried among the rocks.” Professor Henry Gibbson hurried over to look at the notebook. “It is amazing that paper has lasted so well for so long. Mary did a good job of preserving it. I am so happy to find out what happened to her. It will be interesting to read her account” he said.
With the help of the notebook, the team was able to sort the rocks chronologically and get the entire story of the lives of the Tall Tree Clan. A young boy of the tribe found Mary and, though afraid, brought her home to the tribe. Here is a quote from the notebook. “Somehow, I was temporally displaced and I am now in the actual village we were unearthing. At first I panicked, and ran around pounding on all the rocks that looked like the one I bumped into when I stumbled in the tunnel. A little boy about four years old, managed to get me to follow him, and took me to his home. The people calmed me down, bowing and making offerings to me; they seem to think I am a goddess, and have given me an honoured place in the tribe. I know that I will spend the rest of my life here, so I will keep records and preserved them as well and as long as I can, to help those in the future who are on that dig. I hope this lasts for them to find” The story above, recorded ten years after her arrival, is the tale of how Grg went on a hunt, and went through a coming of age event.
the inspiration for this story was a log lodge at the seaside, with huge boulders at the waters edge and a storm raging, and a picture I saw on TV of a lighthouse covered roof to base in ice, after a winter storm. To see the picture go to http://ozlandbard.blogspot.ca/search?updated-min=2010-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2011-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=50
Rover ran full tilt at his door, needing to get outside fast. He’d had an unusually big, and delicious meal, and his stomach was overloaded. He put his head down and aimed at the door flap, hit….and was sitting back on his haunches, with a pain in his head. ‘What’s wrong?’ he barked. ‘Why is my flap locked?’ Shaking his head, he stood up and looked at his master. ‘Why the miserable creature, he’s laughing! Doesn’t he know that HURT?’ Rover whined, and stood staring up. ‘Why did you lock my door?’ he rumbled. His master reached over and stroked the dog’s head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed,” he said. “But it did look funny. Come on, I’ll let you out the front door. This one is frozen shut.”
They walked through the house and when they got to the front, they could see out the window. ‘Oh, my!’ Rover thought. ‘I didn’t realise there was such a storm. When did it blow up? Must have been while I was sleeping. Well, storm or no, I have to go out. It’s going to be a very fast trip! No way I’m staying out in that!’ His master opened the door, and the sound of the wind rose. He could hear the sea raging, crashing against the rocks on the shore.
He ran out, found a sheltered spot to do what he had to do, and turned to head back. But he heard a different sound, and had to investigate. Unfortunately, the sound was very faint, and seemed to be coming from the other side, from the sea. Keeping as close as he could to the wall, he made his way, rounding the corner, almost into the teeth of the gale. Hunched down, moving with difficulty, with rain and spume hitting his face like small hailstones, he made his way along. He could now see why his door wouldn’t open. The whole back side of the building was covered with ice. He was getting colder and colder, and ice was forming on his pads and his face. He was just about to give up, when he heard the sound again, a bit louder. A squeaking, mewling sound.
He moved several steps on, and there it was, a little lump of icy fur. Holy Great God Bog, it’s a kitten! he thought. How on earth did it get here? Well, guess I’d better get it inside. Looks to be almost dead. He leaned his head close, and the silly little thing tried to shy away.
‘Don’t be daft, you stupid feline!’ Rover growled. ‘I’m trying to save your useless life!’ He opened his mouth over the small, half frozen furball and picked it up. He had to pull a bit, as it was starting to freeze to the ground. The warmth of his breath started melting the ice, and he could feel it wriggling a bit. He wanted to tell it to stay still, but couldn’t. If he opened his mouth to talk, he’d drop it. He took as firm a hold as he could without breaking it’s skin, and made his way back. The return journey went much faster, as he had the wind at his back.
He scratched at the front door, whining. ‘Come on, master, hurry it up. I’m freezing, and if I have to hold this idiot kitten much longer, I’m likely to just swallow it!’ The door opened, and he bounded in, skidding across the wood floor on his ice packed paws. He turned his head just in time to avoid hitting the wall with a mouthful of half frozen kitten.
“What have you got there?” his master asked. “What did you find that you thought we’d want in the house?” ‘Hmph!’ Rover thought, ‘not something I’d want here, that’s for sure!’ He dropped the kitten on the floor, turned and skidded and slid into the kitchen. There he settled down on his mat by the fire, ignoring the kitten, and his master, and started chewing at the ice on his cold paws.
The master stared in surprise, then realised what Rover had carried in. “My lord, it’s a half frozen kitten!” he exclaimed. His wife and children ran in to see. “Aw, the poor little thing,” his daughter exclaimed. “Rover, you are a hero, rescuing this poor wee baby from the storm!” She ran into the kitchen and hugged the dog, depositing a kiss on his wet head. ‘Hmph! he thought. Hero I don’t mind, but kisses? Yuck!’
Her mother lifted the kitten and carried it to the kitchen, gathering a couple of big warm towels. She sat by the fire and settled the kitten in her lap, carefully wrapping a towel around it. “Warm some milk, Alice,” she told her daughter. “And bring one of those doll bottles you have. That will do for feeding it. Make the milk just warm enough so you can barely feel it when you drop a bit on the inside of your wrist.”
As she talked, she was busily wiping the little thing’s fur, and soon the first towel was wet. The second towel finished the job, and she cuddled it close in her arms. “Rover, you are the best dog in the world!” she said. “I wonder how it got out there, where it came from?” she murmured.
When Alice came with the doll bottle, carefully washed and filled with the warm milk, her mother stood up and settled her daughter in the chair. She wrapped a smaller, dry towel around the kitten and put it in Alice’s arms. “Hold the bottle to it’s mouth, and see if it will drink.”
Alice did as instructed, and the kitten was soon sucking away at the bottle. “Oh, look, Mom, it’s eating!” she whispered. “We are going to keep it, aren’t we? After all, Rover brought it to us to look after. It’s his Christmas present to us.” She looked up at her parents, eyes wide, smiling.
“Yes,” Dad and Mom said together. “And I think we should name it Stormy Noel,” Mom added. “It came to us at Christmas, from a storm, and it’s a stormy grey colour.”
Even her brother agreed on the name, though he had been pretending to have no interest in the kitten. Rover lay curled up on his mat, warm again, and thought, ‘then he rumbled low in his throat, now I’ll have to put up with that little feline pest being around all the time! Oh, well. Merry Christmas, everybody!’
Three days later, the storm had moved on and the ferry from the mainland arrived with the mail and supplies. They told the captain about the kitten Rover had found, and he said “everyone wondered about the poor little thing. We all thought it had drowned. It was part of a litter from the Jones’s cat, and somehow wandered off. How it got to the island I don’t know, though several small wooden crates were washed off the dock. It must have got in one of them and been washed ashore here. Did you find any finished wood pieces around?”
Young Tim said “Yes, I found some – most were pretty smashed, but four were still usable. I put them in the shed to dry, I was going to use them to make the model windmill for my school project.”
“Is there printing on them?” the captain asked.
“Yes, one has Seville Or on it. There’s more, but I can’t make it out”
“Then that is the answer. Your kitten found refuge in an orange crate, and took a short voyage. He is one lucky little animal. Better keep an eye on him, he seems to be the adventurous type.” he went off, laughing and calling back over his shoulder “I’ll let the Jones’s know, they will be happy that he’s alive and in a good home.”
Rover listened to all this, and thought ‘I did do something special that night, didn’t I? Isn’t that great? I really am a hero. And it’s good to find out how the little pest came to be there. Now, how can I get it to sneak onto the ferry and go back to its Mommy? Hmmm….’
Inspired by Facebook picture of glowing-eyed snow people rising out of a field, and the Nissan snowman and attacking rogue ‘Ents’ commercials
The Snow Nation was in an uproar. Everyone calling for action in the face of the desecration caused by the Humans; it had taken centuries, millennia, to raise the snow people to this extremely high level of anger, but now it covered every place where snow lay on the ground at levels of three feet or more.
Millennia ago, all the land was empty except for natural growths, such as trees, grass, flowers and so on; yes, there were animals, some very large, some walking on the surface, some burrowing below, some flying above. But they used what was there and except for the burrowers, they made no changes to the land, and the burrows did no damage to the growing things.
Then the humans appeared. At first, they were welcome; they made no changes, lived in trees or natural caves. They hunted the animals and gathered nuts and fruits for food. Then one discovered how to use the fire the Gods started in the forests, and that led to gathering wood, eventually to cutting down the trees. Imaginative individuals kept inventing things to make life easier. The fire warmed the caves and coked the meat making it easier to eat, and keeping the young and old warm in the cold weather, the skins of the animals attached together covered them in the cold.
Another bright thinker figured out how to make moving large things more easily by putting logs under them. Soon, another devised a way to take slices of the trees, cut lengthways, and fastening them to make a platform to carry larger loads which naturally led to cutting slices of logs and attaching them, and so invented the wheeled wagon.
It was not always easy to find convenient caves, and someone made a shelter of small trees and mud. They learned how to use stone to build sturdier shelters, and soon groups of these grew, taking space that had provided food sources, roots and grains. In time, they figured out how to plant seeds and grow their own grains, and fruits and vegetables. This led to building storage pits lined with stones, taking up more of the growing land.
And so it went, century after century, each year when the snow came back the snow people found less and less free land, and more and more land covered in Human buildings. Finally great areas of land were covered with hard materials and huge buildings. They had moving carriages that ran on the hard streets, propelled by something that left a nasty stink in the air and turned their lovely white snow to dirty grey.
At last the humans built huge ships for going out into space; the grounds taken up for storage, and sending them off out of Earth’s atmosphere was huge. At first it was just a short trip, out of the atmosphere, once around the world and back. But eventually they were sending enormous ships that held thousands of humans off to settle on other planets. The first of these ships carried mechanical ‘men’ that were capable of doing what the humans couldn’t do; they made a planet habitable for the humans. This was called ‘Terraforming’, and had gone on for centuries until the first of the terraformed planets, Mars, was ready, and the first of the enormous colony ships rose majestically on a pillar of flame, and humans left Earth.
There was less and less area left where the snow people could rest comfortably under the thick snow in fewer and fewer fields. Even good drifts, against walls and hills were harder to find, until at last the rage that had been building for centuries, no, millennia reached the peak. Outrage resounded over all the snowy lands. “This has to end!” they cried. Eyes glowing, they rose from the snowy fields, and in their millions, the Snow Nation, Outraged, declared War!!
Their raging anger caused huge blizzards that blew for days on end, trapping humans in their homes and vehicles. Power went off and they lost heat, pipes froze so they had no water and the food they had stored in freezers and refrigerators ran out. Those in vehicles were trapped under mountains of snow and died. The snow people even enlisted the help of the huge evergreens in the woods; the evergreens became active, moving and attacking vehicles traveling on the roads going through their forests.
Humans died by the hundreds, thousands; even in countries where snow never fell, they were washed away by floods many feet deep. Many of the snow people turned into ice that wreaked more havoc. The war went on, heading for a worldwide peak in deaths. Winter extended into the months of May and June, and the snow people were so caught up in their anger and revenge that they didn’t even notice. For all the damage they were doing, in spite of all the deaths, they were hardly making a dent in the human population.
The leaders were gathering to try to work out some plan that would cut the human population down to an acceptable level, and how to then keep them there. In the midst of their discussions, in the midst of the wildest, coldest storm, a snow boy flew in and managed to get his father’s attention.
“Papa, papa!” he shouted, making everyone turn to stare at him.
“Son, what do you mean, whipping in on adults in conference? You know better, explain yourself.”
“I’m sorry, papa, but I just heard something that might give us a chance.” The snowboy said. “The Humans are prepared to send an exploratory ship out to Europa to look for signs of alien life. There will be a two man ship that will carry two probes to Ganymede, which is coved in ice over water and has a thin oxygen atmosphere. These probes are also going to look for signs of life. They will be powered by highly condensed water and will spend a lot of time there, circling Ganymede many times. The probes will just graze the atmosphere.
“If we can get enough of our people in the summer stage in the fuel tanks, every time a probe powers up, our people will be dropped to the surface through the atmosphere and will fall as snow. We can colonise Ganymede, and it is probable that no human can ever live there. We’d have our own world, and those who are left here will have all the room they need.” He stopped and looked at the adults around him, waiting for their reaction.
Everyone had frozen; not flicker of movement, just a room full of snowmen of various sizes and shapes. The snowboy was afraid, so he slowly and silently oozed along against the wall until he settled in a little pile in the corner and waited. Then suddenly the place was a whirlwind of activity, voices calling out, even laughter as the adults realised that their race could be saved, and no more humans needed to die. His father looked around and found him, drawing him out to the middle of the room.
“Son, you are a genius! Your name will be known and praised all over Earth and Ganymede! I am so proud of you, and your incredible mind.” Papa patted him on the head, and told him “run and tell your Mother and everyone you can find. We must start preparations immediately if we are to get as many as we can to the blast-off site. When did you say they are taking off?”
“On the second of March, from Wallops Island, lift off slated for eleven a.m.” Snowboy said, and took off running to spread the news.
Six weeks later the island was inundated by the oddest rainstorm anyone had ever seen. It centered over the reservoir where the water for the two explorer vessels was being stored. The huge tanks were still only partly filled, and the ground crew were frantically trying to find a way to speed up the pumps, when the sudden downpour started. Within two hours, all of the tanks were full, even the smaller extra one. Then the downpour stopped.
“That was the darnedest thing I’ve ever seen!” the head of the crew in charge of filling the explorer’s tanks exclaimed. “And hardly any water on the ground. You’d think it was done on purpose, but… well, maybe God took a hand.” He took off his cap and scratched his head. Replacing the cap, “he said well, let’s get to work.”
By the next day the two explorers’s had their fuel tanks full, holding much more than expected, at a higher compression than planned. But after a very thorough check, it was found that the tanks were not overstressed. “Even when the water freezes in space,” the head engineer said, “there will be room for the expansion. Oddest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s almost as though the water wants to go.” Shaking his head, he walked away.
Six and a half years later, two ovoid shapes with attached cylinder shapes approached the moon Ganymede and went into orbit. They separated, each making a ball of twine survey of the planet, crisscrossing each other’s path and flying just below the outer limit if the atmosphere. With each correction of their path, massive amounts of water vapour fell through the atmosphere and floated down as snow.
The exploration lasted six months and then, with a last blast of water they headed out and back to Europa and the mother ship. There was just enough water left to allow them to slow and maneuver for rendezvous and re-entry into the bowels of the ship. They didn’t know it, but they had seeded a colony on Ganymede, a colony of snow people who were soon busily settling down and remaking the surface of the planet to suit their lives. The little Snowboy and his family rejoiced that at last they could live and grow without having to fight and kill for the right to do so.
