https://www.asst.art/event-details/pwr-writers-read-aloud
Wednesday, April 10, 2024
Tuesday, November 30, 2021
Ken Oguss - The Story Space - Supplemental Notes.
SUPPLEMENTAL NOTES ABOUT THE STORIES SHARED.
KEN OGUSS
Featured Teller On
November 30, 2021
· HOW MY FATHER NEARLY FLEW AWAY ON A KITE,
A Family Myth set on the beaches of Far Rockaway, New York in 1923.
Here is a story I wrote about my father recorded on my SoundCloud channel. It is an imagined conversation between my young father and my grandmother while she makes sweet and sour cabbage soup.
A JEWISH ATHLETE.
Copyright © ℗ 2011 by Ken Oguss
All Rights Reserved.
https://soundcloud.com/kenoguss/a-jewish-athlete
· ABOUT TATU THE CHIMPANZEE
With Whom I Worked At The University Of Nevada-Reno In 1977.
https://www.friendsofwashoe.org/meet/tatu.html
· THE ORIGIN OF BLACK CATS.
Copyright © ℗ 2019 by Ken Oguss All Rights Reserved.
Created on October 24, 2019 for Jamie Sellhorn’s 5th grade students at The Fortune Academy in Indianapolis, Indiana.
Prompts: Black Cats, The Planet Mars, The Number 99.
May be told with permission request made in writing to the author kenoguss@gmail.com
https://soundcloud.com/kenoguss/the-origin-of-black-cats
(Note: motif of learning the ways of a fierce beast to get whiskers
borrowed from namesake folk tale in:
The Lion's Whiskers and Other Ethiopian Tales.
collected by Brent Asbabranner)
Publisher Linnet Books, 1997.
· PEACHES AND CREAM, a screenplay.
Copyright © ℗ 2020 by Ken Oguss All Rights Reserved.
Prompt: “Living in a liminal world.”
“The types of things Greta dreams about and their connection to the outside world are based on what I read in the linked article below. In the article the patient in a coma says how cold she felt (due to the special cooling pillows used to keep her fever in check.) I read up on coma patients to be sure that they actually do have dreams that slip in and out of lucidity. I used a flying dream as a reaction to having her limbs moved by the nurses. Flying dreams are often connected to feelings of empowerment. I love that feeling of being able to swim up into the air and fly.” Ken Oguss
Being In A Coma Is Like One Long Lucid Dream.
· BREAKFAST AT THE UP TOP CAFÉ, short fiction.
Copyright © ℗ 2020 by Ken Oguss.
All rights reserved.
Prompt: “Country Preacher” performed by the Adderly Cannonball Quintet.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znTZCNxRk-0
Storytelling-CREATIVE!™
317.938.8743
For a full menu of my work in STORY.
Thursday, July 1, 2021
Prompt: Abandoned Bicycle.
WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT.
Jim bent down to pick up some rocks along the highway. His Western hat fell off as he pulled them from the sand. He snapped up his hat and knocked it against his leg to remove the desert dust. Maggie was still talking and walking ahead. He had stopped listening to her a few miles back. She really wasn’t talking to him. It was more like she had opened the lid of her mind, and the contents were spilling out as she walked. Jim threw one of the rocks at a cactus a few yards from the road. He didn’t even come close.
Maggie gestured as she talked, "So I sez to her, why don't you just tell him that you're not interested in sex anymore and just be satisfied with having two cats? I mean, it's not the end of the world, is it?” She paused and coughed. “Is there any water left in the canteen?”
Jim threw another rock.
“Hey, I asked you a question. Do we still have some water?”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t think you were talking to me?” Jim said, not making eye contact.
“Christ! Who else would I be talking to out here in the middle of the desert?”
“Well…” Jim threw another rock. “It seemed to me you were talking to yourself? And no, the water’s gone.” He shook the empty canteen upside down.
“What? Do you think I am crazy talking about my life?” She said, her lips feeling a bit sticky.
“No. Not crazy.” Jim caught up with her. “You have been venting for the last three hours. I think that’s what they call it. Venting? Right?”
"Well, I have a lot on my mind." She coughed again and then sighed. "We should probably have stayed with the car last night? But, God, I'm thirsty."
Jim paused to pick up more rocks. A shiny disk of metal caught his eye. He wiped the dust off with his hand and read it aloud, "Good for a drink at the Oasis Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada." He handed the disk out to her, “Here.”
“Keep it, funny man. We left Las Vegas hours ago. What good would this do for me now?”
“You said you were thirsty. I figured you could use it more than me, that’s all.”
“Oh, like I’m going to turn around and walk back to Las Vegas to use it?” She said.
“You never know. Maybe it will bring you luck?” He said, looking at the resentful look on her face.
“Why did I ever pick you up? My mother warned me never to pick up hitchhikers. She also told me not to gamble, but she didn’t know that I am usually lucky most of the time. But I tell you… “She took a large breath, “My luck has been shitty since yesterday afternoon when my boyfriend Stanley ran off with that dancer and left me in the Easy Slots area holding a cup of quarters…."
Jim closed his eyes and looked pained. She was on another vent. He thought about his father’s advice, “Don’t leave on a trip with less than half a tank of gas.” Maggie didn’t know his father, but that was advice she could have used. He looked down at the long sleeves of his white shirt. Wear long sleeves in the summer, and your arms won't burn. More good advice from his old man who made his living outside. Jim thought as they walked. His father would be taking a nap about now, in the middle of the day. He'd be in the backyard under the only shade tree in the neighborhood. His father was a natural gardener. He knew what plants needed.
Jim loved his father, now a lonely widower. He awoke two days ago and knew instinctively that it was time to go home. There was no phone call. His father needed him now. Two states away, he had packed his shoulder bag and stuck out his thumb.
Jim watched Maggie muttering to herself. She seemed so lost. “So, you believe in luck? Jim asked.
Maggie stopped in the middle of a sentence and answered. “Yeah. And my luck has been shitty, as I was saying when you interrupted me!
“I think maybe that free drink token is a sign that your luck is changing?”
“Now I think YOU are the crazy one! Nothing’s changed. We’re still walking in the desert 20 miles from Reno with no water.”
“Maybe we had to come out all this way to find that token? Maybe it means that you should go back?”
“What? Go back 400 miles on foot?”
"Didn't you ever take a risk when you were gambling, and your luck was running high?"
“Well, yeah, there was this time in Atlantic City when I was…." Maggie was revving up another story.
“Wait, wait, hear me out. “ Jim said. Maybe you have to take the risk of turning around and going the other way for your luck to really change?”
“Oh, God. That’s impossible. It’s too hot. I can’t think."
They stopped at a crossroads. “Reno 20 miles," the sign said. A dusty white ten-speed leaned against the pole. It was an old bike, but the tires were new and inflated.
“Who left you here, old boy?” Jim said as he checked the gears and wheels of the abandoned bicycle. It looked good.
“I am too tired to ride a bicycle, and besides, both of us can’t ride it!” said Maggie, sitting down next to the sign. “You take it.”
Overhead, a lone cloud passed in front of the sun, a wind-whipped out of nowhere, and the sky darkened. Then, to the West, they saw a massive cloud of dust billowing up.
“Shit!” Maggie said. Is that a tornado? Aww, this is perfect! You’ve been bad luck for me, you know? We’re gonna get carried away by a tornado. All we need is that fuckin’ Toto, the dog in a picnic basket. You might as well ride that bike away from here. I haven’t got the strength.”
“That’s not a tornado,” Jim said, staring at the dust as it approached.
“Just kill me here. Get it over with. I give up.” Maggie wept from her spot on the ground.
“It’s a big truck!” Jim said. He walked out to the middle of the road and waved his hat.
The sun came out again, and the truck stopped a few yards away, its air brakes snorting like dragons. The large white truck was from one of those popular casino circus shows. Jim could hear something huge moving around inside the shipping container. The driver's window rolled down.
"Hey, thanks for stopping, Man. We're stranded. Where are you headed?" Jim asked, looking up at the driver. He was very tan and dusty, with a red bandana on his head. Jim could vaguely see his own reflection in the man's dirty mirrored sunglasses.
"Vegas." The man said in a deep, tired-sounding voice.
“You got room for a passenger? Hey Maggie, get over here.”
“Just one.” The man said. “I need someone to talk to me; help keep me awake.”
"I can do that!" Maggie said, smiling broadly.
"Oh yeah," Jim said, nodding his head.
"You afraid of elephants?" The man asked, pointing back to his cargo.
“Oh, you mean like Dumbo? I loved that movie! Nope. They don’t bother me. I mean… I don’t have to ride in back with them or anything? Right?”
“Get in.” The man said.
After she climbed the steps to the passenger’s side of the cab, Jim called up to her, “Hey, remember Dumbo’s feather?”
“Yeah, it made him fly.”
“This is yours now. Now fly outta here," Jim said, handing her the Free Drink token.
Maggie turned into the cab for a moment and came back with a cold bottle of water. And here’s your free drink!”
Jim waved. “Thanks for the ride. And good luck!” He could hear Maggie through the window, already talking loudly as the truck drove off to the Southeast creating another cloud of dust.
Jim turned back to the abandoned bicycle. “I was lucky to find you today, old boy. You ready for a trip?" He patted the bike on the handlebars and then drank half of the water. He put the half-full bottle in his shoulder bag. Always have at least half a tank when you set off on a trip, he thought.
Jim mounted, putting his booted foot forward on the right pedal, and pushed down with his full weight. "He aw!" he said as if riding a horse. While peddling along the highway to Reno, Jim thought back on the day. He didn’t really believe in bad luck. His father had told him years ago that you have to make your own luck. So it hadn't been such a bad day after all.
In a few short hours, he would be in his father's back yard sitting in the shade of that old tree. They would have cold beers together like they used to. His father would share older stories about growing up in Mexico. Jim would tell him about his new life, the people he met hitchhiking, and flying elephants. His father would laugh. They would feel the desert air begin to cool down. And with a bit of luck, they would watch the sunset together a few more times.
THE END
Copyright © ℗ 2021 by Ken Oguss
Wednesday, April 14, 2021
FADE TO GREY.
Prompt. Sticks and Stones.
FADE TO GREY.
Leonard Berlin, a successful screenwriter, walked barefoot along the lit path to his lap pool. In seven years, he had earned success in his profession, esteem in the community, and most of the creature comforts he could have hoped for in the foothills above Los Angeles. Leo had just finished his final draft of a futuristic new screenplay due to the studio in the next three days. He was mentally and physically exhausted and needed to clear his mind before sleep. There was a pervasive smell of burning wood in the air. It was like that from a campfire. He glanced over the low wall that enclosed the pool. In the distance, he could see the seasonal fires slowly eating away at some of the most expensive real estate in Southern California.
The sunset to the West was an eerie orange-brown. On a clear night, the moon would have been visible. He remembered the beautiful orb reflected on the pool's dark waters when he first bought the house in the hills. It had taken his breath away. He never used the pool lights when he swam laps, preferring to imagine himself swimming through space to the stars! He walked down Grecian marble steps into the water. Ripples radiated out from where his feet broke the surface. It felt refreshingly cool and clean.
Leo slipped his swim goggles over his eyes. “Let’s go with the flow,” he said aloud to himself, pushing off from the side of the pool. First extending his right arm forward, his hand leading like the tip of a spear. He rolled his body to the left, kicked once with his legs. Then he rolled his body to the right, extending the left arm as he stroked and kicked. On the third stroke, he rolled again and took a breath. All the while, his body was mostly underwater, moving forward magically as if being pulled to the opposite wall. Leo loved the beautiful efficiency of this style of swimming. He moved with the grace of an aquatic mammal.
His girlfriend Nadia loved to watch him swim laps. “You swim like a seal,” she would say, teasing him. Nadia was too much of a distraction. She was plenty of fun down by the pool or up in the bedroom. But, earlier in the week, she had agreed to stay with her actress roommate down in the valley so that he could concentrate on the script.
While Leo swam, he focused on his breathing, one breath every third stroke. It was a meditation. He felt his mind release the pressure along with the constant stream of bubbles from his nose and mouth. The deep end of the pool was ominously dark this evening. There were no stars to be reflected.
How long had he been swimming? Half an hour? An hour? He had lost track of time. His watch and phone lay upon his writing desk in the den. He stood up in the shallow end and walked back to the steps. His muscles were deliciously tired now. His cold, wet skin longed for the warm towel draped on the back of the patio chair.
The smell of smoke hung heavier in the air now. There was a boom in the distance, and all of the lights went out. Perhaps it was another transformer? Someone would be up late working on that tonight. Leo coughed, toweled off, and then made his way back to the house in the dark.
Wet feet kissed a path across the kitchen’s terracotta floor tiles imported from Spain. Leo poured a tall glass of filtered water, followed by a shot of vodka still cold from the silent freezer. “Cheers,” he said to himself in the dark kitchen. Leo slipped off his speedos in the bathroom and felt his way to the unmade bed, still smelling of Nadia. In one fluid motion, he rolled forward onto the bed, his head nested on his pillow, and he was asleep.
In the middle of the night, Leo startled in the dark. In his dream, he heard a low rumbling outside the bedroom’s glass walls. At first, it seemed like thunder, but it repeated like slow footsteps. To his horror, he saw the back fence, the lemon tree, and the flowering hedge in the back yard covered in sparks and smoking embers. And then he saw it!
It was monstrously big. The legs, thick as large tree trunks, were as tall as the house's first story. The beast walked past his windows; its long tail suspended high above the ground, slowly following the body. The only sound it made came from the impossibly large feet.
As Leo lay on the bed watching the enormous creature pass, he felt his spine freeze in terror. He had not experienced this kind of fear since he was a child, down in the basement of his family’s modest home, watching scary monster movies late at night on a Zenith black and white TV. His animal brain wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't move. He tried to scream, but he had stopped breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped for air. He wept and curled into the fetal position until he fell back asleep.
The roar of a low-flying helicopter woke him. A man’s voice, exasperated with urgency, called over a PA, "This area is in the direct path of the wildfires. You must evacuate your homes immediately. This is an emergency! All residents must evacuate now!”
Leo watched helicopter overhead through the bedroom window. The backyard was not on fire… yet. He saw no large footprints or evidence of a large creature. But there was ash falling from the sky!
He threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, his loafers. He put his computer and back-up drive in his backpack, along with his phone and chargers. He scooped up his grab-and-go bag. He took a quick pee and grabbed his speedos off the sink. There was still no power. He got a banana in the kitchen and pulled a warm bottle of water out a silent refrigerator.
The air outside now was almost unbreathable. On the way to the beamer, Leo passed the pool. He stopped by the patio table and picked up his swim goggles. The rectangle of water was now covered with a fine, grey ash.
Leonard Berlin, the successful screenwriter, took one last look at his pool and the house he had lived in for the last seven years. He put his gear into the trunk of the car, and then in one fluid movement, he slipped in behind the wheel and pulled out of the driveway. He joined the line of cars and trucks full of evacuees and their quickly chosen belongings. Smoke filled the view in his mirror. “Fade to grey,” he said aloud to himself. On route to the valley, he made a quick call to check on Nadia. Then he left a text for his agent “Hey Stanley. The script is ready, but I want to talk to you about a new story idea and this one is set many millions of years in the past.
THE END.
Copyright © ℗ 2021 by Ken Oguss
1201 words.
FADE TO GREY. edited, rev 3.
Thursday, March 4, 2021
Saturday, February 20, 2021
Saturday, January 9, 2021
Luck of the Deal.
KEN OGUSS·MONDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 2020·
Prompt: "Jack of Hearts."
"Look out!" I yelled at the old man walking across the street in the fog. I could hear the fire engine sirens speeding toward us, the flashing red and white lights igniting the fog into an explosion of light. Now I could see the man's face. It was my neighbor, Jack. "Jack, get out of the way!" He held a little package in his hand. In an instant he tossed a card into the air just as the fire truck reached him. There was a terrible crashing thud. I covered my face. And then everything went dead silent. I was breathing heavily and slowly looked back to the street, expecting to see a scene of incredible gore… but there was nothing there. No fire truck, no Jack, just the fog and the dark night. I took a step down off the curb toward the scene and felt myself falling forward.
I awoke with a startle and a gasp. "Jack!" My eyes adjusted to the dark of my bedroom. I reached over and pulled my glasses off of the side table. The old LCD alarm clock on the other side of the room displayed 4:01 AM. God, I thought. Bad dream. Jesus, it was so real! I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't.
A pot of coffee, a plate of eggs, and toast with orange marmalade later, I checked the local media online. I expected to read about a fire engine hitting a pedestrian in the early morning or at least a report of the siren and the crashing sound. But there was nothing to confirm that something had actually happened.
I went on with my morning still feeling uneasy. I pay attention to my dreams. I write them down so that I won't forget them. They sometimes inspire me to write a story. This time the dream was too real. I decided to call Jack to ask him about it. His home phone did not answer. He didn't carry a cell phone. They are too much technology for him. I never leave home without mine.
At noon I walked over to our small, local grocery store. I spotted my neighbor Jack in the produce section.
"Hey, neighbor!" I called to him.
"Hey Morrison, Robert!" He said to me. This was a private joke based on the way his home phone called ID displays my name when I call him, last name first. We chuckled at each other.
"You finding anything good?" I asked him.
"Well, the avocados are on sale. I wasn't really planning to eat avocados this week. But you know, a sale like that and it's like a divine force is telling me to eat avocados. A good avocado is worth its weight in gold!"
"Yeah, they are good." I said looking into his eyes, but he looked away. He seemed a little uneasy. "I have a question for you," I said.
"Okay, but nothing difficult. I'm still a little foggy this morning." He joked. He began feeling the mound of avocados in the display for ripeness.
"I heard some strange noises last night. I may have dreamt them? They sounded like they came from about two blocks away near the fire station."
"Were you outside in the fog last night?" He asked putting two of the avocados into a plastic bag.
"No, but the noises woke me up. I heard the fire engine siren and then a loud crashing sound like it hit someone."
Jack stopped fussing with the bag and set it down in his cart. He patted at his back pocket and then said, "Damn, I forgot my wallet. I'm going home to get it. Maybe we'll talk later.
I could see the outline of an object in his thin overcoat pocket about the size of a man's wallet. "Is that your wallet?" I asked. I reached over and tapped it. It had the feel of something made of thin cardboard. Something mostly empty.
"Jack stepped away from me. "Nope. Not my wallet. Say if you'd buy the avocados for me, I'll pay you back. I'm going back to the apartment. … not feeling too well."
"Sure, Neighbor," I said patting his shoulder affectionately.
I rushed through my shopping and headed back to the apartment building that we two bachelors had called home for the last ten years.
On the day I had moved in years ago, Jack had stepped out of his apartment to greet me. He had pitched in and carried boxes up the three flights of stairs. I had no idea of his actual age. It never really came up in our conversations, but he had a U.S. Navy tattoo, and it sounded like he had seen action in WWII. If I had done the math it would have made him over 90 when we met. But he didn't look much more than 70 or 75 at the most? "Good genes," he would laugh any time I asked how he managed to keep his health. That didn't figure either because I remembered him saying his father and older brother had died of cardiac arrest years ago.
I went back to my apartment and unpacked my groceries including some avocados I had bought for myself. I made a cup of coffee, strong, the way I like it. Jack had offered me coffee on occasion the past, but it was weak like tea. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and so I always brought coffee with me when I went across the hall to visit.
"Knock, knock," I said at his door. It didn't have an actual knocker. I moved the plastic bag of avocados over to my left hand that held my insulated coffee mug and knocked on the door. I heard the sound of his recliner spring into the upright position. A moment later the sounds of multiple locks being undone ran up the door. It opened just enough so that I could see Jack's steel-blue eyes checking to see if it was me. He undid the sliding chain and opened the door.
His apartment like mine bore features of bachelor's sensibilities. His worn leather recliner was older than me, but it still worked. It had come to fit him like a glove, as the saying goes. I think he probably slept in it? I took a seat at the old estate sale sofa. I put three pillows behind me to keep from falling into its ancient upholstered mouth. There were paintings of ships and the sea on the walls of the living room. Jack had been quite the artist back in the day. Most of the books on his single library shelf were about naval history, fiction, and treasure hunting.
"Have a seat. I've got some coffee in the galley from this morning, still warm?"
I followed him into the kitchen with the avocados and set them on the red vintage Formica table. I spotted the brown stained glass carafe in his ancient Mr. Coffee machine next to the stove. "Oh, no thanks. I've got my own."
"Okay." He shuffled back to his recliner and settled in.
"So, Jack. Like I was saying back in the store, did you hear a fire engine siren and a crash really early this morning? I know you go out on walks early in the day. I can't tell if I actually heard it or dreamt it? I just wondered…"
"Well," he said, with finality as if having made up his mind about something. "I do have something to discuss with you."
"About the noises?" I asked.
"Yeah. Well … a lot more than the noises. He paused. "You've told me about some of your dreams in the past. What did you see in your dream?"
"I dreamt that I saw you, Jack, standing in the middle of the road in the fog. A fire engine came rushing at you and I yelled to warn you. But you pulled a card out of your pocket and you all disappeared? It was such a strange dream."
"It wasn't a dream," Jack said. He placed a very old deck of cards on an end table next to his chair. "It's a long story. You know I was in the Navy," he began.
"Yeah, Jack. There are lots of clues about that," I said nodding at all of the naval theme pictures around the room.
"Does the name U.S.S. Indianapolis mean anything to you?" He asked.
"Ah, that was the ship that carried parts of the first atomic bomb to a U.S. Navy port on an island in the Pacific at the end of the war. That was the bomb we dropped on Hiroshima. It was a secret mission as I recall? So secret that none of the ships in the area knew it was there. A Japanese sub torpedoed the Indianapolis after the secret delivery. After it sank, no one noticed that the ship was missing for several days. Some big FUBAR scandal. Lots of men lost. Something like that?" I said feeling good about my recollection of history.
"Yeah. Something like that," Jack said. He got a far away look in his eyes. "I was on that ship. By all rights, I should be dead."
"Jesus Christ, Jack. How old are you?" I asked.
"I'll be 108 at the end of the Winter."
"That's impossible!" I said.
"No. It's possible. Because I have these," he held up the cards. I took them as payment when won a poker game a few weeks before the mission. The man who gave them to me was a bar tender, part Romany Gypsy. He was older then than I am now. Something like 120? He said he was tired of living. He told me that I could use them one at a time to save my life from accident or illness."
"By drawing one and then…?"
"Yes, and then tossing it down. Your life is saved. It's like it never happened."
"How many times have you…?"
"Oh, half a dozen; heart attack, a plane crash, a jealous husband shot me, and my bout with cancer. But the first time was on the U.S.S. Indianapolis. I had the cards in that Mason jar over there on the bookshelf next to the TV. I had put them in there before boarding ship to keep them dry. I used three cards during four days I was in the water; Shark attacks. I saw seventeen men die, one at a time, within ten feet of me."
I sat stunned as listened to a string of stories about the cards, each one more remarkable than the last. It had grown late. Jack looked very tired and closer to his actual age for a change.
"So, with these cards, I've been able to live much longer than I should have. Like the gypsy, it has come time for me to pass them on. I really miss my wife, Ellen. It makes my heart ach. Lost her in a car accident years ago. I'm ready to join her. After that close call last night I decided that I was going to give the cards to you. You saw it in your dream. The card I pulled was the Jack of Hearts. Ellen used to call me that. It seemed like a sign to me, you know?"
Jack got up from the recliner and walked over to the mason jar. He walked back over to me and set the jar down on the coffee table in front of me. The lid was corroded from salt water? "You can keep this too. It served me well."
He handed the deck of cards to me. I could see that they were quite old. The cards were a little warped as if they had been wet at some point a long time ago. The design on the backs of the cards was of a Phoenix rising out of the ashes.
"The rules are simple. You use the cards one-at-a-time. You can only save your own life. You can't share them. Goodness knows I tried to. And when you want to pass them along you sell them to someone and then explain how to used them.
The whole thing was so fantastic; unbelieveable. Honestly, I just chalked it up to Jack's ability as a storyteller and his incredible luck. But I wanted to humor him. "So, I need to pay you for the cards?"
"Yes, he smiled. The price for you is two avocados. As good as gold." He held out his hand and we shook on it.
I put the cards into the jar and grabbed my empty coffee mug. After the door closed behind me I could hear him fastening all of those locks. It was remarkable how much I had not known about my old friend Jack.
I was suddenly very tired too. I ate a late dinner and then settled in for the evening. I put the jar of cards on the shelf next to my collections of science fiction and fantasy stories. I went to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I didn't dream at all that night which is unusual. The next morning I made coffee. I spread avocado on some nice rye toast. I decided to take an early morning walk. It seems to have served Jack well. I stopped at Jack's door and knocked to see if he'd like to join me. There was no answer. I supposed he was sleeping in.
The morning was clear and cool. I found myself walking East over by the firehouse. I reached an intersection that seemed familiar, but different in the bright sunlight. I was about to turn around to go back home when something caught my eye. It was a playing card in the street. I picked it up. It was the Jack of Hearts! What were the chances? I guess I wasn't really surprised when I turned it over to see the Phoenix on the back. I ran back to the apartment to tell Jack about finding the card. There was a fire truck, and ambulance, and three police cars in the parking lot. From a distance I saw them wheeling a man out on a gurney. It was Jack!
"Hey, Morrison, Robert!" Jack said weakly through the oxygen mask. " Would you believe, a heart attack. At my age!" He smiled. "It won't be long now."
"Jack, wait. I've got something for you." I put the playing card in his hands.
"You know this won't work now?" He said looking up at me.
"I know, but you are the Jack of Hearts, aren't you?" I patted his hands holding the card.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I am. Okay boys, take me away. I'm ready to go. Good-bye Morrison, Robert," he said waving to me with the card. "Good luck to you."
"Good-by Jack of Hearts," I said, my eyes tearing up. "Say hello to Ellen for me."
Jack passed away quietly in his sleep at the hospital. He had a DNR. They let him go. He was ready. As for me, I still pay attention to my dreams. And I still have the jar on my bookshelf. Now, do I believe the cards could save my life? Well these days, you can't be too careful. Between you and me, I don't leave home without them.
THE END
(Revised, November 11, 2020)
Copyright © ℗ 2020 by Ken Oguss
All Rights Reserved.
2,594 words.
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