The Guardian

            Clouds of steam atop the mountain hinted at a change. Esilda shivered when a gust of hot air from the volcanic peak rushed like a warm river, breaking the chill of the cloud forest and surprising her. She anticipated challenges ahead. Eruptions and earthquakes were not among them.

            Deep red and yellow leaves rustled as she trudged along the path into the darker reaches of the jungle. A canopy of green, a thousand shades, shielded her and provoked an ominous feeling in her gut as she hiked. The colorful vegetation seemed ready to consume her, but the map indicated otherwise. Legions of curious hummingbirds guided her into the dense mist and greenery.

 

            She was on course after a strange series of delays that were beyond coincidence. Was she being warned? Or summoned? Questions outnumbered answers, but she felt born to this quest as if it was her destiny.

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The View From Mars

            A cascading waterfall was a highlight of the campground that had been thoughtfully designed and meticulously constructed at the periphery of Base Five. The red soil was reminiscent of Georgia clay, and gurgling river water was in fact Martian, but circulated endlessly through a meandering stream by pumps powered by nuclear fusion. Camping rated high on the list of desired amenities for homesick colonists. Eileen sat with the kids around a simulated campfire eating s’mores, gazing skyward and searching the blackness for Greg’s incoming ship.

            There were other reminders of home. The base was named Cook County, a tribute to the first Martian governor, a Chicagoan. It sounded less sterile than “Base Five.” Other bases had followed suit: Los Angeles, Maricopa, Queens and Milwaukee. Pathways between structures had been given street names, and unnecessary mailboxes adorned living quarters, brightly painted and decorated. This explained the manatee that stood watch over Tamiami Trail.

            “I wouldn’t want that commute on a regular basis,” Greg stated as he cleared the Cook County airlock.

            “It once took seven months Captain,” reported the AI gate attendant. “Welcome to your new home.”

            “Yeah, new home. Old home may not…” he choked back emotion at the thought.

To read the rest of this story and more than fifty others, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.

😎

If you like fiction and you're in the mood for over 50 short stories, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.

Or if you'd prefer seventy non-fiction stories inspired by a town in Illinois, please consider buying Park Ridge Memories also on Amazon. Click on the image below.

 

Father's Way

     

            Chest-deep snow and ice cling to Ricky’s coat, making movement difficult and penetrating him with a most unwelcome chill.

“You keep watch. I’ll be back soon,” his father orders, anticipating a repeat of some previous lapse in judgment Ricky can’t recall. It is his father’s way. 

            Earlier they cleared one path down the driveway for the car and another for foot traffic leading to the backyard. Beyond that, mounded snow prevents access to the garage, the woodpile, and the corridors of pine trees at the rear of their property. Dusk lends the forested area a sinister demeanor, identical aisles of frosted limbs that lead into a blackened understory. Ricky thinks it’s a scary place.

“Keep an eye on Momma and Sissy,” says Father, then pulls the front door hard. Ice on the jamb prevents tight closure and necessitates a second, harder slam. Pictures on the wall rattle from the force of his departure.

            Ricky is saddened at his leaving. Father forgot it’s his birthday. Smoky bacon grease and a scented candle tinge the air with pungent odors that cause his nose to run and eyes to burn a bit as if they had been bathed in the bitter winter air.

            He collapses on the couch, melting and dripping, and knows what Momma will say, but comforts himself briefly in a quilt, wiping his runny nose on the filthy fabric.

            “How many times have I told you not to do that Ricky?” asks Momma. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go get a log for the fire. Go on, git!”

To read the rest of this story and more than fifty others, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.

😎

If you like fiction and you're in the mood for over 50 short stories, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.

Or if you'd prefer seventy non-fiction stories inspired by a town in Illinois, please consider buying Park Ridge Memories also on Amazon. Click on the image below.