Save Humanity Yourself

I recently did a radio interview for Night Dreams Talk Radio where I thought the discussion would be centered around science fiction. The interview was at ten pm, rather past my usual bedtime, so I had plenty of time to do a little extra research beforehand.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the heading above my bio—A. K. Frailey on How to Survive an Alien Attack—not intended as sci-fi but taken very seriously by those who deal with such issues on the public forum.

Now, if you’d be so kind, look at this from my point of view…

Possums don’t take me seriously. My cats ignore my every command, and my kids’ dog takes over my bed whenever she wants. I am hardly fit to keep attacking aliens at bay. The possum would have better luck.

Needless to say, I don’t think Gary was thrilled with my optimistic “Maybe they wouldn’t attack?” scenario or my soul-searching, “Don’t we have to believe that we are beings worthy of survival, first?”

My original reason for being on the show still stood, it just never got a chance to talk despite raising its hand several times. Science fiction has something important to add to the “human survival” conversation. It is in the imagination that we come up with not only the methods of survival but the motivation compelling us through the hells of hard times to make it out alive.

I can’t honestly tell anyone what an alien might look like, how they might communicate, whether they are responsible for crop circles or body snatching. But humanity won’t lose if we value who we are in the honest light of both our failures and successes.

In my collection of science fiction stories, Encounter Science Fiction Short Stories & Novella I created the background lives for significant characters in my stories. Because a good character has a background—physically, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually. Perhaps the character doesn’t deal with all issues. He or she may be an android that considers efficient synaptic connections the highest achievement with no understanding of emotional or spiritual conundrums. But, he or she still has to interact in a universe that battles those spectrums on a daily basis. Therefore, the whole range matters. We may have an inkling or be flummoxed, but we are not alone. We take not only ourselves but everyone we meet, their families, friends, workmates, and irritating neighbors into the room whenever we have a conversation. Even if the communicators are a million miles apart.

Ignore the larger reality at our peril.

Each story must take into account that actions not only have consequences, but we may never know what they are on this side of the great divide. While the characters may not see the larger picture, the readers can. Writing and reading through a character’s actions and interactions as they play out logically, emotionally, spiritually, and even physically offers us the mountain-top view. We climb out of ourselves and see the vista laid before us as humans and aliens play out their roles.

I am currently working on the second Newearth novel, A Hero’s Crime. No one is perfect. Perhaps that is a blessing. Because it’s only when the hero gets out of the way that someone new gets a chance to see what he or she is made of. 

I may not have a plan to save us from an alien attack, but I do plan on finishing this book. You All may have to save humanity yourself.

Here’s a snapshot of the first chapter.

Cerulean blinked at dust-speckled sunrays slanting before him. He wanted to move, but his body felt weighed down, practically attached to the structure under him. Swallowing back panic, he inhaled a long, calming breath.

His chest barely budged, as if gravity had increased threefold. Too weak. Forcing himself to concentrate, he faced practical reality. If he couldn’t move, he must lie still and listen. Surely, there was a good explanation. A sharp ache in his neck when he attempted to turn his head assured him. At least, I know I’m not dead.

Murmuring voices traveled overhead. A woman—no—two women. Arguing.

In weary depression, he closed his eyes.

Clare and Justine. At it again. They argued on Newearth. They argued aboard ship. Now they were arguing here—Wherever that might be!  He imagined bellowing, shut up! And seeing their reaction.  He tried to form words. Nope. Not anytime soon.

A shadow hovered near and blocked the warm sunlight. A gentle hand caressed his forehead. “Cerulean?”

Using every ounce of energy he had at his disposal, which wasn’t much, Cerulean pried his eyes open. Directly above him, a towering figure stared down, a lean, clean-shaven face, bright green eyes, and a shock of thick, white-blond hair.

Concern emanated from those eyes, despite the upturned creases in the corners, matching his smiling mouth.  “So good to see you awaken naturally. I was ready to rouse you, but it’s usually better to let nature take its course.”

Swallowing a desert dryness, Cerulean attempted to form words. “Where—?”

Justine’s black-haired head and sculptured face rose into view, crowding out the other figure, her eyes wide and her tone authoritative. “You’re on Mirage, Cerulean. We made it—through barely. I was afraid you were going to—”

Clare’s round, child-like face framed by chestnut, shoulder-length hair, shoved forward. Her chocolate-colored eyes flickered irritably at Justine and then returned to Cerulean. “It’s Mirage-Reborn now. And you had us going, old friend. Abbas here”—she nodded to the white head—”saved your life. Good thing he has a better disposition than that son of his. Omega would probably have played some ridiculous—”

The urge to scream closed Cerulean’s eyes again.

Without another word, the gentle hand smoothed his brow. Abbas’ voice, deep and confiding, pronounced final judgment.  “He’s still very weak. You must allow him complete rest for a few more days, and then—”

“Then what?” Clare’s voice rose two notches, near screech level.

Justine broke in with a husky, earthy tone that unclenched Cerulean’s jaws. “Calm down, Clare. Abbas wants to save Cerulean as much as we do. He’s just making sure that we don’t kill him with kindness. Right, Grandfather?”

The sound of Abbas’ chuckle warmed Cerulean’s heart. So honest and lighthearted, something Cerulean had not felt since—when? He couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur. Years of pain and turmoil. Fear evolving into an interplanetary panic… The mission to find Omega and save Newearth.

He sighed. Finally, everyone knew. He wasn’t immortal. Maybe he would die. Maybe he wouldn’t. But the truth was clear—he couldn’t fight any longer.

~~~

Encounter Science Fiction Short Stories & Novella 2nd Edition

https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Photo https://pixabay.com/illustrations/connection-meeting-partnership-3441052/

OldEarth Melchior Encounter Excerpt

Our Natures That Deceive

King Radburn waved Lord Gerard’s comment away. “I accept your offer, good Father. I know that once you hear all the facts, you will see fit to punish the guilty and free the innocent. I have no other interest in my mind.” The king smiled benignly.

The widow snorted this time.

Harold smiled and settled his stance into a comfortable position. This ought to prove interesting, if nothing else.

It took the better part of the morning for everyone to have his say, recalling events as they knew them. Father Neumann listened carefully and interrupted several times to ask detailed questions.

Though he had not been near the actual scene, Harold could soon imagine the series of events in vivid detail.

Servants slipped in twice, offering food and drink. No one ate, though many accepted drinks.

In the dwindling afternoon heat, Wilfred was finally allowed a chance to give his account of what happened. His summary sounded like the desperate pleas of an already condemned man. “Everyone was screaming and shouting. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran!”

Harold furrowed his brow, perplexed. Though it seemed clear to him that Wilfred did not kill Lady Nadine, it was equally obvious that no one else in the room had either. Too many witnesses testified that everyone in the room had been somewhere else when the deed was done. Still, something about Lord Gerard’s testimony did not add up, and Father Neumann’s frequent glances at his brother priest hinted at his doubts.

In red-faced passion, Lord Gerard stood up, pointing his finger at the boy and shouting, “You little liar! You arranged to meet my daughter outside the hall, and when Lady Nadine found you, she tried to stop you, and you—like the coward you are—stabbed her!”

Grasping the edge of the table for support, Wilfred’s face drained of all color. “I didn’t! I swear it! I was going to meet your daughter, that’s true, but we never saw each other. I heard someone calling, and I became frightened, so I hid. I saw Lady Nadine come forward, a-a-and-I saw her fall into your arms.”

Everyone stared at Lord Gerard, who had grown pale in turn. “How dare you accuse me? I’m not the one on trial!”

Nolan climbed to his feet. “You, as well as anyone, had a good reason to kill the lady.” He leaned over the table and looked meaningfully at Lord Gerard. “Melchior told me about Wilfred.”

Widow Brunswick wavered to her feet, strands of hair flailing like naughty children from the crooked bun on her head, and pointed a shaky finger accusingly. “Yes, he certainly did have good reason to wish his wife dead and this boy to take the blame! His wife hid the fact that she had switched her living son for a dead one, and Wilfred was really her own. How long have you known the truth, Lord Gerard?”

Lord Gerard fell heavily back onto his chair. “By the gods, I didn’t know. Not until the king told me yesterday.”

All eyes swiveled toward the king.

Widow Brunswick let out a cackling, half-mad laugh. “He has his own secrets to keep, so he thought to cover them with other men’s tales. He killed his own son yesterday, though he professes he knew nothing of the matter.”

Father Neumann gasped.

The widow wagged her head. “We are not among angels, Father.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/3nyfkEJ

OldEarth Melchior features many of the best aspects of both historical and science fiction.~Reedsy/Discovery

the overarching plot with the aliens ties everything together to make a cohesive, epic novel… ~IndieReader

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/lake-district-landscape-sky-clouds-1009459/

OldEarth Georgios Encounter Excerpt

What Just Happened?

—Gaelic Lands—

Seanan struggled to his feet. He had been having a good time, but the scent of morning was in the air, and birds stirred in their nests. It was time to finish this celebration so that he could attend to the duties of the day. Unsteady, he had to step closer to Gutun to grasp the cup. He drank a good measure and then tried to decide who should have it next.

Gutun bumped Seanan’s arm, knocking the cup aside. He snatched it, poured in another full measure, and with a wide grin handed it back to Seanan, nudging him toward Rueben.

Irritated, Seanan drew back. He hated it when Gutun touched him. Such long, dirty fingers made him feel as if death were trying to grab him. Instinctively, he did the opposite of what Gutun wanted. Alexios certainly looked like he needed a drink.

With furrowed brow and confused eyes, Alexios shook his head in refusal.

Quick to save Alexios any discomfort, Marcus accepted on his behalf. He took the cup and drank deeply. Gutun’s cheeks flushed, and he seethed with spittle forming on his lips. He clawed at the cup.

“This was your idea. Remember?” He looked around and met Rueben’s stern expression. Clearly, he rebelled at the thought of drinking to a foreign god. Only Georgios and Ian were left.

Gutun’s fingers darted as he spluttered, “Give it to me! It’s not your place to offer to the gods!”

Weariness mixed with rage boiled Seanan’s blood. “Oh? Why don’t you enjoy good fortune yourself! Here, take a drink!” He smashed the cup into Gutun’s face.

Gutun jerked backward.

Georgios stood and reached for the cup. “Stop. I’ll drink. Then we can end—”

Ian called out. “Wait! Something is wrong with the Roman.”

Marcus clutched the air as spasms rippled over his body.

Ian jerked forward, knocking Seanan aside.

The mead splashed on Gutun’s face. “Aye!” He leapt to his feet, frantically wiping his lips.

All eyes snapped to Marcus as he fell limp, his eyes wide and terror-stricken. The frantic struggle, sudden and horrible, ended abruptly.

Alexios screamed, “No!” as he grabbed Marcus’ tunic and shook him as if to wake the man from slumber.

Georgios knelt at his father’s side, pried his fingers free, and closed Marcus’ eyes.

As one body, all eyes turned to Gutun.

Gutun jumped to his feet and pointed accusingly from Marcus to Alexios and finally to Rueben. His high-pitched scream sent early birds screeching from their nests into the dawn. “The gods have judged! They are guilty of heinous crimes. Kill them, now!”

A raucous din of voices rose as clansmen argued in favor or against the clan priest.

Seanan thrust his arms into the air, demanding silence. His voice matched his mood, furious and quite sober. He glared at Gutun. “I was going to offer that cup to my son! Georgios, who fought against our enemy, was about to drink from that cup! Of course, you wanted me to give it to Rueben first!” Rage blinded Seanan. “You wanted me to poison your rival? You devil!” Seanan swung at Gutun, but his encounters with the resplendent jug of ale ruined his aim.

Gutun ducked.

The fearful crowd sobered quickly, offering no response.

Tainair grabbed Gutun’s shoulder. “You’ve escaped the punishment due to a traitor once too often. We can’t trust you to live any longer.”

Ronan stepped up and gripped Gutun’s other shoulder. Together, the two men forced Gutun onto his knees. Seanan slipped his knife from his belt.

Stunned, Gutun stared wild-eyed, his gaze darting around the crowd. “The gods will demand your blood if you harm a hair—”

Georgios clutched Ronan’s arm. “Wait! I was an outsider and yet you welcomed me. My father was your enemy, and yet you allowed him to live. You have done no wrong in offering forgiveness. Let me take Gutun into exile. Then you will be free of him without blood on your hands.”

Seanan glared at Georgios as he spoke, his words flying in a spluttering spray. “I don’t mind killing him, Georgios! It will be my pleasure!” He stared hard at Gutun. “I will rid the world of his treachery!”

His arms flapping helplessly, Georgios shook his head. “But—”

Rueben gripped Gutun’s shoulder, as if claiming him. “He meant to kill me, so he’s mine.”

Seanan tried to regain control of the situation. “He must die!”

Rueben stared Seanan in the eye. “In the end, he may prefer death.” In silent understanding, Georgios and Rueben asked for rope, bound Gutun hand and foot, and led him away.

Seanan faced his eldest son. “What just happened?”

With red-rimmed eyes and a face drained of all color, Ian offered a weak smile. “Many think that the gods will seek vengeance if we kill their priest. This way, if he lives or dies, it’ll be the providence of the gods.”

Seanan pursed his lips in a petulant pout. “It won’t break my heart if he falls overboard during the journey. He’d survive. He’s the sort that always does.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/3v7w8oI

“Nice adventure book interlaced with sacred moments.”

“…romance, trial, and faith.”

“A wonderful story of adventure and courage…” 

“Inspiring tale for young and old.”

In the first century AD, Georgios, must battle a world of dark secrets, deceptive promises, and hope renewed to discover the true meaning of fatherhood. A mysterious alien condemns the human race, but the watching universe looks to humanity for renewed strength.

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-landscape-castle-mountains-4192535/

OldEarth Neb Encounter Excerpt

—Neb’s Village—As Evil as You Wish

Leah sat on the bank of a clear, flowing stream and watched the reflected clouds billow past in the small side pools.

The rushing flow bubbled and twinkled in the failing sunlight.

Her nausea rose and fell. Only the silent, still pools calmed her. She had relived her father’s death uncountable times and heard her brother’s defiant words repeated in her mind. Should she have chosen death?

She laid her hand on her belly, caressing her skin in slow, meditative circles.

As Meshullemeth scurried in the background, Leah shook her head. Always in a hurry but never doing anything.

Neb appeared, limping toward her, and a blush crept up her cheeks. He looks like a boy, an earnest child, with his heart pulsing through his eyes. A shiver ran over her arms.

Neb stood a moment, watching her. Pain etched a furrow across his brows.

With her hand resting comfortably on her belly, Leah met his gaze. “Are you all right?”

Neb jerked his head and attempted a smile. “I’m quite well. I came to check on you.”

Leah accepted this kindness. “I’m better. The baby is moving. He’ll be very strong.”

As he gentled himself onto the creek bank beside her, Neb’s smile grew genuine. “He’ll be the strongest baby under the sun.” He winced as he adjusted his leg.

Leah glanced aside until he was comfortably settled.

Neb turned his face to the setting sun, staring at the long shadows, and shivered.

Leah felt the child inside her body and knew that when this baby found his way into the world, Neb would lose himself. She smiled sweetly, though it tasted bitter.

“My mother has not been bothering you?”

Leah faced him. “Your mother?”

A flock of birds settled in a nearby tree, arranging themselves for a night of rest.

“No, why would she? I told her that all the decisions are yours, not mine.”

Neb nodded, his gaze downcast. “I do not mean that she would be unkind. I mean, rather, she wants the baby for herself.”

Her skin crawling, Leah wrapped her arms around her middle. “What do you mean? This child is ours, flesh of our flesh.”

Neb grunted. “She failed to mold me into the serving vessel she imagined, so now she wants to try with my son.” Neb gripped Leah’s arm, staring into her eyes. “She uses dark powers, and she’d stop at nothing to gain a new tool.”

Nausea rose from Leah’s middle. She tried to stand but crumpled on her attempt.

Using each other for leverage, Neb and Leah leaned on each other and rose to their feet. Neb clasped her arms, supportive and yet supported. “I didn’t want to upset you but rather warn you. My mother is not what she seems.”

Tears sprang to Leah’s eyes. “Is anyone?”

As if he had not heard, Neb wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close, and led her home.

The quiet bustle of families settling in for their evening meal, bees returning to their hives, birds warbling their goodnight songs, and a soft pink glow on the horizon mellowed Leah’s mood and reminded her of the still pools.

Neb’s voice, gentle but insistent, broke the peace. “Do you believe in me?”

Heavy, suffocating weariness enveloped Leah. “You are neither as good as you claim nor as evil as you wish.” Letting go of his grasp, Leah hobbled ahead, one hand rubbing her aching back while the other caressed the jerking kicks of her baby.

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

“A classic good vs evil scenario. Well written. Fast-paced and adventure-filled. Readers both young and old will enjoy.” ~My Book Addiction 

“…looks at humanity’s ancient past. The vivid descriptions of different clans bring early humanity alive. While part of a series, Neb works well as a standalone.” ~Rachel

Raised in a world of wild beasts, craven spirits, and noble souls, Neb dominates everyone around him. His mother feeds his lies, his father falls before him, and his brothers flee. Only in love does he meet a force he cannot resist. His wife bears two sons who take opposite paths. Neb’s curse follows both. Heaven and hell await their answer. Through the eyes of three alien worlds, so does the watching universe.

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/waterfalls-stream-trees-moss-falls-1908788/

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter Excerpt

Desert—God Help Me

Tobia watched Ishtar lead the sheep to their watering hole. Exhaustion sapped his strength and sorrow confused his thoughts. A faint light of hope tried to spark, but he could not keep it alight. He glanced down. The pain in his chest should show through…somehow. “Ishtar?”

With his gaze fastened on the sheep, Ishtar coaxed them to the waterhole. “Yes?”

“What happened to Vitus?”

Once the sheep began to lap at the water, Ishtar halted, propped his arm on his staff, and looked at Tobia. “When he lost his mind or when he lost his way in the desert?”

“Both.”

A grimace spread over Ishtar’s face. “I’m the last person you should ask.”

Tobia’s eyes glimmered. “But he’s dead now—gone forever. I should’ve kept a closer eye on him.”

With a quick shake of his head, Ishtar motioned toward a rocky outcropping. He waited for Tobia to shift into the shade and leaned against the cool wall. “When I first came here, I was a shell of a man, not unlike Vitus. I had neither eyes to see nor ears to hear. I was dead inside. But Matalah’s kindness rekindled a spark of life within me.”

“Was I not kind enough to Vitus?”

Waving as if to dismiss the thought, Ishtar glanced away. “Matalah gave me the freedom to decide—but I had to make the choice myself. In time, I decided to live and pay back his kindness. Only then could hope flourish.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Apparently, the Creator still has use for me.”

Tobia plopped down on the ground and sat cross-legged. “But it was God who struck down Vitus.”

“Are you sure?”

“Vitus called—demanded—that God speak with him and then lightning struck…”

Ishtar shook his head. “But He did not kill him, did He? Vitus followed in your footsteps for many a day after that.”

“But no one saved him when he wandered into the night. I didn’t even know he was gone until—”

Ishtar’s expression softened. “Tobia, you’re asking what happened between God and Vitus.” He peered over the horizon. “I can’t say and neither can you. All I know is—Matalah could not have saved me unless I wanted him to, and you could not save Vitus for the same reason.”

Pain tightened Tobia’s throat, and tears stung his eyes. “Ishtar?”

Ishtar met his gaze. “Yes?”

Longing tore through Tobia. “I want to go home.”

As a frolicking lamb nuzzled Ishtar’s hand, he patted it. “I’ll show you the way.”

~~~

Ishtar entered Matalah’s tent and bowed low.

Taking Ishtar’s hands, Matalah peered into his eyes, his face haggard and lined, looking older than his years. “Though my sons turned to evil, still, I pray on their behalf. May your fortune be better than mine.”

Ishtar blinked back tears. “I love you as I could never have loved my own father.”

Matalah nodded. “God knows…for I surely needed your love, my son.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

“Enjoyed the second book of the trilogy even more than the first and can’t wait for the next adventures…” Ellen

“The story was wonderful and well written.” ~Culver

“…characters walk in the sort of uncertainty that characterizes real-life” ~Pam

 “a complex tale of sorcery, slave raids, and heroic rescues – dramatic events that bring the pre-biblical world to life.” ~David 

Forced to leave his clan and his children behind, Ishtar staggers into a vast wilderness and encounters a desert nomad who loves him as a son. When foreign raiders approach, Ishtar must discover if he can move beyond madness, protect his people, and reclaim his family. Eager to know the source of Ishtar’s strength, a watching Universe must learn if humanity can save them from a spreading darkness.

Photo https://pixabay.com/images/search/desert%2C%20oasis%20/

OldEarth Aram Encounter—Excerpt

—Grasslands—Lake Clan— Believe Me

Aram and his men followed dusty footprints, scanning broken stems of grass and twigs crushed under hurried feet. The trail was so obvious—neither Namah nor Irad had taken much care. At one point, they found a crushed spot where one of them had fallen and the other had dragged the companion a short way. Aram’s eyes squinted. Surely, Namah could not drag Irad. But why would Irad drag Namah? If she were sick or exhausted, he could carry her. Sweat trickled down the inside of his tunic.

Who was Irad? The question came sudden and unbidden. Or rather, he clarified his thought, who had Irad become? Evil possesses the man, directing his actions. This was not the man he knew. Or had Irad always been different than he had imagined? Aram’s mind floundered on questions he could not answer.

When he came upon the footprints at the edge of the cliff, he peered around. No one—no body—was there. Then he glanced down.

A solitary figure crouched by the shore. Something floated in the water.

Scampering down a craggy pass, Aram let his men follow in due course and jumped from ledge to ledge. Finally, he slid to the shore. As he ran, sand flew in a backward spray. His gaze locked on his wife, and he came to an abrupt halt.

Namah crouched, huddled over, rocking and moaning.
Irad, his clothes billowing in the water, floated face down. Clenching his jaw against tearing pain in his middle, Aram lifted his head and strode to his wife. Crouching at her side, he laid a hand on her shoulder.

Namah continued to rock, shaking and groaning.

Lifting her chin, Aram peered into haunted eyes. Her face, streaked with mud and blood, held shock and grief so deeply etched that words failed. Aram wrapped his arms around her, and held her, rocking and groaning with her.

With a scream, Namah pulled away. She hesitated, her words dropped to a mere whisper. “It wasn’t my fault.” Swallowing, she cried. She gripped her leg in agony but still stared at the body. “He’s crazy—evil! You didn’t know him, Aram. But I did!”

Aram rubbed away the tears coursing down her face. He surveyed her body. Her leg lay twisted at an odd angle. Bile rose in his throat.

Gripping her thigh, Namah sobbed. “He tried to kill me, but I killed him. He killed Lamech—Shem—Anikar. Now he knows what it feels like.” Shivering through a feverous tremor, she clawed at her leg. “I’ll die too.”

Rising, Aram whistled to his men who scrambled to the shore. With quick instructions, they tore off their outer tunics and formed a soft cradle to carry Namah between them.

Holding her steady, Aram helped to carry her past the body of his one-time friend. He kept his eyes averted. They negotiated Namah up a gentle incline and started the journey home.

Namah whimpered, clutching at Aram’s arm. “You’d have killed him yourself. He’s an animal—a dangerous animal.” Her head sank back, and, covering her face, she sobbed.

Without willing it, Aram looked back. The floating body rocked with the ebb of the morning tide.

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

“…more complex and thought-provoking than your usual alien/human encounter.” ~D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

The history is fascinating, the characters are uniquely intriguing, the plot is very rich, and the events are fascinating.” ~OnlineBookClub.org

“Tense encounters, crisp action, failures of leadership, and dramatic surprises power the story’s main thrust…” ~BookLife Reviews

“Frailey writes in a crisp, lean, and richly detailed style, building a fascinating, absorbing world.” ~Blue Ink Review

Escape into a world of monstrous cats and epic journeys in the Tolkien style. Frailey succeeds in creating a new world, but also succeeds in spinning human emotions that keeps the reader grounded in timeless themes. ~Swegart

Aram must lead his clan to safety, protect an innocent man, forgive his wayward wife, and challenge a curse that haunts his soul. As Aram encounters both good and evil, an alien world watches and waits for their part to play in humanity’s future hope or despair.

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/waters-nature-mountain-lake-3102729/

Inside and Outside Time

For a read-aloud of this post, check out https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Inside-and-Outside-Time-e1a7kcd

“Time is not absolute, and time has no direction.” I get this discombobulating bit of news from the New Scientist, who base their conclusions on no less than Einstein’s general theory of relativity. In another step forward—or backward—scientists from Australia suggest that they have proven, at least theoretically, that time travel is possible. Okay, so here we go!

A time traveler from 2714 posted in August warning that aliens were due to arrive “tomorrow.” His timing was off apparently as none of his predictions panned out. So far. Another time traveler from 3036 (Live Your Lie—spelled creatively) warns that we’re going to have a power outage lasting five years on account of “terrors” and pretty much nothing on earth will be the same. Well, without washing machines, I’d expect so. And a time traveler from 2582 suggests that humanity will experience three days of darkness at some point in our future.  

So where does all this leave me, someone who has trouble managing a one-hour switcheroo involving Daylight Savings Time?

I know for certain that when I am tired and I have a bunch of stuff to do, time drags unmercifully, but when I’ve settled down with a good book in a comfortable chair, hours zip by faster than the speed of light. So, my internal measurement of time is certainly unreliable and perhaps was never meant to be trusted as an absolute value.

I’m just pondering here—but might it be that our human experience of time is not so important in the measurement of a determined number of hours, days, and years, but rather the experience that occurs within that loosy-goosy framework?

My father passed away recently at the age of 92 on November 5th, 2021. My brother passed away at the age of 58 on January 15th, 2021. And my husband passed away at the age of 53 on December 15th, 2013. My husband was the father of eight kids, the youngest barely five years old when he died. My brother was a much-loved pastor of a large parish when he passed away. And my dad had lost the grandeur of his academic abilities long before he passed. All lived for a time, experienced a great deal, and died without anyone clicking a stopwatch to say, “time’s up.” Their “Earthly timeout” appeared random and untimely.

We humans like to control things. Our lives especially. Makes a great deal of sense to me. Out-of-control lives conjure images of chaos and the inherited hell of undisciplined excess—the lie that we can manage ourselves no matter what. But time itself has never really been within our grasp. Only, as Tolkien says through the character of Gandalf, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

In my book My Road Goes Ever On, A Timeless Journey, I reflect on my life in the context of “my personal time”—minutes, hours, days, years given to me to use as I decide. When waiting in a traffic snarl or dealing with a long-talker, I may complain that my time has been “stolen,” but really, I own my time as I do my life.

Over the years, I have become ever more impressed by the boundlessness of time. My ancestors undoubtedly fretted over much the same stuff that keeps me awake at night, though they may have used different terminology to color their meaning.

Why am I here?

Do I matter?

How long will I have here?

Questions are a form of caring. And my careful or careless life and the use of my time say everything about who I am and what my life on Earth means—yesterday, today, and into tomorrow’s forever.

I believe in eternity—an outside-of-time reality. I don’t understand it nor can I encompass it here on our spinning Earth. But it makes a great deal of sense if Einstein and our modern-day scientists are right. Time is all around us—yet beyond us. We exist within its confines but are not confined by it.

Will aliens arrive tomorrow? Will darkness surround us for three days? Will technology cease to light our homes for five years? God knows. Which is to say, I don’t know. In much the same way that God is within, and yet, beyond me, so I accept my limitations in a boundless existence.

Time will tell…

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/A.-K.-Frailey/e/B006WQTQCE  

Photo https://pixabay.com/illustrations/clock-time-management-time-3222267/

https://www.newscientist.com/article/2166665-why-now-doesnt-exist-and-other-strange-facts-about-time/ .

general theory of relativity 

https://www.ladbible.com/news/technology-scientists-claim-theyve-proven-time-travel-is-mathematically-possible-20200930

https://www.ladbible.com/news/news-aliens-to-arrive-on-earth-tomorrow-to-start-war-says-time-traveller-20210810

https://www.ladbible.com/news/viral-time-traveller-from-3036-makes-chilling-warning-about-future-20210628

https://www.ladbible.com/news/weird-time-traveler-claims-world-is-about-to-enter-three-days-of-darkness-20210502

Go Where No Man Has Gone Before and End up Lost in Space?

For a read-aloud of this post go to https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Go-Where-No-Man-Has-Gone-Before-and-End-up-Lost-in-Space-e19g6dq

I loved Star Trek as a child. I definitely wanted to go where no man had gone before and leave behind all that was scary and dreadful on Earth. The idea that humanity could overcome its worst self and evolve beyond war, poverty, and even family disfunction, enticed me into an imaginary world that I clung to with every fiber of my being.

Interestingly enough, one of the writers who set the stage for Star Trek’s success was Isaac Asimov, a prolific writer who wrote many of his most famous works in the mid-1960s. He is especially known for his robot books and the three laws of robotics: “First, a robot shall not harm a human or by inaction allow a human to come to harm. Second, a robot shall obey any instruction given to it by a human. Third, a robot shall avoid actions or situations that could cause it to come to harm itself.”

The concept of intelligent and morally directed “better beings” who would serve humanity, do no harm, yet be strong enough to survive in a dangerous world was also embodied, as it were, in the character of Mr. Spock, played so well by Leonard Nimoy. Vulcans had evolved beyond the messy emotionality of fear and the seven deadly sins. What I find fascinating half a century later is the situation we find ourselves in today. In the developing quandary of “Who am I?” seems to rise a “What am I?” confusion. Beyond the basic man/woman divide has leaked a host of messy alternatives. In a world of plug-ins and technological interactions, what defines us as humans?

Lost in Space, another 1960s cult classic, focused on a family that explored the edges of the known universe and got sucked into an unknown realm. Though no spaceship has (as of yet) been literally lost in space, the concept sounds eerily familiar in the first quarter of our current century.

Unlike Spock, Isaac Asimov, and a host of science fiction writers, I do not have a utopian view of humanity’s future. In Last of Her Kind, humanity plays a definite part in social and world breakdowns. More than one problem plagues us at a time, and solutions are never one-size-fits-all. But as the Newearth world develops from the remanent during the “lost years” on Lux, humanity is given a period of time to take a long look at who we are as a species of beings.

That reflective moment, lasting nearly a generational span, sets the stage for true growth, a “New Earth” where humans and aliens share the planet, though aliens have the upper hand. Strangely enough, humans seem to thrive under pressure, contemplate the bigger picture only when forced to, and learn the humility necessary for clear thinking after being knocked to the ground or while being utterly bewildered in space.

It would be pleasant to envision a time where humanity has shuffled off the old coils of monstrous pride, dehumanizing lust, outrageous gluttony, despicable greed, repulsive sloth, misdirected wrath, and blinding envy. But time and experience do not point to a character revolution where we all become as good as Vulcans (or even well-programmed robots) and lead the moral universe into a bright future.

The cohesive force that held the family together in Lost in Space was their mutual love. In Star Trek, deep and abiding friendship kept Kirk, Spock, Dr. McCoy, and others moving forward despite every sort of trial and tribulation. Robots, no matter how well programmed, just aren’t there yet.

Newearth Justine Awakens, a novel about a cyborg—both human and robot—isn’t a story about a perfect world and evolved human beings. It’s about humans and aliens who, despite the hells of deep hurt, still dare to care and risk their security and happiness for others strengthened by something beyond the logic of pure reason.

Perhaps getting knocked down, lost in space, and having an identity crisis aren’t the best that humanity can do, but it is part of what makes us better than our worst selves or soulless robots. After all, we don’t have to stay down. And when we do get to our feet again, we may stand a little taller.

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/A.-K.-Frailey/e/B006WQTQCE

 http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

I don’t think the author had any idea her story would be so prophetic when she wrote this. Very interesting with lovable, real characters.” ~Jamie

“a very richly told tale with vibrant characters” ~Marcus

“People I can relate to and actually care about have become few and far between. These characters were so real. I love that.” ~Sandra

“Thought-provoking” ~Barbara

“One of the best books I have read.” ~Glenda

“Emotionally captivating writing reminds the reader what it means to be human.” ~Nick Lauer

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/spaceship-science-fiction-forward-3628969/

Off the Ground

A read-aloud of this story https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Off-the-Ground-e17r4p4

Brenda knew that she was awake and that her bed was off the ground. But that didn’t seem to change matters for the better.

With a loud thump, it landed on the floor and pretended like it had never flown in its life.

Sitting up didn’t seem to help anything either. It’s not as if she could get out of bed and investigate. The darn thing was now acting as innocent as pecan pie. Besides, she was too frightened to get out from under her thick covers.

She blinked, and the dark room came into focus. The clock on the cabinet glowed red digits warning her that she’d have to get ready for work in a mere four hours. If she didn’t lie down and sleep now, she’d be a wreck at work. Gosh knows, she didn’t need any sly looks from the high schoolers or their teachers who loved to catch any snippet of gossip and wring the life out of it.

Slowly, she lowered her head to the pillow, her gaze fixed on the closet door. If the handle disappeared from her line of sight, she’d know what was going on. Luckily, the only sight that demanded her attention was the back of her eyelids as they covered her concerns in exhaustion.

Morning came bright and early. The birds sang their merry hearts out and then squabbled in turn. Just like some people I know. Brenda hopped out of bed, remembered the nocturnal flight, and froze in mid-step. She peered at the scene, carefully analyzing the exact placement of each piece of furniture.

Yep. The bed had moved. Normally there was a walkway between the edge of the bed and the end table by her reading chair. Now, there was hardly room for a hand, much less a whole body.

She studied the dresser, the file cabinet, and the bookshelf. They all seemed in their usual place, though upon further examination, the file cabinet had parted with the wall by a good two inches.

Ah, ha!

Conclusion? Some strange force had been at work in her room last night.

Scampering to the bathroom, Brenda accomplished her necessary morning duties in a fraction of their normal time, skipped breakfast altogether, and ran out of her tiny house with her work satchel slung over her shoulder and her phone clutched in her hand.

Pounding along the leaf-strewn sidewalk, she texted with one hand. A skill she had learned from a student waiting to see the principal.

Jim, we have to talk!

Coffee at the Café in 5.

My sanity hangs in the balance.

Of course, Jim always had coffee at the Corner Café before work, so she wasn’t exactly discombobulating his schedule. But as he liked to peruse the want ads, pretending that he was looking for a property where he’d build his dream house, adopt a puppy, and find a charming wife, he always acted like he was too busy to carry his half of a conversation.

He liked to listen though and grunted or hummed in all the right places.

She bounded along the quiet neighborhood street until she got to the Dividing Line. The high school was on one side and the main university campus on the other. She worked as a secretary at the high school. Jim worked as a maintenance guy on campus. They often thought of exchanging places for a day and see if anyone noticed. But as they hated a ruckus of any kind, they figured they’d just imagine the scene it would make and be content with that.

The Corner Café catered to high schoolers and the college crowd, making it a mainstay for more years than anyone could remember. The fact that it was decorated in the fifties style with movie star posters glittering from the walls, made it attractive without causing competitive friction.

Brenda breezed in.

Jim slouched over a newspaper at the counter. A coffee cup and a cream cheese bagel close at hand.

Brenda nodded at Jamie, the waitress, who didn’t need to ask what she’d have. She knew. In her fifties with a shock of red hair, maybe natural, she meandered about the café and accommodated customers with the pleasure of someone who long since decided that she worked to live not lived to work. It was a truce that offered benefits. Never in a hurry, she always brought what you wanted—eventually.

Brenda slid onto the red-covered stool next to Jim. “I got the scare of my life last night.”

Jim scratched his cheek. “Hmm.”

“My bed rose off the floor and then thumped to the ground.”

Jim turned the page of the newspaper with expert care.

“I could have been killed! How about if I had been sleeping on the edge? I sometimes do, you know. I could have slipped off and fallen under one of the legs, and it would’ve punched a big hole through me.”

Jim slapped his cheek.

Got his attention him at last!

Jim flicked a finger at the headlines. “The Paws Place has gone out of business. And just when I was getting up the courage to adopt one of their critters.”

Brenda shoved the paper aside. “Didn’t you hear me? I might have been killed. And even though it was rather unlikely, I still would like to know what the bed was doing bouncing up and down last night. And the file cabinet, too!”

Finally, Jim looked her way. “You do seem a bit disheveled. Did you even glance in the mirror?”

“Was it a poltergeist, you think?”

Jamie sauntered over and placed a cup of hot coffee on the counter in front of Brenda. Then she slid a plate of buttered wheat toast with two little jam packets on the side.

Starving, Brenda ripped open a creamer and four sugar packets and doctored her coffee. Then she tore open the jam packet and looked around for a knife.

None in sight.

A speedster roared down the street.

Jim looked out the window. “That’s Prof Kilroy. Got a new red one and loves to flash it about town.”

Desperate to get her toast jammed, Brenda squeezed the jellied mess onto its appointed destination. She spread it with a finger and nudged Jim with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“Not a poltergeist. They’ve gone completely out of style. Now, back in the eighties, you could still get away with that sort of thing, but try it now, and you’d be laughed out of town.”

Brenda glanced at the wall clock and took two hasty bites, then talked around her chews. “Aliens?”

Jim shrugged. “Possible but still unlikely.” He stared down his nose at her. “Why would aliens want to play pogo stick with your bed? Or redecorate the furniture in your room?”

“Maybe they were just passing through, and their force moved things unintentionally.”

Jim scratched his head, took a large bite of his bagel, and eyed the last dregs of his coffee. “Doesn’t work that way. Anything powerful enough to make it to this world and stupid enough to hang around would have either conquered us already or been decimated by our transportation system.”

A distant bell rang.

Jim sighed, folded his paper, and offered Brenda a deadpanned stare. “The kiddos will want to know where their late slips go, and your principal will want the agenda for the teachers’ meeting.”

Brenda chomped down the last of her toast and chugged her hot coffee, burning the back of her throat. “And campus security will want to know what to do with the latest vandalized bicycle and where to put the tiles that blew off in the storm last night.”

Parting just outside the door, Brenda waved good bye with a composed smile.

Jim waved back and started across the street. Suddenly he called out, “What storm?”

Knowing that she’d never survive the day if she considered Jim’s remark, Brenda pretended she didn’t hear and ran into the school building, hoping that she wasn’t too late.

That evening, Brenda returned home, flung her satchel aside, unloaded her grocery bag, and headed to the bedroom with her mind made up. She wasn’t going to have her life dictated by some malevolent spirits or mysterious aliens. She pulled off her work clothes, dragged on a pair of rugged work jeans and a warm pullover to fight the autumn chill, and faced her bedroom furniture.

“All right now! I’m putting you all back where I want you, and I expect you to behave properly. I’m the one who bought and paid for you, arranged a place for you in my home, and keep you from falling into total degradation in the dump.”

With concerted effort, she pushed the bed and then shoved the file cabinet into their former positions. Satisfied, she clapped her hands. Her world was back in order, and all was well.

Until approximately 2:00 am.

The bed danced, and the furniture shook.

Brenda jumped out of bed and looked around. She had been having a strange dream about ocean waves roaring into a tsunami.

No ocean and no waves, but the floor was definitely vibrating. Perhaps the bed was not actually off the floor, but it had shifted from its assigned position.

She shivered.

The wind shrieked and pounded against the house.

Scampering to the window, she peered into the autumn night. The temperatures had dropped, and she could see leaves swirling in the wind.

Rubbing her arms, she sent a prayer to heaven for her heating system. At least the house was warm.

Then, silence and all was still. The wind settled down, and the floor becalmed.

With a weary sigh, Brenda climbed back into bed to snatch the last few hours of sleep.

In the morning, her hair uncombed and her shirt on inside out, Brenda slipped into place next to Jim at the cafe and pounded her fist on the counter. “It happened again last night! The whole house went on a rampage, and my furniture went where ever they wanted.”

Jim gave her a once over, pity flooding his eyes. He folded the paper and laid it aside.

In unusual efficiency, Jamie placed toast and coffee before Brenda like a lifeboat to a drowning victim. In the first intimidating act of the day, she stared at Jim.

In acknowledgment of the right thing to do, Jim nodded. “I’ll come by tonight and sleep on your couch. We’ll catch the culprit in the act.”

Relieved beyond measure, Brenda kissed Jim on the cheek before she inhaled her breakfast and headed off to work.

That night, Brenda got Jim settled comfortably on the couch with enough pillows and blankets to keep a petulant maharaja happy.

Since the temperatures had dropped below freezing, Brenda set the thermostat higher. It was an ancient heater that predated the civil war or close anyway, so she wanted to be sure that Jim wouldn’t think she was cheapskate and leave him to freeze during the night.

No chance of that as they both flew into the air at approximately the same moment when the house began to shake, rattle, and roll.

“Good golly, this house has more rhythm than the entire sixties generation!” He flicked on the table lamp.

Brenda scampered into the living room both scared silly and wildly exultant. “You see what I mean? It’s practically alive!” She was so glad that she wasn’t crazy that despite the vibrations making the couch skitter across the room, she actually felt amused.

The house settled down as quickly as it had erupted.

Jim plopped down on the edge couch. Or where it had been and promptly landed on the floor.

Brenda giggled as she helped him to his feet. “Gremlins or aliens, do you think?”

Jim snorted and headed directly for the floor vent. He peered at it, then demanded to see the furnace.

Confused, Brenda led the way to the miniature basement and pointed at the behemoth. “It’s been here as long as the house. Never causes me any problem. Just have to turn the dial a little more each year to get it to respond.”

Jim nodded, grabbed a metal poker off the shelf, and tapped the ductwork.

They tinged and banged in response, echoing throughout the house.

Brenda was charmed. “It’s like they’re singing. Do that again; it’s kind of fun.”

Jim snorted. “Ha! Fun you call it. You didn’t like it when they sang you awake the last few nights.”

Flummoxed out of any recognizable speech pattern, Brenda stared at the ordinary looking pipes that ran throughout her house.

“They’re all loosie-goosy—don’t you see? When it got cold, you set the thermostat to kick the furnace on, and so it did. And it set the duct work to singing—or grumbling—all over the house. Which set the furniture to dance on their vibrations.”

Embarrassment flushed through Brenda’s whole body. “Oh, gosh, I’m such an idiot.”

Jim smiled and tentatively placed his arm around her shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that. You’re a secretary who doesn’t know ductwork as well as a maintenance guy.” He led her back upstairs and nudged her toward her bedroom. “Get a blissful night’s sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday, and you can fix coffee and biscuits in the kitchen while I take look about and see what other wonders this house holds.”

Brenda stared at Jim almost as if he had begun to dance. She turned and headed back to bed. When she climbed under the covers, she knew the bed wasn’t floating off the ground. But her heart was.

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For other books by A. K. Frailey see her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/A.-K.-Frailey/e/B006WQTQCE

https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz
https://amzn.to/2YFtQ5r

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/model-people-woman-leaves-autumn-2596054/

Welfare and Well Being

David Koelth couldn’t believe his luck. Even if it was well-earned. He deserved it, really. The award had his name on it, after all: The Koelth Department of Welfare and Well Being.

David tossed the green apple left over from lunch into the air and caught it handily. He leaned back in his swivel chair before his Richman Hill Executive Desk and surveyed his dingy office. Granted, he was on the top floor of the four-story building and had a decent view of the east side of town, but still, it was only a lecturer’s office. An assistant had it before him, for Heaven’s sake.

He glanced at his calendar marked in bold colors depicting the various hats he wore each day of the week. Educational Psychology Lecturer Mondays and Thursdays, Assistant Dean of the Health Department on Wednesdays and Fridays, Published Author working on his latest masterpiece—Wholly You—on Tuesdays (his favorite day of the week), and attentive Husband and Father Saturday and Sunday.

A yawn bubbled up from his middle. It was late on Friday afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to get much done. Constant interruptions!

First, Mildred from accounting had taken issue with his taxes. Something about a form that no one told him to fill out and now “they had to take a tiny snippet”—her exact word choice—from his salary to make everything come out “even-steven” at the end of the year. What? Did the woman eat archaic expressions for breakfast? He’d give her a thesaurus for Christmas.

Then coach Max waddled in from the ballfield. How such an overweight guy managed his role as athletics director stumped David. Must have relatives in high places. Or he knows where to get the choice meats and offers discounts for the university banquets. The strange thing about Max was that he never really explained anything. He spoke in eyebrows and syllables.

Eyebrows in the up position. “Eh, you o-kay?”

David spent a half hour of his very valuable time trying to figure out why Max had hefted his way to his office.

Turning beet red and sweeping the floor with his gaze, Max just leaned on the door frame and stared through those bulbous eyes with dreary pleading. For what… Only God and the next empty container of dairy queen’s chocolate chip ice cream would know for certain. He had tossed him his apple. Maybe the guy would get a clue.

Finally, just when he was putting the last touches on his monthly planner, his wife, Ruth, had phoned and insisted that the hot water heater was broken. Lord have mercy. He had called the plumber three times this summer, and he sure as heck wasn’t doing it again. He could shower at work while she figured out what she was doing wrong. No way in hell he’d fork out another hundred bucks for plungers, pipes, or screwed up thermostats. Wait till the season got cold, then he’d think about it. Probably all in her head anyway.

Oh well, time to head to the club and see what was on tap. He didn’t need a drink, but it’d be good to check on the guys and gals. Gossip was a university’s life blood, and he had no intention of becoming anemic anytime soon.

~~~

Surprisingly, no one at the club seemed in the mood to chat. Not with him anyway. Had he forgotten to use deodorant this morning? He sniffed. Nope. Nothing wrong with him. Must be a full moon. Everyone was acting weird, like they had been having a con-fab when he arrived but wouldn’t speak again till he left. He’d shrugged it off. If they wanted to get hot and bothered about sport’s team failures, a roller-coaster economy, or the latest-greatest plan to serve the community, he was glad he’d missed it.

Apparently, there were no faculty leaks about his up-coming award. He had looked for silent congratulations or the ever-present green-eyed monster, but nothing of the sort. Just a few head shakes and shrugs.

Who cares about them?

He drove through snarly traffic in anticipation of his wife’s Friday dinner special, his son, David Jr’s weekly school report, and his daughter, Lilly’s cuteness. He’d give David the pointers every high-school kid needed to be college ready and enjoy the last days of Lilly’s childhood since he knew perfectly well that once she became a teen, she’d become unbearable. Inevitably, he’d have to distance himself so that she wouldn’t use him as a cash box.

After arriving at his two-story colonial house with wrap around porch, he parked the car in the attached garage and sauntered into the house.

“Honey, I’m home!”

He glanced around the quiet kitchen in the dim evening light. What’s going on? Where is everyone?

He laid his leather briefcase on the counter and headed to the living room. His heart nearly stopped. Books and magazines lay scattered as if they’d left the room in a hurry.

What a mess! Is this what he’d worked all day to come home to?

David pulled out his phone, ready to give hell to his wife, then order pizza for dinner since clearly nothing would be ready in time for his growling stomach.

The doorbell rang.

Who the—? He charged forward, ready to dispatch the devil himself.

But he didn’t need to. The devil already had plans.

~~~

David sat in the emergency room where his wife had just breathed her last, and the bodies of his children were stretched out nearby. The staff had brought them in so he could offer a personal goodbye.

He didn’t have anything to offer. He couldn’t think. Or feel.

A heavy tread paced forward.

David lifted his aching head and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Coach Max?

Max stopped before him and laid his meaty hand on David’s shoulder. His voice shook with emotion. “So—so sorry.”

That’s all it took, and David lost all power of speech. For once he listened.

“We planned a big celebration for tonight—the guys from the department, Ruth, family and friends from all over were coming tonight. But Mildred—from accounting—fell and broke her wrist so she called Ruth. She and the kids hurried over to get the last details in place—except they never made it. A tired truck driver crossed the line. No one survived.” His eyes welled in tears. “And this was supposed to be your glory day.”

The Koelth Department of Welfare and Well Being echoed in David’s head like a devil’s cackle.

—Five Years Later—

Dave closed his computer, leaned back in his office chair, and stared out the window, grateful for the view of the quiet neighborhood. Friday again. I’ve got a lot to do.

Footsteps padded closer. Max stuck his head in the doorway, tossed David a ripe red apple, and grinned. “I heard the news.”

Catching the fruit with one hand, David smiled back at his friend. “No secret this time.”

After losing sixty pounds, Max could saunter into the room. “You deserve it. I can’t think of anyone else who has dedicated so much time and energy to others’ welfare as you have these past few years.”

David rose, grabbed his threadbare coat from the back of his chair and tucked the apple into the pocket. “What I should’ve been doing all along.” He pointed to the door. “Want to meet at the track? I have a tutoring session at the community center in a couple of minutes, but I could meet you after that.”

“Sure!” Max’s grin widened, his eyes alight with happiness. “See what I mean; you’re always helping people. You encouraged me to give up death burgers and get healthy. The department heads are finally doing the right thing—naming the department after you, a man of well being if ever I knew one.”

David patted Max on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “Thanks, my friend, but I had to refuse the honor.”

Startled, Max blinked, his mouth dropping open.

“Don’t feel bad. Maybe someday. But in the meantime,” David opened the door and crossed over the threshold, “I went through too much hell to forget—it’s best to wait till the fruit ripens to name the tree.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Life and Literature…
To accomplish that which no earthly treasure buys,
A truth of loveliness that never dies.
A collection of short stories to enjoy and ponder.

“There are many excellent stories in this collection.” ~Steven R. McEvoy

https://amzn.to/2YFtQ5r

A collection of contemporary short stories involving families, friends, and distant relations. It is the hazards of daily life that test the soul. Nobility, bravery, decency, kindness, and mercy are the shafts of light that pierce the darkness of the human experience.

A delightful collection of short stories that draw you in, wanting more. Discovery ~Gale Kaufman

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/apple-hand-tree-apple-picking-6197307/