Captured Fire

Image courtesy of suphakit73 /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This is the first 
installment of the 
short story 
Captured Fire

This story is the story of a nine-year-old boy, Robbie, who enters a magical world where he learns about the meaning of life, friendship, and respect for others.

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The yard glistened with dots of light. Robbie ran eagerly to each blinking yellow glow.  This was a nine-year old boy’s dream, a warm summer night and a sky laden with fireflies.   What could be better than this?

Robbie tiptoed in slow motion, calculating the flight speed of the fireflies along with his distance from each one in order to anticipate the exact moment to lunge forward for the capture.  Cupping his latest catch in his hands, Robbie quickly confined the newly caught firefly into the box with the others.   Nana Peters had given him the “bughouse” for his birthday.  It was an 8” x 6” box with screened walls so the inhabitants could breath.  It had a small sliding panel on top of the blue “roof” for entrance.  Nana Peters had reminded him that at the end of each play time the fireflies must go free for they are living creatures with feelings and families. They need to go back to their homes at the end of the night.

Robbie was astonished at the amount of fireflies populating the night sky this evening.   This would be his biggest round up ever. He stopped his vigorous running and looked over in Nana Peters rose garden where he sighted the biggest, brightest firefly he had ever seen.  It sparkled brighter than Mama’s diamond ring in the sunlight.  It looked different from all the others and moved differently.  It was three times as wide and five times longer than most.  It moved from flower to flower in a jerky manner, slowly then moving faster and stopping suddenly.  Its glow was brighter and it did not blink on and off as the others did, it had a continuous glow.

“I must get this one,” Robbie thought. “It must be the king of fireflies.”

Once again he used his calculation procedure for capture.  Slowly he crept across the yard toward the rose garden, his “bughouse” on its long strap hugging his chest and bouncing up and down with each prudent step he took.   Figuring speed and distance, he quickly moved his hands in for the capture.  Swoosh – the firefly moved like a flash to the other end of the garden.  Dumbfounded he wondered how he miscalculated so since he was known in the neighborhood as the quickest bug catcher on Mayberry Street. 

The firefly hovered, shining brighter than before over a large red rose.  “Maybe I need a surprise attack through the backdoor,” Robbie thought.  He slowly turned his back on the firefly and walked away from the garden and around the potting shed at the other end of the garden.   He slowly looked around the corner of the shed.   The firefly was still above the red rose.  Robbie figured the firefly was still looking the other direction as he made a flying leap.  He flew a half a foot off the ground and propelled himself horizontally two feet forward into the garden.  As he reached his hands forward to grasp the firefly, Swoosh – it moved to the other side of the garden again.  Robbie plopped straight down on Nana’s rose bush.  Crash - the branches of the bush broke, the petals of the flower scattered on the ground like red confetti and the thorns punctured Robbie’s arms as he plummeted down.  Looking up dazed he saw the bright rays of the firefly shining at the other end of the garden. Now more than ever he was determined to catch this elusive firefly. 

The next evening as the darkness engulfed the yard like a curtain and the fireflies sparkled in the neighborhood sky; Robbie was poised in the garden once again.  Not only did he have his bughouse strapped across his chest, but also he held a long pole with a silver silky net at the end.  

The hot summer breeze blew over Robbie’s face like the warmth from an open oven door.  The crickets began their loving evening serenade as the birds finished their evensong and settled in the trees.  Robbie sat waiting, eyes wide open without a blink glued in a stare at the roses in the garden; waiting for the return of the firefly.

Suddenly there it was flying up from a large pink rose at the corner of the garden.  Robbie didn’t even calculate his attack; he took a deep breath his net held out in front of him and with one quick swoop he caught the firefly.  He quickly transferred the firefly into the bughouse and sat staring, heart pounding loud in his ears, head spinning as he tried to catch his breath before examining his prize.

Once he was composed he slowly lifted the bughouse up towards the light of the moon so he could see more clearly.  His jaw dropped, he shook his head and blinked his eyes to try to focus again on what he thought he saw in the box.  Moving his head closer he peered inside to see.  He did see correctly the first time; this was not a firefly looking back at him but a tiny fairy.  She wore a yellow rose bud upside down as a hat on her head of raven hair, green leaves made up the bodice of her dress and the skirt was made of yellow rose petals.  Small lacy green wings moved quickly like the blades of a fan as she suspended herself in the center of the box.  This was better than catching any firefly, this was a magical prize. He slowly took her out of the box. She didn’t try to fly away she sat with elegance in the palm of his hand.

Robbie was so excited and overwhelmed at seeing this tiny little creature sitting in his hand.   He wanted to show it to everyone; keep her forever.   He imagined what this would do to his status as bug catcher on Mayberry Street.  “I will be famous, I will be on TV and travel the world with a catch like this”.   He ran into the shed and pulled out an old wooden crate.  He climbed up on it, stretching to reach the top shelf.   Feeling around, he hid his bughouse behind an old watering can.  Settling down cross-legged on the dirt floor he slowly started to plan his future with the fairy.

“First I can not let the guys know about this, especially Jason”.

He thought of traveling the world on tour with his fairy, London, Paris the whole world.  “I can have her do magic tricks, sing, dance.  I will make billions of dollars, and I will be so famous.”

Suddenly his daydream stopped.  He thought about how he would feel if someone captured him and he could never get home again.    He then climbed back on the wooden crate reached around the watering can and carefully pulled down the bughouse.  Robbie looked at the fairy as she still hovered in the box.  She now looked scared.  Then he heard Nana Peter’s words in his head,  “….fireflies must be let free for they are living creatures… they need to go back to their homes at the end of the night.”  These words revolved in his head, “But this isn’t a firefly he thought.”  This was the hardest decision he ever had to make; even harder than when Nana tells him he can pick either candy or a cookie for a treat.  Finally he realized it was the same for fairies too and he decided he should let her go free.  The fairy was so grateful that Robbie didn’t harm and let her go she gave him her rosebud hat as a gift.  He looked disappointingly at the tiny flower wondering what kind of a gift this was supposed to be.

“I am Rosella the Queen of the flower garden fairies.  This is no ordinary rosebud; it is magic and the ticket to visiting the underground fairy world.”

A magical land to visit! Now what could be better than this for a nine-year old boy?  

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© 2013   Eileen A Partak

Party at the Tea Room

It’s strange how the first sight of something can stay in your mind forever. My impression of what I saw that day was so different from reality.

Image courtesy of digidreamgrafix /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

We lived in a semi-rural area from the time I was two until I was nine. Across the field behind our house was a small farm. The driveway was very long with pine trees lining each side all the way up to the house. At the entrance to the driveway, at the road, was a wooden sign. It was painted in beautiful curly queue cursive writing “Tea Room” with a big hand painted red rose next to the words. Now what a tearoom was I didn’t know then, nor do I really know now.

The house wasn’t big, but everything about it looked like the cottages seen in storybooks. Rose bushes grew along the front of the house. Their rambling branched reaching up to the big picture window that was framed inside with delicate white lace curtains. The white clapboard siding was as white as the clean white sheets dancing in the wind on the backyard clothesline.  Dwarfing the house in the back were two huge barns. These barns were real wooden barns, not like the metal buildings that try to pass for barns today (remember this was the fifties).

As I learned later, this was the original home site for the farm that our home and our neighbor’s homes once were a part of. We lived in one of the newer houses in the development; later two more would be built across the street. A brother and sister, along with her husband, lived in the cute little cottage. The farm had belonged to their parents, and their grandparents. Some of the land surrounding us was still farmed by Uncle Andy, the brother. All of the kids loved him. Uncle Andy drove a very old tractor and wore bib overalls. The thing that made him stand out was the big floppy wide brimmed hat and big work gloves. Both covered with dirt. I think those were the only hat and gloves he ever owned and the dirt was from every year he farmed the land. Every time us kids heard his tractor chugging down our gravel road we would run out to wave at him. Each time he waved back we squealed with delight as if it were the first time he acknowledged us. We were important people being singled out by Uncle Andy.

Uncle Andy’s sister would come by sometimes and talk to the neighbors. She was tall, with a scary looking face that had too much red on her cheeks and lips. Tight, little light brown, non-combed out pin curls hugged her head. Anyone who is old enough to remember pin curls knows what I’m talking about. The hair would be wound in a circle close to the scalp and kept in place with bobby pins. When the bobby pins were taken out, the hair would normally be combed or brushed, otherwise they stayed in their wound position, stiffly close to the scalp. This is how she wore it, not combed out. The other scary thing about the sister was her big, tall, black poodle, Frenchie. His legs and tail were shaved except for a poof ball of fur at the end. We all stayed away from that giant French monster dog. He was mean, but I think he didn’t want to be he was just embarrassed at how his fur was styled.  The sister, I never knew her name, but she either came around our neighborhood because she missed her old farmland, or to make sure the neighbors had no complaints about their houses. He husband was the builder.

One day all the ladies in the neighbor went to the “Tea Room”. Since I was only four, and my brother only a baby, we went along too. I was worried about seeing Frenchie, and the sister. Not only did the tearoom have the lace curtains I had seen from outside, but a matching lace tablecloth covering a big round table. Only the large carved claw feet were visible from under the cloth, and to a four-year old I knew a dragon must have been hiding under there. The Victorian couch and chairs each had lace doilies on the back where your head rested. There were lamps with glass shades adorn with shiny hanging crystals, each catching the beams of light streaming in through the window.  But the best things were the cookies. Small white butter cookies, all different shapes, round – diamond – square. They were generously covered with light pink frosting, invitingly sitting on big crystal plates.

It wasn’t much of a party in my opinion. All the ladies sat talking at once, drinking tea out of thin china cups that were beautiful decorated with red roses. I think they would have been more comfortable drinking out of their own chipped coffee cups.  I didn’t have tea, but orange juice in a bright red aluminum cup, too big for me to hold. My suggestion is to never drink acidy orange juice from aluminum; it causes a strange reaction in your mouth. After an eternity of listening to the humming chatter, the sister’s husband came up to me and asked if I’d like to see something outside. He may have picked me, and not the other little girls, because I was dressed in shorts and canvas shoes, not lacy dresses and patent leather dress shoes. Of course I jumped at the opportunity to go outside.

He took me through the kitchen and out the back door. We stepped down the back porch on to the dirt driveway, past a well pump and toward the barn.  I had only seen this barn from a distance while standing in my back yard. I always thought it was just like our garage, but up close it was a strange shaped building and much larger than our garage. The huge front door was similar to all the garage doors I had seen except it went sideways and not up. We walked on straw and dirt as he guided me to the back of the barn. The ceiling seemed higher than I thought any could be. The scent in the barn was a warm, organic scent, and I liked it. Finally we reached our destination. It was a large stall at the back of the barn.

“Now sweetie, you call her and see if she will come over.”

I had no idea who we were calling. Was there a little girl living here that I could play with, so far all my playmates were boys. And what did I call? I didn’t know her name.

“ Call for Lucy. Just call, come here Lucy, and she should come over to us.”

It was fine with me to have a friend named Lucy, as long as she liked to play the same things that I did. So I shouted out “Lucy”, as loud as I could. No one came. Maybe Lucy was playing with someone else. The brother told me to try again, louder.  So I screamed as loud as my tiny voice could, “LUCY”!  This time I heard something from outside the small door at the back of the stall.  I waited for my new playmate to enter through the door. What would she look like? Would her hair be curly like mine? Would she be skinny or chubby? Would she dress like me so we both could get dirty without worry? So many questions filled my mind in the short time it took Lucy to make her entrance.

“Her she comes. I can see her coming to the door now,” the brother told me with excitement in his voice.

Finally my new friend would be here. Slowly Lucy walked in. My jaw dropped. Well she didn’t dress like me, nor was she as short or skinny as me. I watched as the black and white giant cow made her way over to the gate of the stall.  She looked down at me. I looked up, way up at her. I’d never seen a cow. I never knew they were giants.  And, I was sure this wasn’t my new playmate.

I never went back to the tea room, and I never saw the cow again, or any cow. We moved to the city several years later, and I had no chance of seeing a cow there. When I was in my early twenties a group of us went on a picnic in the country. Our day was relaxed as we sat all alone by the clear creek. Then a strange loud noise interrupted the calming country sounds. It sounded vaguely familiar.  Walking slowly along the creek, calling to us was a black and white cow.  I started to laugh. Like I said, it’s strange how the first sight of something sticks with you – this day I realized cows aren’t giants, only in the memory of a four year old.

© Copyright 2013   Eileen A Partak

The Winter Three

 Image courtesy of Evgeni Dinev /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Their feet were starting to freeze as they trudged through the deep snow on the frosty cold night.  The three of them had traveled in the freezing weather without sleep for several nights.  Mayi seemed to be the only one the cold was not bothering, but after all he was a polar bear.

Toby, the big grizzly was the oldest of the group.  He kept an eye on, and dispensed the discipline to Joho, the little black bear.  Joho had an over abundance of energy and kept running ahead of the other two mature bears.

The three bears met on the road as each had a purpose, a trip that they knew they must take but none knew why.  Each had a skill and intelligence to survive, which they carried with them.  Mayi was the biggest and helped carry food, he carried winter berries and nuts for the other two to eat. Toby had firewood. He was a practical bear and he knew the winter weather could got cold.  Little Joho was a skilled fisherman and could always catch enough fish to feed them all.

They continued to trudge along.  At sunrise they found empty caves to rest in and huddle together to keep warm in the frigid cold.  At sunset they were off again on their quest, still not knowing where they were going, or why.

Along the way Mayi would gather more nuts and berries.  Toby collected all the dry wood he found in the villages they passed through. Little Joho caught more fish than the trio could possibly eat.  The loads they carried slowed them down somewhat, and Joho’s friskiness got them off the path at times. Still they kept going. 

After weeks of travel, one frightfully cold night, they found the light at a cave in the side of a hill.  The trio moved cautiously toward the opening, for they sensed the cave was occupied.  Toby was the first to peek into the cave. apprehensive of what he may find; but curiosity drove him to look.  Joho was close behind, hiding his face in the warm fur of Toby’s back.  Mayi stood back watching guard, he felt that something was not natural. 

Inside there was a very small fire in the corner of the cave. Toby opened his eyes wide to see in the dull light.  Focusing he could see some forms near the fire.  Moving into the cave a little more he could see the forms were a  man and woman.  Suddenly he heard the cries of newborn baby.  Startled, he realized that in the dim cold cave a family lived.  It seemed to him that they were poor, for the little baby was covered with straw as it lay in the livestock-feeding bin.    The family looked rather cold and hungry.  Yet they seemed to show contentment unlike anything Toby had ever seen on a human face before.

When they reached the family, the father stepped aside and the mother held the baby for them to see.  The bears we astonished as they looked at the beautiful baby boy.  The baby seemed to be too wise to be a newborn babe.   He smiled and nodded, with a look of knowledge, at the three bears. The same radiant glow came from his face, maybe even a little brighter.  The bears felt a warmth surge through their big furry bodies, unlike any they had felt before.  The other two bears slowly crept into the cave, and stopped in astonishment at the sight before them.  The bears thought something seemed curious about this family.  The mother saw the three bears and smiled.  There seemed to be a glow radiating from her beautiful face and the bears felt at ease.  The new mother then nodded to the three and motioned for them to come closer.  They moved slowly into the center of the cave, each still carrying their load. The ‘wreath’ Mayi carried around his big neck was loaded heavy with bright juicy winter berries and huge woody nuts.  The load of wood on Toby’s back was so big and heavy he walked bent over. Joho held in his mouth a vine that tied together an abundance of fish he had caught during the trip, this dragged behind him.  All three bears then moved down to the ground on their big bear knees, then bowed there heads at the baby.The bears actually turned the corners of their mouths up in a smile. Little bear growls came out from deep in their throats as if they were singing or praying.  Mayi was the first to stand up. He shook his body and slid the wreath off over his head in front of the family.  Joho followed with his stringer of fish. Toby immediately started putting wood on the fire until there was a golden glow.

The father gave them a thankful look and gathered up the food.  The baby snuggled down in the straw, closing his eyes in the new warmth of the cave. The father and mother then ate the fish for dinner and enjoyed the sweet juicy berries and hearty nuts for dessert.

The three bears stood back in a corner of the cave later that night. They watched as shepherds and village folk came in to see the family.  These visitors also knelt down before the baby boy. Everyone seemed to have the same look of contentment on their face as they left the cave. 

When the evening settled down the bears snuggled together in the warm cave to sleep.  Maybe, they thought, they found the purpose of their quest.  Maybe the meeting on the path was no accident as each was drawn on a mission he did not understand.  And that star in the sky, it just could have guided them here to help out this young family.

 

For the first time, Mayi, Toby, and Joho felt completely happy and full of joy. This was a special adventure for them. The three bears snuggled together. They drifted off to sleep that night to the sound of joyous singing outside the cave.

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Three bears in the cold travel through the night

Answering a call they know not from where

Searching for something knowing not what

Meeting on the road to travel together

Following a path traveled not before

Keeping close together knowing not why

Each has talents born within him

Warmth - food - intelligence

Holding their treasures knowing not for whom

Having instinct to guide them

Their hearts filled with joy

Following the path knowing not where

Finding the star guiding them on

Surrendering their treasures with hearts full of joy

Contentment they now know

※※※※

The Poet

I look for courage that I need

To pour my words out on the page

So much emotion builds inside me

I must find courage to fill this page

The words I seek some days evade me

With feelings growing strong inside me

Still I struggle with words and rhymes

My pen has yet to lead the way

When courage comes and thoughts are easy

And flowing fast and sure some day

I will see and then can say it

Today I know I am a Poet

Ó 2012 Eileen A Partak

Inside Myself

Image courtesy of stockimages /FreeDigitalPhotos.net By papaija2008

I keep myself in darkness
     to hold the warmth
        inside me

I fear
     to leave the womb
         will be too much to                    bear

I seek the quiet within myself
           to ponder where to go

                                                                                    Knowing
                                                                                           never facing light
                                                                                                   never will I grow






                                                                                                                 Ó 2012 Eileen A Partak

House Sold - Life Goes On

Vacant house the essence of old life floating in each room

Smiling faces perched in dusty frames frozen in time

Forced visions of not who they were or could have been in life

But just an artist's concept of whom he thought they should be

Looking from afar not allowed to view this space once more

These faces soon erased for others not to know of them

Not to know the pain or joy that filled this house for a time

The essence of the new will fill each room - Life will go on

Ó 2012 Eileen A Partak

Meadow Painting

Image courtesy of franky242  /FreeDigitalPhotos.net  

The picture I painted. It is perfect. It is vibrant and cheerful. I move into it to watch and live the scene.

A little girl, with soft, bouncy, brown curls, runs in the meadow picking brightly colored wildflowers. Not a care in the world as she takes the child size bouquet to her mother who sits under the shade of the oak tree.

They have lemonade, and butter cookies, and laugh together, and smile at each other with love, as each conveys a story. They watch the butterflies move vigorously from one beautiful flower to the next, consuming the luscious sweet nectar. Mother closes her eyes. She listens to the sweet music of Daughter's laughter as she plays with a kitten in the tall, soft, grass. The warm yellow sun embraces them all.

A warm breeze blows over Mother’s face and revives her from her trance.  She rises from the lawn chair and slowly places the white straw hat on her head.  She moves across the meadow. The wind is stronger now. Her pale yellow dress is blown out behind her, floating above the ground. Daughter cries out, Mama please don't leave me, but Mother continues on, not listening to Daughter’s cries. She ignores her and continues walking.

Daughter runs after Mother. The wind is too strong for her little body to move, she is tossed to the ground. She continues to cry out, until Mother’s form fades from her sight, forever. 

Wind picks up, sun disappears, and a sheet of rain erupts from a broken dam embedded in dark boiling clouds. Meadow and Daughter are drenched…

The colors of my painting start to run together. They blend into bleak chaos. My painting, not of oil, but watercolor, is washed away.