Flash (Non)-Fiction Friday: Bring Back Summer!

Bring Back Summer!

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

The leaves have fallen, there's a nip in the air, jack frost is ready to rear his ugly face, forcing us to board up in our homes. Winter. The season of living in close proximity to each other while somehow avoid The Shining's version of cabin fever. 

Due to my Raynaud's, I'm not a cold weather person, like at all. I prefer warm temperatures, perfected at about 75-80 degrees. Even the feeling of an air conditioner is too cold at times. The freezer section of the grocery store is my mortal enemy. The end of fall into winter is simply a reminder of why I like summer over all the other seasons.

Ways to alleviate the winter blues are to go on a tropical vacation; don't have the money. Go to a local amusement park; they're closed. Go fishing; bundling up with coat doesn't help with that warm and toasty feeling. Sigh. What to do?

Why not bake something? I remembered I still have a few quarts of huckleberries from the summer harvest sitting my freezer. It was an insanely good huckleberry season. Normally, I eat them fresh, but there was just too darned many to eat by myself. And in no way am I sharing more than necessary with anyone. Go pick your own berries and see how tedious and time-consuming it is (and why the going rate is around $50 per gallon for those suckers!)

I dug out a tupperware container from it's top secret locked-up hiding place deep inside the freezer. Tearing off the lid, I inhale the sweet scent of huckleberries. Few things top the smell of small round purple berries one harvested themselves. They take me back to the mountain spot where I chased away all the bears to have the best patch for myself. The berry shrubs, which are only three to four feet tall, grow around all the fallen trees, tucked on a sloping hillside. The wind echos its breaths around me as I quietly pluck each berry off and into my bucket.

Ahhh! Summer! Like Olaf says in Frozen, "lets go bring back summerrrrrr!" Baking huckleberry muffins will surely accomplish that. Their sweetness swirls in the batter, and the oven heat permeates the aroma throughout the house. Four about forty-five minutes or so, it's summer again.

Once the muffins cool, and are ready to eat, I peel off the wrapper. I sit down at the table to sink my teeth into it. Then I look out the window. Snow; reality bites. Bring back summer, please.

Flash Fiction Friday: Passport Veterans

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller 2015

Good afternoon, readers. This isn't a fiction piece, but it is under a thousand words. Events last week inspired me to put this together. Happy Belated Veteran's Day. A big thanks to those who serve(d). 

Passport Veterans

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Last week, I applied for my passport at the post office. I had an appointment, but they request early arrival of ten minutes. I got there twenty minutes early. There was a gentleman being waited on in front of me. Another man got in line behind me and asked if this was the passport line. I told him it was.

“Oh, good,” he said. “I have a question.”

“Well, my appointment isn’t until 11:45. It looks as though the gentleman in front of me is almost done. You go on ahead, if all you need is a question answered.”

“Are you sure? You have an appointment. I need to know if I can renew my recently expired passport. I got the date mixed up and thought I had more time.”

Since I already did all the research on whether or not I could renew my own passport, I informed the stranger that renewal is permitted if your expired passport if it’s within five years.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I missed it by a year, so I have to start all over.”

I pointed to the applications on the wall and helped him select the correct form. He was thankful I had done all this research and could help him out. I stated I wished I’d done my research sooner or I could’ve avoided starting the application process all over again.

The stranger seemed eager to have someone to talk to, and since I didn’t have anything better to do while waiting, we chit chatted. He needed a passport to get to Canada.

“Flying or driving?” I asked.

“Drive. I don’t fly.”

“An enhanced driver’s license works for that, too,” I explained.

“Oh yeah? I heard of it, but I get confused what it is and why I need it over a regular driver’s license.”

I explained that EDL holds proof of citizenship, like a passport. He wasn’t aware our standard licenses had devalued and was annoyed. I don’t blame him. US Citizens shouldn’t have to pay more for a compliant government identification.

The stranger mentioned he felt the same way. He fought for the country and felt it was a disservice to himself and other veterans. I agreed. Then, I thanked him. Almost stunned by my remark he paused.

“You’re welcome,” he responded.

We chatted about the nonsense of politics and such until the man ahead of me finished up with his passport business. He whipped around and mentioned he also served in the armed forces. The two servicemen inquired as to which branch they served, as most typically ask. Then, I thanked the second gentleman for his service, too. He cleared his throat and said, “Don’t thank me, thank my Marines.”

After all three of us talked for a few minutes, the men parted ways. I, of course, had to stay ro finished up my passport application. After handing the employee all the signed forms, and proper identification, the appointment ended with me holding up my right hand and swearing that I provided true and correct information to the best of my knowledge, yackity-yack-yack.

Later that afternoon, I volunteered with the yearbook class at Gia’s school as I typically do on Thursdays. I incorrectly read the school for the day. In lieu of afternoon classes, there was a Veteran’s Day assembly. Well, I already drove to the school. Gia rides home with me on my volunteer days and I wouldn’t be able to tell her to ride the bus, so I figured I’d simply stay.

The assembly began with the principal briefly reminding the students the significance of Veteran’s Day. The middle school kids played the national anthem and other patriotic songs and a few even performed a short skit.

Next up, was a speaker: a veteran. He gave the students a brief history of the birth of the USA, and how many veterans existed. He talked about how the members of the military fight or have other jobs to maintain freedom. Then he explained something. Each enlistee holds up their right hand and solemnly swears before God to protect and serve and preserve the constitution and to defend it against all terrorists, foreign and domestic. He repeated word for word his service pledge while holding up his right hand.

My thoughts brought me back to the post office, where only a couple hours ago I held up my right hand and swore true to my own word. A couple of hours ago I spoke to complete strangers and thanked them for their service. I realized, I wasn’t just getting a passport, I am honoring my privilege that those two strangers, the speaker, and others, secured for me. They helped give me, and millions of citizens, the freedom to be free.

Flash Fiction Friday: A Modern Prehistoric

I'm back with a new story. Enjoy.

A Modern Prehistoric 

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

On an early spring day, Ron Guillroy drove to shores of Tiger Lake. It was the kind of day where the sun warmed his car, but he shivered once he stepped out.

In the center of Tiger Lake was Wall Island, an avian sanctuary, where many people enjoyed bird watching, Ron included. Tall plateaued rocks surrounded the island, like a guarded fortress Unfortunately, this meant spectators couldn’t see the direct center of the island. It was a crater, hidden from view. Visiting the island itself was prohibited, so people watched from the shore.

Ron was curious what lie in the center. He imagined all sorts of bird species nesting together in harmony, helping one another survive. A silly whimsical thought.

With the ground crunching under his feet, Ron walked to the shore’s ideal spotting area: a long peninsula jutting into the water. It was the closest point to Wall Island, which was still a few hundred feet away.

Pressing the binoculars to his face, he spied the birds on their sanctuary.

Canadian Geese waddled around as they typically do. Their rear ends wiggling back and forth and heads constantly scanning the area for food or a way to cause trouble. They let out an occasional honk.

Ron’s favorites were the pelicans. They were enormous compared to the rest of the birds that inhabited Wall Island. Thinking they were only a coastal bird of the warmer climates, not many of his friends believed pelicans lived this far north. To prove it, Ron purchased a set of binoculars equipped with a built-in digital camera. He snapped away as the large white birds tucked their heads under their wings for a nap, or leaped from the cliff, becoming airborne. He even got a few shots of one with small fish in its beak’s pouch.

Shortly, he pulled the binoculars away from his face to rest his eyes. Blinking a few times, he turned away from the island and glanced around at the scenery near him. Sometimes he saw raptors in the trees, but saw none today.

Out of the corner of his eye, something large moved, catching his attention. He looked at Wall Island and saw an enormous bird fly straight up. Then it flipped over, diving head first into the crater and disappearing from site. At first, he thought it was a pelican, as it had a long beak. But its wings were bat-like and had a pointy protrusion on the back of its head.

Whipping the binoculars back onto his eyes, Ron scanned the plateau for any signs of this bird—the largest one he’d ever seen. All he saw were the typical pelicans, geese, and gulls. None of which were bothered by this gargantuan feathered beast.

However, Ron didn’t recall seeing any feathers on this creature. Did it have a disease? With the creature nowhere to be seen, Ron pulled the binoculars down again. As he kicked a rock out of his way, the figure emerged from the crater again. It circled around the island, casting a large shadow below.

Through the binoculars, Ron saw it indeed was featherless. In fact, its skin’s appearance was leathery. With an estimated eight feet from head to talons and a ten-foot wingspan, it was unlike any bird he had even seen.

He snapped photos of the creature and then watched it with his naked eye. Ron was so entranced, he thought he heard its wings flapping.

His mind zipped through all the possibilities of what bird species this is. Was it a lesser-known species that migrated out of its regular travel path? Certainly, he didn’t know each and every species, but there wasn’t one he could think of that resembled this creature. If he didn’t know better he’d say it looked prehistoric. But dinosaurs died out thousands of years ago, everybody knew that. Ron thought of the scientific theory that dinosaurs were relatives of birds, not reptiles like previously thought. One thought came to mind: a pterodactyl. Oddly, it made sense because it resembled the shape of the pelicans.

Ron thought about the crater in the center of Wall Island. The Department of Fish and Wildlife acknowledged its existence. Research wasn’t permitted. Who knows what was down there. His whimsical thought of bird harmony was taking a nightmarish turn.

The pterodactyl glided down, landing on the top of a plateau. It folded and tucked its wings; just like a bird. It hopped from one place to the next; just like a bird. It cocked its head, as though curious, just like a bird. Ron swallowed hard as he observed and photographed the avian traits.

A curious goose, waddled up to the pterodactyl, honking away. The pterodactyl lowered its head to investigate the strange noisy intrusion. As the goose inched closer, the pterodactyl straightened itself upright, staying in one spot. Finally, the goose got too close. The pterodactyl spread its wings slightly, opened its mouth and gobbled up the goose in one swift gulp.

Terrified at the sight before him, Ron let out a yelp and took a step back. His yelp echoed across the lake to Wall Island, catching the pterodactyl’s attention. In one powerful leap, the creature was airborne off the island and heading for the shore. Ron began to retreat backwards towards his car, while watching the pterodactyl’s movement. With a thud, it landed on the edge of the peninsula.

About a hundred and fifty feet separated Ron from the beast. The pterodactyl eyed him suspiciously. It let out a cry. Its breath, nauseating.

Terrified, Ron walked slowly backward, in hopes of reaching the safety of his vehicle. The pterodactyl hopped quickly, approaching until it stood directly above Ron.

Heart pounding, Ron met the creature’s gaze, whose eyeballs were as big as his fists. He dropped his binoculars to the ground.

The last thing Ron saw was the inside of pterodactyl’s muscular throat.

Copyright 2017 by Jennifer E. Miller