Sure taught ‘em (the Corona Chronicles)

News spread that teenagers had organized a “Black Lives Matter” March. Never before had such things happened in this small “Christian” town.

Sunday about 200 locals walked from the high school toward downtown. Hecklers roared by in big trucks while others stood on porches and under awnings, many flashing rifles, taunting the teens with, “Blue Lives Matter,” “USA,” and “Go back home.” Some stooped to, “Black Lives Don’t Matter.”

The kids held together, chanting in unison and encouraging that all, “Love one another.”

As marchers dispersed an old timer was heard saying, “Sure taught ‘em what Christian America is all about.”

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Maybe the end of (the Corona Chronicles)

story 1 - The end of the world 

It’s my 16^th birthday and this quarantine is the end of the world.

Think about it. No driving to school with my new license. No school day with balloons, flowers, somebody bringing me a coffee drink, teachers letting me slide and everybody saying, “Happy Birthday.” No ditching campus with friends to get a decent lunch. No Starbucks run after school. No party with my best friends. No staying out late with my boyfriend and not getting in trouble from my parents because it’s my DAY.

Like I said, it’s the end of the world.

story 2- Long before

My Grandma, your Great-Great Grandma, she told me. About 100 years ago, long before you were born, the virus came and life shut down. Everybody strayed home, didn’t go to work, school, restaurants or shopping.

She said it wasn’t that tough until Grandpa got sick. He was tested and she was praying that it wasn’t the virus. It was. He had to go to the hospital. No visitors, not even Grandma. She got updates saying he was fading and she knew before the final call arrived.

I can tell you the sadness of loss never left her.

story 3 - Never returned 

“…sharp knife and cheap booze, maybe drugs. So much blood.” The EMT shook his head while transferring the patient to the ER staff.

“But, he cut off his own hand?”

“He mumbled something about, “How do you know when the germs are gone?” I think he passed out trying to cut off the other one. Wouldn’t have made it here if his sister hadn’t checked in on him.”

“I think she’s brought him in before. Some mental health thing.”

“Sad stuff. She told us he’s never really returned from that tour of duty in Afghanistan.”

story 4 - “The Villa” 

Always knew I came to “The Villa” to die. The virus ramped up that reality. We’ve been designated a hot spot. I want to see my kids and grandkids. They say no one’s coming or going.

We fly the clubhouse flag at half-mast when a resident dies. Usually happens once a week. Seems like it’s down more than up now.

Schultz started a pool. You pick an hour block each day predicting when someone will die. I made a couple hundred bucks on Tuesday.

Sounds morbid, but wait until you hit this stage, see what you do for fun.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Oh please, enlighten me

So I should consider it okay

if it’s my Mom, age 88,

blind from strokes, confined to a care facility

and, wait for it,

giddy with the joy of new found love.

Or my wife, a cancer survivor,

who looks too young to be in any high-risk population.

Or our son who was born premature and

has been fighting the odds each new day.

Or one of my grandkids, (Who would dare to

tell me that any of my grandkids are merely fodder

so we can save our precious economy?)

Oh, and add to the list life-long friends,

co-workers, neighbors and acquaintances.

And you want me to believe

their death is acceptable because:

as Americans our rights are sacred and demand risks,

or they probably have some

weakening condition and would soon die,

or it is just their time,

or (please spare me)

god called them home

(or to a better place,

or fill in the vapid cliché of your choice).

That’s all I have.

But I’m sure you have more.

So, please enlighten me as to  

why I should gratefully fight for and

enjoy my rights and privileges

even at the cost of the life

of one of these, so dear to me?

Too much pain (the Corona Chronicles)

I always believed in America, God and country. Had to protect our rights.

Trusted my President. He knew what was best and would take care of us. He said, “Don’t fear.” “Liberate.” “Go back to work.” My soul raged. Crazy liberals weren’t shutting down our country.

Covid-19 infected my husband, fear, hospital, pain and so alone. Then our granddaughter. My secret favorite. Same result, only much more pain.

This is beyond what I can take. I refuse to be next. Thanks for your love and support. I pray my leaving this way doesn’t cause you too much pain.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Can’t be (the Corona Chronicles)

It was a perfect day for a parade.

The organizer, a local restaurant owner, was quoted, “We’re hard working Americans. We have our rights. We need to work.”

Cars, trucks and tractors were covered in red, white and blue. They stretched for a mile slowly making their way through town honking horns and waving to the cheering crowd.

The crack of the gun was barely audible. Cars abruptly stopped and whispers drifted down the street.

“Someone’s been shot.”

“A kid.”

“Not Amy, she’s only three.”

“It can’t be.”

Sirens and lights filled the street as the hushed crowd dispersed.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Our soul knows (the Corona Chronicles)

Tuesday bleeds to Wednesday to Thursday to Friday to who knows or cares. Meals morph from a creative endeavor to scouring for palatable sustenance. TV, or more accurately streaming, drifts from overwhelming choices to muddled distractions. Whether shack or castle, home feels too crowded. And the Internet just plain sucks.

No matter our “creature comforts,” or our being in control our soul knows that we do not know what we have always known. And our commitments and connections will wonder, while bearing the ache and scars, long into the future.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Work with me, people (the Corona Chronicles)

“Let’s go. Wait, where’s Stevie?”

“I told you teenagers sleep late.”

“We’ve got six people. This chart shows the day in 30-minute increments. Each person has a designated workspace and device. We’ll have two breaks to evaluate progress and lunch together at Noon.”

“Sheesh, recruiter said I couldn’t join the Army without a diploma.”

“Why does Acie get the kitchen table and Marq the new IPad?”

“None of my friends have to work more than two hours a day. This sucks.”

“Work with me, people. This is the greatest opportunity for family connection we’ve ever had.”

Fiction 101: The goal is to write a story in 101 words or less.

Enough (the Corona Chronicles)

Reality TV crews followed the Newton’s, drooling for the pain and grief of quarantine life.

Stereotypes were everywhere. Bess, Mom a cutthroat executive. Jake, the unemployed closeted gay Dad. Sammi, the (secretly) pregnant drop out. Drake, the cute, funny son. And Fritzie, the loveable dog.

Week one drew viewers as the family adjusted to being all together, all the time. Ratings jumped week two as outbursts edged near violence. After episode three the show was cancelled.

A national critic noted, “It’s bad enough we’re all living this every day. We don’t need it jammed down our throats at night.”

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Thanks for asking (the Corona Chronicles)

That first week was briefly idyllic, an extended vacation with the welcome absence of oft-repressive obligations. Week two brought a disorientating awareness of the shift in commitments and relationships that long justified my existence. By week three I was overwhelmed with the contradiction of increasing time and decreasing motivation. The fourth week brought ego bruises painfully revealing my inability to turn this chaos into some golden opportunity. 

By six, seven and eight I had devolved to maintaining basic needs while bargaining with the almighty for any possible escape.

Thanks for asking. So, how are you handling the quarantine?

Fiction 101: Tell a story in 101 words or less.

Essentials? (the Corona Chronicles)

Trying to be stealth I parked in the back and wore a mask. Maybe I should’ve gone to another store.

Grabbed eggs, milk and bread; everybody needs eggs, milk and bread. Tried to think what else would look good. Dodged a neighbor with a quick corner-aisle redirection move. Dumped random stuff in the cart. Went to the checkout with the “college kid” who could care less about me or what I bought. 

225 dollars, geeze. Better than being embarrassed by family and friends for violating the Governor’s Orders when I only needed ice cream…you know, essentials. And the beer.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

COVID-19 hits home(s) - (the Corona Chronicles)

This collection of "Fiction 101" short stories (101 words or less) are told from the perspective of six different kids reflecting on life in the daily reality of the Coronavirus.

Taylor

Mom takes care of old folks and Dad works at a farm. I watch the little ones.

It’s tough doing schoolwork when my brother and sister are crying, fighting or hungry. I try to keep up but sometimes the Wi-Fi goes out. Teachers are nice and keep checking in, but I sure miss my friends.

I wish we could get food from school, but my parents are always working. I have to fix dinner for everyone every day. Why can't Grandma be with us?

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll make it until school to starts again.

Sophie

During the virus thing we’re staying at Dad's. Mom works at the hospital, so she’s really busy. He lets us sleep late. We eat breakfast and check in with school, do some work, play video games and chat with friends. Dad focuses on his stuff until we get noisy.

At lunchtime Dad asks questions to check how we are doing. If we can make him think we’re caught up we get free time. There’s not much to do, so we get bored. I sure miss my friends.

                           

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll make it until school to starts again.

Ash

Mom’s usually working on her computer or texting with friends. Dad keeps yelling on the phone, reminding people he’s the boss. At least when they are high they leave us alone. We’re lucky when we get take-out because neither of them cooks worth shit.

I try doing schoolwork. When I need help from Mom she’s busy with the baby. And Dad’s he tells me it’s my responsibility. Teachers are nice and keep checking in, but I sure miss my friends.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll make it until school to starts again.

Joseph

Dad calls, “Up and ready.” for breakfast by 7. At 7:30 Mom starts with “Write about three things you learned yesterday.” Next Dad breaks from his work for Math and Science. Mom does PE before lunch. Then we get 30 minutes on our own, no screens. Next back to Mom for History. An old movie if we’re lucky.

We do afternoon chores until dinner. Finally 30 minutes of screen time, hopefully connecting with friends. The day ends with reading time and bed by 9:30.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll make it until school to starts again.

Tony

Dad’s trying to teach his third graders while helping me do my Middle School stuff. He gets edgy quick sometimes. Mom’s gone a lot for her job at the clinic.

When Mom’s home she gets ticked at Dad because he gets frustrated with me. She says things like, “You’re a teacher.” or, “You need to be more patient.” Which kinda makes him more frustrated.

By the afternoon I’m glad we’re done with school. I sure miss my friends.

                           

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll make it until school to starts again.

Jade

At Mom’s house she bitches about Dad leaving us. At Dad’s we hear about the “Assholes that took my job.” It’s best when he’s drunk and not hitting us. We’re lucky when they remember to get food on school pick-up days.

I try doing schoolwork each day. When I need help from Mom she’s on her phone. At Dad’s he’s usually in his room with his new girlfriend. Teachers are nice and keep checking in, but I sure miss my friends.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll make it until school to starts again.