Category Archives: Stories


Sometimes sleeping late can cause a lot of trouble.
You see, my cocoon was just so comfy that I didn’t want to come out. I was having this wonderful dream of floating over a garden of roses, chrysanthemums and Mexican bluebells. The aroma made my head spin, and the nectar lured me into the caressing petals. The foliage surrounded me with Mother Nature’s love, and I wanted to stay there forever. As I dreamed of flying through the garden, I became aware that my wings bumped into stems which threw me off course. Before I knew it, I could hardly move at all without hitting something inflexible and rough.
Then I realized I wasn’t bouncing from plant to plant at all. It was dark. I was still in my cocoon, and my new wings couldn’t move in the cramped dark space. Instinct told me to kick and scratch as fiercely as I could. Finally, I broke through the cocoon wall and found myself in a beautiful garden, just like in my dream. After flitting from flower to flower, I sensed a distinct chill to the air. When I looked up I saw that the sky was clouding over, and the wind was blowing hard.
I’ve got to get out of this place. As beautiful as it was, I sensed it was going to become too cold very quickly. Looking around, I saw no other butterflies. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. My instincts told me I was alone and in trouble. I wasn’t dreaming of this garden but another garden, far away where the temperatures were warm and the sun shone all day. But I didn’t know the way, and there was no other butterflies left to guide me.
Before I allowed myself to think the worse, a gentle hand swooped me up and placed me in a box with holes in the sides and several branches of leaves and flowers. I sensed I should have been scared but the flowers’ bouquet lulled me into a trance of serenity, almost like the dream I had while in the cocoon. I felt jostled about and cringed at the noise around me. A soft voice sang me to sleep and once again I was flying in the beautiful garden.
What seemed like a peaceful eternity passed. Coming out of a deep slumber I became aware of the lid of the box lifting, and I saw warm, welcoming skies above me. Without hesitation I flew up and out of the box to find yet another garden. This one was filled with other butterflies, all swooping and soaring around the flowers.
“Where have you been?” they asked. “How did you get here?”
“I overslept, and I don’t know how I got here. Do you believe in miracles?”

Mademoisselle’s Syndrome

“Mademoiselle Belle, I am pleased you came back for a second visit. So, are you still laboring under this delusion that this beast who kidnapped you and held you captive has turned into a handsome prince?”
“Doctor Fulaybeans, I tell you he is not a beast! Merely misunderstood!
“He is a hideous, hairy monster with claws and fangs. The sooner you realize this, mademoiselle, the sooner you will be cured.”
“If loving him is a disease, then I never want to be cured.”
“Not so much a disease as a syndrome. When I write my paper to the medical society of Paris, I should give it a name. Perhaps the Paris Syndrome. No, no. They would be insulted. Better name it after a city that doesn’t mind being associated with a filthy, disgusting mental condition. Maybe Stockholm. Sordid Swedes. Who cares what they think?”
“I will not stand for you talking about my love in such a degrading manner. I don’t know why you are torturing me like this.”
“Because your father is paying me good money, that’s way.”
“Money he received from my lover. He did not tell you that, did he?”
“If your lover—as you call him—is so generous to your father, why would your father hate him so much?”
“The horse is missing. It was old. Probably wandered off to die.”
“Why was there blood in the barn? And bones, mane and tail? And did not your father see blood stains on the beast’s cummerbund?”
“He nicked himself shaving, that’s all.”
“He does not shave, Mademoiselle Belle.”
“Of course he shaves! He has beautiful fair cheeks and a clear complexion upon his strong jaw. Tender blue eyes. Pearly straight teeth. An aquiline nose.”
“I must make a note to myself to have your vision checked also.”
“It’s the villagers. They have turned my father against him.”
“And why would the villagers hate him if he is the kind handsome prince you say he is?”
“A few missing chickens, that’s all. Maybe some pigs, cows and sheep. Who knows what stories they will come up with next?”
“If you are so certain your lover is innocent of all charges, why did you return to my office?”
Belle stood to sweep across the room to the doctor. “I need your help to make others see him the way I see him.”
“My dear mademoiselle, I am a doctor, not a magician.”
At that moment the door opened, and the beast entered, wearing a purple satin top coat over his hairy body. Belle ran to him and planted a kiss upon his lips. When she pulled away, her lips were smeared with blood.
“Oh, darling, how sweet of you to accompany me home.”
The beast shook the doctor’s hand with his cloven hoof.
“I owe you an apology, doctor. I didn’t realize until after I ate the dog outside that it must have been your pet. Rest assured, I will recompense you handsomely for it.”

Ben Hur

Bobby couldn’t believe his luck.  His father was actually taking him to the drive-in movies to see Ben-Hur.  All his classmates saw it in the walk-in theaters and raved about the sea battle and the chariot race.  It showed this one guy scraping the skin off his leg trying to get his chains off.   And a lot of guys fall off their chariots and get run over by the horses.  This was great stuff.

Bobby didn’t go to many movies since he turned twelve the price went up.  The drive-in, on the other hand, were only a dollar a carload.  They used to go to the drive-in all the time when Bobby’s brothers lived at home.  Five people and only one dollar.  His mother didn’t feel like going anywhere anymore.  When Ben-Hur came to the local drive-in, Bobby tried to talk his father into taking him.  It would be 50 cents per person, dangerously close to what the walk-in theater charged.

“For God’s sake, Grady!  Take the damn boy to see the damn movie!  I’m tired of listening to all his whining!”

So there they sat in their car in the darkness and waited for the screen to go black and the music to come up.  By the time Ben-Hur’s boyhood Roman friend came home and tried to talk him into giving him the names of Jewish dissidents, Bobby’s father dropped off asleep, his head flung back against the seat and his mouth wide open.  The snoring was deafening.  When the soldiers broke through the front door to take Ben-Hur away for throwing a rock at a general, Bobby’s dad fell into the steering wheel, setting off the horn.  A group of men charged the car.

“We spent a whole dollar to see this movie!  We want to hear it too!  Wake him up!

“Mommy said never to wake daddy up,” Bobby whimpered.  “She said he would get mad.”

“Well, I don’t give damn if he gets mad or not!” one big man yelled as he jerked open the car door.

Bobby’s father fell out face first into the gravel.  The car horn stopped, and the snoring was muffled.  The men went back to their cars.  Bobby had a tough time concentrating on the rest of the movie.  He even missed the part when the guy scraped the skin off his ankle on the boat, because Bobby kept looking at this father lying on the ground.  The snoring stopped but if Bobby looked closely he could still see his body go up and down as he breathed.  Mom would definitely be upset if he came home with daddy dead.  He was supposed to mow the lawn the next morning.  Bobby couldn’t keep up with the chariot race.  He thought Ben-Hur had the white horses and the Roman the black, but he didn’t know for sure.

By the time Jesus rose from the grave and Ben-Hur decided he didn’t hate anybody anymore, Bobby’s father coughed and snorted, sitting up abruptly on the gravel and then crawling back into his car.

“Ain’t this damn movie over yet?”

“Yes, Daddy.  It’s over.”

“It’s about time.  I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it.”