A Year of Stories (Collection Two)

Excerpts From the Journal of a Minor God

I smiled.

He smiled.

I asked him if he liked magic.

He asked me to show him a trick.

So I turned a blade of grass into a silver coin, and placed it in the palm of his hand, and told him to remember hope.

He nodded, I nodded and then I went back inside and cried.

Thursday

I had lunch at a cafe that served only organic grains.

My waitress was tall, thin, with hair the color of soap bubbles and lilacs.

She brought me tea and toast and questions.

First, I asked her for the time, she told me that it had run off.

Then, I asked her how her day was, she told me it was about eight more hours.

Finally, I asked her what she would do if she knew that she would die tomorrow – she told me that she would quit her job.

I told her that she wouldn't die tomorrow, that she wouldn't die for a long time.

She nodded and left me a smile.

I nodded back and left her a tip.

Friday

I went to the market to buy a dozen eggs.

In the parking lot I saw a nice looking man with a knife, and a plain looking woman with fear burned into the hazel of her eyes.

There were a few other people pushing carts and checking phones, but none as interesting as this pair.

The man had lost his job, his home, his family and his faith.

He was hungry and tired and didn't want to hurt anyone, he just didn't want to be hungry and tired anymore.

The woman was all sweat and fear and love for her children, it girded her like a suit of chain mail.

This was not the first time she had found herself in this state, nor would it be the last.

I walked over to the man and touched him on the shoulder, and for a moment he was filled with fear that matched the woman's eyes.

I told him to put down the knife, that he was good, that this was not, and that I knew he was made for better things.

I told him to remember my words in the days to come.

Tears filled his eyes, and he handed me the knife and walked away.

The woman asked me what I wanted in return for the kindness.

I told her that kindness required nothing.

I went home with the eggs.

Saturday

I made it to the lake just before sunset.

I wasn't late but I'll admit that I wasn't early either.

In any case, the duck was not amused.

Last week, I told him that I would read his fortune. Which, as you might suspect, means about as much to ducks as it does to humans.

Unfortunately, your average mallard only lives to be about twenty, which makes punctuality mean a lot more to ducks than it does to humans.

We sat cross-legged at the banks of the lake, which is a greater challenge for a duck than you might suspect.

I told him that I would trade him one question for one truth.

So he asked me the question that's on all duck's minds, "When will I be eaten?"

I answered, "On the day the sky falls."

This seemed to satisfy him, though it left me feeling cold.

We both left the lake then, in opposite directions.

Sunday

Today I rested, as is the way of all of my kind.