A Snippet of Fiction
Author Note: In case you haven’t read Episode 1 that I posted on 4-4-26, here’s a link:
[No AI was used in any aspect of the writing above, the fiction piece below, anything else I’ve written, or anything I will ever write, for that matter.]
Spare Time
Episode 2
The silence settled around him, soothing the frayed edges of his pain and spreading throughout his body like a magical elixir.
The man cleared his throat and repeated a variation of his dusted off greeting. The moment he began contemplating why the tree had reached out to him in the first place all those years ago and was doing so again, a sudden thought occurred to him. If an observer peered over his next-door neighbor’s fence at that precise moment, they would witness a comedy act featuring a naked old man addressing an enormous pine tree like he would a long-lost spiritual guide.
The man chuckled at his mind’s slapstick rendering of that scene as he unwound the nearby hose to rinse off the dirt and mud from his prickly skin. The instant the cold water poured over his trembling body, images of a twilit world flickered at the edges of his fading memory. He saw himself tiptoeing outside, easing the storm door closed, and marveling at the heavens in all their glory before making the pilgrimage to the base of the pine sapling to wait for the comforting tones. Then he felt the all too familiar raptorial hand gripping his shoulder as a prelude to the dreaded sting of leather sculpting the flesh on his backside into a mosaic of hideous welts he would dutifully hide until they faded.
The naked man staggered away from the agonizing childhood memory and back into his house and toward the warm, soothing embrace of the shower.
Later that day as the sun dipped below the distant hills, he carried a tattered folding chair toward the ponderosa. He almost pitched forward onto his face when he tried to perform a full bow while leaning on the chair to right himself. Sitting with his back against the tree that had grown more than sixty feet while the man’s days and years had condensed, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the myriad of scents blending into one.
Now I’m here, the man thought, now I’m here.
Kuantaput tanti. The ethereal voice held him spellbound as it had all those years ago. Mey gni yla zálda.
The man whispered, “Please, I don’t under—”
O lxd gi’x ugwod.
The man’s entire body shuddered with each breath as the sounds flowed through the honeycomb caves of his mind, spiraling and shimmering with each new fold it discovered. “I’d forgotten how the years take their toll.”
Ling oun ik, zik wonit il wnet.
“We are indeed,” the man replied. He sat in silence until the crickets began their serenade and the first stars graced the night sky.
Kxig gux sost.
“Yes, until tomorrow,” he muttered as he struggled to his feet.
At dawn the man set up shop on the opposite side of the tree trunk. He closed his eyes, calmed his breathing, and waited.
Lat kawan esano, y fotsin.
The man smiled at the chorus of voices blending into one. “That I am.”
Dir manist, tasko pae munzik?
For a fleeting moment, the man wished he hadn’t unleashed his fury against the Eulalia and its prodigious translating power. But his own response flowed as easily as water over rocks. “I don’t know where else to look.”
Kwelu pinla higtuz.
The man made a feeble attempt at suppressing the frustration that erupted from the depths of his soul. “Enough with your showing off. I’m after answers, not lingos.”
Tiek to miwzem ciezlko.
“‘You only know what you need to know?’ What’s that got to do with anything?”
Nutte fley mena.
The man snapped. “Enough with the cosmic debris, all right? ‘Everything and nothing.’ Why can’t you just use—?”
Qhib kilugu ganta.
“Like hell it’s boring. Life would be infinitely better if everybody spoke the same damn language and you know it.”
Talvez, mas você entende, mesmo assim.
“Of course I understand. Why wouldn’t I?”
So then you must know Portuguese as well as—
“What? If you’re so enlightened, why don’t you understand that I don’t speak anything but—?” The man perceived his thoughts floating on a river of dialects, the translations swirling like tadpoles in an undercurrent. “Wait, how can this be happening?”
Gäktu cindz ugēku.
“What does ‘your guess is as good as mine’ even mean? And didn’t I ask you to stop with the different languages? I’m getting a headache.”
Pero solo hablo un idioma.
“One language, my ass. What about all those others you toss around like some polyglot savant wannabe?”
Ħæwq £ŗůooz çaπ.
“Bullshit. Stop trying to gaslight me. I’m not the one babbling in all those different tongues, you are.”
Am I, my friend? Are you so sure?
# # #
(To be continued, or so I think.)
A recent review of my latest novel Core Haven: Hope Amid the Ruins
P.S. At the time of this writing, Core Haven: Hope Amid the Ruins has maintained its 4.8 out of 5 with 51global ratings & 49 customer reviews on Amazon, along with 4.62 out of 5 with 130 ratings & 120 reviews on Goodreads. Not too shabby, right?
My first self-published novel, Pearl Fields and the Oregon Meltdown: A Tale of Survival, is currently available on the Kindle Store.
My companion novel, Core Haven: Hope Amid the Ruins, was released on July 31st, 2025. Available now.
