Flash Fiction: Democracy

Democracy

 

            There were times when Tucker hated the idea of democracy.  To be honest, he’d always loved the idea of people having the freedom to choose their own government.  But the sheer aggravation of the past seven years was starting to wear him down.

            Fifteen years ago the king of Pretaria decided he wanted his subjects to choose his successor.  The king had no child to take the throne, and there were no living relatives to claim it.  The only way to avoid a violent civil war, he’d reasoned, was to allow the people to choose their own leader.

            Which was all well and good, Tucker reflected, but he wished the king had taken care of the elections before he’d died.  Instead the king had spent the last five years of his life setting up the rules for choosing his successor.  And he hadn’t had time to iron out all the kinks.

            There were roughly one million people in Pretaria.  The rules stated that every citizen above a certain age was required to vote.  In order to allow a wide base for the people to choose from, the king had designated the first vote to be a write-in ballot. 

            There had been over 100,000 candidates submitted during that first ballot.  It had taken almost a year just to collect all the ballots, and most of another to interpret and count all the votes.  Many Pretarians had illegible handwriting.

            Subsequent elections narrowed the field, as the Electoral Committee—and Interim Government—created rules to eliminate the least likely contenders.  After three years, the Committee realized they needed help, and sent a request for experts to help them.  Tucker had not volunteered.  But here he was anyway.

By the 17^th ballot, they’d narrowed it down to 217 candidates, with Tucker’s help.  The 18^th ballot had 309.  Tucker had locked himself in his room and cried.  He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

He’d lost count of how many candidates they’d eliminated over the years.  He’d nearly lost count of how many ballots they’d created.  Tucker was tired.  He wanted to go home.  He missed his own country, where the laws were already in place, and the daily business of government wouldn’t give him a headache.

A knock on his door drew him from his wishful thinking.  He opened the door to find Catherine waiting.

“Reginald,” she said by way of greeting.  “You’re still up.  Good.” 

Catherine shouldered past him, an electronic clipboard in her hands. 

“Come on in,” he muttered dryly.  “And why don’t you call me Tucker?”

She blinked at him.  “Your name is Reginald.  I don’t understand why anyone would call you anything else.”

Tucker rubbed his temple as he closed the door behind her.  He felt another headache coming on.  Not that his last headache had ever really faded.

“It’s a nickname, Catherine,” he explained, yet again.  “It would be like someone calling you Cathy or Kate.”

“No one calls me either of those,” she pointed out, with a strange sort of logic, “Because neither of them is my name.  But Tucker isn’t even close to Reginald, so I don’t understand why you would answer to it.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We don’t have time for stories now.  The latest election results are in,” she said, passing him the E-board.

“Great.”  He tried to summon up enthusiasm, and failed.  “How many are we up to now?”

“Thirty-four,” she answered absently.  “We’ve got it narrowed down to 52 candidates this time.”

Tucker groaned, scrolling through the list.  “52?  I thought it was 51 last time.  We have to stop letting people submit candidates who aren’t on the ballot.  Who is it this time?  That hunter from up north again?”

Catherine’s lips twitched.  She shook her head, eyes gleaming with humor.

“Not that crazy farmer who swears aliens keep abducting his livestock?  What’s his name again?”

“Marvin Haskell,” Catherine answered immediately.  “But he was listed on the ballot remember?  He got enough votes last time.”

Tucker tossed the E-board on his small kitchen table.  “Then who is lucky number 52?”

Catherine covered her laugh with a cough, and took up the E-board, and pulled up the final name on the list.  “Here,” she said, handing it back to him.

He stared down at it in shock.  “You have got to be kidding me.  This isn’t possible.  It’s not even legal.”

“Actually, it is.  There’s no law stating that the president has to be a Pretarian citizen.”

“It’s ridiculous.  It’s preposterous!  It’s . . . It’s . . . butt stupid!” he burst out as he paced his small apartment.

“Well, you didn’t get quite as many votes as Mr. Haskell,” Catherine managed.  “But you did get a respectable number.”

“Who in their right mind would vote for me?” he asked, nearly tearing the hair from his scalp.

Catherine sobered at his tone.  “Pretaria could do much worse, Reginald.  You have all the skills anyone could ask for in a President.”

“But I don’t want to be president!” He was actually shouting now.  “I can’t handle this insanity any more.  I want to go home, Catherine.  I want to go home.”

Catherine stepped closer, dared to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “There is no reason to worry,” she said soothingly.  “We’ll eliminate your name from the next ballot.  We’ll be able to narrow it down more than ever.  We’re almost done, Reginald.  Won’t you please see it through?  For Pretaria?  For me?”

He looked up at that. “For you?” he repeated.

Catherine gave him a wobbly smile.  “You have become my good friend, Reginald.  I will miss you when the elections are finished.”

He smiled back at her.  “We are friends,” he agreed, “though I suspect you had something to do with lucky number 52.”

She giggled at that.

“Perhaps when this is over, you can come home with me.  I’d like to show you how a sane government operates.”

She nodded.  “That would be useful for my people.  Does that mean you’re staying?”

Tucker—Reginald—let out a resigned sigh.  “I’ll stay.”

Flash Fiction--In-laws

In-Laws

 

            “All in-laws are crazy!”  Joffrey laughed.  “You needn’t act like you’re the only one.”

            Clearly, he did not understand my situation.  And just now, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

            “I suppose you’re right,” I managed to conjure up a smile.  “See you Monday.”

            And I walked out the door.  I had packed my bag that morning and stowed it in my trunk, so I was ready to go.  The tank was full.  I’d been careful to give myself no excuse to delay my trip.  But I did stop to pick up a peanut butter milkshake for the road.  Nothing relieves stress like a peanut butter milkshake.

            Don’t get me wrong, my in-laws are wonderful people.  They accepted me and had given me all the moral support these past few months while my husband was out of the country.  At least I assume he was out of the country.  My husband did something, for some branch of the military—I think.  It was all highly classified, and I knew basically nothing about it.  Dan mentioned getting me clearance, but before he could start the process, he’d been sent on assignment, and I hadn’t seen him for almost three months.

            It was nerve-wracking not knowing where Dan was, how much danger he might be in and when he might be coming home.  I had been in contact with his parent by phone almost every day, but today was only my second trip to see them in person.  Like I said, they were wonderful people, but they were . . . .odd.  Truthfully, I wasn’t ready to go back, but I had news to share, and since Dan was out of reach, they were the only ones I had to share it with.

            An hour later, milkshake gone, I pulled up into the driveway.  I glanced warily over the fence at the back yard.  Everything seemed perfectly normal, but I didn’t let myself feel relieved.

            The door swung open as I pulled my bag from the trunk.  Dan’s mother came out, smiling brightly.        

            “Jessica!” she cried, her face alight.  “It’s so good too see you.  David, come help Jessica with her bag.”

            “It’s alright, Minnie,” I assured her, but David was already taking the bag from me.  “But thank you, David.”

            “Anything for my favorite daughter-in-law,” he responded with a grin.

            “How are you, dear?” Minnie asked, as she ushered me into the house.  “I’ve been a bit worried about you.  I hope you haven’t been ill.”

            “I’m perfectly healthy,” I assured her, truthfully.  The doctor’s appointment I’d had yesterday proved it.  I couldn’t resist my next question.  “But tell me, what happened to your rocket?”

            “Our rocket?” David asked blandly.

            “I didn’t see it in the back yard today,” I answered.  “Did you finish it and sell it?”

            And that was part of the reason I hadn’t been to visit my in-laws in so long.  The last time I’d been there, they had a half-finished rocket in their back yard.  I’m not talking about a toy rocket, or a miniature rocket—David and Minnie had a full-sized rocket complete with boosters and fins and all that stuff that I vaguely recognized from watching space shuttle launches as a child.

            “Oh, Jessica,” Minnie laughed.  “As if we’d sell our rocket.”

            “The neighbors complained,” David said, “So we put it out of sight.”

            “Why don’t you take Jessica’s bag up to her room, while I fix us all a nice glass of iced tea,” Minnie said, leading the way into the kitchen.

            David headed up the stairs, and I found myself on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching Minnie finish dinner preparations and sipping tea.  I offered to help, but she refused.

            “So how exactly do you put an eighty foot tall rocket out of sight?”  I asked.

            “We shrank it,” David answered as he settled beside me with his own glass of iced tea.

            “I . . . see.”

            “It’s about eight feet tall now,” he explained.  “Makes it a bit of a challenge to work on now, but we can store it in the garage at least.  Luckily it’s all done but the tweaking.”

            “Don’t let him fool you,” Minnie said, serving up steaming bowls of soup.  “The rocket is complete.  David just can’t resist tinkering with it.”

            David shrugged.  “We have time.  We can’t use it until we hear from Dan.”

            That caught my attention.  “Use it for what?”  Then, “You’ve heard from Dan.”

            “Not exactly, Jessica.  But I have the feeling he’ll be in touch soon.”

            I nodded, one hand pressing instinctively to my abdomen.  “I hope you’re right.”

            “Minnie is always right,” David told me, patting my hand reassuringly.  “Now have some soup.  It’s delicious.”

            “And my first question?”

            “What was that, dear?” Minnie asked, settling on the other side of David with her own soup.

            I refused to be distracted.  “What are you planning on using the rocket ship for?”

            “Oh, David wants to take it for a little test drive, as it were.”  Minnie laughed it off.  “But enough about us.  How have you been?”

            And there was my opening.  I sipped my soup as I gathered my courage.  Minnie and David were wonderful people, but sometimes I truly doubted their sanity.  I’d worked with dementia patients in the past—people who were so confused that sometimes it was impossible to know if the stories they told were true or not.  All I could do was nod and act as if they were, since I rarely had any way to confirm it.  I automatically treated Dan’s parents the same way.  They might be crazy, but they’d always seemed harmless.

            “I’m pregnant,” I blurted out.

            Minnie beamed at me.  “That’s wonderful news!  Isn’t that wonderful news, David?  Now Jessica and the baby can come with us.”

            “Come with you?  Where are you going?”  I tried to convince myself she meant a drive in the country, or a trip to the flea market.  Somehow I knew I was wrong.

            “We’re going home, Jessica.  To our own planet.”

            I felt my mouth drop open in shock.

            David cleared his throat.  “We’ll be leaving as soon as Dan returns.  We’ve delayed leaving as long as we could.”

            “I—I don’t understand,”  I stammered.

            “We’re not from Earth, dear,” Minnie explained gently.  “Surely you must have suspected it.  We’re really not crazy.  We’re aliens.”

            “B-but Dan . . . the baby . . .” I was trying to make sense of it all.  I knew Minnie was right.  I’d always suspected . . . something, but I hadn’t been prepared for this.

            “Dan really is our son,” David assured me.  “And he is an alien too.  He really does love you, Jessica.  I hope you realize that.”

            “That’s why we’re so glad to hear about the baby,” Minnie chimed in.  “Well, we love babies, of course.  But we’re already overdue to go home, and Dan couldn’t take you with him.  It was breaking his heart, poor boy.”

            “But now that you’re pregnant, we can take you with us.  We can’t leave Dan’s child behind.”

            I stared at them, my soup spoon halfway to my mouth.  David and Millie were from another planet.  Dan was an alien.  And the baby I’d been so happy about would be only half human.

           Minnie patted my hand.  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said.  “But Dan really does love you.  You do love my son, don’t you?”

            I nodded helplessly.

            “Then it will all be all right.  You’ll see.”

            I still couldn’t process this.  I sat there dumbly, as David cleared away the dinner dishes, and  followed Minnie upstairs when she took my hand to lead me there.

            “Dan will be here soon,” Minnie told me, as she helped me into a nightgown and tucked me into the bed in Dan’s childhood bedroom.  “You’ll feel better when he’s back.  It’s going to be fine, Jessica.  I promise.  No one will hurt you.  We love you.”

            I found myself comforted by that, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A Year With God

I broke my habit of blogging every day.  Right now, I am too overwhelmed by other things in my life, and I lack the energy for it.

We have a plan in place, and hopefully--prayerfully--things will work out soon.  But I am taking a break, much as it pains me to say.

I still feel rather empty inside, but not in a despairing way now.  I just need to refuel my soul with joyful and positive things, and it seems that's going to take a little while longer.

Earlier this week, I was at the park on a beautiful sunny day, watching dogs run and play happily in the grass, and it felt like a chore to be there.

I'm thinking of that line from Psalm 123, 'He restoreth my soul'.  I need my soul restored, and some still waters to walk by.

And I know God will provide it for me.  He always does.  I just need time for it to soak in.

Thank you.

A Year With God, Day 134 of 366 (belated)

I have not posted much over the past week or so.  I have been feeling very depressed, worried, scared.But things are turning around, so I am starting to feel better.  A little time, a little peace, and a lot of prayer and I will feel like myself again.

Yesterday, the pastor at my church talked about how thinking affects what we do and who we are.  And after church, I went to lunch with my mother and sister.  Mom had some shrimp with pineapple on top.

As I was driving home afterwards, I thought, 'I would never order that shrimp dish.  I don't like pineaple.'

But I ate fresh pineapple once, and I did like it.  I might not care for canned pineapple, but I can't make a blanket statement that I don't like any pineapple.

So why do I still think I don't like it?  Habit.  I need to break the habit of reflexively thinking I don't like pineapple. And I need to break the habit of thinking poorly about myself, and focusing on the down side.

I need to set aside what happened in the past, and look forward, at what I can do, and not worry about what I can't do.

A Year With God, Day 133 of 366

I feel as though I've worn myself down to nothing, and there's nothing of me left any more.  I can't think of anything to say.

A Year With God, Day 130 of 366

I need all the prayer I can get today.  Please help.

Thank you.

A Year With God, Day 128 of 366

Sometimes, a day of rest is not very restful.  I had today off, but it seemed I spent the whole day running around.  I had to drop paperwork off at work, then take the dog to the park, then pick up a presciption and a few groceries.

Then I baked a cake and started dinner.  These were mostly things I wanted to do, but at the end of the night I found myself exhausted and close to tears.

This is why God specified the Sabbath as a day where no work should be done.  It's too easy to fill a day with tasks, and leave myself no time to simply relax and feel His presence.  And that is something I need--a little quiet time each day.  Or a lot of time, because I am easily distracted.