Quarantine Bloglette: A short, short story

There's a short story in the Grimm Brother's collection that goes something like this:

There once was a wee fox who found a wee box, and a wee hen who found a wee key. They took the wee key and opened the wee box. Inside the box was a wee tail. If that tail had been any longer, so would this one.

I've always loved that simple little story. Here's one I made up for our times:

The words “early parole” rang alternately in Eddie’s ears as the bells in Poe’s poem: merry, silver sledge bells and the moaning and groaning of iron bells. A fresh start, if not a clean slate, gave him hope in proving either rehabilitation or revenge.

First, to collect on an old debt, he broke into Frank’s car and took the Glock from under the front seat. The two bullets would have to do. He imagined the confrontation he’d have with old Al of Al’s Liquors when he surprised him. He’d ask Al if he missed the case of whiskey he’d stolen as much as he himself missed the last year of his life. Then he’d tell him that he figured, at this point, there was probably only a year left in the old man anyway, so they could call it even. Then he’d shoot old Al.

On they way to the liquor store, Eddie passed under an awning outside a church. Pretty women were giving away cookies and punch, so he stopped. Then he saw the signs, “Gun buy-back.” “No questions asked.” “Save a life; get $50.”

It seemed like a simple enough decision: walk on past the temptation, or turn and walk up the flower-lined brick path into a building he hadn’t been in since his youth. There were plenty of cookies and plenty of time, so Eddie didn’t rush off.

“It must be a tough decision.” An old woman, not one of the pretty ones, said to Eddie. She was like one of those, what do you call them? Wise women, crones. “Here,” she held out a plate with a large brownie on it. “Food for thought.” Then she tucked her chin down, like a younger woman. “I made it myself.” He nodded and took the brownie.

Early release, fresh baked brownie – life never tasted better.

He finished it and she quietly replaced it with another. He saw no other brownies, just cookies. It was as if she were trying to keep him there. He wanted to ask her if she had anything better to drink than Kool-Aid, Jim Beam, for example, but he didn’t.

If he stood there much longer, he’d have to talk to her. So he nodded thanks, made his final decision and took a step.

Here are two different moods of the same water from the Sea of Japan off opposite sides of a point on Russky Island.