Archive for September, 2014

The Key Confusion

**previously published by Dark Fountain Magazine.**

by: Rebecca Taylor

It was late in the day when Gord Taft arrived home from his job at the flooring warehouse. He entered through the kitchen door, and immediately the smells of a home cooked meal hit him. His heart starting pumping faster. His hands tightly gripped his set of keys. I must be hungry, I’m losing my mind, he thought but a glance at the kitchen table told him he was sane. It was laden with food; there was enough food to feed a large family. There was a turkey sitting at his place waiting to be carved, cranberry sauce, homemade rolls, several kinds of salads and vegetables, and a multitude of pies on his counter. There wasn’t a dish in the sink, the stove was off, the dishes didn’t look familiar. What is going on here? I don’t own a serving dish, there is no way that I could cook all this and still have the kitchen look this good. The door was locked when I came in, I’ll check the back one. It was locked too, Gord walked through the rest of the house but everything looked untouched just as he had left it that morning. This doesn’t make sense, if someone did happen to break into my house, they would have taken something not brought me a feast that would feed dozens of people. What do I do now? Do I call the police because someone was obviously here? Will they believe me and realize that I am not some crazy attention-needing bachelor. The food smells so good too, but I don’t dare eat it, who knows who made it or why they were here. I’m going for a walk; I’m going to figure out what to do about this.

Gord strode out of the house and locked the door. His knuckles were white from clenching the keys so tightly. He stuck the keys in his pockets and walked out onto the sidewalk. He walked around the block and then not knowing why he ended up outside Claire Post’s door. He knocked and Claire came to the door crying followed by an older couple.

“Can you come back later, Gord, this isn’t a good time,” sobbed Claire.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gord ignoring Claire’s request for him to go away.

“These are my parents; they brought a feast and were going to be meeting Charles for the first time. They met me at work, got my car and keys, and then headed here to get the food ready for tonight, and then they headed back to get me. I drove home and expected to see a beautiful dinner all prepared and what do I find a cold empty kitchen. Somebody came in and stole my special supper. Charles is going to be here any time with his parents and we were all going to get to know each other over dinner but now I have no dinner. I’m going to call the police.”

Gord’s facial expression remained indifferent. “Come with me, I want to show you something, you’re going to like this.”

“Were you not listening to me?” snapped Claire, “my supper was stolen and you want to show me something.”

“Just come on, don’t argue.”

Claire and her parents followed Gord out of the house and down the driveway and then headed up an identical driveway to an identical house. Gord let them into the kitchen immediately, the smell of a home cooked meal greeted them.

“That’s the feast!” exclaimed Mrs. Post.

“I’m calling the police, why did you do it, you thief,” demanded Mr. Post.

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” said Gord struggling to keep a straight face. “Claire, did the set of keys you gave your parents have my key on it, the one I gave you in case of an emergency?”

“Yes, I keep all my keys together so I don’t lose them.”

“Your parents let themselves into my house not yours,” answered Gord allowing himself to laugh for the first time since he had first come home to find the feast.

After giving herself a minute to take in the information, Claire laughed about the uncanny situation. “Daddy, you owe Gord an apology, he didn’t steal your food, you and Mama put it in his house not mine. You never listen to me. I told you it was the third house from the corner; you know that and my address.”

A few hours later, the dinner party and Gord were finishing the feast, still laughing about the key confusion.

Just The Two (Part Two)

Continuation of last weeks post (Just the two (part one))

“Hey, get off me!” the boy cried, trying to push her away. “I said, Get off me!”

She smiled, rubbing her cheek against his like a mother would. A few seconds in, and several curious stares later, she let him go, still smiling.

The boy frowned, but it held much less hostility than before. “What’s that for?”

She wanted to say it was because he looked like he needed one, but she knew his pride would force him to react negatively. Instead, she simply said, “Because.”

Read more…

Speak Upfront

by: Rebecca Taylor

People talk behind the backs of others

Gossips and criticisms come in mounds

Some keep it to a whisper

Others speak it loud and clear

Helpful hints say some

Repeated and rearranged to suit the joke

If you don’t like how something is done

It’s better to speak from the front

Two stories told this way instead of one

How different the words fall now.


Just The Two (Part One)

Part one of two

This is a short story I wrote, based on various childhood memories, and lots of creativity. Enjoy~

She came across the young boy at the park, scrapping at the dry dirt with a stick. If this had been years ago, when she herself was his age, she would understand why he was here, alone, and not spending his time with other children on the slides or swings across the way. Then, most of the fun areas had either been neglected or overrun with children much bigger than herself, playing basketball in the courtyard on the side. But years had passed, and the park was once again the perfect place to race around with friends, or hang from the long metal poles like monkeys. So why wasn’t he?

Read more…


by: Rebecca Taylor

Too easy to miss the happiness in each day

Bad news and rough endings

Fill the television and papers

Somewhere in the world at every moment

Good shines through but often goes unseen

We must join together to find this glow

And bring it forward

As hands work together to make an upward seesaw

Of peace and joy around our eclectic world

Angels will dance in heaven applauding our efforts

As we hope someday this is all that will be seen.

Touched by Memories

by: Rebecca Taylor

Occasionally you come across an item that changes your life, and to Katie McGraw we were just that. We are myself – a preserved wedding gown and my friend a groom’s tuxedo. It was almost dark outside when she climbed the stairs to the attic where we reside inside an oak trunk. She crossed the creaky old floorboards, the sound of her feet echoing as she walked. She stopped and looked around, coughing because of the dust which covered every inch of the rarely visited attic. After a few moments she headed over to the trunk, knelt beside it, and after dusting it off a bit with her hand opened it.

Katie picked up a scratched silver key and said, “From my first car, I sure wore it out, and it wasn’t new when I got it. I haven’t had one since that made me feel the way that 1989 pink Chevy did.”

She set the key down and pulled out a small gift box, she carefully untied the ribbon and letters came spilling out of the box. “I’d forgotten about these, Joe wrote them to me when he was trucking before he was transferred here to Aulson to take the job as dispatcher. She started to open one of the envelopes when she spotted us. She put the box on the floor at her side, and then moved a photo of her wedding and the wedding announcement.

She gently brought me out of the trunk and standing unfolded me displaying my radiant personality. It felt so good to be admired again; it reminded me of the day she wore me to marry Joe. It will be eight years on the 15th of this month. I remember the day like it was yesterday, it was a beautiful autumn day, Katie was twenty‑three and she was completely exuberant as she stood in me, an ivory floor length gown with a beaded neckline and veil. Her eyes gleamed as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm to meet her soon to be husband. Joe was wearing my companion, a simple tailored black suit. The suit and I had never met before that day as it is considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown before the big day. We too were joined in holy matrimony that day and have not been separated since. We are reminders of the love that Katie and Joe have. The look in Katie’s eyes took me away from my reminiscing and once again, I turned my thoughts to the present. Katie looked sad and as you might imagine looking at me should not be a gloomy event. She was fingering the plastic that I was wrapped in but I could feel how cold her hands were through it. At that moment I became afraid, I knew from Katie’s actions that something was wrong because otherwise she would not have come up to the attic, which was rarely visited or cleaned. The trunk that Joe’s suit, the other mementos, and I reside in hasn’t been opened for three years, since Katie showed me to a friend who was planning her own wedding. It is a rare occasion to be brought out and admired, and here we were upset. Katie whispered something; I strained my ears to hear; she wants Joe to come back so they can work things out. They had a major argument, one that she is not sure their marriage can heal from. If it doesn’t then one of them will leave this house where we have all lived in for so long. If that happens, then the suit which has become my best friend and I will be separated too.   Katie put me back in the trunk, and sat down on the floor to pick up the box of letters that she had abandoned upon spotting me. She pulled out a random letter and started reading. Emotions of love and longing filling her heart as mine pounded away in anticipation. Everything was happening so fast that I felt like I might cry, but my friend, Suit, touched me gently on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Beauty, those letters will help her, look at her face now, it’s softening.”

I smiled slightly trying to cheer myself up; we could see the stars through the tiny attic window, a sight that we haven’t seen for years. Katie got up and headed downstairs with some of the letters. Then we were able to talk honestly about what each of us thought.

“Katie’s calm most of the time, but sometimes things build up and she becomes over emotional,” said the key.

“All couples fight, I spent a lot of time with Joe when he was writing me and my friends to her, they’re complete opposites but they make it work but sometimes it clashes,” said one of the letters that was still in the gift box.

“Relationships, sometimes you hate them and other times you love them,” answered the announcement.

“Do you think they can work it out,” I asked wondering if this would be one of the last chats that we memories of a happy time would have together.

“I think so,” answered the photograph, “the letters are helping Katie get composed, so hopefully when Joe comes back they’ll be able to talk about what’s bothering them.”

I nodded; none of us said too much about the situation after that, there wasn’t anything to say until we saw what would happen with Katie and Joe. I looked around the room now lit up by the light in the corner that Katie had left on. Everything was covered and dusty, all a part of something hidden away but not forgotten.

It was the next afternoon before Katie returned to the attic, this time with Joe. They put all of us back in our trunk and using warm soapy water set out to rid the attic of its grime. The cobwebs that had built up in the keyhole of the trunk were cleaned out so now we could feel the cool air and hear their voices even when the lid was closed. They worked in tandem to reorganize the attic, reliving moments past trying to mend their current issues. The smell of dust was replaced by the scent of lemon cleaning products, and fresh outdoor air. Together with us, Katie and Joe were able to work through their problems and also make the attic into a more pleasant space. The dim light bulb was replaced with one that gave an exuberant glow. The trunk where we live became a table and cosy chairs and cushions were brought upstairs to make a quiet getaway for the couple. They could now use the space for private or together time, to talk, read, or just enjoy the stars which glisten in the night sky. Katie had entered the dusty attic upset, to be met by memories of love that shone in their hearts and had temporarily been misplaced. These memories touched her heart and transformed all of our lives.

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