A Heavy Choice

I stared at the list of names. All of these people, every single one, was a stranger. Most importantly, every single one was dead; and they were dead because of me. I was my fault, and yet.... it wasn't. I'd had decision to make. No matter what I did, people were going to die. The question had been, "How many?" I tried not to make the decision, be all "smart-alek" and going with "no one;" but people had died anyway. The one forcing the decision on me had reminded me that the question was "How many? Would it be a  small handful of unknown, but no less important, people? Or, a larger group, who's size was the equivalent of a small nation? How many people would die?" Finally, I chose. Heaven help me, I chose. "The needs of the many..." and all that. What else was I supposed to do? Let a millions of people die, or only a couple hundred? I am not proud of my choice, but I wouldn't change it. The decision was made, and I have to live with it. You judge me, but if the choice had been yours, what would you have done?

Insta-Learn

"You can learn anything! Insta-Learn lets you download new knowledge and skills directly into your brain. No more grueling training sessions, no more boring lectures! Learn what you want when you want!"
     I gave a small grunt after the commercial ended. When I was younger, I had wanted to use Insta-Learn to learn as much as I could. Now, not so much.
     Ever since I was little, my dad had taken me to what little "wild" remained and had taught me how to survive on my own, without technology and amenities. He had also taught me basic medical techniques, and how to read, write, do math, cook, sew, and fight. He taught me all of these, and a few more, without ever letting me use Insta-Learn.
     At first, I thought it was kinda cool to learn things the "old-fashioned" way; but as I grew older I started to resent it. I didn't want to be dragged out to the middle of nowhere to spend my days and nights with no technology, hot water, or bed. I didn't want to learn skills that I would probably never use; but my dad never relented. He never really explained why he made me learn things this way, he only ever said "Character trumps talent."
     I didn't stop resenting the lessons until it was too late to thank him for them. A few years ago, I hand the unfortunate experience of having to use, not only one of the skills, but all of them in order to survive. I also learned the short-comings of Insta-Learn. It was hard to access the stored skills in the "wild", and while the brain may know how to do something, the body does not necessarily understand how to perform it. Therefore, my hard work and hard won skills made me smarter and faster than the "Insta-Learners."
     As my dad always said, "Character trumps talent." Talent will only take you so far, but hard work will take you farther. Thanks, dad.

The Pen is Mightier

He stared at the pen sitting on his desk. It was nothing special, but he remembered the day he had received it with perfect clarity. He had been so nervous, unable to stop crossing and crossing his legs. He had turned twenty-one that month. Every month, all of those who had turned twenty-one received a weapon that embodied them perfectly. He had hoped his was a sword. Any sword would do. He was so engrossed in his hoping that his name had to be called twice. He hopped to his feet and had to remind himself not to dash to the podium. As he approached, the shakes in his hands intensified. He took his place and waited, a man went to a table filled with red boxes and picked one up. His heart immediately fell, the box was too small to contain any type of sword. A knife maybe? He could make do with a knife. He took the box with trembling hands and opened it. He stared in shock. Inside was nothing but a simple ball point pen. It had a simple clear plastic body with a black cap. Nothing special. He shuffled back to his seat. A pen? A stupid ball-point pen? Not even a fancy fountain pen with a sharp tip. How in the world could this be a weapon? As the days and months afterwards turned into years, his question had been answered. He life came to embody the Shakespearian quote, "The pen is mightier than the sword." He had never been, nor ever would be, a great, super-athletic warrior worthy of a sword. He was a simple man who was able to write in such a way that all of the world listened. His words convicted even the most hardened of criminals and brought down the most corrupt governments. They negotiated treaties between warring nations and brought light to hidden atrocities. Yes, this simple, plastic, ball point pen embodied him better than any sword or knife ever could.

Magic Butterflies

Devlyn chuckled softly to himself as the children giggled in delight. Behind him, he heard his friend Argus grumble something about "annoying brats." Devlyn had always been intrigued by human children; and not in a demented or perverted way, as some would assume. It was simply curiosity and amazement. They were so resilient. They were fascinated by the smallest of things, like the blue butterflies he was creating now. The magic was simple, but that didn't matter. The children stared at the magic butterflies, all wide eyed and amazed. A few chased them as they flew away; returning to as the magic and butterflies faded, begging him to create more. Even in the poorest of situations they were always full of hope, often seeing the best when an adult could not.

The Proposal

Her hands flew up and covered her her open mouth as a small gasped escaped. After a moment she lifted her astonished eyes to meet mine.

"Are you serious?" she whispered from behind her hands. Then, with a little more volume, she added, "Please tell me you're serious. I'll kill you if your not."

"I know you would." I replied, "and I am perfectly serious. No joking here."

She glanced down at my hands again. She stared quietly at the object in them as a tear rolled down her cheek.

I broke the silence, "You know, it's customary to answer a question when it's asked. Also, not to rush you or anything, my knees are starting to hurt."

Still staring, she asked, "What was the question again?"

I smirked and repeated the question "Will you marry me?"

To Lie or Not to Lie

“Wait….what?!”

“I said, normally I’d-”

“I know what you said!”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You would lie to me?”

“Uhh…yes….”

“Why?”

“Is this really when you want to have this conversation?”

“Yes! I want to know before we crash and die.”

“Well, because I love you.”

…..“Okay, I know you didn’t grow-up in a ‘normal’ of environments, but that is not how you show someone that you love them.”

“Even if the lie is better than the truth?”

“A lie is never better!”

“What if telling you the truth would get you killed?”

“Then tell me that; but don’t lie to me.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good” …. “Do you really love me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then you won’t get upset when I tell you that we’re going the wrong way.”

“What?!”

An Inconvenient Body

inconvenient. Yes, that was the word for the body lying on the floor. Inconvenient. It had a nice ring to it. Not panicky, but not completely lacking in concern either. It simply meant that a day full of convenience would have to wait. Life was like that sometimes. Well, most of the time really. Stuff always happened when you really wished it wouldn’t. Babies came before they were due, multi-car pile-ups occurred when you were running late to an important business meeting, dead bodies appeared unannounced and uninvited on your living room floor, the list could go on and on. It wouldn’t do any good to get frustrated over a little inconvenience. At least there wasn’t two.