Category Archives: Fiction

Mask Mandate

As masking mandates come to an end in Ontario and many other jurisdictions there are many businesses and other venues that will still require clients and employees to wear masks. Trying to explain to people that this is not an affront to their freedom is an uphill battle. They seem to forget businesses can run their operation as they see fit. The goods and services they provide are at their leisure, they have no obligation to serve you. It is no different than the adage “no shoes, no shirt, no service.” Your rights and freedoms are not being infringed upon, you have the choice to comply or go elsewhere.
In my experience, the majority of individuals who raise a stink almost universally carry a mask and after making a jackass of themselves put it on and go about their business. If you are one of those people, remember that the sixteen-year-old working behind the counter did not set the policy. They have an absolute right to not be subjected to your opinions, frustration or abuse. If a mask is that big a deal go elsewhere otherwise shut up and put the damned thing on!

I was standing behind the counter when he walked in, mask in his hand.

“Sir, masks are mandatory,”

“Jesus, you people and your masks,” he shot back, “Government’s got you twisted up over the bloody flu.”

“In light of overwhelming science, I don’t purport to understand your position but without a mask you’ll have to leave.”

With a grumble, he put the mask on.


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Safe Passage

Bombs rained down around the village, now a target in a tyrant’s senseless war. Heorhiy thumb the cracked screens on the electronic gadgets in his hands hoping the screens and circuitry survived the concussive force of nearby explosions.

He was a farmer, not a fighter but she knew he would defend his homeland to the end. First worked to secure safe passage for his family. Lesya did not want to leave him but he insisted. She understood and accepted his need to see them safe. She watched him frantic, harried, as he searched for a signal from anywhere. Seeking information on the safest corridor, ensuring they safely fled to refugee centers across the border.

As they joined the convoy of millions moving north she could see he was torn, tempted to stay. She begged him to abandon this foolish fight and stay with them. The losses inflicted were enormous. She knew staying was a death sentence.

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The Ancient Gods

Dr. Hiltunen stood at the center of the dig site deciphering an inscription carved on stone. As he read aloud he recognized the verse as a variation on an old Finnish rune. Ancient mythology had consumed him from a young age.

As he continued, the winds began swirling and the clouds spun clockwise. The doctor did not notice the coming storm even as the others scramble for shelter. The sky above Hiltunen opened and a rainbow column descended from the heavens. The doctor and the stone were pulled through the beam into the clouds, into Asgard.


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Hayin’ Season

Late June in Ontario, Dad’s station wagon pack and pointed northward. It was hayin’ season on my Uncle’s farm and for the next week it was all hands on deck.

Riding the fields, we’d watch our fathers, row upon row, hooking the rectangular blocks emerging from the contraption sandwiched between tractor and trailer, neatly stacking the bales, back to front.

Somewhere in the middle we’d play in the hayblock forts fashioned for us while they toiled in the midday sun.

As always, the harvest would come to an end but we wished we could live on the farm forever.


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This Used To Be My Kingdom

Seriously, you’re not going to let that thing lose again. Jeebus, I’m still missing two handfuls of fur and have a permanent kink in my tail from last time.

You know this used to be my kingdom but…

No, here it comes, ewww… get it away,


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Jack’s Secret

Elsie and Jack had dated for awhile. They’d been to her apartment but any suggestion of going to his place was met with resistance. She thought nothing of it at first but as time passed it became odd. Was he hiding something? A wife, children, his victims? She thought the worst as she slipped the key from his chain…

Everything seemed in order walking through the immaculate brownstone. Leaving the bedroom until last, Elsie opened the door and came face to face with Jack’s mannequin.  


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Good at Goodbyes

Fourteen years, I’m certain she was shocked we’d made it this far and had likely thought about leaving at least a couple of times a week from about year four onwards. I believed I must have some magical powers that kept her hanging in. What else could it be?

Me, I’m just an average guy with an average job. Two nights a week at the local tavern with the boys plus golf in the summer and curling all winter long. Never less than five or six cases of empties waiting to be returned to the beer store and a fridge full of new ones just waiting for me to walk past. Trust me the wait is never a long one.

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Twelve Steps

“I knew it was going to be one of those days,” Jeannie started. “When I pulled back the curtains, the bright blue of the spring sky burned in my eyes and my temples pounded — boom / boom / boom — from the wings of a butterfly that fluttered by the window and too much cheap wine.

“I didn’t think it could get any worse,” she continued, “but my mouth dropped open when some dark haired naked dude stepped through the bedroom door and into my living room. ‘Babe, what a night; you got da bod and da moves,’ he said in that greasy New York accent I despised.”

“I wished I was a ghost, I wanted to disappear into the weaving of the couch fabric. Unfortunately, I can recount too many stories like this one. I was scuffling and knew it, I’d hit rock bottom. That is why I am here seeking help. I am Jeannie and I am an alcoholic.”


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The Waiting

The tick of the clock
     slams like a hammer
     against Arianne’s eardrum.
Her eyes growing heavy
     as the itinerant sun slips
     towards the western horizon.
Endless reds, oranges and yellows
     spill from the heavens,
     onto the blue canvas sky
Great billowing cloud herds
     transiting the azure ocean are
     set ablaze against the fiery sunset.
Arianne sits by the open window,
     hypnotised by the meadow sages
     bending in the evening breeze.
Luminecent fireflies dance
     leaving fading trails of ghost strings
     amongst the old grey stones.
Whilst wisps of fairy dust swirl
     in the magical air, like lacy strands
     gilding her already flaxen hair.
She knows not who the traveller is,
     only that the journey ends
     at the old weathered gate.
How much longer must
     she wait before her
     limit hath been reached.
For as long as she has a heartbeat
     she has sworn to help
     her weary guest reach the finish.


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The Lament of an Older Parent

Having kids when you are young is a very difficult task; I mean, most days you struggle to care for yourself. Christ, you’re barely an adult, still trying to reconcile the memories of your parent’s handy work with your naive idea of parenting. Everything is a crisis, usually warranting a trip to the family practitioner or the emergency room. Nothing is more embarrassing than waiting six hours to watch a doctor slap a band-aid on a scraped knee and send you home.

A distance from your own upbringing and the knowledge gathered through life provides you with a sagacious foresight that translates into a more confident parenting experience. The problem for older parents is how tired they are at the end of every day; why do those little rug rats need to be so damned rambunctious!


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