This idea came to me while walking Zeus. I thought I would write a short story to honor Ray Bradbury on this day of his death. Of course it is nothing compared to his genius. I hope you enjoy:
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Twilight.
--There will be no stars tonight, thought Mr K.
He let the curtain drop and walked into the kitchen. His wife, Ylla, stood staring into the cupboards. He could sense her confusion. He breathed slowly and deeply.
--Let’s have eggs tonight, he suggested.
She turned to him and stared into his golden eyes, her own eyes thoughtful and sad.
--Breakfast for dinner? But we are having guests. It will never do.
Mr K answered, --Breakfast for dinner. It is settled.
The stillness of the evening was broken with swirls of red dust as the guests arrived; men in white plastic suits, with red, white and blue emblems above the heart,; girls in dresses and boys in play clothes, their smiles lost long ago; golden-eyed ghosts from over the Blue Mountains. There were many guests of many ages, and Ylla set a long table while Mr K made the introductions.
The meal began, eggs and bacon and home fries and grits, passed from hand to hand.
To the left of Ylla sat a blonde, blue-eyed girl, her eyes reflecting the atmosphere of a world Ylla would never see.
--Do you think tomorrow will be sunny?, she asked.
Ylla did not answer.
The question again, --Do you think tomorrow will be sunny? I have never seen the sun.
She breathed slowly and deeply.
On the other side of the girl was a man with dark markings. His skin seemed to shift. He answered, -- Have some more bacon, my sweet. Let tomorrow take care of itself.
Another boy across the table suddenly interjected, --Do you think he is dead? They say he is dead.
The men in white plastic suits breathed slowly and deeply.
The boy offered, -- My parents are dead. They were eaten by a lion.
The skin of the dark man’s wrist seemed to shift and dance. The sunless girl began to stare at the motion.
--Don’t look, my sweet, said the dark man, and he pulled his sleeve a little lower.
After dinner, the guests moved to the front lawn, covered in red dust and memories.
Mr K looked for his wife and found her in the kitchen, cleaning. He could sense her resolution.
--I will not have a dirty kitchen, Ylla said.
He approached his wife and took her hand. --Let me help you, and then lets join the others outside.
Twilight.
Tonight there will be no stars.
(This is a tribute to the following stories: The Last Night of the World, Ylla, The Veldt, Alls Summer in a Day and The Illustrated Man, with a nod to all the rocket men who travelled through his world.)
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Twilight.
--There will be no stars tonight, thought Mr K.
He let the curtain drop and walked into the kitchen. His wife, Ylla, stood staring into the cupboards. He could sense her confusion. He breathed slowly and deeply.
--Let’s have eggs tonight, he suggested.
She turned to him and stared into his golden eyes, her own eyes thoughtful and sad.
--Breakfast for dinner? But we are having guests. It will never do.
Mr K answered, --Breakfast for dinner. It is settled.
The stillness of the evening was broken with swirls of red dust as the guests arrived; men in white plastic suits, with red, white and blue emblems above the heart,; girls in dresses and boys in play clothes, their smiles lost long ago; golden-eyed ghosts from over the Blue Mountains. There were many guests of many ages, and Ylla set a long table while Mr K made the introductions.
The meal began, eggs and bacon and home fries and grits, passed from hand to hand.
To the left of Ylla sat a blonde, blue-eyed girl, her eyes reflecting the atmosphere of a world Ylla would never see.
--Do you think tomorrow will be sunny?, she asked.
Ylla did not answer.
The question again, --Do you think tomorrow will be sunny? I have never seen the sun.
She breathed slowly and deeply.
On the other side of the girl was a man with dark markings. His skin seemed to shift. He answered, -- Have some more bacon, my sweet. Let tomorrow take care of itself.
Another boy across the table suddenly interjected, --Do you think he is dead? They say he is dead.
The men in white plastic suits breathed slowly and deeply.
The boy offered, -- My parents are dead. They were eaten by a lion.
The skin of the dark man’s wrist seemed to shift and dance. The sunless girl began to stare at the motion.
--Don’t look, my sweet, said the dark man, and he pulled his sleeve a little lower.
After dinner, the guests moved to the front lawn, covered in red dust and memories.
Mr K looked for his wife and found her in the kitchen, cleaning. He could sense her resolution.
--I will not have a dirty kitchen, Ylla said.
He approached his wife and took her hand. --Let me help you, and then lets join the others outside.
Twilight.
Tonight there will be no stars.
(This is a tribute to the following stories: The Last Night of the World, Ylla, The Veldt, Alls Summer in a Day and The Illustrated Man, with a nod to all the rocket men who travelled through his world.)
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