Two-fer Tuesday
A Sketchbook double-header
Stories in the Tiny Worlds Sketchbook are like a pencil sketch with words; loose, unrefined and not wholly a thing. But I like them and think there’s something here you might like, too.
Aunt Stella
My Aunt Stella—gawd, she was a card. Always the life of the party, with that grin and those awful teeth. I wouldn’t say she lit up a room, but hell, did she make an entrance.
We all lived together for a short while in our little traveling circus, and it was then that I heard about her strange habits. They were the talk of everyone around.
She never talked, you know. Just stared at people for a long time. It freaked out every circusgoer who came near. I guess that’s why she was there. One time, she scared some kids so badly they shit themselves. Swear to it, saw it with my own beady eyes.
She was a rough-and-tumble woman who tried to push everyone around, including me and my siblings. During our swims, she’d roll in the mud, holding us down. Quite an awful thing, really, to be pulled under again and again.
You know, she had a thing for the strongman—with his bulging biceps and overly manicured mustache. He’d taunt her with his winks, throwing a scrap or two of affection now and then. He was a real tease. One night, that fella had one too many and stumbled into Aunt Stella on his way back to the caravans.
With a quick flick of her backside, Aunt Stella knocked him down into the water. We all watched, wanting to jump in and help, but she had her way with him right then and there. Serves him right, I suppose. It took a week for anyone to find even a shred of him.
The next day, Stella had her picture taken with this ugly woman. Who wears an outfit like that for a portrait?
I mean, being an alligator is hard enough if nobody fucks with you.
Going Home
Today is my birthday. Today is also, as it was meant to be, my last day on Earth.
The cards and greetings that came via text were nice, but none of them had a clue what was really happening. They smiled, nodded, and talked about tomorrow. But tomorrow? Tomorrow isn’t even on the map.
I’ve been waiting for this day with a quiet thrill. It took years of planning—adjusting to this body, preparing the basement with tools that most people would never understand. Diagrams, measurements, chemical reactions. The portal was almost humming beneath the floor. It was ready. I was ready.
Her kids were out of the house, and she was too. I washed the dishes, let the dog out one last time. Standing in the doorway, I glanced around the home she built. A beautiful place, no doubt. But a guest is a guest, and it was time for me to leave.
Downstairs, the old wooden steps creaked, like they were bidding me farewell. I didn’t feel heavy, though—this was a day of lightness, of anticipation. Checking my pockets for the lock, I smiled. Everything in place. No interruptions.
“Let’s do this,” I whispered, more to the universe than to myself. I stepped up to the edge of the portal, the energy in the room buzzing around me like a greeting.
The drop isn’t far—barely the length of my body—but this isn’t about the fall. This is about the leap. The return.
The air crackles with a low hum as I grip the edge, my body humming in response. My pulse races, not from fear, but from the sheer thrill of what’s to come. I’ve been pretending for far too long.
5… 4…
Outside, I hear her car pulling up. Doesn’t matter now.
3… 2…
The portal opens beneath me, glowing with cosmic energy, pulling me back to where I belong.
1…
I let go.
Gravity disappears. I am not falling—I’m soaring. My body dissolves, light and energy unraveling as I leave behind the clumsy human form. The universe embraces me. I am free, expanding into something vast, infinite. The stars swirl around me, familiar, welcoming.
Home.
The weight of Earth fades, and the distance between me and the stars closes in a blink. My home world, vibrant and electric, rushes up to meet me. The colors, the energy—I can feel it all. I am no longer confined. I am myself again.
Today is my birthday.
I loved both of these, J.. Talk about polar opposites. Aunt Stella is quite a character. Going Home really spoke to me, especially these lines at the end: "I am no longer confined. I am myself again. Today is my birthday." I am a fan of the writings of Joel S. Goldsmith, a twentieth century Christian Mystic. He teaches that a person must die daily to their human selves, their personal sense of self, and be reborn in spirit as part of the One Self, the infinite, eternal, devine One Self. He intends that every day be a birthday.
Those were fun. The first one did indeed have a really enjoyable payoff. Nice ones!