Gingaopu

Gingaopu. Picking it up was a reminder that he would likely never get a chance to bite into one again. Vidvan prepared himself to appreciate it to his fullest extent.

In texture and shape it was like a tangerine, but beyond that there was no comparing it to anything. There was a savory quality that usually only came in meat, combined with a faint sweetness that reminded Vidvan of a pie. A meat pie. Yet so much better.

“What do you think?”

“I could see someone building up a wealthy empire simply to have more ready access to this.”

His Master laughed again. “That goes a little far, but we appear to share a similar taste! I am glad you enjoy it, Vidvan.”

“It would be a crime to eat something after this.”

“Until the taste fades! You understand it well!”

Only after this exchange did Vidvan realize the room had froze around them. He had missed the point when they were not alone, that other people had watched in abject wonder that their Master had shared his gingaopu.

He straightened his robes and returned to work.

A man of many hobbies

“Look what I’ve found!”

The Baron’s son held up some sort of insect. Dahlia wasn’t bothered by it, though it didn’t interest her too much. Winter looked disturbed, though all she did was frown. Summer gasped, gripping at her sister’s skirts. The gasp was high pitched though. That was more likely to make Dahlia wince.

Golden looked outwardly disturbed. “That’s gross. Put that down.”

“I’m not hurting it.”

“But I will if you don’t get it away from me.”

“I think it would be happier on the ground,” Winter added, pushing some of her hair out of her eyes.

The Baron’s son frowned, but then walked off with it to put it somewhere else. Dahlia got up and followed after, to watch as he put it back on a plant. “Why do you like bugs so much?” Dahlia asked.

“I like a lot of things. But showing people fish is harder to do.”

“Fish?”

“This is the fishing capital of… well, everywhere.”

That was true. “Could you show me fish?”

She wasn’t sure what made her ask, but he smiled and Dahlia decided she didn’t really mind having asked.

Please gather at the gate

It was not the first airplane Zamir had ever embarked. But it was the first time no one had come to see him off. It had always seemed, no matter the time, no matter if he had said anything at all, that Shachaf had the ability of finding out when Zamir was leaving.

Zamir kept looking back over his shoulder.

He forced himself to look forward. That would be where he would find Shachaf, after all.

The rest of our family might be difficult, I might be difficult, but that doesn’t give you the right to be difficult!​

No one to say goodbye to meant no hesitation in entering the gate.

The one all alone

It was the pencil never used. Sitting there at the bottom of the pencil bag. Why was it there? Who knew. The graphite was terrible. It never remained sharp. The eraser had fallen out of the other side of it. This pencil was the worst of all possible pencils.

Outcast.

Well, outcast if one considered it with a modicum of personification. In truth, the owner of this pencil always forgot it was there. Except for the occasional moment when they pulled it out and then stuck it back in. There was never a wastebasket around to dispose of it at those moment. And then it was forgotten.

Which was fine. It filled out the pencil bag a bit more.

School was saved.

HEY LISTEN

“Sit.”

The dog stared at the treat in her hand with intense interest. Interest that had nothing to do with her words or any other motion that didn’t move the treat.

“Sit.”

Trying again with the same thing didn’t make a noticeable difference. She sighed, but tried again.

“Listen. Sit.”

Finally, the dog moved. He walked behind her and stood there. She turned around and showed him the treat again. He didn’t try to take it from her hand, but still waited patiently. In a last ditch effort to make this work without actually having to make him sit herself, she walked forward to crowd out his space.

“Sit.”

He sat.

“Good sit.”

The feeling of Giving

I find myself thinking about all of the things I would do if I was rich.

Oddly enough, the first thing that comes to mind is tipping. The ability to go and eat at a restaurant and tip twice as much as what I paid for the food. I once found myself with extra tickets to go to the zoo and handed it out to the first couple I saw heading for the ticket booth. It was Christmas. I figure the tipping thing would give me that feeling times however many times I could do it. Which, if I was rich, would be however many times I wanted to do it.

Once I was in line at a fast food restaurant. The man in front of me had done something or another to get free food with his order, but he passed it on to me. What would it be like if I could just pay for the person behind me in line without having to then worry about how I would pay my bills?

Maybe this is wishful thinking, but I like to think that I am not the only one who feels this way. That without the stresses of the rest of life, a lot of people would simply like the feeling of helping someone out if they could. Maybe I can’t afford to do this all the time, as I would like.

But despite not being rich… I guess I can still do this occasionally.

Considering all things in the world

Considering all things in the world
that keep away and push you back,
there is enough that is within grasp to decide
that it is time to decide what can and cannot
without the accommodation of those around
look for yourself, for once, for all.
When the chance comes, within the free,
to play plausible out of sight,
consider not the substitutes that dangle
ahead, if the cans and cannots
are regulated by anyone else other than
you.
And you
will take up the mantle of the obtainable,
the imaginable,
the unimaginable,
the Possible.