Once Upon A Broken Dream: A Creativia Anthology

by Richard M. Ankers

  Anna Marie hadn't meant anything to him—or so he thought. At the time, all he wanted was to get to second base or maybe more but she had a definitive plan. She ended up being the Prom Queen and marrying some rich guy from down South. But Al knew her before she highlighted her hair and wore lipstick. At least he had eked out that memorable make-out session after which he bought her a tube of chap-stick. She laughed at the tiny box with the bow. Disappointment in her eyes when she lifted the lid. She wanted more and deserved more. A castle with a moat, not some dude from her biology class. His life was no fairy tale. There was no Princess, no talking animals and no happily ever after.

  The sound of the annoying trumpet blast seemed to cease, replaced by swirls and flourishes of harp music. What the fuck? A man in white clerical looking robes stood next to him clearing his throat and looking upset. “That won't be necessary,” the man said in a serious tone.

  “What's that? My phone is definitely necessary. What do you know?” Al's head was throbbing and he wondered, how in the hell he ended up at a toga party?

  “First of all, I meant cursing is not necessary and secondly, your phone is not necessary either. And as far as your question about 'what do I know?' Hmmm…,” the older man had to think about that for a second. “I'd say that's a good one,” he said with a small chuckle. “Nonetheless, I'm in charge right now and if you want to enter these gates,” he pointed at a fancy entry near the angels, “you might want to sit up and answer some basic questions. But please, could you spare us the profanity?”

  “I don't need any help from you,” the young man said with an arrogant tone. “Where's my car?”

  The old man shrugged. “I have no idea. One of those angels over there probably knows the details of your situation. If you don't cooperate, we have other ways of gaining information but it's so much easier if you can answer the questions yourself.”

  “What questions?”

  “Simple ones for cataloguing purposes such as, your mother and father's name for example.”

  Though dizzy, Al sat up and looked the bearded, robe-wearing man in the eyes. The man stared back, waiting for him to answer. “How is that any of your business? And what's with the weird music?” His head pounded and he thought he might puke. It felt like the world's worst hangover or the beginning of a brain tumor. “I don't belong in your church and I don't have any idea how I got here. Besides, I don't want to go to your party.”

  The bearded man smiled. “This is not a church and we happen to like that music. Do you mind standing up?”

  Al tried to stand but stumbled back down. “I can't. Leave me alone. Can't you see I don't want whatever it is you're selling?”

  The older man tried hiding his grin under his beard. Too many young, belligerent and obstinate fools showed up on Saturday mornings. It was expected and part of a depressing routine. So sad in fact, that he had to find some humor in the situation. “That's too bad because we're not here to sell you anything. You're in a transitional period here and we're just trying to help you so you can continue on with your life.”

  “Leave me alone,” Al yelled. “Is there someone else I can talk to?” He put his head in his hands and wondered where he left his car and cell phone. Doris had wanted to buy some pot and he had one small lid to sell her in his glove compartment. She also wanted to party and he knew what she meant by saying she wanted to party. It meant he'd have a great time. Last time he saw Doris they were so wasted he couldn't even remember if he had a good time or not. She must have had fun or she wouldn't have texted him about coming today. He tried to remember Doris but visions of Anna Marie kept creeping back into his mind. He felt a kinship to Doris. They both had difficulties. They both liked booze.

  The guy with the robe walked over to the dancing angels. “Which one of you handled Al Hampton?” They stopped and one of them moved over to the man with the white robe. She whispered something in a hushed tone.

  “I see. Can you talk to him? What's that in Psalm 109—something about how cursing seeps into bones like oil? We have to lose the cursing. This one appears to be permeated. Do what you can. He doesn't want to talk to me.”

  “But I failed,” she said sadly. “He was difficult from the time I took over. I always had trouble guarding him and his parents didn't make it any easier.”

  “So that's why he's here. Explains a lot. We both know it wasn't entirely his fault. Maybe someday he'll take responsibility for his actions but until that time, we know all about how to handle bad boys. In fact, that's one of our specialties,” he said with a tinge of pride. “This young man turned to drugs and alcohol because he had a rough time growing up. Am I right?”

  The man spoke graciously because it was obvious Al wasn't a boy anymore. Most people his age had grown out of blaming everything on their parents. They either sought counseling or devoted themselves to a worthy cause outside of their inner pain such as rescuing dogs or saving the whales. Some people joined the military or the priesthood and others were married and had large families. “Oh yes, he was beaten repeatedly by his father and his mother always lied to him.” The angel was glad there was a glimmer of hope for her lost cause. “His mother is here but she's working off every lie. She's super busy.”

  The bearded man looked relieved. “That's somewhat positive. The father didn't make it?”

  The angel shook her head of curls. “No.” She pointed down, making an unhappy face.

  Visibly shuddering, his eyes seemed to plead with the seraphim. “Please talk to him? Kid might have a chance. Sounds like a victim of circumstances with some valid excuses. You got him this far and it's only a short way through that gate.”

  “Ok, I'll do my best,” she promised with a beaming smile. Eager to help, she appeared to bow reverently before floating over to Al.

  The angel put a delicate hand on Al's shoulder. “Pardon me, may I tell you something?”

  “What?” He yelled, pushing her hand away. “Why is everyone whispering around here?”

  “Is this better?” she said in a louder tone.

  “Much. Are you here to ask me stupid questions too?”

  “Well, not exactly. That man with the white robe is Saint Peter. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Get away from me. I don't believe in that horseshit.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “No.”

  She waited a few seconds before continuing. The silence between them seemed endless and she saw impatience growing in his eyes. “See, I know that's not exactly true. You used to say your prayers every night. You loved that fuzzy, stuffed teddy bear that said, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Do you remember that?”

  Embarrassed, his cheeks turned pink like cheap bubblegum. “That's a load of ass manure. How would you know that? Stop lying.” He began looking around and noticed everything looked foggy. The music began to change into chants and his head continued reeling from pain. “I wish you'd go away before I scream,” he growled through clenched teeth, putting his arms around his head to block out the repetitive hymns. “Leave me alone.”

  “Go ahead and scream. We've heard it before—all of it—the yelling—the swear words—the painful tears and sobbing.”

  “I ain't going to cry, just back off.” What he wanted was a beer and his worn outworn-out sofa. Doris wouldn't be bad either.

  She waited a few minutes, allowing him to stew in his overblown anger before relaying something important. “Look at me,” she said with conviction. He lifted his head and stared into her golden- brown eyes. “Well first of all, I have to tell you about the accident.”

  “What accident?” Though her voice seemed soothing and her demeanor kind, he felt a commanding presence hover over him the entire time, reminding him of authority. Whether it was the police or his teachers–even his parents—he disliked authority figures. What gave them the right to tell him what to do?

  Arms crossed in front of her body, she had the body language and demeanor of a lecturin
g professor. “Do you remember anything about texting Doris while driving your Dodge Challenger?”

  How would she know what kind of car he drove? Was this some sort of court? He looked her in the face and felt shocked about the things she knew. Maybe she was some sort of cop doing undercover work. He vaguely remembered texting Doris and then almost everything went blank. This angel had such a pretty face and enormous eyes. On top of everything, she seemed super smart. Not up to second-guessing her motives, she had his attention. “Are you really an angel?”

  She nodded. “Whether you believe in God or not, He forgives you. In fact, He believes in you. That's why you're here. Al, He knows about your dad.”

  At the word 'dad', his face turned fire engine red and tears squirted from in his eyes. “Sonofabitch.” Damn it, he had promised not to cry.

  “We know all about it.”

  Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit she doesn't know anything. There's no way anyone knew about his dad. “No one knows and no one cares,” he said aloud. She couldn't know, he thought, wondering if maybe he had slipped up somewhere and what did she mean by 'We?' Did he accidentally tell some loudmouth gossip the entire disgusting, rancid story of his childhood? Nah, this angel had probably hypnotized him. Either that or some chick heard him talking in his sleep and was spreading rumors. He wiped his blurry eyes and tried focusing on the celestial vision in front of him. Maybe this was a nightmare and he'd wake up soon. This person in the white robe had to be some sort of cop—but at least she was nice.

  She touched his arm with the palm of her hand in a gentle caress. “We do know and care. Especially God– because that's—that's what He does. I have always worried about you.”

  “You have?” The more she spoke, the more his attention zoomed onto her luscious lips. There was something familiar about her long, swanlike neck and her tiny ears. Fortunately, his headache began to ebb and the music was now a somewhat pleasing orchestra of harps. As he had never heard harps play, he wasn't entirely sure but it sounded like wind falling over a waterfall. Certain passages reminded him of water trickling over rocks in a creek. The more he listened to the sound of the harp music in the background the more he remembered the few beautiful moments of his short life. Fishing with his mom's dad up in the Sierras or the one time, he went snorkeling off Key West. He inhaled and it felt like a tight belt had fallen away.

  “Of course–but we don't call it worry. More like concern. I've always been concerned. Don't you know I'm your guardian angel?”

  He took another breath–a deep, deep breath. Suddenly he remembered shattered glass fragments flying through the air. There were sirens blaring and the sound of voices yelling. “Are you saying I died?”

  Sighing, she noted comprehension slowly appear on his face and took a step back. “You bumped your head on your windshield.” Come on, come on, she prayed softly. You're getting another chance. Take it. “There is life after death. I know you know this and even if you act like you don't care, it's still here for you. It's a better life. It's waiting, right there through that entrance. You're free now.” Strumming notes flew into his ear. She pointed at the gate, mumbling something about “happily ever after.” All you have to do is answer a few questions.”

  Saint Peter wandered over and took a look at the man sprawled on the ground. “Any luck, Anna Marie?” Al heard Saint Peter call the beautiful angel Anna Marie and he concentrated on their conversation. It couldn't be the same Anna Marie. That one had married a rich, older gentleman with a giant ranch in Texas and a yacht. But he recognized those lips that he loved so much, her neck that he had strewn kisses all over and ears that he had nibbled. He had vivid memories that had filled many of his dreams with unrequited love and desire. She was a princess with a castle who was supposed to be living happily ever after. He had tuned out the music and even the conversation going around above him as he zoned back in time reliving those kisses.

  “Do you mean with the cussing?” asked the angel.

  “Among other things,” St. Peter answered in a business-like tone. “By the way, his friend Doris is on her way. Maybe she can shed some light on this fellow.”

  “Doris? “ Anna Marie knew almost everything about Doris because there wasn't much to know. Doris dropped out of high school after winning a hard rock karaoke competition. Lately, she worked as a server at a truck stop. She also knew that Al didn't love Doris. “What happened to Doris?”

  “She OD'd.”

  Al looked at his surroundings and surmised that the impressive gateway could very well be the entrance to a castle. Pulling himself up, he stood to face Saint Peter and Anna Marie.

  “Al? Are you ready to answer some questions?” Anna Marie whispered.

  “Fire away,” Al replied, staring into Anna Marie's gorgeous amber eyes. “But wait, I have some questions too, “Do you live in a palace? And are you the same Anna Marie I knew in high school?”

  Anna Marie giggled and took hold of his right hand, pulling him towards the gate. “You sure have a lot of questions for a guy with so much to look forward to. Just open your heart and follow me.”

  The End.

  About the Author: Eve Gaal

  Eve Gaal, M.A. is the author of the romantic novel Penniless Hearts and a faith-based, fantasy novella titled The Fifth Commandment. Her freelance creative writing business is: Desert Rocks and her inspirational blog: Intangible Hearts. Find links to her stories and poems at www.evegaal.com. Her work has also appeared in The Los Angeles Times and Datebook, a weekend edition of The Daily Pilot. A precocious child, her dad told her to write about anything and everything, even making sure she had a toy typewriter by age four. Born in Boston, but a longtime Californian, she lives with her husband and two mischievous Chihuahuas.

  Books by Eve Gaal:

  The Fifth Commandment

  Penniless Hearts

  Links:

  Website: www.evegaal.com

  Blossom Shines At Buttercup Bay

  By Melanie Mole

  Monty shivered as he stepped out of the church and onto the gravel path which led through the churchyard to the small cobbled street. He wrapped his large woolly scarf around him tightly, tucking it under his navy blue duffel coat as he went. Walking briskly, he headed down the steep hill towards home. Past Bob's Plaice, the wonderful fish and chip shop on Fore Street which he had visited last night for a tasty supper of cod and chips washed down with cold lemonade. He remembered how the batter on the fish was crisp and light and the chips dipped in tomato sauce were succulent enough to make his mouth water even now. Bob always seemed to put the right amount of salt and vinegar onto his chips and that was probably why there was often a queue, even in the winter months.

  Since his meeting earlier in the day with the choir master about Geraldine, his favourite parishioner's funeral, he'd been feeling sad. He didn't feel like having any chips tonight as a result, and carried on walking.

  Along from Bob's Plaice he met Mr. Rose, who owned the village store, leaning against the wall and enjoying a bit of fresh air. “Hello Vicar,” he said as he pushed the door open for Monty to enter the store.

  “Good evening Mr. Rose,” Monty said. “How is Mrs. Rose?.”

  “Not bad at all thank you Vicar. She'll be even better when I tell her you were wearing that big daft scarf she knitted for you,” he said pointing at it with a smile.

  “Very warm it is too. Of all the presents I have been given by my parishioners this is the best,” Monty said adjusting his scarf slightly around his neck.

  “That's the problem, Vicar. All the women round here see a single man like yourself and want to either marry or mother them. I know they mean well but I wish they wouldn't. It can get a bit overpowering for any poor man who becomes the centre of their efforts. But you seem to take it all in your stride, Vicar.”

  “Oh, I don't mind. If it keeps them happy, then I am happy,” he said with a grin.

  “Well you let me know if it gets too much Vicar, and then I will have a word with the wife,�
� he smiled handing a shopping basket to Monty with a nod.

  “Thank you Mr. Rose,” said Monty, and ten minutes later he stood at the counter paying for far too much shopping as he always did. He often regretted buying too much when his arms ached at the weight of it as he got much nearer home. But still he didn't learn and each trip to the store saw him buy just as much as the last.

  * * *

  Her life was no fairy-tale. There was no princess, no talking animals, no happily ever after. A life-time spinster, Geraldine Howe's life was mundane and boring, and she ploughed on through each day much like the last. Monotony seemed to be her far too frequent friend, especially as it had not been invited to share her days. It had just crept up on her before she had noticed, boring her rigid and testing her patience. Her days consisted of playing the piano for the school choir one afternoon a week and helping with the odd concert, and that was it.

  Then along came Blossom, affectionately known as Bloss by most. A gentle donkey who was similar in personality to Geraldine. Their paths crossed unexpectedly when Blossom's previous owner went into hospital and never came out. Doing her neighbour a favour for a few days by looking after her donkey had now turned into one of several years. But she had the barn and the field which had been unused since her father died and so, after some time getting used to the idea, Geraldine decided that Blossom living there was a blessing for them both.