A Certain Type of Decisive

United States

Just your unfriendly neighborhood disaster, bringing you bi-weekly updates from the bottom of my own shoe!

Message to Readers

Two old ladies raising goats on the Swedish mountainside- what could be better than that? Space goats. Fire-breathing space goats are better. Guess I figured out my sequel.

And the Beginning of the World, Yes, We Found Her on Our Doorstep #KickOff

January 22, 2020


    "We have to go into town soon," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. We stared at the fire, weaving it's patchwork arms through the fireplace. The air was warming, spreading is loving arms through the whole house; but it was not as warm as her body pressed against mine. I shifted my legs beneath the quilt.
    "We're almost out of salt, and the back window still need replacing."
    "Ah, back window-they just gonna break it again, love," I said, thinking of the shattered glass surrounding the single brick. It was midnight when we found it, but the moon hit ever shard of glass and lit up the room. I might've called it beautiful had it not created so much fear within me. It brewed like a storm and I could still feel it then, even with the warmth something inside me was cold.
    "Why do they do that? Why they through bricks through our windows, like we ever did something' to them?"
    "Don't be angry," she whispered, taking a long sip of her tea. And I wasn't. I'm too old to be angry, I don't have enough time left to be mad about other people and the things they do.
    "Yeah," I sighed. I could almost watch as my breath left, it took my anger, too. The fire was warm and Ana was with me. It was good.

    The light streaming through the dusty windows was a crisp blue, despite the heavy morning fog. The ashes in the fireplace were still glowing faintly, but were not enough to warm to cool morning air drifting through the small mountain house. I slowly rose from the wonderful bed into the almost painful air and remembered the window. The temporary planks I had used were not enough to insulate us.
    That's when I heard it.
    The noise, the one that had woken me. I tried to identify it, thinking it must be a cat, some stray stuck in the garbage, but it wasn't. It came from the door, just on the other side.
    I opened the door and beheld, at my  feet, a covered basket, with several blankets and a note. The only time I had ever seen such a thing was the charity drive in town, or maybe the American couple's picnic our goats had ruined a couple years ago. 
    I thought such things, but I was not a fool. Even then, when I was even more youthful than I am now writing this, I was not a fool and the sound, coming softly through the thick blanket was of a child. I wanted to run, to rush and wake my wife; I wanted to run into town and leave it on another's doorstep. I wanted to run so far and so fast from it, to any corner of the world away from this baby in my home. But I didn't. Instead I peeled back the layers of blanket, seeing the tiny child inside.
    Huge, bright black eyes stared up up me as the cold air rushed to meet the tiny face. Golden skin tuned slightly pink, but not enough to hide that this was not a baby of any married couple in St. Luzisteig, with skin so white they cannot be told from the snow. I knew eveybody's person in the town, every child and every man, and this baby, this tiny baby, was not one of them.
I picked her up, holding her with all the delicate strength you find as you grow. My hands were steady with age, despite my nervousness, and I held her close to my chest. 
  Ana woke to the sound of my singing. My voice was not as beautiful as hers. She was a soprano, and I, a struggling alto who never sang the church choir. But I was sining solftly nonetheless, holding the baby wrapped in my arms. She didn’t ask any questions, just made coffee. Just made coffee and watched as we sat together on deck in the early morning.
    Watching the sunrise.


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