And that's it!

Done with the one-page stories! Hope you enjoyed them readers slash Jake and my mom! :D

The Final Case

Paul stared at the book. This was an anomaly. He knew this case. He knew why this woman had killed herself and he knew that there was nothing more to be done or said, nothing more to be investigated. But he felt this nagging at the back of his mind, and he couldn't help but think that this book had something to do with it. 

Paul was a detective. He was good at what he did. He had seen cases like this before. This one seemed no different from the others. Woman: Cathy Jordan, killed herself by a gun to the head, a recently purchased Walther P99. Interesting choice. Reason; presumably because of the car accident four years ago which she caused, and which took the life of the only other person in the car: her twin brother Christopher Jordan. 

This was not unprecedented. People killed themselves all the time, especially people who had lost someone recently, and even more so those who had caused the death of that someone. And yet he could not stop thinking about this book, his own personal anomaly. 

He looked around. He was standing outside on the driveway of Ms. Jordan's home, and there were several people gathered. A young cop came up to him (was it Cole?) with witness statements, all saying that the neighbors simply heard a gunshot. Nothing more. There was a boy walking away with his parents, a couple driving in their car (Carl's Custards painted on the side of the vehicle, as well as a telephone number, address and "We Do It Best!").  A woman in jogging attire and a man he recognized as a teacher from his sons' school, standing with his arms around his wife. All these people, and no one knew anything that could possibly be helpful to him. He went back inside. 

The woman, Cathy, had shot herself in bed, the TV still on with the volume turned up. There were receipts on the counter in the kitchen, one of which was for the gun, bought with cash three weeks ago. There were no dishes in the sink and the house was relatively clean. Nothing out of the ordinary. But still this book... 

The book Paul held in his hand was titled "Oh, The Places You'll Go," by Dr. Seuss. Any other detective would assume that someone had given this to Cathy for a graduation present, but Paul thought slightly differently. His last name was Seuss. He could not help but wonder if this was actually the scene of a homicide, that the murderer killed Cathy and knew that Paul would be the detective on the case. And for some reason, the name Chris Jordan seemed familiar to him. He could not remember ever having met someone named Chris Jordan. Still...

That night, on that case, was the night Paul Seuss decided he was done. Over the next few months he took on fewer and fewer cases. He knew, by that one book, he was getting too paranoid. A normal suicide was always just that. The presence of a book by an author who shared his name did not make it a homicide, and there was simply no reason to think that it wasn't just the years of death and destruction wearing on his conscience which made him so suspicious. He had to stop. 

So he did. He went home and worked on paper work for the police department on his own time. He took care of his mother, and talked to his brothers and sisters. He made love to his wife and gave extra cash to his son, and he began to lead a relatively happy life. 

And in twenty years, when his brother would ask him if he remembered a man named Christopher Jordan, and his ever having mentioned him, he would say no. He would go home, and he would take out a Dr. Seuss book titled "Oh, The Places You'll Go," and in the darkness of the basement of his suburban home, he would repeat, no. For Sealy's sake, he did not remember that man. 

The Delivery Man

Dr. Seuss may be a legend in the world of children's authors, but Sealy Seuss is a legendary delivery man, and in the adult world that is considered a much higher honor. Sealy Seuss is handsome. He has been delivering packages to satisfied customers for over twenty-five years, and age has only made him more beautiful. Sealy Seuss is smart. He isn't book smart per se, but he knows the way the world works, and he knows how to keep his customers happy, even if their packages aren't on time. Sealy Seuss is also responsible, and so he gets packages delivered on time. Sealy is likable and funny and very good at his job. 

But Sealy isn't complete. He will never be complete. He has a wife whom he loves and a daughter he adores. He has a house and a car and a dog. He has sentimentally valued objects scattered throughout his home. But he does not have the one thing he will spend the rest of his life wondering about. He does not have closure. 

Sealy has a secret. He is a homosexual, and in the world of delivery men, that is not exactly something a person can talk about. Sealy not only has this secret, and has not only kept it from everyone important in his life; he kept from the one person with whom he thought he could share it. And now, it's four years too late. 

Sealy, five years ago, met Christopher Jordan. Chris was a delivery man like Sealy, and he was nearly as good as Sealy as well. They could talk for hours about their customers, their wives, their hobbies and joys in life. They were great friends. 

And Sealy loved Chris like he had never loved anyone in his entire life. Not his overwhelming parents or his beautiful wife. Not his daughter, who he loved more than words could express. Sealy loved Christopher in a new and wonderful way, and in a way that he would never get to share with Chris. 

Four years ago, Chris died in a car accident. He just, one day, didn't come to work. The manager told Sealy in secret the reason, and Sealy, keeping his own secret, reacted as a man had to. He kept working, and he left his emotions behind him. 

Sealy never really discovered exactly how much he could love a person until he loved and lost the most important man in his life. He is still the best delivery man out there. He gets packages to their destinations, on time and in perfect conditions. But ironically, now that he has no more temptation, he is finding it harder than ever to keep his secret. He comes home from work and looks at his wife and he wants to tell her. He knows it would ruin their lives and their love, but he wants so much to be complete. He wants the closure he will never get. 

Sealy does his job and supports his family. He talks to his siblings, especially his brother Paul, who is proud of him. He is a good man. 

But the man who is not complete cannot fully be a man. At night, he spends a few minutes thinking about what his life could have been if Chris had not died. The life he makes up could never have really happened, but sometimes he thinks he believes the little white lie that everything would have been perfect if it weren't for that car and its driver. The details were never really made clear to Sealy. It was an accident. A fatal, life-changing, accident. 

Sealy is not a man who believes in revenge. He is a man who believes in people. But for four years, his secret and his loss have been building up in his mind. For four years, he has been dying on the inside, and he soul has been in unrest. Sealy doesn't know if he'll ever be complete, but he's going to try to make himself happier, one giant leap at a time.

The Lover

Christine watched her husband get ready for work. She loved watching him. He would pause once, every morning, forgetting his keys or his jacket. And she would always know what it was he was looking for. She just knew. She knew him so well, and loved him above everything and everyone else. 

Other women loved watching him too. Other women tried to do much more than just watch him. He was handsome, and kind; funny too. Other women could not seem to keep their hands off of him. 

But she didn't mind. She knew that Gary was hers, and she his. They loved each other as much as two spouses could love each other. And that was really all that Christine was about. Love. 

Christine believed in luck. She believed in fortunes and palm-readers, tarot card predictions and lucky numbers. Hers was 43. And she saw patterns in the prophecies told to her, saw things that were lost upon the smaller details. She saw big pictures outlined by the vague predictions whispered at her. 

Christine had an obsession with ordering products over the internet. Every few months, she would go on a spree, ordering things from every site, getting every unnecessary necessity. She new the names of half the delivery men in the city; Chris Jordan, Daryl Coleman, Sealy Seuss, etc. 

She knew their names because she's loved all of them. She was not adulterous. She had not made love to any man but that was her husband. She had never physically fucked another man after her marriage vows were spoken. But Christine touched Chris's hand, or bent low in front of Daryl, tempting herself and them. Nothing ever happened, no words or fluids were ever exchanged, but thought of possibility excited Christine. The knowledge that she could have these men, if only for ten minutes, was a needed thrill in her otherwise boring day. 

She didn't consider herself unfaithful. After all, she was only dreaming. Dreams were for the dreamer, and nobody else needed to know about them. 

Christine tended to dream vividly, and frequently. She liked dreaming. She'd given up on several goals when she married her husband, and she liked remembering. It didn't make her sad or nostalgic, quite the opposite. To have given up so much for the sake of her husband and her marriage made her proud of herself. She knew it made her a better wife than most. It certainly made up for her dreaming. 

When her husband came home from his teaching job, all was forgotten. During the day, she cooked, she cleaned, she read magazines and went on errands. 

Christine didn't know it, but she was an incredibly boring person. Her husband saw something in her that most people never saw in anybody, and she could not have told you what that was because she didn't know herself. She had friends, but they were the kind of friends who talked about interesting things so much that they did not notice how boring she was. She was a typical female; she obeyed fashions trends, read gossip magazines, talked about her bodily insecurities and  knew how to cook and clean. That was about all she had going for her. 

But for some reason, every day when her husband came home from work, he looked at her like she was new and bright and beautiful, more so than any other person in the world. And that was why he'd married her, and that was why he loved her still. For a reason she did not know, for a reason he could not put into words. They just loved each other. He more so than she, but it was love all the same. 

only two left! 

The Teacher and the Police Man

(sorry about the long delay)

Julie stared out of her car windshield, watching the road disappear underneath her 1992 Toyota. There were few cars on the road at this hour of the morning. Every day she drove, about twenty minutes one way to the school where she worked as a teacher, watching the sun rise. 

Her schedule was set, her routine nothing more than that. Every day she was look out of the window as she passed over the river and watch the sun effect the water, making thick clouds in the spring. She always meant to take a picture, but she never really had the time.

Julie Slotson did a lot of thinking on her way to school every day. She thought about the fact that she still did not have a husband. This thought scared her a little bit. She was nearing that terrifying age of thirty, and no one had presented themselves as suitors. She never really understood why. She was pretty, nice, and funny on her good days. She trusted the right man would come along eventually, and she mostly left it all in God's hands. 

She thought about her students. The nice but quiet ones like Kyle Clay, always playing his games. The sociable but smart ones like Emanuela Gordon. The loud and frustrating ones, and all the little clicks in between. She thought about how funny it was that a group of friends consisted of so many different types of students. 

She thought about Gary, the wrestling coach and history teacher. She shouldn't be thinking of Gary, because he was married, but she did it anyway. He had nice hair, and a nice smile, and he spoke intelligently. 

Julie thought about a lot and she worked through the day and by night she barely remembered any of the thoughts she had had in the early hours of the morning. 

She often left the school late, tying up the various loose ends of the day. One night she was delayed later than usual and was caught behind a row of police cars blaring their way to some unknown disaster. Julie loved police cars. They were annoying and loud but she loved watching them pass, listening to their desperate cries as they sped away into the night. Trying to save people who probably didn't deserve to be saved, but they tried all the same. 

Her next-door neighbor was a cop. Younger than she was, and very cute. They smiled at each other every time they went out to get their newspapers in the morning. He had a dimple in his right cheek that appeared every single time he smiled. She loved looking at him, but she wasn't sure she'd ever love more than that. 

The night she saw all those police, something seemed to click in Julie's head, and the next morning she walked over after picking up her paper and said hello. The two of them had a lovely conversation. His name was Cole. He liked teachers almost as much as Julie liked cops, and they agreed to go on a date. 

That saturday they went to eat at a nice restaurant, and afterwards Cole took her to an ice-cream shop called "Carl's Custards." She ate some of the best ice-cream she'd had in years. 

There was a moment, and in later years she would never be able to recall exactly when it was, that she thought she could spend the rest of her life with this man. He watched her like she was new, and beautiful, and she couldn't remember anybody else looking at her that way. 

Julie's life mostly went on in the same way after that. She and Cole went on dates and still got their newspapers at the same time every morning. There was something in the atmosphere now, though, that charged that morning ritual. The air was static and the looks exchanged between the two lovers were filled with something more than longing. 

Eventually, there was only one newspaper to get, delivered to one house. But that was further off, and until then, they would get their papers separately. 

The Game Boy

Kyle stared down at his DS, his thumbs clicking away as he concentrated on winning his game. His small room was littered with games, of any and all kinds. Kyle was a gamer, king of many worlds and warrior of the masses. 

He was young and mostly happy. His older sister Callie didn't make too much fun of him, and his parents didn't make him eat too many vegetables. He thought about things on his bus rides to and from school, and stared up at the homeless men living in the city. He had a cat named Scruff, and he liked watching her play with paper-clips and dead bugs and dust. He watched the Scifi channel religiously and wanted to be like a character named Mal in a space show. 

Kyle did play his games far too often, but nobody ever really told him to stop, and so he never did. 

He never really followed trends among his peers. His teachers knew he was smart, but most did not like him very much because he was always playing games, or thinking about games. There was one teacher, a Ms. Slotson, who always smiled at him because she never cared much about the popular, talkative children. He liked her best out of all his teachers. 

Not that Kyle ever really cared much about school. He mostly liked being alone, and he was never much of a learner. He went on walks, quite often when his parents weren't home, and sometimes he even left his games at home. He would just walk and sit under trees, on swings. 

On one of his walks, Kyle watched as the sun began setting and thought he would stay out longer than he was allowed. His parents would be annoyed, but he never stayed out often, so he knew they would not mind too much. He just wanted to stay. 

There weren't many bugs out that night, though it was the beginning of bug season. Kyle watched as people walked by with their kids and their dogs, both seemingly treated in the same way, as far as he could tell. A car passed, a lady in casual business attire inside, and Kyle finally decided he was getting bored. He hadn't brought his games out with him that night and was coming up with a whole lot of nothing to do. 

On his way home, he stopped to pick up a newspaper and move it closer to its' house. There was a moment when he realized something deep, and he would never remember it until years later because the second after he realized it, he heard a gunshot. 

Kyle knew it was a gunshot because his father had taken him to a shooting range once, a few months ago, for bonding time. They had used an old rifle that belonged to his grandfather. They had paper targets that had a person's head printed on them, and he saw that outlined human as he heard the gunshot echoing through the neighborhood. 

He stood still as he heard people coming out their houses, listening to their 9-1-1 calls and their questions. His parents showed up eventually, and he just stood there, holding the newspaper and trying to remember that deep thought he'd discovered. The police came, and they kept people back, and Kyle's parents took him home. 

For months afterwards, Kyle wouldn't touch a game that had guns in it. It wasn't that he was profoundly or psychologically moved by the experience, he just didn't really understand. He thought about things like why people shot guns, what the exact purpose of a gun was, and he really didn't get it. He didn't get why they had been created in the first place. He saw what they did to people, ending their lives and their thoughts, even the deep thoughts that could change the way of things, and he didn't understand why anybody would want to end something like that. He never forgot that night, but he started playing games again anyway. 

Vanilla Bean Ice-Cream

There are approximately four hundred twenty-six flavors of ice-cream in the world. Many of these are entirely unknown to Americans. Carl, however, has tasted every flavor he has ever chanced upon. Carl is an ice-cream king. 

Carl owns an ice-cream shop, unsurprisingly, and he thoroughly enjoys his life as an ice-cream connoisseur and provider. His shop is named: Carl's Custards, and children and adults alike come from all over the city and state to taste his fabulous ice-creams and frozen custards. He had flavors like "mushroom-pecan," and "bacon" in his store. Every month he put on special a flavor from around the world. Carl went to ice-cream conventions. 

He loved other things besides ice-cream, of course. Most of these did not love him back quite in the same way, but Carl had always been a little over-dramatic. He loved the woman who worked as a cashier in the store across the street from his: Lisa. She reminded of Vanilla Bean ice-cream. He loved his fourteen regulars, like Callie, the twelve year-old obese girl who lived down the street, and John, the recently divorced and suddenly much happier man that came in every day after lunch for the same thing. The two of them reminded him of mint-pistasio and cherry-chocolate ice-creams, respectively. 

He loved his small but quiet, old dog named Abu. Abu reminded him of that bacon ice-cream, lovable, but a little strange. He loved his town house with the blue door and the neighbors who partied into the small hours of the night and never invited him to drink with him. He was older than they were, anyway. Carl loved his full name: Carl Macy Jones. He loved his parents and he loved his siblings. 

Carl loved just about everything but himself. He reminded himself of lobster ice-cream, one flavor with which he never was really satisfied. He was about 100 pounds overweight, which he hated about himself; he had few friends, and fewer best friends, and he had never really loved another human being romantically who requited his love. He loved Lisa, but she barely realized that he existed. 

The lovable ice-cream man decided, one day, to hold an ice-cream-fest. He would invite everyone who worked in the businesses on his block, his regulars, and anyone else who would buy a ticket. Free ice-cream samples, prizes and gift-certificates! Carl printed up several hundred fliers to spread around his city block and went door to door, imploring several businesses to tape them up in their windows. 

He walked down the street, passing an old, smiling, homeless man with worn out shoes. He handed out fliers to passersby, some happy to receive the small slips of colored paper, most others anxious and annoyed, hurrying to get on with their lives, uninterrupted by fat men with fliers. 

He handed the flier to a lady who became, the moment he looked at her, Lisa. She stopped walking and smiled. 

"I do love your ice-cream, Carl. Thank you." 

He stared at her for a moment and smiled back, nearly dropping his fliers. 

"Will you come? To the..." he asked, his eyes searching for a deeper answer. 

"Absolutely. I can't wait," she responded, happily. 

The rest of the day was a bit of a daze for Carl. The rest of the week, really. And she did show up, staying for most of the day in the shop, eating small samples and smiling at people, and at Carl. His vanilla-bean girl, knowing his name. 

I've decided to post a new one of these every time I finish the next one after it. So yeah.