Dream Teacher

Dream Teacher

Two college students were having a conversation on a bench outside of one of their professor’s office.  “If you could spend a few months with any historical figure known to man, who would it be?” asked Becky, she was deep in thought.  “I am not sure,” answered Calvin, “I study a lot, however I think I would enjoy learning something to do with a hobby.”

“A hobby?” asked Becky, “What do you mean; are you going to go with ‘Monet’ or someone?”  “No,” said Calvin, “I would choose the famous mathematician Pythagoras.”  “I see – you want to get to the bottom of understanding more about math,” said Becky, trying to back up her friend, Calvin, known by others on campus as someone who was  a good choice for a study partner.  He made good grades.

“No,” said Calvin, “I chose him out of many people, because of an interesting historical fact I read about him two days ago.”  “Oh?” said Becky.  “Did you know that this whole idea of an eight-note ‘octave’ came from him?  He alone devised the idea with metal strings and, to this very day, we as humans compose music according to his real-life experimentation with wires.  If I could go back in time, I would spend a year with him; we would make a handmade baby-grand piano.  I could teach him ‘Jingle Bells’ – I could learn from him.”

“Wow,” said Becky, as their professor was coming up the wooden stairway, “I think I would have gone with Martha Stewart.”  Calvin looked over to her; she blushed.  “Nice choice,” said Calvin.  He looked to the ground and thought, “Could she be the one?”


My Happy Room

My Happy Room

One time, it was 2AM.  I should go off to bed, I thought, then I hear an onomatopoeia – “Ka-Shworkan!”  I turned slowly to look in the direction of the surprising noise – as if there was ever a time when nothing was going on.  It was a magical new room; I could hear it thinking.  It said, “Three things that you bring… you and I disappearing.  Three things that you bring; we will be gone.”  It spoke these thoughts in silence a few times and faded away.

I would have been somewhat scared; I actually would have been freaked out.  I was not, however.  Being scared of things that did not matter too much was a thing of the past, for me.  I looked to the room, it was pitch black with a doorway.  It reminded me of “The Twilight Zone” with Alfred Hitchcock.  “Hmm,” I thought, “What could I bring in there?”  A candle would be a given.  I suppose I could grab a book and a writing pad, too.  After all, what else would I prefer?

I grabbed a book at random from a shelf, lit a candle, and got my pen and writing pad.  I walked through the door.  A huge couch magically appeared with a lamp-stand for my candle.  I put the candle on the stand and began to write.  I wrote, “A Few Thoughts and Criticism’s on Steven King’s, ‘Mr. Mercedes’…”  The composition would be a nice idea for public audience commentary.

I re-read through the parts of the new book I enjoyed the most – the room seemed to listen and agree while I worked.  An approximate 800 words later, I felt as though the composition was complete.  The room and I faded away… we were no more.

My Idea… the Saint of Wisdom

My Idea… the Saint of Wisdom

I awoke in the late morning hour.  It was nearing 4 AM; Ma and the children were sleeping.  I went for a stroll.  On I walked, the moonlight pale, I was sure to find some stress-free form of fatigue sometime soon.  It was then that I saw a path from the road.  It was an old lot; the lot led to land owned by neighbors.  “Interesting path,” I thought to myself.  I was sure to find something or someone.

I made my way down the dark pathway in the night and found a clearing.  It was a nice clearing – open wide enough for moonlight, yet still small enough to be rather hidden.  I took a deep breath and looked to the sky.  A spirit of the winds descended – it looked like a cloud of smoke forming above me.

“What have you?” it asked.  I happened to have a small painting in my pocket of a horizon.  It was cooked in a kiln; I thought it was precious.  “I have this small painting,” I said to the cloud, not knowing much about why it had asked me the question.  “What if I could turn you into a saint?” asked the cloud, “Would you let me have your painting?”  “Sure,” I said.  I would gladly give a cloud a painting – any moonlit night would qualify for such an idea.

“What kind of saint?” I asked.  “Any kind of saint you can ask to be,” said the cloud, “May I see the painting?”  I took out the small porcelain paperweight from my left pocket and held it up in the air.  It floated up about two feet.  “Nice dawn,” said the cloud.  “Thank you,” I said, trying to figure out what kind of saint I could ask for before the phenomenon vanished.  “I would like to become a saint of wisdom,” I said to the cloud, “For that, you can keep the small painting.”

“You will now forever be the actual Saint of Wisdom,” said the cloud, “Even after you perish.”  “Wow and thank you,” I said.  “No problem,” said the cloud, and it slowly faded away with the painting.  There was nothing left but the crisp moonlit night; I returned home for slumber.  I slept well.

A True Saint


Pictures of You; a Link to the Daily Prompt

Pictures of You

Once upon a time, there was a young man named Ron. He met a beautiful young woman named Lindsay. They shared a few classes together in college; they were study partners in English Literature II. They discussed weekly topics on the literature assigned to them by their professor’s curriculum, and re-hashed the main occurrences of their readings to make sure they got great grades every weekly quiz.

From time to time, as they met for a scheduled hour, two to three times a week, the two tedious students made their way to the “food court” on their college campus. Ron thought the world of Lindsay, did not really know too much about her. He always wanted to cover the important sides of their readings. Never did he pry into the pretty young lady’s personal life. He cared for her.

One time, in the “food court”, the football mascot of their college was dancing around to get students to go to the game. Lindsay wanted to take pictures with the mascot, so Ron offered to with his phone. They came out fine. He e-mailed them to her. She was impressed.

Finals were on the way, and the two continued to study together. Finals were soon to over; the two were confident that they would make an “A”. The day of the big test came. Ron had done his reading, he knew he would do fine on the test. Once the test was over, the scores were to be posted outside of the office of the professor in one hour. Lindsay was sure to go there then, and Ron would most certainly see her. He decided to get her a dozen red roses and profess his love to her; he knew no one he could love more.

The test came. They both filled out their answers and left. Ron hurried to the flower store in town, and made it back with a dozen roses in precisely one hour. He walked to the professor’s office and saw the scores, but no Lindsay. Both students made an “A”. He continued his path with the flowers behind his back, figuring he would see her any moment. Other students were around. The hall led to another stairway, as well as the closest one to the professor’s office.

Ron made his way back, only to see Lindsay kissing with a football player. The two did not see him; Ron went down the hall and out via the other stairway. He through out the roses and let it go. He should have known, he thought – what was he thinking, anyway? He looked at his pictures of her on his phone one last time and went back to his dormitory.

pictures of you – the cure


My Dream, the Toy-Maker; link to daily post

My Dream, the Toy-Maker

Once upon a time there was a young boy named Mathew.  Matt was nine years old.  Spending time with his grandfather was an often occurrence of his on the weekends.  It gave his parents a break.  As a growing boy, Matt usually ate more at his grandparents.  One weekend, it was late on Saturday afternoon.

“Grand ma, what are we having for dinner tonight?  May I help out?” asked Matt.  Matt loved helping his grandmother, however he usually was not allowed.  “Your grandfather is outside changing the oil in that big iron box he calls a car.  Go help him, and I will fix us three up something splendid,” said his grandmother.  Matt went outside to see his grandfather.

“What can I do for you, grand pa?” asked Matt.  “Hold this light,” said his grandfather.  Matt held the light, and his grandfather loosened the oil filter from the bottom of a large engine.  The old oil drained into a pan, and his grandfather was happy that it was not too difficult to get the filter off.  Matt’s grandfather wanted to talk, did not know what to say.  “So,” he asked, “What would you become if you could do anything you wanted to with your life?”  “I am not sure,” said Matt, “I will probably try to do well in school and become a doctor.  If I do not make it, I can always find an easier route.”

“What would you do for a job while in school?” asked his grandfather.  “Anything that might make people happy, I guess,” said Matt, “I could cook for people.”  At that time Mathew looked up to the shelf in the old dusty garage of his grandfathers.  The shadows there never caught much light, not even during times close to noon.  “What are those stringed dolls up there?” asked Matt.  “Those are mine,” said his grandfather, “I made them with my dad when I was very young.  They are carved out of wood and painted.  I wanted a new radio for Christmas one year; Pa was out of work.  We made those dolls, and I got a radio for my birthday.”

“Wow,” said Matt.  “There are a lot of expensive toys out there, these days,” he said aloud.  “There sure are,” said his grandfather, “Most toys come from large manufacturers by the thousands, now.”  “I do not guess there is not anyway to make good toys, is there?” asked Matt.  “Oh sure there is,” said his grandfather, “You could start a small hobby store including small remote electronic devices and stay busy all day long.”  “I think that is what I am going to do,” said Mathew.  His grandfather had the car put back together and was pouring in the last pint of new oil.  “What do you have in mind, Matt?” asked his grandfather.  “When I grow up,” said Matt,” I am going to become a toy-maker.”

Futures Past Daily Prompt