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"Diana," "The Darkness," &"Beating the Odds" ©2009 Amelia Gray

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THREE LITTLE STORIES

BY AMELIA GRAY

DIANADiana lit a fire in the pit between them, and their clothesimmediately smelled like woody smoke. Diana spoke:"You know how when you go camping, and you smell likethis for days, inside your nose?"

"Gross," said Glenda, tamping down the snow underher heels.

People dressed in animal suits danced around theperiphery. It was difficult to see them. Perhaps they wereanimals dressed as people, with garish animal cloaks overtheir costumes. Anything seemed possible in thecampfire's light.

"It's as if the smell is pasted inside your nose," saidDiana.

"That's so gross."

Glenda had a square face and loved Jesus, two factsthat essentially made her unlovable as far as Diana wasconcerned. At the corner of her eye, a jackal dressed as aman dressed as a polar bear mounted a seedling fruit treeand howled. It seemed like Glenda didn't see what wasgoing on, or else she was too absorbed in the image herfingernails made against her winter coat, ruby, white,ruby white, blood on the snow.

A young man came out of the house and stood nextto Diana. "Nice fire," he said.

Diana regarded the young man. She noted the 5

condition of his skin and his teeth. She estimated how fasthe would run if chased, how much faster if she had a bow.She pictured him falling over a hidden patch of nettles,landing poorly, palms down in the snow. The young man'sface was ringed with dancing animals, two does and avixen.

The young man walked over to Glenda on the otherside of the fire pit. "Nice fire," he said.

"Thanks," said Glenda. "I made it myself."

"Priss," Diana said.

"You only lit it."

"We didn't start the fire," the man said. The womenturned to him.

"Actually," Diana said, "We did start the fire. Sincethe world was turning."

"Creep," added Glenda.

In the garden, an oversized owl chased threeshrieking lady barnmice. He caught one and devoured herwith efficiency and aplomb.

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THE DARKNESS"I think I'd call us strange bedfellows," the armadillo said.

The penguin barely heard her. He was at thatmoment attempting to hold a straw between his flippers.

The armadillo centered her shell on the barstool.She was drinking a Miller High Life.

"Strange bedfellows indeed," she added.

The penguin gave up holding the straw and stoodon his stool to reach the lip of the glass. He could barelywet his tongue with a little gin. "What's that?" he asked,irritated.

"You are a penguin, and I am an armadillo," thearmadillo said. "My name is Betsy."

"That's a beautiful name," murmured the penguin,who was more interested in the condensation on his glass."I fought the darkness."

"You did not."

The penguin swiveled his head to look at Betsy. Hehad very beady eyes.

"What's your name?" she said, nervously.

"Ray," said the penguin.

"That's a nice name."7

"I fought the fucking darkness."

"Neat," Betsy said. She let her long tongue dip intothe longneck, lapping the surface of her High Life. "Whatwas that like?"

"Well, Betsy," Ray said, "it was evil incarnate."

"Oh."

"Imagine the worst evil ever done to you in yourlife."

Betsy thought of the time she was locked in a shed.

"Got it," she said.

Ray pecked at his highball glass in anger. "Well," hesaid, "imagine that, except fifteen times worse. That'swhat the darkness was like."

"That sounds terrible," Betsy said. She was trying tobe noncommittal about the darkness in hopes that Raywould drop it. Before coming to the bar, she had usedvegetable oil to shine her shell to a high sheen. In herperipheral vision, she could see the lights above the barplaying off her shoulders.

"What do you think of my shell?" she asked.

Ray leaned back a little to appraise the situation."It's nice," he said.

"I like your pelt."

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"This old thing," Ray said, patting his feathers. "It'llsmell like the bar for weeks. You can't get this smell outof a pelt."

"That's the good thing about a shell," Betsy said.

They sat in silence. Betsy wondered if she hadperhaps said too much about her shell. Ray wonderedwhere the bartender got off serving a penguin a drink in ahighball glass. He would have rather taken his gin out ofan ashtray.

Betsy tapped her claw against her beer bottle."Have you ever protected an egg?" she asked.

Ray realized that he was at the state of intoxicationwhen anything Betsy could possibly say was going to pisshim off. Keep your cool, buddy, he said to himself. She'sjust trying to make conversation.

"Usually that's a job for the lady penguins," Ray said."I am a male penguin and therefore, no, I have neverprotected an egg."

"Right," Betsy said. "Well, I saw a documentary once,and a male penguin was protecting an egg. I figuredmaybe you'd have some experience."

"Sorry, I don't have any experience. I guess thatmakes me less of a penguin."

"I wasn't saying that."

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"I suppose you think I'm some kind of lesserpenguin, just because I fought the fucking darkness andtasted my own blood, because I haven't protected astupid fucking egg."

Betsy felt tears welling up. Don't cry, she said toherself. It would be really stupid to cry at this moment.

"I honor your fight," she said. "I didn't mean todisrespect you."

Ray sank back into his drink. "It's no disrespect," hesaid. "I'm just a penguin in a bar, drinking my gin out of afucking highball glass for some reason."

"I always wondered why they did that," thearmadillo said.

"Doesn't make any goddamn sense," said thepenguin.

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BEATING THE ODDSWhen the tortoise walked in, the hare nearly cried out inmisery. He had been promised visitors by the night nurse,who was pretty and gave him an extra serving of gelatinwhen he asked. The hare had made the old mistake andfigured someone so pretty couldn't give him bad news,but there he was, and here was the tortoise.

"Hello," said the tortoise. A bouquet of wilting lilieswas taped to his shell.

"It's good to see you," murmured the hare. Perhapsif he pretended it hurt to open his eyes, the tortoisewould leave. The hare squinted and squirmed.

Oblivious, the tortoise attempted to sit in the chairby the bedside. He did this by leaning back andsupporting his weight with his hind legs, and then heftinghis front legs onto the chair. The chair, on casters, rolledback. The tortoise lumbered to where the chair had rolledand repeated the process again. Finally, he got the chairwedged between the bed and the IV unit. He pitched hisbody upwards, scrabbling at the upholstery. If the nightnurse walked by, she would surely assume the tortoisewas attempting to mount the chair. Perhaps she wouldcall security.

The tortoise dug in with his claws, pulled himselfinto the seat and turned around to face the hare, crushingthe flowers taped to his back in the process. His breathingwas laborious. "I hear you are dying," the tortoise said.

That's a delicate way to put it, thought the hare. 11

"Indeed I am," he said. "They gave me eight weeks to live ayear ago, and I beat the odds."

The tortoise nodded.

Asshole, thought the hare. "I was real outspokenabout it for a while. I got into the paper. The thing was, Iwas just taking multivitamins and running every day, thenI did a whole­body cleanse every two weeks." Hestretched his legs and felt his diminished muscle tone.

"The odds caught up," said the tortoise. With his bigeyes, he did seem a little doleful. Then again, he alwaysdid. He clearly hadn't cleaned his shell before the visit andsmelled vaguely of a scummy pond. Talk about a sanitaryenvironment, the hare thought.

The hare pressed on. "Everybody's got to gosometime," he said. You'll go. Maybe you'll get cancer anddie next year. I can't imagine you'd have too much troublesuccumbing to the odds, as it were. No offense to you, butit takes some mental acuity."

"I'm not sure," the tortoise said, "that tortoises canget the cancer." He was trying unsuccessfully to reacharound his massive shell to the flowers. He plucked onepetal off in his claw and brought it close to his eye,frowning. Perhaps he wanted to eat it.

"Don't worry about the flowers," said the hare. "Isaw them when you came in. They were very nice Easterlilies. Daylilies are my favorite but they're a bit rare, a bithard to find. You might find a daylily in a soup if you lookin the right place. You'd have to travel across the ocean

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but you might just find it in China. Can you imagine it? Aflower in a soup. Believe it or not, and I suggest youbelieve it."

The tortoise sighed. "Friend," he said.

The hare looked at the place on his arm where thenight nurse had shaved him to insert the IV needle. Theskin was puckered and raw in the shaved place. "I guessyou win," the hare said.

"There never was a race," said the tortoise. His shellwobbled a little as he scooted the chair forward andleaned precariously over to touch the hare's paw with theflat portion of his beak. The hare could feel the warm airstreaming from the tortoise's nostrils, the cool air rushingin. The hare closed his eyes and pretended to sleep untilthe tortoise left. He breathed evenly with noise of themachine hooked up to his body. The night nurse cameand went. It was a very long wait indeed.

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Amelia Gray is a teacher living inAustin, Texas, and the author ofAM/PM (featherproof, 2009) . Hersecond book, Museum of the Weird(in which appears "The Darkness") ,won the 2008 RonaldSukenick/ABR Innovative FictionPrize run by Fiction Collective Two.

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I have proved by actual trialthat a letter, that takes anhour to write, takes onlyabout three minutes to read!

­Lewis Carroll

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