Prompt: The florist on the avenue maintains on our corner three life size wooden statues of standing bears, one adult, two cubs… Two weeks ago I noticed something different about them. I could not tell what.

The Bears on the Avenue

They had been there as long as she could remember. Certainly since she was a little kid, and next week she’d be eight. You do the math. At first they’d frightened her. Three bears, a momma and her two cubs hewn from dark, rough wood –the little ones a full head higher than she was.

 “Damn-it Karen,” she’d heard her daddy complain to Mummy, “are we going to have to walk a block out of our way to avoid those bears forever?”

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Banana Split

Prompt: The never ending banana split

Her spoon crunched through the rubble of crushed walnuts, slightly toasted and thickly applied. The nuts occupied the space between the fluffy whipped cream, fresh and unsweetened, and the warm blanket of chocolate sauce. That’s right, chocolate, not hot fudge. To each her own. Then the ice cream, one scoop vanilla, one scoop cookies and cream and one salted caramel, all nestled in the cradling comfort of their banana boat. She liked to work for it, a little, so the banana should be just ripe— not a squishy travesty fit only for muffin making. 

“How’s that workin’ for you, Bethany?” asked the man behind the counter. He smiled broadly beneath a handlebar moustache and a perfectly crisp white paper hat, despite the heat. 

“It’s ideal. Perfect!” she sighed, scooping another bite with a perfect combination of flavours. “I’m in heaven.” 

“Well now,” said the man, whose name tag said ‘Nate’, “that’s an idea.”

Bethany nodded vaguely and turned her focus back to the split. In her enthusiasm, her hands had grown quite sticky despite the long handled spoon.

“Pardon, where’s the ladies’?” she asked Nate who, though apparently busy, was lingering around the counter across from her stool. 

He gestured to the end of the bar as he tossed a dish towel over his shoulder.  

Bethany rose and headed toward the door then hesitated, she turned and said, “I’m not quite done.” Her eyes fell on the split. All that remained was a bit of banana swimming in a swirling pool of chocolate and melted whipped cream. A few bites of bliss and she had every intention of savouring them.

“Copy that,” said Nate and he gave her a quick salute.

Why, thought Bethany, were all soda fountains stuck in the fifties? Not that she was really complaining, it all felt right. Perfect really.

Bethany returned to her place at the counter. The cut glass bowl at her place was full, the snow cap of glistening whipped cream a perfect swirl where the puddle had been. Nate was gone. This was a little crazy. Two banana splits? She could not in good conscious indulge in another.

Could she?

It’s not like it would kill her and the bowl looked so perfect. Some people liked the nuts sprinkled on top of the whipped cream. Not Bethany, not at all. She liked them in a thick carpet underneath letting the cream virtually bounce on top. She hadn’t even had to tell Nate that. And, to her delight he hadn’t even bothered to offer her a cherry. Gross. 

Bethany sighed and tucked in. As she reached the bottom she noticed Nate back across the counter though she’d not seen or heard him approach.

“How’s that workin’ for you, Bethany?” Nate asked.

“Oh, well, um,” Bethany fumbled for the right words. She suddenly felt embarrassed for having eaten another bowl and not sure if he was gong to charge her. Were there free refills here? Bethany turned to the back of her chair and fumbled in her purse for her wallet. She began to worry that she hadn’t brought enough money for the treats.

When she turned back to the counter a new, glistening banana split awaited. 

“I couldn’t…” began Bethany but then three things came to her mind. First, she realised she actually could, she could eat another one; her stomach did not feel in the least full. Then she thought, I’m not sure I want to. Finally, she realised that Nate, in his candy-striped shirt and bow tie, knew her name.  

“Oh, but you can,” said Nate with a smile, “you must.”

This was not Bethany’s strong suit. She really and truly loathed confrontation. He was such a nice man, and had made these splits for her. She didn’t want to be rude. 

“Oh my, well perhaps just a few bites,” she replied a little hesitantly, and then she ate.

When her napkin fluttered to the floor, Bethany stood on uncertain legs and bent to pick it up. When she rose there, at her place, was another banana split. It was time, she thought, to put and end to this. Maybe it was because the shop was empty, maybe the poor man just wanted something to do. Be she was beginning to look at the split with distaste.

“Aren’t you kind. The splits, they’re heaven but…”

“Oh no, Bethany” Nate interrupted, “heaven is an entirely different shoppe. You didn’t make it to that one, I’m afraid. Now, do sit. Eat.” He pushed a clean spoon toward her eyes dancing with pleasure, and a hint of red light she had not noticed before.

“Oh hell!” Bethany groaned, and scooped. 

The Squirrel of Hope

Prompt: Each morning there are more red squirrels than the day before . . .

“Just another day in paradise,” snarled Amy, her voice dripped with sarcasm she immediately regretted.

It was just going on half past seven, too early for the day to be this bad. She’d queued at the well for almost an hour before she was able to hobble away, clutching the two jugs of water that would have to get them to Thursday. One and a half, actually. She’d lost half when she’d hit her toe on an angry looking chunk of concrete on the pavement in front of her.

“Aw now, take it easy mum, it’s a good day. Look, there’s a patch of blue in the sky.”

Sammy. A glass half-full kind of guy. She loved that about him but they really, really needed a jug that was more than half-full of water!

Amy wanted to be cheerful for him. She wanted the patch of blue to be enough. She rested the jugs on the collapsed remains of a bus shelter, overgrown with ivy, and drew a deep breath. The early morning light cast patchwork shadows across the grey pavement as the sun tried to cut through the jagged remains of the buildings on Main Street.

“Right you are, kiddo,” Amy said, forcing a smile. She would find beauty in this world if it killed her.

“Check it out, I see a butterfly,” said Amy pointing to the pattern of shadow and light on the pavement.

“Um, I see a pointy hat,” Sammy said, indicating another shadow.

Amy used to play this game with her own parents. Of course, back then they’d looked at the shapes in cotton-wool clouds parading across an unbroken canvas of blue. No clouds anymore.

She looked at Sammy’s pointy hat. It was clearly a Christmas tree, but of course he wouldn’t know that. He’d never seen one.

They said it would take decades for the earth to recover. But it felt like millennia passed before the earth hinted at hope.   Unless you count Sammy. Unplanned, of course, and utterly terrifying. The medic said she’d been unbelievably lucky that the infection hadn’t taken hold. The last dose of antibiotics had gone eight years before. The kid, hearty and oblivious to what was missing was the sticky, honey-sweat scented embodiment of hope.

“Mum, look…” Sammy cried as they turned up the lane to their camp. A dart of rust red across the smooth grey surface of rock danced in the corner of her eye.

Yes, thought Amy. There was hope—after all there were more red squirrels than the day before.