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Short ficton By Joseph Philip Musgrave One Eye Earth Date DEC 2, 2022 Short fiction copyright Phil Musgrave The one-eyed cyclops staring at me from his place on the mud swamp on his seat on an intercity bus. His destination is unknown to me. The label on the front of the bus read U stoned west. I walk the line of a tiny string to my class. “no, no! the blue one. That is the one you want to the past to the past. History starts out with professor Stammers; it is all about connecting and contemporaries' who were alive in 1800 and what influence did they have on their world. Turning my head for a moment, I see the cyclops sitting in the chair next to me, Creepy I think as my mind wanders through several possible Deases he could have. Rabies comes to mind first, something in the groin. I avoid eye contact because he only has one, so why bother the other two? Upfront Stammerers continues history is the study of place time and progression from there to the future. You must agree that medicine today is better than in the 1800’s. The thought does pass that I am sitting next to a one-eyed cyclops, but I will concede medicine is a little more comfortable than it must have been in the 1800’s, but the question of these cyclops in my class gives pause. A hangover from last night, “what is your name? “I ask him. Peter is the name of my hallucination. I will have to give him a medical history. A history of his own. King of England. I can just make him go away like a bad dream but that one eye needs fixing Fiction By Phil Musgrave: Covid Shots Earth Date January 16th, 2022 “Empty store, all the staff did their best to look busy. These were the goods of envy. Displayed, big fluffy bath towels, and house coats, fluffy and soft on the coldest day. Outside the snow stayed on the ground. What little there was of it. A January day felt like twenty-five below. Five stories of departments. The centerpiece of a great table set out in hope of a purchase. Clinging at the straws and hope of a renaissance. Christmas is over. Somehow it looked like something from the 18th century. In the middle of it all with a story to tell of his own. Like the prima donna of a little oprah, there was the gentleman at the jewellery counter impeccably dressed in a gray suit, bald, head, with silver sideburns. Checking his stones out of habit. He would glance up, no one around his attention again riveted on the stones. This bus driver again in the cold rushed to find some open convenience to relieve him or herself. Again and again up and down the route good morning. Echoes of a time long so long ago now when the bus spoke “welcome”, and he himself would wish the passengers a magical Thursday. The beggar on the street touched by mental illness Kneels before you are begging for 5 Dollars, and you remember reading the night before in your prayer book “Try to look upon every person as a possible place where God may find a home.” There are so many of them. Then you say your little prayer about how you need God like a flower needs water. Stolen Chat: Fiction Copyright Phil Musgrave November, 9th, 2021 The rats were running in Sacha's head. He was in a state between sleep and reality. could be heaven but the sudden fall to awareness and Earth proved to him he was not a Devine being yet. Hopes dashed, he stretched his arms over his head, his hands knotted around one another at the top then rubbed his eyes to greet the dark season of winter. Once upright he heard rather than saw his morning pee run into the ceramic bowl of the toilet. These were the days of no mistake's days of covid. Laptop open, he filled in the form of online Questions. His Pants one leg at a time, he has a morning tune running through his head, Paul Simon these are the days of miracles and wonder. He had heard on vinal on a player he received in celebration of having been in the world for 21 years. Breakfast was a drink due to lack of time, anything that was eatable, and he could throw in the blender. Then back to the pc it was, work from home day. A chat line for major tech company. Sacha had had the job for a while. He had all the usual answers to cut and paste. He could take them at will to answer almost any question the customer might ask. With a restless mind, Sacha took his first chat. The customer wanted to know how to get the printer on Wi-Fi. Sacha standard response was pulled like a rabbit form a hat. “That is not our department please contact the manufacture’s Website.” That was that, thought Sacha, easy, next, but first a sip of that great coffee dark roast already passed though the gut of African plant eater with a digestive power like a Canada goose. The next call was fun, so good in fact that as it progressed Sacha thought he would share with his people at work. In secret of course management would not know. Sacha had calls before from this jerk before and some had been quite challenging. That was before he had the covid screen to hide behind. Now the guy was sending screenshots and information That Sacha knew he could make money from, so there was this online party and Sacha was King. He relayed only the information he needed to his compatriots and kept the rest for himself. Fine Day, Thought Sacha no one knows I stole this. That was until the next day this guy had emailed him. The email said "You took something of Mine. I want it back. I know your name, and where you live." Moon: Fiction Copyright Phil Musgrave October 1 2021 The Moon had always tracked the sun. In an endless rhythm across the sky that every human ever born had thought would be eternal. Tonight, was not the same. The black matter of space that humans had for years studied and probed. That black matter had lifted, like early morning fog burnt off by a hot rising sun. that distant moon was somehow so close it wanted to scrape the Earth. There was no abnormal effect. No lethal tides as one would expect. It was just the closeness of the Moon, as if two lovers wanting to kiss, embrace, looking up clearly to see Tranquility base. Almost hearing the past. The voice, “We have landed.” This was not a moment of fear. Instead, a dance of harmony, a grace, a seeming moment of great hope. A moment, a moment of great peace for a wounded fearful Earth. As the black shroud lifted the blue came into view, that blue that was stamped on the Earth as if in the glass of a Marble. Bigger and so much larger than the moon already in view. It was monumental. Lifting slowly as it dropped the black screen around it. This was not a threat, a second more peaceful, more perfect Earth and moon. A parallel in universe time. A happy place with the meaning and purpose in it of a good and gracious creator. Charlie came back as a snail Copyright Phil Musgrave October 1 2021 Charlie Came Back as a Snail A writing: copyright Phil Musgrave. Veronica was reading aloud from her story to virtual class, ”Charlie came back as a snail,” she repeated herself. ” What kind of a snail?” came a voice over the internet. ” Stop Interrupting her. ” It was the instructor. ” Now is this your writing assignment Veronica?” ” Yes Mam.” ” Then speak clearly, you can remove your mask.” Veronica continues” So Charlie knew he must have died because this morning he was something different. Even a heavy night at the bar and some bedtime weed could not have this effect. He had no hands and slimy feet. Who knows what this body was eating he could not look at? Anyway, his eyes were on stalks.” ” Whatever it was he was eating, It gave him gas, and plenty of it, enough to deplete the ozone layer.” ” Veronica is this the best you could do?” It was the instructor again, Miss Glitz. Semi is famous for her short poems. ” Yes mam”. ” If you don’t bring this story out of the gutter, I will have someone else read.” ” Let her finish.” said the voice on the internet. Veronica continues” A fly buzzed past, but Charlie was too busy climbing this strange green tree with his one sticky foot to notice the insect. Suddenly a noise in the grass, a long sticky tongue draws Charlie into the mouth of a cow Charlie wakes in a sweat. ” Well thank goodness that wasn’t real.” Charlie thought If I had morphed to a wasp, I might have stung Miss Glitz .” “Alright young lady, that's a detention for you. You are to report to virtual room 101 after school.”