My Short Stories

Ocean Sky

At night the sun never quite sets on this farm, falling just behind the mountains beyond, leaving me with that temporary shade I convince myself to bask in. It refuses to go below the horizon and eventually comes back up, the dark orange desert sky leaving with it. At day, the sun never quite reaches that unfilled lightbulb above my head. The bright blue ocean sky rushes back in with faint remnants of cirrus clouds, forming the waves quite like what they once brought to my farm.

Six o'clock. I awoke to the farewell of that orange sky. The immediate thoughts racing through my head were the only voices audible throughout my wholly empty farm, but I indulged in their fantasies as they struck me with conversations. Seven o'clock. I stepped outside and walked to the barn, my red-tipped cane guiding me down the twisting path ahead. "You should." Those words surfed forward in the beach colored ocean sky above my head as they swam to a cane-less world of childish sightseeing. "But you don't have to." The ocean's cirrus waves dragged them back to my farm, forced to walk with me to the apple trees.

Nine o'clock. The apples were sweet today, but many lumps and bumps could be felt throughout. My love for apples grew as they themselves did, blocking out the dirty saltwater from the ocean sky to the best of my ability. I harvested the rest of them and moved on to the next apple tree. The cirrus waves grew with each harvested tree and each sweeter apple, and all the remaining blue within the cirrus began to fade.

Ten o'clock. As the sun lifted over the mountains, the winds came streaming below. They warned of that bleak sky and its blanketing grayness, but I welcomed that storm with an unstoppable, exuberant laughter. The ocean sky and its turbulent waves have all but ruined me, and I could rest as I counted down the remaining hours before my farm's exorcism.

Time slowed for a while. I made my joyful way back to the farm, excited to share this news to the sink master. I drenched my face with that pure exorcising water and shook hands with him, but his abrasive voice harshly dismissed me before I could begin speaking to him.

"The hell you smiling for?" The storm outside was mirrored in his demeanor.

"There's a storm approaching. Do you not se-"

"No shit I can see it. Now lemme ask you again. The hell you smiling for?"

The sink master was never wrong. That cruelty and abrasion in his voice was formed by my ignorant beast and his long fought battle against it. I knew him too well as he followed me my whole life, yet every time he went against me, I left more confused.

I tried to assure him. "The storm's blanket will calm the cirrus waves. The turbulence of the ocean sky will be no more!"

"And you thought that was the problem?"

"The storm will reset that ocean sky and its turbulence waves!"

"And with it, your farm will be destroyed! The storm rains down on your precious crops, yet the hail and winds will shred them in their hypnotic slumber! This storm is no different from what we faced before. Don't be gullible."

I thought about the sink master's words as they weighed down the other half of my canoe, drifting off in this turbulent ocean sky. The storm was approaching later, and I began to fear that distant "doom", if that. Yes, I once again tried to ignore those words. Storms were always what I longed for, for no matter their destruction, there was always that assurance of soothing rain which grappled me. Yet that red-tipped cane remained forever at my side, refusing to abandon me when I needed it to the most.

So I began to imagine a new ocean sky, free of cirrus waves with its occasional desert sunsets, still without midnights. This sky told a beautiful tale of growth, perception, understanding and outstanding. It welcomed a canoe so cheap like mine as it calmed its waves and bid farewell to turbulence. And most precious of all were the fruit trees it blossomed! No trees were blown over, no barns struck by lighting. It had no excuse for saltiness as it watered my fruit trees. It was a world built for me, one with no place for storms.

The storm, however, could not be dodged. Eleven o'clock. Twelve o'clock. One o'clock. Two o'clock. The ocean sky was blanketed by grayness first, then blackness. It's waves had settled, and rain began to fall down. It started gently, but quickly the gusting winds tore leaves and twigs slowly but surely off of my apple trees. The clouds' little mirrors began to crash down on my farm, and within them I could see the sink master warning me correctly. Three o'clock. The rain cut abruptly and the gray blanket drifted off. I survived, but I feared for my plants.

Four o'clock. That storm hung in the distance for a while. It's remnant anvils weighed down onto my ocean sky, creating more of those exhausting cirrus waves. But those waves waded out eventually. Several weeks had passed, and I checked on my apple trees. Five o'clock. Their apples were sweeter with a more perfected shape.

Six o'clock. I took my basket of apples to my canoe, and together we sailed across that dark orange desert sky. The bright blue ocean sky was to wash away this desert, but for the hours remaining, I freely basked in that sunlight.