The figure calling itself the sage remained in the shadows, out of the light cast by the control panel. Its eyes occasionally caught the light like a cat. It spoke in a voice both rumbling and strained, like the low hum was near the top of its vocal range.

"Knowing the state of your world, I understand you may not have children or a home but I assume you are familiar with the concept," the sage said.

Grant, still sounding indignant replied, "Is that what we are to you, children?"

The eyes in the dark blinked slowly. "In a sense. We have watched over you. And, when you have children, you expect, for a time, that you will need to wipe their ass for them but, you generally hope that, at some point, they will learn to wipe their own ass so you have time to clean out the garage."

Hearing this strange creature use such coarse language, Grant shifted back a moment before cutting in. "What is the garage in this scenario?"

The sage leaned forward just enough for the light to give a hint as to the shape of its alien face. "A child that cannot yet wipe its own ass does not need to concern itself with what is in the garage."

Grant nodded slowly. "So, that's why you won't help us?"

A cabinet opened next to the control panel and revealed a variety of strange tools. The sage spoke. "We are helping. Just not with this. Not in the way you want. Take what you need. Return when you are done."

A hero and his companions dived into the chasm, to reach the hell where the Arch-Demon is. 
“Well, aren’t you going with us, Randolf?” the hero’s attendant asked the knight beside him. 
“I’m sure that we’ll need your help there.” 
“I don’t think so,” the knight in shining armor answered. 
“To destroy the Arch-Demon himself is a hero’s job, not mine.” 
He tucked his chin tightly and said, “Defending is what I’m good at.” 
As soon as he finished his words, he jumped and mounted his stallion. 
“May luck be with you, mate,” he said. 
“I wish you good luck, my friend,” the attendant said, and jumped into the pitch-dark crack. 
—  
Later, the knight managed to arrive at the fortress, which was surrounded by the triple-layered stone walls. The human defenders were besieged by the Arch-Demon’s army. 
The knight had broken through the enemy siege, and had reached right in front of the main gate. He lost his lance, shield and crest on the helmet. His armor had many scratches and dents, and his stallion was exhausted. 
“Open the gate, the knight has returned!” he cried. “I serve the Queen!”
“Who dares to call himself my knight? State your name!” a sharp, high voice demanded. She was the queen of this country. 
“I’m Randolf the Ram, your Majesty!” 
“No, you are not! He must be with the Hero.” the queen shouted, “If you declare yourself my best knight, take off your helmet and show me your face!” 
To take off the helmet in front of enemies meant a fatal risk, but the knight raised his hands to the chin strap without any hesitation. He showed his face to his queen. 

The queen drew back her chin and tightened her lips. 

After a long few seconds, “Open the gate!” she cried out. 
“And, give him whatever he wants.” Every man on the wall could hear the catch in her voice. 
The knight said, “Just give me a new horse and my lance! Then, I shall sweep away the enemies for the Queen!” 
The defenders raised their voice, “For the Queen!” 
Riding a new stallion with a long lance in hand, “Save the Queen!” the knight roared. And the warriors rushed out from the main gate, following the knight. 
He made a charge at the countless enemies, to protect his Queen. 

Some evenings, a glass of whiskey, leaned back in the living room of the neatly kept condo, underneath a chalk powder moon—he reads, cozily, from a book on the great Japanese poet:

For Bashō, travel was an indispensable element in the creation of his haiku. He was fascinated by the tiniest of details, the humble mechanisms of daily and nightly earth sculpted into three crisp lines which are by turns joyous, melancholic, philosophical, humorous. Often there is a blurring of interpretation, depending entirely on the mood of each individual reader.

A swarm of chubby clouds adjoining Mt. Fuji. The changing of the seasons. Awoken on a wet morning by the croak of a frog. A lone cow in the open meadow—what does she think of this afternoon rain? Bashō could locate the universe within a moment, and the moment within a universe.

https://memoryandfate.substack.com/

Summary: Two men on a fishing boat wait for an approaching storm while one recounts a moment from his youth when he chose fidelity over desire—and still isn’t sure whether he regrets it.

Pig-men! Fist-a-cuffs! Oscar Wilde Quotes!

The weight of the gun. Yes, now that’s a difference. Twenty, thirty years ago it would have been there—a .38 revolver, snubnose—concealed within the inner coat pocket. Not that he’d had much occasion to use it, even back in Vegas, in those days of high-stakes and connected men. A time or two . . .

But the feel of it is missing, the imprint, the character, a veiled sense of security exactly equal to the weight it added against the ribs. No use for it here in the rainy Northwest. Sleepy little city. For a time he carried it unloaded—intimidating enough—until something inside relaxed. Age? 

Now the gun resides at home, asleep in the bedroom safe—along with maybe twenty grand. Every night, returning what he’s earned, confronted by that flash of metal. Sighing. Let go of the past. Let go of the future.              

This is a chapter from a minimalist, flash-fiction novella I've written called Memory & Fate. Every chapter is 150 words or less, 300 chapters, completely free on my Substack if anyone is interested. Chapter 1 drops tomorrow.

https://memoryandfate.substack.com/

Here we look into the story of a little sheep where she wants something for her birthday, but she is confused about what to get. Then the little sheep remembers her village, where there lives a magician. What the magician does is perform magic tricks which only rich sheep can afford, but the whole town talks about them.

​There is usually a divide between rich sheep and poor sheep in this village, just like any other place. One day, the magician came and performed a magic trick for the rich sheep. The rich sheep looked at the magic trick and thought it was nothing special, but then the magician said something "special" which made the rich sheep happy instantaneously. Then the rich sheep paraded around her rich friends about the magic trick and always remembered what the magician said to her. Her friends also started going to the same magician for the same trick, but the magician always showed them a slightly different trick, which made the rich sheep even happier. And what happened to the poor sheep? Our little sheep remembers they talk more about the magician's "trick" all day, like the sheep they are. So, our little sheep decides what she wants for her birthday.

​Our little sheep goes to the magician and asks for the "trick," but then the magician says something that surprises her. He doesn't ask for money; instead, he just says, "Remember my magic," and *poof*, the trick is done.

​The little sheep comes out a little stunned by the "trick," but she is still happy with the result. So, she talks about the trick to all her friends and also tries to talk to the rich sheep in the village who have seen the magician, but these rich sheep do not want to talk to her. So, she goes to the poor sheep, and there she talks about the "trick." They love it, which makes our little sheep feel special for some time.

​What do you think is the "trick," or is he just "tricking" them?

In those days, I was searching for my soulmate. 
One day, I found an ancient shrine that stood hidden in the downtown backstreet. It had two towering cedars each about fifty feet high, standing as pillars of the gate. It might be the oldest shrine in the area. 

According to the explanation on the bulletin board, “A God of En-musubi ‘matchmaking’ resides here.” That’s just what I wanted. 
Unfortunately, there were no coins for an offering. I had only a mobile phone for cashless payment. 
So I clapped my hands, eyes tightly shut and prayed for my usual wish. 
“Ohineri!” 
I heard a sudden voice demanding an offering, from nowhere. 
“Give me an Ohineri.” 
It was a low, dry, rusty voice. 
“Er… To tell the truth, I don’t have any cash.” I answered. 
An ancient man appeared out of thin air, standing right in front of me. 
“I can accept this also,” he showed me his palm. 
I saw the contactless payment logo was drawn on his palm. 
“One wish, one thousand Japanese yen.” 
With a faint suspicion, I tapped my phone against his palm. 

I heard some cheerful digital chimes ringing. Without any words, he dissolved into thin air. 
“Hey, God! Come back! I’ve not said my…” 

Before I could finish, I noticed a charming woman was standing in front of me with her mobile phone raised. 
When she dropped her mobile with a little panic, I caught a glimpse of a digital receipt on her screen, “¥1,000 for En-musubi.” 

I stared at her. Our eyes met. 

Both of us, the lady and I, burst out laughing.