Maybe I should have waited until December comes around again to post this short story. While not technically a holiday piece, it has that kind of feel to it, which is not surprising considering that its main inspiration was Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (and the old tradition of telling ghost stories and tales of the supernatural for the holidays). I might just have to post a reminder about it come winter (actually, reminding my readers more often about my short stories already available here on the site in general would be a good idea – perhaps I should add that to some of my weekly writing updates).
Anyway, I wrote this for December’s Elegant Literature contest, and at the time I was pleased with how it turned out for submission. It’s a feel-good redemption story, and while I still think that it works, I can see in retrospect why it didn’t make the cut for publication in the magazine. There is a certain something missing, a hole which I tried to fill with the awkward title, but which really needed an extra scene or two to plug.
That’s one of the frustrating things about writing to a specific, immutable word limit. Forcing myself to adhere to the word limit and write these stories consistently is a valuable writing exercise, but I do look at some of these stories that I produce and wonder how much better/stronger they could be at 2500 words, or 3000 words. I always find myself cutting description and context that would probably strengthen the story so that I can fit in the word count. Maybe that’s simply a stylistic thing. I suppose that I could go back and write longer versions before posting here, but though I’m sharing these efforts with you, they are intended mostly as practice, and I would rather dedicate extra writing time to my novel project.
The Arch, the Center, and the Keystone is fairly different from most of what I write, befitting an experiment. Bonus points for those who comment what they think the title represents. I enjoyed writing the story, and especially if you’re looking for something simple, heartfelt, and feel-good, I hope that you give this story a read.
All bedrooms appear the same in the darkness. With the lamp turned off and the wooden blinds closed against the starry night sky, Uncle’s sumptuous bedroom was a blank canvas upon which could be imposed the image of any bedroom he ever occupied. Sometimes he awoke in the night with a pounding heart, convinced he was still confined in his old dormitory, and could not dispel the irrational conviction until he swung his arthritic knees into the cold beyond the blankets and turned on the lamp. Those dreams returned more often now that he was alone.
Other nights, he dreamt that his wife still slept beside him, warming the blankets to his left, and then he would awaken with only the puffy comforter and the winter night’s desolate loneliness. More often now it was his bladder that prompted him to depart the cocoon of his trapped body heat and shuffle in his slippers across the hardwood floor to the cold bathroom tiles.
After such an excursion on a moonless night the bedroom appeared especially featureless, his night vision spoiled by the bathroom’s electric light fixture, and Uncle was obliged to fumble for his bed. Upon reaching it, he kicked off his slippers, being careful to leave them in their accustomed positions, drew the curtain closed, and lay down upon the mattress with his hands folded over his rounded stomach.
His watch’s hands had long since ceased to glow, so he did not know what time it was, nor how much time passed since nature called, but it felt like forty minutes. Frustrated, he turned over on his side, fluffed his pillow, and fought the compulsion to begin his day at that inhuman morning hour. He recalled the declined invitation still on his refrigerator and wondered if that explained his restlessness.
“Can’t sleep?” a snide voice asked him from within his bedcurtains.
Click here to read the rest of The Arch, the Centering, and the Keystone
IGC Publishing 