The Life of Meng the Goldfish

Author's Note: This is a story I wrote that may have more fans and critics than any of the other things I created. I think it is necessary to tell you the premise of this story. According to rumor, the goldfish is supposed to have about three seconds of memory before they completely forget everything. With this as the backdrop, the story is about a goldfish named Meng and his perception that his whole life has been exactly like whatever his last three seconds have been.

                                            The Life of Meng The Goldfish

    Meng was a beautiful goldfish. He had lived his whole life in a wonderful aquarium with a castle and a plethora of multicolored rocks. He loved swimming all around and in and out of his castle, but then he got very sick, and then suddenly....he lost his memory.

    Meng was a beautiful goldfish, but he had been sick his whole life. He had a nice aquarium, but fate had dealt him a tragic blow and he could never enjoy all the beauty that surrounded him. He pined away about how he had been born infirm, the next thing he knew he was caught in some sort of net, and then suddenly....

   Meng was a beautiful goldfish, he was also able to fly. He had enjoyed flying his whole life and was amazed at the sights he saw. He knew life was awesome and thought how lucky he was to have been born flying. The only problem Meng had was that he had trouble breathing and there was always this giant following him around. The next thing Meng knew he had landed in some type of porcelain bowl and it was wet! And then suddenly......

    Meng was a beautiful goldfish, he had lived his whole life in a porcelain fish bowl and was immensely happy. He could swim in circles and look out into the beautiful sky and enjoy all that he saw. Oh life was fantastic for Meng until suddenly he heard a loud noise and he found himself caught up in some time of whirlpool and the next thing he knew it was pitch black, and then suddenly...

    Meng was a goldfish, but he was born without eyes, or so he thought. He was a creature of the dark. He knew that he lived in some type of cave with other fearsome creatures too hideous to be seen in the light. Meng was not just a goldfish, but a cave dweller. While he was having this thought however, he suddenly saw a very bright light ahead of him and then the brightness overcame his senses. And then suddenly....


   Meng was a beautiful goldfish, he had lived his whole life in this wonderfully pleasant pond. He always loved swimming with the other fish there and seeing all the animals and plants the pond was blessed with. Life was very awesome for Meng in his pond, and then suddenly...




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She Felt Cold

   Diana Silverton looked down at her watch. It was ten minutes until her appointment with Pastor Wilde. She had walked across Bridgemoor Park on the way to the small church where Pastor Alex Wilde served; growing more anxious every step. It was a particularly hot summer day, one that she felt was an exact paradox to the way she felt. Diana felt cold. She felt emotionless and confused. She had always been a strong believer, but now things had changed. What was wrong with her? Was she sick? Did she lose her faith? Was their a secret sin? She had no clue, but she knew that if anyone could help her, it was Pastor Wilde.

    She approached the doors to the church and opened the one on the right side and stepped inside; shutting the door behind her. The room was bright, but not too bright. Simple, but very nice and clean. There sitting next to the raised platform in a fold-up chair was Pastor Wilde. The first thing Diana noticed was that his silver hair looked matted. He appeared to not have slept in days.

   "Come in Miss Silverton, you are right on time!" he said as he motioned her to approach him. His simple blue jeans and t-shirt surprised Diana as she expected such a well-reputed church father to look the part, but she shrugged it off as more pressing matters were on her mind.

   "Are you all right Brother Wilde you appear sick, or at least overly tired?" Diana asked.

   "No, no! I am fine. Just a little tired is all." the clergy man replied. "Let us not tarry too long my dear, what is it you wanted to see me about?"

   "Well, as you know Brother Wilde, I have been a believer my whole life. My parents raised me in the faith and brought me to church every time the doors opened. I also truly believe Brother Wilde, but..." Diana's voice began to trail off.

   "But what?" Pastor Wilde inquired. "You have made it this far, you may as well tell me the truth."

   "I have served the past five years at the hospital as a nurse and I love it. I have actively served at my church for the past eight years now, but despite all I do, there is something wrong. I find that my heart has grown cold...." her voice began to trail off once more.

   "Come, come! Do not leave an old man in suspense!" the pastor hastily replied.

   "Well..." she began again. "When I help people, be it at the hospital or at the church I have noticed that I do not do it out of love for those I am helping. I do it for the praise and gratitude I get from the people I am helping. I am not interested in any sort of noble reasons or good causes. I am shamelessly seeking my own personal fulfillment. As a matter of fact I get exceptionally hurt and even angry whenever I am not thanked and shown great appreciation for my kindness. Can you imagine that Pastor? Me, a trained nurse and Sunday School teacher, demanding praise!"

   "Have you spoken to your pastor about this Miss Silverton?" Pastor Wilde asked.

   "Oh no Brother Wilde!" She cried in protest. "I am afraid to admit this to people I interact with daily. I will surely be judged by them! I am admitting to you that my heart is cold, it is wicked, and it is idolotrous. You see I was told you are the man who can fix my problems....please help me Pastor Wilde."

   "Listen to my words now, and forget your anxiety. The Spirit of God lives inside of his people. From the smallest to the greatest and he cares for them all. He knows your heart, he knows everyones heart. What you must remember is that all of our hearts are wicked and deceitful and only through God can we overcome the temptations of the flesh. The fact that you realize you seek these accolades instead of doing things for the right reasons means God is working in your spirit. I am quite confident that the realization itself is proof that you are a child of God and he always helps his children when they ask him for it. Have you asked him for help my dear?" the old man asked as he put his hand under her chin and lifted her down-cast face to where he could see her eyes.

   "That is what I am now doing Pastor, I am asking you to help me ask God." Dianna said as she began to cry.

   "No my dear, you have proven by your admission that you are his child and now you must go to Christ himself; he is your advocate." after saying this the pastor removed his hand from her chin and turned away from her taking two steps before turning around. "There is no sin that God can not forgive other than rejection of Jesus Christ and him crucified. If you want your sin and your pain to go away you must ask him to take it away."

   "What if I can't stop?" Dianna asked at last. She finally realized what her real problem was. Why she felt so cold and so nauseated. Why everything felt wrong in her life. She felt she couldn't stop sinning no matter how bad she wanted to. She was worried she was on a never ending roller coaster of mediocrity and she would never be strong enough to break the bonds she was putting on herself.

   "Give it up every day. Ask Christ to take away your sin and your desire to sin every day, and then one day you won't want it anymore. When that pride demon returns in a weak moment one day in the future, return to this confession. This life was never intended to be simple, but rest assured that you are never alone for Christ lives in your spirit.

The Horse Who Wanted to Be Sneaky

  Max was a horse with a life much like other horses.  He grew up in a barn in the middle of a very large pasture in the heart of New England. What made Max different from other horses was his keen observation skills. Every day he would watch the other animals and try to understand what they were doing. He watched as the chickens scratched the ground, the dogs herded the sheep and the goats ate...well pretty much anything. However, the animals most interesting to Max were the cats. There was a cat that all of the horses called "The Bum" who was fat and aptly named. He did very little except for gorging himself on table scraps. There was also "Speedy" who did not have an off switch. He moved at speeds sometimes even the horses were impressed by. The third cat though, was called "The Snatcher" and he was an excellent hunter. Mice, birds, even a small dog was once pounced upon by the The Snatcher and he made it look easy.

    Every chance he got Max watched The Snatcher on the prowl. He intensely studied the way he crouched his body and slowly and methodically crept along the ground, closer and closer to his target. Max could feel the adrenaline and regularly found himself envious of this ability to sneak up on other animals. One day while he was in the field grazing, Max found himself alone in the field with The Snatcher. He walked up to him like his biggest fan and said "Hello The Snatcher, my name is Max!"

    The cat looked blankly at him for a second and then said "The Snatcher? What is that?"

   "Well that is what you are called!" Max retorted.  "That's what we horses call you!"

   "THAT....is NOT my name!" said the cat "I am  Wilifred the Champion of the Barn Kingdom, servant of the Cat King, Whiskers the Steadfast!

   "Who is the Cat King?" Max asked puzzled.

   "Why he is the large cat who sits near the house and is fed scraps all day long by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, his human servants, who live in the house" Wilifred informed him.

   "Oh...We just call him The Bum" Max replied.

   "What!?!?  Do you know what you have just done? You have committed blasphemy against the Cat King!" Wilifred shouted at the horse.

   "I am sorry, I didn't know" said Max. I just wanted to come talk to you and ask if you would teach me to be sneaky. I see you all the time and am very impressed with your sneakiness."

   "Why thank you!" the cat replied. I would love to teach you but I do not think your large equine body is cut out for the graceful majesty of sneaking.

    After much negotiation, begging, pleading, neighing, crying and promises of naming his first born after him, Max persuaded Wilifred to teach him the art of sneaking. The reader will not have trouble imagining how bad this went as horses are not known for their stealth abilities. It began with terribly awkward attempts at trying to crawl while Max was laying down and ended in something like a full barrel roll down a hill. Wilifred the Champion however, secretly found this experience to be one of the most hilarious he could remember in all of his life.  If one were to ask Wilifred what his favorite moment of the day were he would say it was when Max tried to sneak up on Mrs. Smith while she  fed King Whiskers the Steadfast and Max made such an awful noise and looked so pitiful (and slightly possessed) that she ran into the house screaming about a horse demon!

    When the day was over Max reflected on his utter failure and decided it was of no use to continue his new found practices. Max however, was always creative and decided to use this experience to his benefit and he asked Wilifred to start a rumor on the farm that Max the Horse, had reached enlightenment and was willing to share his wisdom with all of the animals. He promised he could teach them to think like other animals and help them achieve all of their goals more easily. To celebrate his new "enlightenment" he decided to take on a new name as well "The Tumbler". Max had no idea what a tumbler was or what a tumble was,  but Wilifred assured him it was a name fit for a sage.

    By the next summer the reputation of The Tumbler was so widespread tame and wild animals alike  traveled to see the oddly named wise horse in search of enlightenment, while Wilifred sold novelty items he found in the humans' house and created a small fortune at the expense of Mrs. Smith's china collection.

Many scholars feel that the Trojan Horse is a safe bet for "The Sneakiest Horse in History".

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The Knight and the Bridge Keeper

Author's Notes: This is a fairly old story I wrote about The Way of Saint James, a famous Medieval pilgrimage site.  Also, the end of the story makes mention of Saint Denis, the Patron Saint of France and Saint James, the Patron Saint of Spain.

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    Ramiro Mendoza sat on the side of the bridge, waiting for the next travelers to past. He worked for the mayor of Burgos and was in charge of collecting tolls from the pilgrims who crossed the Arlanzon river using the bridge on the Way of Saint James. The Way of Saint James was a famous pilgrimage path to Santiago del Compostelo, where according to legend the body of Saint James was buried. Every year millions of pilgrims and noblemen from all across Europe traveled to the city; in fact, other than Jerusalem and Rome, no other site in the western world received as many pilgrims. Burgos was a city in Spain, directly on the way to the pilgrim shrine and Mayor Delgado had every intention of making as much of a profit from this as possible. Most pilgrims had no problem paying the toll, but sometimes it was necessary for Ramiro to show a little muscle and so he had hired five archers from the town to hide in the woodline, ready to pop out on command.

    One spring day Ramiro and his archers were sitting and waiting for the next group of pilgrims when they saw a lone knight riding towards them. As he approached they could tell he was a wealthy man by the quality of his armor, but couldn't see any crest to distinguish who he was.

    "Hello there sir knight!" Ramiro shouted. "Welcome to Burgos, Mayor Delgado sends you his warmest welcome and asks that you, an obviously God-fearing man, help us out by making a small contribution to keeping the bridge in good repair."

    The knight seemed motionless as his horses' tail swished back and forth. Soon Ramiro began to think it was time to call the archers out for his visual encouragement. "Archers!" Ramiro shouted. Then five men at arms came out of the woods with bows and got in position for firing. "Sir knight, let me remind you that while we welcome you, it is impossible to use this bridge without paying"Ramiro called out. Suddenly the knight cracked the reigns of his charger and took off towards the bridge. Before Ramiro could think straight the knight had whipped his sword out and was bearing down on him. As if by second nature he jumped off the bridge into the cold waters of the Arlanzon.

    The archers meanwhile had begun firing, but only a couple of their shots landed and those bounced off his shield and armor. When the knight had crossed the bridge he steered his steed towards the archers, but a second later he reversed and headed on down the road with no intention of actually fighting. The archers realized they had been duped, but it was too late to stop him now. The knight was gone. When Ramiro pulled himself out of the river he decided he needed to improve the bridges defenses in case this sort of thing happened in the future. "Senor Torres, can you find me some rope?" he asked.

   "Yes sir, but what do you intend to do with it?" Torres inquired.

   "Well, we don't want that to happen again, so I thought we could make a tripwire to stop a horse if needed." Ramiro responded.

   "While that would work Captain Mendoza, may I make an alternative suggestion? What if we found a jousting quintain and you could rotate one side and have a sandbag tied to the other? Then when the knight got close enough you could rotate it and knock the horseman off with the sandbag." expained Torres.

   "Yes! Good idea Torres, go and ask the mayor." the Captain commanded.

    About a week past, and the quintain was set up and covered with a large piece of cloth and placed on the bridge. It was a little odd, but not enough for anyone to ask about it. Sometime around dusk Torres shouted from the woodlines "A lone knight is headed this way!" Sure enough the same knight was headed back to France and both he and the men of Borges knew this was not going to be a civil encounter. As he approached Ramiro called out to him.

   "Maybe you have seen a change of fortune since last we met Sir Knight, and you are now ready to pay the toll for your two passes through the lovely town of Burgos." The gray armored knight however was not in the mood to talk and had soon pulled his sword out of the scabbard and was charging towards Ramiro once again. The wily captain was ready this time and pulled the cloth off of the quintain and spun it around knocking the knight to the ground with the sandbag. The archers had ran quickly and made it to the bridge to help Ramiro strip the armor off of the knight and they began to beat him until he submitted.

   "Enough, enough!" The French accent commanded. "I will pay you! Just let me go!"

    "Oh no senor!" Ramiro laughed "I can't wait to show the mayor his new set of French armor!" After they took every scrap of armor off the knight, they put him back on his horse and warned him the next time he didn't pay even more would be required of him. Then Torres slapped the horse and it took off back to France. "Tell Saint Denis that Saint James says hello when you get back!" Ramiro shouted as the six men laughed and did their best French impersonations.

During jousting a quintain was used to simulate an opponent's attack. A knight would strike the shield and the sandbag on the other side would swing around and strike the rider.

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Tale of the Church Bells

 

I used to always like listening to the bells that played at the church near my house. There is a large ravine separating the two and the church sits a top a little picturesque hill. The building is a light brown with highly ornate windows and a steeple atop the roof. Even more impressive than the steeple though, is the lofty bell tower. On Sundays and high holidays the bells would play beautiful melodies of hymns and religious tunes. Surely there are fewer things on this divinely created moving orb better than the sounds of metallic bells chiming on cue. I can only imagine they sound more like the voices of angels than any other mortal instrument does.

A few years ago I decided that I wanted to go and take a closer look at these bells and so I finished my breakfast and then I packed a lunch. I put on my good walking shoes and I headed for the church. There was something very majestic about the building and even more so about the bell tower. My breath grew short and awe struck me as if I were a ten year old at a Disney Theme Park. I walked up to the door and found it unlocked so I preceded into the interior. The inside was just as elaborate as the outside and filled with beautiful paintings and mosaics. The center aisle was flanked by rows of benches on each side that were wooden with a pale red cushion stretching across the length of all of them. Also I noticed one solitary candle on the altar at the end of the aisle. It was unlit and obviously waiting for the next ceremony to happen.

I looked all around for an inhabitant of the building, but found none. Shortly there after I heard a small melody played by the bells and my mind quickly returned to my original purpose of the trip to the church. I located the door to the bell tower and opened it to find a set of winding stairs made of solid gray rock. This part of the church looked distinctly more old than the rest of the church had seemed as of yet. Despite this, I climbed the stairs to the top and then I saw the object of the investigation, the bells themselves. I was amazed by their beauty. I sucked the sight in with my eyes, but then out of the corner of my eye I saw him. There he stood, the hunchback of our community. I must admit that up until this point in time I did not realize our community had its own hunchback, but there he stood. At first I thought my eyes were lying to me or maybe this was a dream. Surely there is not actually a hunchback in this tower, but despite my fervent protests about how stereotypical this was, the vision of the man never went away.

After I rubbed my eyes one last time for verification's sake, I approached the small man who was wearing brown robes like a monk. He faced towards me and greeted me pleasantly. He told me his name was Matoose and he was the bell keeper. I now faced a very real awkward pause. What exactly was I supposed to say to a man who lived in a tower and just so happened to be a match for a fairy tale character. Grasping at straws I asked him if he knew any good songs that he wasn't allowed to play on the bells. He replied he could play whatever he wanted to, but societal norms prevented him from playing Ukrainian Bell Chorus or Silver Bells except at Christmas and he also was not allowed to compose symphonies on the bells. Next I asked him if had ever read Victor Hugo or seen the Notre Dame in Paris. He replied no. I feel confident he hadn’t seen much of any television, but somehow he knew I was making fun of him when I suggested he should watch more Disney movies.  Due to my stunning inability to communicate with Matoose I tried one last question. I asked if he knew any classic rock and roll he could play on the bells. His face turned just a little bit sour and he just said "Hells Bells boy!" To this day I don't know if he was an AC/DC fan or if he was swearing at me in an antiquated vernacular used by bell keepers to insult medieval knights. I will probably never know.

Time has gone on since that day, but I often think about old Matoose up there ringing his bells, and every once in a while if your paying attention you can hear a few lines from Sister Christian.

"You're motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be all right tonight"

Note: This picture of Colmar Cathedral is provided for you to have a picture of a grand cathedral in your head. Just to make your mental picture more exciting.

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