The Last Story
By Frederick J. Blahnik
(Note: The following fictitious tale was originally included in a collection of short stories entitled “Second Helping”, a book that was published in 2015).
The old man hovered over his laptop computer with a perplexed look etched across his leathery face. The boy sat on the floor at his feet, fiddling with his I-pod Touch.
“Help me out, Noah. I need one more short-short story to complete this infernal book, but for the life of me I can’t think of anything to write about.”
The boy looked up with little interest. “Write about whatever you want, Grandpa. You’re a good writer; you always think of something.”
“Yeah, I know that’s usually the case, Noah, but not today. I’m just drawing a giant blank this afternoon when I try to come up with a novel idea.”
He stopped talking and glanced out a kitchen window at the swirling snow building drifts throughout his yard the size of bull elephants.
“I’m totally stumped…….”
“Why don’t you write a ghost story, Grandpa? Ghosts always interest people.”
“Nah, I’m not any good at writing ghost stories, Noah. Besides, that subject doesn’t interest me much either.”
“Then why don’t you write a story about when you were growing up on the farm, Grandpa. I love listening to those tales when you tell them to me in the evenings!”
“Thanks, Noah, but this has to be a fiction story. It’s gotta be something I made up in my head and it can’t be true. It can’t be something that actually happened during my lifetime.”
“Fiction, huh? I don’t know about that, Grandpa. Why don’t you write a mystery story then? People like to read those, too. At least my mom surely does!”
“A mystery story in five hundred words?? I don’t think I have enough space to do justice to your idea, Noah. But I must admit it was a good thought……”
“Why does it need to be five hundred words, Grandpa? Why don’t you just write as much as you want?”
“Because the cover to my book says it’ll include 13.5 short stories, therefore the last one has to be kind of a pygmy runt hybrid, if you will. The piece doesn’t have to be exactly five hundred words, mind you, but it does have to be a condensed version of the real thing and not drag on forever.”
The boy turned away in resignation.
“I give up, Grandpa. Write whatever you want.”
But in the next instant his face exploded in exuberance and his head suddenly swiveled back in the direction of the grimacing old man.
“I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you write a story about animals? Or a sad story that makes people cry? Or better yet—BOTH!!”
The boy stared at his grandfather with gushing admiration.
“You can do it, Grandpa…..I KNOW YOU CAN!!!”
And as the old man smiled back with unfettered pride at his grandson, a tiny light flickered on in the creative hinterlands of his brain and he bent over and began typing frantically on his trusty laptop:
There once lived a mighty squirrel named Roscoe…….
Roscoe lived in a nest high up in a leviathan oak tree in Rochester, Minnesota with his wife Wanda and their three small babies. Their home tree canopied a busy city street rife with four-wheel traffic. Roscoe constantly admonished his young children, “When you grow up to be big squirrels, Kids, always make sure you are careful to check for traffic when crossing that wide busy street below!!”
He would castigate them unceasingly on the topic, and then make them back up their words by formally promising him they would be careful every single time they crossed the frenetic street.
One day in late autumn–with a long, brutally cold winter staring him and his family squarely in the face–Roscoe was outside gathering some last minute acorns to tide his family over for the savage, northern-latitude mean season that he could feel in his bones was inexorably approaching. Roscoe was a perpetually careful squirrel, but on this day he was running a little bit behind and was in a big hurry to get back up into his nice warm nest so he could be with his treasured family.
First he had to cross that aforementioned busy city street, though, and as he reached the lip of its boulevard he remembered to dutifully check for onrushing traffic like he unfailingly scolded his children to always do. However, since almost all of the street traffic came from the high school side to his left, he surveyed conscientiously in that vicinity–but in his haste neglected to look in the other direction as well.
The bushytailed varmint realized his oversight too late, when he was already beneath the chassis of an onrushing vehicle being driven by a reckless teenager who was late returning to school from lunch break.
Roscoe had to make a split-second decision at that juncture whether to freeze exactly where he was on the blacktop street……or attempt a mad dash to freedom between the mesmerizing, furiously whirling tires on both sides of him. Inasmuch as he had never been in a similar situation before, Roscoe panicked and decided to make a determined sprint for freedom. Unfortunately for our furry hero……it turned out to be the wrong decision on this fateful day…….
Terribly wrong…..…
Up in the nest—several hours later–the three young squirrels were growing dreadfully hungry. The first one spoke up and pleaded with his mommy, “I’m growing awfully hungry, Momma! Where do you suppose Daddy is?”
And his mother responded, “Daddy is the most careful squirrel I have ever known in my whole life, and he would never take any risks that might jeopardize your livelihood. You three babies are the most important things in the world to him by far. I know he’ll be along soon with something to eat for us.…..”
Just a few minutes later, the second young squirrel spoke up, imploring his mother, “I feel like I’m ready to starve, Mommy!! Are you sure Daddy we will be along soon with some food for us?!”
And his mother replied, “Absolutely!!!! Your daddy is the most careful, conscientious squirrel I have ever met in my life, and that is one of the primary reasons I agreed to marry him. I KNOW he would never take any risks that might jeopardize the futures of you three little squirts. He’ll be along in a few minutes; you just wait and see!”
Fifteen minutes elapsed, and the sun–thoroughly exhausted from having been asked to heat a busy planet for an entire day–was starting to seek nocturnal refuge beyond the western horizon where it could repose and grab a few hours of uninterrupted slumber itself before dawn came calling. The third and final little squirrel finally broke the gloomy silence in the gathering darkness, bashfully speaking up in a timid voice.
“I know you said Daddy was the most careful squirrel in the whole world and would never do anything to risk our lives, Mommy, but don’t you think we should do something? Shouldn’t we go look for him at least? I’m worried sick about Daddy. He should have been home hours ago!!!”
“Absolutely not!!! Your father gave us firm instructions that we weren’t supposed to go anywhere without his permission!! Have you already forgotten that fact, Young Ones?! Daddy said before he left that he would return safely with some food for all of us, and when was the last time your brave father didn’t back up his word?!”
The bushytailed matriarch’s brusque tone reflected no small degree of impatience with her pleading offspring.
“So shush now, young ones!!! I know you’re all getting frightfully hungry, but we’ll just wait patiently for Daddy to come home and I promise you this one thing and I’ll go so far as to stake my very life on it too: Your daddy WILL be along shortly with our supper, and then we can all kick back and feast on whatever good things he’s found for us down on the ground today!”
And the young squirrels, sensing their mother’s resolute certitude, fell silent and sat motionless in the chilly darkness.
Down at the base of the huge tree–nursing a badly broken hind leg that made climbing impossible–Roscoe sat dejectedly, waiting for help he knew in his heart would never arrive. He had taught his dependents well: To follow orders–to blindly follow any and ALL orders he issued–and he knew with no small element of pride that his edict had taken firm, intractable root. His family would never leave their nest in search of him; he was, consequently, wholly on his own…….
Just fifty yards away the neighborhood German Shepherd–turned outside temporarily by his owner to take an evening piss and to do a bit of benign exploring–took notice of a forlorn squirrel huddled at the base of the towering sentinel tree which commanded the boulevard and its adjoining street, the same tree the big dog favored to relieve his bladder upon each and every night. He had witnessed this same confident squirrel countless times in the past, and had built up a grudging admiration over time for the small mammal’s uber-carefulness in avoiding all hazards, including himself.
But now, as the giant dog warily approached his favorite tree and, right next to it, the stricken squirrel–and noted with incredulity the nimble tree-jumper didn’t begin shimmying up the giraffine oak and then automatically rotate around to the back side of it so as to be out of sight–he excitedly sensed an opportunity that had never existed in the past.
And–being the cold-blooded predator he ancestrally was, an animal that followed his ancient DNA instructions to a tee—the jumbo-sized dog began salivating and instinctively accelerated his pace in the direction of the leafy pillar and the tiny injured creature that was huddled beneath it……
Now, to my undiscerning readers who are taking this all in for the first time, there exists among the mammal community a unique language understood by all mammals, from the dinkiest shrew to the most Brobdingnagian elephant–Mammalese. Yes, Mammalese, a word constructed of three syllables and pronounced just the way it looks.
In any case, as our diabolical German Shepherd descended upon the hapless Roscoe, he decided to first have a little fun and converse with the sad stricken squirrel in Mammalese. Thus he pulled up just short of the oak, looked our little tree-dweller straight in the eye, and imperiously demanded, “Give me just one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you on the spot, Fair Squirrel!”
Roscoe squirmed and his voice quivered as he replied, “Because, Mr. Dog, my family is waiting for my return high up in this tree and they can’t possibly survive without me. Surely you can show an injured co-creature a bit of compassion tonight!!”
The canine assailant grinned broadly at our cowering squirrel.
“Am I then supposed to feel sorry for you now, you cocky little bastard? All those times you went dashing before me and then went scurrying up this tree just before I could sink my teeth into your muscular back……you were pretty conceited and full of yourself then, weren’t you? Now where has all that hubris and bravado gone? HUH?!?! TELL ME, YOU ASSHOLE SQUIRREL?!?!?!”
He stopped talking just long enough to snicker a sarcastic doggy laugh.
“You used to think you were King Shit and would snigger in my face every opportunity you got……and now tonight you sit before me as nothing more than a pathetic, quivering little coward seeking sanctuary at the base of this here oak tree!! Why, you ain’t even worth the brief amount of time I’ll invest into putting you out of your misery once and for all!!”
The proud squirrel raised himself up on his haunches as straight as his broken back leg would allow.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid to fight you, Mr. Dog, but you must understand my family needs me, needs me badly, up in this tree right now. They can’t possibly survive without my assistance!!! NO LIE!!!!! Don’t you have any compassion in your heart, Noble Sir?
Any at all???”
He stopped talking just long enough to enable the ensuing pause to become pregnant.
“If you ever fathered any little dogs, Big Friend, would you want some monstrous bully to come along and kill you before you even had an opportunity to raise them up to the point where they could survive on their own? That’s all I’m asking from you tonight, Sir—just a little empathy and compassion!!!”
“Well, boo hoo hoo and go buy me a big box of Kleenex too!!!!! A ‘monstrous bully’, am I now??”
The slobbering canine stopped talking for but a moment, just enough time to issue another sardonic doggy snigger.
“I’m about ready to start crying over your miserable plight, Dear Friend! Such a sad, tear-jerking story it was…….and so well told by you, too, you little bushytailed Shakespeare!! I just loved the solemn tone you adopted at the end of your soliloquy for dramatic effect!!!”
“In fact, it almost registered emotionally with me………..ALMOOOOOOOOOOOOST………..”
This descendant of primeval wolves thereupon moved a step closer to Roscoe and his voice dropped an octave lower. Whereas just minutes before he sounded pompous and maaaaaybe open to some sort of compromise, he now sounded just plain scary and resolute.
“But you wanna know the honest-to-God truth? I don’t personally give a shit about this woeful predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, Runty Squirrel! If you had just taken the time to be more careful in crossing the street over there, Pathetic Little Friend, you never would have gotten your ass end smashed to pieces in the first place!”
The big dog was now leering with unrestrained delight.
“But the information you just furnished will prove inordinately valuable to me down the road. Cuz ya know what I aim to do now? Huh??? HUH?!?!?!?!”
His opprobrious grin was altogether obnoxious and insufferable to anyone facing the misfortune of having to witness it up close.
“You see, I aim to park my ass right here at the base of this tree whenever I’m let outside and just wait for your young’uns who are starving up in that nest to start wandering down looking for food. And there’ll be plenty of food available alright……plenty of food for ME, that is!!!!!”
The German Shepherd interrupted his menacing monologue for a split second to laugh detestably once more at his perceived humor.
“No, I’ll gobble all those little bushytailed bastards down before they even have a chance to squeal for help!”
The evil cur stopped talking then for an instant to reflect; a sinister, scelerous expression was plastered all across his smirking face. When he did resume his rambling shortly thereafter, a striking new dimension of enthusiasm tinged with urgency was carved into his voice.
“Come to think of it–I can do much better than that even!! I’m gonna torture them–one by one by one–really torture ’em bad and for as long as possible!!!…….before making tasty squirrel hoeur d’ourves out of the entire lot of your offspring.”
The oversized pooch was now leering officiously as never before.
“And do you know what, Dear Squirrel Friend? Do you know what…….???
There ain’t a damned thing you can do to protect your family as any CAREFUL, self-respecting father should…..because you’ll already be dead and long since passed out of my stinky asshole before this whole delicious smorgasbord unfolds before me on the very ground where we now stand!!”
The small helpless squirrel was seething by this point. He knew what the hulking dog said was inherently true…..but there still must be SOMETHING he could do to save his beloved offspring from the upcoming violent, unspeakably grisly holocaust.
But WHAT?!?!?!
Our protagonist frantically scoured his brain for available options……..
And found nothing……
NOTHING, I TELL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Roscoe could never remember feeling this angry before in his redoubtable lifetime, yet the adversary standing before him had never been so formidable and behemoth either. He sighed a big sigh of despair, offered an abbreviated prayer in the hope of a last-second miracle from the almighty god of squirrels, and resigned himself to the inevitable.
The grinning dog swiftly closed the final gap separating our two soon-to-be combatants…….
The proud daddy squirrel–who had been watching the oversized predator closely since the moment the mean-spirited animal clamored out of the nearby house–braced himself to face his fiercely growling assailant; he bared his sharp teeth, and slashed with his razor-sharp claws, and fought more gallantly than any squirrel had ever come close to fighting before him……yet no squirrel—regardless of how personally committed they are to their family–is any match for a hungry, vicious German Shepherd, and of course poor Roscoe was further fatally handicapped in securing the crucial traction he needed against the ground by his mutilated back leg.
As they heard this terrible, unexplained screaming and wailing tempest carrying on at the very base of their home tree, the three young squirrels eyed their disapproving mother without uttering a word. She took notice of their fleeting glances and muttered determinedly in a voice scarcely loud enough for them to hear, “Your daddy will be home any minute, kids! Whatever else you do—DO NOT EVER LOSE FAITH IN YOUR FATHER!!!!! He promised us he would return shortly, and he is the most careful and responsible squirrel I have ever met in my lifetime; he loves you three babies more than anything else in this world, and I swear to you that he would never do anything to jeopardize your futures—ANYTHING, I GUARANTEE YOU……!!!!!”
The boy looked up from his I-Pod Touch and yawned. “Are you finally done with that story, Grandpa? I wanna go outside now and play in the snow!”
The old man blushed involuntarily.
“Yeah, yeah, I just finished the damned thing, Noah. It ran a little over five hundred words though…….”
He glanced up from his laptop.
“D’ya suppose I can still put it at the end of my book and label it a half story though?”
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