Six Impossible Things
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About this ebook
A new father is visited by his childhood imaginary friend. A woman falls in love with a cartoon character. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse show up at a big-box retail chain. Sometimes humorous, often poignant, and always memorable, the six short stories in this collection may just make you believe impossible things.
Renee Carter Hall
Renee Carter Hall writes fantasy and soft science fiction, with excursions into dark fantasy, poetry, and stories for children and teens. Talking animals slip into her stories whenever they get a chance, and her work has been influenced by storytellers from a range of media, including Steven Spielberg, Ray Bradbury, and Jim Henson. Her short stories have appeared in numerous print, electronic, and audio publications, and her most recent book, the anthropomorphic fantasy Huntress, received the 2014 Cóyotl Award for Best Novella.Renee lives in West Virginia with her husband, their cat, and more books than she will ever have time to read. She can be found online at www.reneecarterhall.com and on Twitter as @RCarterHall.
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Six Impossible Things - Renee Carter Hall
Six Impossible Things
short stories
by Renee Carter Hall
Copyright 2012 Renee Carter Hall
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
***
Alice laughed. There's no use trying,
she said: one can't believe impossible things.
I daresay you haven't had much practice,
said the Queen. When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
--Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
***
Table of Contents
Childish Things
Moon, June, Raccoon
Norma the Wal-Mart Greeter Meets the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Swear Not By the Moon
Drawn From Memory
The Garden
About the Author
***
Childish Things
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
--1 Corinthians 13:11 (KJV)
When I became a man, I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.
--C. S. Lewis, On Three Ways of Writing for Children
David sat in the hospital cafeteria, sipping coffee that had gone cold half an hour before. It didn't matter; he wasn't thirsty, wasn't hungry. He felt rather like the corridors around him: white and blank and cold.
He twisted his wedding band around and around on his finger. It was a little loose; he supposed that meant he'd lost weight, and any other time he would have been glad. Instead, all he could think about was how this same gold ring had encircled his newborn daughter's entire arm. How her tiny red body, delicate and fragile as a butterfly's wing, bristled with needles and tubes hooked to monitors and machines he couldn't even name, let alone understand.
Some things, he thought idly, are good when they come early. Repairmen, for instance. Spring after a hard winter. A raise, a promotion. But not a child, not a baby who still needed two and a half months before she would have been ready for the world that now pressed so heavily upon her.
He wanted to be upstairs with Amy, in the NICU--neonatal intensive care unit, a name far bigger than its occupants--but she had made it clear that he needed to eat something, especially since they were going to be here all night. So he'd come down here with the idea of obeying, because she was right, of course, in the way she always was, the way that saw to the heart of things, to the heart of him--but he'd looked at plastic-wrapped turkey sandwiches and wilting Caesar salads and cups of layered Jell-O, and nothing had looked good. Nothing had even looked real. He wanted...
He wanted to be home, all three of them home where they belonged. He wanted to watch Amy nurse Caitlyn, wanted to rock his daughter in the chair he'd refinished just a few weeks before, wanted to put her to bed first in the frilly bassinet, then later, when she was bigger, in the white crib with the plush mobile of moons and stars hanging over it. He wanted to watch her sleep, without the discordant electronic lullaby of the monitors and pumps and respirator all keeping mechanical time.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. The doctor was coming by in an hour and a half, and then the longest night of their lives--all their lives--would start. They had agreed that turning off the respirator was the best thing to do, the only thing to do.
She would breathe on her own, through the night, through every night afterward.
Or...
Or, she wouldn't. It was that simple.
Hell would not be red with fire, David decided on his way back to the NICU. It would be white, and sterile, and cold. It wasn't about being tortured yourself; it was having to watch the pain of someone you loved more than your own soul. And being utterly helpless to do anything about it.
***
And then the elevator stopped.
He was, of course, alone. He swore and jammed the red emergency button. Silence.
He leaned back against the wall and closed