He has a heart of molasses.
He has a soul of honey comb filled with nectar.
If you will permit/forgive me a moment of blatant self-promotion I recently had a 1000-word story published at EveryDayFiction. It has done exceptionally well in the reviews and ratings. If you have a moment, I invite you to take a look. Jeff
It is a fine piece of fiction.
Congratulations Jeff – great piece and such encouragement to keep on keeping on for writers.
I Read this in bed the other morning on my IPad lying in my morning bed. Gotta read that to Cindy I think. So here we sat tonight, sobbing as I try to finish the last few lines. A powerful piece of emotion reduced to fewer than 1000 words.
Thank you Master
Hi Gale: well I’ve been called a lot of things in my life but “master” is a first. 🙂 Thank you. Your comments mean a lot. I hope you and anyone else reading it will take the time to comment and vote on the story if you see fit. It is a public site. Jeff
Shoot, Jeff. You are sooo good. i love reading your work.
Thank you Gullie 🙂
Thanks for letting us know, Jeff. It’s ALWAYS fine to toot your horn here. After all, we like to read good fiction!
“Hello, John. Have a seat. No, no. No need to get on the examining table. Over there in the chair will be fine. Thanks for coming in so soon after my call. I got your test results back and wanted to talk with you.”
“Okay, Dr. Franzin. Uh, is it bad news?”
“Take it easy, John. We’ll just go through this a bit at a time. Let’s see…. Yes, here it is. Okay, looks like your cholesterol is a tad high. Actually, it’s quite high. We’ll have to address that, but let’s continue with these results.”
“Now, John, your sugar levels are way out of whack. Does diabetes run in your family?”
“Um, no, not that I know of. But…”
“I think we can correct that situation with a change of diet. Now, it appears from your CT and MRI that you’ve had a transient ischemic attack. Do you know what that is, John?”
“I… I’m not really sure.”
“Yes, transient ischemic attack, or TIA for short. It’s called a mini-stroke by laymen. Means a little blood vessel has burst in your brain.”
“What??!! I had a stroke? But….”
“Now, now, take it easy. People have them all the time and most go unnoticed. Your neuropsych results show no cognitive impairment, so that’s good.”
“But…will I have another?”
“Could be, John, could be. Are you on a low-aspirin regimen?”
“No, no, but….”
“Well, that’s one thing that will help. A blood thinner will also. I’m quite concerned about how thick your blood is. Your stress test on the treadmill wasn’t too good, was it, John?”
“No, but I….”
“Okay, so that about sums it up. Your cholesterol is too high, your sugar is totally off the charts, and your blood is way too thick. Now, where’s my prescription pad….”
“But, Doc, I can’t…”
“Sure you can, John. I treat patients like you all the time. A couple prescriptions, some exercise, and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
“But, Doc. How can I….?”
“How can you what?”
“Take the medicine?”
“Just like normal, John. These aren’t horse pills. They’re little pills that are coated for easy swallowing. John, I’m serious. You have to do something about your blood or you’ll have a full-blown stroke that will leave you impaired if it doesn’t kill you. The blood pumping through your heart is like molasses.”
“But, Doc, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Of course my blood is like molasses. I’m a molasses cookie. Can’t you tell by my sugar coating?”
A shaggy dog bites again!
Isn’t that the way. The doctors never let you get a word in edgewise.
Now I want a cookie.
My love. He has a heart of molasses. Sweet but safe, my ultimate indulgence. I watch him as he putters about in the yard. His movements still graceful. His smile spontaneous. His trust, unswerving. I approach him with a cold drink for each of us, and as he did on our first date, so many years ago, he tips his glass to mine and says, “To us.” He grasps my free hand and walks me to a new discovery in his garden. I wrap an arm around his waist and tell him it’s beautiful. We stand, lost together for a moment of time, no further words are necessary. Then we go about our separate ways. Until next time.
What a lovely image of devotion.
I think I’m missing something here. “Until next time.” ???? He’s clearly not a dog. A lover who doesn’t hang around much?
Simply a mature couple enjoying a moment in the yard together then going about their ways doing their individual things until they are once again drawn together.
Yep. Otherwise, they wind up yelling at one another over politics, dirty socks, or how loud the TV should be.
You are the sentimentalist!
🙂 Thanks. I’m here all week.
“To say that Nicholas could love anything would be dangerously predictive. He certainly has a desire for many things. He wants them all. Although, his toys, games, and friends are all temporary in his mind. Grounding him from any of these means little to this child. ‘No attachment necessary’ might be the term you could apply to him.” Dr. Larabie put the tablet down with the image of a brown, curly-headed and frowning Nicholas looking up at the camera.
Nancy Splayer fingered the tablet screen and turned it toward her and her husband. Her blond locks cradled her face and bounced with each word. “Dr. Larabie, this IS the child we want to adopt.” A clicking sound in the ventilation dominated the room.
“Mr. Splayer, this is not some ‘Annie’ or ‘Oliver Twist’ we are talking about here.” He plead with his eyes to the husband’s stoic, stony face. “I want you to reconsider this. Any other child in this home would fit nicely placed with you. Nicholas has been rejected from all of his previous foster homes. Maybe, you should consider fostering this boy for a while before adoption.” Dr. Larabie’s voice trailed up in the plea.
Nancy placed a manila folder on the table. “Doctor, we have the papers already drawn up. We only need the signature of the director of the home to complete them.” She unfolded it to reveal the adoption papers and a single picture of Nicholas. “The judge will be able to sign today as well.”
“Nancy,” Dr. Larabie reached a withered hand toward hers and held it. “I have never, in my 40 years of practice, recommended a willing, able, and loving family to NOT adopt a child. I only implore you to reconsider this decision. He is a child with a black-heart, aged through the system of unfortunate events and circumstances. He is best handled through ‘Our System’ to assimilate him for society.”
Nancy placed her other hand on top of the doctor’s with a slow, firm grip. “Dr. Larabie, are you aware of the process of sugar extraction?”
A confused look ran across the doctor’s face.
Nancy continued, “The sugar cane is harvested from a field, many times at a premature age. The sucrose or sugar is extracted by boiling the cane down and placing it into a centrifuge. What is left, after extracting the sugar, is a slightly brown syrup. You can buy that on the shelf, it is referred to as ‘First Molasses.'”
She paused to look at the child and back to the doctor. “The ‘First Molasses’ has little taste but contains additional sucrose. Boiling and spinning it again the molasses gets darker and more concentrated. After a third time of spinning and boiling, the molasses has a high concentration of nutrients, without much sugar, and a very dark color.”
“Nancy…” The doctor started.
She continued to grip the doctor’s hand and interrupted the doctor. “During that process, the boiling cooks the sugar. If you process the molasses any more it will burn the nutrients of the cane in sacrifice of the sugar.” She squeezed the doctor’s hand, the tips of his fingers darkened. “Your ‘System’ has brought this boy’s heart to a third molasses, dark and not very sweet. Do not sacrifice the nutrient of his heart so that you can squeeze the sugar out of it.”
A curious and interesting take on the prompt!
I might change my name to “Left Field Ward.” That seems to be where most of my stories are coming from lately.
Write it and they will come. 🙂
… with sticks and junk.
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by Ann Linquist
Available in paperback or on Kindle