Anthony Trask » Short Story

If Only (Jack and His Flower)

Anthony — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 06:54:18 +0000

There was once a man named Jack. Jack lived in a garden filled with vegetation. Each of the millions of people who lived in the garden were assigned a plant to watch over and care for. Everyone loved their plant, whether it was a tree, a bush, a blade of grass, or a vegetable. But the thing they all admired the most were flowers.

Jack was special. It was Jack’s job to watch over and care for the most magnificent plant in the entire garden. His plant was an enormous flower that could be seen from miles away. Most people say that the flower didn’t even exist until Jack was born- like it was made for him. The flower was made up of a rainbow of bold and brilliant colors. It had the most beautiful aroma anyone had ever smelled. The flower’s roots were so deep that it drank from an abundant supply of water from an underground stream-Jack didn’t even have to water it. It was placed in the garden in such a position that it received the perfect amount of sunlight and the perfect amount of shade, and even stayed in full bloom all year long. The flower was so magnificent that it even glowed in the dark on nights when the moon was out in its splendor.

Everyone in the garden would have done just about anything to tend to this flower. Even though they loved their plants, they would be lying if they said they never secretly dreamed about just watching Jack’s flower for hours. All Jack needed in life to be abundantly happy was to just sit and be with the flower and enjoy its multifaceted beauty. And all the flower needed from Jack was for him to take pleasure in being with her.

The flower burst forth offspring in the fertile ground around Jack’s corner of the garden. The amount of beauty and perfection that had been planted all around him was unfathomable. Jack’s life was basically perfect. He had been given a family- the most beautiful family he could have ever imagined. Life should have been good- very good.

But Jack had something in his heart that told him that he deserved better; that he needed more than just the most beautiful flower on earth and her offspring. He loved the flower and had no desire to tend to any other plants, but he began to spend less and time with his flower family in pursuit of something more fulfilling than what he had been given.

He poured his energy into tending fertile soil that had not yet been seeded. He worked vigorously rerouting streams and rivers to portions of the garden that had no need for irrigation. He began to write books about how to tend a flower. He scheduled as many meetings as he could with other gardeners to tell them about how good he was at tending flowers and how hard of a worker he was. He even ran for the position of head gardener and won.

Yes! Jack was busy! Jack was feeling quite good about himself. After all, he had won the respect of everyone in the garden- all because of his hard work- or so he thought. You see, people looked up to Jack, not because he was a hard worker or a phenomenal gardner, but because he had the most beautiful flower in the garden. And the more and more busy Jack become, the more and more recognition he gained, and the more and more his ego grew; the more and more his flower began to wither and die along with all of her offspring.

Jack saw the poor condition of his flower and her offspring. Day after day he looked at it as he left his portion of the garden for his busy work. But Jack didn’t have time to tend to them! He was a busy man and people needed him! His flower and her offspring would be fine- after all, they had Jack as their gardner.

One day, a trusted friend of Jack was walking by his portion of the garden when he noticed that Jack’s flower wasn’t so beautiful anymore. She was nearly withered to the point of death. Her offspring were suffering as well; their once vibrant petals littering the now dry soil at the base of their stems. Jack’s friend ran to warn him, but Jack didn’t care- he shrugged it off and blamed their condition on his flower’s unstable emotions.

Jack’s friend began to tell others about his flower, and Jack began to lose all the respect that he once had. Jack started to realize that his notoriety was based, not on his hard work, but on his beautiful flower. When Jack realized that, and how he had horribly neglected them, he ran back to his portion of the garden to take pleasure in his beautiful flower and her offspring in order to rejuvenate their health, restore their symbiotic relationship, and bring back his respect amongst the other gardeners.

But when Jack arrived, it was too late. His beautiful magical flower lay limp on the ground, and her offspring all bowed down dead on the ground facing towards their mother. Jack wept aloud and wished that he only would have seen how perfect his life was! If only he has paid attention to the one thing that was supposed to be the object of his affection. If only he wouldn’t have tried to pursue so many other things that he now finds meaningless…if only.

Standing On One Leg ( I have no idea where this came from- hope you enjoy)

Anthony — Fri, 21 May 2010 16:07:04 +0000

It was a man’s lifelong ambition to be able to stand on one leg for 48 hours straight. In order to draw attention to himself he did it at a park downtown. He picked a spot right in the middle of the park’s major thoroughfare and lifted his leg to begin his 48 hour exercise.

Several hours into it some small children playing ball ran in circles all around him- having so much fun that they didn’t even notice that he was there. As one passed the ball to another, the ball hit the man in the head, almost knocking him over. The man was furious and scolded the children for not paying attention to him. They ran away terrified.

A few hours later, a time of day when the park was rather empty, an elderly man who was walking nearby tripped and fell and could not get back up. The man standing on one leg yelled over to him that someone should be along soon who could help and shifted his focus back to his balance.

A whole day passed, many distractions came and went, but the man stood firm. He was approaching his 40th hour when a blind woman with a white cane entered the park. She felt along the sidewalk with her cane swaying back and forth along the ground. The man grumbled as she approached. As she got closer, the man yelled,” Watch out lady, there’s someone in front of you!” The woman, startled, swung her body around to try to deduct with her ears where the yell came from. As she did her cane swung quickly toward the man; hitting him right on the shin of his planted leg. The cane packed just enough force to knock the man to the ground because his one leg was so weak.

As he lay on his back looking up at the frightened blind woman he cursed at her and mourned the fact that he had came so close to his dreams only to see them shattered towards the finish line.

The woman reached down and grabbed the man by his hand, almost as if she could see exactly where it was, and pulled him up from the ground with amazing strength. The man looked up, perplexed, and as he looked at the blind woman, all he could see was what appeared to be the face of Jesus.

He looked around him while being lifted up. It was as if time nearly slowed to a stop. He became accutely aware of a robin feeding her young a freshly caught worm.

His eyes were drawn to a mother reading to her son on a park bench accross the lawn.

His attention shifted to a young man pushing his quadriplegic friend down the path by the pond; both with smiles on their faces as they strolled along.

The sound of a honey bee caught his attention. He watched it dilligently carrying a large load of pollen from one flower to the next. He saw rays of sunshine gently beat down upon the fragile flower the bee had flown from. It was as if the flower opened up its petals and recieved them with joy and thanksgiving.

While taking in the enchantment of the world all around, time shifted to its normal speed and he heard a loud booming voice say to him,” THIS is not about YOU.” The warm embrace from the hand of the blind woman disintegrated into thin air. As he looked around, she was nowhere to be found.

A tear ran down the man’s face as he began to see the purpose of this life unfold around him. It wasn’t about his selfish personal endeavors; it was about others. He felt the satisfaction of the robin, the mother, the young man, the bee, and the sun, swell up within his heart; not because they had accomplished something for themselves, but because they had accomplished something for someone else. “That”, the man said,” is true satisfaction and joy.”

He stretched his legs, looked around, and sprinted out of the park to spend the rest of his day with his father who lay fragiley close to death in the bed of a nursing home.

The Father, The Daughter, and the Young Man

Anthony — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 06:01:03 +0000

A good and loving father deeply cared for his beautiful daughter. He brought her up in the way she should go. He adorned her with gifts and graces that he took pleasure in bestowing upon her. He taught her to love God and others, and to see herself with a high level of respect. The daughter meant the world to the father and he only wanted what was best for her.

One day a young man came to he father’s house to see the daughter. The young man honked his horn to alert the daughter that he had arrived and waited impatiently for her to come out of the house. The father exited the house to see what was happening and there he met the young man for the first time.

When the father realized that the young man was there to pick his daughter up for a date, he asked the young man what his intentions were. The young man replied to the father that he would be taking the daughter out to a cheap dinner, taking her to see a second-run movie, and then hoping to get “some tail” in the backseat of his car before he dropped her off at home. He expressed his desire that the dinners and movies would eventually be phased out and that he could skip right to the “tail” whenever he spent time with the daughter.

“If I’m lucky”, said the young man, ” I’ll convince your daughter to move in with me where she will cook for me, do my laundry, clean my house, give me some tail whenever I want, then let me go hang out with the boys whenever I feel like it.”

The father nodded his head and the young man continued. He expressed to the father that he would tell the daughter that he was just making sure that they were compatible with each other and once they were ready, then they would get married. He then let the father know that compatibility and preparedness weren’t his intentions at all- that he didn’t want to be tied down to just one woman. He wanted to keep the daughter around as long as possible, and if he was lucky have a few other girls on the side, because “after all”, said the young man, “why would I buy the cow when I can get the milk for free?”

As the daughter exited the house to leave with the young man, he leaned over to the father and said,” Girl better not get pregnant!” And as the daughter approached the car the young man quietly asked the father,” This cool wit-you”. The father shook his head in affirmation and a wink and said, ” Sure thing son! Sure thing!”

So my question is this: Young men, if this was your daughter, how would you react differently to the “young man”?

And if you have expectations for how “young men” should treat the daughter you have some day in a certain respectful way, then why not wake up and see the girls that you are dating today are somebody else’s daughter? Why not treat them like you want the young man to treat your daughter?

But I’m sure when you take them out, and when you ask them to move in with you, and when you tell them you love them right before you take advantage of them, that you have good intentions- right??

The Public Restroom Experience

Anthony — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 19:48:59 +0000

You can’t really control when it happens. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Public place or not. Nature calls. You have to go to the bathroom. It seems like it always happens when you go into a public place. Grocery stores, discount stores, clothing stores, book stores, etc…: potty has no preference. Although sometimes it seems to prefer Borders, Target, and Walmart. So, you have to answer it’s nagging call.

There you are; walking down that mysterious hallway with the employee of the month pictures, “I lost 40 pounds in one week” flyers, and multi-level marketing advertisements all around you. Once you reach the end of the hallway you have one last chance to back out of the journey you are about to embark on.The old and rusty monolith of a door now towers in front of you in all of it’s glory. You take the rusty old handle into your sweaty hands and realize that it’s trying to take you with it’s own. After pushing the skanky-old door open and freeing your hand from it’s handle’s greasy grip, you enter the place in which you will leave part of yourself.

Upon entering; a cloud of poisonous gas coming from the moaning homeless man in the handicapped stall overcomes you . In desperation you take one last deep breath as not to take in too much of the Taco Bell bi-product now circulating through the air.

You decide to take your first small step to get to the empty stall about six feet away from you. As you do so, you nearly fall on the cracked-tile floor beneath you because you’ve slipped in the large puddle of misplaced urine in the middle of the room. Regaining your balance, you proceed.

After hopping over several toilet paper and paper-towel land mines you make it to the stall. About this time you remember that you’ve been holding your breathe for quite a while and that you cannot hold it any longer. Just as you take a gasp of air your stall neighbor moans “oh yes” and loudly splashes his kids into the pool. The gas spewing from this catastrophe rushes into your inhaling lungs. Your eyes instantly begin to water and your nose hairs singe.

The urge to use the restroom becomes overwhelming. You decide to breathe normally despite the dangerous conditions. After all, there’s no evidence that hepatitis can spread through the air( is there? ). So, you reach for the hole in the door that used to be a lock to pull it open, but when your fingers enter this hole they stick to the moist gum recently put there. You free yourself and pull the door open by grabbing it’s top.

Once the door opens you notice that hieroglyphs of nudity, difficult sexual positions, and curse words adorn the walls. This disgusts you. Your eyes are then drawn to the clogged toilet and its repulsive contents. Wet toilet paper is wrapped around the toilet as if it was a birthday party streamer. A moan from next door makes you turn your head and notice that there is no toilet paper to wipe yourself. Everything is going wrong! Looking down and contemplating if you should stick around and wait for your pal “Mona” next door to finish; you notice one of the grossest things on this planet: a mustache ring of hair around the toilets rim. You decide to wait for the handicapped stall.

All of the sudden you hear one of the most lovely sounds you’ve heard in a long time. It’s the flush from next door. You patiently wait for “Mona” to exit his stall. The door opens and you make a mad dash for the premises. Unfortunately you and “Mona” must now cross paths. His hair is so soaked with sweat that it looks like he just got out of the shower. You try to avoid eye contact with your new roommate, but it’s inevitable. Just when you thought you were done with “Mona”, he turns and says “enjoy”. You try not to think about what he means by this and make your way towards the handicapped stall.

“Mona” has left the stall door open, so you make your way into the gas chamber. The odor is intoxicating. Every part of your body, mind, and spirit tells you to leave, but you’ve come too far to simply give up. After all, if you did leave you would surely soil yourself. You use your foot to pull the door closed and use your shirt tail like a glove to lock the door. The coast looks clear, so far.

Now that the door is closed and locked you take it all in. The handicapped stall is bigger than a New York City studio apartment. It lacks the disturbing hieroglyphs of it’s neighboring stall. This comforts you. The handicap handles lining the walls of the stall could be used for an Olympic gymnastics competition. You look down to the end of the stall and start your inspection of the toilet. From your vantage point it looks somewhat clean. There are no toilet paper streamers wrapped around it. From where you stand it doesn’t look clogged. You decide to move closer.

It was too good to be true. As you move closer you discover that “Mona” dropped one last kid off at the pool after flushing. His snake-like feces is curled up in the toilet as though it’s awaiting its charmer to play some strange Middle-Eastern flute and make it rise from its motionless state. You stand back and kick the flusher to rid your seat of its unwanted visitor. The power of the flush is so great that it splashes water and other unknown contents all over you. Your hands and face are spared, so you continue on your quest.

You reach for the toilet paper to wipe off the wet seat. As you start to pull it off the roller it begins to tear. These cheap stores always use single-ply toilet paper! This will be a huge problem when it’s time to do your business. So, there you are pulling out the toilet paper single-ply square by single-ply square. Once you have collected enough squares to safely wipe down the toilet seat, you notice your old friend from the previous stall: the mustache ring of hair.

What causes this?! Do people decide to give them selves a haircut while using a public restroom? Do they decide to shave their backs there? Is this some sort of perverted Chia Pet or can the toilet actually grow a mustache? Either way; it’s a mystery and it’s disgusting!

Once everything has been cleaned up you take a seat only to realize that the toilet must have some kind of cooling unit similar to the stone they use at that ice cream place to mix several ice creams together. You’ve come this far: you can handle it.

After a short time passes and you have already read every word off of the toilet paper roller like a book; you decide that you’re done. You start the process of pulling toilet paper squares off one at a time like you are playing “she loves me, she loves me not” with a daisy and then reach down to wipe and you suddenly realize that the water line of the toilet is only about one inch below the rim and you completely submerge your hand! You must now use the small pieces of toilet paper to dry your tainted hand and then use your bad hand to do the rest of the wiping all while being sure not to touch yourself with the now contaminated hand.

You then must hurry and finish so you can thoroughly decontaminate your hand in the sink. So you quickly pull up your pants only to realize that they are wet from the urine soaked floor! Great! So you pull back down your pants and put a few toilet paper squares between your bare (and cold) butt and your clothing as to not get too wet.

After flushing the toilet with your foot, you start to realize that the toilet is quickly clogging and what you have just done will soon be floating out the door and towards the store’s concession stand. So you button your pants and run to the sink while the toilet slowly begins to overflow.

Crap! There’s no handle on the hot water part of the facet so you reach and turn on the cold water and it comes out only a few drips at a time…NO! You push the soap dispenser only to here it make a fart-like noise and nothing comes out. With a few sweeps of your hand under the dripping cold water you realize that the toilets contents are getting closer and closer and for some reason the toilet that you just used won’t stop flushing!

You think to yourself,” Few, only one more thing to do: dry my hands!” But you notice that this facility chooses not to honor their customers with paper towels and only has one of those things that you can pull down a piece of towel-like fabric from and the dirty part that you just used goes back up into the unit only to be used again! Sick!

What now? You notice they have a hand drier and you know that hand driers never work unless you are willing to keep your hands vigorously rubbing together underneath them for 25 minutes. You know that you don’t have that kind of time now because of the toilets contents slowly making their way towards you. Hand drying is skipped altogether and you run out of the bathroom just as the flash flood makes it’s way out the bathroom door.You now have post traumatic stress disorder and are unable to shop at the store and purchase the toilet paper that you came here to get in the first place! As you walk out of the store an elderly “security guard” in a wheelchair shouts,” thanks for shopping at insert store name here. At the sound of his voice you begin to weep because of the trauma that you had just gone through and you swear to yourself that you will never use their bathrooms again……..but……you know you will.