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Read Your Free Short Story from Oops! Advent 14

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Read Your Free Short Story from Oops! Tales of the Zombie Turkey Apocalypse (Click to get yours). – Happy 14th day of Advent! Enjoy my story, “In A Pickle”.

P.S. I give away free books for any reviews on this book. Just click here and send me a link to your review.

You don’t want to read your free short story? Enjoy this performance of “In A Pickle” on Youtube:

Read Your Free Short Story “In A Pickle”

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Now, what was he going to do? His boss just told him to double the productivity of Vegan Inc’s pickle strain they used for their Kilwowski Pickle brand. That was completely impossible.

But keeping his job required it. Bryce was the low man on the genetic engineering totem pole at Vegan Inc., the last one hired and the first one to be fired if another recession hit.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t face this. So he cruised the internet.

“The origin of Zombie turkeys? I didn’t know they’d found that. Hmm, a Midley Beacon exclusive, the foremost zombie news source,” he
read to himself.

Zombie turkeys had ravaged Illinois and the US at Thanksgiving. Thankfully they hadn’t hit near Terre Haute where he lived. He skimmed the article rapidly. Corn All, one of their agribusiness rivals, had genetically modified their corn to fight off corn disease. The genetic modification would adapt to the disease at a cellular level, and neutralize it by copying the DNA from the disease organism, whether fungal or bacteria.

Part 2

When wild turkeys ate the corn, it modified the E Coli in their gut, creating the zombie turkey bacteria, e coli gallopavo. That got into the turkeys’ bloodstream and made them zombies, able to regenerate any
lost or damaged body part, even bringing turkeys back from the dead.

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What caught his eye was the reproduction rate: zombie cells reproduced every twenty minutes. Could that work for pickles? Why not try?

He read the article more carefully and found it sourced from a Dr. Edwin Galloway of the Northwestern Poultry Institute. He followed the link to Dr. Galloway’s original paper.

There it was. The whole DNA sequence of Corn-All’s modification and the zombie turkey bacteria, e coli gallopavo. Now, he just needed to get a sample. Nothing like going to the source.

He called Dr. Galloway.

“Hello? Dr. Galloway? This is Brice Butterworth with Vegan Inc.”

“Hello, Mr. Butterworth. How can I help you?”

“I read your paper on E Coli Gallopavo, and I’d like to test it on various vegetables. Could I get a sample?”

“I can send you a sample, but the bacteria only affects turkeys, not plants.”

“But Corn-all used the sequence in corn.”

“Yes, but the zombie effect only showed up in turkeys. E Coli is an animal-specific bacteria.”

“No other animals?”

“We only tested turkeys, pigs, chickens, and cows.”

“I’ll test some other animals.”

“All right. I’ll send you some of the bacteria and some of the Corn-all corn. Let me know what you find out.”

“Will do. Make it a next day shipment. Vegan Inc will pay. We’re under a time crunch.”

“I’ll ship it today.”

“Thanks so much! This may help solve a problem for me.”

Read Your Free Short Story – Part 3

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“Great! Let me know your results. Be sure to give the Poultry Institute of Northwestern credit.”

“You’ve got it. Bye.”

Brice spent the rest of the day thinking about how to get the zombie growth bacteria to grow in the pickles. Maybe he could genetically engineer them so they appeared to be turkeys to the bacteria? That
would be a kind of chimera, a hybrid, between turkey and cucumber. He went out and bought a pair of live turkeys from eTurkey, the online turkey delivery service. They too would be delivered tomorrow.

He created his project plan. He’d try to insert turkey DNA into the cucumber genome and then infect it with the zombie turkey virus. That’d double the growth rate of cucumbers, easily!

The turkeys, bacteria, and corn arrived the next morning. First, he ensured the zombie bacteria worked. He injected the bacteria into the two birds and watched their eyes turn red. That was the first sign of
zombiism.

He had already moved them from standard chickenwire pens to the Zombie Turkey Farmers of America (ZTFA) approved steel cages. They couldn’t defeat the quarter-inch steel bars, but they kept trying.

They’d peck at them until they were bloody. Then they’d pause and heal and try again. So that’s what Dr. Galloway meant when he wrote that the zombie bacteria caused increased aggression.

Using the Vegan Inc. lab’s waldo, he extracted fresh blood from turkeys and separated out fresh E Coli Galipavo bacteria. The turkeys pecked at the mechanical hands, to no avail. He injected the ECG into living cucumbers at various stages of growth. No effect.

Part 4

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No surprise. Now for the second branch of his research. Even though a cucumbers DNA was far simpler than a human’s he had thousands of sites where he might splice it in. He picked the ten likeliest and planted twenty chimera seeds.

Only half even sprouted. He tested them with the ECG bacteria. Failure. He tried ten different DNA sites each day to make his ‘turkeycumber’ as he called the chimera. After a month of failure, he gave up. He had to try something else.

Scanning the internet for inspiration, Brice read the Midley Beacon again. The headline ‘Zombie Squirrel caught on video’ leapt out at him.

He read, “The hawk nabbed the squirrel, as hawks normally do, but in midair, the squirrel revived, ripped open the hawk’s belly, bit off its leg, and fell a hundred feet to the ground, where it scampered away unharmed. It was captured on drone video.”

That’s it! He’d try some other animals and see if they’d turn zombie. First, he made a squirrelcumber. No effect. Then a cowcumber. Failure. Then a deercumber. Nothing.

Another month down the drain. His boss, Wilma O’Reilly stopped by.

“Hi Brice, how’s it going?” That meant ‘had he doubled the cucumber growth rate yet.’

“Success is just around the corner,” he lied. He knew what to say to get her off his back.

“That’s great! So you’ll have this solved in another month?” That meant she didn’t believe his lie.

“Maybe a month and a half. Or two.” He had no clue when he’d solve it.

“Fantastic! That’s a commitment to have something by June, then. Right?”

“Uh, right.” She had him nailed to a wall. He had three months to solve this and he was no closer than when he started.

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“Wonderful. When you succeed, you’ll easily pay for the money you’ve spent on the research. Oh, and by the way. If you can’t solve this problem, we’ll have to let you go in the mid-year budget cuts. But I’m sure you’ll solve it.” She smiled brightly at him and walked away.

Ugh. Now what? His mind was blank. He filled it up with social media. A tweet on a hummingbird picture led him to an article about them. Fastest metabolism of all animals. Insectivores as well as herbivores.

Huh. They were like turkeys. They were like turkeys on speed!

Why not? Brice thought. What have I got to lose—besides my job? Could he buy hummingbirds on Amazon? Nope. Not legal, since they’re migratory birds. But he could become a hummingbird rehabber.
He already had a biology degree, as well as a masters in recombinant DNA.

Brice volunteered at the nearest bird rehab center. They were delighted to have him. He nursed several birds back to health, bound broken legs and wings. He also extracted some hummingbird blood and sequenced its genome.

Bryce brought one hummingbird back to the lab instead of releasing it to the wild. He fed it Corn-all GMO grain and studied its droppings for any E Coli. Yes! It produced the zombie bacteria too, just like turkeys.

He sprayed the zombie e coli (ZEC) at the bird. Soon its eyes turned red. It rammed the birdcage, faster and faster, bending the bars. It was a zombie.

Brice extracted its blood and put it in a cage of bulletproof glass. It settled down, slurping up the nectar from the feeder, eating twice as much as usual. Higher metabolism was another sign of zombiism.

Part 6

No time to waste. He had only one week left until June. Over the next two days, he spliced the zombie hummingbird DNA into the three hundred spots he’d found on the cucumbers DNA and planted them all.

Only one came up. He injected the hummingbird’s zombie bacteria into it. It began to grow even as he watched it, flowering. He hand pollinated it and by the time he left for home, he had twelve full-grown cucumbers. Success! Brice could hardly wait for the next day.

The cucumber plant filled the lab when he got in, covered with flowers. He pollinated hundreds of them.

Then Brice pickled his twelve cucumbers. Now they just had to pass the taste test. It’d be a week before they were ready.

Brice took the brine solution and sprayed his zombie hummingbird with it. As everyone knew, five months after the zombie turkey apocalypse, salt water was the most effective way of eliminating zombiism. He watched the bird until its red eyes turned to black. Then he let it go back to the wild.

“Thanks, little guy,” he murmured.

While he waited for the pickling to complete, he picked hundreds of cucumbers. He tested their seed to ensure the hummingcumber chimera bred true. It did. The second generation grew just as fast. The rest
of them he canned in brine.


The next Monday, Brice tasted the pickles. They were a beautiful light green on the inside. They tasted heavenly, better than any pickle he’d ever tasted before.

Brice called Wilma into the lab.

“Hi, Wilma. These are the results of my research.”

“Wow! What do you have, a hundred quarts of pickles? How long did that take?”

Read Your Free Short Story Part 7

“That’s a week’s growth, from one cucumber plant. I’ve got a couple more plants growing, but we need to transplant them to a field. We’ll have to harvest them daily.”

“How? I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“I made one difficult genetic modification. I made a chimera, combining a cucumber with a hummingbird. Then I infected it with the zombie bacteria.”

“That’s insane! What made you try that?”

“I wanted the cucumbers to grow as fast as the zombies do.”

“Brilliant. You’re promoted to a senior researcher, right now.”

Brice proudly watched the fields of zombie cucumbers grow and harvested daily all that summer. If left unharvested for a day, the cucumbers would turn iridescent green, like a ruby-throated hummingbird.

These colorful vegetables became even more popular than the plain zombie hummingbird pickles.

One morning, overlooking a beautiful field of jewel-like green, Brice noticed a waving motion. Walking into the field, he saw the cucumber wriggling on the ground. The wriggling became waving, and then
flapping. Each cucumber grew a pair of flapping iridescent emerald wings.

In one motion, the entire field of cucumbers rose in a sparkling green murmuration from the ground.

With his mouth agape, Brice watched the glittering vegetable cloud head south.

After it was out of sight, Brice looked around the bedraggled field. Not one opalescent pickle remained.

“Hi Wilma, I’ve got some bad news,” he said into his phone.

“What’s that Brice?”

“The pickles have migrated south.”

“What? I have a connection problem. I thought you said, ‘the pickles have migrated south’.”

“Yes, that’s right. Apparently, the hummingbird DNA is more powerful than I thought. Their migration instinct has been spliced into the pickles.”

“You realize that field is worth over a million dollars. You’ve got to get it back.”

Part 8

“Calm down. I have a plan.”

“What’s that?”

“The pickle hummingbirds will probably instinctively migrate to Mexico, like regular hummingbirds.”

“Get going then. We need you to capture those flying pickles!”

“I’m leaving today.”

Brice arrived in Mexico City that night. He read the news and tracked the pickles by the news reports
and Instagram photos and Twitter gifs. Louisiana. Texas. Reynosa Mexico. Xalapa. Where was that? The
picture from Twitter showed iridescent pickles with wings nesting by the thousands in the trees.

He found Xalapa on the eastern side of the Mexican Rockies. He rented a truck, loaded it with the
supplies he had shipped with him, and headed there.

Brice drove to the grove of trees where the zombie cucumbers nested. He started the power washer in
the back of his truck and headed to the trees, dragging his hose. He sprayed a jet of salt water over the
cucumbers in trees, killing their zombie bacteria. They dropped to the ground by the thousands and tens
of thousands.

Brice then hired local farm workers to place them in jars filled with brine. He had enough for a whole
semi.

He didn’t catch all the escaped cucumbers, but he had enough to make up for the lost harvest.

Read Your Free Short Story – Part 9

After that, Vegan Inc prevented the pickles from developing to the winged stage. But enough escaped
Brice, that they became part of the annual pickle migration from Mexico to the US. People captured
thousands each year along the Mississippi migration route. Some people felt the wild zombie pickles
tasted better than the domestic, farm-raised ones. Vegan Inc. took advantage of this and built canning
factories in Mexico near the pickle nesting sites.

Vegan Inc. even sold their iridescent wings separately as a pickled delicacy. This became their most
profitable item. Until they dried the wings and sold them as earrings.

Author’s Comment


This story is set just after my first book Zombie Turkeys. I got the idea for flying pickles while joking with
my daughter Tori. When I picked her up to take her somewhere, I’d say, ‘Watch out for the flying pickles
as you go into the car. It’s the season for their annual migration.’ From that, we built up a whole life cycle
for flying pickles. Naturally, it had to be my short story collection.

What Did You Think of Read Your Free Short Story “In A Pickle”?

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If you like these kinds of excerpts, subscribe here, if you haven’t already.

You can get the audiobook here. My wife likes my audiobooks more. Maybe you will too.

You can get an autographed book by clicking here.

Andy Zach

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Almost Science Fiction Science Stories

Almost Science Fiction Science Stories – I’ve had a lot of science stories pile up that I can use to generate stories. Which do you like? You can tell me your ideas–and get free books for them.

Ready? Let’s go!

Rethinking paralysis

Credit: IEEE Spectrum

What is it? Swiss neuroscientists are helping a paralyzed man walk using a brain-spine interface (BSI) that turns thought into movement.

Why does it matter? While researchers have made some progress in treating spinal cord injury and paralysis, scientists have yet to restore natural, voluntary walking motion in a paralyzed person. Gert-Jan Oskam, the man at the center of the Swiss study, says the new BSI feels much more intuitive than earlier versions. “The stimulation before was controlling me, and now I’m controlling the stimulation,” Oskam says. He can now walk more than 600 feet per day and stand for three minutes unaided.

I’ve already had characters recuperate from limb loss by regenerating limbs. Paralysis fixing is a matter of regrowing nerves. I have written some stories about people getting up from wheelchairs through nerve regrowth. Check out this short story:

Assisted Living

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Almost Science Fiction

by Andy Zach
I need to tell you about my own zombie story. It’s about
how my parents became zombies.
As soon as the zombie turkeys appeared in Illinois, I
started cultures of their zombie turkey bacteria in petri dishes.
When other animals, squirrels, rabbits, and cows began
turning zombie, I added cultures of their bacteria. I sought the
ultimate source of animal revivification. It was my PhD thesis
and my life’s work.
I’ve always wanted to revive animals from the dead. It
seemed the secret was through the special bacteria for each
species. Naturally, when humans became zombies, I cultivated
their bacteria too.
That’s where this story starts. My parents were in an assisted living home, and I brought them to my house for a
family reunion. Like all reunions, the house was filled with sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles, and food. Lots of good
Greek food—gyros, moussaka, and of course, lots of ouzo, the Grecian licorice liquor. We also had cold cuts and a sandwich bar for the in-laws who didn’t do Greek. The trouble began at the bar.
My father, Giorgos “Gyros” Zacharias, loves Vegemite vegetable spread. He usually ate it on whole-wheat bread. He
acquired the taste while traveling in Australia for his import-export business. That was also where he got his nickname,
“Gyros.”

Assisted Living – continued


We had whole-wheat bread, but somehow my wife and I neglected to stock up on Vegemite.
“Anastasios?” he asked me as he pushed his walker toward me.
“What, Dad?”
“Where’s the Vegemite?”
“Oh, sorry about that. I forgot to get it.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just look around for it.”
“I don’t think you’ll find any.”
“You’ll be surprised. I’m good at finding things.”
I was.
The next time I saw him, he was dancing the sirtaki on the patio while playing the “Zorba’s Dance” on his bazouki, a
Greek mandolin. He eyes glowed bright red.

“Dad! What happened? You’ve become a zombie!”
“Zombie? Who cares! I feel great! Dance with me, Anastasios. Opa!”

I don’t have a free copy of this short story, but you can get a signed copy of my short story collection Oops! by clicking here.

If you want an Oops! ebook, click here for Amazon.

What would are your ideas for this news story? Let me know, and I’ll send you a free book. Just click here.

If you can’t think of anything to say, just click and join my newsletter and you’ll get free audiobooks.

Your Next Almost Science Fiction Science

Good old NASA gave a montage of exoplanets they’ve discovered. Where would you like to live? Which one would you write about? Lemme know!

More Almost Science Fiction Coming Up!

I love this remarkable picture of an unusual cloud formation. I’d write a story where this is a common occurrence.

How would you handle this? Get your book now, right here. You can also email me at [email protected] or you can write a comment on this blog.

Why do I give books away? Ideas are the most important resource a writer can have. Who knows if your idea will give me a great novel?

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Your Sixteenth Literary Gift of 25 Gifts

Your Sixteenth Literary Gift of 25 Gifts to Christmas. My campaign to give you 25 literary gifts by Christmas continues. I’m Andy Zach, author of two scifi series. This blog will give you a short story from my collection, Oops! Stories from the Zombie Turkey Apocalypse.

Let me know what you think by clicking here or emailing me at [email protected]. As always, everyone who responds with a comment or email will get a free book from me.

My past gifts to you are here:

If you want to keep track of all my blog posts and get free books you can subscribe to my newsletter by clicking here.

Your Sixteenth Gift: From Oops!

A Dying Business

Your Sixteenth Literary Gift

He was dead. At least, his business was. And without his business, his wife would leave him and take their new baby. Then he might as well be dead.

His dad had run the Elysium Fields Mortuary for thirty years and had made a killing at it. The first and only mortuary in their small town of Hillvale, everyone got buried there. He charged normal prices, he was friendly, and he helped their community. His dad said to him when he was a teen, “Irving, after you get your college degree, go to mortuary school, and when you come out, I’ll hire you and then turn the business over to you. You’ll be set for life.”

Irv had no other plans. He liked this cute blonde Shelley in high school, and she liked him. So he learned the business, got his degree in psychological counseling, and came back and married her. Just as he promised, his dad turned Elysium Fields over to him after a few years and retired to Florida with his mom.

Irv Runs His Mortuary – Your Sixteenth Literary Gift

Your Sixteenth Literary Gift
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The first years had been great. People were dying to be his customers. He and Shelley remodeled his parents’ old house, went on vacations around the world, had his and her luxury cars. Shelley had their son, Nathan. Then the bottom dropped out of his business.

Rather than dying normally, people were taking zombie blood. Lung cancer? Gone. Heart disease? Cleared up. Severe accidents? Limbs grew back. Most people then took the vaccine to remove the zombie disease, because who wants to be a zombie with glowing red eyes? But they were still alive and healthy.

Irv researched the zombie disease during his many idle moments waiting for customers. No one knew how long people with zombiism lived. Zombie turkeys, squirrels, and corgis lived past their normal life span. Humans near death came back as zombies and started living like twenty-year-olds.

All that Irv had left was a trickle of people who died suddenly or who refused the zombie treatment. Irv rejoiced that the prejudice against zombies was so strong, or he’d be bankrupt.

To make matters worse, the zombies had organized themselves. Their leader, Diane Newby, also known as “the undead mother-in-law” started the Society Promoting Equality with Zombies, or SPEwZ. They fought for zombie rights and to make zombies normal and accepted. SPEwZ also collected zombie blood donations and repackaged it in one-dose injectors, Zom-B Pens. These they sold worldwide, making tons of money.

Irv seethed. He called the SPEwZ helpline to give them a piece of his mind, 1-800-ZOMBIES.

Diane Talks to Irv

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“Hello, SPEwZ Inc. How can I help you?” said a pleasant-voiced woman.

“Let me talk to your boss,” Irv growled.

“One moment. I’ll transfer you to Diane Newby.”

Good. He would get right to the top.

“How may I help you, Mr.…” came a strong alto voice.

“Isling. Irving Isling. Mrs. Newby, let me give you—”

“Interesting initials,” Mrs. Newby interrupted. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Mrs. Newby—”

“Call me Diane. There’s no need to be formal with me.”

“I’m the owner of Elysium Fields Mortuary, and your organization is killing me!”

“I’m sorry, but isn’t it better to have people alive than dead?”

“Not for me! My father built this business over thirty years ago, and it’s about ready to go under—all because of you zombies.”

“Hey, we didn’t ask to become zombies. We just want to be treated like any other American.”

“That’s fine, but don’t go around selling your zombie blood and keeping people alive unnaturally.”

“How bloodthirsty! If you were near death, wouldn’t you want a new lease on life?”

“Well, yeah. But still, you’re driving me out of business.”

“That’s the great American way. One business dies, and another rises to take its place. Adapt. Don’t be an old fuddy-duddy.”

Irv Gets With the Times – Your Sixteenth Literary Gift


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“Fuddy-duddy? I don’t even know what that means. I’m only twenty-six.”

“It means you’re a stick-in-the-mud. Inflexible. Stubborn. Now I’m forty-nine and leading the zombie “craze”…”

“I have been called stubborn. Mostly by my wife.”

“Hop on board the zombie train. We’re leaving the station. We can barely meet the demand for zombie blood. There are new zombie businesses popping up daily.”

“Like what?”

“Just today, here in SPEwZ headquarters in Gary, Indiana, we put out a job offer for a zombie counselor. People need time to adjust to the new zombie lifestyle and reassurance they’re as normal as anyone else.”

“Hmmph. How is anyone with glowing red eyes normal?”

“Eyes can always be covered with contact lenses.”

“I do have a degree in consoling. Do I just replace my mortuary with a consoling  business?”

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“Why not both? People will always need to be buried and deal with grief. Even zombies can die.”

“So I do have hope. Do I just add a zombie-consoling shingle to my mortuary?”

“Of course. I’ll even route zombies we know to you.”

“We’re pretty sparsely populated here in Hillvale. The town population is just five hundred.”

“Let me do a query on our zombie database. Okay, there are one hundred and seventy-five within a radius of twenty miles.”

“That’s way more than I thought!”

“I can’t send you their contact information without violating their privacy, but I can tell them about your consoling business. What will you call it?”

“Um, Elysium Fields Consoling?”

“Got it. I’ll send out the email today to everyone within a hundred miles. That’s over a thousand zombies.”

“Thanks, Diane. I called to read you the riot act, and you helped me.”

“That’s what we do here at SPEwZ: help zombies and help people who help zombies.”

Irv asked the town printer to make some Elysium Fields Consoling signs. He set up a small conference room in their mortuary as an office and mounted a sign on the door, under the foyer sign, and on the outside sign.

Irv’s Business Comes to Life

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The next day he had five emails asking for help adjusting to zombie life. He called each person and scheduled them to come in. One could come that afternoon, a Mrs. Persimmon.

A large luxury car pulled up into his otherwise empty parking lot. A wizened little old lady came out of the huge car, barely able to see over the open door. Then she flipped the door closed with a solid THUNK Irv could hear through the window of his air-conditioned office.

Holding her large black handbag in one hand, her eyes hidden behind huge dark glasses, she skipped—skipped—from her car to the front door of Elysium Fields.

Irv closed his mouth and hurried to greet her. The door flew open before he reached it.

“Mrs. Persimmon?”

“Right as rain, sonny.” She cackled, looking up at him with a wide grin.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Irv Isling, director and counselor.”

“So you’re not a zombie? How will you be able to help me?” She took off her dark glasses and put them in her purse. Her red eyes glowed at Irv with skepticism.

Helping Mrs. Persimmon

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“Um, no, but I do have training in helping people adjust to trauma in their lives.”

“Well, being a zombie’s a picnic. It’s other people that give me grief.”

“Come into my office and we can talk about it.”

“I don’t know about that. Why should I pay you if you don’t know what I’m going through?”

“If I can’t help you, I’ll say so and there’ll be no charge.”

“Okay then. I can’t beat that.”

When they were seated, Irv said, “Tell me your story from the beginning. Take as long as you’d like.” This was an approach Irv took with grief counseling, getting people to talk about their loved ones.

“When I got my stroke, I couldn’t walk or take care of myself anymore. My kids wanted to put me in a nursing home. I thought I’d try this zombie blood thing instead. When my shot came in the mail, I got my home nursing assistant to give it to me. That was the start.”

“What happened after that?”

“I popped right out of bed and straightened up the house. With plenty of energy left, I mowed the lawn and finished up by playing hopscotch on my driveway. I haven’t done that for seventy-eight years. I felt like a young girl again. But that was the start of my problems.

“My neighbors called my kids, and they came over and fussed over me. I was glad they were concerned, and I thanked them. Then we had a fight. They still wanted me to go into a nursing home, and I refused. In fact, I revoked their power of attorney. That really ticked them off. My son tried to drag me off.” Mrs. Persimmon chuckled. “That didn’t turn out well for him.”

Mrs. Persimmon’s Problem

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“What do you mean?”

“I turned him over my knee and spanked him. I hadn’t done that for over sixty years. But now my kids aren’t talking to me, and they’re threatening legal action. Dumb kids. I’ve got way better lawyers than they do and more money.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to be reconciled to my kids, but they’re in a huff and not listening. I don’t think they like zombies either. They want me to take the vaccine. There’s no way that’ll happen. I like roller-skating around my neighborhood like I did as a girl. Did you know these new-fangled inline skates are lots better than the clip-ons I had as a kid?”

“No, I didn’t. Let me think a minute. You need to meet at a neutral place. Is there a nice restaurant where you can meet as a family and have a meal and discussion?”

“Yes. We can go to Pierre’s. We were just there celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary and my ninetieth birthday, before my stroke. Everyone loves it. I can get a private room again.”

Irv’s Plan

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“Good. See if you can just tell them what you’ve told me. Tell them how much you love feeling like a young girl again. Tell them how much you love them and want to spend time with them, not in a nursing home. Don’t argue or yell or fight.”

“Sonny, you talk sense. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Probably because they stirred up my dander and I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ll do that. But I want you to come, in case a fight breaks out. Then you can mediate.”

“Uh, okay, if it fits my schedule.”

“Let’s see what we can work out,” Mrs. Persimmon reached into her purse and pulled out a golden tablet. She rapidly punched buttons, and then a face appeared.

“Hi Amanda, it’s your granny.”

“Hi, Grandma. You’re looking great!”

“Thanks, honey. Can you and Trevor make it to Pierre’s for supper this Friday? It’s my treat.”

“We’d love to!”

“Great. Now see if you can get your mom and dad to come too. I’d invite them, but they’re not talking to me. Tell them it’s my treat and there’ll be no fighting. I’ve even hired a counselor to reconcile us.”

“I’ll try, Grandma, but they’re pretty sore at you.”

“Tell them I’m dropping my legal action if they stop theirs.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

“Don’t worry, honey. You’re the apple of your dad’s eye, and he’ll do whatever you want.”

“Don’t I wish!”

“Trust me on this. That’s why I called you.”

“I will, Grandma.”

“Thanks, honey. I’ve gotta go. Toodles!”

“Bye.”

Irv’s Date

Your Sixteenth Literary Gift

Turning to Irv, Mrs. Persimmon said, “Now I made it for Friday evening. Can you come?”

“Usually I spend Fridays with my wife and son eating out.”

“Great! Bring them along.”

“My son’s only a year and a half. He might be disruptive.”

“That’s a good disruption. My son William and his wife, Wendy, love kids. We’re all very experienced.”

“What about Pierre’s? I don’t know if a luxury restaurant is the right place for an eighteen-month-old baby.”

“No problem. We have a private room, and they’ll do whatever I say.”

“If you’re game, then I’m game.”

“Good. Now, how much do I owe you?”

“This first session was free, like I told you.”

“You’ve been a big help, and I want to pay you.”

“My normal rate is thirty-five dollars an hour, but you don’t have to pay, Mrs. Persimmon.”

“Nonsense. A man is worth his hire.” She told out a thick wallet from her purse and riffled through the bills. “Hmmm. Nothing smaller than a hundred.”

“I’ve got change.”

“Don’t bother. Keep the change.” She handed him a Franklin.

“I feel I ought to pay for my meal now at Pierre’s.”

“Nah. I eat there every week and get way better discounts than anyone else. It’s been nice talking with you, Irv.” She bounced up and vigorously shook his hand.

“See you Friday!” she called as she skipped out the door.

(Too long for this blog. The story continues here.)


Your Sixteenth Literary Gift – What do you think?

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