Brode Foscaro
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Stories (4)
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Sunset Mine-State
The sun sets earlier this time of year. James yearns for days beyond recall when the sun would shine past nine - Before daylight savings was abolished, before farming became an outdated profession - James is seated upon his apartment building’s rooftop with his canned fruit and cup of instant filling the air with an artificial bitterness. A tutorial video teaches the crosshatch brush stroke. A practice completed by the lust of his life, Mia. He’s painting a tree in the sunset, where the sun rests on the branches of a fruit tree – A scene Mia had described to him in poignant detail - The brush leaves crosses on the canvas before him. As above so below in the dusk sky, a similar pattern is drawn by planes leaving condensation trails to seed the clouds. A practice completed by The Weather Bureau department of the ‘New Life Corporation’ - The weather is designed and foretold rather than read and reported - James lets his gaze follow the whispering wind further outside the city than he’s ever physically been. Out past the minefield he spots a single tree peaking above a distant hill - Surprising for the soil is sour where weeds dare not grow - He wishes to capture the specifics of the lonely tree but the emerging fog clouds its clarity. Through an opening in the fog that looms, James notices a feminine figure wandering minefield to lonesome tree. The sun sacrifices itself so the moon can shine, its last rays catching the light snow falling from the crosshatch pattern in the sky. An orange glow with embers climb to his attention. The last book store had its final day and the police are burning the books. The council made an event out of it to bring the community together.
By Brode Foscaro4 years ago in Fiction
veto
John's father left him two things when he died. The first, his last words "our world is our perspective, our world is our understanding, our world is our own". The second was an old glass globe with a green light in the centre. What is life but the act of doing and remembering what you’ve done. Humans are interesting how they take pride in who they are and what they’ve done. John shows it through his trophy room. Containing the wall of photographs, the only way to keep his past alive, for if undocumented they are forgotten and all their invaluable lessons and memories with them. The bookshelf with more books on the shelf than dust mites. The east wall consists of the heads of John's hunted. Bear, Moose, Duck and Deer observing over the study in their afterlife. The one hunted not mounted on the wall is that of the eagle. John shot that down when taking his sons hunting for the first time. It’s beak harder than ever, it’s design naturally flawless. John fashioned a recreational toy out of its stuffed corpse with a modified fishing line. When swung around the momentum sends the bird soaring through the air. Kite-like the bird is controlled by the individual throwing the toy. John bestowed the gift to his twin sons Keven and Ansel. “Two birds, one stone” a saying John repeated when finding out he fathered twins and whilst bestowing the gift between the two.
By Brode Foscaro4 years ago in Fiction
Good-Fearing People
I contemplate my own death. I’m not suicidal, just curious. The best thing I’ve ever done is almost attempt it, it wasn’t high enough and I don't want to be crippled. These self loathing politicians haven't legalised euthanasia yet. I realise I’m not going to miss out on dying, that will come in due course. Everything I’ve experienced since shouldn’t have happened, it’s all additional. To live out of the limitations of fearing death is truly liberating. I was dead before I was born and never had a problem with it. The god-fearing people dare not let unorthodox thought enter the mind – blasphemy – for once it enters, it remains. I think religion is a great tool for people beyond self-forgiveness, having faith that a higher being will forgive you can set the mind at ease. Few get to choose their religion, even fewer understand what they believe in. I was born Protestant, because of where my family was born. Location Depression, where you're born, where you live. The locations history shapes you, people here don't have half the trauma or courage as the refugees coming from war torn 'fill in the blank' yet complain often and think themselves better. My troubles are nothing compared to some, this doesn't make mine any less real. It's reassuring and troubling simultaneously to be told how good I have it. I think man wasn’t created in God’s image, God was created in man’s imagination. God is within. Time to time I almost panic pondering ‘what if the Christian God is real?’ then I remember kids die of cancer, floods kill puppies and world leaders are corrupt peodophiles. I humour myself that if God is real, I am removed from heaven’s guest list.
By Brode Foscaro4 years ago in Fiction
Eternal Dues
Henry locks half a dozen doors and draws a dozen curtains closed. He raises his wrist to the horizon painted on the wall before him and looks to his analogue watch. Unable to read his present he pulls his phone out his pocket. Ignoring four unread messages from his mother, he reads 9:23PM. His first autonomous shift started four hours and twenty three minutes ago, it feels longer. He checks for the pager on his belt, the work phone in his left pocket and the master key for all 200 units around his neck. He took the job to spend time with his remaining grandparent. He fears his grandfather won’t be able to tenant his unit in the by-and-by for it is independent living. Grandpa Arthur wishes to die there.
By Brode Foscaro4 years ago in Families
