Hello, and thanks for clicking on this link! Here’s to hoping your Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanza and any other holidays have been full of fun, feasts and love. More than anything this holiday season, I hope that you’ve been with friends or loved ones, even if only for a short time, a coffee, or even just a phone call. The story I’m posting today is included in my first book Vengeful Hank & Other Shortweird Stories and it deals with loneliness, a common issue that so many of us deal with at this time of year – but maybe, this sense of solitude and aloneness is really just a self-imposed illusion?
Be well, be warm, and please enjoy…
THE LAST ONE
“Next?” said the bank teller.A large man approached the counter, and, without a word, slid a withdrawal slip over to her. He was dressed in feathers, skins and furs of various animals, and an alarm clock dangled from his golden neck chain. His beard was braided, beaded and dyed in competing hues. Atop his headdress sat a stern, ornately saddled great horned owl, and on that saddle sat a mouse in a fez.
“I am Nangtar, last of the Omniscients!” announced the mouse in a commanding if high-pitched voice. “Fulfill the requirements of this scroll, gold keeper!” Without a word, the man slide a withdrawal slip over to her.
Transfixed on the strange trio, she picked up the withdrawal slip, her eyes darting over the account numbers only long enough to tap them out. The account checked out, and she began counting out the money.
The mouse cleared his throat. “Is it possible to have that in ducats?” he asked. “I’m not fond of the new polymers.”
“Uh, no,” said the teller, realizing only then that her mouth was still hanging open. “We don’t have ducats.”
“Ah. I s
ee,” replied the mouse, a tad peevishly. “The artwork on the new Canadian notes is displeasing. Laurier looks more like Trudeau or something.”“I could give this to you in old paper twenties…?” she suggested.
“Yes,” said the mouse. “That would be an abundantly pleasing compromise.”
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The bank teller pulled out a stack of older twenties and began counting.“Ogmire is also quick with numbers,” said the mouse. “Ogmire, quickly! Five minus three?” The owl sternly hooted twice, stamping his right foot each time. The mouse held his arms aloft grandiosely. The man applauded exactly four times.
“Four hundred,” said the teller, handing over the cash. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” As the man put the funds into a tin cookie box, the mouse cleared his throat again.
“Yes,” said the mouse. “I find you comely. Have you any, uh… plans for this evening?”
“Oh, uh…” she said. There was an awkward pause. “Last of the Omniscients…” said the mouse, awkwardly now. “As I s
aid… from before…”“Yes. I… think I have plans.”
“Of course,” mumbled the mouse, the cheeks under his fur glowing red. “Presumptuous of me.”
Later, in his Yorkville penthouse, Nangtar excused his manservant and owl earlier than usual, preferring to quietly finish his Swiss Chalet quarter-chicken take-out dinner alone. “Keeper of Time, Watcher Of The Threshold, Last of the Omniscients,” he chided himself. “And here I am again, alone on New Year’s Eve.”
He retired to his study to resume work on his memoirs. Then, shortly before midnight, he poured himself a thimble-full of thousand-year old port and opened the window, that he might hear the celebrations, far below. He toasted the new year, and then fell asleep fitfully in his chair, blissfully unaware when, hours later, a doting Ogmire would alight beside him, shielding him from the cold breeze by extending a warm, weathered wing.
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