Lethe and Mnemosyne
By Chuck Wendig • Jul 23rd, 2009 • Category: FlashThey eased the photos down in front of the old man, who gnawed a lip and peered at them through narrowed eye.
“Please,” his daughter said, pushing the hospital tray full of photos toward him, “you need to remember.”
In one photo, the old man’s father — their grandfather — sat in the cab of a gleaming John Deere tractor in the middle of a bright, broad cornfield, the tractor eclipsed by a giant, fat-necked Rhode Island Red hen with a rose comb on top. The hen was caught mid-gobble, her beak snapping up whole corn cobs right off their stalks.
In the photo after, the old man as a boy sat on his father’s lap as the man handed over his farm ledgers to a goat-legged fellow wearing suspenders and a pair of mud-caked boots. Everybody wore smiles.
In the third and fourth photos, the old man as a teenager was gunning a 1952 Chevy Bel Air hard-top across beach sands the color of custard. A mermaid sat on the hood, black ravens-wing hair cascading behind her, her eyes wild, her red mouth laughing.
“Pop,” the son said, “they’ve seen the hen down off of Route Nine, and godsamnit if she hasn’t torn the top from the Walsatch’s silo. You need to think on how you get that chicken to leave this town again, ‘cause this world isn’t made for that kind of thing anymore. Think, Pop, think. We need you to remember.”
“This can’t go on,” the daughter says. “Eleanor Walsatch says they might sue. We can’t handle another lawsuit.”
“Is it a word?” the son asked. “Is that what sends the hen away? Is there something you used to scratch in the dirt?”
The old man looked at the photos one more time, but the truth was, the stroke had left his brain a mess, and no matter how long he stared, he remembered none of it.
Chuck Wendig is a 30-something freelance penmonkey. He's written too much, and should probably stop, but he won't. At present, he's written for, or developed, over 80 books for White Wolf Game Studios. He's had a handful of short stories published. He's written a couple screenplays. He's thinking about branching out into menus, pamphlets, or witty doormats. Give him a wide berth, as he might be drunk and untrustworthy. He currently lives in the wilds of Pennsyltucky with a wonderful wife and two very stupid dogs.
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I like this because of the crazy juxtaposition of the giant man-eating chicken and the tragedy of mental deterioration. It hits all my buttons.
Thank you, sir. I like to do that, to put the absurd and/or horrific next to genuine sadness and pathos.
The story has a little to do with my grandmother and her stroke(s).
I should also note: it’s based on a photo I took:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/terribleminds/3348223723/
[...] supposed to remember” (1.53); “She used to fidget” (7.30); From Jet Pack: “Lethe and Mnemosyne” by Chuck Wendig and “A Loaded Gun in the Mailbox” by Will Hindmarch, read by [...]
[...] a look at the photo here. The chicken and the tractor? It inspired a piece of flash fiction, “Lethe and Mnemosyne,” which I have posted over at Jet [...]