Xeno Hemlock

This afternoon, walking down the peaceful and almost empty streets of our neighborhood took me back to the 90’s (thank you, community quarantine.) I felt like an adult placed out of time.

Since I’m feeling nostalgic, I thought I’d revive a short story I wrote during the beginning of my writing journey. This piece was part of my first self-published book Xenanimus, which was the freebie when people subscribed to my old website. It’s been a long time since I “killed” the book from the Internet.

Reviewing this piece now with years of writing experience under my belt, there’s a few technical things I’d likely change. But I wouldn’t. This short story is a relic of my writing capability, technical and thematically, a long time ago. Changing this now would be a form of denial. Without further delay, I present to you “The Three Vain Women”.

A man asked three ladies a question, “If you have only three hours left in your life, which place would you like to spend it?”

“The boutique,” the first woman answered. “I will try on the beautiful dresses, hats, sunglasses, jackets and shoes. When I die, I will be wearing the most elegant, most marvelous and most pricey of them all.”

It was the second woman’s turn. “For the last three hours of my life, I will lock myself in a book store. I will make a bed from the best-sellers, most-revered and critically acclaimed books. When the good Lord finally takes me away, my corpse will be lying on the words of the world’s great thinkers, writers and illustrators.”

Finally, the man turned to the last woman. “How about you? Where would you like to spend your last three hours?”

“At a flower farm,” answered the third woman. The first woman tried to suppress a giggle. The second took off her eyeglasses and wiped a speck on the lens. The woman continued talking.

“I will spend my last three hours looking up the sky, smelling the flowers, and getting comfortable lying on the ground. When I die, I will be one with the dirty earth. When the flowers are sent to their receivers, there I will be – in funerals, in romantic dates and in those “Get well” baskets sent to the sick and lonely.”

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