A Hankering for Lettuce and Other Stories

By Lara Bujold Clouden

A collection of magical tales answering questions such as what is heaven like, what do dreams mean, and what do witches want most?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scribl
• Release date: Jul 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781633481893

Lara Bujold Clouden

Lara Bujold Clouden is a writer living in Connecticut with her husband, two children and two dogs. Born in Duluth, MN, she’s lived in New York, Paris and the San Francisco Bay Area, and worked as a modern dancer, desktop publisher, business analyst, and communications strategist. Lara blogs under the name Elby Cloud at elbycloud.Wordpress.com. You can find her on Twitter at @elbycloud.

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A Hankering for Lettuce

and Other Stories

By Lara Bujold Clouden

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 by Lara Bujold Clouden

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [e-mail].

Cover Photo by Jessica Furtney on Unsplash

A Crack in Heaven

Sonora sipped her tea and sat back in the overstuffed papasan. The sheepskin covering was so soft it made her hand numb. The tea was delicious, fragrant and soothing. She was dressed in silk; not red, per se, but a pinkish red with undertones of orange. Precisely her favorite color, as was the way in heaven.

Here in heaven, Sonora had but to imagine it, and her slightest thought manifested. Except. There was that one area.

A fluffy white dog appeared at her side and nosed her hand. What had she been thinking? It didn’t matter. This dog was so sweet. Its cold, black nose tickled and pushed its way under her hand to be petted. Sonora obliged and it wagged its tail rhythmically against the bottom of the chair. She sipped her tea and the beat of the dog’s tail morphed into a concert of taiko drums.

A band of drummers appeared, along with three male dancers costumed in white, lycra bodysuits. They leaped over each other and stretched with impossible grace. One landed a flip into a pushup. The next rolled a backward somersault right onto the first one’s prone legs and up onto his back. The third sprang up, flipped over the first two and landed on his hands, arching his feet to wave comically in the other men’s faces. All of this happened to the insistent drum beats.

Sonora set her tea aside to join the dancers, silk wafting around her as she spun. She stretched her arms toward the nearest dancer and he lifted her, then tossed her to his partner, who caught her in a swan dive. He righted her to her feet, and at her signal they all began a series of complicated steps, faster and faster to the frenzied call of the drums. A tropical breeze caressed her skin. She broke a light sweat. The lead musician signaled the end of the piece with a coded beat, and she bowed as the group retreated. The dog had disappeared.

Her mind turned again to the puzzle. Had she been a dancer? Or had she only wished to be? Her thoughts crept to her past. But again, a marvelous distraction swept her thoughts away, this time the rich scent of baking bread.

An opening appeared in front of her. A fat baker smiled, his brown eyes twinkling as he kneaded dough on a huge wooden counter. Flour floated in a magical dust around his head. Behind him, the oven pumped a pleasant warmth into the room.

Sonora could also direct the manifestations. In fact, she could have anything she wanted. Girlfriends and cocktails, a sense of accomplishment, a baby, a lover, a degree. In an instant she could grasp the most complex concepts: philosophy, astrophysics or biology. Sonora had only to choose.

The only concepts that were not easy, that struggled and rarely made it to the surface, were the ones about her personal history. For instance, how long had she been here?

She said it aloud. I want to know who I was.

The room turned white. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. In the center, stood a podium with a pen and a scroll of paper that read (simply); You may know, but you must leave.

At the bottom there was a line with an X for her signature. Sonora examined her silken robe. She supposed she could keep that, or would she be expected to go out naked?

The answer came to her.

You may keep the robe.

Sonora picked up the pen and signed.

A crack appeared – jagged and tall, it split the chamber. A cold wind blew in, a gust of sand sprayed her face. Sonora looked out. Blue sky stretched over an expanse of sand as far as her eyes could see. She was a potter. She had a boy, he