Essay from a recent class I took on writing the Weird and Eerie.

Write a short story in which an alarm clock going off in the middle of the story plays some kind of crucial role.  Half of the story will be a dream and half reality. Try to create a mirror image on either side of this alarm clock sound.  Up to 400 words.
(Adapted from Prompt #22 in The 3 a.m. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley)

5th Birthday

It was the happiest day of life I believe and one of my earliest memories. My fifth birthday. It was in the side yard of our home on Kenova Drive. The sour cherry tree was loaded with bright red cherries. A fresh grass smell filled the air since Father had mowed only hours ago. The picnic table sat under the shade of the tree. 

The theme was Cowboys and Indians. I was wearing my Roy Rogers Cowboy outfit, complete with chaps, a holster and six shooters. The table cloth bore graphics of cowboys roping steers. The cake Mother had baked was adorned with plastic cowboys on horseback, chasing unmoving cows.

Between cousins and neighborhood friends, there was a crowd in attendance. Some wore their cowboy hats as requested by Mother. Thanks to them, there was a mountain of gifts at one end of the table.

I was happy! Ecstatic! Beaming for joy. Could the world have been any more perfect for a boy of five? Everyone was laughing and having a jolly time! Yes, this was a little boy's heaven.

Mother lit the candles, they sang happy birthday, I blew out the candles, everyone cheered. Mother took the cake to cut it.

I got the first piece. It was after all MY birthday! Next to the buttercream frosted cake sat an enormous mound of homemade vanilla ice cream. I scooped up a large portion of ice cream and headed it toward my mouth…..

The bastard of an alarm clock went off. I never get to retaste the ice cream. My dream always ends there, never complete. No satisfaction for me.

I grumble and slap at the alarm. I roll out of bed and after my morning rituals head to work. After all “It is Time to Make the Donuts.”

I pass through an alley, devoid of vegetation. Stinking of garbage and piss. Feet slipping on the  muck covered cement, I make my way to the Bakery entrance. After entering I switch the lights on and listen to the loud buzzing of decades old fluorescence lighting.

I immediately notice a foul odor and know without looking the toilet has overflowed again. 

“Screw that.” I think. And grab the orders for the day.

There on top is an order for a Wild West Birthday cake. Is the Universe messing with me?

I sigh and look for ingredients on this, possibly the worst day of my life.

Roy Richard
June 2024