Gary the Hopeful

500 word fiction challenge for May and our Easter egg hunt

“Gary the hopeful” is the title of this month’s 500 word fiction. I missed writing one in April.

This week my daughters were together with me and for the first time since Easter, all three of us were home on the same night. We’d never before undertaken one in May, but it was time for our annual Easter egg hunt.

So we had our Easter egg hunt. While the young women holed up in a bedroom, I hid two large Humpty Dumpty eggs and two elegant rabbit eggs (so four large-ish eggs) and a heap of little mini eggs in various places around our kitchen/ living room space.

But as the hunt commenced I realised that I couldn’t remember where I’d hidden one of the elegant rabbits — only a couple of minutes previously. No idea.

The upside to forgetting was that, for a while, we were all searching!

“That was kind of fun, Dad,” said S. “Also kind of concerning.”

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This months 500 word fiction prompts from the Australian Writers’ Centre were:
(i) the photo below and
(ii) that the story need contain the following four words: raw, heavy, weak and wild.

Enjoy.

image prompt for this month’s 500 word fiction - via the Australian Writers’ Centre

Gary the hopeful

Each morning Gary would wake with hope in his heart and cats in his kitchen. For as long as he could remember, he had woken with hope in his heart and cats in his kitchen. As far as Gary was concerned, beginning each day hopeful was the only appropriate way to live a friendly and happy life.

Not that he chose this way of life. It chose him. But it remained a mystery to Gary, that he often found himself in situations where he needed to defend hope. Partner after romantic partner grew weary of his optimism before eventually leaving him and his cats.

“Bad news,” Gary confided to his cats again one night. “She’s gone. Just like the others.”

But the cats had already known she would leave and they were not surprised.

“He keeps fishing in the wrong sea,” said the youngest cat.

“He’s a dreamer. Better off alone,” said the oldest cat.

All the cats nodded and purred and looked at Gary with abject pity.

“You cats have never left me,” Gary said one particularly cold and lonely night. “And you know me better than anyone.” Gary scratched his head and looked from cat to cat to cat. “I wonder what you would say about this if you could talk.”

“Meeow,” said the youngest cat.

“Meeeeeow,” said the oldest cat.

And it struck Gary like a bolt of lightning that the cats could talk. He just couldn’t understand them.

In a fever of raw passion, that very night Gary began work in his home laboratory. He wanted to know what the cats saw in him. He needed to understand cat language, cat vocabulary and cat communication. He began to record, interpret and decode the language of cats.

Every day, rain, hail or shine, Gary would add to his heavy store of cat sounds. He would hide away upstairs with his recording gear and his headphones, and peer through venetian blinds into the yard below. As days, weeks and months passed, Gary’s behaviour and dress sense grew increasingly eccentric and wild. He rarely left the house. Villagers grew increasingly suspicious of Gary, a man many considered weak and socially inept.

Every day, rain, hail or shine, through sheer hard work and genius, Gary’s understanding of cat speech expanded. It flourished to the point where he could understand cats chatting.

Gary decided it was time to discover what the cats thought about his lack of success in relationships, so he arranged for a glamorous friend to call around and pretend to end their non-existent relationship. After she left the house, Gary ran upstairs, picked up his headphones and listened in to his cats.

“Another one gone,” said the black cat.

“He’s truly better off without them,” said the fluffiest cat.

“You’re right,” said the ginger cat. “Gary is a lovely guy. Anyone who can’t see it, should leave. Do us all a favour.”

Upstairs, Gary’s heart burst open.

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I hope you enjoyed that. This week I enjoyed Jeanette Winterson writing about AI.

Writing Against the Bots

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