Guided by light, driven by dreams, and ready to fly.

Tag: #ShortStorySeries

  • Pete’s Question Ep. 3 of The Question They Carried

    What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?

    Susan Narrating

    It was an ordinary Wednesday — that “meh” middle of the week. Not the chaos of Monday, not the slow fade-out of Friday. Just… Wednesday.

    Well, ordinary for everyone else.

    For me, the morning started with Oishi giving me those puppy eyes as I was leaving for work. Tail wagging, looking up at me like he’d just been abandoned by the entire cast of a soap opera. Obviously, I caved and took him with me.

    At my desk, Oishi curled up under the table with his squeaky toy. Then Yohanes barged in, dramatic as ever, announcing there was chaos in the customer service lounge — customers fighting over who should be served first. One claimed she was a doctor, the other a lawyer. Dinah, our resident gossip, just said, “Let them fight it out, see who wins.” I chimed in, “The lawyer, duh.”

    Pete — our by-the-book accountant (and unsolicited tax adviser) — picked up Oishi and calmly told Yohanes to defuse the situation by figuring out whose need was more urgent. Yohanes agreed and left.

    For those who don’t know Pete, he’s our accountant — a good one. He even lectures me on filing taxes. I pretend not to care, but I remember every tip when it’s time to file. If it weren’t for him, your girl’s butt would’ve been in trouble last year.

    Pete sat across from me, Oishi still in his lap, and suddenly asked:
    “What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?”

    I froze mid-siopao bite. “What made you ask that?”

    Pete’s Story

    November 12, 2015. Pete said he’d never forget that day.

    We didn’t know he was a volunteer worker. That day, he was in El Shur — a small, beautiful country with its share of darker realities.

    He was assigned to distribute relief goods. As soon as the chopper touched down, people ran toward them. He told them to line up, assuring there was enough for everyone. But desperation overpowered order. People shouted, cried, begged to be served first.

    Pete understood. Hunger does that.

    But then, someone approached him privately, offering money — a bribe — to get their goods first.

    “Why not buy food instead?” Pete asked.

    The answer hit him hard. They couldn’t. Their area was on lockdown, boundaries guarded so insurgents wouldn’t cross over. They were stuck in the crossfire. Still, relief goods had been delivered regularly — they had enough for months.

    But this person said,
    “We’re prominent. We should be served first.”

    Then, almost as an afterthought, they added, “Besides… you don’t want trouble with the K.N.A.V.E.S.”
    Pete didn’t know who or what that was. But the way they said it — calm, low, like a warning — stuck with him.

    “That’s what made me ask,” Pete said quietly. “No matter how much you have, no matter who you are, that’s not the right perspective. We should help each other up. Respect authority, yes — laws exist to protect us. But some people use their position to lift themselves higher, not to lift others. Not all of them. Some leaders genuinely serve. Others… they make the people serve them.”

    Ishmael’s Answer

    That’s when Ishmael, our prophetic janitor, glided in with his mop.

    “People think they’re above others for many reasons,” he began. “Pride, fear, insecurity — even upbringing. Some were taught from childhood that status equals worth. Others hide their own sense of smallness by making others feel smaller. And there are those who genuinely believe their achievements or titles make them more valuable than the next person. But Christ showed us another way.”

    He set the mop aside.
    “Christ washed the feet of His disciples. An act of humility and service. Imagine — a Master washing His followers’ feet.”

    John 13:16-17 — Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.

    I leaned in. “Pete, you said the place was chaotic. They were in survival mode. Of course they’d put themselves first.”

    Ishmael looked at me.
    “Susan, imagine the building is on fire. What’s the first thing you’d grab?”

    “Oishi Badoodle!” I said instantly.

    He smiled.
    “Okay. But imagine Oishi’s in the other room. As you rush to him, you hear a baby crying — Melinda’s son. You can’t save them both.”

    The tears came before I could stop them. I hugged Oishi tight.

    “I know your answer, Susan,” Ishmael said gently. “You’d give up what you love most to save a life.”

    I sniffled. “Why did you have to make it a baby? Couldn’t it be a unicorn? Or Chad?” But deep down, I understood. God made us to help and protect one another — not to think we’re above anyone.

    Closing

    Right then, Yohanes stormed back in, panting and sweaty.
    “After two hours, the customers and I reached an agreement.”

    Pete patted his back. “Good job. You diffused it.”

    That evening, Pete treated us to a park-side meal. Oishi was over the moon.

    Oishi Narrating

    When we got home, Susan went straight to the bedroom and knelt to pray.

    “God, thank You for this beautiful life — for waking up each day safe and sound. Thank You for the kindness we’ve received. I pray for those who live day by day just trying to survive. Help us understand that we’re not above one another, but created to bless each other, inspire, and lift one another up. And God… please don’t ever make me choose between saving Oishi and saving a life. You know I’d do it, but with a heavy heart.”

    Her voice broke. I understood why.

    I know you’d pick the baby, Sus. And that’s okay. I get it. Life is precious. I’m happy, I’m content, and I hope you are too.

    Good night. 🐾

    And then… the snore. Classic Sus.

    Still Rising. Still Barking. 🐾

  • Philip Vaughn’s Question – Ep. 1 of The Questions They Carried

    Philip Vaughn’s Question – Ep. 1 of The Questions They Carried

    “Why is there evil in the world?”

    Narrated by: Oishi
    (because no one else wanted to narrate something this heavy… and Susan’s a wreck before 5 PM anyway.)

    It was Friday. 4:00 PM.
    That weird twilight zone in the office where everyone pretends to work but mostly just stares at their monitors, calculating escape.

    Susan, of course, announced loudly while holding a siopao in one hand and milk tea in the other:

    “When that clock hits 5:00, my voluptuous butt is outta here.”
    (As if she hadn’t devoured half a dozen siomai during lunch.)

    Meanwhile, the usual suspects were passing time in their own way:

    ·       Brenda, Yohannes, Jasper, and Horatio T. were exchanging insults in a love language only extroverts understand.

    ·       Dinah and Jezzie Bell were packing up with military precision, so they could vanish the moment the clock beeped.

    ·       The pantry was full — not just with people, but with food, gossip, and unspoken exhaustion.

    And then there was Philip Vaughn.
    Sitting quietly at the far corner table. Black coffee in hand. Eyes distant — but never disconnected.

    Horatio wandered over, casual and curious. “You’re a war vet, right? What were you? Infantry? Air Force? Bazooka guy? Tank dude? Can you shoot a target from, like… 20,000 miles away?”

    Philip gave a gentle smile and shook his head.

    “No, Horatio. No one can hit a target from 20,000 miles. That’s… halfway around the world.”

    Then he paused. His gaze shifted — from polite to pained.

    “I never flew a plane.
    But I’ve seen families flee their homes in panic.
    I never carried a bazooka.
    But I’ve seen bodies — scattered, torn, innocent.
    I can’t hit a distant target.
    But I’ve seen people so crushed by suffering… that light itself felt unreachable.”

    We all grew quiet. Even Susan, mid-bite, slowed down. Until…

    “Well,” she blurted, “that’s ‘cause the gal ate the apple and the dude went along with it.”

    She said it like it explained everything. And in her head, it probably did.

    To be fair, I think Susan thought Philip was asking why there’s evil in the world—why suffering exists. And since she just finished a Bible study that touched on Genesis, this was her chance to shine. So she went straight to the source: Eve, Adam, and that infamous fruit.

    She even glanced at Brenda like, “See? I listened.”

    Just to clarify, dear readers: “The gal and the dude” = Eve and Adam.

    I don’t fully understand why it had to be an apple — personally, I’d sin for a dumpling — but what would I know? I’m just a fluffy Shih Tzu with theological insights and trust issues.

    Thursday night, 10:00 PM — Philip’s apartment.

    He couldn’t sleep. The memories were looping:
    Suffering. Hunger. People doing evil to survive.
    Others doing evil for no reason at all. No remorse. No hesitation. Just destruction.

    He whispered to the ceiling:

    “Why is there evil in the world? Don’t You care about the innocent who suffer?”

    And then…
    He remembered what Ishmael the janitor once told him.

    “God gave us free will, Philip,” Ishmael had said.

    And then… he remembered a conversation years ago, just outside camp.
    Ishmael wasn’t a soldier — not anymore — but the man carried a quiet kind of command.


    “The ability to choose good… or evil.
    Love isn’t love if it’s forced.
    And with freedom comes risk. Real risk.”

    “Like cars,” he continued.
    “They’re made for transport. Good purpose.
    But if the driver’s drunk… the same machine becomes a weapon.”
    “God didn’t create evil. But He created choice.
    And that choice is what allows evil to exist — and grace to overcome it.”

    Philip had asked, “But what about the innocent? What about those who suffer because of other people’s choices?”

    Ishmael’s eyes were kind but tired.

    “That one… I don’t have a full answer for.
    But the Bible doesn’t hide suffering.
    It just promises this:
    ‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, You are with me.’
    Not avoiding pain. But walking with us through it.”

    “Keep asking Him,” he added.
    “Keep giving compassion.
    Keep pointing people back to the Shepherd.
    And when you don’t understand…
    stay with Him anyway.”

    Back to the office. Back to the pantry. Back to siopao.

    Philip ended his story. No music. No applause.
    Just silence.

    All of us — even your stoic narrator — were in tears.
    Except Jezzie B. and Dinah, who muttered:

    “Well, nobody asked you to serve anyway.”

    Horatio turned red with rage.
    But Philip? He just smiled and patted him on the back.

    “It’s okay.
    No one asked me.
    It was my calling.
    And if I could do it all again…
    I’d still choose to serve.”

    Jezzie and Dinah left the room — humiliated, uncomfortable, and I suspect, a little convicted.

    [Narration: Oishi | Present Day]


    Susan left me with Philip because she went to the cinema to watch Inside Out with her BFFs, Brenda and Yohanes. Apparently, she can relate to “the anxiety character.” Don’t worry—I’ll spare you the full emotional recital she made when she got home and hugged me while weeping about how seen she felt. But that’s a story for another day… or never.

    I was chewing on my squeaky lion toy when I saw Philip walk toward me. He was smiling—but his eyes were heavy. The kind of heavy that didn’t come from lack of sleep. It was history. It was weight.

    He scooped me up, kissed my face, hugged me like I was the last safe thing in the world. I let him. When Philip hugs you, you don’t ask questions—you just hold the moment. He took me to the backyard. It was night. Quiet. Stars out. But something in his breath told me that the peace outside didn’t match the storm inside.

    Then he said it:
    “Oishi, I have something to tell you that’s been weighing on me. You may not talk, but I know you’ll listen.”

    His face dropped. From soft to steel. He started.

    “November 12, 2015. I’ll never forget that day, even if I want to. It haunts me.”

    “We were in a classified debrief. I was a Corporal. The man giving the briefing? Colonel Ishmael Shulman—yes, that Ishmael. The same one you see mopping the hallway at The Signal Co. You’ve met him.”

    (Oishi – Yep. He’s the only one in that office who actually uses his brain. Apart from you, of course.)

    “I don’t trust easy. I keep to myself. It’s not coldness—it’s control. I care about my team, I’d give my life for them. But connection? That’s a luxury I rarely allow myself. Until Private Joseph Morgan.

    “He was different. Focused. Disciplined. Fearless, but not reckless. Courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s what you do despite it. And Joseph did the hard things, always.”

    “And when our pride got too loud, Joseph had a way of cutting through it—soft, but sharp.”
    “It’s not about being right. It’s about being kind… and knowing when to shut up.”

    “I’ll never forget the day I disobeyed orders. I was told to wait, but I moved in too early. My pride said, ‘You’re the senior here.’ My gut said, ‘Go.’ It was a trap. I would’ve died… but Joseph followed me. Took down the enemy. Saved me. Looked at me with that smug grin and said, ‘You okay there, Corporal?’ with a wink. That wink saved my life.”

    Philip’s voice broke. Then steadied.

    “After the debrief, we got into the helo. The view over Elar-Shur was stunning—mountains, light, rooftops stacked like prayers. We were supposed to drop relief goods. Vaccines.”

    “Then the first explosion hit.”

    “From afar, the city burned. Screams from a distance. Our Sergeant Mekena Abimbola, Combat Medic whispered, ‘Praise the Lord, who is my rock. He trains my hands for war and gives my fingers skill for battle.’ (Psalm 144:1). Another boom. Our tail got hit. The pilot shouted, ‘Brace for impact. We’re going down.’”

    “We crashed. The city was chaos. Smoke, gunfire, insurgents in black like death made manifest. We were surrounded. This was no relief mission. This was war.”

    “We fired back. The medic was already on her knees trying to resuscitate someone. The pilot – Commander Sera Wilde—turns out she’s also trained to fly an F-16—was crawling toward the jet nearby, trying to flip the tide.”

    “We were pinned. Joseph told me to hide, use the scope, wait. But I was reckless again. I saw an opening, took it. Didn’t see the sniper. Joseph did. He screamed my name, ran to cover me. Took the bullet meant for me.”

    “The medic ran to him. Did everything. But he was already gone.”

    “The pilot made it to the jet. Took out the enemy. But the damage had already been done.”

    “I didn’t just lose a comrade. I lost a brother. Because of me.”

    “I spiraled. I drank. I disappeared. Until someone told me there’s still redemption for people like us. That the Shepherd still walks through battlefields — even in the darkest ones.”

    “So I got up. Found The Signal Co. And every time I hear Susan scream at the photocopier, or see Macchismo take a toilet selfie, or Yohanes being extra, or Brenda correcting everyone with her straight face—I breathe a little better.”

    “That’s how I heal. One quiet laugh at a time.”

    He patted me again. And I didn’t move. Because in that moment, I wasn’t just his emotional support dog.
    I was his chaplain. His witness. His silent Amen.

    📜 Writer’s Note:

    This is a work of creative reflection.

    I haven’t seen war up close.
    But I’ve felt broken.
    I’ve gone to bed hungry—not always for food.
    I’ve been shut out, pushed down, overlooked.

    I’ve seen people break, and I’ve felt the sting of things that weren’t my fault.
    I’ve suffered because of others’ choices.
    And I’ve hurt others because of mine.

    I don’t have big answers.
    Maybe no one does.
    But I think it matters that we ask.
    That we say it out loud—whatever “it” is.
    That we make room for the hard questions,
    even the ones we whisper in the dark.

    And if you’ve ever asked,
    “God, where are You in all this?”
    Same.

    But I think He’s still here.
    I think He stays, even when everything else falls apart.
    And maybe that’s not everything.
    But maybe it’s enough to keep going.

    Still rising 🔥 still barking 🐾

    -Ember