Great Apocalypse Nor'easter Has So Far Amounted To Wet Grass

27 September 2026

2019

R. Linda:

Ah, yes! Yesterday's headlines were THIS: Torrential Rain Inches Closer! More Rain Expected Later Today! - Monster Nor'easter Slams Coast; See Timeline! - How Much Rain Will We See? - Wind Gusts Topping 40 mph Batter The NH Coastline! - Possible Power Outages! 

I awoke to a spring, or what is also called a farmer's rain. Light, misty stuff. The wind was calm, but would gust gently and disappear. I sighed. All was right with Gabe's world. I had no clue if the headlines were honest or just sensational. I purposely didn't turn on the local news. I was quite content not to know whether anything was going on. Because in my world, everything was fine.

I was enjoying me coffee and croissant when, in the back of me mind, the image of Freddie, the squirrel, clinging to the kitchen window screen came back. I got up and looked out. All was quiet, no birds, no chipmunk, no Freddie. Hum. Well, that doesn't bode well, I told meself. But the weather wasn't threatening; it wasn't something that would keep one indoors, surely. 

About lunchtime, Mam was complaining of headache and arthritis flaring up. The arthritis usually does that on humid days, but the headache - now there's a barometer if ever there was one. Headache usually means bad weather. I looked out; no wind to speak of, but it was raining, not a heavy one, no pouring or pounding. 

"Where's this big storm we were supposed to get?" Tonya asked.

We were having afternoon tea, and there was no rain, no wind, just overcast weather.

"Probably not happening. It reminds me of a soft day in Ireland. We have lots of this," and I pointed out the window at nothing happening outside. I even heard a bird calling when I let the dog out. 

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," Mam said. "Me head be better, but dat can mean some Scottish wetter coomin' in."

"What? Scottish what?" Tonya was confused.

"In Donegal, dey git da Scottish gales frum across da sea. Dey are pounden' rain, an' the wind can howl like a wolf around da hoose. Dat's why I call it sooch."

"Okay. I thought you were from Newry; that's on the other coast." Tonya was still confused.

"I've lived all o'er Ireland, I haf. Donegal the longest. Dose gales were ferocious, let me tell you."

All went quiet over the teacups. No one said a word for a long time. Each of us was deep in our thoughts.

The only ominous thing is the way the dog, cat, and Mam are acting. She is very quiet, and she stops what she's doing to listen. I don't know what she's listening for. The dog is sticking to her like glue. Everywhere she goes, he goes. Even her cat is acting strangely. It doesn't like the dog, but it's sticking with them both. 

This was at 10:54 a.m. today. Dark!

Some of us slept all day; that would be the kiddos. Mam decided to make jelly, and Tonya was catching up on the TV programme The Traitors. I did some work I had left from the office, and nothing much was happening outside. 

Sam rang; he asked to come over. He said he got his chainsaw repaired and since we were all trapped indoors by the "monster storm", he might as well come over and get that branch.

I have a dead tree limb that's about to fall into the driveway, and I need the chainsaw for that. But really? Today we were going to take out a tree limb? I thought he was joking, just looking for an excuse to be with company, so I quipped that he was welcome, but to watch out for falling trees and floods on the way. Sam reminded me that this storm is the usual for us, and he too wonders why the news and weather stations are making it a big deal when it isn't. 

Sam arrived with his chainsaw at the ready. I was gobsmacked. The man saw no problem with going out in the wind and rain to cut down a dead tree limb. 

"Wot are ye doin' wit dat?" Mam pointed at the chainsaw as he dropped it in the mudroom.

"Thought I'd take that dead limb down for you."

We stared at him. He was serious.

"During a nor'easter?" I said.

Sam looked over his shoulder at the rain.

"Gabe, I've showered in worse than this."

Ma'am spoke up, absolutely forbidding us from doing anything with a chainsaw outside in "da wetter."

Sam thought that was ridiculous. I sided with him because the storm was a joke. As this "discussion" went on, Tonya came in and overheard us all arguing.

"Are your mother and I the only two who have the sense to realise that two grown men standing under a tree with a chainsaw, in wet weather, is precisely how local-news stories begin?"

"Neider one of ye be toocing dat tree," Mam announced.

Sam looked at me, and I looked at Sam.

"Why not?" I asked.

Mam stood looking at me with her jelly spoon clutched in her white-knuckled hand like a weapon she wasn't afraid to use on either of us.

"Because dere's wetter coomin'."

Sam glanced through the kitchen window.

"There is weather, Mrs O'Sullivan. It's called drizzle."

"Mock me if ye like."

"I'm not mocking you."

"Ye are!"

"I'm mocking the weather people."

"Same ting. Poot dat machine away." She pointed at the chainsaw sitting in the middle of the mudroom. 

Sam leaned towards me. "Is she always like this?"

"Today? She's actually fairly relaxed."

Mam pointed the wooden spoon at both of us.

"I heard dat. I be standin' roight 'ere."

Mam went into her Scottish weather prediction and headache, coupled with arthritis, and then the animals' reactions being off from their normal ways. Those arguments did nothing to allay any trepidation Sam may have harboured. He picked up the chainsaw and started for the door. He called the dog, but the dog refused to go outside. The cat bolted out of the kitchen like we'd ask it next. 

"Come on, boyo," I called.

The dog backed farther into the kitchen. 

Sam stopped and didn't open the door. He looked at the dog and said, "Huh."

"What?" I said to him.

"Nothing."

"No, no. You don't get to 'huh' after spending ten minutes telling me there's no storm."

"I didn't say there was a storm."

"You just huh'd."

"Dogs are weird."

"You huh'd, Sam."

I walked past him, opened the door and signalled him to follow. 

While we were looking at the limb, the wind stopped. Completely. Sam observed that the trees weren't moving. The rain was falling straight down. No birds, no sounds, nothing. For the first time, Sam wasn't joking around; he was deep in thought. 

"Gabriel and Samuel," Mam called from inside the screen door, and I think I heard her mutter to herself, "Dat rhymes it does."

"Yes?" I shouted.

"Get in a hoose, ye two eejits."

Sam looked at the sky, then at me.

"Maybe we'll do the branch another day."

I grinned. Mam got to him.

"What happened to 'I've showered in worse than this'?"

He gave me a rueful smile.

We went inside; Mam had returned to her jelly. Tonya was in the lounge watching The Traitors. I  poured cups of coffee for Sam and me. We both glanced at the chainsaw resting in the mudroom. It hadn't been more than ten minutes when a tremendous CRACK sounded outside. We all froze. Sam and I ran to the window. 

The dead limb Sam was about to stand beneath was lying across the driveway.

Mam's voice came from behind us.

"Aye."

Neither of us turned around; we looked at each other knowingly.

"Not one bloody word, Mam." I threw behind me.

"I dint say nuttin'".

Sam looked at me and whispered, "She knows something. She's saying it with her face."

"She does that."

We looked around at her. There she was, calm as can be, stirring the jelly.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026. All rights reserved 

The Calm Before The Storm - The Approaching Apocalypse

25 September 2026

2018

R. Linda:

As per usual, the weather people are predicting a storm that sounds like the end of the world is coming. Usually, panic-buying groceries and necessities in case the power goes out starts instantly at the word 'storm'. And usually, the storm of the century doesn't materialise or turns out to be a sun shower. 

A big storm is coming tomorrow; right now it is sunny, lovely, and the only hint of trouble is that the wind has picked up. I be so unimpressed. 

However, me neighbours are acting like civilisation has about eighteen hours left. I went down to the Genny early this morning. We had run out of bread for toast, and well, the place was hopping with villagers buying everything, including the last loaf off the shelves. I was stunned and a little bit ticked that they took all the bread. I stood in one aisle, and the milk, eggs, bottled water, batteries, and enough toilet paper to survive until Easter were GONE. 

I heard the words, "Significant, rapidly deteriorating conditions, widespread outages." 

I looked at them all talking at once, taking their storm stash to the counter and then I looked outside at the sunny, beautiful weather, the chirping birds, and wondered if I had entered an asylum. The TV was on, and there was a group holding their stashes huddled in front of it. I could see the colours on the weather map (actually several weather maps, because the weather people couldn't decide whether the "American model or the European model" was accurate). 

I had no bread; I was annoyed more than I let on. The nerve, there they were with two or more loaves each, and I had none. They left me NONE! That meant no toast for Gabe. The villagers had it all, so I left them gabbing about the storm and went on me way. I was tempted to drive the 45 minutes to the grocery store, but I knew that place would be packed, so I went home…breadless. 

"Where's the bread? Oh, did you get milk? We are all out." Tonya said. 

"No, no, I did not. The bread-and-milk phenomenon was taking place at the Genny, and there was nothing left. So I left."

I looked out the window; the wind had picked up, really picked up. I watched leaves skittering across the deck and yard. The trash bin was rolling around the driveway, and I thought I should grab it before it disappeared into the woods, never to be seen again. A lawn chair by the garden started migrating toward the garden shed like it wanted to be inside for safety. But what got me cold was the squirrel. Our resident 'Freddie the Squirrel' sat on the deck railing, looking at me side-eyed. His fur blew in the wind, and his nose crinkled as if he could smell something wicked coming.

"Nah," I said to meself. I've lived through so many of these false alarms that I don't believe the weather people…however, I do trust that squirrel. I looked past Fred, and the birds were not at the feeders; even the chipmunk was gone to ground. 

"Huh!" I said, looking out the window, watching Freddie watch me out of the corner of his eye. His little hands were tucked into the fur on his chest; his tail had been curved at the end, but now it stood straight up like a scary-cat, or a barometer. "What are you telling me, Freds me, man?" I asked quietly, more to meself than Freddie. 

Tonya had come back into the kitchen. 

"I sent O'Hare to the grocery store. Maybe there's bread left, I dunno, but he's willing to go, so…"

She looked out the window and mused that we should rescue the lawn furniture; it looked like the wind was redecorating the garden sitting area. 

 

Tonya was taking this more seriously than I was. I looked one last time outside at the blue bell sky and noticed Mr Freddie was no longer in residence on the railing. He was gone, outta there! Uh oh. 

Tonya and I got the furniture into the shed; I rescued the trash bin and put it in the garage. 

Meanwhile, Mam was busy charging phones, filling the bathtub with water (an old habit) and putting out flashlights and candles, all stuff we didn't need because we have a full house generator. Her reaction to me telling her none of that was needed: "Well, just in case."

Mam had the telly on. It was blaring about the coming disastrous storm. I looked outside, and there was Fred; yes, he had reappeared in the kitchen garden window eating spilt birdseed. The rate of eating made me think that if he ate all that seed, he'd explode. I walked over to the window and said to him, though he couldn't hear or understand me, "YOU are either very scared about this storm or you are in competition with Mr Chips."

He ignored me, gathering leftover birdseed from the tray where the birds usually alight. 

"I tell ya there, Fred, your cheeks will burst if ya keep that up," I said, laughing at him, thinking to meself, Oh, for God's sake, he isn't predicting Armageddon. He's just a greedy squirrel. That's when he stopped and turned full face toward me on the other side of the window. Uh-oh, I thought. It was like a flash; he launched himself at the screen, making me step back from the window and chattered at me the best he could with all that food stuffed in his mouth. Then, as quick as that, he jumped off the tray and disappeared. 

The family secured the house while I stood at the window, looking for that damn squirrel. Was he trying to tell me something? I went outside; the wind caught the screen door and practically took it off its hinges. There was that distinct groan the trees make at their tops, while everything at ground level feels deserted.

No squirrel in sight; actually, nothing in sight, just the wind.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026. All rights reserved 

Fast Food, Slow Revenge

23 September 2026

2017

R. Linda: 

I tell ya! Ms Jaio is becoming a real pain in the arse. Because I introduced her to Sam, she considers me the enemy. How was I to know things would go horribly wrong at her and Sam's dinner? How is it I be the one that threw her life into turmoil?

First and foremost, I thought I was doing her a favour by introducing her to a very nice (if not eccentric) guy, whom she approved of at first meeting. Second, I wasn't at the dinner to see a misguided proposal go south (See Story #2001 Hammocks, Matchmaking, and a Misplaced Diamond, 16 August, 2026), so how am I responsible? Third, self-turmoil is of her own creating, not mine. Ok, I asked to talk it out with her and help bolster Sam's side of the story, but she won't even let me utter the first syllable of his name. 

As a result, she's been morose for weeks now. 

Today, we were on the road for an assignment, and on the way back we decided to stop at a fast-food chain for lunch. We didn't have time to go in, so we would eat when we got back to the office. 

So we pulled up. A car was by the checkout, and we were at the menu station. We decided what we wanted and pulled forward to order.

Meanwhile, a packed car of children, with a woman whose hair stuck out from her head like she'd been pulling it out, drove up at the menu station. We'd just finished ordering when the packed car pulled up behind and bumped us. Not enough to think there was damage, but we both turned around and looked.

 The driver had an irritated what? look on her face and waved us on so she could place her massive order. 

Ms Jaio pulled up behind the guy getting his order and told me that the woman behind us was clearly losing it. I heard her pull up behind us, yelling at the kiddos.

"STOP IT, JUST STOP IT!" 

The takeout window was taking their time. Maybe the guy in front of us had a big order. Neither of us was paying attention until the woman with the carload of kiddos started honking her horn and shouting at us to move on.

Now, I have had a carload of kiddos and know it can be stressful because they say and do things to each other that start a lot of havoc. I also know that when you double that with hungry kiddos, it isn't an easy job to cart them anywhere, and you feel certifiable by the time you drop them all off. 

But this moronic behaviour from the driver was way over the top. 

"No wonder kiddies act crazee." Ms Jaio commented, watching the woman in the rearview mirror. "Driver iz nutso!"

I looked around. The woman was yelling at the kiddos while they laughed.

Yes, laughed at her.

I had a little sympathy for her until she leaned on the horn and yelled out the window at us. Watching her made us miss the fact that the other driver had pulled off with his order. 

Some of what she yelled, and the names she called us, made me angry. But Ms Jaio wanted her coffee and sanny and was telling me to ignore the woman. 

So we pulled up to the window.

Ms Jaio was smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

I thought either she's finally lost it, OR she had a devious idea swimming around in her head.

She smiled apologetically at the worker.

"Gee, I sorry I have second order to pay for. The big one. This first is his." 

She smiled at me and handed the man her card, then handed me mine.

"Oh, no problem, Miss."

And of course, it took a little longer.

I knew the woman behind us' patience had left the building long ago. She started shouting at not only us, but the worker.

At first, I was mystified by what Ms Jaio was doing. Then the worker handed over MY order. 

The other order came a moment later.

Ten bags of hamburgers.

Ten drinks.

One coffee.

And a coffee roll.

I caught on.

Suddenly, I was buried under food. I had drinks between me knees and bags everywhere, which made it hard for me to move. Me main concern was how I was going to get out of the car when we got back. 

When we saw the coffee roll, Ms Jaio commented that it was obviously the woman's, and we were doing her a favour by not giving her a sugar high. She'd probably yell louder at the laughing kiddos. 

"Yup, we did good deed for day," She said, all happy with herself. 

We slowly pulled over to watch what happened.

The woman pulled up to find she had no order. 

She had to place it all over again. 

BUT because there was a line of cars behind hers, the worker made her pull to the back of what had become a very long lunch line. 

Yup.

She had to wait with 10 hungry and rambunctious kiddos in a vehicle where she couldn't get out and leave them. She had to listen to them complaining. 

We pulled out and started back to the office. 

"What are we going to do with all this food?" I asked.

"Give it to co-workers."

She smiled at me.

A vengeful smile, one filled with happy self-satisfaction, of a caper well done.

After that, she was back to her old self. 

Let's hope it lasts.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

Of Bananas Wearing Condoms & Not Getting What You Paid For

21 September 2026

2016

R. Linda:

Well, well, well. Now the family believes me. I have told them for months that Mrs Dragon was losing it. They said I was imagining things. Everyone knows I have a healthy imagination, so…

BUT here is the proof, such as it is. 

Yesterday, Tonya went food shopping. The kiddos are banana freaks, and Tonya always buys a large bunch. We have a banana holder she hangs them on in the kitchen, in sight of everyone. Shipped in bunches, they have a soft plastic at the top to keep them from separating and blue tape around the middle to keep them from bumping into other bananas and damaging themselves or the others during transport. All very well and good.

Yes, indeed, the Dragon lady got carried away, far, far away with what she thought she was looking at: Bananas wearing condoms, is what she said. Let's look at this soft plastic holder, shall we?

YUP

Ever onward with this dreadful mix-up. 

The Dragon does not eat bananas for whatever reason, but she did notice when they were gone. Not in the usual way you'd notice, like nothing hanging from the banana holder; no, it was what was in the trash bin. 

What was in the bin was the soft plastic top, but she didn't associate that with bananas, but with something far more embarrassing, like a human banana, if you get me drift. Let me show you what she saw in the trash, and I'll leave the rest to YOUR imagination.

She took this as being a condom

She went wild. She told Tonya the males in the house (I be assuming this includes yours truly) were being "nasty in their habits." Well, for the males in the house old enough to know what a condom is, we felt like we were being singled out as "nasties" as well as very stupid to put one on top of the trash, but we did smile at the fact that the thing was on top of a banana.

On hearing this, I said, "Who would be putting condoms on bananas?" Then I said, "Actually, I find that funny."

Well, she did not and said so in many, many words. 

Tonya went and took a look, took the picture, and, giggling, showed it to me.

"Yes, Mother, I see it. But it's not a condom; it's the soft plastic they put over the top of the bananas on shipping to hold them together.

"Well, it looks like a condom to me!" She was all put out.

I'd like to say her day got better, but it did not. While the male population of the house was off laughing our arses off, she had got a package. She knows O'Hare loves the legend of Sleepy Hollow and the Headless Horseman, so she saw a resin statue that lights up with a pumpkin light and sent for it. 

This is what she ordered on FB, or thought she did. It's about 10" x 10". 

Very nice if it really exists

She ordered the first one a while back and got what you are about to see. This one arrived from China (which made me wonder about their knowledge of the Headless Horseman), and it came in a rather small box. When she opened it, it was barely 6" x 6".

Close but no cigar

Well, the reins were missing, so she used some rawhide she uses for bracelets and fixed that. The plastic pumpkin was broken off and didn't work, and while it resembles the original, it's not the original and is cheaply made. Never daunted, she went to the Walmart website to order another one, thinking surely Walmart would have the right one. Well, she received the shipping notice from CHINA; she began to worry, and she should, because what came next was twice as bad as what she got the first time.

Measuring almost 7" x 7" 

Not only was the arm off the rider, but it was also chipped on the other side, and the PLASTIC pumpkin

was rolling around in the box. And the light inside Mr Pumpkin doesn't work. It looks cartoonish. 

She is quitting while she is ahead. I told her, one more, and it's three strikes and you're out, but she says no; the two monstrosities are enough. She's learned her lesson. O'Hare has the first one and is happy, and she's taking the second home with her; that is, I assume she is leaving soon. One can hope.

Now if only we could convince her about bananas and condoms, we'd be all set.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

The Athlone Ambush

19 September 2026

2015

R. Linda:

Did I ever tell you about me unexpected train ride to Galway? 

We all know the "Ah, sure, 'tis yourself" acquaintance. You know the one you barely know but who will trap you in a 45-minute conversation about people you might mutually know, but really don't.

Well, the one I sort of know spotted me from across a train platform and was using exaggerated, silent hand gestures and facial contortions to signal he'd like to meet up. To everyone waiting to buy a train ticket, I'm sure he looked like he was making threatening gang signs or having a medical emergency. 

I tried me best not to get cornered by this guy, but as he had his ticket, he finally caught me. "What in God's name are you doing behind that wheelie bin?" I thought fast and said I was looking for a dropped Euro. 

I knew I was in a spot of bother the exact second I spotted Mick "The Bore" Murphy hovering by the Dublin ticket barriers. Mick was the kind of man who could talk on any subject without saying much, and I would rather walk barefoot over broken glass than spend the next forty minutes hearing about Mick's cousin's cousin who had a bad turn after eating a dodgy sausage roll.

I panicked, yes I did! I pulled me flat cap down over me eyes, executed a sharp about-turn, and sprinted blindly onto the nearest train.

Clack-clack. The automated doors chimed and shut. 

A robotic voice echoed through the carriage: "Welcome aboard the Irish Rail Express service to Galway. Next stop, Athlone."

"Aw, you're codding me," I muttered to me stunned self. Me stomach was doing a somersault; I had no fecking ticket! Me Leap Card was un-scanned, and I was currently hurling toward the opposite side of the country.

"Tickets, please. All tickets and valid passes," a booming voice rang out.

Down the aisle strode a fiercely strict Irish Rail inspector. I squirmed. I dove into the nearest seat, grabbed a leftover newspaper from the table, and held it wide open in front of me face.

The inspector stopped right at me row. He stared at the paper as I looked over it at him. "Right, pal. I know times be tough, but are ye reading that Irish Independent upside down for a wager, or are ye just taking the absolute mick?"

I dropped the paper, sweating profusely. "Lo sent, señor," I blurted out, attempting a wildly unconvincing Spanish accent. "No habla…the trains."

"Cut the act, sunshine," the inspector sighed, pulling out an electronic machine. "You've boarded an intercity express with no ticket. That's a hundred-euro fixed penalty notice, plus the fare. Name and address?

My brain short-circuited. "Me name is…Paddy…Paddy."

"Paddy Paddy," the inspector repeated, deadpan. "Right. Stand up, please, Paddy Paddy. Let's see some ID, or I'm calling the Gardai to meet us at the next platform."

I stood up, a nervous wreck, patting me pockets, and noticed a teddy bear I'd had under my arm drop to the floor. I had to think for a moment about where it came from as I picked it up. Then I remembered that when I ran for the train, I had picked it up before I slipped on it and mindlessly had tucked it under me arm, where it had been since I got on the train. 

The entire carriage went dead silent. An elderly woman two rows back clutched her rosary beads. The inspector took a cautious step backwards, eyeing the teddy bear suspiciously. "Right. What's the toy, Paddy Paddy?"

Before I could explain, the carriage door hissed open at the front. A booming voice shattered the tension. 

"GABRIEL! Is that yourself?! What in Saint Brigid's name are you doing on the way to Galway? And why do you have a teddy bear?"

It was Mick. He was on his way to Galway in the carriage ahead of me and now had tracked me down. He must have seen me stand up and all this with the ticket inspector...

"Jayus, Mary, an' Joseph," I whispered.

The train screeched to a halt. Athlone Station.

The moment the doors clicked unlocked, I didn't think—I just ran. I dove under the inspector's arm and sprinted onto the Athlone platform. 

"Hey! Stop right there!" The inspector shouted, bursting out of the carriage, signalling to two station guards.

I looked for cover. Seeing an Irish Rail hi-vis vest draped over a luggage trolley, I threw it on, grabbed a stray mop from a bucket, and began aggressively mopping the dry concrete platform to blend in.

In me blind panic, I accidentally mopped right over the polished boots of a local Garda who was peacefully drinking a coffee on the platform.

The Garda slowly looked down at his boots, then at me, wearing a stolen vest, holding a mop, and still fiercely clutching the teddy bear under me arm.

"Right, sir," the Garda said, setting his coffee down. "Step away from the mop. We're going to have a little chat in the station master's office."

Ten minutes later, I was sweating under the fluorescent lights of the back office. The teddy bear sat on the desk between me and the law.

"So," the Garda said, folding his arms. "You hijacked an express, gave a fake name, assaulted me footwear, and you're carrying a stuffed animal like a hostage. Care to tell me what you're playing at?"

Before I could confess to the utter horror of Mick's small talk, the door flew open. The Station Master ran in, holding a phone.

"Hold on, Officer!" The Station Master panted, looking at me with a sudden reverence. "We just got a call from Heuston Station in Dublin. They've been looking for that exact bear all morning!" 

I blinked. They have? I thought to meself. Uh-oh.

"It belongs to the Government Minister's daughter!"

I thought to meself: Could this get any worse? 

"She dropped it on the platform, and the child was having absolute conniptions. The CCTV shows this man heroically rescuing it from the tracks right before the Galway train pulled out!"

The Garda's suspicion instantly melted into pure Irish admiration. "Well…Holy Mother. A civic duty! Forgive me. I should have known a decent skin wouldn't be mopping dry concrete without a noble cause." 

Then he looked perplexed, and I was sure he was wondering why I was mopping the floor.

Before he could voice his concern, the ticket inspector, terrified of a political headache, tore up the fine on the spot. "Tell you what, Paddy Paddy, as a thank you from Irish Rail, we're putting you in the First Class carriage all the way back to Dublin. Free tea and a full Irish breakfast on the house."

The Garda was perplexed as to why I was being addressed as Paddy Paddy and was about to say something, but I opened me cakehole before he did.

"Ah, sure look," I said, playing the modest hero while me heart rate finally slowed down. "It was nothing, just me doing me bit." And I smiled wide.

They escorted me back out to the platform like a visiting dignitary. But just as I stepped onto the return train, a familiar, terrifying roar echoed from the station exit.

"GABRIEL! THERE YA ARE! THE COPPERS TOLD ME YA WERE A HERO!"

Mick Murphy bounded down the platform, a grin stretching from ear to ear. "Sure, since Irish Rail be paying, I'll hop into First Class with ya! We can talk all about me cousin Tommy's knee replacement on the way back. They had to use three different types of stitches! It'll take me at least two hours to explain the kneecap!"

I looked at the train. I looked at Mick.

Without a single word, I dropped the teddy bear into Mick's arms, turned on me heel, and sprinted out of the station entrance into the pouring Athlone rain—happily choosing a seventy-mile walk home in total, beautiful silence.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved