Things have already been strange. Very strange. Ever since Moses returned to his hometown in Egypt from his adopted desert home, unbelievable events have taken place. For one thing the Nile turned from water to blood for awhile. No, it wasn’t some weird algae thing. It was blood. You don’t believe me? Ask anyone. The stench was terrible and, of course, no one – not even the animals – could drink from it. Then frogs. Frogs! Really! They were all over the place. They’re slippery when you step on them. Did you know that? Not after they’re dead and dried up under the sun. No. When they’re alive and hopping all over the place and you can’t walk anywhere without stepping on them. I won’t even talk about the gnats that flew up our noses. But we at least got a reprieve from the flies – swarms of them – that were all over the place in Egypt. It was the same with the plague on the livestock. What a loss! Oh, not in Goshen. No, we Israelites were prevented that trouble here. And the boils, hail, locusts, and darkness. I kid you not. I almost, almost, began to feel sorry for the people who had enslaved us for hundreds of years – until I remembered how we were treated by them.
Now this. Moses and Aaron got us all together and said we’re supposed to take a year-old male lamb without any defects into our homes for two weeks. We’re supposed to make sure there are enough lambs to feed every family member. Then – slaughter! Yes. Just when we were starting to like the little thing. My brother even named it. He eats out of my hand, you know; his little tongue licking every last bit. But we can’t make excuses. He has to be slaughtered at twilight. Then my parents are supposed to take some of his blood and smear it on the sides and tops of the door frame. Every family in this town is supposed to do it. We won’t be the only ones crying over our little lamb.
We wonder what will happen at midnight, and everyone in the neighborhood has their own idea. But we all agree the Egyptians won’t do this. Oh! What if we can hear the wailing clear over here when every Egyptian household loses their firstborn: the Egyptians in prison clear up to the Egyptians in the palace. Horror! And Moses says be ready. After everything else that’s happened since he returned, we will do what he says. Don’t take time to let your bread rise. Eat lamb roasted over fire, along with bitter herbs and the bread that didn’t have time to rise. Pack a go bag because the Pharaoh will call for Moses and tell him he will finally grant his request to let us out of slavery. But we must hurry, hurry, hurry! Grab what we can and go! Go fast! And if some Egyptians give us some of their stuff to make us leave, well I won’t stop them. Plunder can be done in a variety of ways, can it not?
It’s twilight. Oh! The lamb! The bleating! The blood spatter! We cry, but we do what we’re told. We follow the instructions. Death will pass because of the lamb’s blood. We shut the door.
Story prompt: Exodus 12; Photo by Sides Imagery from Pexels
blurred from tiredness. Some of their comrades might have been collegial – others, not so much. But, unlike him, their night had exploded in light and sound and magnificence with the announcement of the ages. Glory! To God! In the highest! A baby was born who would first save the world for all history, then rule for all eternity. History! Eternity!
flecks of light, turning the night into a velvety backdrop. Then the branches of the tree reach lower, and lower still until they brush the ground. 
And in the glittering, gleaming night something amazing begins to happen!
Tiny red, blue, and green berries sprout along the soft green needles. Gradually little bits of corn and pumpkin spring up in concert from the branches; and fruit of all kinds drop from the already laden boughs.
First, little chipmunks, fresh from their winter hibernation, peek up from the snow. Then squirrels: gray, red, and brown chatter to each other as they scamper near. Deer and wolves, friends for the evening, sniff the air and begin to 
munch on the feast. Birds drop down onto the higher branches and lend music to the night when they break from dining on the abundance of the old tree. The quiet of the forest erupts with happy sounds of animals, some very hungry from too many snowy days, as they enjoy the profusion of good food.
Eight quarters. That’s what did it. It was two dollars sucked into a laundromat dryer with nothing to show for them that cracked her final effort to put on her game face. And now, as she sat on a cold bench, holding a large bag of wet laundry and waiting for the bus, a few tears burned her eyes. She blinked quickly to chase them away. 
As she lay in bed the next morning, the events from the previous evening played in her memory. She could almost taste the gingerbread cookies and hot cocoa the old man had brought out while they finished decorating his tree, a tree that rivaled any she’d ever seen. 
Two hours later, I’d not only made a fresh pot, but was more awake than I’d been since my mani-pedi. I’d shown the Sergeant the pictures from my phone, I’d told him everything I’d told McBrennain, and more. I’d even told him how glorious the stranger had been. John D. was a very attentive listener, and I couldn’t seem to stop talking. The coffee didn’t help.
Detective McBrennain showed his badge and stepped across the threshold. I invited him to sit at the kitchen table, made coffee (my policy was no decaf, but he looked like someone who preferred the dark of night to the light of day anyway), and told him my story. I told him about the car, the man with glorious gray eyes, and seeing the same car on a Facebook post of a missing car. I told him the car must have been given a paint job, otherwise – and here I held up my beautifully manicured nails – it had been white. I told him I recognized the car by a triangle of tiny dings on the door handle.
Then he punched in some numbers, tapped once or twice, and tapped again. Handing me my phone, he jumped into the car and started a purring engine. A perfect triangle of tiny dings on the passenger side door handle caught my eye as he pulled into the light afternoon traffic.
hungry. So we sauntered over (I know, what a word; but I believe it matched the extravagance of walking over the threshold of a place using French in its name, don’t you?) to Sissy’s Diner and ordered soup. Again, I know. But we’d just had manicures. What did you expect us to do? Break a nail carving steak? We considered sandwiches, of course; but by the time we would’ve handled the greasy fries that came with them, again, why take chances? And it wasn’t like we ordered chicken broth. We had the clam chowder Sissy’s was famous for. Plus handling a spoon gave each of us an excuse to glance at our newly polished fingertips: Pink Delish for my friend and Why Wine for me.
As we chatted on our way out the door of Sissy’s, I noticed a car just a few parking spaces down that exactly matched my mani-pedi color. What are the odds? We decided to walk (done with the sauntering now that we’d had clam chowder) over and take a hand selfie by the car. I mean, the color match was so unlikely – in our minds, at least – that it deserved a photo.