Short Fiction

Don’t Dream It’s Over

Friday is the crafty temptress who promises everything a man desires, the freedom from the toil of the Working Days. Once she lures the men in with her sweet smile and ample decolletage  her brothers, Saturday and Sunday, take the men into another world of fantasy.

Saturday is the slippery bastard who only shows up after Friday pulls a man in by his suspenders and sits him down with a whiskey. Friday packs the saloon the same way every time and Saturday joins in after the town’s men are deep in their cups. Saturday has a big laugh and sharp eyes. He charms the money from the men’s pockets like a snake oil salesman, softens the men’s defenses against sins like adultery, and makes them all believe the fantasy will last forever.

Sunday, though, comes in later with a somber demeanor. Possessing a gentleness that disarms the drunken men, just when they start feeling the glimmer of sobering guilt. Sunday lays a strong hand on each man’s shoulder. Like a priest at confession, he listens to the stories of their indiscretions, nodding his head in sympathy as each man questions “what have I done?”. His compassion makes them feel better, like the fantasy spun by Friday and Saturday was nothing but a fevered dream. He sends them home to their wives and children. Fun with the Weekend brothers ends.

The next morning, each man has to come to terms with Sheriff Monday waiting on the doorstep. The Sheriff comes to ruin the day and make them pay for the mischief done. Sins are ugly in the morning light with Monday.

Each man blame the indulgence of Saturday and Sunday but the Weekend brothers disappeared from town, as quickly as they had arrived. As each man returns to the soul-sucking labor of the Work Day, they dream once more of the promise of Friday and her sultry whispers.