The old trunk had been sitting in the closet for decades. 

He knew about the box in the vaguest terms, but only that it had existed, and he’d had even vaguer memories of seeing it. He’d heard it talked about by older relatives all who were gone now.

He dragged it out into the floor. He couldn’t make out any of the writing on the small label that tacked to the front of it, just under the lock. He lifted it to the nearest table. It was heavy. He wasn’t sure if the weight was because of the trunk itself, or what was in it. Although he suspected most of the weight was the trunk, which appeared constructed of solid wood. 

Shining a  proper light on the label, he was barely able to make out a name and date. The name seemed to that of his grandfather, Robert Brown Strong. The date looked to be early 1900’s, around the turn of the century. He had vague memories of the trunk. He’d seen it when he was much younger, as a small child, but didn’t remember anything about it.

Locked, he assumed there had to be a key somewhere. He rummaged through the drawers of his grandfather’s desk and found an old set of small keys. He’d never seen them before, but he’d never went through the old desk that thoroughly.

To his surprise, one of the keys fit. After carefully jiggling the key, the lock finally opened. The cast-iron hinges squeaked in rebellion, but after much resistance, he lifted the lid.

The light from the lamp off to his side cast a shadow over the insides, making it seem darker than it was. He shifted the light, which gave him a clear view of the inside of the small trunk. The amount of dust inside a sealed box was surprising. He sneezed and coughed as the dust stirred from its resting place of decades. Finely he unearthed several small objects. One was a small notebook, and the other was a pocket watch and various small pieces of jewelry. Now covered in dust and lint and general grossness, he couldn’t tell what they were.

Picking each piece out carefully, he laid them on the desk, in the order that he’d found them. When the box was empty of everything save the dust that didn’t float up into his face and cover his hands, he placed the trunk over on the side table.

He sat down and looked over the collection, removing dust as he fingered each item. He dared not be too aggressive in removing the dust for fear of what too much rubbing or handling could do to the fragile pieces.

One of the pocket watches seemed familiar. He had hazy memories of the trunk opened by big hairy hands. He seemed to be eye level with it, which meant he’d been pretty small. Something else as playing up in his mind, but he couldn’t quite see it. The memory was a feeling or a shadow of some kind. He tried to force it to his mind’s eye, but it wouldn’t come. 

Setting the watch down, he picked up the ring. It too carried memories. Those memories were brighter. Then it occurred to him. The brightness he remembered was the sun. A bright summer day and a pretty hand wearing the ring was holding his smaller hand. He remembered more as the memories came in flashes, His grandfather, standing at a station of some kind, holding the pocket watch in his hand the chain dangling between it and his vest. 

Shaking his head, he lay down the jewelry and stood up.  Memories that he didn’t want to remember kept rushing back. Pacing back and forth in his grandfather’s old office, he knew what was next. 

He closed his eyes, and for a briefest of seconds, the eyes of his mind flashed the shadow of the train as his mother fell into the track. Seconds later, he remembered landing on the wooden deck next to the track. All they were able to find was his grandfather’s pocket watch, which had broken from the chain as it flew out of his pocket as he jumped to save her. His mother fell under the train, and they only found her hand with the ring on it. 

Pushing the images from his mind, he opened his eyes. This was the twenty-fifth year that they had held a memorial service. And each time it tore him up when he had to speak. He cleared his throat and tucked the watch and ring in his coat pocket. His family was waiting in the parlor for the service to begin, and he knew he wasn’t going to give the speech he rehearsed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a moment of silence in remembrance of my grandfather, Robert Brown Strong, and my mother, Mary Jeanne Strong. Then I will tell you about the family trunk.”​
​

           He was a small man. He had always been a small man. Small in every way. He'd had small dreams, A small life. A small job.
     People ignored him, when he was a kid, he was the one everyone picked on .       In school, the teachers never picked on him, because he didn't stand out in the classroom. They seemed to feel that because he was small, he wasn't smart. They ignored him, when he called on being wrong. Being small he had taken a lot of abuse. The end result was he was small, he thought and dreamed small.
     Than he looked in the mirror one day. He was suddenly tired of being small. Being naturally small he'd pretty much let life run over him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had slowly realized that it was his fault he had a small life. It was time to reinvent his life.
 That started with his wardrobe. He went through his closest.  Except for a very few pieces he really liked everything else went to the Goodwill.  The next stop on the way to the men's cloths store was the barber. There he had the barber give him a while new look, When he left he sported a nice flattop haircut, nicely trimmed beard.
     He spent the rest of he day at the cloths store.  There he selected , a completely new set of cloths, and a new style. He went back to the basics, classics.  He topped it off with a new fedora hat, and trench coat.  The bill was huge. But he didn't care.  
     For the first time in his life he didn't feel small.  His next stop was his work.     The looks he got when he walked in wearing the new outfit were priceless.  In all the years he worked there, he had never been in anything other than a very old, ill fitting suit, and crappy old hat. all of which should have been dumped decades ago. 
     He walked into his boss's office. Laying his new briefcase down on the desk, took off the new hat.
His boss barely glanced up at him. Then he did a double take. 
The look on his boss said it all. In his wildest dreams he never had seen him look that good.
     "Mr. Connery. I want a raise. I've been working here for almost twenty years, I've been doing mine and your jobs and sometimes even more than that. For all of those years you've taken me for granted. and pretty much ignored me, unless you needed my help, and me to bail you out of a mess. That stops now.  
You give me a raise, double my current salary, and a promotion, A promotion, I might add you promised me several years ago."
     Mr. Connery, just sat looking up at him. He was speechless for a second. He barely recognized the small man  standing before him. He  tried to think quickly. He realized everything he'd said was right.
     "You want what?" he asked sarcastically. He  decided to make a show of standing up to him. He really wasn't sure how to take the new version of his old employee. 
    "Its really simple you start treating me as a equal, and giving  me the respect I deserve, Or I leave. I start my own firm, and take all of my clients with me. After all the years I've been here, I know where all the bodies are buried , so to speak, I know how much you've skimming off to your off shore account.  And about you and Mrs. Lewis. " He paused a moment to let it sink in.  


Mr. Connery  sat back down his his chair. Suddenly the man before him looked ten feet high. He knew if he  pushed him he'd do exactly what he said he would do. 
     "By the way I quit.  There will be a letter in the mail going to the proper  authorities  detailing all of the things I've just mentioned. and more.  And I am taking all my clients with me.  I've already talked to them and they've agreed to move with my to my new firm. 
 He turned and walked back through the offices. He went to his desk, There he plugged in a thumb drive. started downloading all his files. While that was working he cleared out his desk. collecting all his papers, and every little thing he had.  The computer beeped. He unplugged the drive from the USB port,  Putting it in his pocket. With all of his papers and files and other stuff in his new briefcase. He took one single piece of paper, and wrote on it "I Quit" With the whole office staff watching, including Mrs. Lewis, and Mr. Connery, he walked out the door. 
     He was never a Small Man again.




​

The  old  kitchen table had long since seen better days.  Over the years,  many meals had been prepared and served on it. There were scratch marks and gouges in the top from various family dinners that had included many turkeys, and hams and other large pieces  of meat. Unfortunately not all were cut with the efficiently of a master chef. Most were  , shall we say, unceremoniously mangled into bite size portions.  Which were served to the various family members attending the event.

     The old table had been the scene of many hours of homework. The homework ranged over the years from simple spelling words to world history, and many topics in between. Three generations of children had eaten and done homework on the table over the years.   Oh the games that it had seen. From Go fish, to Yahtzee, and on more then few occasions poker, bridge, gin, and many board games. Stories had been related over the meals and games, memories had been made, first dates, last dates, fights, making up, and one more then a few Christmas secrets had been told across the table.

     Today , it sat in he garage, in the far back corner, waiting to be first used as a work bench, and probably as is the usual manner of course, to be piled high with junk, no one knows what to do with, or wants to get rid of.  

     Eventually, it will be rediscovered under a pile of stuff that should have been tossed decades ago.  The new owners will oh and ah over it. Marvel at the quality workmanship, and the fine quality of the wood.  The scratches and gouges and various stains in the top, will be noted.  There will be a discussion of weather to leave the table as is, or have it refinished.   It will be decided that the table should stay the way it is. So the table will be moved back into the house, placed back in the kitchen, and used again for another  several generations of the new  family. The old table would be a rabble rouser if it could talk.  The family history  the old kitchen table  has seen and will see with the new family would be enough to fill several books,




​

   Time can either be your best friend or your worst  enemy . The weather can also be your best friend, or your worst enemy. 

His mind wandered back to a week decades ago.when time and weather had played important roles in world history. 

     The scene is England 1944, end of May, beginning of June. His boss General Eisenhower , was putting together the greatest military battle that had ever been fought until that time. Months had been spent planing every detail,  Nothing had been left to chance, Security was impossibility tight, The slightest hint of what was planned would have ruined the plan before they could ever begin. Somehow they had kept it all together. Though months of secret training, Deceptions on a scale that had never been attempted, all had worked. All came down to this one week. 

     The General had all the pieces in play. all was set to go. He could almost feel the tension today, as he thought back to the  headquarters in England when the General had given the final orders to go.  The weather had been playing havoc with the plans for at least a month before, Finely there a break in the weather predicted. So it was then or never. They went.

      He let his mind roam through his ancient memories. The looks on the faces of the general and staff who had nothing left to do but wait. Wait for word from the field commanders as to weather their gamble had paid off. While is is hard to put to the invasion together to work with generals who all though they should be in charge, and get men and equipment ready and still keep Operation Overlord a national secret. That seemed easy, compared to he next few hours of waiting, and praying for successful end to the Longest day.

     It came, the end of the Longest Day, Over 9,000, Allied soldiers were either killed or wounded, But in the end they prevailed, and got the job done.  The sense of relief an finely being able to breathe again was  almost palpable. In his minds eye he would remember the rest of the reactions as word came of their success, and now knowing the this was the beginning of the end.

     Yes, time had been both a friend and enemy, throughout his life, many times both at the same time,  But time could not erase his memories of his longest days, many years ago,









​

 The cineplex  has 10 hugmongus screens,   The snack bar was famous for its Frankenfood, some of which was almost editable .

     The various screens showed movies ranging from the classics, to  3rd rate horror flicks, that were carptacular, not to be missed. One screen had home movies.  Dumbfounded debutantes paraded across the  screen, with blank bionic looks giving their lack of usefulness away.  Their only redeeming quality was their bodies, barely covered in tiny  poked dotted bikinis.  If one looked closely they could see the scares from many plastic surgeries.   The glitz was  surpassed only b the stupidly of the whole  thing. Yet people watched, in spite of themselves.

     Meanwhile in other screens the audiences  sat blissfully watching edutainment,  ideally punching emoticans on there handheld devices

When the movies let out, The denizens of the theater,  marched out into their quiet live, completely unaware of the malware that had been implanted in their minds..




This post needs a little explanation.  The prompt this week was  Portmanteau:. 
Which I have admit I had never heard of before.  So some Googling was in order. Here is what they had on the Studio 30 prompt page;
 [noun] the combination of two or more words to create a new word.(examples: bromance, snowpocalypse, brunch, sexting. Use one of these portmanteau or pick one of your own.)

 So I thought it would be fun to see how many I could use in a  story.