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Entries made during Leger's 15 for 15 Contest. |
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| The beach loomed over the drive like a beacon through a storm. Josie could feel her hands tighten on the steering wheel as she lifted her foot slowly off the accelerator. This might be her last chance, she thought as she stepped of the car. This might be her one shot a making things better. The first drift of breeze that brushed through the dark strands of her mahogany hair sent a little tickle down her spine, even through her black suit jacket. Wanting, no needing, to feel that beautiful sensation against her skin, Josie hurriedly undressed right in the middle of the driveway, ditching her jacket, her tailored shirt, her pressed pants, and her expensive high heels in a pile next to her left, front tire. Freedom put a bounce to her step as she walked around the back of the beach cottage to the sands below. The grains felt wonderfully warm between her toes. Walking to the shoreline she dared to wiggle them in playfulness. My God, how long had it been since she truly in enjoyed the world around her. A lone wooden recliner stood just high enough on the sand dunes not to reach the water. A single tropical beach towel lay across the back and snorkeling equipment sat idly in the seat. Looking down at the swimsuit she'd worn under her regular suit, Josie debated whether to lay our under the glory of the sun or to dive deep into the crystal blue waters known only to have been touched by the Gods. This was her moment - the last chance at salvation. Snorkel gear in hand, Josie sauntered slowly to the water, stepping in only to get her ankle wet. This week was going to be her depressurize zone from the job that seemed to be kicking her behind lately. No longer the maverick of her company, she needed to make a new move - find some type of new understanding within herself. And there, on the white sands and crystal blue waters, staring off into a sunset that will never shine exactly the same way again, Josie took a deep breath and found her redemption. |
| The two elder cowboys strolled over to their stalls, hands resting easy on their six-shooters. The night had been jaunty and the women pleasant, but the two partners knew it was time to head out to another town before the Marshalls were on them. Still, it was a hardship to leave such lively festivities just when they were getting started. Earl swept his hat off his head in one hard swipe, letting the hat dangle on the cord wrapped under his chin. Looking at the situation before his sight made him feel old. With slumped shoulders and lower aching back, he walked over to his partner-in-crime and gave it to him straight. "Well, " Earl said as he stroked his near white beard. "The horses have run off." Hank snorted as if Earl was pulling one of his pranks. However, when Earl's serious expression faded, Hank knew they were in deep. Stomping over, he peered into the empty stalls and cursed, only to stomp right back out. "The horses are missin'." "Yep." "Stolen?" Earl shook his head no. "I'mma thinkin' they ran off all on their own accord." Hank ran a calloused, wrinkled hand down his tired face. He was way too old for this kind of thing. Sighing, he looked over to a man he had come to know as a brother. They had little choices as to what to do next. "Go back in to the bar?" Earl made a small whooping sound, slinging his arm over Hank's shoulders. Their paces matched each other's as they head back in for some warm beer, loose women, and cheated cards. |
| Little furry bears changed my life. My story begins in the rocky mountains of California.The family vacation had literally come to a screeching hail when the "Wilderness Tour" jeep blew a tire on the side of the trail halfway up the mountain. As a manuver of survival, my older brother Billy and I had teamed up of sorts when vacation began. Determining if we stuck together on issues of free time and vetoing any activity that would ruin our respective reputations, we'd come out of three tour on the road with our folks somewhat scratch-free. Unfortunately our brilliant plan took a severe beating when Dad overrulled our wish for rafting for the "Wilderness Tour". As the paternal unit he decided that three hours in the baking sun with an open jeep full of strangers was better than pulmeting down the raging rapids of the local river. Go figure. Billy and I were silently bemoaning our tragic fates when Mom whipped our her new digital camera and pointed to a sight about twenty yards away. "Look Rachel! Cubs!" Sure enough there were two brown bear cubs playing with each other out of the right side of the car. A small chill ran down my spine as I saw how close they were. Sure, there was a small fence constructed to keep the wild things in and the humans out, but how many times had I been force to watch "When Nature Attacks" with Billy. Unconsciously, I scooted closer to my big brother. "They're doing it wrong." I stared at Billy muttering to himself, staring intently at the bears. I nudged him to explain. "What are you talking about?" He pointed, his voice bordering anger. "The bears. The bigger one is trying to show the smaller one how to lock, but he's getting the stepping all wrong." My brother, a b-boy since junior high, took great offense when he felt someone was "posing" as a breakdancer. The fact they were bears seemed to completely escape his attention. I peered closer and saw indeed that the cubs were trying to bust a move old school. But what shocked me more was when Billy, murmuring something about not being able to watch anymore, hopped out of the jeep and marched over to the cubs. Screams and cameras burst out at once. A young girl next to me excitedly told everyone she was planning on posting this video on the internet when she got home. All I could see in my mind's eye was Billy being made Yogi Bear's dinner on YouTube. Billy whistled to get the cubs attention, calling out to them to turn his way. He was standing just inside the barrier, his baseball cap turned backward so he could see what he was doing. The cute and lethal little bears turned from their dancing to stare at him, whether to eat him or maul him to death, I'm not sure. Someone inside the jeep had the fortitude to turn on the radio, a random hip-hop tune aiding my brother in his dance of death. All dining risks aside, Billy performed some of his best moves. He repeated the basics a few times for the cubs in the hope they were taking notes. Soon though his moves became more elaborate - popping, locking, freezing - before spinning a windmill on his head, ending in a pike freeze. Everyone human froze as well. For a minute I was sure Billy was bear food. Then, the damnest thing happened. The cubs copied his movements, beat for beat, only losing their footing a couple of times due to their size. The whole jeep exploded into applause as Billy climbed back into the car. My mouth hung to the floor. I couldn't stop staring at him in awe and mortification. "Billy," I said after I found my gumption again. "Those were bears." As if those words alone would brings the fear home fore him. He sniffed, doing a poor job not looking smug. "That isn't an excuse for messing up the craft." I would never look at my big brother or little, fuzzy bears the same again. |
| Mason stood in the doorway, pressing his palm against the hand reader in front of him. Verifying his credentials, the two steel doors moved open, reaveling a large electronics room that had been compared to CompUSA exploding within the secure confines. Mason dragged his hand through his already disheveled brown locks as he clipped his locater and mic over his right ear. "What's your status?" A disembodied voice come out loud and clear over the sound system meshed flawlessly withing the walls' framing structure. It felt as if the person was right in the room. "Mason, we're glad you're here to join us on such unexpected meeting." "I came as soon as I heard," he sighed as he pulled up the complex programs he would need to crack whatever code they had found. "I had to bail out on Bridget for dinner again. She's totally going to dump me know." "I don't think that will be a problem..." Mason's fingers acted on impeccable memory, flying across several keyboards he had laying out on his cluttered workstation. He barely listened to the voices overhead now; he was in his "zone". "I don't think because-" Just then a tall redhead with a long, ethereal scarf came in the other secured door, her Birkenstalks barely making a noise on the tile. The young woman stop dead when she got a sight of Mason at his desk. "Mason? "Bridget?" "Wow...I had no idea." On impulse, Mason embraced his girlfriend with a rib-cracking hug. Now they wouldn't have to keep secrets anymore. "So you work for The Company, too." She gave him a slice of her wonderful smile. "Yes, as an Ancient Language Specialist. And you're a Computer Analyst.." HELLO MASON. HELLO BRIDGET. Both jumped back to see all of Mason's computer screen go black, then flood with green symbols and code. It was happening so fast even Mason couldn't keep up. "This is what I was trying to tell you guys about. This system error popped up about an hour ago. When we tried to decode it shut down. It says it won't talk to anyone but you two." A pregnant pause followed. "Do any of you know what's going on?" "Well," Bridget replied as she pressed her finger to the computer screen. "That's the language I've been decoding for the past six months. But- but its all jumbled with Mason's coding. Almost like...like they've mess together." Mason pushed his glasses higher atop his nose as he peered closer to the computer screens to see what Bridget was talking about. True enough, her language ad his code were in perfect alignment with each other. "Impossible..." NO MASON, NOT IMPOSSIBLE. I AM MERELY A PART OF YOU, AND A PART OF BRIDGET. Bridget grabbed Mason's hand. It trembled with her fear. "What are you saying?" YOU CREATED ME. I AM YOUR CHILD. Suddenly, the code began to swirl as if within a twister. It formed into a cone before the collapse, leaking codes and symbols onto the console of the computers. Ever so slowly, a hand began to form, reaching out for his parents. |
| The clock on the nightstand blinked 4:52 in the morning. The damn thing never seemed work right, even after I'd left for a year to work in the Antarctica. Somewhere in the back on my mind, after months and months of the cold, I had hoped the clock would stay exactly the same. A little piece of reality, you know? Yet, know that I'm back home, its just another reminder of my missing of the most desolate places in the world. I switch over to my right side, bringing the rest of the sheets with me. Maybe in this position I'll be closer to sleep than I was an hour or so ago. Its hard to sleep on such blissfully soft mattress when I'd had grown so use to a worn-out sleeping bag and cement floor for support. My bed now was simply was too soft. Who would ever this there was such a thing. Once I came home from my exploration, I took nothing back but my cameras, my films, and the memories of being out there on the crystal-like frozen waters and pristine snow. I felt like I shouldn't have been there, tainting one of Mother Nature's true treasures by my film crew's presence. Luckily, the harsh chilling winds, we were able to capture the brilliant majesty of the place. Even go a candid portrait of my best friend. The pure air and untouched snows haunt me like the kiss of a long lost lover. I would give anything to go back and feel that alive again. And as I look at my best friend's portrait hanging on my wall, the high-definition printing bringing our the deep black of his suit and the white of stomach, I can hear his bleating-like voice in my ear; its comforting, bringing the ice wilderness back to me in a flash Suddenly, I feel my eyelids droop. Marlowe the Emperor Penguin, I think, will possibly be the last thing I see for the night. I smile sleepily and ask him to watch over me while I dream. Silence greets me, but I do I expect from an Emperor? |
| Lyssa wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she stood on the corner, waiting for the light to change so she claim her morning cup of hot java at the cafe one block over. The cold New England mornings were still foreign to her Florida sensibilities. She had always known that college was created with the sense of new opportunities, but this one she would happily go without. Shivering, her teeth clacking together in an odd tango beat, Lyssa stared at the quartet of people standning across the way, waiting in the same Purgatory she found herself in now. The had the university look about them, much she was sure, did she. With worn bookbags secure across their chests, their minds racing for the upcoming exam, they all found themselves set in the same path. She wondered if they knew each other. The stood close enough to be friends, yet no conversation was slung between like good acquaintances might have had to pass the time. It came her how odd it would be if they had no idea about each other. On a campus of thousands it wasn't impossible, even likely they had never met. Yet, in her own mind, it was imperative that they did in fact know each other. Tucking a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear, Lyssa leaned forward slightly and peered closer at the group as if she could hear what was going on. Never once did she ask herself why it was important to prove her theory. It simply was, and that was all that mattered in that moment on that particular Monday. Suddenly, as if waiting days for a butterfly to emerge from a cacoon, the tall young man standing idly in the back of the set formation leaned forward to the girl with a bow in her hair and whispered something in her ear. Was it suggestive, Lyssa wondered. Was a rebuke or a small jokes shared between two friends? What is a reminder to take notes in class? Or an apology to a lover for being late the night before? No matter what was said, the girl with bow turned her head slightly and smiled back at him, nodding slightly in affirmation. The scruffy guy on the bike cuffed the tall one affectionately in the shoulder. All at once, the quartet seemed to come to life - laughing, talking, happy to be together. Lyssa felt something inside her bloom. Satisfaction, yes, for getting the unasked question right, but there was something else right behind that emotion. Something heavy and shadowed. Something akin to jealousy. But before she had a chance to explore the strange feeling, the light changes color and the group moved on. Tying her violet scarff more securely around her neck, Lyssa walked on as well, instantly thinking of other things, other objectives, leaving behind an unanswered question with yearnings for a cup of hot coffee. |
| The desert is unforgiving, my grandmother used to say. Lounging in a lawn chair on the balcony of family apartment, gazing off into the California sunshine into a world seen only by her, she used to run her gnarled fingers along the black, frayed edge and tell me about her homeland on the other side of the world. You must understand the land to truly be apart of the desert, she would tell me as a listened to her tales of an exotic place i could only imagine in my dreams. The land was unforgiving as all of its fertility has been stripped away through time and heat. Each day the sun beat down upon the sands with the wrath of a scorned god. And each night the cold wind settled over each grain of sand, swiping away the face the desert had molded for itself. Yet, for all of its harshness, the desert has a hidden beauty. Stored away from the scorching rays of the sun, shadowed from the fierce, slashing winds, buried beneath layers of rock lies a secret. Deep within its core lies the source of its soul. Rivers from the times of the Old Ones dwell where no human can taint it waters. As she stared off unto her world of lost sands, I would watch the deep lines of her face pull into an expression I would only later experience for myself. "Will you go back?" I would ask, not knowing the pain the question brought to her person. We would sit in silence for a while before she would turn to me, her dark eyes holding some much I wished to learn, and say, "No child. My body will never return, but heart will always be with it." And as I ride across the vast hills of rich red sands, I hold an unadorned jar close to my chest, breathing in deeply. Finally, I could understand my grandmother's longing for home as I returned her to her heart. |
| "So then, the storm turned for the worst, turning the tide against everyone in the raft!" A gaggle of nieces, nephews, and distant cousins sat in small crowd around Luke's feet. For a rare moment silence reigned as they listened to his death-defying tale of our trip out on the river this last summer. Their young faces watched as he moved his hands in an animated fashion, simulating his fight against the raging rapids, trying desperately not to give in to the water's demands. My mother, bless her dear heart, handed me a mug of hot cocoa to keep the winter chill from invading my already cold body. The ride up to the family cabin had been a rocky one, our car being the last to travel through the pass before it was closed due to the harsh snow. Slowly, surrounded by my massive family and a crackling fire, did I finally feel some warmth come back to my face. Suddenly Luke hopped up on the nearby coffee table, grabbing everyone's attention as his boots thudded with the hard wood. "I was commanding the raft, ordering everyone behind me to row in a synchronized motion, thinking that our perilous situation couldn't get any worse when..." He paused dramatically, his dark eyes scanning the faces around the large cabin. "Sue dropped her oar in the water throwing the whole raft off-balance." Gasps echoed everywhere as they turned to look at me in astonishment of my folly. Embarrassment flooded my face with crimson as murder shone brightly in my eyes. I loved my husband dearly, but there was a limit to how far I'd let him go with his antics. But before I could debate the point, Luke was back into the story, drawing his audience's attention back towards him. "Somehow the entire crew made up for the loss, fighting against gigantic river swells and riding against the current. We battled, braving through the waters, and when we didn't think we would make it, our landing spot came into view." The crowd clapped in applause as Luke gave them a clown-sized grin, bowing deep at the waist, his story coming to a climatic. As my older brothers and cousins gave him slaps on the back and praise saved solely for the male of the species, my husband turned to me and winked. No matter how furious I was at him, he still managed to get a smile out of me. For we both knew it was me who headed the raft that clear, storm-free day down the river with him losing his ore the first five minutes into our river route. Yet with every telling the command changed, the rapids grew higher, and the risk of death more severe. Still, if it earned Luke the respect and awe of my family, I'd let him take the glory...for now. |
| A melancholic overture played in the background of the sculptured garden of the estate. Two young men stood back to back, their pistols held tightly to their chests, their grips revealing the white knuckles of their wrath. As the song that demonstrated each of their rising, angry emotions, they walked the paces to what could their final decision. One last attempt to keep their honor. The last step came with a crescendo. Each turned with a flourish, embroidered coats flying behind them, shooting at the object of their turmoil. Fifty yards away stood a lone black camera system filming the entire escapade. Two women stood beside one another. One of the women, a tall blond with a scripted rolled up in her hand, tried her hardest to keep from laughing aloud, her mirth shaking her entire boy. The other, a petite brunette with dark sunglasses masking her reaction, let a small smirk creep up to her mouth. "How did you get them to do this again?" asked the laughing lady, watching her boyfriend lay down in the grass, fake blood staining his ruffled white shirt. His wig had fallen off sometime during the fall. The smile on the face of the brunette widened. An "A" on her art assignment was in the bag. "I threatened to tell Mom the truth about who trashed the car last Fourth of July. Better to have the "troublemaker" sister take the blame than tarnish their sterling reputations with our parents." "Honor, indeed." |
| The sky was full and bright with stars above Flo as she sat back in her beat up lawn chair, sipping on the last remnants of her beer. The glass bottle felt heavy as she rolled it back and forth between the palms of her hands. The night was quiet and peaceful, but her mind was jumbled with chaos. "Thinkin' will make your mind rot," replied a gruff voice seated next to her. A smile appeared on her face, thankful for the old man's tactics. Today was a day of celebration. Detective Florence Adler had closed one of the biggest cases in the past decade, bringing down a serial killer plaguing the streets of San Francisco. It was gruesome the things she had seen, horrific to anyone who hadn't picked a job to bring down some of the worst dredges of humanity. The blood from the crime scene still haunted her nightmares. Still, instead of getting a drink down at the bar where almost every member of her squad was, she had made the trip across the old Bay Bridge to a little house up on a hill, crowded between a rundown apartment building as St. Agnes Catholic Church, to seek the comfort of an old friend. Flo looked up at the stars, finding the few constellations she knew off hand. Slowly, over increments of an hour or so her muscles had stop tensing. However, the dark shadow of all she absorbed over the years seemed to drag down her shoulders with what felt like the weight of the world. She tilted her head to the side, staring at her mentor through her dark lashes. His face was placid, his posture calm. She wondered how he had survived as long as he had. "Spit it out already, girl." Flo snorted softly. "No rush or anything. Fine. Do you regret anything since retiring?" Stu sat quietly for a moment as if the question hadn't come up in the first place. Finally, with the sound of crickets in the background, he replied, "One thing." "What?" "Missing out all the times with my kids." Stu scratched it bald head, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. "There was always another case, always another lead. I can't even count the number of family dinners and birthday parties and graduations I missed because of the job. If there was one thing I would do over, I'd spend more time with my boys before they grew up." A quiet stretched between, one of companionable silence known only to those who truly trusted one another. Flo allowed herself to stretch back into her chair and gaze up at the stretch of sky she always seemed to take for granted. Her fingers caressed the pocket watch in she always carried on her person, the old silver feeling cool against the tips of her fingers. And as the night folded in around her, Stu repeated the same words he'd given her the night he presented her with the watch. "Never take a minute for granted, girl; 'cause you never get 'em back." |
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