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Daily off-the-cuff writing, prompted by photos provided by Leger in 15 For 15 Contest |
  This journal contains daily writing, prompted by photo images in Legerdemain  's "15 for 15 Contest --- Closed"  . The purpose of the contest is to inspire daily writing and to stretch and exercise your writing muscles. Off-the-cuff writing is raw, non-polished work, but I do my best to incorporate proper grammar and punctuation.Each entry represents only fifteen minutes of writing, although it's my practice to carry around the photo prompt in my mind's eye for some time, turning scene ideas over in my head, so that I have some direction before I sit down to type. The specific writer's muscle I plan to flex the most often during this round is Voice/Deepening the POV. Your feedback will help me evaluate me success.  ~
  Enjoy! ~ |
| You stand there at the front of the alter, perspiring in your black tuxedo. The powder blue bow tie feels like a noose around your neck. How the hell did I get here, you wonder. You take a deep breath to calm what you’re hoping are just the wedding day jitters, what you pray aren’t genuine feelings of regret. The tropical flowers Janice ordered fill your senses. Their scent’s so strong it stinks as bad as rotten fruit. You let your jaw slacken, try to block air from entering your nose and take shallow breaths through your lips. It doesn’t help. The sickening stench of those flowers is in your head. Flowers you’d picked out, now that you think about it. Janice had pestered you to choose. Orchids or lilies? Just like she’d wanted to know which dish to serve at the reception, chicken or fish? Just like the style of her dress had been up to you. Was this going to be your life? Would Janice be following you around for the next sixty years, unable to make a move without your approval? You think there’s something familiar about the floral scent, and as you ponder, it takes you away from the church and back to Manta Beach in Ecuador. You’d definitely been in love with Janice then (like you still are, right?) on that vacation. So in love you’d asked her to marry you. You hadn’t planned it; you didn’t even have a ring. Your mind goes back, to her slim silhouette visible in the early morning light through the silky sheer nightgown that went to the floor. You hadn’t been able to keep your eyes (or hands) off her. You made love to her that first morning to the rhythm of the waves crashing on the beach, the morning the pair of birds first came to visit. They’d had feet the same color as the damn tie around your neck. The larger bird, the male, waddled up the path that led from the beach, across the veranda, and right up to you. The female was behind him. Always. Waddle, waddle, waddle. Every day. Right behind her man. The bird liked that though, didn’t he? The organist plays the opening strains of the Wedding March and you look past the rows of your family and friends as Janice and her father begin their walk up the aisle. Her dress has a strapless bodice, just like you’d finally said you preferred when she’d asked for the tenth time. It isn’t see-through, of course, but you can imagine her slim body underneath. Her skin is so soft. The thought of touching it calms your nerves, though your heart picks up its pace. You look over to Ken, best man, and he nods and smiles. You’re relieved you can smile back so easily. Janice’s father kisses her on the cheek, and she turns to you. “Ready, partner?” she whispers. You nod once, your eyes drinking in her beauty as you take her delicate hand in yours. Her perfume has replaced the stinky flower smell and you breathe her in. Turning, Janice takes her place next to you. Shoulder to shoulder, you stand together before the priest. |
| Alia swam with all her might, clutching the gourd in one hand and pulling herself up through the deep water with the other. She kicked hard one final time and her head broke the surface. Gasping, she pulled gulps of air into her searing lungs. The other six initiates reached the shore with their gourds, and Shaman Pintar pulled each out of the deep canyon water and onto the rocky shore. When they had fallen into formation, shivering despite the windless heat and dripping water down their naked bodies, Pintar addressed them. “Fanna is a sacred lake. Its waters are blessed by the gods. Let its powers infuse you.” At his words, Alia upended her gourd. She didn’t look at the other six, yet her movements were identical with theirs. She’d seen this ceremony only once before, but it was ingrained in her memory. Her mother had been an inductee, and served the Pintar for many moons. Her sudden death had shaken Alia to the core. When Pintar bestowed upon her the honor of taking her place, she’d thought she’d heard wrong. This moment was no less surreal. The seven initiates poured the silt they’d collected at the bottom of Fanna from their gourds into their hands. Reverently, Alia smeared the silky brown mud onto her face, breathing in its pungent, metallic odor. Pintar raised his arms, signaling they’d completed that task. Alia dropped the gourd as her hands fell to her side. “Your final task is the most difficult and will test your spirits of resiliency. When you have completed it though, you will be blessed by the gods and ready to serve our people by my side.” He turned to the face of the canyon wall behind him and pointed up. “There, at the top of that ridge, hymka grows. It is the most important medicinal plant we use, and we only harvest it from there because the closer it grows to heaven, the more potent are its powers. Return to the village only when you have filled this basket with it.” Alia put her arm through a loop of hemp rope, tied to six other ropes all connected to a woven bamboo basket large enough to transport an adult goat. It scratched the delicate skin of her shoulder. The unconscious wish that she was covered by a protective robe flitted across her mind. She banished the thought immediately. I will be strong, like my mother before me, she chided herself. With the others pulling on their robes, Alia reached up for a handhold on the mossy, vertical face, and they began their trek to the top. |
| “”Tis only a loan, you understand,” repeated the stranger. “I assured The Historic and Ethnological Society of Greece I’d have it back in one year’s time.” John Smythe heard him, but his focus was on Pastor Brown. He couldn’t read the cleric’s eyes behind the flames reflecting in his spectacles from the candle on the table, but he thought he saw guarded awe sketched across the pastor’s face. “What thinks you, Pastor Brown?” Smythe said. The pastor reached out a finger and ran it down the sculpture’s leg with the lightest of caresses. “It is indeed a magnificent specimen.” He hesitated, and then turned to meet the expectant gaze of the local curator of the small collection of art, created by their community artisans. “This addition,” Pastor Brown said to Smythe with slow, deliberate words, “would catapult our modest collection to esteemed status; that’s certain. But would the good people of the Massachusetts Bay Colony accept it? That is the question.” The stranger stroked the well-trimmed triangle of hair on his chin and considered the pastor. Thoughtfully, he asked, “I thought the colonists sought the New World to live a life of freedom. Why, then, should they deny themselves access to a priceless artifact from the ancient world?” Pastor Brown turned to him. “It isn’t a question of freedom, my good man. The Puritans are God-fearing people. Some may feel this statue could incite lustful thoughts, invite Satan into their lives. We are not Catholics, here. We don’t condone the depiction of unclad men and woman. And this man is, clearly, unclad.” The stranger locked eyes with the pastor, and several seconds slipped past in silence. With a sigh, he finally stood. Lifting the statue with ginger arms and placing it in the wooden transportation crate, he said, “I thank you for agreeing to meet me at this late hour. I’m sorry the statue won’t be enjoyed by your community. Perhaps I’ll have better luck in New York. I hear it is a more…open-minded colony.” And with that, he took his leave of them. |
| Edison Thomas placed the metal tips of his boots just over the edge of the coal storage silo. The height soured his stomach but he lifted a defiant chin, refusing the weakness threatening to engulf him. He was meant to succeed, and late afternoon sun breaking through the clouds cloaked him in golden spotlight of reassurance. How apropos, he thought with a grin. Spreading his arms theatrically, he imagined his future admirers and the accolades they’d bestow upon him for centuries to come. Carefully, he glanced over his shoulder. “Fienze, are you getting this?” A hiccup carried to his ears on the wind. “Fienze!” “Ya, brother, worry you not, it’s rolling.” But a second passed from Fienze’s last word to the chug of steam and the whirl of gears, and Thomas sneered audibly. Forcing his focus back to the event at hand, he lifted his arms a little higher and spoke out to the city below, though his voice was only in reality loud enough for the video archiving. “Today, the fourth of July in the year of our Lord 1882, I present to the Inter-Galactic Coalition an invention that will change the face of humanity forever. No longer will fear grip our brethren. Never again will high places be off limits for us who cannot tolerate heights. Solo long-distance travel will again be accessible to all.” Behind him, Fienze gave a derisive snort. Thomas ignored him, and reached for a silver switch on a belt around his waist. At his touch, from a pack concealed in his garment, a pair of brass wings snapped open on his back. The metal glistened in the sunlight, glinting along the hinges at the seams like flecks of gold. With the flick of a second switch, a small motor sputtered and gears churned to life. “I present to you, ladies and gentlemen of the Coalition, The Eagle, the Universe’s first Individual Flying Transporter. And now, I will demonstrate her power on her maiden voyage!” “Be careful, brother,” mumbled Fienze sarcastically. Thomas sucked in a lungful of air, willing his heart be still, and leapt. Light played off the metal wings as he hung suspended in the air, then his face froze and he began to fall. As he plummeted, the wings folded upon themselves and his piercing scream echoed off the silo wall. Thomas pedaled frantically with his arms and legs, until he splashed into the decorative pond at the base of the silo. The moment Thomas began to fall, Fienze snatched the video archiver off its tripod and filmed the decent. He chuckled. Aloud he said, “Well, if the Coalition isn’t interested in this idiot’s debunk invention, I could always submit this footage to Inter-Galactic’s Funniest Home Videos!” |
| Janice unclasped her hands, but they snapped back together. Sweat trickled down the small of her back, even though her fingers were numb with cold. Or maybe that was lack of circulation. She disentangled the pale digits and gave them a shake, rising up on tippy-toe and straining to see past the fireman. What could be taking so long? There probably had never been a fire. The idiot who’d pulled the office building alarm had better never find himself face to face with her in a dark alley. Hope he was getting his jollies while she stood there, waiting. Waiting. The word sent her pulse raced again, and again she slipped precariously close to the edge of panic. Come on, use Dr. Sach’s strategies, her thoughts hissed. But her mind was vacant, a vacuum of senses except the deafening rush of blood in her ears. The ground tilted. Breathe. That was it! Strategy number one, breathe. By the third lungful of air, her legs were less wobbly. Okay. I’m okay. Strategy number two. Make a list of times you waited and you didn’t die. Those weren’t Dr. Sach’s words, but he didn’t really know what she felt, did he? Janice furrowed her brow, scowling at the fireman and his placid face. Is he bored? He looks bored. Lists, okay… Last week in the grocery store she’d been stuck in a line at the register. She’d only run in on the way home from work for a Lean Cuisine. Damn diet. The old crow at the head of the line had a coupon for every item she purchased. Fishing each out from that plastic sandwich baggie had taken forever. Then she’d paid not with cash, but with coins. Janice clenched her jaw before remembering to relax those muscles. And, there was the last time she’d been in for a pap smear. The nurse had instructed what articles of clothing should come off for the exam and left her in the little cubicle of a room. Those were thirty-seven minutes of pacing she’d never get back. Janice breathed deep, out her nose. On the next inhalation, she remembered the evening spent with Dan something-or-another. The blockbuster movie had been new in theaters that night, and the line snaked around the block. Janice smiled. Luckily, old Dan was a frisky date and a great kisser… Her heart beat was close to normal, she realized. Just then, the fireman announced the building was safe to reenter. Hallelujah, thought Janice. She'd survived. She followed the crowd of co-workers back into the building. Just inside the lobby doors, she was forced to stop. The mass of people waiting for elevators seemed to crush her from all sides. Her hands snapped together and her racing heartbeat pounded in her ears. |
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