%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  A folder for my writing August 2017 & July 2016 |
  S Both can always be done better. This item will be no exception to that rule.  |
I was tagged by papadoc1 of WW and I am tagging Beacon - House Night's Watch  of Greyjoy780 Words “Smelling like what woman?” Leah was taken aback. “I certainly think it wasn’t me, Brianna. I don’t smell like anything. I don’t use any perfumes either. I have allergies.” She turned to Bart. “Bart, the ball’s in your court. Why were you smelling like another woman?” “It’s all in her head,” said Bart. “You neither have a head nor eyes to see my head,” said Brianna. Then she glared at Leah, “Do you see how he returns the ball to my court all the time?” “What did you mean by that? That I twist things to my advantage? My advantage? Do I have any? If it were so, that would be a compliment. Wouldn’t it?” “I’ve had it with this!” Brianna stood up. “Bart, let’s face it. You and I are not compatible. Not anymore. And Leah," She glared at Leah again, “I don’t have to take this….this…this dealing with feelings…” “Brianna, please sit down,” said Leah. “If you stop now it will get tougher. It is true, a marriage is rough and tough, and you have to deal with feelings, but if you don’t, you’ll have to deal with lawyers.” Brianna sat down immediately. “Good Girl! Sit!” Bart said. “Shut up, Bart! I’m not your dog.” “I didn’t say dog. You did!” Bart snickered. “I believe we are having anger issues on top of grief issues here. In other words, let’s try to deal with these issues, instead of taking the easy road. Just bear with me a minute until I have my say.” She looked at Brianna then at Bart whose heads were turned toward opposite directions from each other. “Now Brianna, Bart. I want you to look at each other really carefully. NOW!” Brianna rolled her eyes and Bart harrumphed, but they did as Leah said. “Now, you both tell each other something true about the other person.” Leah made a note on the pad she was holding on her lap. “Who is the other person?” Brianna’s eyes narrowed into slits. “She means you and me,” Bart said. “Thank you for the translation!” Brianna mocked. “People! People! Let’s get down to business here. Brianna, say something about Bart that is nice and true.” Brianna made a face. “Two anniversaries ago, before Mareya…” she shook her head to contain herself from sobbing because she hated to show Leah that she was a mess. Even with her allergies and all, Leah still felt like the other woman. So, Brianna pulled herself together and continued. “I covered our bed in yellow rose petals. That is the nice part.” “How very romantic! And true!” Leah smiled. All her hard work was beginning to bear fruit. “I didn’t get to the true part yet,“ said Brianna. “And what might that be?” “Oh! No!” Bart grumbled, and Leah wrote down a few more notes. Brianna smirked. “Bart thought they were potato chips.” “Well, you should have told me." “You couldn’t even smell the roses?” “I smelled enough roses in my life. I don’t have a sniffing condition like you do.” “Of course not. You can only smell Vicks!” “Now, Now!” Leah, trying to commandeer the situation, pointed to Bart with her pen. “Bart, tell Leah what you think of her. Make it nice and true. But face her and say it sincerely.” Bart gazed at Brianna carefully. Brianna shook her head. “Brianna, why did you shake your head?” Leah asked in a cautioning tone “Because I can sense what’s coming.” “Relax, Brianna! I bet it will be good.” Leah felt so accomplished in stroking egos. “Go ahead, Bart.” “This is very true, Brianna," said Bart in a serious tone, "in our life together, I couldn’t have maneuvered on all the complex roads…without you.” Leah was congratulating herself inwardly. A term of endearment! She had broken through! Brianna squinted at him. “Just what did you mean by that?” “It is the directions you give. You outdo the GPS!” Bart snorted. Exasperated, Leah stood up. “Our session is over. Next week, you both will be here again, I expect. A colleague of mine will be taking over. “ “What’s his name?’ Bart asked. “Does it occur to you it might be a her?” Brianna squeaked. “It is not important,” said Leah. “I don’t have a name, yet. And I will mail you my last bill within a day. It will be a bit…bit more than usual Bart, as it was the two of you this session.” “How come he gets a cut and I don’t?” Brianna wore her annoyance on her face again. “And what did you keep writing on that pad?” Leah held the pad for Brianna to see. It was full of doodles. |
409 words altogether poem alone: 82 words article: 327 words Pome, Rather Than Poem A Peek at GoT the region is rocky with storms and marsh and do not think the forests aren't harsh ask if you don’t believe me the guy slave, Charlie the one who chucks chuckles, 'en garde!' on the review spree then Kittee hauls buckets as a carrier but buckles as too many eager beavers bite their knuckles at the Crownlands is the iron throne where reigns the Realm’s keeper with whom my hubby will pick a bone By Anonymous People may not be aware of this, but Anonymous sent me the above poem. I don’t know if that thing could be called a poem. A pome would be a better title for what Anonymous did, for from pomes, one can only bake a fruitcake with a few additions of nuts. Inside this “pome” is a stream of information with manufactured scarcity. To begin with, the structure limits the total number of the aides to the Keeper of the Realm. As the universe has decreed, there are many other hard-working helpers out there on the G.o.T land. Then, each quatrain in the “pome” is a block that only points to its writer as a blockhead. This holds true since the writer of the “pome” would flunk at cryptography because she--I believe Anonymous is a she, no offense, ladies! Don’t march against me!—cannot maintain her integrity even on the blockhead chain. For the best way to show one’s incompetence in handling the game this “pome” is referring to is to claim a built-in difficulty setting. This has already been done by the Keeper of the Realm who is an ingenious gameplay mechanic. Her wheelings and dealings are so complicated that the gamers who are used to drive their cars on straight roads end up parking them on rooftops. One good thing is the fact that producing terrible material is all-encompassing, be it for car-drivers or writers of “pomes.” In addition, because the wires that connect eyes, brain, and fingers become chewed by the invisible rats of strategy or better said, age, one can’t say that the writer of the “pome” has accomplished too many gaming feats. As has been pointed out earlier in this article, this fact has to do with a fruitcake and blockhead. Still, the writer solved the riddle of how to dare invite, single-handedly, entire squads in a deathmatch. In that, one could argue that there’s no skill required. ================ Prompt: Anonymous has sent in a poem to you directly - what that poem is, is up to you - and asks you to share that poem and your speculation of it in your next article. |
85 words 13 lines Rondel Form The cynic lounging within me wears a mask as if on the prowl not just at midnight like an owl but daytime, too, that busy bee. what good is beauty if not free a charming face she has, yet foul, the cynic lounging within me wears a mask as if on the prowl though she’s not alone, I decree, all folks hide a fury or scowl or through hints of fancy, they howl when their dark longings urge to see the cynic lounging within me ------------------- Prompt: “We all hide behind a mask” ***************************** Rondel Form 13 lines 2 quatrains and a quintet. They could be written altogether as a 13 line stanza. Rhyme Scheme; ABba abAB abbaA -- (A B capital letters are refrains) Meter is open but usually eight syllables to a line. |
| 893 Words I was tagged by Cadie Laine  of Greyjoy and I am tagging Sally  of Martell---------------------------- The six-year-old child trudged near Thomas. He was still soaking from the walk through the water. “My mom,” he pleaded. “Thomas please, can you find my mom?” Thomas took the child’s hand and said, “Let me ask God again; maybe, we’ll get an answer this time.” “God, please, answer us! What can I do to find this child’s mother?” Still, silence from God! Thomas looked around not knowing what to do and how to go ahead with his rescuing. They were now facing a useless future and despairing with the One who would do nothing and not even answer them. It was as if they were trying to walk through the dark midnight of their lives with the wounds of what befell them. An old man bent in two, leaning on his cane raised his other fist toward Heaven. “I have a bone to pick with you, God! Why did you put us in such a dire situation, in this storm of unheard proportions where we as busy mottled shadows weep over what we lost, what we’ll never find.” “Don’t say that to God,” Thomas whispered. “It is a sin to do that!” “Look at me!” the old man said. “I am old and feeble, and I lived my life well, but all my offspring are gone. Don’t I have a right to complain to Him about the storms he sends us?” “Stop telling God how terrible or big our storm is,” Thomas said. “Instead, tell him how much bigger than any storm or disaster He is .” It was only then that God answered. “Thomas, my son! Now you’ve said the right words. I was testing you by not answering you. You took the high road and still defended me against that old man’s rebellious accusations. Tell that old man, his accusations are baseless. I do not send disasters over my people, the very people I have created to do good in the world. It is their mismanagement of the earth, the wars they create, the fights they pick that bring the disaster over all of you. Tell that old man to look back in his life. He says he led a good life. Ask him what he considers a good life?” Thomas looked at the old man whose fist was still in the air. “What do you mean when you said you lived your life well?” “I had a business. Then I had five children. So I made my business bigger, better. I started other businesses. I was doing very well; I was living very well, and so was my family. Look what he did to me. He took it all from me.” “Thomas,” God said, “Ask him if he ever said thank you to me or helped other people who were indigent or if he did anything good for someone else.” And Thomas did as he was told. The old man shrugged. “Taking care of others is His business, not mine. I did my business well, didn’t I?” “Sssh!” said the six-year-old boy to the old man. “That is not nice. I remember my dad worked for you but you paid him very little.” “And the little children will lead the way,” said God to Thomas. “Don’t leave the boy’s hand. You and your followers walk away from the river, now. Do you see that huge mountain out yonder? Go all the way there. There hidden with the bushes is the mouth of a cave. Go inside the cave and walk, Call my name if you come across trouble. At the end of the walk, you’ll see that the mountain opens to another side.” “And then? Shall I see my mother, then?” asked the child. Thomas was surprised that the kid could hear God, because no one else except Thomas had heard Him before. “Yes, my children, now both of you can hear me. You’ll both find your families unharmed at the other side of the mountain, but only after you survive the walk through the cave, but don’t worry because you will. At the end of every darkness, you’ll always see my light. Just keep the faith!” So Thomas told the people to follow him and the little boy. He told them that they had to cross through from inside the mountain. The old man said, “Poppycock! You’re pulling us after you toward worst disaster.” Then he turned to the people. “Those who do not want to follow this crazy Thomas and this precocious kid stay here with me and we’ll build a new town right here by the river, without having to go through that difficult trek.” But most of the people decided to go with Thomas and the little boy. Only a handful stayed with the old man. After Thomas, the six-year-old boy, and the people with them had walked several miles, they heard a distant thunder. When they looked back, they saw that over the place by the river that they had just left hung a huge gray storm cloud, and soon the earth trembled and the river waters boiled, rushing to the shore at exactly where the old man and the people were standing. “Don’t look back! Keep walking! We can’t save them anymore,” said Thomas. |
| 1144 words Shayna had always felt that in a small town like Davies nothing serious would ever happen, except for Father Flannigan’s scary sermons. Most of other things she had heard were just talk, amounting to almost nothing much. Now, here she was, the cause of the biggest event of the year, if not the decade, her divorce from Ben. It wasn’t just any old divorce, too. It was the kind of divorce that shook the earth from its axis and divided the town into two. In the courtroom, people had gazed at both of them. They asked her again, and she agreed again. “Yes, it is so. It happened just like that. The whole thing was my fault, too.” It was because the man who was supposedly her lawyer had told her to say that, and she did. In front of the entire town, too, for the courtroom was too small to hold everyone, so the court personnel had installed loud speakers in the yard, where the sounds of the proceedings were piped, including Shayna’s sobs and the fart that was emitted from the court stenographer, which she later swore came from her machine. Afterward, Shayna’s mother thought Ben had bribed the lawyer to get away with paying nothing to Shayna. Shayna’s mother was certain that Ben was sleeping with Alice, on the side, too. “I am sorry I caused so much trouble,” Shayna said to her mother in the kitchen at breakfast, after the divorce, after not going out at all for a week for she had decided to let everything quiet down. Staying inside for a week was a fair price to pay for getting a divorce in Davies. “Lord knows, Shayna, it wasn’t your fault at all,” said her mother, as she poured hot milk on to her bran cereal and stirred the mixture with her spoon for she didn’t like them crispy. Of course, she’d stand up for her daughter; it was her God-given duty. After breakfast, Shayna went up to her room to in a hurry to change her fluffy bunny rabbit slippers, which Ben had given her on her last birthday. She thought as she took them off, she should give them to Goodwill, but that, too, would be fodder for the town gossip. So what? she thought. This town is crazy, I’ll just go to the movies for the day where no one will see me in the dark. She entered the movie house after the movie, Wonder Woman, had started. She sneaked inside and sat at the back. What she hadn’t counted on was that the girl at the box office could call a few people and those people would call other people, and eventually, her watching the Wonder Woman movie would be the business of Davies. When she came out of the movie house, she saw the crowd hanging out by the door. “Oh, no, that’s crazy,” said her mother when she came home and told her about all the hoopla. “This town is going nuts. Movies, divorces, funerals, weddings, they love them all.” But one day, a month later, Ben showed up at her door. Shayna’s father let him in. If her mother wasn’t suffering from diarrhea that day and wasn’t in the bathroom when the doorbell rang, she would have shooed Ben away, but that wasn’t meant to be. Shayna’s father still liked Ben and saw him as the son he wanted to have. While Ben came and sat down at the usual armchair that he used to sit when he and Shayna were going together, Shayna stood at the door of the living room and stared at Ben. Ben didn’t look at her first. And when he did she could see him as he was, the man a stranger to her, whose face she forgot she ever noticed. With her looks, she could have had anyone, she thought, and she somehow knew he’d visit, for old habits are hard to break. He said to her father, and not to Shayna, “Let’s try again. We were both at fault. We acted too quickly and childishly. After Shayna, I met another woman but she had a dog who didn’t like me, and I don’t want to be mauled by a dog.” “If you don’t leave now, you’ll be mauled by me!” said Shayna’s mother, rubbing her belly. She had to show up to defend Shayna, no matter what her emergency could be. “My daughter is not your plaything.” Shayna didn’t know who the other woman was and she didn’t care. She didn’t care about Ben anymore, either, and she didn’t even want to live in Davies. In her dreams, big cities called her, San Francisco leading the list. “Sorry, Ben,” she said. ”There will be no seconds. You'll have to learn to live with dogs for a change. And I’m leaving Davies, soon, anyway.’” “Where are you going?” asked Ben. Shayna shrugged and said, “None of your business.” And that was that. Before she took the plane to San Francisco, Shayna went to church, but not Father Flannigan’s church. She had enough of his sermons. So she had picked a Baptist place, although any other church would do that didn’t force her into a confessional. She wanted the town of Davies to realize how awful it had been for her, so awful that she could change her church. She wanted to go to San Francisco because she wanted a job, and she needed social situations where she could start anew by introducing herself to the right sort of men. Men who wouldn’t know or care about her divorce history and her reputation in Davies. It didn’t feel easy at first, wrenching herself from Davies for she hadn’t known any other town, but her mother encouraged her and lent her the money she needed for the plane and a bit more until she found a job. On the day of her departure, goodbyes were exchanged while her father stood silently to one side, but he drove her to the bus that would take Shayna to the airport. In the airport, as she waited to board, Shayna watched from the tall glass windows the airplanes pass before the sun after they took off, and she hoped she had reached the apex of some great arc in her life. When she took her seat inside the plane, the passenger next to her struck up a conversation and she responded. He was a tall vigorous man with curly brown hair, a rugged Roman nose and the physique of a football player. He was a man’s man, and Shayna couldn’t help herself to compare him to Ben. Later, when the plane landed, she lost sight of him in the hubbub of the airport, but she had made it. She had left Davies, and she was now here in San Francisco… |
The House 2021 words I should have known what I was getting myself into when Martin--the agent with the stained teeth from Watson Realty--said, checking his computer, “You know, I’ve never been in this house, but we have it listed here. I think Celia has seen it and gave it a four-and-a-half-star rating, so it must be good and it seems to fit your needs.” I should have asked why the house was so cheap, right there and then. But I didn't. “Is there any way I can talk to Celia first, Martin?” I asked instead. “Maybe she saw something we might miss. Something that needs attention before I move in...if I like it?” He frowned and looked down at his hands and scratched the top of the left one with his right hand’s fingertips. “Unfortunately, Celia is not with us anymore,” he said, in a solemn voice. “Oh, she quit the job?” “She was in an accident. She’ll be missed. So young!” “I’m sorry,” I said. “My condolences.” Martin looked at me for a second as if I had drawn blood and caused him to suffer. Then he struggled for a split second to pull himself together. “Yes, getting back to business, do you want to see the place today?” “Is the house occupied?” “No, it has been empty for quite some time. I don’t know how long.” The house was of brick, stone, and wood construction, and the building wasn’t all that large but more than enough for me. With six bedrooms upstairs, two with fireplaces, I imagined turning it into a small B&B, eventually. Then, I could quit my job and devote my time to what I love doing the most, which is painting. Painting had been my first love since I’d discovered crayons in a sixty-four-count box. Luckily, I didn’t stay with crayons but finally graduated to oils. We passed through an ornate arched entryway into a gloomy foyer with dark paneling and found our way around and up the stairs with Martin leading the way with a flashlight, although it wasn't necessary. The house was probably built around the latter end of the nineteenth century for it was constructed from totally natural materials like the cherry-wood banister and moldings, stone fireplaces, and a brick façade. “The electricity is turned off. I hope you don’t mind,” Martin said, his voice taking on a dismayed tone. “As there are no appliances in the house, no harm is done, right?” “What is missing can be bought,” I said. “I have my own appliances, anyway.” I wouldn’t miss a bargain like this place. For the money the phantom owners were asking, it might have been the steal of the millennium. Surely, I didn’t tell Martin that. “Good,” he answered. “The wiring and the pipes have been replaced and updated only ten years ago. So that part shouldn’t be your concern.” “Who owns this place and why are they selling it?” “Don’t bother with trivialities. People sell houses for many different reasons.” He shrugged as if my questions were frivolous. “The owner wishes to stay incognito and Watson Real Estate honors both the sellers’ and the owners’ wishes.” He spoke in a tone that wouldn’t tolerate any objection. I was annoyed some, but I let it roll. No need to get into a squabble over something so petty when I had my heart set on the house, which led my mind venture into an enhanced decorating mode, one that I’d probably go bankrupt paying for. I imagined frilly lace curtains, canopied beds, and thick, hand-made quilts I would order from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania…Imagining all this almost brought tears to my eyes, but I didn’t want Martin to see my happy drops and raise the price. So, I looked away and didn’t say anything more. When the moving truck backed down the driveway, I felt I was in seventh heaven, but just before that, when I was paying the driver, he shook his head and murmured, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Lady!” “Isn’t this the agreed price?” I asked. “I even added tips for the men.” “Not that…but…” He shook his head. “May God look over you and protect you!” he said in an evasive manner. A Jesus Freak, is he? “That’s nice,” I said. “You, too.” He put two fingers to the side of his head and jumped into the cab where the other movers were already seated. At least, then, I should have suspected something. But I didn’t. I was alone now, in my beautiful house. I had the cleaning crew earlier before the furniture came and the movers put everything I place. I looked around, feeling I was like a princess in a Victorian setting. One of the large rooms downstairs I had turned into a library with a corner sectioned off for my painting projects, my easel, table, paints, brushes all neatly arranged. In fact, I had arranged this corner myself before the furniture came. The house itself seemed to love me. I was now the queen of my realm, and I was alone in it, or at least, I thought I was alone at the time. For a while, until the dusk settled down, I walked...no, jumped and leaped and danced from room to room, up and down the stairs, into the kitchen, to the library, to the living area, to the front porch and did that again and again. I felt so tired, as the excitement of the day had worn off, that I decided to skip dinner and head to bed, which was only a metal bed frame with box springs and a mattress over it, but it would do until I could put my financial situation in a better shape. I opened the curtain just a tad to sleep to the view of the moon, which floated high and shined white with a golden tint in the dark night. I must have taken a fetal position then when a dream came but only in sound. “Poor girl,” said a man’s soft voice, “you’re outdoing yourself.” I raised my head from the pillow and looked around me. In the glowing nightlight, I could easily see the shapes of the furniture. Just my mind, playing tricks I went back to sleep, still feeling deliriously happy. “Your face is so lovely on the pillow, so so beautiful, a bit pale, though.” I opened my eyes again and reached to turn on the light on the night table. At the side of my bed, stood a gentleman in a black wool morning suit with tight-fitting trousers, over a white linen shirt. He held a top hat in his hands, which I didn’t see right away. “How do you do?” His tone was pleasant, conversational. Thinking I must still be dreaming, I answered, “Fine, thank you. And you?” “Enchanted! Finally, you’ve arrived. I waited for you for a long time, a very long time.” Then, at that very instant, I saw him holding his top hat with bony fingers. “President Lincoln?” He looked startled then threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Hardly! But I am flattered, just the same.” His height could equal Lincoln’s, but he had a very handsome face with large greenish eyes and proportionally shaped features. “The others,” he said, “they, too, wanted to stay. Unfortunately, they couldn’t live up to my standards, but you are special. I sensed that when you first set foot in here.” “The others?” “The others, yes. The last one was named Celia, I think. She wanted the house for herself, and she thought she could knock down a few walls. So uncalled for! I couldn’t let her do that.” “What? You killed her!” “A designed accident, let’s say. She wasn’t doing her job well, either. She wasn’t showing the house to customers and…she wanted it for herself for nothing. No one should have what they haven’t paid for.” “But this is my house. I paid cash for it.” “Does cash make things belong to people? The cash you handed out doesn’t make it your house. When you love a place, it is yours. I saw that you love this place. So do I. It is a fifty-fifty deal, now.” I sat up in bed and reached for my robe. No, I wasn’t in a dream or a nightmare. I realized that much. Was he a ghost, this man? He was such a gentleman, too. The dawn was breaking outside and I could see the first lights of the day through the curtain, which I had left slightly open to watch the moon before I fell asleep. “Please, Sir,” I said. “I need to get dressed and go to work. Please, forgive me…” “No,” he said. “You can’t leave the house. I can’t either.” “Why not?” “Because the house loves us. It will not let you leave.” Goose bumps were flaring up on my limbs, now. “But I have to work, pay for things.” “You won’t need to. Stay inside and paint. That’s what you wanted all along, right?” I ran away from him, then. I ran to the front door but it wouldn’t open. I ran to the kitchen door. It wouldn’t open either. I reached for my phone, but it came apart in my hands. “You need a measure of discipline, my dear girl!” He called from the top of the stairs. I didn’t see him there, but I knew he was there. I didn’t know how I knew. “It is a pathetic tendency trying to resist what cannot be resisted.” His voice, which I had found pleasant at first was irritating me now. I went and sat in the living room. I’d wait for the full daylight. Then, maybe he’d be gone. Ghost or ghoul, whatever he was. “You can think of me in whatever form or shape you wish, but you are now tethered to me, as I am tethered to you and the house. The house is our master, my beauty.” Now, he was sitting in front of me in the living room. From where had he appeared? I thought I had left him in the bedroom. “What are you?” I put my hands to my face, trying to contain myself as I questioned him. “That is a rhetorical question that doesn’t deserve an answer. Let me tell you this much. You are a remarkable woman. You need no one, but I need you. My heart is touched by your unique strength. And you are curious, too.” I looked at him for a moment, trying to think of a way to make him disappear for good and find a way to reestablish myself. “Watch it,” he said, nastily. “Now that we are tethered, I can read your thoughts. I know you have questions. First, am I a ghost? Ghosts love darkness, don’t they! But darkness troubles me. What I am I don’t exactly know.” He stared away at the far wall for a second. “I long believed myself to be the spirit of the house, as I was built in its architect’s image.” Oh, Crap! “Please, do not think in atrocious words. That hurts my psyche.” I crossed the room, now the recipient of more attention than I had ever wished for, and looked out the window. “Can’t I go to the garden or sit on the porch? Are you going to confine me to the house?” “Oh, yes, you can, but you must stop considering running away and leaving me.” “You or the house?” “What difference does it make? We are one and the same.” And that was that. Now, I stay inside or go out in the garden where lovely flowers are always in bloom, but I can’t use my car because it stopped working. My computer, too. All my needs are taken care of, and there’s always food in the storage and the fridge. When I paint, he stands behind me, watching and making suggestions. He’s been rather nice, really, once I surrendered. Will I ever be able to leave the house? It is a question I dare not ask. ============= Prompt: You check everything before you buy a house, but you didn't check one thing and now you're dealing with... |
200 Words 30 lines--Free Verse. You think because flocks of birds beat triangular paths in the air, woods, attuned to beauty, give off fresh pine smells, salmon with silvery scales swim upriver, in season, and poets manufacture loquacious lines non-stop, you can wear the pride of the titans and the faith of the sages and feel strong, cozy, and safe, strutting in your invisible armor as if this is the way of the world. Yet, nothing lasts an infinite duration raptors, hunters, and phantom storms break through triangular flight paths, lightning fires char the woods barren, black bears and fierce men go after the salmon, and poets lose their lyrical tongues; even the sun, as destiny, will be a dead star for nothing can dazzle the eyes forever, and the invisible armor you regard as holy can evaporate for no reason without malice as this is the way of the world. And although a chimera hides at every corner and wild winds, like racing cars, bang around into all that is fixed and then they traffic through graveyards, our consolation prize is the merrymaking in the minute while knowing how to know our not-knowing without being spooked, as this is the way of the world. ========== Prompt: “Safety is a temporary state” |
Free verse (as stream of consciousness) 425 words 38 lines ------------- The past wrapped in wet handkerchiefs is on the catwalk in bacchanalian stilettos and bee-hive hairdo. I crave to avert my eyes but I can’t for it sends bemused kisses my way with a side-splitting sway, and she offers ancient sunlight out of ice-age to rise through the mist and fog—first, adults alleged grownups… like dogs chasing a single squirrel, I am a child punished, put down, or spoiled with affection; either way feeling numb, and looking dumb, in the city I once adored--rich in excesses where I first erected my insomnia, cross-hatching it with a lost love at a storefront stoop’s recesses, while he stared at the sidewalk, as if it held my blood. Then, he lifted his eyes to the red-skirt swooshing by. Was he worth it any? Not at all! Yet, the pains passed, beauty stayed in the sad songs of old days when dreams more powerful than sense showed the way in the pages of books and what was of value, elegance, grace and kindness, too. Still, “Love begins easy, ends so hard, like a war and all change is transformative.” That’s what my Granny said, the one whose caress I trusted, since the days she combed my waves or I was busted with cigarettes in a closet or scraped knees when tipped off balance or the times I struck words like sparks, lacing my fingers through my cat’s fur or sat in the corner lost in The Little Prince, Pecos Bill, and the banquet of the archaic, while radios sang Hound Dog, Beyond the Sea, On top of old Smoky. Old poets walk backwards, stumbling on stone paths, parting a cosmos of flowers, in the wee hours and mismatched timelines thick with dirt and good intentions, mourning those belongings like the grape jelly over peanut butter and my nanny’s cuddles visions of windows deep under the roof, ashes in fireplace, smell of hay, falling into the pond in the yard, chasing through the dunes at the beach after my cousins who were my partners in crime and afternoon naps and art of the crayoned patterns on the walls…Today our footprints are erased and the worms in buckets eased away, and I have to say this frail memory has been jumping up down, a perfect clown. And now, pitching another kiss with a wave, the one on the catwalk --in bacchanalian stilettos, bee-hive hairdo, infinite confidence and famous for unearthing long-held stuff in locked boxes-- smirks at my words and flits off in a fit of bliss like a swallowtail. -------- Prompt: Old memories. |
Week 4 Prompt 3 Free Form 158 words -- 40 lines Your aim was straight but you were also obtuse. Never mind the mangle, obtuse can be put to good use since it’s still an angle. First, you attacked the target as if cutting a tree with a plastic toothpick. Second, you forgot to post what you wrote and lost because you rushed, you weren’t even slushed! So, what? Losing points is fine in a game divine for your aim was… meant to be straight, though, you were somewhat late to realize you needed better eyes to stare at the screen non-stop, but now, all is well, and that’s swell. Hence, let’s jubilate the date your freedom from boredom to a world fancy-free --writing.com, might it be?-- where you delivered from within, your messages with dubious usages, and now, you’re true blue. Yet…no need to be torn, as the simple reason for all this hit-or-miss has been your due is because you were born during World War Two. ========== Prompt: You've done all manner of heroic deeds this month. Unfortunately, nobody's bothered to write you an ode. The meanies! This is your opportunity to brag share your achievements with the world. ~ Poetry |
(134 words-28lines} in a  by the  I *love*  *books* no 1 will be  for I’m no  or  I  an   esover me with a  or a  while I  at a  with a  for I’m like a   ging a  ,ingbut sometimes I  &  if I’m  as I’m  , in a by the When I  an  I  with  & keep  ing &  ing  sinto *books*, then errors  & I  in  &  &  while I’m , in  but still I *love* *books* no 1 will be for I’m no or in a by the ========== Prompt: There are a million emoticons available in the Writing ML option. Write a full story or poem using mostly emoticons. Translation:  No Scholar or Star in a house by the beach I love writing books no one will be reading for I'm no scholar or star I think an angel watches over me with a big smile or smirk while I hammer at a notepad with a pen for I'm like a baby girl hugging a bottle, laughing, but sometimes I gag and blush if I'm confused as I'm busy writing in a house by the beach when I nail an idea I exclaim with delight and keep tacking and pasting hooks into books, then errors magnify and I frown in shock and rant and sob while I'm busy, pen in hand but still I love writing books no one will be reading for I'm no scholar or star in a house by the beach |
186 words – 34 lines Free Verse When the eclipse with unflappable silence plunges along the inroads of the city with ancient walls and night falls on day and orbs obscure the living in penumbral shadows, I shall not dread the dark. but watch it like the earthling that I am. for an eclipse is a passing thing it is just the sun trying to collect the debt owed to it by inflating the moon. And the dark? Nothing to fear… As dark as are the nights, they produce my dreams with subtle signs to mean they’ll turn true to rejuvenate anew my faith in the everlasting light. An eclipse sets fire to my veins and I feel the burning since in those veins flow the blood of a Phoenix curling around the fruit of knowledge to ascend over the ashes And what if I stumble or fall? Nothing to fear, I shall still fly to search the skies once more while spitting embers because a fall is an excuse, eclipse or not. Thus, in cosmic perspective, that fall in the dark I welcome, for if I fall only then I may soar. ========= Prompt: An Eclipse is a passing thing. |
| 1559 words. "It is not the end of the world." Sometimes, Holly wished Jennie would just shut up and not invite trouble. As they said, what you thought happened to you. "No? Maybe you should take a look outside the window." Jennie leaned against the wall, terrified. Her skin was itching and peeling off already under the effects of the winds that brought second-degree radiation. Holly lifted the heavy curtain. Something was happening. Really happening. Much worse than earlier when her father had just been to war. There was that thick gray smoke, again, and she could see the glow of the flames possibly coming from the City Center. She turned to Jennie. “A fire? The city’s on fire! Oh, my God!” “If you were listening to news instead of worrying about manicures and beauty, you’d know what’s happening.” “Is this the final nuclear attack they were talking about? You think?” “I don’t know what it is... Get your backpack. Pack up a few things you might most urgently need.” Jennie wished if only they could have their old life back, but wishing did nothing to alleviate fears, and she still had to do what she had to do. So, she continued, “If the fire spreads towards us, which is likely, we may have to evacuate.” Holly put her laptop and phone in the backpack. There was no internet or even continuous electricity anymore, but holding them gave her comfort as if nothing much had changed. Clothes…of course, she’d need clothes. She put a few frilly items. She might as well look good. “Okay,” Jennie yelled over her shoulder to Holly, as she was putting together her items. “Pack up sturdier things, too. Like cottons and wools, and don’t forget extra boots.” “Sleeping bags, Mom, we need sleeping bags.” Holly pulled her sleeping bag out of the closet, but Jennie didn’t have a sleeping bag, so Hollie folded a thick quilt and squeezed it into a plastic bag for her mother. “These are too bulky to carry,” said Jennie. ”I am going to store a few things in the metal shed. If this is what I fear it is, there’ll be squatters and scavengers inside the house.” “So awful! Maybe we should lock up everything.” “Good idea! Although locks won’t keep people in need and ready to do anything just to survive.” “Maybe we can hide them under the manure on the side of the house.” “No,” said Jennie, “not under the manure, too smelly, but we can hide a few things in some places in the yard.” Then, momentarily, she stopped to say, “Food! We’ll need food. We’ll take the sardine cans with us. They’re small and nutritious, and we’ll hide whatever else in the yard.” “I hate sardines, Mom!” “Where the world is going, you’ll be lucky to find what you hate.” “I hate it when you lecture!” “You hate this, you hate that…You’d better mind what you call a lecture. What is coming is ominous. Even our very lives might end up being liabilities.” Jennie frowned, thinking maybe she talked too much. “You mean it will be too stupid to live? If so, why are we doing what we are doing?” Could she come up with a good answer to Holly’s intelligent question? “Hope, my dear child! There is always that thing called hope.” She shook her head as if negating what she had just uttered. “Don’t call me a child, Mom. I’m fourteen. Not a child.” “You’ll always be my child, Holly, my love.” At that moment, someone knocked at the front door. “Open up! Police!” Jenny slid her bag under the bed, whispering at Holly to hide hers; then, she opened the door. Indeed, there were two policemen. “Ma’am! Why are you still here? Haven’t you heard the warning sirens? You people are making everything so much more the harder.” “Good Day, to you, too, Sir!” answered Jennie mockingly. “Yes, we did, but what good will that do!” “Ma’am! Please,” said the other policeman, speaking so speedily that some of his words mangled into the others. “I am Steve and my partner’s Bob. Let me explain. We are responsible for public safety. Please, you’ll have to evacuate. Everyone in town is to go to the Hermit’s Park at the south end. In an hour or so, maybe earlier, we’ll transport you to safer ground. The fires are the result of a very small bomb to set the target, to bypass the effects of the electronic blocking shield over us. The enemy usually sends a much bigger nuclear one afterward. That’s what they’ve been doing.” “Come as you are,” ordered Bob. “Carrying anything will make the vehicles heavier.” “Let me find my nine-year old son, first, officers. We’ll be at the park in record time.” “All right!” said Steve. “But, hurry! Otherwise, you’ll be toast. Let’s go Bob. We still have the apartment complexes to do.” Jennie closed the door after them. Holly gave Jennie an incredulous look. “Mom! You don’t have a nine-year old son.” “I had to tell them that. Don’t you understand? Plus, we’re better off if we left on our own.” “Mom! We can’t go anywhere on foot!” “Nowhere is safe anymore, Honeybun! You want to board the buses from the last century with the others with nowhere to go? What if something hits on top of us and bakes us like in an oven? Besides, I don’t think you’d appreciate the situations in a bus, and being squeezed together with other distraught people like sardines.” “What’s with you and the sardines? Ugh! Gross!” “You said it. Gross!” “Classic mom-comment!” Holly murmured to herself. Jennie knew that Holly thought her mother was just couldn’t stop ordering her around. “I heard that!” Jennie turned her back to her, trying to erase the grin off her face. But the ground was frozen and it was difficult to dig in and hide what they thought they could to come back to later. They did all they could while from the highway, came the rumble of the old buses carrying people away. Jennie and Hollie’s home had been in an affluent neighborhood--that is, affluent once upon a time. They had a large backyard and a small stable with units to house two or three horses, but no more than that. Jennie had sold the horses and the house was about to be confiscated by the town due to the delinquency of payments of taxes, right at the time when the wars began. After Holly’s father had joined the forces and was never heard from again, only Jennie’s salary was there, which was not enough to keep up the place. She had lost her job right after her dad left, anyhow. Who wanted to hire teachers with the threat of a nuclear world hanging over them! Holly thought all that about her parents inside the stable, and she tried to keep herself from sobbing. Mom is doing all she can, she thought. I must act better. Her mother was busy at the moment, her back turned to her. She unzipped her snorkel and took out something the size of a small pillow, her childhood Raggedy-Ann doll, and stuck it under the straw that was rotting. The doll was special because it used to be her grandmother’s. Jennie, on the other hand, had turned her back to Holly, looking busy with stashing clothing and food into small boxes and hiding them under the straw-covered floor in the next unit. With the corner of her eye, she had caught Hollie stashing the doll, and she had smiled inwardly, congratulating herself. It hadn’t been easy for her to keep a stern façade and do what she was about to do for her daughter’s welfare that would save both of them any further pain. Snow clouds had replaced the fiery skies, capping the City Center’s devastation inside a white shroud, and the wind blew so hard that the branches twirled around the tree trunks before they broke off. The second bomb, the nuclear one, hadn’t materialized…not yet, but the nuclear winter was on, fiercely advancing. Jennie and Hollie were still in their yard, trying to ward off the cold and not daring to go inside the house, in case other officials or the soldiers came and discovered them. Instead, they huddled together inside a stable unit in their snorkels under the thick quilts they had carried out from the house. Snow on the house, the steps leading to the front door, and around the yard had turned into ice. Icicles hung overhead in the stable, too. Jennie opened her eyes to the dark of the night that the snow everywhere had given just a tad of illumination. “God, please, forgive me for this,” she whispered and said a prayer. Then, she pushed away from the mounds of quilts covering herself. She had done that to Holly hours ago. The thin girl was already semi-frozen. The sleeping pill she had ground and mixed into her evening meal had to have done the job. Jennie dug up Raggedy Ann and placed it in Hollie’s arms. Then she stripped off most of her own clothes. Her teeth chattering, she took Hollie in her arms and leaned into the stable wall. The end would come soon, and freezing to death was the least painful way to go. ----------- Prompt: "It is not the end of the world." "No? Maybe you should take a look outside the window." |
| 1108 words With stout determination, Felicity fixed her gaze on Derrick. “That is exactly what I was hoping for, father!” “First, don’t forget that only a limited number of basic moves you can do with this sword. The problem is your enemy knows that, too!” “Then, how can I get the edge, father?” “Think of a game of chess. You win through strategy, right?” “Yes, father!” “Strategy! Don’t forget that word, and first, don't waste breath on conversation while you fight. Witty repartees take your mind and focus away from the action. Swordfight is not the simple one-two-three-and-you-win process.” “I thought as much.” “And another thing. No pauses. Timing is crucial. Keep up an even lightning speed, but only after you master the moves.” “I shall work very hard, Father!” “Learn the basics of this sword first, what it can do and more importantly, what it cannot.” “I know a bit, but not too much.” “See the grip? It is long enough to accommodate two hands, but you can use it with one hand, too.” “The blade is two-sided, right?” “Yes, Felicity. That is why it is used in close contact for it can strike a massive blow, cutting limbs, slicing heads in one stroke. Thus, we shall begin with pell training.” “Pell?” “Thrusting, cutting, and slicing without causing injury to your sparring partner.” “I wouldn’t hurt you, Father. I have been watching the knights practice…only at a distance.” “Good, I only stopped to make sure you got the basic facts right. Now, let’s begin.” In saying so, Derrick immediately began moving fast, using speed to draw closer to Felicity. At once, Felicity tried to stop Derrick’s last move with a block, but her shield wobbled a bit. She was only half successful and berated herself. Yet, seeing the pride on Derrick’s face she grinned happily. The movement of Derrick’s sword was too fast for Felicity to react next. It swooshed by her face. Derrick smirked and clutched his sword tighter. “Don’t ever stop to congratulate yourself, Felicity,” he said. “You’ll give your opponent the chance to attack.” “Yes, Father. Let’s do this move once more.” “You are persistent! That’s very good.” They repeated the move again. Although Felicity did better this time, Derrick still had the winning motion. “Now you know why it is so difficult to defeat me,” he gloated. “This isn’t going to be easy, but I will succeed, Father.” “I am sure you will, Felicity. I am sure you will.” While Derrick was teaching Felicity how to joust, far away in a distant land, a warrior of Derrick’s, Sean Gruadh sent as an emissary to that land’s king, was being held captive. As the wooden beam that crossed the door of his cell was lifted and stowed aside, Sean rose to his feet, shivering. His armor taken away from him, the thin wool tunic he was left with let the cold and damp penetrate into his bones. The guard opened the door as a torch's light shimmered through in the gap. Sean blinked, his eyes being more used to weeks of confinement. Curious but wary, he heard the voices of the guard and another man who answered him, at times muffled, at times echoing. Then a shrill-voiced woman spoke. The guard appeared in the doorway and gestured for Sean to approach. Defiant, he stood back. “You have to go to the King! Our King cannot come to you!” “I came to your King bringing good will and gifts from my King Derrick. What he did do to me is going to infuriate my King Derrick. No, I shall not go to him. I demand the return of my armor and my friends.” The guard stared at Sean as if not hearing his words. Without a word, he shrugged and stepped outside. In the next instant, he stepped back in and brought some stale bread on a tray and watered wine in a jug, placing them on the bench next to the prisoner. Darkness. Again! Sean fell asleep. The pitch-black dark of the night suddenly came alive with a dramatic light of a flame. Sean opened his sleep-heavy eyes and tried to remember where he was. What had woken him? He surely wasn’t at King Derrick’s court, eyeing the lovely Felicity. Poor Felicity! The tragedies that befell her were the feats of devilish evildoers. Sean knew she watched him practice sword fighting with a fire in her eyes but couldn’t tell why that fire was lit. She certainly didn’t seem to mind him too much, in the ways of other women minded him, but he sensed she was watching his jousting from a distance. Thinking of Felicity made the muscles of his chest ripple as he ran a weary hand down his face. Suddenly the wooden beam at the cell’s door was lifted again, and the guard rushed in, his eyes wild. “Help us, Sir Sean, we need to save our people!” “Now I am Sir Sean? I will do no such thing after what you have done to me, an emissary that I am, an honorable knight of King Derrick’s Court, and no less!” But an ink-black smoke began pouring into the cell. It was everywhere, stinging his eyes. The sound of flames crackling and eating through the thatch stung Sean’s ears. Yet all this noise did not only belong to the fire. He guessed there was a sea of swords striking on shields. People screaming with pain and fear in addition to the shouts and battle cries. Yes, Sean was a seasoned warrior, who understood what brought about such cries, such battles. What could he do? He needed his armor, his shield, his sword. And this idiotic guard shaking with fear instead of going and joining the battle! He might as well. Staying motionless was riskier anyway. “My armor?” he searched the guard’s fearful face. “The armors of the prisoners, Sir, we keep in the hatch at the end of the corridor.” “Show me!” The enemies had filled the courtyard, swarming into a colonnade, swinging swords, hefting axes, setting fires. Not that this king didn’t deserve it either! Sean found his armor and sword and joined the battle, not knowing exactly on whose side he was battling. His aim was to get out of this hellhole of a place with or without his men if only he could get his hands on a good sturdy horse. He could report this king’s atrocious behavior toward him, and if he is lucky, he could maybe catch a glimpse of the lovely Felicity. If only he could get away from this land… |
| 1037 Words 1. Bandit's Mama  Sandy Brace, Bandit’s Mama, describes herself in her bio-block as, “Writer, parent, wife, cat lover, writer, optimist, intelligent, gentle, lazy, poet, reader, animal advocate, computer lover, occasionally crabby, often cheerful, writer, honest, non-compliant, solitary…” And I want to add one more very important virtue to all that, as well. Above and beyond her descriptions of herself, Bandit’s Mama was a wonderful friend and one of the first people who welcomed me to Stories.com. Yes, Sandy was a mentor to me when I was a newbie in Stories.com and didn’t know my way around. We exchanged a few emails and she told me about Bandit, her cat, and that she was working in the world’s tallest building at 1 World Trade Center, on the 95th floor, at Marsh & McLennan as an administrative assistant even though she was afraid of heights. On the most tragic day of the US History, September 11, 2001, we also lost our friend Sandy Brace, in the first tower that toppled. Very few would recall this, but Sandy was the first torch-bearer who brought the 55-word stories to Stories.com. Her folder, "Fifty-Five Word Stories"  , is full of her creations of fifty-five-word stories.She wrote everything clearly and with feeling, but she was most partial to poetry. In her portfolio is this poem, "An Ending" . As if she were psychic and sensed her end, she finished her poem with these lines:I seek only the darkness And the quiet of the grave. Let me sleep there forever, Untouched, alone, at peace, Distant from this hate-filled world. Rest in peace, Sandy! I will always remember you. 2. BlueThunder Blue Thunder came to stories.com just three months short of a year after me. Aside from his handle and username, his name was Larry Kibby, and he lived in an Indian colony in Nevada. We lost Larry in 2006. What distinguished Larry for me was his heartfelt writing and his love and respect for his heritage. Larry was also one of the few people of those early years of Writing.com who send long, detailed reviews with a very friendly tone. Looking into his portfolio, I see that he loved animals related to his heritage such as horses and eagles. I am very much impressed by his "Fifteen Horses" , a story poem in which he honors the sacred hunting grounds. He finishes this poem with these words. “Another battle, another day Hoka Hay!! It is a good day to die” Rest in peace, Blue Thunder! Hoka Hay! 3. Ramblin Rose Ramblin’ Rose, a.k.a., S. J. King, was a good friend of mine. She told me once that she loved to be called Sarah Rose. It is possible that Rose and I warmed to each other through the idea of chocolate. She wrote this article "Chocolate Sweet Treats" , and if memory isn’t failing me, she ran a contest together with Susie Franks, who isn’t in WdC anymore. That contest involved chocolate. Yet, chocolate wasn’t the only sweet thing about Rose. She loved the fantasy genre and all the fairy tales, and she wrote successful fantasy stories about elves, fairies, leprechauns, and other imaginary beings, making us feel like children once more. As such, most of her stories I’ve read today are written for children. I remember she had a large portfolio brimming with in&outs, polls, stories, and poems. Although her portfolio today is reduced in size, her memory will never diminish in our hearts. Rest in peace, Ramblin Rose. 4. Spongebob Squarepants I remember Spongebob Squarepants as a young woman in her early twenties, and when she passed away, we experienced a deep loss, not only because she was so young but also, she had a promising writing career. Spongebob was a gentle soul and an extraordinary lady. When I sent her a review, I recall that I received a most gracious thank you e-mail from her. She was quite prolific, too, as a writer. Her stories are in the fantasy, sci-fi, and comedy genres, although she seems to favor comedy more than the others. This same trait also applies to her poems. The last lines of her poem "Indigo" end with these words:But until I can find out my true self, I will still worry that you won't like me, though I know I shouldn't, I still will. But we did, Spongebob, we liked you very much. Unfortunately, you left us too soon. Rest in Peace! 5. JudyB JudyB , Judy was a very lovely lady who was in Writing.com for five years. When I first met her, she said she was a CNA (certified nursing assistant). I told her I had several credits in psychology and I was interested in the subject, she said she had a degree in psychology, too. That idea bonded us together. In fact, her portfolio boasts items touching psychology in some way. The one item I find the most poignant is "Encounters with the Dying" . In it, she has a story about a hospice patient named Ken, whose hand she held as he passed away. Judie also spent three years in the military. She wrote about those experiences in "Memories of my Military Days" .Judy loved her family and absolutely adored her granddaughter. As to writing, she considered it a passion, much more than a hobby. We agreed on that idea, too. When she was hit with Leukemia, she didn’t shy away from the fight nor did she hide her illness. She has a few items on the subject as a caregiver who needed care herself at the end. In 2007, Judy wrote "My thoughts about Death" , not about herself but about our general approach to death. Judy has a large portfolio. In it, she has written mostly about the people she cared and she loved everyone unconditionally. I have never read anything in her port or on the mod forums even slightly negative about anybody. Unfortunately, we lost Judy to Leukemia in 2010. Rest in Peace, my good friend! |
287 words, 28 lines Form: 13 syllables per line in 14 couplets The day she was tossed onto the sand by a strong swell, heavens stayed gray for they looked away, getting it wrong. Yet, the hunted one had run into luck and stood up before the turbid water and cursed with battered head that she’d turn them to ashes--teak, rosewood, or walnut, freighters in harbors, ships at sea, as was meant to be. Hooligan in arms, a guerilla with vengeance deep her fists in the air, she vowed to keep her act solid since someone did dare to take her life away at sea as festivity when the sky had opened its mouth. Thus, her magic turned black on existence back to back and she pawed them to ashes at first shock of contact Then one day, sailors cruising harbors to fish for love drunk on tales of the stormy sea met this pretty witch and she touched a few, turned them gray, while she looked away at the sun in its mustard-seed robe, to say, “I’ve won!” But not yet! For she never knew what unbolts the dark what the rising wind will blow to turn her eyes aglow and life might not always be prosaically cruel if she broke barriers, as a rule, she’d see beauty on land or sea and her reality, eluding eyes, what a surprise, this intricate recognition coming to fruition when this odd witch met her match such a catch, a nobleman, too, at his heart and mind through and through, with jubilant grins perching on his lips, “No more ashes,” he said, holding her hands by the shore “Let old wounds leave!” and he led her through his door because love is a religion any odd witch could die for. ----------------- Prompt: Her touch turned everything to ashes |
| Not my writing. I derived it from the net. I put it here as future info for all of us. ====================================================== Game of Thrones World Starting at the very bottom, you have Dorne. It is separated from the rest of Westeros by Red Hills. The ruling house is House Martell, and bastards born here assume the last name of “Sand.” It is rocky, dry, and hot, and the people are of darker skin. There is a lot of trade going on here with other islands (especially of spices), and the customs here are very different from the rest of the continent. To the west, you have The Reach. It is the stronghold of House Tyrell (Margery, Ser Loras) and is ruled from the castle Highgarden. Bastards born here take the last name “Flowers.” It is the most fertile region in the continent. Above Dorne, you have the Stormlands. It is the seat of House Baratheon (Robert, Stannis, Renly), who have ruled it from the castle called Storm’s End. Bastards here are given the surname “Storm.” As the name signifies, the region is rocky, stormy, marshy, and contains many forests. The Tarth House (Brienne) is a part of this region. Above Stormlands, you have the Crownlands, the seat of the Iron Throne. The ruler of the Iron Throne is regarded as the ruler of the entire land of Westeros. The capital city is King’s Landing, and the bastards here are given the name “Waters.” Currently, the throne is held by House Lannister (through Cersei, the Queen Regent, with Joffrey being King). Previously, the Iron Throne seated Robert Baratheon. To the west, you have the Westerland, the kindom of House Lannister (Jaime, Cersei, Tywin, Tyrion, and everyone evil), who rule it from a massive stone fortress called Casterly Rock. The region is mountainous, and bastards here take up the name “Hill”. This is the richest land in the continent due to the overwhelming numbers of gold and silver mines. The region in the center of the continent is called Riverlands, a medley of plains, hills, forests, and numerous rivers. The main river here is the Trident. Bastards are, of course, given the name “Rivers.” The north part of this region forms the southern part of what is known locally as The Neck. For many years, the area was ruled by House Tully (Catelyn [Stark], Lysa [Arryn], Blackfish), but is now in the hands of House Frey. This region sees a lot of trade due to the rivers and is the location for the Harrenhal castle. The archipelago of seven islands to the left here are Iron Islands, the land of the Greyjoys (Theon, Yara), who rule from the castle Pyke - also the name of the bastards born here. The seas around the islands are very stormy and destructive, and have also destroyed and eroded most of the Pyke castle. To the islands’ diametric right, we have The Vale. Also known as the Vale of Arryn, it is the seat of House Arryn (Jon: dead before the series began, Lysa, and the son she nurses still, Robin). The treacherously mountainous kingdom also includes some of the most idyllic regions in the land. The rulers rule from the castle Eyrie, which is located high above the ground, in the snowy Mountains of the Moon. Bastards here are called “Stone.” The North is the largest of the seven kingdoms. The region is ruled by our heroes, the Starks (Ned, Robb, Sansa, Arya, and everyone else who is good), from their castle, Winterfell. The kingdom is vast, thinly populated, with lots of forests, plains, and small villages. There are two geographic boundaries: The Neck to the south (Jojen and Meera Reed, who have just met Bran and Rickon) that holds Moat Cailin, a mega fortress, and The Wall to the north. The region is extremely cold, sometimes snowing even in summer. Bastards are called “Snow.” And I love Jon Snow. Moving on. Essos is the largest continent, and the weather grows hotter the more south you go. Dany is the main protagonist on this land. The land is divided into many distinct regions. The Free Cities are 9 independent cities located on the west coast (Braavos, Myr, Pentos, Volantis, Lorath, Lys, Tyrosh, Norvos, Qohor). Except for Braavos, every other city is a remnant of the mighty Valyrian empire. To the east lies the vast, dead, grassland called Dothraki Sea. It is inhabited by the famous (or infamous, in the GoT world), barbarous Dothraki people, headed by their Khals. Then you have Slaver’s Bay, that contains the slave cities of Yunkai, Mereen, and Astapor(land of the Unsullied, where Dany is now). To the extreme east, you have Qarth, from where hail the warlocks who have been trying very hard to kill Dany. East and south even to this are mysterious lands, most notably Asshai, from where hails Melisandre. Now that we understand the geography, let us look at where everyone comes from and where they want to go. Prehistory and Timeline of events Before men made an appearance, the land of Westeros was inhabited by short, human-like creatures called Children of the Forest. There were also giants and other magical creatures. Around 13,000 years before the series began, you had the First Men (who came from Essos) invade Westeros from the South. They pushed further and further into the land, establishing kingdoms and settling all over the place, but also constantly warring with the Children. So, 2000 years later, the Men and the Children made a pact to live peacefully. The Men started adopting the customs and the Gods of the Children. 4000 years after the pact, House Stark was founded by Brandon the Builder. You also had the founding of House Lannister and had kings take control of the Reach, Storm’s End, and Iron Islands. Then came The Long Night. It was the longest, darkest, and coldest winter in history, lasting almost 100 years, followed by a long period of darkness. It was at this time that The Others (aka White Walkers) move down from the farthest north (The Land of Always Winter), wreaking havoc and fear in Westeros, killing almost all men. But they were eventually defeated when the Long Night came to an end. It is said that they were led by a great hero named Azor Ahai(Melisandre, who worships AA as God, believes that Stannis is his reincarnation). Within the next century, Bran the Builder built the massive fortification made of ice and called The Wall. A sworn brotherhood called the Night’s Watch was also created to protect the Wall. Wildlings - humans who wish to be “free” and not a part of the Seven Kingdoms - live beyond the wall. A couple of thousand years later, the Andals arrived from the east and entered Westeros through what is now the Vale of Arryn. They constantly warred with the First Men and the Children, and gradually overcame every king except the Stark king, thus establishing the Arryn bloodline. Meanwhile in Essos, dragons were discovered in volcanoes by Valyrian shepherds, who tamed them by magic and gained power, establishing the kingdom of Valyria. Constant warring ensued in Essos for almost 4000 years. At this point, Nymeria, a warrior princess from the kingdom of Rhoyne set sail for southern Westeros. Here, she met and married Lord Martell after burning her 10,000 ships. Thus was established Dorne, and House Martell was formed. Valyrian Freehold gained power over most of Essos, except for the Secret City of Braavos that was founded by religious leaders who had taken refuge in the hills to the west. A Valyrian noble family called the Targaryens took hold of an island and built a castle whose tower is in the shape of a dragon, called Dragonstone. Meanwhile, in the North, House Bolton, who are located at Dreadfort (in the realm of the Starks) rebelled against Starks for many generations, but finally swore fealty to them just before the series begins. Soon followed the Doom of Valyria - a mysterious catastrophe involving volcanoes that burned down the Valyrian empire. The Targaryens were still strong on Dragonstone because of the power of the last three dragons. Braavos revealed itself to the world, becoming powerful due to its banks, and the Free Cities and cities of Slaver’s Bay were liberated. The Targaryens, Aegon the Conqueror, and his two sister consorts, then migrated to Westeros on dragons, conquering all kingdoms except Dorne and founding King’s Landing, thus establishing the House Targaryen. For the next 200 years, Westeros was plagued by civil wars and was once even led by Aegon’s rumored bastard half-brother, the first of the Baratheons. All the dragons were killed. The last of the Targaryen kings was Aerys, the Mad King. Events that took place just before GoT began Multiple things happen now that lead to the events of the series. Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark are wards together at the Eyrie, under Jon Arryn. Tywin Lannister is proclaimed the Hand of the King and proposes Cersei’s hand for prince Rhaegar, Aerys’s son. But King Aerys refuses and marries Rhaegar to Elia Martell of Dorne. Almost a decade later, Robert Baratheon is engaged to Lyanna Stark, the sister of Eddard Stark. Catelyn Tully is engaged to Eddard Stark’s older brother, Brandon. Jaime Lannister now becomes a member of King Aerys’s Kingsguard. During a tourney at Harrenhal, Prince Rhaeger names Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty instead of his own wife Elia, and abducts Lyanna, causing much scandal. When Brandon Stark and his father appeal to King Aerys to ask Rhaegar to return Lyanna, he has them both killed. He then asks Jon Arryn to deliver the heads of Robert and Eddard. Instead, the houses Stark, Tully, Arryn, and Baratheon rise in rebellion. Robert fights to reclaim the throne in the name of his ancestor. The Lannisters betray the Targaryens, with Tywin Lannister sacking the city and Jaime Lannister killing the Mad King, earning the nickname Kingslayer. Prince Rhaegar is killed, as are Princess Elia Martell and their children. Targaryen supporters secretly smuggle the two other Targaryen children - Viserys and Daenerys - to Essos. The abducted Lyanna Stark is discovered dying. Later, Robert becomes King and marries Cersei. Ned Stark (who is married to Catelyn and has fathered Robb at this point) comes back home with a bastard son, Jon Snow. Balon Greyjoy assumes kingship over the Iron Islands, but is subdued by Robert. His son, Theon Greyjoy, is taken to the Starks as a ward. Jon Arryn, now the Hand of King, discovers that Robert’s children are actually Jaime’s and is poisoned in King’s Landing. ...... The Series Starts The outline: In the North, after thousands of years of disappearance, the Others are back. The War of Five Kings (Robb, Joffrey, Stannis, Renly, Balon Greyjoy) is raging. In the East, Dany is using her dragons and amassing an army to return to Westeros and reclaim her throne. The details: In Westeros, Catelyn Stark hasn’t taken too well with Jon Snow and quite simply wishes he were dead. The Stark children find direwolves for themselves. Jon Snow is inspired by Ned Stark’s younger brother Benjen Stark and decides to become a sworn Black Brother. Benjen Stark goes missing. This coincides with Robert Baratheon & co.’s arrival at Winterfell to name Ned Stark the Hand of the King. Bran witnesses Jaime and Cersei in the act of sex and is pushed down from a tower, becoming crippled. Ned, Arya, and Sansa go to King’s Landing, where Sansa starts developing a crush on Joffrey. Catelyn finds out from Lysa Arryn that Jon Arryn was poisoned. Ned discovers that the Baratheon children are Jaime’s, confronts Cersei, and plans to tell Robert. But Robert is conveniently killed before he can find out. Ned tries to smuggle out his daughters from King’s Landing before alerting the rightful heir Stannis, but is killed. Sansa gets engaged to Joffrey, the new King who slayed her father, and Arya flees. In the east, 13 year old Dany is married off to a Dothraki lord by her much older brother Viserys, in exchange for an army. Khal Drogo succeeds in winning the young Dany’s heart, and kills Viserys because his incessant verbal and physical abuse (of Dany) was getting out of hand. Dany gets pregnant, but both her unborn child and her husband die. She places the three petrified eggs she received as a wedding present on the funeral pyre and thus are born her true “children,” the only three living dragons in the known world. So what’s happening now? Renly B declares himself king and marches against his brother Stannis. Renly has wed the sister of his lover Loras Tyrell, Margery, securing the support of Highgarden. Stannis has with him a mysterious priestess who plays with fire and light and calls him the reincarnation of god. Catelyn intervenes and tries to make the brothers see sense but fails. Renly is killed by a shadow (possibly summoned by Melisandre), and Catelyn flees with Renly’s faithful bodyguard Brienne. Stannis, when attacking King’s Landing, is countered by Lannister and Tyrell forces, who use wildfire. He staggers back to land with his faithful Onion Knight, Ser Davos Seaworth. Tyrion, who was responsible for the use of wildfire and securing King’s Landing, narrowly escapes death himself with the help of his young squire, Podrick Payne. Tyrion is also found in the company of the sellsword Bronn, who he joined forces with when escaping from Eyrie, where Catelyn had kept him prisoner for her suspicion of Tyrion being responsible for an attempt at Bran Stark’s life. Tyrion has also brought with him his new favorite lady-friend, Shae, who is disguised as handmaiden to Sansa. He has recently been appointed as Master of Coin, replacing Littlefinger, by Tywin Lannister, and has discovered that the crown is over six million in debt. Littlefinger is to wed Lysa Arryn and take Vale, thus depriving Robb Stark of yet another ally. Robb Stark has been proclaimed the King in the North and is now at the strategic Moat Cailin. He has also married Lady Talisa, a sweet nobody. To cross the river Trident, Robb promised Lord Walder Frey to marry one of his daughters, but broke this contract upon falling in love with Talisa. The Freys are seated at the Twins - two castles on either side of a branch of the river Trident. The house is headed by Lord Walder Frey, who has populated the castles like a bunny, with his eight wives. They were sworn to House Tully, and therefore now, Robb Stark. Jaime Lannister, who was sent to capture Riverrun (Tully-land) is in turn captured by Robb. Catelyn secretly allows Jaime to go back to King’s Landing, accompanied by Brienne, on the condition that Jaime return Arya and Sansa safely back to her. Catelyn is imprisoned by Robb for this, and Jaime and Brienne are captured by Boltons, who cut off Jaime’s hand. Meanwhile, Theon Greyjoy, who is now free of the Starks, returns to the Iron Islands where he is treated like a stranger. His father, Balon Greyjoy has declared himself king. To redeem himself in the eyes of his father and his people, he proceeds to go back to the castle he grew up in and takes Winterfell. Unable to locate Bran and Rickon, he proclaims them dead. But being extremely weak in military strength, however, he is captured and tortured by the Boltons. Margery Tyrell is now engaged to be married to Joffrey, while Petyr Baelish (aka Littlefinger), who was in love with Catelyn Tully, promises to help Sansa out of King’s Landing. Varys (aka the Spy, the Spider) and the Tyrells become aware of this and work out that Littlefinger wants to wed Sansa himself. They plot to have the strength and name of Stark back Highgarden by having Sansa marry Loras. However, Tywin Lannister hopes to trump them by having Tyrion marry Sansa and Cersei marry Loras. Cersei is becoming increasingly suspicious and jealous of Margery and her control over Joffrey. Arya escapes King’s Landing and is now with Gendry, one of Robert’s bastards. In Harrenhal, Jaqen H’ghar asks her to board a ship to Essos. Arya and Gendry are now with Thoros of Myr, of the Brotherhood Without Banners, a band of outlaws who fight Lannisters in the name of King Robert. They have since captured the Hound, Sandor Clegane, a former bodyguard of Joffrey, and brother of the Mountain That Rides, Gregor Clegane. Bran and Rickon are accompanied by their direwolves, Summer and Shaggydog, the wildling Osha, and Bran’s faithful Hodor, and are making their way towards the Wall. They encounter Meera and Jojen Reed along the way. Jojen appears to be a seer like Bran and has prophetic dreams. They set out together in search of the Three-Eyed Crow that both of them dream about. Further North, the Black Brothers go to Craster’s Keep. Craster makes his daughters his wives and sacrifices his newborn sons to the Others. Sam Tarly gets taken with Gilly, a pregnant daughter, who is to give birth (to a son). An altercation causes Craster to be killed and the Brothers to turn on themselves. Jon Snow, meanwhile, accompanied by Qhorin Halfhand, has set out to destroy a group of wildlings who are marching on the Wall. They are taken prisoners by the wildlings. Jon is instructed by Qhorin to pretend as if he has defected to them. Jon does so, killing Qhorin in the process and gaining the trust of the Wildling king, Mance Rayder, a betrayer of the Night’s Watch himself. Jon is now to accompany a group of wildlings to lay a siege to the Wall. In the east, Dany, accompanied by Ser Jorah Mormont, encounters many adventures, including black-tongued warlocks who try to kill her. She has recently been joined by Ser Barristan Selmy, who was previously a Kingsguard to King Robert, but quits when Joffrey becomes king. She has also purchased 8000 Unsullied, whom she frees from slavery, and her dragons are growing stronger than ever.  |
| Dark Story #95 Word Count: 2172 ---------------------------------------------- “Did you, or didn’t you?” Weber’s phlegmatic question hung over Judith as if its words were produced by an engine of atrocity. He had asked her that while he had leaned back in his old walnut chair and glanced coldly at her, then at her feet. It was true that with each step she took, destruction had followed in her wake. Why was it that she couldn’t kill time without committing what he considered a crime? “It was like a bad dream,” she answered. “I’m no angel!” “You are the devil itself, Judith,” he said softly. “In the least, a tortured ouroboros.” It is just an ad hominem attack. He didn’t really mean it, Judith thought. But that was two nights ago. Tonight, pressing several forlorn sighs from her lungs, she walked to the edge of the water and sat on the wooden bench with the paint scraping off its slats. She took a deep breath clutching her purse in one hand, the cell phone in the other, her props of a mortal’s image. Then, she looked up and searched for the stars, but it was a dark, starless night. Yet, even a darker shape than the night zigzagged over her head, in a complex pattern. She stared at the large creature steadily until it vanished over the land. Just a bat! But she realized that her hands were trembling. Bats were usually afraid of her. Why didn’t this one? She tilted her head to glance at the horizon. The island had hunkered down into the blackness of the night, taking no notice of her clandestine surveillance. She did not rage against the heavens nor did she long to die. She couldn’t anyway, even though she constantly wound her way around the coils of the abyss. Not realizing she was being watched, she had fallen in love with a mortal and committed an obvious weakness. Again! And for the second time after being chastised...And her mortal waited for Judith, still, coming to her as a dream every now and then. But dreams could be doorways. I mustn’t give in to dreams! Yet, she couldn’t find the strength to stand up against those dreams. Definitely not against her mortal who still waited for her on that island far out on the sea. The mortal body she had grabbed in a hurry needed sleep, and with sleep, came the dreams with all the stops pulled out. There were some things about mortal bodies she hated like peeing and pooping and other gross things. Yet, making love was an exception. It was when the spirits united, too. This time, that union had been powerful, far too powerful. And now, whenever her mortal yearned for her, his yearning turned into a dream, and she couldn’t resist rejoicing in their mortal memories. “You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking!” Weber materialized before Judith. “Yours are futile fantasies. What can be more outlandish than your anomalous insouciance!” “Weber, stop using big words to impress. I can’t help this, and I am trying to stay awake, so I do not dream forbidden dreams.” “And you are doing it by observing the island and pining after that idiot from far away? You can’t even attend to yourself, let alone return to your duties! You know what will happen, don’t you!” Yes, something was going to happen. She had sensed it. Up to this point, though, nothing had happened, except the bat that didn’t fear her and this darkness of the stars. She had struggled, and struggled hard, too, to keep her end of the deal with the establishment, but self-destruction had always been her potential, and now she was being considered as disposal material. “There is one way out,” Weber continued. “You are being put on a mission, and you must complete it with honors.” Flabbergasted, she stared at him. That couldn’t be right. Weber was the one who was sent on missions, not her. She wasn’t mission material. She was only Weber’s helper, only his prop like the purse and the cell phone she was holding, like this useless human body she occupied. This mission had to be vitally significant. Her existence on this plane, most certainly, was depending on it. That whole island’s existence, too, probably depended on it since the establishment erased everything that had to do with their operatives’ crimes, at times including entire planets and solar systems. She couldn’t let that happen to her mortal. If she could just work through this mission and complete it…The idea felt good. Hers and her mortal’s whole world depended on it. She promised herself inwardly that she’d perform to the best of her ability. “Yes, I’ll do it,” she said. “What is the mission?” “You’ll have to kill someone, but not kindly. You’ll have to slash him into pieces as he sees you in your true form.” She had never done a killing before. She had aided several of them, each with a good reason. She hesitated. That island world where her mortal lived or this damned, loathsome mission. She didn’t have much of a choice, did she? “All right,” she blinked, “Tell me the particulars.” “First, you have to swear to it. You know particulars aren’t given until the worker commits to the mission.” “I swear on my trivial existence that I will bring this mission to completion, which the establishment has ordered to preserve the grand scheme of things!” Done! She took a deep breath. “All right, then,” Weber frowned, staring at her. His eyes were pools of pity. “The man is Jonah. Your mortal. He has to know what you really are before he is done away with. Here is the sword for the slashing. Tuck it away. It’ll turn invisible until you use it. You have to do it now. Tonight. Immediately.” Judith drew herself up into a fetal position on the bench while an unvoiced cry caught in her throat. The sword was in her hands, and her props--the purse and the cell phone—were gone. This was beyond endurance. This wasn’t a mission; it was a punishment. All the horror of her existence and the cruelty of the establishment boiled down to this one devastating mission; this was, in truth, a vicious torment from which she could never recover. “The point of this mission, this hardship, is a personal thing. Its misery can be acute.” Weber reached for Judith’s hand and squeezed it. She looked up at Weber. “You are empathizing! Don’t tell me, you, too…” “Yes, me, too. But I am a survivor, although my full recovery seems to be somewhat impossible. I still can’t erase from my consciousness the look on her face before she turned into a corpse and her essence took flight.” “Thank you for telling me that. But it won’t help, will it?” Weber shook his head fiercely as if saying no. Then, he disappeared. She didn’t have a choice. Whatever she did or could do, Jonah would come at the short end. She looked toward the island again, frightened for him. Eight bats were grouping up, flying overhead, chirping and clicking rhythmically, circling now almost at the top of her. She arose, fearing her human legs wouldn’t support her, but that didn’t matter. She might get rid of the human body now, but what had Weber said? “He has to know what you really are before he is done away with.” So, she had to carry the body with her whether she liked it or not. She took a step and dove into the water. Pulling and pushing the body’s weight wasn’t a problem, but to stop it from drowning took all her life-force's energies, as the body had not belonged to an athlete but a wimp of a woman. The bats had flown circling above her during the first mile or so, but they had suddenly disappeared. A very good sign. It meant she was regaining her old fear-inducing persona. Yet, she realized the absence of their sounds had become more disturbing as she neared the island since the enormity of the job she was destined to do became more real and better-defined. She pulled the body to the sandy beach, but when she was just about to dry her, someone approached. “Lady! What happened to you? Did you fall in the water?” “Don’t worry about it,” she said sweetly. “I love the water. Couldn’t help myself.” “In this weather? A storm’s coming this way.” He was one of the fishermen she’d met earlier, a friend of Jonah. She shrugged. “It is fine. Storms don’t scare me.” “Let me help you out. Out yonder is my home. My wife will dry you up by the fire in no time. Say, I know you!” “Yes, you do.” “You’re Jonah’s girl! When you disappeared and we told him to get on with life, he said you’d come back. Blimey, he was right!” “Yes, I had to go, and now I’m back, but I don’t want to lose more time without him. Now, if you forgive me…” She arose, pulling up her straggly body to its feet. He snickered. “I guess Jonah’s gonna dry you up, now. He'll love it, too!“ She couldn’t rush while the man’s eyes were on her. So she walked and turned the corner. Then she saw another man, the fisherman who had taken her and Jonah on his boat. “Hey, Jude! You’re back! Jonah will be in high Heaven when he sees you!” “That he will be,” said Judith. ”That’s for sure.” Then, she gave him a send-off wave. The man moved toward the beach, but she wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t be following her. So she went after him and stood at the corner in the shadows…long enough to hear his exchange with the first man. “Hey Abe, Jude is back. Jonah knew.” “Yeah, weird girl, if you ask me. She was dripping. Went in the ocean in the middle of the night.” “No, she wasn’t. She didn’t have a drop on her. Say, did you start drinking again?” She would have chuckled if she could, but instead, she felt like sobbing, but she couldn’t afford that either. She couldn’t afford to have Jonah catch her crying. At the next step, she was at his door. Jonah opened the door in his pajamas, looking more like a child and making her dread her task even more. “You came!” He pulled her inside, into his arms in one motion. She closed her eyes to gather strength. When she opened them, she opted to stare at the stairs to avoid his gaze. He took it the wrong way. “Okay, let’s go up. I was going to ask you if you were hungry, but what the heck!” “Yes, what the heck!” Maybe one last time? No, she couldn’t. Her mission had to be immediate. “Jonah,” she pulled away. “There is something about me you don’t know. I ran into you while I was on a job…I wasn’t really after you or….” she gulped her next breath. “or into you...” “But you are now. So, what? You’re here, aren’t you! I don’t need to hear any confessions. Past is past.” Oh, he was making it so difficult. “Jonah! I am not human.” And she changed. Jonah’s eyes grew. He wiped one shaky hand down his chiseled face. Judith knew he was overcome with her vision, her hairy tufts, spikes, scales, spicules, and her dorsal snake-like scales. “What is this? Who are you? Jude, where are you? What did you do with Jude?” “I am Jude, Jonah!” whispered Jude, drawing out the sword. “And I have to do that to you!” She tried to bring down the sword, but her arm felt frozen. “No, Judith, I won’t let you do it!” Weber swallowed hard, his fist tight like a vise around Judith’s hand holding the sword. Jonah stared, unmoving. Then he shifted his gaze to Judith. “There’s two of you?” “No,” whimpered Judith. “Weber is my boss.” “Why?” “Don’t ask. Don’t argue. There’s no time.” Weber yanked the sword from Judith’s hand and brought it down on her head. Then, he turned to Jonah. When he was done slashing them both, he brought it into his heart. The rustle of wings filled the room and silken feathers dropped on the two corpses, taking their essences higher up toward Heaven. “Guess what?” said Judith to Jonah.”I am not that thing anymore. I like these wings much better. But…Oh, poor Weber!” He had to have fallen into the abyss while saving her. “I’m right behind you,” came Weber’s voice. The angels around them kept singing in chorus. Then, melodiously, one of them said, “There is a much higher administration than the establishment. When necessary, it directs us to interfere in the establishment’s business.” Another angel took Weber by the hand. “Someone is waiting for you in the Father’s garden,” she said. Judith felt indescribably happy. The bats were still circling way down and far beyond them, descending and squealing demonically. |
| (224 Words, 25 lines and Free form in five stanzas) You close your lids to Bach’s Goldberg variations profound, witty, inventive, you hide those golden eyes to sketch your future with hot scattered embers but burn on your past, same as nights your dear old dad sneaked into your room, stooped low, and you wouldn’t tell You close your lids to Barber’s Adagio in Strings and dream of lovers as some bewildered phantoms from a distance with your humanly insistence then think you can’t compare apples and oranges but in thoughts’ placid pools stirs a fury divine You close your lids to Ravel’s Concerto in G harboring shattered hopes, overwhelming grief your heart heavy, on a leash, over kids born dead over kids found deaf, and your man who flung himself off a cliff, after he slayed the dog as vengeance You close your lids to Massenet’s Meditation while nights drift to claim the shore and you curl your fists and step up your living, now trapped in fancy clothes, and tangled roots unfold limb by limb, as you strike back at the world, hanging men to smolder on trees You close your lids to Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring in trails familiar, your steps birthing burials as shadows soak into snow in bloody pathos like your magic tricks, then you make the smallest move and open your eyes to the bareness of iron bars -------- Prompt: The secret in her eyes |
| Layla Flower's father was a painter who always used her mother as his model, but he never painted Layla. Although Layla begged him and asked repeatedly with promises of staying motionless without breathing, her words were spent in vain. “Too risky,” her father answered. “You are too pretty to paint.” “But what about Mom?” “She is pretty, too, but her face has character.” So, Layla gave up asking...until she turned nineteen when she thought she needed to find that character thing to show up on her face. One day, she came across a cheap trip for college students and asked her parents to send her to Paris. “Great city!” said her father. “Okay, but visit the catacombs. It’s one in a lifetime experience.” Beckett Sand paused to stand in the doorway to his grandparents’ room, but his grandparents who had raised him were not there anymore. Their place was dark, empty, sterile, with no life or motion. The deep shadows in the hallway brought back memories, but there was nothing there for him now. At twenty-two, he didn’t need such a big run-down house. So, he told the real-estate gal to accept the first offer. He wanted to leave the area anyhow. Afterward, with some of the money from the sale of the house, Beckett decided to take a trip to Paris, having read of the catacombs. On the same day Beckett was to board, Layla, too, boarded the plane that was heading to Orly airport. Just before the doors were closing, she noticed the young man rushing inside the plane while gasping for air. The flight attendant showed him to the empty seat next to Layla. “I’m sorry,” said the man, “May I stick my bag in front of you. It won’t fit in the corner space here.” “Sure,” Layla smiled. “There is enough space here. My overnighter is at the top.” “Beckett Sand, how are you?” “Fine, thank you. I’m Layla. Layla Flower.” “Is this your first trip to Paris? Mine is.” “Mine, too,” said Layla. “Only for a week, and the first thing my dad wants me to see is the Catacombs.” She rolled her eyes. “I am going to Paris especially to see the Catacombs,” said Beckett. “A pal of mine went there and he thinks the place is haunted with all the dead skeletons.” “You don’t say! Maybe I’ll take a guided tour, so I won’t get lost.” “Some newspaper guy is also insisting that in the Catacombs is a wormhole.” “Wormhole? Wormhole as in separated regions of space-time?” “Exactly! But then, everyone claims something odd, these days. We could go tomorrow. At least, we’ve met and we’re both from the states.” Layla felt Beckett was eyeing her face with appreciation. She thought he was kinda stunning, too. “That would be great to get it over with right away,” she said. “Then the rest of the time, we’ll be free.” A single ticket into the catacombs was $32, but a private tour for two cost $55. So, Layla and Beckett went on the private tour together. “Creepy!” Layla shuddered at the sight of the walls. “Imagine! All those people once lived!” “This place used to be limestone mines, first,” the tour guide began explaining, but right then, someone called him for help with a tourist who had fainted. “You two stay here. I’ll be back. It won’t take a minute.” He dashed off. “This is not professional!” said Layla. “Look, there’s another tourist group, way over there. Let’s go join them.” Layla would rather wait for the guide, but she didn’t want to stand there alone since Beckett was already walking that way. The next second, Layla slipped and tried to hang on to Beckett. Then, neither knew what happened, but they found themselves walking through a thick forest, far too dark. “I can’t walk and I can’t see a thing.” Layla was so furious at her father now, worse than when he rejected to paint her picture. “I hate to tell you this, but I think we hit the wormhole.” ‘Oh, nooo!” Suddenly, something who Layla thought to be a monkey jumped in front of them. That being had nut-brown, spotted skin, large ears, and gold-green, cat-like eyes. It was about three to four feet in height and moved gracefully back and forth in front of them as if dancing. “I think I know who that is,” whispered Beckett. “He is a green seer of the children of the forest.” “You mean Game of Thrones? But that is fiction!” “Apparently not!” “Hush,” said the being. “Humans aren’t our friends. But you dress weird. From whence do you come?” “Paris!” both said. “How did you know English?” asked Beckett. “We can read minds and learn very quickly. I see that you have come far and wide, and you two are in love.” “What?” both exclaimed. “It happened when you were among the clouds. You’re destined to be together. We can cut the chase and marry you off, here. Why not? Life’s short!” “What is this place called?” Layla asked to change the subject. “Stormlands, what else. This forest is the best place there is. The rest you don’t want to know. And what may you be called?” “I’m Layla Flower.” “I’m Beckett Sand.” “Enemies!” screamed the green seer. Abruptly beings like him jumped down from the trees, but an older one among them, hushed others. “You’re the bastards of Martell and Tyrell, but how are you together? You are not supposed to unite. Oh, oh! Love! You eloped. But that is a disgrace! You have to marry, now, and urgently.” Beckett grabbed Layla’s hand. “Let’s get out of here!” And they ran with the tree children after them. Suddenly, Layla slipped on wet leaves… “Aha! There you are!” Their guide was gasping for breath. “I was looking for you. Where’d you disappear?” “You wouldn’t believe!” Layla rolled her eyes. Beckett snickered. ------------ 987 Words Prompt 2: Write a story in the Romance genre, set in the Game of Thrones world. You do not have to use existing characters, but you can. Give it a happy ending. |
“I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.” Mahatma Gandhi When the doorbell of her apartment rang, Lorraine didn’t rush to open it, since she had only dried her tears seconds ago. It was her thirtieth birthday and she was alone. Yet, whoever it was had to be an insistent sales person because the ringing didn’t stop. At the fourth ring, Lorraine folded away the birthday card she received from her mother who was attending a gala in Manhattan and the one from her father who was in Malaysia, or was it Brunei, speaking at the yearly conference of The Association of Southeast Asian Nations. As she walked to the door without haste, she kicked away a child’s ball that had appeared out of nowhere on the hallway. Probably the next-door neighbor canvassing for Cancer Care with her little boy in tow had to have dropped it. Unwillingly, she undid the three locks and opened it. Seeing no one, she leaned back and looked around again, then looked up scanning around and overhead what her gaze could reach, the deep blue sky for a wispy cloud, her calm and muted neighborhood, the tips of trees in the distance…but nothing. “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Lorrie?” What? Nobody ever called her Lorrie. She was Lorraine to the whole world, thanks to her parents’ insistence. The only one who called her Lorrie was…the one who…the one whom she once imagined into existence inside her mind? Yet, the young man suddenly standing in front of her was…Could this be possible? “Lorrie, it’s only been 12 years since our last meeting, and you forgot about me? I refuse to believe that.” Lorraine’s imagination had taken flight even before she had learned to speak fully, using more than three-word sentences. Her parents, one away touring the world after his questionable business ventures and the other involved in charity organizations and societal concerns, were not present in her life very much, except for her nanny, and even she spent most of her time on the phone chatting with her ever-changing series of boyfriends. In such an atmosphere, like all lonely kids, Lorraine, too, had imagined a friend who lived with her, and she had given him a name, Paul. While most kids escaped into fairy tales or team sports, Lorraine had escaped into the idea of Paul. When her parents took her to a rare vacation with them on the French Riviera, Paul had accompanied her to her parents’ chagrin, and to the degree that her mother had fibbed to Monsieur Aguillard that Lorraine, in fact, had such a friend back at home. At the time, in Lorraine’s imagination, Paul was a straggly boy, but tall, who could reach heights Lorraine couldn’t. While most children who enjoy the grandeur of imaginary friends let their memories blur and diminish over time, Paul didn’t fade into the repository of Lorraine’s childhood, but he grew up with her and somewhat changed his role, and quite snugly, fit into the teenager’s best-friend-lover daydreams. Paul, then, turned into a hero of dreams, glorified and adored by all Lorraine’s school friends and he excelled in the realms of athletics and became distinguished in other endeavors, and because Lorraine was attached to Paul, she too was adored, admired, and envied. Still, that was all make-believe, to ease out a life that was lacking in attention and support by those who had the job of supplying her with that attention and support. Yet, here he was all six-foot two of him with that accusatory smirk on his face, acting like he had a good reason to be calling on Lorraine. “Did the cat get your tongue, Lorrie, you who used to be so loquacious and detailed, if you know what I mean, Darlin’!” He lifted and moved his eyebrows up and down as if daring her and implying all the hot stuff she used to dream of. And of course, he was wearing blue jeans and a denim shirt to go with his violet-blue eyes and dark hair. When Lorraine still didn’t, couldn’t, answer, he rushed past by her into the apartment as if he was in dire need to use the bathroom. “The bathroom is at the other hand,” stammered Lorraine. “Darlin’, I don’t have to go, but I just had to get inside before I would evaporate again. Now, where’s the bedroom?” “I…I don’t understand. How could this be?” “You didn’t ask how, way back when, and you’re asking now? Tsk, tsk, Lorraine! Didn’t you realize the mind is not a dumpster? What you create there has to take shape or form, one way or another? And your mind, Darlin’, was a palace. I loved living in it, but you wandered away, and I had to find my way back to you, somehow.” “It was a long time ago. I was growing up. I needed you, then.” “Fact is, Lorraine, when your heart spoke, it would have been indecent for your mind to object, and you really, truly, unequivocally wanted me, then. You can’t take back that full-hearted wanting, now.” I shouldn’t have opened that damn door! Oh, well, what did she have to lose! She recalled all the unfortunate endings with her string of boyfriends, most of them pushed on her by Mama Dearest. At least, this one was her own creation. Although, she might have gone overboard by dreaming of him as six feet two. She’d now hate having to look up to him, to his at least 6 inches higher head, but his eyes were gorgeous and they sparkled. Oh, what the heck! “Okay,” she said. “But strategically speaking, we’d have to be careful. I am sure you don’t want to spend your time with my friends too much.” “Now you have friends? You call them friends? Whatever! I can fit into any role. As long as it is not under the sun. Then I tend to evaporate, just like a while ago when you took your sweet time opening that door.” “Sorry about that, but there are things I don’t know about you and it is possible your details have changed.” “Well, we can remedy that. Now, where’s your bedroom?” “Why do you keep asking that?” “Because that’s where the action is. Remember? Although you found some action without me…but never mind that. I’m dying to get back into where we left off.” “That can wait,” she said. “Do you want coffee or tea, first?” Paul was silent for a minute, staring at her with a disappointed face. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t want coffee or tea. I want to taste you.” In the bedroom, she slipped off her dress and stopped. Then, when she looked at Paul, she saw that he had been studying her. He didn’t glance away. “Nice!” he said. “Your skin is pinkish white. You remind me of a unicorn. Magical, right?” She blushed. His words were more than a small pleasure. No one ever had complimented her before on the condition of her skin. She looked at his eyes and seeing the desire in them, she felt excessively feminine. Other men had told her she was handsome and strong, but those were not necessarily female qualities. She turned her back to him and took off her underwear, wishing the room was dark, and reached for her peach silk robe. “You don’t need to cover up the good stuff,” Paul said. “You never did with other men, right?” She was startled for a second or two, then she dropped the robe and turned around like a person who prepares a long speech but drops it hastily in the first mid-sentence. How fast had he undressed! He was sitting on the bed on top of the sheets. As soon as she turned to him, she spotted the relief overtaking his face and flattering his chiseled features. Afterward, he asked, “Are you happy?” “Of course,” she said, her palm smoothing his hair, “but as to what just happened, I don’t think I could create that.” “That one was on me,” he winced slightly. “As the first part…until…” Lorraine shivered, only because she couldn’t guess what he meant, then comforted herself Oh, well, he might have taken further interest in the stuff. And who knows… In the bathroom, she turned the shower on with the water hot and watched the steam roll upward against the walls and the ceiling, wondering where her life was about to go. She still felt lightheaded from his touch, but she wasn’t a little girl or a teen anymore. He was all dressed up and sitting on the bed when she walked in. “Paul,” she said. “This was nice, but maybe you should leave now. I am not used to living with another person.” “No, Lorrie. I am not leaving. I’ll probably never leave until…” “But…but…” “No buts about it. You belong to me, now.” She didn’t think she liked this, but she decided to put this discussion off for the time being and handle it later since impatience wasn’t one of her vices. Later, when she attempted to set the table, Paul stopped her. “Tonight is on me!” She didn’t know he could cook because she hadn’t imagined that. Not only he could cook but he did it like a chef. Roasted Brioche and Rhubarb, Beef tenderloin with mushrooms, and fresh berries with a touch of powdered sugar. In candlelight, he set the food out together with a bottle of Dom Perignon, rosé, vintage. From where he had conjured all that up, Lorraine didn’t even want to guess. A simple salad and canned fish were what she could have come up with in her kitchen. “You go sit in the living room, Lorrie. I’ll take care of the cleaning.” “Thank you,” Lorraine smiled. She was feeling warm, giddy, and cozy. “I guess, I’ll check the data I’ll have to enter tomorrow at work.” “Yes, Darlin’. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Lorraine opened the door to the smallest room in the apartment she used as her office. She sat down at the desk and slowly, carefully, and with studied precision, she shifted her attention to her work. “Lorrie, get out of that room!” What the… “What is it, Paul?” He squinted into the room. “Someone died in there. Someone killed. A five-year old! He’s now running in there, back and forth. Get out of that room, Lorrie, now!” “But my work is here. Come off it, Paul! I always work here.” “I’m telling you, get out, now. You don’t want him to hitch on to you and invade the rest of the place. Not that it wouldn’t be a good punishment…” Oh, no! What a terrifying thought! But just what did he mean? Punishment? Lorrie arose unwillingly gathering her work and carried it out to the living room. Paul closed the door and locked it from the outside, as Lorrie watched him from the living room, her eyes riveted on that door inside which a child had died. Such a terrible end to a life so new! “It took him three hours to die. He was knifed by his own father who had lost it. It was a very painful death. Now, he is insisting on not leaving.” Paul’s words were leaving reverberations rippling through her nerves like an earthquake. She shook her head to get rid of her horror. “How do you know?” “You of all people, Lorrie! Never ask me that question, again!” There was something slightly off in his tone, as if there was something he didn’t wish to face, and she had hit at his sore spot. He walked past her into the kitchen again. She paused, frowning. Why hadn’t the rental agency mentioned about the little boy’s death? There had been a murder in there, for Heaven’s sakes! Paul showed up five minutes later, carrying two glasses half-filled with an after-dinner drink. They sat together on the sofa, sipping the liquor. It was semi-sweet and warming, but she didn’t ask where it came from. Judging from the dinner he cooked up, it had to be an expensive distillation. She thought of asking him the label, though. So, leaning back against him, she lifted her face and kissed him. He kissed back and whispered, “Please, don’t ask me again what I get from where. You’ve got to have faith in me on this one, Lorrie, because you’re my fallen angel.” And he began raking her hair with his fingers. They kissed passionately then. He said, “Let’s go into the bedroom.” She nodded willingly. Later, she woke up in the night, to a whimpering. Paul seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his back turned to her. She put on her robe and walked into the hallway. She suddenly paused at the sight of the small ball that she had seen just before she had opened the door to Paul. The ball seemed half-deflated now, but it was rolling on its own. Was the boy who was murdered playing with this ball? But it had been a year and a half since she had moved into this apartment. The ball, the murdered boy, Paul’s showing up couldn’t they be stringed together as being of the same source, maybe an evil source? Fear grew deeper and deeper inside her. All of a sudden, she heard the creaking of his footsteps behind her. But when she turned around, she stopped and gasped. The man, the thing, behind her wasn’t Paul, at least the Paul she had dreamed of. “I told you not to question everything!” The thing that looked like a man but wasn’t had missing ears. His eyes were small and not lined up. He had the same height and weight as Paul, but he had scales on his bare arms. A searing wave of panic raced through her and churned in her belly. She had never been so frightened in her life. The door to outside was right by her. She couldn’t waste time with inane speculations. She had to escape, Now! But she slipped as she took a step and froze. That thing which probably was Paul was standing above her. In his hand, he held a sharp spear. “What? You are Paul, right?” “Why did you betray me with others through the years? Did you think I wouldn’t see them? You made me fall for you with all your imagination. You deserve to die! Just like that little boy.” “Paul? It wasn’t like…” “How could you question everything now!” He lifted his hand holding the spear higher. “God, no! Please!” She arose and backed away, her bare feet stinging on the cold parquet. “I was never your plaything. I was your mate through it all. And you betrayed me!” Suddenly the lights went off in the apartment. Where was he? Where was the door? She couldn’t hear him. But she felt his hot breath on her neck. He was growling. She heard the spear hit the wall. Something cracked and fell on the floor with a shattering sound. She screamed and reached for the locks on the door, but it was dark and her hands shook. She almost collapsed, but she pulled herself together. The locks opened. She ran outside, screaming. Her next-door neighbors came out, he with his cell in his hand. He had dialed 9-1-1. “What’s wrong, Lorraine? What was all that ruckus?” “Someone’s in my apartment, trying to kill me!” She sobbed, tearful and quivering. His neighbor’s wife pulled her by the hand and took her inside their apartment. Outside in the corridor, footsteps rushed, receded, and rushed again. Several minutes later, one of the policemen who had searched through her place said, “There was some damage to the wall in the hallway and broken glass. And we saw some blood stains on the wall. Can you give us a description?” The other policeman said, “When we first pulled up, I thought I saw a tall man and a little boy running out of the gate, but it was dark and they were like shadows.” “Yes, that’s what I remember, too,” said Lorraine. A tall man and shadows…” 2689 words ========== Prompt 6.On the morning of her 30th birthday a single woman answers the door to her childhood imaginary friend. Only he's not imaginary anymore, and he's not leaving any time soon. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
