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 |  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.  |
| (to my cousin, my best friend) Can you recall, five-year-old me, four-year-old you, spotted by Miss. Larson, digging into the compost pile? But you, in tickled-pink cutie-sweet ways and frilly dress shouldered the blame and said our game was yours alone. To this day, I carry that phantom guilt, but you laugh it off. When eight and seven, I picked a pen, you picked a brush then, we exchanged color-tinted palettes and dried out pens for seven decades, and now my words simmer slowly, and your talent shows on magic slates, in butterfly strokes, and still, I remain within, but you offer yourself and shrug it off. Did you craft me like I crafted you, while we struggled with shoes whose tongues hung out, or did we hold hands throughout similar sorrows, rare joys, cast and recast in each other’s mold, holding hands in eyes of storms to pass into safe bifocals? All that, till a black limo takes us away, but for now, we wave it off. =============== 15 lines, 161 words ================= Prompt 3: Why is friendship so important? Show us in a poem. |
| 902 Words Tyler, the unicorn, climbed the hill and circled the place to get a lay of the land. The house stood alone with no neighbors. “Great!” he said, looking around him and seeing the different kinds of birds on the trees. He admired the richness and depth of color in their feathers and the way they flew around. “It’s so funny! They’re always at their most beautiful just before they die." The windows of the house were dark and the house looked abandoned, except for the tiny schnauzer playing in the yard with a small ball. Tyler approached the Schnauzer. “Hi, little buddy, nice ball you have.” “I mean no offense, but are you a unicorn or a bull with one horn?” the doggy asked. “Offense not taken,” said Tyler, but he was offended for sure. “I am a unicorn, just not the pink, fluffy kind.” “Oh, I didn’t know there were other kinds,” said the Schnauzer. Tyler sighed and cast his eyes downward. These last few months had been terrible. He hadn’t found adequate enough victims to succumb to his powers, except for a few active small beasts like this Schnauzer. He needed a much better, bigger prize. He decided to leave the doggy alone…for now, although the rascal had insulted him. Obviously, nobody knew of a navy unicorn with yellow stripes, and dirty yellow, to boot. They couldn’t have because Tyler was the only one of his kind. Tyler walked around the house, sniffing. He was smelling something he couldn’t wrap his senses around. He cursed at his stupid habit, the need to sniff everything. A habit, which was probably pointless to break at the moment. Who knows, it could come in handy. He counted at least four doors that opened to the inside of the house. He tried two, but they were shut tight. The third one, though, gave way. He walked inside making sure he didn’t cause too much racket with his hoofs. The internal view of the house was disappointing. The ceilings were low, wooden walls run-down, and the furniture, if you can call it furniture, tattered. But it was a large house, and which way to go could be a problem. Tyler sighed. So many decisions to make, he thought. He thought of letting his nose lead him. So he sniffed again and followed the smell all the way to the kitchen. What! There was a beautiful maiden with her back to the door. If Tyler had anything in common with the pink, fluffy unicorns, it was maidens. Tyler fell in love, all over again, his horn following the motions of the maiden as she stirred something on the stove. He was absolutely taken with this one. “What are you cooking?” “Coq au Vin,” said the maiden, turning around to look at him. “How lovely!” she exclaimed at the sight of him. “I wasn’t expecting a unicorn.” “Tyler, Ma’am!” bowed Tyler. “I am not the kind of pink fluffy unicorn people expect, but a bit different.” “Oh, shucks!” replied the maiden. “I am not the kind who notices the colors, first. I am Cynthia. I apologize but I can’t shake your hoof because my hands are greasy with the marinade.” “Cynthia,” said Tyler, rolling her name around his tongue. “What a beautiful name! Fit for a queen!” Fit for my queen! Be it for a very short time! ”Your life, is it perfect here?” “No life is perfect, Tyler,” sighed Cynthia. “But it could be, couldn’t it?” “I doubt it.” “I couldn’t become a pink fluffy, cute, lovable unicorn, for example.” “Why would you want to be, in the first place?” “Because of maidens like you, Cynthia. Maidens that do not give unicorns like me the time of day.” His tone was menacing, and Cynthia probably sensed it. “I think I’ll call my dogs in,” she said, dashing for the door, but Tyler leaped in front of her. “Let the little one play, Cynthia, while you and I play here.” Cynthia turned to him, “What’s with you, Tyler? Aren’t unicorns supposed to reverse poison and purify water only?” “Yes, pink, fluffy ones do. White ones, too. Not this navy fella!” He took another step toward her. Cynthia reached for the hot pan and threw it at Tyler, chicken, sauce, cumin seeds, and all. “Ouch! OWWW!” yelped Tyler, his vision starting to go and his legs buckling. He made it to the sink and turned it full blast on himself. His head pounded like a bass drum and his scalp around his horn turned crimson. “I’ll get her, and I’ll get her good!” He vowed to himself. Cynthia, however, had disappeared. He looked outside from the kitchen window. The schnauzer was running toward the woods, possibly after Cynthia. He opened the door and was about to hoof it after the dog, but an ugly cackle made him look back. “You didn’t expect this, did you, Tyler?” A witch in a black robe and pointy hat was pointing a gun at him. “Who are you? How did you know my name?” “Short memory you have, Buster! Remember your queen, Cynthia? Hehehehehe! You didn’t expect this from me, did you?” “You are no maiden, witch!” “Just like you, I have my colors, too, you unicorn from hell!” “I guess I better take off,” said Tyler heading for the door, but he was too late. Cynthia the witch had already fired the fatal shot. =============== Prompt 1: Pink, fluffy unicorns are apparently very popular. But what about unicorns who aren't pink? And who doesn't have a fluffy personality at all... ~ Story |
| 3386 words --------- I should have taken a cab, Margaret thought as she woke. Thank God, she still had her clothes on, untouched, but everything else--her bag, her phone, her credit cards, her jelly beans--were all gone. If she had taken a cab, then all this wouldn’t happen, but her love for nature and solitude and especially the long walk by the shore road watching the fuchsia sunset had tricked her into doing just the opposite. If she had taken a cab, she wouldn’t be here in this rat-hole of a place all tied up. She guessed it had to be midnight, now. She looked at the man sitting at a rickety old table in the corner reading a newspaper that lay flat on the table’s surface. This wasn’t the man who had talked to her on the road. That one was short and old The images of her capture came back to her. The old man distracting her, saying “Look!” and pointing to something over the lake he’d called ducks… a person grabbing her from the back, another holding her something wet over her nose… her knees buckling…her last sight of her own feet with red sneakers… The images pushed and jostled and competed rudely with each other for space. She tried to stop the images, but she couldn't. This man at the table, who was probably guarding her, had to be in his late thirties or early forties. Over his left eyebrow, stretching to his chin, was a thin scar, giving his face an asymmetrical character. His hair seemed to be black or dark brown. Could it be dyed? But men like that wouldn’t dye their hair, would they! Over him, from the ceiling hung a dim light bulb without a shade. Behind the table was something on the wall that a black blanket covered. She noticed a corner of a wood frame where the blanket curled upward. A window. She turned her head to the other wall. A door. It looked like a sturdy one, possibly of oak, but it was pitted and the paint on it, possibly white, was lifting off, curling in sections. The room she was in had to be quite large, judging from the size of the ceiling. “How are you, sweetheart?” Her captor’s voice, surprisingly high and soft for a large man startled her. She looked at him with fawn eyes, pleading. “I can open the gag on your mouth if you don’t scream,” he said. “Not that anyone can hear you here, but I have sensitive ears.” She nodded. The man approached. She noticed his limp. Left leg shorter than the right. She made a note of it. Just in case, if she were lucky enough to be rescued. She cringed when he smoothed his hand over her head to get to the knot on the gag. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” the man chuckled. “I don’t dig girls.” She relaxed. When he took the gag off, she said, “Thank you!” out of her conditioning. The man grinned and chuckled again. “You make me laugh. You nice girls with rich daddies. Don’t you worry! Your daddy will come through. He’d better or else.” Margaret shivered, her insides moving from shock to fear. He limped back to the chair he was sitting on. She turned her head around and stared at the bare walls and whatever else she could see around her. There was no other furniture in the room except the La-Z-Boy she sat on and the table with the chair where the man was. When she twisted her head to the wall behind her, she saw two other doors. One smaller than the other. She guessed the smaller one to be a built-in closet. With a sudden urge from her bladder, she squirmed in the chair and drew in her breath so sharply that the man looked over at her. “Please,” she begged. “I need to use the bathroom.” As he arose and moved toward her, he warned. “No tricks, understood?” “Sure,” she said. “Please, I won’t do anything…to you.” The man laughed. “Like you could…” He untied her and pushed her toward the larger door behind the wall on the back of her chair. She fell forward and caught the knob on the door. “You’re a wimp, you know!” the man muttered. She turned the knob and opened the door. Inside was a tiny half bathroom with no windows but dilapidated walls, commode, and sink. The tissue holder was empty, but there was a roll of paper towels near the sink and a bar of soap. The man stood at the door, watching her. How could she pee with his eyes on her? “Can you, please, turn your back, at least?” He laughed. “You crack me up, girl!” Then he turned serious. “Okay, but no tricks.” He left her alone in the bathroom and even closed the door. If it were someone else or someplace else, she would give him his due for calling her ‘girl.’ She was a thirty-two-year-old executive in her father’s firm, and no one ever called young women ‘girls’ in Margaret’s presence. But with this one, she needed to use her wits. She wiped up with a sheet of paper towel but didn’t know what to do with it. One didn’t throw paper towels into toilets. The door opened. “Why are you taking so long?” “I can’t…throw this here. It will clog the toilet.” “Jee---zuZ! Throw it on the floor then. Who cares! The old witch is dead.” She folded the paper and laid it beside the toilet. Then, after she flushed the toilet and washed her hands, she stripped another piece of paper towel to dry them “The old witch?” she asked. “Yeah! A witch. She thought she was, anyway. She owned this place. She threatened the boss and look where she is now.” “Where is she?” “Girl, you gotta have marbles inside your head. She’s dead! Gone! And guess what? She sat exactly where you were sitting when she…” He made a gesture by sliding his hand over his neck. “Oh!” “Go sit down, now. I won’t tie you up, if you behave, understood?” She nodded. When she sat down, she saw a bottle of water on the floor, near the armchair. He had to have put it there when she was in the bathroom. Then, she realized she still had the paper towel in her hand. She mocked herself inwardly for holding a weapon, a paper towel, to overcome a man four times her size. Oh, well! For some odd reason, she felt calm, not frightened at all. The man resumed reading the paper. Now, what was she going to do with the paper towel? She moved her hand down the side of the chair she was sitting on, finding an opening in the cloth, just where the seat met the armrest. She could stick it in there. When she slid her hand through, her fingers found a square object, a small box, maybe. She pulled the box out, gently while watching the man, and slid it under her thigh. At that instant, the man turned his head to her. “You’re being good, right?” “Yes, of course.” She reached for the bottle, twisted the lid open and took a sip. Then, she laid her head back and closed her eyes to feign sleep. If he thought she was sleeping, he might stop checking her, and she could open the box. A while later, she heard a snore. She looked. The man was sprawled over the newspaper on the table, catching some zzz’s. She took the box from under her and opened. Inside was a stone on a chain, a necklace that looked like a bluish Swarovski crystal, with a small note next to it. She took the necklace out and admired it shimmering so in the dim light. She couldn’t wear it because they’d take it from her just like they had taken the jewelry she had on her. So, she stuck the pendant inside her bra on her left side. The man was still snoring. She opened the note and tried to make out what it was saying. “This amulet will let you hear others’ thoughts. Use it well.” She smirked. That poor old woman! She might have been deranged. She slid the box with the note and the paper towel sheet back into the opening between the armrest and the seat. The man at the table groaned. He was dreaming about being a child, milking a cow, and hating it. So, this one was really a farm boy. How did she know that? She felt the crystal in her bra turn hot and almost burn her skin. Was it radioactive or what? Without taking it out totally, she pulled the necklace out a bit and looked. Its color had changed to bright red and it was glowing like a neon bulb. Normally, Swarovski crystals wouldn’t do that. She knew enough about jewels to figure that one out. She pushed the stone back into her bra. She had to have been asleep. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the man looking at her. She looks so innocent. Like my sister. But nothing I can do. What? Was she really catching his thoughts? Or was she imagining the whole thing? She didn’t consider herself with such out-worldly imagination at all. Maybe the note was telling the truth, after all. She leaned back and closed her eyes again. She had heard people talk of white witches congregating in the area, but she had never believed that. If this place belonged to a witch, she couldn’t have been too far from home, then. “Hey, Princess!” The man was standing in front of her holding a paper plate. “Time for breakfast.” On the plate, was a hard-boiled egg and a slice of bread. She hadn’t seen him move out of the room. This meant there were others in the house. “Thank you!” She took the plate. She is making me feel bad with her thanking all the time. “Sorry,” she said, answering his thought. He looked at her funny. The amulet felt hot against her skin. That meant the spell on it had to be working. He shrugged and went back to the table to eat from his own plate. If there were others why wasn’t she hearing their thoughts? Maybe it was the walls. But by now, she was almost sure of the amulet’s power because she could hear this man’s thoughts loud and clear. Then, a few minutes later, everything changed. Suddenly, so many thoughts, so many people. Everybody’s thoughts rang inside her head. What was happening? The man had taken down the blanket covering the window and was looking out. Ambush! Her father must have alerted the cops. Damn! His thoughts again, screaming inside her head. Then, she heard gunshots, together with the discordance of so many loud thoughts. She had to stop the cacophony or she’d go nuts. She reached for the box and placed the amulet back inside it. Then, she put the box inside her pocket. The thoughts she could still hear but they were murmurs now. The sound of gunshots drew nearer. Two brutes rushed into the room. One raised his gun and shot at her. She screamed. The bullet whizzed by her ear, missing her altogether. Her guard stood in front of her. “No, you don’t! If we kill her, it’s death sentence for all of us. Go out by the back door. You might be able to hold them off or pull them away from here.” Then he took her by the arm and forced her to go near the table, pushing her under it. Crazy, but I want to protect her. “Stay there, if you don’t want to be shot,” he yelled at her. She slunk under the table as far back to the wall as she could go. From where she was, she could see the doors, the two criminals running out, and the man guarding her. He had drawn his gun and was waiting. When the Swat team stormed the room, he didn’t fire, but he threw the gun on the floor and raised his hands. Two policemen took him down. Margaret came out from under the table and begged. “Please, don’t hurt him. He helped me. He saved my life. He is nicer than the others.” “You can tell it to the judge,” said a policeman as he put hand cuffs on the man. If he hadn't taken your phone, we wouldn't find you, you idiot woman! Gracias to GPS{.i} A policewoman ran to Margaret. “Honey, are you okay? What did they do to you? I’ll take you to the hospital. My name’s Shirley, by the way.” “No, no hospital, please,” said Margaret. “They didn’t hurt me. This one was nice. He helped. Really. Please tell them not to hurt him.” The policewoman rolled her eyes. “Believe me, none of these thugs are nice.” Poor girl! It’s the Stockholm syndrome. “No, it isn’t the Stockholm syndrome, at all,” Margaret answered Shirley’s thought. ”He really didn’t want to hurt me. He is good inside.” Did I say that it was the Stockholm syndrome? I must have talked out loud. Shirley’s thought came across again. “Well…I…” Margaret immediately caught herself from talking too much. She had to train herself not to answer others' thoughts so deliberately. If people found out, they would try to use her for their own ends, even the police. This amulet, however, could be put to very good use, not for anyone’s or any organization’s wishes but for the good of the people, and Margaret had to do it herself. Soon enough, all the hoopla with Margaret’s kidnapping eased off. In the meantime, through trial and error, Margaret learned how to use her amulet on a chain, which she now called ‘my lucky pendant.’ She found out that when she had the amulet on her skin and close to her heart, the thoughts that came through were too loud and strong. But if she let it shine on top of a dress or sweater, their sound was bearable. She also learned that by twisting the amulet toward any person, she could get only their thoughts clearly, just like an antenna. Then, the farther out from her heart, the more manageable became the amulet. The amulet’s power first showed itself at work. When someone asked for time off by coming up with a lame excuse, she learned to say no, but when someone really needed the time off, then she offered them time off even without a request. This made her very valuable to her father, who bragged, “My daughter, Margaret, has the best horse sense.” Margaret knew, however, that no horse was involved here. It was the amulet through and through. About a couple of months after her kidnapping, Margaret took to carrying gift card from fast food and grocery chain stores in her wallet. Those, she handed to people who were homeless and didn’t know where their next meal was coming from. She made large donations to soup kitchens and charities that raised money to buy blankets and winter clothing for the needy. Because she could read thoughts so well now, she made sure she talked to the people managing the charities first, and she immediately knew which charity was real and which one didn’t give a hoot about the needy. One day, when she was getting coffee from Starbucks, she heard someone’s thoughts that sounded gloomier than all the racket of murmurs she heard inside her head. A young girl was considering the option of doing away with herself because someone had ripped off the money she had saved for her last semester in college. Plus, she had a sick mother who needed help for her medical needs. Margaret picked her coffee and moved toward the thought. Silky hair, long elegant legs, pale slender fingers tapping on the table. These were her first visual impressions of the girl. “May I sit, here?” Margaret pulled the chair across from the girl toward whose thoughts she thought she had picked up. The girl nodded. God! I’m in no mood to chat with strangers! She stood up. “It is okay. I was going anyway.” in “No, please don’t go, Diane!” “How do you know my name?” “I thought I met you at your school,” said Margaret. “My company provides scholarships and tuition help. That is why I was there.” Diane sat down again, squinting her eyes at Margaret. “I don’t remember any of that,” she said. “But I know you from somewhere, I just can’t think…” “That must be it, then,” said Margaret. “Had you applied for tuition help at all?” “No, and when I tried, the administration people said they weren’t giving any.” “Of course, not. It wasn’t them; it was us.” “No, they would know. But I think I know who you are. I saw you in the court. You are Margaret, aren’t you? The lady who was kidnapped.” “Yes, that was an unfortunate incident, but that’s behind me, now. Coming back to…” “No, no. I wanted to thank you ever since. I even…I am so sorry, it was my brother who was involved.” You tried to save Joe from a long sentence. I am so grateful. “Joe? Oh, of course.” She remembered, then. The man who was guarding her at the white witch’s place. The man who didn’t want her hurt. “I didn’t know you were his sister.” After a silence of a second or two, she continued. “I felt grateful to him. He untied me. He didn’t want me hurt when there was gunfire. Your brother is a nice person.” “He is,” Diane sighed. “After the farm went under and was sold, he took care of us all. He had to because my dad had died during the while we were losing the farm.” “Yes, I remember that. It was offered as evidence during the trial.” “It was the other people he fell in with. He wouldn’t do any such thing. They pushed him. He was even knifed in a terrible fight. He almost died.” Margaret recalled the scar on the man’s face and the limp, but she couldn’t stand the dark feelings that resulted from the memories rushing into Diane’s mind. “Erase those,” she said. “Erase those memories. They are not helping you any.” She reached out for Diane’s hand and held it. “Let me see what I can do for you. I couldn’t help your brother much because nobody in that court took me seriously, but I’d like to help you and your mother. Allow me, please.” Diane squeezed Margaret’s hand and began to weep. “Thank you,” she said. “I had the darkest thoughts that you wouldn’t even begin to imagine.” But she had. She had heard Diane’s thoughts loud and clear. She couldn’t admit to that, though. “You know what? You can help me, in return. Come work in my office as my assistant. I need a good person as my assistant. I’ll give you time off for school and I'll pay for your tuition, too. About your mother, we’ll see what we can do. This is not for nothing, either. After all, your brother surely saved my life.” She felt a kinship with Diane after all, as they left Starbucks together, Margaret leading the way. Then she saw the shadowy silhouettes of the two of them outside reflecting on the glass. They were both slim and good looking. No wonder Joe had likened Margaret to his sister. Now they had work to do. She was sure, Diane would be at her side to help with her projects. If she could, she would enlarge her efforts and maybe involve others. Organize more people, find funds, open up people to each other… If only everyone helped everyone…that could be the purpose of life. The purpose of life should not be pursuing happiness, but to be useful, compassionate, and to make enough difference enough to say one has lived well. Margaret smiled at Diane as they walked side by side. She wasn’t sure if these were Diane’s thoughts or her very own. Somehow, they seemed to overlap. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Prompt: There is a magic talisman that allows its keeper to read minds. It falls into my main character's hands, which allows her to make others' lives happier. |
| 16 lines--136 words the first note I hit on the keys was a C a gift of faith like lush fern flowers all green warding off evil tongues as I rapped again and notes fell from fingers, landing in the heart next, I tapped the darker sounds of minor keys since then, if music played, I heard you crying, I felt your despair, and worlds bloomed around us, worlds of caring on currents, on waves, on prayers and we found harmony in thousand echoes in the chorus of the deprived, silenced, weak, denied voices urging us to stir and strive, needing our offbeat, improvised melodies now, shimmering in the sun, love’s ardent song flows from fingers, yet it comes from within to linger in the wind like delicate confetti and our tunes soar once more, starting with tiny notes ------------------ Prompt 4: What does music mean to you? ~ Poetry |
I was tagged by Sssssh! I'm not really here.  of White Walkers, and I am tagging ℰ𝒯𝒞．．．  of Greyjoy.2640 words. =================================================== Rejeck took another sip from the small bottle that Timkin had supplied him, that gross mixture of firebreathing piss, eyebright, castor bean oil, digitalis, coca leaf extract, and God knows what. “Think conning magic!” Something instructed him in his mind, its voice sounding like Timkin’s. “God of all stars and blackholes! You?” “Hush,” said two voices in his head. “Don’t talk out loud. Just think it, not that it is safe either.” "WHO GOES THERE?” The scout positioned at the square portal, only his face showing, called out again. “Clear who you are or be banned from this castle forever and ever!” Rejeck opened his mouth to utter his name but what came out surprised and scared him at the same time. “ROWEDJOICK!” What? That wasn’t his name at all! “Incognito, know the word?” The thought came into his mind. This time, he didn’t know if it was the voice of the stone in his vestment’s pocket or that of Vinotaur Timkin. “What seekest thou?” asked the scout, now coming into full view. Rejeck shuddered spotting the scout’s lower half chained to the large iron door, which was the second door behind the gate. The scout’s feet were tied to decaying acid batteries attached to the base of the door. The first gate seemed of sturdy flock of metal but this second door had to have seen better days. “I am here at the service of my majesty, My King of all Realms,” said Rejeck. “You mean our Dear King Demazar, right?” “Take it as you might, be light or blight!” answered Rejeck, now Rowedjoick. “All right, as you might, but just don’t piss him off or I’ll lose my bottom half with his one word.” “What word that might be?” “Sssh! We don’t utter that word neither do we ask for the sheer strength of it is greater than your task.” Why is everyone shhhing and hushing me? thought Rejeck “Ahha!‘Cause you’re a newbie,” came the thought inside his mind. “My mind is turning into a toxic dump,” thought Rejeck! “I heard that!” Timkin’s thought voice was cross. “Tssk, Tssk!” echoed the stone into Rejeck’s mind. If I am that powerful as you say and destined to save whatever, why the tssk tssk from you both? Rejeck thought projected. “Logical moves, yet grandiose thought!” Kale’s voice piped in. He’s here too? “Since you lost your way after we left you, now you are in Demazar’s reign, instead of the Grand Wizard’s castle polishing your powers and training for greater things…The Grand Master sent us to you without form. If you face Demazar sometime soon, we’ll hide inside you. Our thoughts will be your thoughts,” Timkin explained with an exasperated tone in his voice. It’s your fault for leaving me alone! thought Rejeck although this new information sounded as shapeless as the misshapen stone in his vestment’s pocket.Imagine having to host a Vinotaur and Garnet Griffin inside me! Nobody taught me about such stuff in the Pigblister School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “Show-off!” snickered Kale. ”Just because he can pronounce the long words in the title of that school for idiots!” “Hush now!” piped in again Timkin. The inner door to the castle opened wide slowly, very slowly, with a groan, rasp, and a creak, and Rejeck who was now Rowedjoick entered. A being with the head of a rhinoceros and the body of a titan appeared the beam of his flashlight illuminating, however poorly, the dark dingy corridor. “I’ll show you the way!” the being with the head of a rhinoceros and the body of a titan growled. Was he the butler? Rejeck followed him, trying to keep pace with the beam of the flashlight as it bounced on and off the musty stone walls whose creaking and squeaking sounds Rejeck could hear inside his mind, now that the stone he had adopted outside and was carrying in his vest pocket was resending all the stone sounds to him. Rejeck now Rowedjoick inched up slowly to the flashlight while he cautiously navigated the winding staircase, his movement still echoing off the stone walls as the being with the head of a rhinoceros and the body of a titan and Rejeck climbed into even mustier and more humid air that had been trapped inside the tower. Arrgh! God Almighty! What’sa this! Something fast-moving hit Rejeck’s head and screeched. “Bats! Who let the dogs out? Who let them bats loose?” growled the being with the head of a rhinoceros and the body of a titan, and he dashed ahead leaving Rejeck in the dark, the beam of light from his flashlight reflecting on and off the stonewalls. Rejeck stopped and watched him to open a rusty hatch cover and give off a shrill whistle sound, not from his mouth but from the horn at the top of his head. Now, the horn talks! He could barely get out of the way as a cauldron of bats zipped through the musty air over his head and into the opening through the hatch from which a bizarre tangle of frayed wires hung and zapped each bat until all bats were captured and locked inside the hatch. “Well, that’s that!” growled the being with the head of a rhinoceros and the body of a titan. He turned around and smiled at Rejeck, now Rowedjoick, with teeth crooked but sharp, and his tongue lolled around his mouth. Rejeck took a step back as a sense of foreboding disquiet tempered his curiosity. “Our Dear Leader Demazar would probably accept you right away; however, he is hosting a group of emissaries who have been hunting Dear Leader’s archenemy, as he has been seen to be lurking around these environs.” For a rhino-titan, this was a lot of words to utter. “I can wait. Thank you!” answered Rejeck. “Say, did you see someone of small stature, a kid actually right out of school, but it is said that he has hidden skills of warfare, and powers far beyond those or ordinary warriors.” The rhino-titan stared at Rejeck carefully. “Just what did you say your name was? I heard it when you told it to Scout, but this head…” He knocked on the side of his head “lacks memory space.” “Rowedjoick!” croaked Rejeck “You look strong, but do you really have the wherewithal to serve the master and thwart that accursed enemy? They say he’s a prince of the line of the ancient mage Torlock. You know the kind. All show and no glow, if you ask me.” Timkin’s voice echoed inside Rejeck’s head. “Just gesture, don’t talk too much to him. He can decipher voice and sound and figure out who you are.” So, Rejeck only nodded. “Our leader and master Demazar At the end of a dark hallway, Rhino-Titan opened a door, and he pointed toward inside. “Tomorrow you can meet with Master Demazar. Be our guest for tonight, here, Rowred Joink!” Timkin alerted Rejeck inside his mind,“Don’t correct him! Let him recall whatever he thinks your name is.” Rejeck nodded and smiled at the Rhino-Titan and entered the room. “Your presence, sir, should convince Master Demazar that his quest is not entirely without hope. He has no idea how to kill that enemy of a boy.” After Rejeck went in the room, Rhino-Titan talked again, producing a set of keys. “I have to lock you in, sir, and it pains me to make such a request, and it is not my intention to cause offense, but it is my master’s orders and I have to do it, as this castle has been plagued by spies and traitors.” He stopped, took a deep breath and stared at Rejeck, possibly waiting for an answer. “Don’t say anything!” Timkin warned Rejeck again. “Master Demazar has taught us that these precautions are necessary. You should have no fears, though. This castle is ringed through its vast expanse with protective spells. Sir, if I may take your leave, now…” Rejeck nodded again in agreement. “I will have some repast sent your way, and again no worries. Our feral dogs can destroy anyone who ventures into our forbidden territory.” Timkin projected another thought into Rejeck’s mind. “He is talking to make you answer him. Just sit on the yonder seat and close your eyes. So he thinks you are resting.” Rejeck did as he was told. Luckily Rhino-Titan seemed undisturbed, but he snapped his feet together and released his breath in one explosive burst. In contrast, Rejeck tried to appear undisturbed, keeping his breathing even and unnoticeable. When Rhino-Titan bowed and closed the door behind him, a faint smile of amusement flickered around the corners of Rejeck’s mouth. The sound of the key turning at the lock on the door both pleased and disturbed him as there was something remotely uncomfortable in this situation. “Well? How was I?” he asked, but it took Timkin a long while to hear him. “Excellent!” Timkin said, finally. “He looked like the cat ate his tongue!” snickered Kale. “It is for the better that you stay here,” interjected the stone from his pocket. I hear that moon will shine full tonight as it is the eve of the Solstice.” “Yes, that worried me, too,” Timkin sighed. “On such a night, Demazar’s power can increase enough to win over you. If that can’t be prevented, all the elfdoms and magical kingdoms may be conquered by Demazar.” “Woe is me!” Kale snorted. “Instead of worrying, teach him. He may just be able to do it. What have you got to lose?” “Teach who?” asked Rejeck. Kale chortled. “You, silly! You’re the only one who can stop this. Only you have the power.” “What can I do?” “Stop the moon!” said Timkin. “But it is risky. We all might lose our measly lives in the process, and Kale, how can you ask Rejeck such a thing? We might lose only hope if something happens to him.” “Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of, if I may,” said the shapeless stone from inside Rejeck’s vest. “The thing is,” Timkin sounded indignant, ”Demazar has extremely strong powers. He will certainly find out where this new power is coming from. Such powerful magic that Rejeck will perform will leave its effects in the atmosphere.” “So, you want him get even more power from the moon?” tittered Kale. “No,” Timkin said dryly. “But he is such a novice.” “We don’t have a choice, then,” reasoned Rejeck. “Let’s do it!” And he took out of his vestment’s pocket the small bottle that Timkin had supplied him, that gross mixture of firebreathing piss, eyebright, castor bean oil, digitalis, coca leaf extract, and God knows what. “Put it back! That won’t do!” ordered Timkin. “What other weapon do I have? Nothing!” Rejeck mumbled. “Your mind! Your mind is stronger than anything once you learn how to use it.” “Then teach me to use it,” Rejeck said to Timkin. “All right!” Saying so, Timkin appeared in full view in his elf form. He stood opposite Rejeck, frowned and closed his eyes. Rejeck felt as if someone was making oatmeal mush of his brains and bit his lower lip as he watched Timkin. “Here is a better way to conceal your thoughts from telepaths and empaths,” Timkin said. “Better than what they taught you in that prep school of yours.” Rejeck got that or he thought he got that, but Timkin wanted him to do it again and again, until the practice became second nature to Rejeck. “Now this is the way to block and divert a mental attack. Beware of the stabbing lances. They may even be more powerful than this. Kale help me here!” Rejeck stepped forward with a feeling of certainty and tried very hard to block and divert both Kale and Timkin’s attacks. They repeated the exercises over and over again. “Now, you are going to initiate contact with the mind of another being without them initiating the contact.” Kale and Timkin’s ears pointed upward like lances and they blocked Rejeck’s efforts to get through. Rejeck realized how hard the elves were trying to make him as powerful as he could be. So he, too, closed his eyes tight and tried harder and harder, until he broke through. The second time was easier because Redeck had discovered how to smooth out his thoughts and keep his breathing regular, Then, they repeated the exercise over and over again. “This was the most important part,” Timkin said. “Because in a few hours, you are going to control the thoughts of the moon and stop it from becoming full. Can you make such a sacrifice, Rejeck? If you can’t…” “Now, we have to hide,” said Kale in a sudden panic. “I sense someone approaching the door.” “Hide inside me, again! Quick!” Rejeck ordered them. By the time the door began creaking open, Rejeck had returned to his seat feeling all the power that had begun to surge through his veins, but for the sake of appearances he calmed his senses and closed his eyes, faking sleep. The howl that came from the door made him open his eyes. A wolf had taken up position at the door, directing the traffic of slave elves and monkeys getting the table ready for Rejeck’s dinner. At times, monkeys and elves got into each other’s way and threatened the oversteppers with swift and terrible violence. Although, outwardly, they looked calm and quiet. Rejeck realized he was reading their minds and rejoiced inwardly. “Let’s not get cocky!” Kale’s voice rang inside his brain. “Don’t eat that dinner!” his shapeless stone warned him. “It has sleep potions in it, to make the entire castle fall asleep before the moon rises. So Demazar can grab the power of the moon all to himself. My stone friends told me.” But I am hungry! “Use your mind to quiet your hunger!” Timkin projected his thoughts inside Rejeck’s mind. This time Rejeck’s mind grasped all three thoughts before their original owners could think them. Amazing! Awesome! So far he had come in a few hours of training! Now he could stop the moon from turning full. He was sure of that. Not that he had anything against the moon per se, but stopping Demazar from fortifying his powers was implicit and urgent. The wolf at the door came sniffing around inside the room where the table was set. Then it turned and stared at Rejeck as if it was thinking of sinking its fangs into his throat. Rejeck tipped his head with a gesture that could be taken both as a greeting and a dismissal. The wolf didn’t take the hint, at first, but Rejeck pushed hard against the wolf’s mind. “Not that hard! Wolves attack. They can’t be pushed,” said Timkin’s voice inside his mind. Rejeck eased off, however feeling like he was challenged to conquer. The wolf growled. The last server, a monkey let out a theatrical sigh smacking his lips at the food, and walked out of the room. The wolf looked half-frozen under the calm stare of Rejeck. Then he turned around and left the room. During the next minute, the being with the head of a rhinoceros and the body of a titan appeared again and with a curt nod at Rejeck, he closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Rejeck stood up and went to the table, to see what was spread for him. “Don’t eat that food!” His stone warned. “He can stop the moon but not his appetite!” snickered Kale. “You are wrong!” said Rejeck. “I can do both. Watch me! Just watch me stop that moon from going full. Watch me annihilate Demazar!” “The kid’s lost it! Drunk with power!” chuckled Kale. “But I love it. And I'll love watching him win!” |
Tagged by the Keeper of the Realm, I am starting a new story and tagging DMT - THANK YOU WRITE.COM  of House Greyjoy. 1125 words ================ “Idiots, clumsy morons!” His nostrils flaring, Dr. Dalton Davis, The Chief of Staff, banged his fists on the desk in his office at Richmond Medical. How could they admit a patient with such a contagious disease into the crowded floor of the Emergency, without sending him into the triage area, first! The guy, who had a foreign name, was found on the ground in the park near the playground, while still alive. He had died in the triage, the day before. What he croaked from was a mystery. The paramedic who brought him had collapsed on the floor a few hours later. Now, he was the one in the triage! Plus, two patients and a practical nurse, showing the same symptoms were under observation, too. Luckily, he had been quick. He had ordered the floor to be emptied and the patients at risk to be taken to separate rooms with contagion signs at their doors. Then he had alerted all the agencies one could think of, starting with the CDC. The deaths were awful with blood coming out of every orifice, shaking as if with a seizure, plus asthmatic symptoms. Before dying, patients turned purplish blue, cyanosis circling their mouths. All the doctors and nurses were hysterical. Some had left the premises despite the threats Dalton had thrown their way. Now a skeleton crew was taking care of the rest of the patients with the urgent voice periodically barking over the hospital’s sound system: ”Code blue, code blue, bed 17…” He grimaced when his phone rang. He picked it up. “Dalton, don’t kill yourself looking for your cell. You left it on the counter here. And can you pick up a loaf of rye from the bakery, on your way home?” “Nooo!” he barked at his wife. ”I may never be coming home.” “Jeez, just because I said at breakfast…” “It isn’t you! Why does it have to be you all the time!” He banged the phone down. Then, he picked the phone up and dialed. “Look! I am sorry. We have an emergency at hand here. Keep the kids at home, and don’t get out of the house, any one of you. We may have an epidemic brewing.” “Okay! Be safe,” said his wife, her voice shaking. “I love you! Take care!” “Gotta go, Love. Other calls may be coming on the line.” Nurse Melinda Vega’s stress soared as the minutes rolled by. Even the calmest doctors were freaking. For the amount of the emergency calls, they had difficulty choosing which patient to attend and how to protect themselves and the staff. Melinda was not just a nurse. She was a dedicated nurse, having lost most of her family to disease, she had made an oath to herself to never shy away from a patient. She pushed aside the specialist, Nathalie Loomis, who was trying to intubate a patient but couldn’t because her hands were shaking so. Melinda intubated the woman by herself but was unable to get a cardiac response. Flat line! Someone rolled the defibrillator. Tragedy! It wasn’t only the woman but FDIU, too. That poor fetus! “Mel, you better let it be. There are others…” Melinda could hear the tension in her colleague’s voice. “Got it!’ She calmly replied. ”Sterilize the room! Lock the door. Don’t let anyone come in!” Then she pushed her way through the personnel to one of the many calls on the system. “Nurse…quick! Bed 44, Nurse needed at room 32….” Even the people who manned the floors’ desks were turning white with fear. As she passed by a desk, she yelled at the people. Wear masks. Keep using that sanitizer.” Someone grabbed her arm. “Guess what?” The tension in Dr. Georgianne Kempton’s voice spoke volumes. “A taxi driver is just being admitted with the same symptoms. This is bigger than just what’s happening here.” And she rushed away toward the elevator. Georgie and Mel had been good friends after they had worked on the same floor when Mel was just starting out. Each one admired the dedication of the other and found many things common between them. How could something so unknown spread so quickly? Mel tried to reason inside her mind. Was this the result of food poisoning? But then, that practical nurse was meticulous about what she ate, the poor soul! Unlike Mel who carried a bag of gummy bears in her pocket. Did the disease just descend from the air? How could that be? What about the biological warfare that some crazy dictator had just exercised on his own people But hadn’t this one started with the guy brought into the emergency room? But that was only in Richmond Medical. What if other cases were showing up elsewhere? It had to be terrorism, Mel concluded. Terrorism by who? She shook her head as if chasing away the thoughts. Georgianne was right, though. This was bigger than they could imagine. She suddenly realized that the loud speaker was issuing another order with her name. “Melinda Vega…Melinda Vega…Report to Dr. Davis’s office, ASAP!” What would the chief of staff, Dalton Davis, want from her? Mel always admired the man’s professionalism and sensed that the feeling was mutual, but she hadn’t worked with him at all. Well, maybe just once, just maybe, when she was starting out and couldn’t distinguish one doctor’s name from another. She pushed to elevator button to Dr. Davis’s floor. At the Chief of Staff’s door, she paused a bit straightening her skirt and cap and lowered the mask covering her mouth and nose. Then she knocked on the door. “Come in!” “Melinda!” Dr. Davis stood up when he saw her. “You are the one person I can trust to do her work right. I think we have a serious situation, a viral outbreak maybe. Maybe something much bigger than that.” Melinda looked up at him. Dalton Davis’s face was reflecting his concern. “I thought so, too,” she said. “What can I do?” “I want you to stay in the triage area in the emergency and make sure that no more contagion happens to the other patients and the staff. In fact, I am giving you full responsibility for this. Do what is needed. Send the ones who seem to be recovering, to the intensive care special units--that is if any.” She stared at him, her eyes wide. “All right! No problem. I’ll do it,” she said with a self-confident tone. He cracked a half smile. “And Nurse, be careful yourself! You may go now.” “Thank you, Dr. Davis!” Mel felt him watch her leave, and a dark ominous feeling of dread took over her. As she closed the door behind him, she thought, Oh, God! What are we in for!” ============= 1125 words |
| 963 words I picked GROUNDHOG DAY --Rita is a laptop ================ In one of the tall buildings at the downtown area of Pittsburgh was Channel Nine Action News weatherman Phil Connors’ office, inside which team pictures of Bradshaw, Roberto Clemente, and a weather map graced the walls while on Phil’s desk stood an Emmy statue, in friendship with the galaxies of junk, which was spread everywhere and anywhere, including the window sills. It is a wonder how, in this jam-packed room, Phil can find a space to sleep on the sofa, thought Gil Hawley, the executive producer, as he stuck his head through the door. “Christ, what a pit, Phil!” Insults always woke Phil up. “What?” he said sleepily from under his stolen airline blanket. “It’s February first, Phil! You know what tomorrow is?” Phil sat up, thinking. Then suddenly he exclaimed in terror, “Oh, no! Not again! Forget it! I’m not going.” Yet, he followed Hawley to the set of the Action News and began working on the weather stats on a chart. “Are we getting the blizzard, Phil?” Harvey asked. “No, moisture from the Gulf is missing us.” “Good, ‘cause you’re going to Punxsutawney to cover the groundhog story, tomorrow.” Phil argued, but Hawley insisted, using his threatening tone. Phil growled like a spoiled puppy, although he knew he didn’t have much choice; however, he couldn’t help saying, “I don’t want to get stuck with the groundhog for the rest of my life.” “It’s cute,” Hawley said. “The groundhog comes out, sniffs around wrinkling his little nose and checks for his shadow. If he doesn’t see it, the weather will be nice. People love it.” “Morons!” Hawley threw a dubious look at Phil. Phil shrugged. “Okay, what’ll you give me.” Hawley pointed to the end of the set where Rita was sitting with a sexy pose at the corner of the table. “I’ll give you Rita!” Rita was new to the station, but she was highly competent, self-assured, and pretty. A genuine royalty. “You can’t send Rita out on the open. She’ll be sopping wet. Plus, it is a big story.” Phil teased At that instant, Rita’s eyes flashed and she pointed to a sign saying, “The Follow-up on nurses’ strike.” Phil pointed to Rita. “See? She wants to do something else.” Hawley frowned. All those underlings. They always resisted. Resistance had to be their motto. “You can do that when you get back, Rita. Just go with Phil, the squeaky wheel here, up to Punxsutawney and get him back in one piece. Okay?” And he skittered out the door as if running for his life. Rita gave off a beeping sound. On her screen, a question appeared. “What's Punxsutawney like?” “Oh, it’s magical. An enchanted place. The entire drainage system of Western Appalachia. But Rita, let me turn on your voice. It will be difficult to drive in the car if I try to read you.” In saying that, Phil touched Rita with affectionate fingers. Rita giggled. “I think, I’ll take my Lexus, so we can be alone. I’m not going in the same van with the darn crew.” “Nice attitude!” Rita mocked. “Nice face!” Phil said, looking at Rita’s screen. Phil picked Rita up to carry her with him. Just then, the scary Stephanie with a fatal attraction to Phil showed up. “Why did you get tired of me, Phil?” “I don’t have time to waste,” Phil said. “You mean our relationship is time wasted?” “We only went out four times, and only twice…you know what. That isn’t any commitment.” Rita giggled, hanging on to Phil. Stephanie threw a dirty look at her, and continued, “I had our charts done. My astrologer says we're extremely compatible. Even through some past lives’ involvement…” “Hear yourself? Past lives. We’re already done!” “Phil, you’re selfish…and…and…” “And he is with me, now!” Rita interjected, cackling. “What? With a laptop? What can he do with a laptop like you? He has needs, you know!” “Watch me, sister!” Rita flashed, spewing red volcano images on her screen. “Girls, girls!” Phil said, “We gotta get going. You two can fight over me any old time, but later!” At the Bed-and-Breakfast, the next day, Phil entered the library, carrying Rita in his arms, where breakfast was served but left the place anyway because the lady of the house didn’t know what espresso or cappuccino was. Yet, he had to contend with the house coffee, which he took with him, squishing Rita under one arm. After running into his contemptuous high-school buddy, Ned Ryerson who hung on to him leech-like and wasted his time, Phil finally arrived at a place where a large mound of dirt enclosed by a rail fence was surrounded by crowds. The cameraman Larry was stomping his feet on the ground, waiting. Rita, too, shivered on Phil’s arms. “Oh, no, we’re late!” “Prima Donnas!” Larry snickered and started to roll the camera. Phil turned his face to the camera and began talking. After a glowing introduction of himself, he turned to the task at hand. The groundhog. “Let’s see what Mr. Groundhog has to say.” A Groundhog Club Official knelt at the burrow and knocked on its wooden door. The groundhog stuck his head out and stepped out of the hole. Then it ran around the mound, far away from the cameras. It stood there, casting a long shadow and dashed back into its hole. Phil continued: “Sorry, people, but it looks like it’s going to be a long winter!” Rita screeched. “You’re sweet,” Phil said, holding her to his eye level. “Get me outa here! We’re done!” Rita said. “You don’t act like a real professional, and I am freezing.” Not again! Imagine! Phil thought because he still had to live through the evening and then he had to go through this, all over again! =========== 963 words Prompt 2: Pick a movie. Replace one of the main characters with an inanimate object. Write a scene that includes this character. ~ Story |
| if I can change the world, I’ll send my words through the air. they’ll travel far and wide, and glide upon wings with flair words cast stones create ripples, activate hope in thousand triples words will leave imprints to suppress your futile dreams they’ll urge you to heed the call to shape young minds to live for all words cast stones create ripples, activate hope in thousand triples to drop the dime and the crime, and they’ll ask you to take the time for the homeless to feed, and give a hand to those in need. words cast stones create ripples, activate hope in thousand triples words will stop senseless killings you’ll accept the love and be willing cool heads, warm hearts, a green earth, you’ll brighten lives, give them worth words cast stones, create ripples, activate hope in twos and triples if I can change the world in a day, I’ll send a prayer through the air. it will travel far and wide, and glide upon wings with flair ================== 28 lines -- 170 words ================== Prompt 4: You've got one day to change the world. What do you do? Tell us in a poem. ~ Poetry |
| inside me, a granite-walled grotto where a mighty dragon arrived and I met him at the door just to prove a rule that power outsources wounds and scales and wings hot-headed, fiery things can have nine lives as such, slithering off the cave the dragon, once sent away but now changed, pretends to play in my veins and I, grateful for whatever flows into the pond inside my heart, say to this winged valor, “welcome,” with no blame dark thought or shame “welcome and drop the fire from the sky into my core, and if this old blood you renew, I can write you a poem, true of wings and flames scorching away my worldly ways giving me back my vision so I can finally see that I am the lucky one to have my dragon in me.” ========= 28 lines 138 words Prompt 3: Dragons |
| Jennifer was in the middle of a nightmare about her boss yelling at her for being late when a noise startled her from her sleep. It sounded like a hammer pounding on a tough nail on a fence. Crunch-screech-crunch-screech. It had to be her brother Mickey who suffered from insomnia, trying to get the old record player working again. She shrugged and went back to sleep. It had to be 6 AM, anyway. Then the rattling started to enhance her second nightmare of a rattlesnake. She woke up screaming. But the rattling didn’t stop. "That's it!" Jennifer said, getting up and donning her slippers and robe. Sure enough, in the living room, Mickey was tinkering with the ancient whatchamacallit. When he saw her, he raised his eyebrows and put his finger to his lips. "Sssh, Jen! Don’t talk! I’m just getting a response here." Jennifer was furious. She yelled, "Do you know what time it is?" Mickey pointed to the grandfather clock behind her. It showed 10:45 A.M. With a mocking expression on her face, Jennifer glanced at her arm...and screeched. "Oh, my God!” Her watch never faltered. It was really 10:45 A.M., and she was late for work. ========= 199 words |
| “Mairin! Hurry up! Are you fooling around to avoid me? You want me wait until death knocks at my door. “ His voice had an urgency to it. Yet, here it was again. The referral to death? Is she dead yet? flashed in front of her eyes, with the same brilliance of Tim’s cell phone screen. As if a vast power squeezed her airways, that image made her throat constrict. She dropped the broom and her hands fluttered around her neck. “What happened?” Tim came running. “Are you all right?” “Nothing,” she answered, her voice coming out in a croak. “I dropped the broom.” “I thought you fell or something. You know, those stairs. They can be dangerous.” He is planning for it. He’ll probably push me. That’s why he thought I fell. Panicked, her heart began beating fast. Terror was obstructing her reason. She struggled to regain control. What? All this because of a suspicion? She needed to get a hold of herself. But then, wasn’t she the one with the sixth sense? When she was a child, everyone asked her about the future and her success level in predictions was very high. And now, something inside her was hitting her alarm buttons. Why? He was now walking toward her, with his strange, bandy-legged, rolling gait. She opened her mouth to scream but no voice came out of her. No, he mustn’t touch me! Tim tilted his head as if examining her. “Is everything O.K.?” She wiped her damp palms on her jeans and wearily, she said, ”Oh, Jeez, I just don’t know. I just don’t know how to explain this to you…” He cut her mumbling quickly. “Listen, I didn’t mean to pressure you. I know this can’t be easy for you. I mean getting used to me…” She saw pity in his eyes and immediately looked away. Clearly, this awareness and fake objectivity had to be surprising. What had made Tim deviate from his usual pattern of seduction? Suddenly she remembered something. Last night in the kitchen…the way he was holding the bread knife. He had dropped it when his phone vibrated and rang at the same time. Who is it? She had asked. My brother, he had said. He had to be lying. He didn’t have a brother. That is what he had told her. He had told her he was an only child and his parents were dead. Mairin snapped to attention. How could she have missed that invention? “Maybe there’s a simple explanation,” Tim said.” It must be your work situation. I am just going to shrug and forget it…for now. I think I’ll take a walk. You’ll probably be all right when I get back.” Mairin hid behind the window and watched him take off, traipsing casually on the property. When he abruptly turned and looked at the house, she glued herself flat against the wall. Assured, he walked toward his Hyundai. To keep up with him, Mairin slid near the next window and stood without any motion. He opened the trunk of the car. He pulled a rifle out of it, examined it, and placed it back. Then he picked another small box from under the what looked like a pile of blankets. Mairin squinted to see better. What Tim had in his hand an object, and it looked like a pistol. No, it was definitely a pistol. Now, who would drive around with guns in their trunk? Instinct told her what she just witnessed in pure sight had a great deal of importance, and she decided to snoop around, to pry deeply into Tim’s life. She’d do it. She’d do it the first chance she’d get. Tim’s phone buzzed suddenly. He had left it on the table, yet again. She looked at it without picking it up. The text said, ‘Not yet? You can say it was an intruder.’ The door clicked. Mairin rushed away into the kitchen, irritation and fear prickling up her scalp. ================ 662 words tagging Mandy of Winterfell |
| Sarah heard two women talking before she opened her eyes. “Kids are so stupid these days!” “Look! She’s coming to.” She smelled a sterile atmosphere and felt the ivy on her arm. What had happened? The last she could remember she was sitting on the commode. She forced her gaze to clear. She saw two forms in white. One of them was moving away. Then another form, a familiar one, entered the room. The other white form walked toward her. “Sarah?” A nurse was bending over her. “Can you hear me?” Beep, beep, beep! What the heck was that noise? Some parts of her body ached, especially her stomach and her belly. It was then she realized she wasn’t actually lying down flat but was propped up in a slanted position. “Sweetheart? How are you?” It was her mother’s concerned voice. Sarah looked at her. Her mother was crying. “Yeee…Yes!” Sarah muttered dazedly. ”What happened?” “You got sick, Sweetie.” Her mother wiped off the tears from her cheeks. “It will be all right. We’ll make you all right.” “We sure will,” said the nurse with a cheerful voice. “My name’s Megan. and I will be your nurse while you’re here.” Sarah tried to smile but moving her lips was difficult. It was then she sensed the small tube at the corner of her mouth. “Where are the girls, Mom? Mandy?” “Mandy is in the police custody. Janet and June are, too. It is just as well,” her mother said. What? There had to be some mistake. Did something else happen while she was out. “Why?” Sarah’s voice shriveled to a croak. “I hope the charge will at least be attempted manslaughter!” Her mother was fuming. “They tried to do you in.” “Now, now!” Megan interjected. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It might have been an accident. Don’t get all worked up, now, Sarah. Just rest. Okay?” “I want to know,” Sarah whined. “My friends…” “Your friends tricked you into ingesting that horrific concoction. That’s what happened!” “Mom! They didn’t trick me. I convinced them I could stand it. I did the tricking, not them.” “We’ll see about that!” “Now, now! That ‘s enough.” Megan’s tone was authoritative as she checked the ivy on her hand and injected something into its bag. “She really needs her rest.” Then she bent over Sarah and stroked her hair. “Try to relax, Dear!” Her voice was gentler. Sarah felt her eyes closing involuntarily. Megan had to have injected something to calm her down into the ivy. As she began falling into a fog, she asked herself, ‘Why?’ Why was she here? Why had she done the things she had done? Why was she trying to impress her friends? Did good friends need to be impressed? “She’s out!” How come she was sleeping but also hearing her nurse talk to her mother? “Mrs. Wyeth, Dr. Jameson wants to see you outside. In his office. You know where that is. If he isn’t there yet, please sit there and wait.” Sarah was fading into darkness. She heard an outburst of applause from an audience she didn’t recognize. She loved the applause. People were clapping at her impressive performance. She wanted to move but couldn’t. She had no awareness of the time and the place. She felt herself move, no float, toward the three figures huddled together on a sofa. “Well, what do you think of my work?” she asked. They answered unanimously. “Magnificent, breathtaking, courageous, awesome!” Sarah asked, “Really?” Now they answered one by one. “No, you’re the stupid one. A downright braggart!” “You achieved the effect. The gross destruction and decay effect!” “We are not your friends, anymore. You’ve shown nothing of your soul, your true being.” “Look, this is who you are!” Sarah saw the mirror someone was holding for her. She stared at it, transfixed with horror. The image in it was vile, swirling in gruesome ugliness. Was this her? “Sarah, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.” Megan’s voice was bright, but it conveyed caring and urgency. “I am ugly. They weren’t my friends,” Sarah said in bewilderment as she opened her eyes and took in the now-familiar hospital room. “No, they weren’t,” Megan said. “It wasn’t just the tabasco sauce that did this to you.” What? What was it? Sarah recalled it, then. Clorox! She had mentioned to Mandy that she could even drink Clorox. But that was in jest. Wasn’t it? 741 words. Tagging Dee of House Martel |
| In fact, I made myself run. I didn’t want to back in there, to be interrogated accused, Kangaroo courted, thrown in the slammer, and locked up for life. Darn it! The freaking evidence was against me. Now I had to find new evidence to eliminate the old one. I ran until my hips and my knees ached. I ran as storefronts, people, buses, cars, my very own life whizzed by. Where was I running to? I couldn’t go to any of my chums. Most of them were cops and the others would trust the cops. To begin with, I wasn’t the boy scout of the year, either. A couple of marriages gone bad, not to mention oodles of soured relationships, and my once-upon-a-time boozing and oozing, which none of my cop chums ever forgot. Although I wouldn’t blame them. Like I said, I am no boy scout. Still, at the moment I was sucker-punched. Just about I had run out of legs, I realized something. Something bone-chilling. I was gasping for breath and I still had my uniform on. The thing about uniforms, they stick out. Imagine a cop running in uniform. Everybody had to have spotted me. Very amateurish for a professional. Disgusted, I made a roundabout and dashed inside the park that opened to the woods in the back. I leaned behind an elm tree, trying to catch my breath. That was when Teddy Black Crow with his chiseled face and jet-black hair hanging on his shoulders popped up in my mind’s eye. Teddy could hide me. Teddy would hide me. My ticker pulsed with the thought. What if I was the one who nailed him first seven years ago! I grinned at the memory. Some crazy dude of a security guard had called us from a sub-basement club, and I had the honors of apprehending the guy, roughing him up a bit for show, but then, my partner and I let go of him. We did it on purpose. First, there was no crime. Second, that basement was a dirty clubhouse bar of sorts which was the front for all things delinquent. What could be wrong with a guy downing his drink and wanting a little company afterward? Company the club could provide but didn’t. Only because those hoity toity guys there had their heads in the wrong place. The saw the Indian instead of Teddy. After that, Teddy was our eye, and we greased him from our slush fund. During my boozing days, I downed a Bud or two with him, to boot. Once he even lucked into a contract-death council and hobnobbed with the fat cats. Fat cats running reds, putting punks up front. Our team got the accolades for Teddy’s work. I reached for my cell, then thought better of it. Those cheap tracers! They’d know my whereabouts. But I opened it anyways. I checked Teddy’s phone number. I’d call from elsewhere, though. No need to give off signals. I fixed my looks, tucked my cop blue shirt in, buttoned up the jacket. Uniform or not. Have to look cool. I walked out of the park from the side door, the pistol in my jacket pocket bouncing against my hip. Up front, a parade went by, soldiers and all. Like a slap in the face. The complete armada. The whole thing played heck with the traffic. People stopped and saluted despite the fevered scrutiny. That scrutiny could hit me broadside sharp. My insufficient destiny at it again. I hit my circumspection buttons and dunked myself into a side street. Kids by a graveled driveway in front of an apartment building were shooting bb guns. They tried to split, seeing me. I grabbed the one taping the action with his cellphone. He screamed. “It’s okay, Kid. Hush up.” “I don’t wanna go to jail!” He pleaded. “You ain’t going nowhere,” I said. “Let me see that phone. That’s all.” He handed me the phone. It was all kid stuff. I reached for my phone. He tried to take off. I caught him again. “Tell you what. You take my phone. I take yours. Even switch. Okay?” I handed him my phone, after copying my address book into his. He looked at it, his eyes like saucers. “Neat!” Then he took off again. He was chubby but fast. I didn’t chase him. I grinned. They could trace my phone as much as they wished now. I called Teddy and asked him to pick me up. Then I walked into the entryway of the apartment. He pulled up in his jeep. I breathed a curse under my breath. He had all kinds of stuff painted on the jeep. Mostly eagle faces though. We’d be the greatest show on earth. “My luck keeps fumbling!” I cursed while jumping in next to him. The jeep rumbled away while I filled him in. Teddy shrugged. “Happens, Jack. Your owl must have shifted in his sleep.” I didn’t ask what that meant. It had to be an Indian thing. I futzed with the kids’ phone. “No worries, Jack RainFlower. We’ll fix it,” he added. He might have thought so, but dead was dead. There was no getting around it. Teddy reached behind him and threw me a blanket, making the jeep zigzag on the road and knocking me backward. “Wrap this up around you. Lose the cap. You’re bull’s eye in cop-blues.” I grabbed the blanket. He reached down under the seat, pulling large dark glasses from a box, which I hadn’t spotted earlier. I had to be losing my touch. “Put these on. We’ll be taking the highway. Lean back and sleep or pretend to sleep, whatever…” I did as told and closed my eyes. I tried thinking about the way everything was before. It failed. Instead, dead bodies popped up. Two dead bodies. One on the roof, shot. The other…what the devil! And NEDERI NEDERI NEDERI!!! I must have said that out loud. “What did you say?” I opened my eyes. We were on the highway now. “The woman Bo shot. She kept saying things in some weird tongue and all I can remember is, “NEDERI NEDERI NEDERI!!!” Teddy jerked his foot off the gas pedal. The jeep spun a tad. I stared at Teddy. He looked shell-shocked. “That’s trouble! You’re in no place worth bein’, Jack RainFlower.” 1059 Words Tagging ℰ𝒯𝒞．．． from Greyjoy |
| The man Charles was talking to was the same man Abigail had called Daddy. Cindy felt revolt against both men as if someone had put his dirty, smelly toes in her mouth. She looked down on her shoes to avoid seeing them but her stomach was heaving, and she couldn’t afford to vomit on her expensive new shoes. So, she looked up again, trying to make light of it. This isn’t my problem. It is theirs. They are in cahoots with each other. She took a deep breath and smiled at Charles. She smiled because she thought she shouldn’t looked appalled. She shouldn’t let the two of them catch on to the fact that she had found out about them. Charles’ two-timing ways and this other man’s helping Charles with his betrayal of Cindy. They had both backstabbed her while Charles enjoyed his aristocracy and acted high and mighty. Charles’ facial expression changed from shocked to relieved and he smiled back at Cindy. Cindy acknowledged the presence of the other man with a nod and wrapped her shawl tightly around her as if for emotional protection. “Cecilia and I are shopping together, today, Charles. Are you discussing the new proclamation with this gentleman?” “Oh that!” Charles seemed confused. Cindy knew there was no new proclamation, but saying anything and baffling Charles could cover up the fact that she had found out about Abigail’s existence. Was this because Cindy secretly hoped that things could be better in time since her very own family had turned their backs on her? But no, that wasn’t it. She wanted nothing to do with Charles anymore, but Abigail? She was taken with her, she admitted to herself, be it Abigail was the product of Charles’ betrayal. “But why are you out shopping, my dear? Don’t we have enough people to do that for you in the castle?” “I was bored and I wanted to walk some, and I also wanted to see my old aunt. I hadn’t seen her for a while, but she has passed away, and Charles, why didn’t you tell me?” “Oh, I thought I did. Yes, I did. Don’t you remember?” Of course, he had done so, but Cindy wanted to puzzle him, to get his mind off the fact that she had caught them conspiring against her. Let Charles think she was an idiot. It had always been easy for him to judge others. “Milady,” interrupted the other man. “Sir William at your service. Maybe you should head back to the castle. I would be delighted to accompany you and your maid, since Sir Charles has some governmental issues to attend to in the assembly, and you shouldn’t be out alone without escorts.” The jerk! But who knows? He might tell her something or other on the way, which could make her revenge easy. “How chivalrous of you, Sir!” said Cindy, but not without hiding the sarcastic tone in her voice. “Yes, surely you may, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with Charles. Something that came up today.” “Make it quick, Cindy,” said Charles. He had probably assumed something trivial that Cindy wanted like new mirrored walls or big flashy gazebos in the castle’s gardens. “Whatever you want, dear, is fine.” “Whatever I want?” Charles nodded. “I met a little girl. Eight years or so. Her mother’s very ill. In fact, she may be dying. I was wondering if I could take the girl. Her name’s Abigail.” “Don’t you have everything you ever desired? Now you want a child, Cindy?” Cindy had thought Charles would snap, but he had only scowled. She looked at him hardly flinching and feeling contemptuous inside her. “I want the child and her mother, Charles. In the castle. Should the mother expire, the child will have us.” “If I may again, I was just now talking to milord about that very child, Milady. I am quite sure it is the same child you met,” said Sir William again. “You know, I thought the man who grabbed the girl and carried her away, yesterday looked a bit like you, Sir William.” She stared at him for a split second. He looked back, his eyes red-hot. ”Silly me! Of course, people may look like each other,” continued Cindy, bitterly almost sarcastically. “I thought that man was her father, but a while ago, I met the little girl again and she said, she didn’t have a father. She didn’t even know who her father was. And now her mother is dying. No one is there to care for her.” She turned to the Prince who stood with slumped shoulders. “Please, Charles.” She didn’t know that a child would be so important to her. Not having children of her own, she needed someone she could take care of. It had to be an incredible feeling that another helpless, flailing human being could rely on her for love and safety. Children were so utterly incapable of taking care of themselves. Kind of like her, Cindy, Charles’ queen. She had no one turn to. Family shunned her. Husband betrayed her. She had nowhere to go. Besides, the life in the castle was quite posh and to her liking. She didn’t want to leave her castle after so many years of taking care of it, and with alterations and improvements, turning it into a heaven on earth. Besides, Abigail could be a great help in making Charles feel guilty each time his eyes set on her. “Lord Charles,” Sir William coughed and paused a bit. Then he continued. “If I may, Sir, Milady has a point. That little girl will need a mother very soon, and you would look magnanimous in the eyes of the folks. That would quench the gossip of his Lordship’s not caring for the common folk, which we were discussing moments ago.” “Thank you, Sir William,” Cindy said, the man’s words clinging to her. How had she not heard of that gossip? Did her maids know about it? Why hadn’t anyone told her anything? It is not the end of the world. I can fix things. I can get Abigail, and I can take my revenge. “Well, then, Cindy. Fine. Do as you wish, but I don’t want any kid underfoot in my castle. Keep her away from me at all times. Understood?” He nudged her roughly. Cindy kept her stance steady, despite Charles’ pushing. If Sir William wasn’t looking, she would nudge Charles back, but then, Charles could change his mind about Abigail just to get back at Cindy. So she turned to Sir William. “Shall we go, Sir? And may I invite you for a repast in the castle, when we get there?” “I would be honored, Milady. Afterward, I will immediately attend to your wishes about Abigail. I’ll bring her to the Castle myself, personally.” “You are very kind and efficient, Sir William. Thank you very much for your assistance.” Charles stood agape, watching after her walk away with Sir William. The sky over them had turned hazy as if it didn’t care to be blue or sunshiny at all. 1187 words. |
| Prompt 2--Week 1 WC: 643 words @@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Missing: Leslie Fryan Eight-Year old, Female Close to 4 feet tall, 52 pounds Heart-shaped face; blue-gray eyes Reddish light-brown, kind of curly hair She is probably wearing blue jeans, white shirt with a picture of the Lion King on it and white sneakers If you find her, call her Grandpa. Never ever tell her mother where she is. Well, the heart of the matter is, I am not really truly missing. Actually. I never left the house, but I wrote the missing ad myself and put it on top of my desk. Just in case. The fact is, I was daydreaming of being abducted quite often these days. If I were abducted, I couldn’t be grounded for refusing to eat healthy, could I? Then, Mom would freak out just for this once, instead of freaking me out all the time. Why should anyone eat healthy for nothing? In the first place, we are all unhealthy. You don’t believe me? Here is a small fact: You are going to die. We are all going to die. Now, is that healthy, you tell me. Wait till Mom comes into my room to snoop around and sees my ad. Oh, revenge is so sweet, even if you are daydreaming about it. I daydream about everything. For example, if I could, I would change most of the colors around. Red skies, bright yellow water, purple people. When I mentioned it at lunch, Mom doubled in laughter. She said it reminded her of a song called purple people-eater. Gross! Mom has no imagination. Grandpa, on the other hand, has a lot of it. He and I play the what-if game. What if the rocks came alive and talked, for example. Then one of us becomes the rock and the other talks with it. When I was much younger, like when I was five or six, Grandpa used to give me piggy-back-rides, even though Grandma yelled at him for it. She said he would hurt his back again. I didn’t want Grandpa hurt, so I stopped liking the piggy-back-rides. I wish Grandpa’s back was stronger, though. Grandma was nice, too. She let me eat anything I wanted, but she is not here anymore. She went to Heaven. Grandpa says she’s watching us from there, but we can’t watch her back. Heaven must have a one-way mirror like the policemen do on TV. You know, I am in a difficult position, here. I don’t have any pretensions about Heaven. Pretensions or was it pretendings? Whatever! I think Grandpa is pretending again, and I pretend with him all about Heaven. Do we even know where Heaven is? We know where New York City is, don’t we? Even if we’ve never seen it...Because it exists. Can anyone say that about Heaven? I think when you die, that’s it. It’s the discovery I made about where people go after they die. Nowhere. Yes, nowhere, but I am not going to mention it to Grandpa, in case he gets scared of his own dying…or mine. That’s why I won’t be eating healthy. That’s why I will slip out, in a little while, to walk on the beach at sundown to watch the colors. Mom says, “Never ever go to the beach alone.” She tells me to watch the ocean from my window. Like I would listen! My dad loved the beach, too. We used to run around and splash in the water together, all the time. Okay, almost all the time until Mom made him go… Maybe my dad will see me out on the sand alone tonight and will come back home, even if Mom says she is never taking him back. Will he? You think? @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Prompt:Piggy-back rides and childhood dreams. ~ Story |
| Prompt 1- Week 1 WC--641 words @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ I wake up to the sound of waves breaking on the rocks, splashing at us along the shoreline, then dashing toward reassembling themselves. The shapely body, all 105 pounds of her, lying next to me looks like a boneless being with porcelain skin, now with a sunburn, peeling. I stroke her shoulder. On instinct, she curls away from me. Then she turns and stares at me. “Mom?” We are both dripping wet from last night's rain despite the canopy we built at the base of a tree, what kind neither of us has any idea. Except it has large wide leaves, large enough to cover us overhead, however in a flawed fashion. I didn’t know what to do at first when the two of us were tossed at this godforsaken place. All I had with me was my purse. All she found was a large kitchen knife half-buried in the sand. Yet, I feel like a new woman, now. That is why I am always smiling at her. This new woman has become friends with her daughter. This new woman has tossed aside her old self. Sometimes, I sit very still on the sand waiting for her to bring papayas she picks that have fallen but still are edible. When we find food, we attack it with our fingernails. The same fingernails that were once manicured so we could tap them on our faces and flaunt. When I sit this still though, I hear my old self, gurgling underneath the new one. “Things will be different once you’re rescued!” Its undertone I can’t stand. “You told her she was unwanted,” it continues. Yes, I did that, but it was my old self talking. “But she was around, even when she wasn’t around,” my new self cuts the old one’s babbling. My new self knows I will miss her if she goes her way again, but I will be feather-soft. I will recognize her hunger, her joy of life, her love for others. I will look at where she looks, without any judgment. Someone, some higher being, must have designed this. This…our forced togetherness. Some higher being knew of our hunger for each other. When we both opened our eyes to this island, there was the shock first, then stillness, and finally understanding. Even under this kind of a pressure! For it is here that I have learned and this learning has been worth it all. Here, on this tiny island, that unbearable ache of mutual resentment loosened its grip, then left altogether, taking with it all the grief and the shame. I know she may go away from me again, once we’re rescued...if we are rescued. She may have to for she has to outlive me, but I will always remember her newborn smell now mixed with that of the salty ocean and the fine sand that sticks to her limbs. And if she leaves again, I’ll murmur, “I’m sorry!” as she walks out the door. Then, I’ll applaud and cherish her every move, her every flaw because she is my daughter. I must have fallen asleep again. When I open my eyes, I see a sliced papaya on a large leaf. My daughter smiles at me. ”How are you feeling, Mom?” “Don’t you worry,” I say, hoping it is not too late. She reaches over and touches my head. “You’re burning up.” She takes up my hand. “Your fingers are cool,” she says. “I put some more kelp on the wound. I’ll bring some more in a while.” Her caring makes me want to cry but my ribs hurt when I move too much. She jumps up abruptly, waving her hands in the air. She looks like a butterfly trying to fly to the moon. She takes off her tee and waves, running along the shoreline. “Mom, a boat!” @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Prompt: You're on a deserted island with another person, a tool, and what else? What happens? ~ Story |
| Daniela got out of the car and opened the gate. This place fitted the description the red-headed gas station attendant had given him. She drove her Jeep through the gate, then got out and closed it reverently. Gliding down the narrow, fenced-in road, however, she felt a bit dubious about this errand. Could it be a hoax? But it was plausible enough to yank her away from an important meeting at the headquarters. The fence, intruder-proofed, stretched mile after mile past the car. She tried not to think about the text message in her inbox, but her brain would not stay away from the subject. Just then, a raptor appeared in the distance clutching the fence with its talons. When her jeep was nearby, it flapped its wings wildly before the car, rising in midair. Daniel hit the brake. The raptor had disappeared. Worrying that she hit it, she got out of the car and checked around and under the jeep. No sign of the raptor. She took an easy breath. What was it? she thought. An illusion? After all, the text had made clear that once she would pass the gate, she would be beyond the third dimension. She had to pass the gate, she reasoned, vexedly. Victor Kagi could be here, after all. Victor Kagi was the one who had been working with mass and inertia of the yet-to-become matter type of energy when he had disappeared. Victor had confided in her that, in the fourth dimension, it could be quite easy to make matter disappear into thin air and turn any kind of energy into matter. Did the incident with the raptor prove this, or was she thinking far ahead of herself? She shook her head violently and bit her lips. “No! No!” she muttered. She was driving on a private property because of a text message and a hunch she had about it. No way, should she let her imagination get the best of her. Since for a month and a half she had racked her brains and nearly gone insane trying to figure out where Victor could be. Maybe she had acted impulsively to rush out of the meeting at the first sign of him that had appeared in her inbox as a text message. While debating with herself, she noticed an unpainted wooden bungalow far ahead with a small barn next to it. She stepped on the gas. When she had come to a stop, a small figure of a man appeared from behind the bungalow, waving his arms emphatically. He was short, possibly five-four, middle-aged, and with shoulder-length graying hair. He had thin lips stretching across the lower part of his face. He lowered his arms as he yelled at her suspiciously. “How did you get in?” “I opened the gate,” said Daniela, annoyed. “Your name?” “Daniela Sharpe! Someone texted me about…” “Yes, we know.” “If you knew, why did you ask?” “I wrote the text,” said the man. The he pointed to his chest. ”Dimitri Alexopoulos.” “Hello, I am…Well, you know already. Where’s Victor?” “Good question. I asked you here to assist us in the cause.” “The cause?” Dimitri Alexopoulos cocked his head on one side and gazed up and down the barn. “You’ll soon find out. I can’t explain everything right here, standing. Let’s go inside, and you’ll see what I mean.” Daniela tensed up. “You wrote that Victor…” He stopped her words with a hand gesture. “I said, inside.” Then he took long strides toward the bungalow’s door but stopped before opening it. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the statuette in the hallway,” he hissed in her ear. “Victor may be in it.” Daniela was watching Dimitri Alexopoulos’ face intently. She was sure he had blinked. WC-626 words For the Undying |
| Prompt 3 -Week 1 Sad Moments in Life 33 lines, 164 words Changes stumble into lives, plot twists, all. One day you snooze in a castle but in a cardboard box, next where you read on the crumbled Times about polar bears, homeless, too, and species becoming extinct, like yours, and you view myriad pains spiked with snake juice on human skin, pooling over scar tissue. Changes stumble into lives, plot twists, all. One day, nothing is there to shrink from, but next, you fear the betrayal bomb akin to grief without tears that you nurture as if nightshades behind cloistered walls hiding the holes in your heart where kids used to romp before they flew off the coup. Changes stumble into lives, plot twists, all. One day, in a field of desire you wander, but next you lose the risen moon and throb in shadows and you weep over mounds of earth while the head of a storm lurks at your edges, and you lock away your moments, to wait for changes plot twists, all. |
| 108 Words 14 lines Clouds Watching plumped up white clouds drift by and float piling soft on top of one another akin to quiet dreams, high hopes, and blessings, I feel gratified and ask for no more. Then, with my eager eyes, I glimpse the skies, ocean’s rapture, perky palm fronds waving, to replace egos by lucid goals, and I choose silence to hear my songs inside. “Live to love, love to live, on your life’s path, your armor is this gentle harmony, untouched, unharmed by the spinning of minds,” my soul sings through its innermost essence showing simply that in me, in us all, really, the supreme self lives forever at peace. ============== Prompt - In poetry form, describe inner peace - the quiet of the soul - the place where you find that moment - Poetry - |
1304 Words Inversions Her thick glasses, her old-fashioned clothes, and her unidentifiable accent all gave off the impression she was from another place, another time. Perhaps she was…A time traveler. And Why not? I thought, Even Stephen Hawking has admitted time travel was possible, although he was much better at writing children’s science fiction than musing on time travel and stuff way over any scientist’s head in this century. I took another look at her, a closer one. Forget the thick glasses, she was stunning. Long ruby-red hair folded in a bun, pale skin slightly tanned, enchanting emerald eyes. Had I seen her before? I wasn’t sure. But, in either case, why was she hiding her beauty and what was she doing in this dump? Could it be she was from a far, far away distance? Yes, of course. I was quite sure of that. As soon as I pushed the elevator button, she ducked behind me. Was she running away from someone? When the door of the elevator opened, she shoved me aside and rushed in before me. I guess they don’t teach politeness or not shoving people wherever she comes from, I thought, pressing the number of my floor while she made no similar attempt. “Which floor?” I barked, still pissed off at her shoving. She looked at me, her eyes clueless. “Oh, sorry!” she said, diving into her purse and picking out a ratty, crumpled piece of paper. “Apartment 9 B,” she said. “You are on the same floor as I am,” I said. “Are you the new tenant?” “This is where they told me I should go,” she said, looking not too sure of the answer. This time, I let her go in front of me, gesturing with my hand to point the way. I didn’t want to be shoved again for I was afraid my wig would fall off. Then, how would I be able to explain…well, never mind that. The hallway on the ninth floor was bleak. The mold on the corners of the walls gave off a distinct smell, which possibly drifted through the entire tenement. The apartments in the building weren’t to write home about, either. For starters, the middle apartments had no windows, for being dug too deep into the building to receive any light, except for a sliding panel in the kitchen, which in this case, would be the apartment 9B on the ninth floor. I took my old-fashioned key out, probably a skeleton key in transit, and opened the door of 9A. When I turned back to close the door, I saw that she was still standing at the door of 9B looking lost or maybe misplaced. I should have ignored her, then, but they say hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Not a problem though. Mine is always twenty-twenty. ”Don’t you have a key?” I asked her. “Oh, a key? Well, I can open the door without it, but I am hesitant to step in a new place, alone.” I guess I should have shrugged and closed the door, but I didn’t, as my travels back and forth had given me a completely different perspective on life and people, which I thought was precious and usable for my ends, but they also created the deficit of forming long-term friendships. As it was, I was now friendless, not that I minded it all that much and neither did I want to be this woman’s friend, but what the heck! “Okay,” I said, closing my door behind me and stepping into the smelly hallway again. “I’ll go in with you.” When she pressed her finger into the keyhole, I heard the lock open. That trick, huh! I should have known then, but I acted as if I didn’t notice. Only because I knew my part inside out, having studied every subtlety and mannerism carefully. She pushed the door open, and instead of asking me in, she shoved me, again, into 9B. I fell headfirst into the apartment, but I leapt up, turned to the door, feeling an intense need to get out of this place. Too late! She had shut the door and was leaning against it. Violent delights have violent ends, Shakespeare had written, and I could have told her that, but I knew better not to. I straightened up, fixed my wig, and wiped the dust from my hands onto my faded jeans. I noticed then that my hands were grimy and my fingers had elongated. I stared at them, holding them out. Then I raised my eyes at her and my mind was suddenly racked by waves of panic. “You!” Sadly, I wasn’t working for her anymore. At least I told myself that, to make it believable, knowing her tricks. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” I detected the sarcasm. No one ever recovered from Condora’s sarcastic nature, but this sarcasm was a bit on the mild side. She tapped her foot on the floor, her each tap echoing in my brain. “The Alliance sent you here to 2016 on a fact-finding mission from 3519. And look at you. How shabby you are! You must have even erased your own memory. I knew it the moment you didn’t recognize me.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I had to do that. They were about to capture me. I figured if I had the memory box, the mission wouldn’t be safe; although I wouldn’t have talked…willingly.” “All right,” she said. “But you could have hardened your mind, instead.” “They are more powerful than you know, than what you were taught. The can get through anything.” “So you work for them now?” “No,” I said. “I am actually in a kind of semi-hiding. They think I am working for them, inside Amazon.” I don’t know why I said that. It was the first thing that came into my mind. “Finding you in the jungle would be the easiest thing,” she said. “No, not that Amazon. I kind of work for Amazon, the cyber department store.” “And you think you’d be safe there?” She squinted at me. “Huge warehouse. All those boxes. It is fun. Then I come here at nights. 3000 miles apart. Who’d suspect!” “We would!” Her switch was immediate. Oh, well, well! Now, who stood before me was not Condora anymore. Ahha! Some kind of a coordinated violence…I looked into the dark eyes of Swanidze. “Your job is -was- identical regardless of whose hands you are in,” she said. “But you’re stupid. And stupids are not tolerated inside the Alliance.” “What did you do with Condora? Where did she go?” Just for the fun of it, I was keeping up with her. “She was never here, Aemon. I traced Condora from the fragments in your memory. I took her shape temporarily to follow you. You are such an idiot! It is disgusting, really. You couldn’t even erase you own memory-box properly.” “What about the mission?” “What’s mission to you? You idiot! You dumped the Federation to switch to Alliance. You loused up Federation’s plans and what you did for Alliance didn’t amount to an ant’s footprint. You are now lost to both sides. You mustn’t exist.” She stretched her hand to zap me. It’s true, isn’t it? I had given an immaculate performance so far, but I needed to do what was expected of me. Swanidze’s death ray reflected off my shield and backed up to zap her instead. She didn’t die. Couldn’t. She was more valuable to the Federation alive, until after our techies raked through her memory box. Condora appeared immediately from behind her and tied her up. While the andronauts took Swanidze away, Condora turned to me with a huge smile. “Great job, Aemon. I’ll see that you get medals for this. Just how did you know Swanidze wasn’t me?” “You never put your hair in a bun,” I said. But that wasn’t entirely true, either. She’d never know I had been peeking inside her suit. |
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