%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  A folder for my writing August 2017 & July 2016 |
  S Both can always be done better. This item will be no exception to that rule.  |
79 words, 12 lines Form: Couplets of eight-syllable lines The mailbox, plastic and metal, today it had just one letter carefully you held it and said “it’s the same white as my bed if truth’s wrapped in an envelope my love will tell me to elope” but when you tore open the flap madly you cursed at the old chap then in blues, you released a sigh as you could just fall down and die that monster had left you for good and took your pal to Hollywood ----------------- Prompt45. The mailbox contains a single letter... |
742 words “That ship is not gonna make it!” Harvey squinted to get a clear view across the darkened horizon. A thick fog had obliterated the sun while slipping threats at the glassy water, “It’s just the fog,” said Brad, “Nothing to worry. That’s a big liner, out there. Just needs to open up and away.I guess we should row back to land before it gets any worse.” “Yeah,” Harvey nodded and began pulling on the oars. “No fish is biting today, anyway.” The boat rocked. A loon warbled from somewhere, its cry like a hysterical giggle. Brad shivered, his teeth chattering. Harvey stopped rowing and reached to the stern side, into the storage box. When he pulled his hand back, he was holding a sweatshirt. It was too big for Brad, but it would do. He handed it to the smaller man, his hand touching Brad’s during the exchange. “Whoa, Brad, your hands are like ice! I shouldn’t let you come today.” Brad drew the sweatshirt over his head and put his arms through the sleeves. “Better?” “Yup, thanks.” “I’ll row to the shore; the motor’s been acting sick.” “What shore?” The land had disappeared. Harvey set the oars in the boat, water dripping from the paddles, pooling below, as the fog enveloped the boat. “Let’s wait it out till it clears. You sure you’ll be fine?” A flicker of fear passed through Harvey. Brad shrugged. “What else to do?” “It’s just that you’ve been under the weather for a while, there.” He didn’t want to say pneumonia. That word sounded like a bad omen, especially today. He shouldn’t let Brad come with him, not with the two little tykes at home, but Brad had twisted his arm, kinda. Maybe if Harvey kept talking, Brad wouldn’t feel the cold. But Brad began first. “It gets so boring at home. Every day the same. I wanted to get out something bad. It wasn’t you, Harvey. When the sea gets in your veins, hard to bear the land, you know.” “Yeah,” said Harvey. “My old man was the same. When he couldn’t get out to sea anymore, he used to think he was in the boat when the house creaked.” “He was the man, your pop. Real old salt. I miss him, too.” “Never used a fork for his fish. Fish, you eat with fingers, he used to say.” “Harvey, Remember when we were kids, how he made a huge fire at the fireplace and told us about shooting that one-eyed fox?“ “Like he shot the fox himself,” Harvey chuckled. “Here’s the other version you don’t know. It was uncle Joe. He was some sharp shooter.” “It was some huge fire though. I remember your Ma getting antsy over it.” “Ma was jumpy with fires. When she was a kid, they were burned down and moved back in with Granma.” Brad suddenly stiffened. “Listen!” A distant drone of a motorboat...They strained to hear. Harvey’s eyes widened in fear as he picked the oars and spun the boat around. The sound of the motorboat intensified as it bore toward them. Harvey and Brad yelled together. “Whoa! Fish on!” But from the sound of it, the other driver had to have gunned the engine. Harvey dragged harder on the oars, propelling the boat out into the open. A dark shape emerged through the fog. When it was about to scrape against them, it swerved away, accelerating toward the shore. “Man must be drunk,” Brad said. “Suicidal!” Harvey said, and immediately, the sound of a crash jolted them in their seats. “Oh, damn! He hit the boulders!” It had to be bad. Real bad. “We gotta help,” said Harvey. “But how!” “No way, man! We’ll crash, too.” Harvey pulled on the oars but stopped short. Brad had two tykes at home. Harvey couldn’t put his friend in danger for the other drunk. “Look!” Lights shone through the fog around where the boulders were. “Coast Guard!” Brad yelled. “Hope the guy’s okay,” Harvey said. He closed his eyes and prayed. The fog got thinner in the next hour or so, but the dusk was settling in. Harvey took to the oars again. They were creaking beautifully. He had to get that engine fixed, he thought, with Brad coming with him out here. He had two tykes at home. “Eat with us, tonight, Harvey,” said Brad. “I’ll build us a fire and Rosalyn will cook up something.” --------------- Prompt 1: Write a story that includes the words ice, sun, fox, ship and fire. Please bold the words, at least the first time you use them. ~ Story |
153 words, 32 lines Free form Silence is golden if you’re not a hummingbird and like to whir while you visit flashy flowers and if you’re not Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart who loved hours of music, but from strep throat did part if silence is the norm, don’t bite into sweet apples with lascivious crunch, nor slurp your soup at lunch don’t send your words everywhere for they’ll stay in the air don’t say, don’t sing, don’t answer a how-do-you-do don’t strum a tune so off-key, leave it high and dry don’t let waves lap the sands don’t let seagulls cry don’t listen to the soft rain don’t hear lightning’s thunder don’t open your mouth and talk since you may blunder yes, silence is no good if you hold back information on abuse, drug use, bullies, trouble for the nation or letting words hurt a heart or wound a child Yet, silence is golden only when your calm says plenty =============== Prompt: Silence is golden |
136 words, 6 quatrains or 24 lines Form - Kyrielle Ned Stark the virtuous and just devoted Catelyn, one can trust a kingly feast, don’t be misled on the table, a lavish spread Arya, Sansa, Bran, and Jon Snow they all know this is no game show but in my poem, nobody’s dead at the table, a lavish spread with Tryon Lannister, witty Ser Jorah Mormont the gritty back from exile looking ahead on the table, a lavish spread Robert Baratheon’s a must sly Cercei’s mate and upper crust looking forward to being fed at the table, a lavish spread Mature Rob stark the eldest heir Rob’s pal Theon Greyjoy is there two playful pals are bred to head at the table, a lavish spread most are good at scaling towers others prefer scents of flowers venison, wild boar, gingerbread on the table, a lavish spread ------ Kyrielle Poem Prompt 3: Write a poem about the last great feast your favorite GoT characters will have together. Any form except free verse - specify at the end of the poem. ~ Poetry |
108 words, 22 lines Free Verse if I could be anything, I would love to be someone important in the feline family for I’d attempt to purr while I’d rave and stir in a brave lion’s pit, or sprint like a jaguar, or dash like a puma or strut like a black panther in my silk ebony suit or a huge Siberian tiger with soulful eyes, but not behind metal bars yet, the best I could be would be a tabby kitten to slink between two stringy legs that don’t mind being bitten and if so, I’d be a pure hero, snoozing on a lofty lap or meow to answer you, on the go. Prompt: If you could be anything other than yourself, what would you be? |
86 words, 12 Lines How elemental your terror. as you exude a blue, eerie flame, a giant spewing ash! How confident, how brash you are just because Zeus, holding a slingshot launched you at us, rapturous and lethal, a lovely dart split, gashing at the earth screaming loud, with a mood jagged like the rocks, your warm body strange resonant with rage, turning dark feeding on pompous, howling winds but I still dare pick a picturesque chip of rare magic with my camera, as a token of your dramatic art ======================= Prompt: Describe lightning in all its glory. |
80 words 12 lines Form: tercets Here’s one story I did not write about a red moon rising high and destined to love, I sought for you but merciless words you did whisper flooding my mind with blind winds my blood flowed in gasps of pain when into the night, fires wavered when darkness gobbled, spat me out when I hid your love inside my fears then your demons I tucked away so tears were gone, came the dawn and impulse to mourn woke me up ===== Quote: “When you wake up, your face will be dry. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t cry.” Beth Revis, The Body Electric *note: The Body Electric is a dystopian sci-fi novel. |
a Haibun 149 words all together with 9 haiku lines and three prose parts. I was never here, but look, I know these surroundings somehow. I might have been with you on this road that runs on one side of these woods. Looking west, from the woods, again I see the endless fields. this side of the woods but I don’t know when or how I might have been here I did smell this natural abundance before, the dominant tang of evergreens, foxgloves, and orange blossoms, but where, though I don’t care to recall? Yes, I had to have been here before. green color endless with sights of Jacaranda a beauty hidden Those fields stretch to a wide horizon where blackened storms must rise and dip to the woods, and if I did walk on this road before, why didn’t I see that slice of darkness in your eyes? on our loaded lives clouds gang up to bring rains bending with the winds |
A Cinquain String 54 words 15 lines his lips of rosy charm uttering lies and cries I don’t want to touch them again not now his hands I used to hold for my fingers to lace I don’t want to hold them again today his face bewildered, bold has turned away from me I don’t want to see it again ever |
139 words, 12 lines Couplets I’d cry your name from today to all my tomorrows and take a handful of words and fill them with sorrows I’d write songs and tape messages on being lovesick still, I’d leave room for the world and flowers I’d pick in your name and I’d sing through my prison’s iron bars for the rosy color of sunsets and the light of the stars since you are the morning sun and winds combing the grass the salt and pepper in tiny towers and wine in my glass which I sip to the pink of your cheeks and green of your eyes but if crows in black silk tuxedos uttered caws and cries I’d cast a thousand spell for veils to lift with my fists curled but if you’re no more, still, it’ll be my worst day of the world. |
| 1114 words Paul neither heard the waitress’s cries nor noticed the people at the other tables sitting or rising in horror at his fallen, writhing body. He had lost his sense of self for Jenny was in his arms now. He felt her heartbeats synchronize with his within the moments of their embrace. He felt the shift inside his body and he would have panicked at the thought of someone with this kind of power, but he couldn’t think past the feel of Jenny who now had this kind of power that made him feel the impact of her neck under his lips and the growing ache in the pit of his stomach. For Paul, now, any kind of thought had ceased. He had become a force of nature. A force of nature, a man who couldn’t resist Jenny’s touch. When he could open his eyes, he saw the waitress exhale slowly and move to make way for the EMT people who were just entering the restaurant. “What happened? Where’s Jenny?” But there was no Jenny. The only thing that was visible was the emptied bar stools and the EMTs crouching by him. “He stopped breathing, so I gave him mouth-to-mouth,” said the waitress. “You shouldn’t if he was choking,” said one EMT. “No, he hadn’t put a morsel in his mouth, yet.” “What happened, then?” “Just as I put down his plate, he stood up looking at the bar. Then he fainted.” “Who was at the bar?” “Nobody! Even Jim, our barman, wasn’t there.” No Jenny! Not again. Paul sat up and began rocking back and forth, lost in the memory, caught by her senses surrounding him until he slowly realized that he might be losing his mind. Instantly, he pushed himself up. The thing that had happened, whatever it was, had left him weak and shaking, until with a groan, he collapsed again. The EMTs wouldn’t let him go, telling him there had to be something more sinister than hunger behind his sudden fainting. People he could barely see carried him into an emergency vehicle, then, and as tears slid from his eyes into the cot he was placed upon, he thought back to the wild feeling he had when Jenny was in his embrace just a while ago. Someone had to have injected a sedative into the serum they had tacked to his arm. Through his blurred sight, he could barely make out its stand next to his head, which was shorter than what they used in the hospital rooms, but this was a van, an emergency vehicle. He felt he was going under when suddenly he felt Jenny’s hand tunneling into the length of his hair, now thick and damp, possibly because in the restaurant someone might have thrown a glass of water at his face when he fainted. Yet, Jenny was still here with him, no matter that he wanted to live with more gusto, a fact he had decided upon earlier. He reached for Jenny’s face and tilted her chin with the tip of his finger. ‘Jenny? Is it really you?” She nodded. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her cheek against his chest. “I’ll never leave you, Paul,” she said. “No matter what happens. No matter what they tell you.” “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” “Yes, Paul, it’s perfectly fine. I never died. True love never dies.” He leaned into her, brushing his mouth across her lips, then her cheek and whispered into her ear. “Jenny…Jenny! Let me in.” At the moment of their joining, he felt a bonding even stronger than before. --- Dr. Touzel grimaced as he examined this new patient. Even with sedation, he could be uncontrollable. That was why he had ordered a round-the-clock watch on him. “I’ve got to let this man have his say,” Jenny whispered and she kissed the tip of Paul’s nose as she crawled away from his bed. Paul looked at the man in white with the stethoscope on his neck. Then he noticed the room he was in. He was in a hospital. Within seconds, he was wide awake and wanted to reach for his pants, hating the gown they had put him in, but his clothes were gone. Had Jenny taken them away? That didn’t make sense. Dr. Touzel arched his eyebrows as he pushed Paul back on the bed. “Look, Paul, if you move too much and try to do anything too rash, we’ll have to restrain you. So, let’s you and I have a talk.” Paul’s eyes found the clock on the wall. It was 11:30, and it had to be at night because the windows were dark although they had no curtains. What was the date and who was this man? Paul turned his head toward him. “Hello, Paul. I’m Dr. Touzel. You are doing all right. Don’t worry about anything. Okay? Do you know what date it is, today, Paul?” “You tell me,” Paul said, crossly. “September the 23rd. You have been here for two weeks now.” Paul stared at the man, shocked. What was happening? “Where’s Jenny?” “Jenny is no more. We have your data, and we know you are grieving.” “What kind of a doctor are you?” “I’m a psychiatrist, and I’ll take care of you.” Paul frowned. “I am not crazy,” he said. “We never call our patients crazy, Paul. In your case, you are grieving, and grief can change the mind, but you’ll be all right. I promise you, I’ll do my best for you.” Paul sighed. He had to have been dreaming of Jenny, but she was so real, too real. Jenny was in another world and she was taking him there. Then this world wasn’t letting him go, either. If he would have a pick, he would pick the world where Jenny was. Dr. Touzel signaled and the male nurse who had to be standing at the door moved forward with a tiny pill container and a glass of water. “Take this, for now, Paul. You and I will have a long talk, tomorrow,” Dr. Touzel said. If only Paul could trick them and act like he swallowed the pills…but he couldn’t because both men were watching him with large owl eyes. He wanted to be awake again because he so wanted to be with Jenny. “I won’t tell them about us if you don’t,” Jenny said, suddenly appearing at his side as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come here, you,” she said softly and kissed him hard and long until he let out a sensual moan. He was out of this world. He was back with Jenny. He had again entered Jenny’s world. |
153 words 24 lines standing with you on the ancient deck on our honeymoon, I stared at a bent horizon and you with the bristled hair, then suddenly, we were dumped under sea laugh if you must but that was the toughest part what was the force that swirled me onto the sand, in between your legs? a whirlwind growling in gray rain while we arose Chaplinesque laugh if you must but that was the toughest part on this island, a doubled presence you and me like the knife and fork plus a fish hooked on your adventurous rod, now stranded on the beach laugh if you must but that is the toughest part change is natural but not like this while I gather fruit, branches, and cook useless, you eat like a horse and smirk when I say, after the rescue, I’ll get a divorce laugh if you must but that will be the easiest part ============ 1. Prompt 1: You're on a deserted island with another person, a tool, and what else? What happens? ~ Story  POEM |
140 words 24 lines I thought, at age five, if I believed I could sing something magic would happen and I would sing. Then, when I sang, people laughed, giggled or snickered for I squeaked, screeched, then cried and that’s how a dream died. Instead, Dad gave me a piggy-back ride and he sang me a lullaby of dreams in a calypso of alphabets and numbers, supplying support, maybe hope so I could cope with the lacking of my singing voice and other things that broke off like shards of glass when Dad went away. Now, today, in an instance when I hear in the distance calypso music I still feel I’m in my easy chair and Dad is singing me of new dreams, while rain outside is falling in sheets, and he might still hope that I can cope with impossible things. ------------- Prompt 2: Piggy-back rides and childhood dreams. ~ Story POEM |
661 Words Clive’s grandfather is 91, sitting in bed waiting for him. It’s a month since he’s been sick, and Clive was too busy to see him earlier; besides, Bergen, New Jersey is some distance from Quogue. When Clive arrives, he finds the old man playing with his shriveled fingers, totally absorbed. Clive stands at the door and watches his grandfather, his white hair in tufts, most of it totally gone, his wrinkled skin folding over in in places. His grandfather blinks and opens his eyes wide in obvious glee when he spots Clive at the door. Does he know Clive is wishing he’s a little boy again, sitting on his lap and listening to his war stories? “You came!” his Grandfather remarks with delight. Clive walks into the room and kisses him, then holds his hand just the same way as the times when he did while they walked on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. His grandfather squeezes Clive’s hand but his grip is loose. Clive crouches on the bedside chair, with Grandpa still holding his hand. “How’s…Erica and everyone?” Clive squirms, thinking of memories and other things that break his heart. “Sending their love. Everyone’s okay, Grandpa.” But everyone is not okay. Can Grandpa see through him, as in the old days? Clive looks down at his hand still in Grandpa’s hand. “You’re lucky, then,” says Grandpa. “Your aunt Cathy’s neighbor. They had a little boy. Remember? He didn’t make it.” “I’m so sorry,” says Clive as he swallows a sob. Clive’s little girl Erica didn’t make it either, but Grandpa doesn’t know about it. Aunt Cathy said on the phone they didn’t tell him. Clive can feel the skin on his forehead tingling, his blood rushing to his face, his heart aching with pain, a pain so familiar and so settled deep inside him ever since Erica got sick. This never-ending cycle of death, the sudden disappearance of people he loves, will it take his Grandpa next? He shudders at the thought. “How’s your wife?” Grandpa’s voice sounds weak and shaky. “She sends her love. She says, ‘get well quick, Grandpa!’ She couldn’t come today because she had to go to work.” “I thought she had quit. She began teaching again?” How could he be such an idiot! Grandpa knew Helen had stopped working to stay with Erica. “Yes, her new job is closer to the house. Helen’s mother is staying with us, for a while, at least. ” That last part is the truth. His mother-in-law is staying with them so Helen wouldn’t do anything stupid. He couldn’t tell Grandpa that Helen had gone off the edge due to grief. “I think you’re worried about something, Clive. Is it about me?” “You’ll be fine, Grandpa. This will pass.” But Clive knows neither of them believes it. He knows as beautiful and poignant a life can be, we are all here with a time limit. Grandpa begins to reminisce the day he took Clive to the square to listen to a symphony. He chuckles when he tells Clive the memory of it, that he had said the music at the end was about resurrection, and Clive had looked at him and asked, “What is resurrection?” and how Grandpa had a difficult time explaining that to a six-year-old. But Clive, now, understands what resurrection is, together with the burden of sorrow and loss. Still, in the middle of all his grief, is a flicker of light, he thinks. It has penetrated to the center of his being, embedded in pain, some tiny thing similar to hope or a sliver of joy. Someone gently raps at the door. A nurse is sticking her head through the door. “Visiting hours are over.” Clive will head back to Quogue, now …On the road home, he’ll remember Mahler’s Symphony, violins and violas, its glorious cello and bass melodies…Then he’ll stick the CD in the CD player. Then, within a week, he’ll come back again. Maybe! ========== Prompt 3: Sad moments in life. What can you come up with? ~ Poetry STORY |
an average protagonist a reclusive loner so shyly clumsy, sensitive no one yet can own her a terrible liar she is and hates things cold and wet she’s hard to anger or deceive, a forgiving brunette as a habit, she bites her lip stubborn, uptight, so hot she’s Bella Swan in jeans and shirts but girly girl, she’s not she fell for Edward long ago not her pal Jacob Black dark eyes, dark hair, and just too tall from shape-shifting wolf pack Edward thought Bella’s scent was sweet but would not do as food in Breaking Dawn, she moved into Cullens’ coven for good What is the point to all the pain she’s now a vampire wild she learned, she changed, and she even bore an immortal child. ------- Prompt: Please craft me a ballad of not less than twenty lines using Common Measure (allowing common variations, such as ballad meter) about Bella's character development in the Twilight book/film franchise. |
590 Words Falling in love has been around since mankind was created. To the ancient Greeks, Aphrodite was the best-known goddess, the goddess of love, and according to the Iliad, Helene's falling in love with Paris started a string of dramatic events and a major war. The problem with falling in love is that it messes you up. No wonder phrases and sayings such as lovesick, head over heels, blind in love came into being. They were coined because humans act demented, obsessed, and maniacal, and with sighs, serenades, and compulsive efforts, they go after the other person, their love object, with their actions bordering on stalking. Even the serious and the steadfast feel a palpitation, a new effervescence, and a strange mix of pain and joy, no matter how much they try to hide their feelings. Love makes people act dumb because they are less able to focus on and perform tasks that need their full attention. Unfortunately, the worst time love strikes is when people are still in the earlier stages of their lives when they are either in high school or going after a higher education. Yet, who cares, since love makes people feel high and euphoric or, when love is unrequited, way down low, and many emotional variations exist when people feel love’s attraction for the first time. I believe our brains have a lot to do with our reactions to a love object. Medical research points to the fact that love can make people feel pain less. Accordingly, the same area of the brain that responds to pain medication is the area that intense love is located. Even more comical is the research on men who are in love. Love makes them adjust their walking pace to their romantic partner’s, which they do not do with only friends. As to women, their voice goes up to a higher pitch in the presence of men they find attractive. Then, for both genders, people’s pupils grow and their heartbeats match their love interest’s. Also, people turn into reckless and intrepid beings who risk everything for the beloved. As for writing about characters who fall in love, one way to capture the lunatic behavior in such people is to look for the emotion and the unsaid, hidden meaning in each person. Some characters may think they behave as they always are, while others are not the same inside compared to the way they appear on the outside. In Shakespeare's As You Like It, Rosalind wants to find a lover but does not want to lose her serious self and act crazily; however, when she enters the Forest of Arden, she discovers the love poems Orlando has hung on the trees. She loses self-control as she reads them one by one. On the other hand, all characters have to be impressed by their families, backgrounds, and their successes, failures, and life-induced wounds. Yet whatever happens, their behaviors change in varying degrees when they fall in love. A writer needs to activate the readers' emotions so they can empathize with the characters and can follow them through the act of falling in love. Anything true in life is also true in a work of fiction or poetry, and writing the falling in love scenes with realism determines the success of a love story. In the same vein, romantic fiction can uplift a person’s mood much higher than a serious, gloomy one. As Dr. Seuss said, “You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” ------------ Prompt: How do people act when they first fall in love and how can this reflect in writing? |
| 662 Words ======== Who says the rich cannot get any richer? Of course, they can. This is a fact because building wealth is more of the product of a person’s mindset, but before I go any further, I want to say something first about what makes me write this article. The fact is, when I cooked up this prompt, I thought I would make it into a satirical article, but no. I am going to stay clean of my mocking, cynical behavior and write a straight advisory text. After all, I have been subject for years, to listen to the TV while my sweet hubby kept clicking the remote between the Fox Business News and CNBC. No matter how hard I tried to write my imagined stories while he did that, some of that contradictory advice seeped through, penetrating my consciousness. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much for my husband’s finances, except for giving him De Quervain syndrome, in other words, gamer’s thumb or the blackberry thumb. Still, these decades long experiences, starting with the now defunct FNN, has given me an acceptable enough license to write this article. Getting back to the mindset of the rich to make even more money, there is no magic trick to it. If there’s a trick, it lies in the determination that has soaked into such a person’s subconscious. First, people who are in this making-more-money business never support a disbelief in their own ability to make it happen, but then, doesn’t this apply to all areas of life? Yet, they don’t stop with only such a deep belief in themselves. They believe in others to the degree that they can eke out the cash from them anytime. They don’t care who or what is hurt and from whose pocket the extra cash comes from. If you don’t believe me, watch the Sharks on CNBC. But these are not bad people either. They just believe there is no shortage of money, and if the money dries up a bit, there is always someone to invest in their ventures or some government agency to back them up. That is why they are always looking for great investments and high performers to make their investments make more money for them. If something is worth buying or investing in, you can bet on anything that they’ll go after it by hoisting their sails full wind. Why do they do that, you might ask. After all, we all take life, especially our own lives and lives of those we are close to, rather seriously. That’s just it. To these wealth searchers, it’s all in the game, as the song says. They are just gamers. If you listen to them talk, they’ll even admit to it. “Playing the game” is in their vocabulary. Then, for them, money is personified. It is a friend. It is their greatest ally and most competent teammate in the “game.” And they deserve to win, to be richer and richer, as it is their right because they think while doing what they are doing, they are also creating enormous value and opportunities for others. Does “trickle-down economics” ring a bell for you? Since these money-making machines--a.k.a people--consider this whole endeavor a game, they are not afraid of setting too high goals, in other words, gambling. Then, after setting their ambitious goals, they don’t sit back and let it happen either. They start tackling them through the whole nine yards, blocking out all fear. When they do all that, anything that seems crazy to the rest of us looks very doable to them. This may also be true because they love uncertainty. While we the underlings sweat and save, then sit on our nest-eggs, their nests and eggs are out there on the wide blue yonder of the financial world, producing more cash. It doesn’t matter much if part of it is lost, as they are confident they’ll take what is lost all back with extras. After all, ”It’s all in the game.” |
| 825 words I noticed the town square filled with people, not just everyday people but soldiers and armored vehicles. I stopped short. So, it was happening. The call to war had arrived at our town, and all I wanted in life was to be a soldier. I wondered if the letter my mother took such care to hide from me was the one calling me here, to this square. Wasn’t she worried about the consequences of what could happen to a person like me who had enlisted and was now being called to war? What is it about mothers that they tell you to do the right thing, and when you do it, they try to stop you? Didn’t she see that I was a grownup, an athlete, and I was much taller than her? I thought about the conversation we had after I had enlisted at a government site online. Mom’s eyes opened to perfect circles as if botoxed, “You didn’t!” and she slapped her cheek with her hand. “I did! It is the only moral thing to do when our country has declared war.” “Stuff your morals. We’re the good guys,” she said, mockingly. Then she looked at me straight in the eye. “Fighting in a war doesn’t make you moral. Resisting killings is what good guys do. That med school that you want to attend. That should be your only concern.” I did not care for her ideas. That fact about med school, however, mildly disturbed me. I decided not to tell Mom anything but just leave to go to war. Then, the strategy had to be to get my stuff without her noticing it. Knowing Mom, this wouldn’t be an easy feat. But first, I had to find out if I was on the call list. I crossed through the crowd, bumping the people out of my way. There it was, a large van in the middle of the square. At a metal table with two men, one of them in uniform, sitting on chairs behind it. There was a long line of people in front of the table. One of the men was jotting down some stuff on a pad while the other entered some data into the laptop in front of him. I neared them. A soldier stopped me. “You have to get in line, please.” “I just want to ask something.” “In line!” And he pointed to the end of the line. Shortly after 40 minutes, my turn came. “Your name and year of birth,” the man in uniform asked. “I’d like to know if I was called,” I said. “There is a problem with my mail.” “Your name and year of birth!” he said crossly. “Your name first.” I told him my name. “You’re not on the list,” he said, checking through the computer. “You’ll receive a mail from us when your turn comes. NEXT!” Jeez! Didn’t I just tell him I had difficulty with receiving my mail? Everything seemed to be in place at home, and Mom was her usual self, questioning me where I was and if I wanted Cool Whip on top of my ice-cream dish. To catch her off-guard, I asked right out. “Mom, what was in the letter you didn’t want me to see, yesterday?” “What letter?” “The letter you didn’t want me to see. You folded it and put it in your pocket.” “Why are you so nosy? Why do you have to know every single thing?” “Because things concern me.” “Oh, Okay. I’ll tell you.” She sighed. “I didn’t want Joseph to be a bad example, but you’ll hear it anyway?” Joseph was my cousin, two years older than me, and he was a real cool guy. “Did he enlist, too?” Go, Joseph! “No, silly! Your aunt Donna wrote they had to go get him from the police station for underage drinking. She wrote to me in case I didn’t want you overhear us on the phone.” She reached to the top of the fridge and pulled the letter from under the large bowl standing high up there. Yes, that was the envelope I had seen her hide. So, the fridge-top was one of her hiding places. I made a mental note of that. I opened the envelope and looked at Aunt Donna’s crooked handwriting. What Mom said checked just fine. “So, it wasn’t from the government,” I murmured. “What for?” “I thought they’d call me after I enlisted.” Mom looked at me with pity and shook her head from side to side. “Kenneth, our government doesn’t send thirteen-year-olds to war.” Oh, well, maybe she had a point. Maybe I should divert my attention to interstellar exploration, exobiology, or exobotany. Maybe after I could think of a way how to fill lifeless planets with rivers, winds, animals, plants, and create technology, they would accept me as a soldier. For now, though, I should make do with producing my Algebra homework without any mistakes. ---------------- Prompt 1: Use the following piece of dialogue in your story: "Stuff your morals. We're the good guys." Please bold it to make it easier for the judges to spot. ~ Story |
942 words Prompt 2, Week 4-- Writing Challenge The needed skill is silence when you are on a blind date or maybe not talking too much, just so that you do not give out unnecessary information about yourself. Thinking this, I crouched utterly still on the passenger seat next to Brian and smiled pleasantly as my smile has always served as a viable armor. It was a cold day in late winter, but the sun was tall at midday, and the path we drove on was narrow and iced on the side slopes, as oak trees with limbs akimbo were magically towering on both sides of the road. For a short time, we drove in silence. Brian didn’t have much to say and I was content not to talk. Then suddenly, he said, “Are there any mountain lions or cougars around here? I’d love to meet one.” I thought it was a joke. “Believe me, you don’t want to meet one,” I said. “But I do,” he said. “I am eager to meet one.” Such a weird sense of humor...Not long-term material. Check. “Then, you are in the wrong part of the country,” I said. “You can come across those animals more often on the west coast. The east coast is milder where wild animals are concerned, except for bears, foxes, and wolves, which they do not live around here, so close to Manhattan.” “Oh,” he said very seriously, as he took the ramp to the Expressway. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t in the data we were fed.” Really a weirdo. Check. But now, silence wouldn’t work. I had to try to make him talk to learn more about him. Forget about long-term, but now, even a second date hung in the air. Helen, who had concocted and served me this date, had said he was a dreamboat, but I needed to be patient. Well, patience is not one of my virtues when it comes to men because I don’t need any type of a date from hell. I'd had enough of those. I figured if push came to shove, I could call Mom or Dad to pick me up from the restaurant, even though they would be busy at work and wouldn’t appreciate an S.O.S plea by me. But then, whose fault was it? It was Mom’s rule to go to lunch at first date. Although I was twenty-two now, that rule still reigned, and for a good reason. “What is the last book you read?” I asked. “Books? Oh, those things with data on paper…I’ve held a few books in my hand to get the feel of them, but their insides were filled with imaginings or else, some of them contained data but the data wasn’t usually correct. I really liked Dostoyevsky though. His writing was so different.” What? No one in my generation read Dostoyevsky, except me. I stared at him, at his knockout handsome, sharp-edged profile. He drove with ease with both hands on the steering wheel but sat stiffly, sporting a grin on his face. When he caught me looking at him, he shifted slightly turning to stare at me, a stare that respected no conventions and caused me to look away in embarrassment. “You really look nice,” he said. “Thank you. You look handsome, too.” “Now that we’ve got this part over with, what are we going to eat at the restaurant?” What weird question! “What do you like?” Thank you, Socrates, for coming up with the idea of answering a question with a question. “I am not into eating flesh...but a salad or something. Even that feels alive.” “Exactly! I am a vegetarian, too.” “I don’t like vegetables either, but they told me these bodies needed nourishment.” Weirdo to the nth degree! A second date would be definitely out, but we are kinda compatible, too. “I think food business takes too much time and attention,” I said. “I didn't like eating either, not too much,” he said. “But I am curious about sex. They told me eating has to come first, though.” Oh, oh! But I was really curious. “Who are 'they'?” “My supervisors. You know, the people who build you.” Jeez! He did look earnest, though...as the weirdo that he was. “Exactly where are you from, Brian?” He mumbled something, a word so long that no way I could ever remember to repeat it. Would that be in Africa? But he didn’t look African. “Where is that place?” I asked. “Way past Alpha Centauri. I think that’s what your planet's people call that galaxy.” “You’re kidding me!” “Why would I do that? My base is etched in truth. No one can change it.” He sounded so sincere that I had no reason not to believe him. “Does Helen know where you’re from?” “Yes, she does. Her guy took her out for a spin up there.” He pointed to the sky. “Her boyfriend, Gus? Why didn’t she tell me? I wonder.” “Don’t wonder. I know.” “You know? Why? What do you know?” “She thought you’d believe me. She thinks you have a very open mind.” “Forget about lunch,” I said. “Can you take me up there for a spin, too?” “Okay,” he said. “We can eat lunch, later, but not animals. I don’t like to eat animals. The last time I did, my insides felt upside down.” Only then did I realize that we were not on Long Island Expressway anymore. We were flying over the Empire State building in his Honda Civic. Oh, well! I could get used to this. So what if he was curious about that something…or other…I could comply. Even willingly… Then we landed on the moon. ============== Prompt: You're on your first date with someone and it's astonishing how compatible you are! There's just one problem... as time progresses, you're increasingly convinced that they're an alien. Now what? ~ Story |
101 Words -16 lines 4 quatrains with eight-syllable lines and no set rhyme scheme last night I had the strangest dream you covered me down with a veil and said, “Leave everything behind, come with me to Scarborough Fair, where flowers are in the meadow and beauty is no mask for harm larks and plovers will sing of love on the hills of my little town no sound of silence you will hear or the refrains of blood and war I’ll hold your hand and build a bridge over troubled waters, Amor!” then, I woke up and found you gone but gladly suffered the believing in bits of resurrected life with nostalgic notes of meaning Musicians: Simon and Garfunkel ------------------- Prompt 4: Pick a band or solo artist. Write a poem that includes 3 - 5 song titles by said band/artist. Please bold the song titles. Underneath your poem, please state which band/artist they're by. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
