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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/bobturn/day/1-27-2021
Rated: 18+ · Book · Horror/Scary · #2222317
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
What I'm fired up about

January 27, 2021 at 11:35pm
January 27, 2021 at 11:35pm
2nd Place co-win at the Writing 4 Kids Contest

Jenny Play loved her last name
She loved to do what it said.
When her mom asked for help
Jenny wanted to play instead
of cleaning her room or making her bed.

I’ll do what you ask later
She swooned at what fate left her,
Vacuuming always came to soon.
Washing dishes was best left fishes
Done by the light of the moon.

Tomorrow was the best time to get things done
Unless it involved having fun.
“You’re skating on thin ice,” her mother said.
Of ice skates, Jenny Play had none.
“I’ll do all my chores if you get me some.”

It was agreed with remarkable speed.
Jenny Play wins awards for doing chores in need.
She never gets bored at the rink.
It’s enough to give pause and make one think.
Jenny and mom never keep score, every more.

They both love the sound of ice skates going clink clink.
Mom and daughter enjoy doing chores and skating together,
They do both during good or bad foul weather,
dancing on their toes, during chores they spin close,
in the rink their skates flash, slide and wink.

24 line poem for the January "Writing 4 Kids Contest
January 27, 2021 at 4:59am
January 27, 2021 at 4:59am
Daily SCREAMS!!! win

“Don’t touch it.”

Jenny Moore was always nudging, poking things. When she wasn’t? It was people she did it to. Alvin, her big brother, was tired of feeling one of her bony stiff fingers rearranging his innards. How many times had her prying pushed an item over, made it fall and break? Why was it him who always seemed to take the blame and have to clean up her mess?

“Why not, frog face? It isn’t going to bite. It’s not like it’s alive.”

“Just. Don’t.” Alvin got speared by one of Jenny’s index fingers for that remark.

Things had only gotten worse during this family vacation to Mexico. Their parents figured Jenny could do less harm among the tourist traps near Chichen Itza, a well preserved ancient city. The main highlight of Chichén Itzá was the El Castillo pyramid, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.

“No mas, por favor. Solamente mirando.” Alvin grabbed the teetering reptilian clay figure of some ancient god as Jenny’s hip brushed it while she moved on. Her whole body could be a human time bomb triggered by anything it touched.

“What the hell.” Alvin juggled. The owner of the fly infested shop refused to take it back. A wizened, half starved little fellow with black obsidian eyes, he danced around Alvin waving cryptic hand motions while speaking the Mayan ancient tongue.

“Veinte y Cinco dolores, aquí.” Alvin stuffed the money at a passing leathery hand and broke free, stuffing the idol figure in his souvenir shopping bag. Jenny was making mischief already, in the next stall down.

She kept Alvin busy avoiding one tragedy after another until the shops closed down for their owners afternoon siesta. Not even a fly stirred in the semi tropical heat. “There’s some free shade under that palm tree.” Jenny poked and prodded Alvin into a makeshift jerky run to grab it before someone else did.

“What you got in there? Let me see.” Jenny, in her eagerness to find out what present Alvin had bought for their parents while she’d been terrorizing the neighborhood, tumbled the clay frog figure, out onto the ground. “Why, that old thing?”

“Good. You didn’t break it. Leave it alone.”

“It's got a crack in it. Eww. Look.”

Jennie’s sticky fingers crawled away from the inanimate object. Alvin’s tired eyes flicked open wide enough to peer down. Dead and dying flies littered the earth near his feet. There was a carpet of them fading back along the path they’d taken. So that’s where the flies had gone; why they were no longer buzzing and biting in the air.

“Nice. Clay has some kind of natural insect repellent in it,” Alvin joked. He was too tired and worn out to deal with it right now. “Give me a break. I need some rest.”

Strangely enough, as Alvin closed his eyes, he felt the tip of his tongue wiggle between his lips in a parody of what a frog might do before flicking it out to eat a fly.

“Eww. Ugly. You ate one on purpose. Why?” Jenny’s open handed slap against the side of Alvin’s face snapped him out of his warm hazy daze.

His teeth crunched down, smashing the insect between them. One of the dying flies must have landed as he yawned open his mouth. He swallowed reflexively. “Not bad. Want one?” Alvin teased. The words came out like a croak.

“You are being disgusting. There’s mom and dad looking for us.” Jenny waved, jerked an elbow into Alvin’s ribs and led the way without looking to see if her brother followed.

“Hello, honey. Did you have a good time?” Missus Moore’s well-practiced palm became a shield against her daughter’s invading arms, hands, fingers and elbows wrestling each other for a mother’s hug.

Mister Moore took a long learned defensive position behind his wife. “Where’s Alvin? What did you get us while we were gone?”

Jenny pointed behind her. “It’s over there. Come on. I’ll show you. Alvin must have fallen asleep again. He got dosey.”

Trampled flies disappeared under their feet, smashed and spread into unrecognisable quickly drying stains merging with the color on the plaza bricks. “He bought a little frog idol. I don’t know where the big one came from. Sure is big, as big as Alvin.”

“It’s huge. I wonder how they make them look so lifelike?” Missus Moore exclaimed.

“It wasn’t here before, or at least I didn’t notice.” Jenny wiped salty drying sweat from her lips. No fly would dare risk those flying hands.

Flies landed and adorned the huge clay figure’s mouth instead, seemingly maddened at not being allowed in. Mayan’s lurked, buzzing comments in their ancient language, behind blankets used for doors between stall walls.

The souvenir bag and the small cracked clay figure lay at the larger idol’s side. Mister Moore kicked at it prodding it with his sandal. It was from him that his daughter inherited and magnified having the pronounced little touchy feely habit.

The idol split in two. Two pieces of polished black obsidian embedded as the figurine’s eyes, flashed in the midday sun and rolled free. “Oops. Broke it.”

The laser focused beam of reflected sunlight from them made the man blink and rub tears from his eyes. “Damn flies.” One had flown right onto his tongue.

“Don’t swear, Arthur.”

“Eww, daddy. Spit it out. You are just as bad as my brother.” The trio disentangled themselves. Hands were raised to brows, providing shade cover while the parents looked around. “Alvin? Donde esta?” Missus Moore sighed, wiping sweat from her face.

“Could be anywhere there’s a bathroom, be my guess.” Mister Moore idly reached down to capture the two pieces of polished black obsidian, shoved them in a pocket and licked his lips. One fly wasn’t going to kill him, was it? “Alguien ha visto a mi hijo?” He wanted to know where Alvin was.

Unnoticed. the more than life size frog figure seemed to move a tadge, or was it merely the effect of a passing shadow. Clay idols are inanimate figures, aren't they?

The natives watching the unfolding tableau stayed motionless and as silent as their clay figures for sale in their stalls. Not one answered the question about seeing where Alvin had gone. All eyes were on the large clay god. It's black shiny obsidian eyes seemed to be the only thing in it that moved, gazing back.

Alvin would not be set free from inside it, until the Idol brought the end of the hot season with the next rainfall for the crops. At that time, It would melt into mud and wait, until the locals were ready to refashion it again as small idols, out of the good earth from which it had come. Alvin would be placed with the other sacrificial offerings, in the underground secret burial chamber of the El Castillo pyramid.

The locals waited until the family went off in search of Alvin, leaving the clay figure behind. Slowly, clay bowls filled with crawling insect larva feasting on ripe sacrificial chicken guts were brought ceremoniously to the large clay idol’s feet.

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