Saturday, July 30, 2011

Random Wednesday

Yet another random Wednesday here... and thus a random story.  I cannot recall the idea that spawn whatever this might be called but please speculate as to the cause:


Silent as the dead of night, he crept.  His dress robe wrapped tightly secured at his waist.  Out of his room, down the hall, and out the window he went.  To where at this time of night?  To what or whom?  With each maneuver down to the ground, one slip, one noise, and he would be found out.  Feet landing scuffed but none the worse for ware, he was on his way.  Skating across the lawn, he tried to quickly make it to tree cover.  
Now in the tree-line, off came the dressing robe only to reveal that instead of his night clothes were riding pants, dress-shirt, and coat.  Even as he pulled off his robe, his pace did not slow.  He was on a mission. What mission? Who could know but he?  Time and time again, as dark as night, he would almost lose his footing on a bulging root or a broken branch, but each time would steady himself just in time. No matter how dark the night, he would not be discouraged from the plan.
A clearing in the distance, is that the destination?  His eyes were fierce and unrelenting as they searched.  With each step, his pace became like a horse's canter.  Neck long and craning left to right, he continues to scan.  Stopping to hurl himself across a small pool, his footing wobbles but only for a moment, then back on his way.  Branches are starting to thin, the sun is soon to rise, and the clearing is just up ahead.
One foot into the clearing, his whole body sighs when his eager eyes come across their match.  To the right of the clearing, just outside of the tree-line, is a person in shroud.  Gliding without thought, he makes his way over.  As he arrives, she pulls the hood down to reveal her face only to pull her fingers to her mouth. With a loud shrill whistle, two horses emerge.  No hugs, no kiss, but a knowing look and brush of hands before they mount.  Riding toward the sunrise, they think only of the life ahead.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Alone in bed

Though not a melancholy person (by anyone's means) I wrote this peace after a moment of suspension the story literally crossed fully through my mind in less than a second.  And in that second I was this woman:




Alone in bed
So bright.  Too early.  
Aah, sore . . . my hip . . . (Chuckle) last night.  
Just got to reach out; get closer.  
Empty.  
Not for long.  Still warm.  
So tired, where is he.  
Cold floor.

He looks silly in that shirt.  
I want to kiss him when he smiles,
even with that in his mouth.  
Ah, clean breath and teeth.

He doesn't see me,
got him!  
Tackle and tickle, tackle and tickle!  
I love his laugh.

I love you . . .
have I said it out loud?

How long in silence?  
I won't go first.  
Where is he?  
I overreacted, but I will not go first!  
He is coming . . .
will he?  
He wants me to explain it
again?  
He wants to understand?  

I don't like this.  
Yeah, sure, "I look great".  
Changing again . . .
makes me tired.  
Black is better; it hides.  
You can't see it then!  
Why is he looking at me . . .
like that.  
Warm lips . . .
Agh!  
Of course it's not just
your mother . . .
it's you and your mother!  
Side with me.  
No, I'm not ridiculous!  
Listen to me.  
Fine . . .
silence.

I need to say it,
but how?
Mouth dry,
stomach hurts.  
There he is . . . just say it, say it!  
It's just three  words.  
I look like a fish:
open, shut; open, shut.  
got it out . . .
I said it . . .
Oh no, what is he thinking?

What if he doesn't love me?  
Walking towards me . . .
RUN!  
His arms.  
Am I shaking? . . .
His hand is so cold on my face.

I love sun on my face.  
Look at that dog . . .
if you pull back on the reigns he won't jerk you.
Husky . . . so pretty;
distinct.  
Need to remember
to flex my heels
and extend my toes . . .
His hand, so big.  
Mine fits so nicely.

What does that face mean?  
His shoe untied?  
What?  A ring?  
Oh!  I, I didn't think . . .
yes!

The small of my back
was made for his hand.  
1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3, Ouch!  
Don't look at your toes.  
He is so kind to me . . .

What was that?!  
Ah!  There it was again.  
It's on my foot!
It's on my foot!  
Why is the couch so far away?  
Help!  Help!  It's huge!  
There he is . . . help me.  
So big . . . legs out to there,
it had a tail, fangs!  
Kill it, kill it, kill it!  
(shudder) ehhh . . . it's gone (sigh).  
Please hug me . . .
I don't want to ask.

Sticky floor, eh.  
I hate when the floor is sticky.  
Ew, don't put the candy in the popcorn . . .
no wonder the floors are sticky.  
I don't want to open . . . fine.  
Oh, sticky but tasty . . . ha ha fine;
I concede.  
Love you always . . .
even if now it’s silly to say it.  
Sticky or not.

So tired, long day;
another tomorrow.  
I hate when they’re cold . . .
but he is warm . . .
won't mind if I bury my feet there
and back up against you?
Ahhh . . . his heart beat.
In his arms . . .
warm,
safe,
loved
(sigh . . . yawn).

Too early,
so bright.  
Snooze.  
Reach out.


Empty.  Cold . . .

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Assignment two

You ready once again for an assignment visa-ve my old assignment via my sister-in-law?  Well, if you're not ready then you can just read what I have to say about the matter... or just my assignment, you  know... whatever

Assignment:  Take the person from assignment one and put them in a story (introduce a conflict, make it worse and then resolve it)  in 750 words.



The loud blare of the alarm signals the start of another day for Debra. Pushing herself onto her side, she slowing gets up, groggy and disoriented.  With a yawn and a stretch she gets to her feet, two steps and she is across the room.  Small with walls, remind her of the years in school she would rather forget.  Just like all the mornings before she can hear the muffled sounds of raised voices: a man, woman and an infants cry for attention.  As she pulls on her faded khakis she wonders at why she can’t seem to say no to food and hating that her legs are always too long for the pants she has.  Shirt on, hair in place she takes a step to the right where her kitchen lay, grabbing a piece of peanut butter toast she is out the door.  
Three minutes to spare as she makes her way out and down the stairs.  Looking down at her shirt as she pins on her metallic tag with name embossed across it she misses the last step falling down and tearing a  small whole right below the knee.  Back in to change and out again as fast as she can; she is now five minutes late.  In the car and ready to speed to make up the time, she is off down the road.  With each red light she breathes deeply wanting just to will the light to turn green.  Finally, it there is a light that is green.  She steps on the gas but nothing happens.  All at once it seems that the car shakes, screeches and thuds.  Pulled off on the side of the road, she rubs her hands across her face, willing herself to action.  Out and under the hood, the car hisses in time with Debra's huffs.  Hissing, what was it that she knew about hissing... nothing.  Pulling out her phone, she starts her way down the A's of her contact list.  Who can help?  Who is free?  She calls one and another.   She finds a co-worker who will trade shifts with her, giving her twenty minutes to get to work.  How to get there even in that time?  Down and down the list she goes.  In the driver's seat Debra forces a smile pondering what positives of this situation, she cracked, only enough to allow for one small tear.  Wiping  firmly away Debra shakes herself and plants a smile, willing herself not to cave.  Pulling out her phone again she continues down the list.  In M's she see the mechanic she used for her oil change a while back.  Calling him would help but cost.  Debra breaks down and calls her mechanic.  He said he can come but it would be a while but if she hid the keys on the car she didn't have to wait with the car.
She walks, the sun beating down on her she feels herself start sweating.  "Good thing I remembered deodorant", she shakes her head and laughs to herself.  With each step the snug fit of her shoes reminders her of every inch of her feet and how they long to be free.  Each car that passes, makes the walk seem all the more long and all the more slow than reality.  Debra snickers to herself as she envisions herself walking in slow motion.  Finding the bus line that will take her close to work she stops and sits down on the rickety, slowly rotting bench.  With each minute that passes Debra tries not to think of the conversation that lies ahead.  It being her second time being written up, at least the first time it wasn’t because she was late, she knows that her job will still be there but what if something like this happens again.  Giving herself a shake, trying to pull her self up she finds her pants pull snug.  Debra looks to see if a her pants have snagged.  No, no snag but a large wad of gum has smushed between her pants and the old bench.  With three hard pulls she is free and gum free, well almost, just as the bus pulls up.
With a sigh, she falls into her seat.  Amused by her own, all be it, chaotic adventure she thinks over the day and is amazed that she will make it to work at all that day.  It only adds to her humor that the bus is packed and she is sitting next to a mother confidently, naturally and ever so freely feeding her toddler.  Looking the other way and silently snickering to herself at the fact never did she think she would get to see a stranger's breast on the bus.  Finally as the bus makes it's way to her stop, her phone rings, the ID displays "mechanic".  Walking down the aisle and off the bus, Debra answers.  The mechanic tells her that it was just a belt and that the car needed some coolant, he continues to say that he would throw in the tow since it was only a few minutes from the shop.  The strangers stare as Debra yelps and kisses her phone repeatedly saying thank you.
Walking towards the building that has become, strange and dysfunctional as it may be, a second home to her, she laughs, having checked her watch, at the irony of making it in on time.  

Saturday, July 9, 2011

A random Wednesday


I have recently become unemployed.  I chose those words wisely because that is what I am at the moment.  I wasn't fired and I didn't quit... interesting quagmire that is me.  My husband likes to say that I am famous (within those who know me) for my "yes/no" answers.  NO, that doesn't me a give a definitive answer it means I can't seem to give either so definitely so I give both.  Such as life with me.

Thus said, I have some time on my hands and I started writing again and for no particular reason or rhyme I wrote this: 


She waits, sitting at the end of the dock.  Small ribbon twiddling between her fingers as she waddles from post to post, wondering what lay beyond.  The cold water went all the way up her small legs as she kicked away imaginary foes.  Singing lyrics only she knows to a song no one knows, she waits.
She smiles, watching the birds overhead.  Stories come to mind as to how they decided one day to just fly.  Standing up she pushes her arms out to the sides, lifting them up and then back down, again and again.  Eyes shut so only she can see what it looks like to fly; she smiles.
She runs, racing the fish below.  Cheeks in, lips open and shut as she speaks to the fish, telling him of his beauty.  On her stomach, she reaches to pet her new friend.  Up again looking for more adventures, she runs.
She laughs, watching the dog chase the cat up a tree.  Rubbing her eyes with a large yawn, she wanes.  Small ribbon twiddling between her fingers as she waddles from post to post wondering what lay beyond.  Arms wrapped around her as she snuggles in the crook of a warm neck; she laughs.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

50 Challenge


My husband and I have similar passions: art.  Every form and every facet, from painted oils to video games (he knows much more about the later and can thus appreciate it more but I try).  One of our past times is to challenge each other with writing assignments.  This challenge: write a short story in 50 words. Not 48, not 52: 50.  It is more difficult than you would think.  So here is my attempt: 


Slender hands knit away without need of vision.  
The creak of old wood as she paces.  
Craning to see further up the empty road, waiting.  
Arms wrapped tightly, she holds herself.
 Empty, her home, the road, her arms,
in her hands a letter,
marked official,
addressed to her,
never opened.