I know I’m dreaming.
He would never hover this close, never slip his arm around my waist. His presence is - what’s that word they use to describe ghosts? - ethereal.
His lips are moving, but his voice is nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. I know every word he isn’t saying. I know that he’s lying.
Everything feels slow, like time is moving at half speed. Layla’s here, going in and out of focus, but then she disappears and I read his lips, the only time I’m able.
“It doesn’t matter.”
We’re close, close, so close, but I can’t see his face. If I didn’t know it was Vince, if my heart wasn’t already preparing to ache the minute my eyes open, it could be anyone. Any guy, any touch, any smile, any kiss. Any heartbeat.
His face is clear the second before my eyes open. Here it comes. Reality crashing its way down.
You don’t know me, you don’t know me at all, you don’t know me, you don’t know me at all.
He’s already calling.
This once, I’m refusing to answer.
(186 words, a shout out to the week I missed)
Thursday, June 25, 2009
My Friend, the Rock Star
I have some pictures of Vince on my cell phone. Most of them are pretty dumb. He’s usually just pulling a face or making some sort of joke or something. But there is one that I like in particular. One that I can’t seem to get out of my head.
“Sam,” his text message began, “I just got a great offer on a bass. I can afford it too. Should I do it?” I hated when he asked me questions like that. It was his money, why should my opinion count? Still, I answered.
I typed, “I don’t know. Is it in good condition?” He answered with a quick, “Yes!” I smiled.
Then I remembered a story Vince had told me long ago, about living in Texas and getting into trouble. He had a distinct knack for that. This particular story was about playing bass guitar in a band of twenty year olds when he was only thirteen, playing gigs, and loving it. Sometimes he would reminisce, especially after he found out that I had played the bass some in high school.
Thinking about the look in his eyes when the regret washed over him, I knew the answer I had to give him.
“I think you should do it. It might get you to play again.”
And so, impulsive boy that he was, he bought it from his friend in the next minute, and the minute after that, he sent me the picture.
It’s at kind of a weird angle. Most of the picture is taken up by the wall and carpet in the hallway of his apartment. His skinny, gangly body takes up the right of the picture, the black and white bass guitar slung around his body. He isn’t smiling. He’s got the rock star look perfectly.
My breath still catches a bit whenever he calls, and the picture flashes across the screen.
(316 words)
“Sam,” his text message began, “I just got a great offer on a bass. I can afford it too. Should I do it?” I hated when he asked me questions like that. It was his money, why should my opinion count? Still, I answered.
I typed, “I don’t know. Is it in good condition?” He answered with a quick, “Yes!” I smiled.
Then I remembered a story Vince had told me long ago, about living in Texas and getting into trouble. He had a distinct knack for that. This particular story was about playing bass guitar in a band of twenty year olds when he was only thirteen, playing gigs, and loving it. Sometimes he would reminisce, especially after he found out that I had played the bass some in high school.
Thinking about the look in his eyes when the regret washed over him, I knew the answer I had to give him.
“I think you should do it. It might get you to play again.”
And so, impulsive boy that he was, he bought it from his friend in the next minute, and the minute after that, he sent me the picture.
It’s at kind of a weird angle. Most of the picture is taken up by the wall and carpet in the hallway of his apartment. His skinny, gangly body takes up the right of the picture, the black and white bass guitar slung around his body. He isn’t smiling. He’s got the rock star look perfectly.
My breath still catches a bit whenever he calls, and the picture flashes across the screen.
(316 words)
Right Now
I love you.
I hate you.
Why did you leave me?
None of them adequately covered how pathetically I’d fallen apart for the past five years. I knew all of my brothers thought it. Dad had no clue - he just thought Carolyn had escaped from the “earthquake” in the hotel and that her foster parents decided they didn’t want her on the road anymore, and after that law school swept her away down the river of time. Of course, Dad rarely cared about what any of us felt, and he’d assumed that my love for Carolyn was purely adolescent.
Maybe it was adolescent, but I still loved her, damn me. I’d tried and tried with girls, but I’d failed and taken their dismissals with my head bowed. Carolyn had stolen my soul, and now - now maybe I’d be able to get it back from her.
But what could I possibly say?
I needed time to think about it. Time to figure out what, exactly, I still felt for Carolyn, even though every time I heard her name its syllables hollowed out a hole in my chest where my heart usually beat.
Jet-lag never got easier over the years, and I was half-asleep on my feet as I hauled myself across the arrivals terminal. I’d picked up a ticket at the airport in Bangkok and didn’t have a connecting flight to Las Vegas which, according to google map, was the closest airport to Cedarville, so I’d have to talk to a ticketing agent, and...
I halted mid-stride, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes.
What the hell was I doing? Why was I even here? Scott was right. I was an idiot. I should just go back to Thailand and help Clay finish out the teaching stint and then...maybe I’d finally go to college or do something normal with my life.
Right. Back to Thailand. Apologize to Clay. I opened my eyes and saw a sign for Greyhound Buses. A bus ride to Nevada or Cedarville had to be about ten hours from LA, right? Ten hours. On a bus. Just me. I could think of something to say by then, right?
But that was the voice of my resolve wavering. I’d decided to go back to Thailand and be productive, to put Carolyn behind me once and for all. Only how many times had I told myself that?
No. I couldn’t put her behind me until I’d seen her face to face and gotten my answers - about why she left, about whether or not she’d even ever loved me. There. I was resolved. I marched over to the Greyhound counter and asked for a ticket to Cedarville, Utah. The clerk was pretty and blonde but I didn’t care, although I thanked her when she told me to enjoy the Shakespearean Festival.
I found the bus depot easily enough and sank down on one of the cheap plastic seats. Maybe I could take a nap and get my head on straight for some serious thinking during the bus ride. My eyes were half-closed when a shadow fell over me, and I curled my hands into fists. Even now, Carolyn’s childhood-taught paranoia stuck with me.
“What can I do for you?”
“Care for a song, sonny?”
It was an old hobo with a beat-up guitar. I considered him for a long moment, then said,
“I’ll pay you fifty bucks if you let me borrow that.”
He considered. “What for?”
“To write a song,” I said.
He blinked. “Right now?”
I nodded. “Right now.”
I hate you.
Why did you leave me?
None of them adequately covered how pathetically I’d fallen apart for the past five years. I knew all of my brothers thought it. Dad had no clue - he just thought Carolyn had escaped from the “earthquake” in the hotel and that her foster parents decided they didn’t want her on the road anymore, and after that law school swept her away down the river of time. Of course, Dad rarely cared about what any of us felt, and he’d assumed that my love for Carolyn was purely adolescent.
Maybe it was adolescent, but I still loved her, damn me. I’d tried and tried with girls, but I’d failed and taken their dismissals with my head bowed. Carolyn had stolen my soul, and now - now maybe I’d be able to get it back from her.
But what could I possibly say?
I needed time to think about it. Time to figure out what, exactly, I still felt for Carolyn, even though every time I heard her name its syllables hollowed out a hole in my chest where my heart usually beat.
Jet-lag never got easier over the years, and I was half-asleep on my feet as I hauled myself across the arrivals terminal. I’d picked up a ticket at the airport in Bangkok and didn’t have a connecting flight to Las Vegas which, according to google map, was the closest airport to Cedarville, so I’d have to talk to a ticketing agent, and...
I halted mid-stride, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes.
What the hell was I doing? Why was I even here? Scott was right. I was an idiot. I should just go back to Thailand and help Clay finish out the teaching stint and then...maybe I’d finally go to college or do something normal with my life.
Right. Back to Thailand. Apologize to Clay. I opened my eyes and saw a sign for Greyhound Buses. A bus ride to Nevada or Cedarville had to be about ten hours from LA, right? Ten hours. On a bus. Just me. I could think of something to say by then, right?
But that was the voice of my resolve wavering. I’d decided to go back to Thailand and be productive, to put Carolyn behind me once and for all. Only how many times had I told myself that?
No. I couldn’t put her behind me until I’d seen her face to face and gotten my answers - about why she left, about whether or not she’d even ever loved me. There. I was resolved. I marched over to the Greyhound counter and asked for a ticket to Cedarville, Utah. The clerk was pretty and blonde but I didn’t care, although I thanked her when she told me to enjoy the Shakespearean Festival.
I found the bus depot easily enough and sank down on one of the cheap plastic seats. Maybe I could take a nap and get my head on straight for some serious thinking during the bus ride. My eyes were half-closed when a shadow fell over me, and I curled my hands into fists. Even now, Carolyn’s childhood-taught paranoia stuck with me.
“What can I do for you?”
“Care for a song, sonny?”
It was an old hobo with a beat-up guitar. I considered him for a long moment, then said,
“I’ll pay you fifty bucks if you let me borrow that.”
He considered. “What for?”
“To write a song,” I said.
He blinked. “Right now?”
I nodded. “Right now.”
A Night Out.
My fingers twitched nervously, and I glanced at the clock again. I wonder if he will remember. I glance in the mirror one last time, making sure that my hair is nice. He didn't say where we were going, only to look nice. I looked down at the simple blue skirt and black top I was wearing, I hoped it would be alright. Smiling, I thought back to how this all started.
"Arianna!" I heard my name being called from down the hallway. I didn't recognize the voice. Turning, I saw the boy with black hair and blue eyes that I had run into yesterday. David was his name. I had seen him around school, but yesterday was the first time I had spoken to him.
"David," I said smiling as he jogged up to me, "how are you today?"
"I'm fine. You?" David asked in return. I noticed that he looked a little nervous, fidgety almost. His smile was warm, if hesitant.
"I'm doing okay. My Calculus assignment is going to give me a headache though," I said. The student body was flowing around us.
David grimaced, "I never did like Calculus, but I am good at it. Would you like some help?"
I was a little surprised, but I couldn't help the grin from spreading over my face. "I would really like that," I said.
I looked away and then back at him. David was still watching me.
I bit my lip, suppressing a laugh. "Did you just want to know about my Calculus homework?" I asked.
David blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever thoughts had carried him away.
"No. Actually I wanted to know If you wanted to go out with me," David said, his voice was low, nervous.
I couldn't help the smile spreading across my face, little shivers running down my spine. "I would love to," I said, meeting his eye briefly before ducking my head.
"Great!" David said, sounding a bit relieved.
"When?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"What are we going to do? Not homework hopefully," I said.
David's cheek dimpled when he grinned, "No. It's a surprise, but dress nice. I'll pick you up at seven."
"Seven it is," I said. I pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled my address on it. "Here's my address."
David accepted the paper and smiled, "Well, I have to get to History. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," I said.
I was startled out of my thought when a knock sounded in the front hall. Opening the door I saw David on the front step, looking very nice in black slacks and a dark blue dress shirt and tie.
"Ready?" He asked.
I nodded. "Where are we going," I asked.
"Have you ever seen A Midsummer Nights Dream?" He asked as he opened the car door for me. I slid into the seat and bucked up, "No, I haven't."
"You'll love it."
"Arianna!" I heard my name being called from down the hallway. I didn't recognize the voice. Turning, I saw the boy with black hair and blue eyes that I had run into yesterday. David was his name. I had seen him around school, but yesterday was the first time I had spoken to him.
"David," I said smiling as he jogged up to me, "how are you today?"
"I'm fine. You?" David asked in return. I noticed that he looked a little nervous, fidgety almost. His smile was warm, if hesitant.
"I'm doing okay. My Calculus assignment is going to give me a headache though," I said. The student body was flowing around us.
David grimaced, "I never did like Calculus, but I am good at it. Would you like some help?"
I was a little surprised, but I couldn't help the grin from spreading over my face. "I would really like that," I said.
I looked away and then back at him. David was still watching me.
I bit my lip, suppressing a laugh. "Did you just want to know about my Calculus homework?" I asked.
David blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever thoughts had carried him away.
"No. Actually I wanted to know If you wanted to go out with me," David said, his voice was low, nervous.
I couldn't help the smile spreading across my face, little shivers running down my spine. "I would love to," I said, meeting his eye briefly before ducking my head.
"Great!" David said, sounding a bit relieved.
"When?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"What are we going to do? Not homework hopefully," I said.
David's cheek dimpled when he grinned, "No. It's a surprise, but dress nice. I'll pick you up at seven."
"Seven it is," I said. I pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled my address on it. "Here's my address."
David accepted the paper and smiled, "Well, I have to get to History. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," I said.
I was startled out of my thought when a knock sounded in the front hall. Opening the door I saw David on the front step, looking very nice in black slacks and a dark blue dress shirt and tie.
"Ready?" He asked.
I nodded. "Where are we going," I asked.
"Have you ever seen A Midsummer Nights Dream?" He asked as he opened the car door for me. I slid into the seat and bucked up, "No, I haven't."
"You'll love it."
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Dance
It's raining outside again. I love the rain. How it smells, makes the world look clean I love how it obscures the city; in a way it's protecting, it hides me. I don't understand how people can say they don't like the rain. If you don't like it, why live in Seattle.
Training my fingers down the glass, I sigh in contentment, watching the rain beat down on the window.
"Come on Ari; we have work to do," David said, tugging on my arm.
I shook my head in response. "Nope."
"But..."
I grabbed David's hand a pulled him along with me. I opened the front door and drew in a deep breath. The rain made a gentle hiss on the pavement.
I pulled David over to the lawn, and drew him close.
"Dance with me."
Training my fingers down the glass, I sigh in contentment, watching the rain beat down on the window.
"Come on Ari; we have work to do," David said, tugging on my arm.
I shook my head in response. "Nope."
"But..."
I grabbed David's hand a pulled him along with me. I opened the front door and drew in a deep breath. The rain made a gentle hiss on the pavement.
I pulled David over to the lawn, and drew him close.
"Dance with me."
Gone To Find C~~~
There were many times in my life when I was more than glad to wake up after a crazy late night and discover that the stranger who’d slept beside me was long gone.
I was less than glad, however, to wake up this morning and discover that the person who usually slept beside me in our pathetic one-room, one-bed hovel had taken half of our clothes and left little more notice than illegible scrawls on the back of a crumpled napkin.
I swallowed another mouthful of coffee and squinted at the note while I tried to pull on my jeans. Where the hell was Bob? We had to be at the school in half an hour, and my bleeding-heart twin had promised the wide-eyed kiddies fun and games today. According to his middle-of-the-night missive, however, he was gone to find C-squiggle. Really helpful.
I was halfway into my shirt when I remembered Dan’s ill-timed call. What had he told Bob that would make him just take off like that? I glanced at the phone, but hell if Bob hadn’t take it. He must’ve forgotten it was the only connection we had to the civilized world. I sighed and finished the rest of my coffee, snagged a slice of bread from the icebox, and toed on my shoes at the door.
I was assaulted on all sides by the little old ladies who lived on my street, so bowing and saying good morning made my haul to the bus stop twice as long as usual. The hunchbacked old man who ran the corner market at the bus stop peered at me.
“Teacher Clay. Where is Same Same?”
I really didn’t look that much like Bob. I mean, technically we were the twins, but honestly - we hadn’t looked the same since we were fourteen and Bob grew a few inches taller than he deserved, being the younger twin. “Same Same didn’t get enough oxygen in the womb and took off in the middle of the night with our cellphone. Can I use your phone?”
The man blinked at me, uncomprehending of my English-speaking rant. I made a phone call motion with one hand. He nodded, grinned toothlessly, and waved me behind the counter. There was only one number I’d memorized, so I shoved a few coins into the rickety machine and dialed.
“Y’ello.” Scott sounded drowsy. I heard a woman murmur in the background. I’d be the first to admit I didn’t know what time it was in Canada.
“This isn’t a conversation I want to have with the lady du jour. Boot her.” I flashed a smile at the old man.
“I’m at work, brat. Suicide watch. Get to the point quickly, before she tries to -- hey! Knock it off. Don’t make me tie you down again.”
I waited a beat. Sometimes I forgot that Scott was no longer a drunken philanderer, that he’d wandered back to White Horse and was now a semi-respectable EMT.
“What’s your point, Clay?”
“My point is that Bob took off in the middle of the night with our cellphone. I need you to send me a new phone and find out where he went.”
“Did he leave a note?”
“His handwriting sucks. It said ‘Gone to find C-squiggle.’ I don’t know anyone whose name begins with C, let alone who’d make Bob pull a Houdini.”
“...Carolyn.”
I swore under my breath. “I thought she was dead.”
“So did I.” Scott sighed. “Hang tight, all right?”
“Right. Slán.”
“Slán.”
(597 words)
I was less than glad, however, to wake up this morning and discover that the person who usually slept beside me in our pathetic one-room, one-bed hovel had taken half of our clothes and left little more notice than illegible scrawls on the back of a crumpled napkin.
I swallowed another mouthful of coffee and squinted at the note while I tried to pull on my jeans. Where the hell was Bob? We had to be at the school in half an hour, and my bleeding-heart twin had promised the wide-eyed kiddies fun and games today. According to his middle-of-the-night missive, however, he was gone to find C-squiggle. Really helpful.
I was halfway into my shirt when I remembered Dan’s ill-timed call. What had he told Bob that would make him just take off like that? I glanced at the phone, but hell if Bob hadn’t take it. He must’ve forgotten it was the only connection we had to the civilized world. I sighed and finished the rest of my coffee, snagged a slice of bread from the icebox, and toed on my shoes at the door.
I was assaulted on all sides by the little old ladies who lived on my street, so bowing and saying good morning made my haul to the bus stop twice as long as usual. The hunchbacked old man who ran the corner market at the bus stop peered at me.
“Teacher Clay. Where is Same Same?”
I really didn’t look that much like Bob. I mean, technically we were the twins, but honestly - we hadn’t looked the same since we were fourteen and Bob grew a few inches taller than he deserved, being the younger twin. “Same Same didn’t get enough oxygen in the womb and took off in the middle of the night with our cellphone. Can I use your phone?”
The man blinked at me, uncomprehending of my English-speaking rant. I made a phone call motion with one hand. He nodded, grinned toothlessly, and waved me behind the counter. There was only one number I’d memorized, so I shoved a few coins into the rickety machine and dialed.
“Y’ello.” Scott sounded drowsy. I heard a woman murmur in the background. I’d be the first to admit I didn’t know what time it was in Canada.
“This isn’t a conversation I want to have with the lady du jour. Boot her.” I flashed a smile at the old man.
“I’m at work, brat. Suicide watch. Get to the point quickly, before she tries to -- hey! Knock it off. Don’t make me tie you down again.”
I waited a beat. Sometimes I forgot that Scott was no longer a drunken philanderer, that he’d wandered back to White Horse and was now a semi-respectable EMT.
“What’s your point, Clay?”
“My point is that Bob took off in the middle of the night with our cellphone. I need you to send me a new phone and find out where he went.”
“Did he leave a note?”
“His handwriting sucks. It said ‘Gone to find C-squiggle.’ I don’t know anyone whose name begins with C, let alone who’d make Bob pull a Houdini.”
“...Carolyn.”
I swore under my breath. “I thought she was dead.”
“So did I.” Scott sighed. “Hang tight, all right?”
“Right. Slán.”
“Slán.”
(597 words)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Veritaserum
Vince was – what’s that word again? – oh yeah, an enigma at times.
Unfortunately, that enigma liked to unravel right before my eyes whenever we were drinking more than just a six pack between us. When the hard stuff was brought out, our defenses dropped like rocks.
I never went to a party without him. I felt safe with him, more at ease with the people surrounding us. Together, we were a strange group of people – kids who were holding on to dreams of the past and ignoring the hard truths of the present.
“Sam, you’re my best friend.” He had a goofy smile on his face, and I knew he was crossing the Sober-Drunk state line.
“Uh huh, right, Vince.” I said it nicely, but any person liquored up or stone cold sober could hear the cynicism in my voice. I always wanted to believe it, and for a few short minutes, I let myself. I let myself believe that Vince considered me his best friend. Once, he told me he didn’t believe in the concept of best friends.
It had hurt, but then, so did a lot of other things.
“No, really, Samantha—“
“Don’t call me Samantha. You know I hate that.” I tried to sound annoyed and started to walk away, but he was the only person I would let call me Samantha, if it came down to it. It always sounded right when he said it aloud.
“Sam, Sam, Sam, no, don’t, c’mere.” Vince grabbed a hold of my arm and I stopped, and I felt a stupid smile creeping across my face. I both hated and loved us together this way, drunker than skunks, honest, frightening, and free.
“What, Vince?”
“Sam, I really do mean it. You’re my best friend.”
I closed my eyes, and opened them again slowly. “What happened to the Vince who didn’t believe in best friends?”
He chuckled and tugged my arm over towards the liquor and the empty shot glasses, concentrating hard on pouring two of the shots half full with Everclear. Vince then motioned me to grab a hold of mine, because the shot was best taken right after the tonic water was poured. It was a stupid way to get drunk, but it was quick and after a while, painless. It was our way.
“You are my best friend, Sam.” His eyes met mine and we looked at each other – I mean, really looked at each other. The party raged around us, but for some reason, I couldn’t hear or see anything else except his slight smirk, his hand reaching for the bottle of tonic water.
“And I promise you, I’ll say it the next time we’re together. When I’m high and dry. And I’ll mean it.” He quickly poured enough tonic to fill the shots and we downed them. I did my usual Everclear spasm and he cleared his throat. “Alright, it’s time to break the seal. Don’t go anywhere.” Vince stumbled a bit as he walked towards the bathroom, and the party continued in it’s normal haphazard fashion.
I haven’t heard him say it since then.
(520 words)
Unfortunately, that enigma liked to unravel right before my eyes whenever we were drinking more than just a six pack between us. When the hard stuff was brought out, our defenses dropped like rocks.
I never went to a party without him. I felt safe with him, more at ease with the people surrounding us. Together, we were a strange group of people – kids who were holding on to dreams of the past and ignoring the hard truths of the present.
“Sam, you’re my best friend.” He had a goofy smile on his face, and I knew he was crossing the Sober-Drunk state line.
“Uh huh, right, Vince.” I said it nicely, but any person liquored up or stone cold sober could hear the cynicism in my voice. I always wanted to believe it, and for a few short minutes, I let myself. I let myself believe that Vince considered me his best friend. Once, he told me he didn’t believe in the concept of best friends.
It had hurt, but then, so did a lot of other things.
“No, really, Samantha—“
“Don’t call me Samantha. You know I hate that.” I tried to sound annoyed and started to walk away, but he was the only person I would let call me Samantha, if it came down to it. It always sounded right when he said it aloud.
“Sam, Sam, Sam, no, don’t, c’mere.” Vince grabbed a hold of my arm and I stopped, and I felt a stupid smile creeping across my face. I both hated and loved us together this way, drunker than skunks, honest, frightening, and free.
“What, Vince?”
“Sam, I really do mean it. You’re my best friend.”
I closed my eyes, and opened them again slowly. “What happened to the Vince who didn’t believe in best friends?”
He chuckled and tugged my arm over towards the liquor and the empty shot glasses, concentrating hard on pouring two of the shots half full with Everclear. Vince then motioned me to grab a hold of mine, because the shot was best taken right after the tonic water was poured. It was a stupid way to get drunk, but it was quick and after a while, painless. It was our way.
“You are my best friend, Sam.” His eyes met mine and we looked at each other – I mean, really looked at each other. The party raged around us, but for some reason, I couldn’t hear or see anything else except his slight smirk, his hand reaching for the bottle of tonic water.
“And I promise you, I’ll say it the next time we’re together. When I’m high and dry. And I’ll mean it.” He quickly poured enough tonic to fill the shots and we downed them. I did my usual Everclear spasm and he cleared his throat. “Alright, it’s time to break the seal. Don’t go anywhere.” Vince stumbled a bit as he walked towards the bathroom, and the party continued in it’s normal haphazard fashion.
I haven’t heard him say it since then.
(520 words)
A chance meeting turns into fate.
I have to admit it, at least to myself, I am completely in love.
Who would have imagined it. Me, Arianna, in love. And not just with anyone. He's the most perfect man I could have imagined. I had never thought to be so lucky in finding a man like David. Handsome, smart, brave and shy. He is an interesting paradox at times. So passionate, and yet so private. His eyes draw me in every time, depth-less blue. Silky hair, coal black.
Of course I had noticed him before, but I had never thought to have a chance. There are so many girls at school much prettier than I am. I suppose I could call it fate when he ran into me. Fate. A beautiful chance that may just turn into a lifetime of happiness.
(This one didn't really go as I wanted it to.)
Who would have imagined it. Me, Arianna, in love. And not just with anyone. He's the most perfect man I could have imagined. I had never thought to be so lucky in finding a man like David. Handsome, smart, brave and shy. He is an interesting paradox at times. So passionate, and yet so private. His eyes draw me in every time, depth-less blue. Silky hair, coal black.
Of course I had noticed him before, but I had never thought to have a chance. There are so many girls at school much prettier than I am. I suppose I could call it fate when he ran into me. Fate. A beautiful chance that may just turn into a lifetime of happiness.
(This one didn't really go as I wanted it to.)
Approval or Denial
The silence on the other end of the line was disconcerting. Finally, Bob said, “Thanks for telling me, Danny. I should sleep now - Clay and I have class first thing in the morning.”
I remembered that subdued tone, and I hated it. When had my brother become so divided, that he could be bright-eyed and humorous onstage and sound so broken with the people who knew him best? Of course, it had been five years since we’d given up the stage.
“How are classes going?” I cradled the phone against my shoulder and flipped open the nearest file in case the shift lieutenant came by and decided to yell at me.
“We got the good students, so it’s pretty all right. I just - Clay’s gonna hit me over the head with one of his shoes if I don’t shut up. Good night, Danny.”
“’Night, Bobby.”
And the line went dead.
For a long moment, I stared at my cellphone, wondered if I should call back and tell Bob it was probably just a coincidence, that Carolyn Pierce was a common name in America, and he should just put it out of his mind. Then I flattened the letter with one hand, flipped open my cellphone again, and dialed the number listed in the letterhead. For a second, I was confused - why hadn’t I given Bob the number as well? But I knew why. I dialed.
After several rings, someone picked up. An unfamiliar girl’s voice greeted me.
“Law office, how can I help you?”
I cleared my throat. Time to be authoritative. “This is Sergeant Summers from the Calgary Twenty-Seventh Police District. I’m calling regarding an academic survey request submitted by Carolyn Pierce?”
“One moment, please,” the girl said, and I was assaulted by elevator music.
I waited, phone canted away from my ear. As an afterthought, I scrambled for a pen so I could take notes on the letter itself before I turned the request over. Also, a pen gave me something to fidget with.
A moment later, a woman said, “Hello?”
I froze. It was Carolyn.
She said again, “Hello?”
Years of being a performer bowled over me, and I was in professional mode before I knew it. “This is Sergeant Daniel Summers from the Calgary Twenty-Seventh Police District. Is this Carolyn Pierce?”
“This is she. Is this about the survey request I sent? I want you to know up front that the results will be kept completely confidential and I’m collecting data for statistical purposes.” Her words tumbled over each other with oh-so-familiar Carolyn enthusiasm.
My voice caught in my throat. “Of course,” I began. Now what could I say? I didn’t have authority to either deny or approve her request.
She broke in with, “Did you say your name was Daniel Summers?”
“I - yes.” Did she recognize my voice? Scott swore up and down it had broken some more since we’d disbanded. “I’m a sergeant. For the Calgary --”
“Dan? When did you become a cop?” Her voice was bright and cheerful and almost excited to hear me, and who the hell was she, to sound so happy when my brother had been quietly falling apart these last five years? “What a coincidence! How are the others?”
That was it. “I was just calling to inform you that we have received your request and it will be forwarded to the Chief for approval or denial.” And I hung up. I sank back in my chair with a sigh and tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling. What had I done?
(600 words)
I remembered that subdued tone, and I hated it. When had my brother become so divided, that he could be bright-eyed and humorous onstage and sound so broken with the people who knew him best? Of course, it had been five years since we’d given up the stage.
“How are classes going?” I cradled the phone against my shoulder and flipped open the nearest file in case the shift lieutenant came by and decided to yell at me.
“We got the good students, so it’s pretty all right. I just - Clay’s gonna hit me over the head with one of his shoes if I don’t shut up. Good night, Danny.”
“’Night, Bobby.”
And the line went dead.
For a long moment, I stared at my cellphone, wondered if I should call back and tell Bob it was probably just a coincidence, that Carolyn Pierce was a common name in America, and he should just put it out of his mind. Then I flattened the letter with one hand, flipped open my cellphone again, and dialed the number listed in the letterhead. For a second, I was confused - why hadn’t I given Bob the number as well? But I knew why. I dialed.
After several rings, someone picked up. An unfamiliar girl’s voice greeted me.
“Law office, how can I help you?”
I cleared my throat. Time to be authoritative. “This is Sergeant Summers from the Calgary Twenty-Seventh Police District. I’m calling regarding an academic survey request submitted by Carolyn Pierce?”
“One moment, please,” the girl said, and I was assaulted by elevator music.
I waited, phone canted away from my ear. As an afterthought, I scrambled for a pen so I could take notes on the letter itself before I turned the request over. Also, a pen gave me something to fidget with.
A moment later, a woman said, “Hello?”
I froze. It was Carolyn.
She said again, “Hello?”
Years of being a performer bowled over me, and I was in professional mode before I knew it. “This is Sergeant Daniel Summers from the Calgary Twenty-Seventh Police District. Is this Carolyn Pierce?”
“This is she. Is this about the survey request I sent? I want you to know up front that the results will be kept completely confidential and I’m collecting data for statistical purposes.” Her words tumbled over each other with oh-so-familiar Carolyn enthusiasm.
My voice caught in my throat. “Of course,” I began. Now what could I say? I didn’t have authority to either deny or approve her request.
She broke in with, “Did you say your name was Daniel Summers?”
“I - yes.” Did she recognize my voice? Scott swore up and down it had broken some more since we’d disbanded. “I’m a sergeant. For the Calgary --”
“Dan? When did you become a cop?” Her voice was bright and cheerful and almost excited to hear me, and who the hell was she, to sound so happy when my brother had been quietly falling apart these last five years? “What a coincidence! How are the others?”
That was it. “I was just calling to inform you that we have received your request and it will be forwarded to the Chief for approval or denial.” And I hung up. I sank back in my chair with a sigh and tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling. What had I done?
(600 words)
Monday, June 22, 2009
Just Us
I could hear him talking, but he wasn’t really talking to me. He was talking at me, and I hated that.
I guess in a way, I appreciated it too. I mean, I know he didn’t open his mouth and blab about his life to just anybody. I suppose that would make me lucky. I didn’t necessarily feel that way. I let him say his peace, because I knew he was annoyed with his roommate, with his job, with the direction his life was taking. And I wasn’t gonna tell anybody.
Why should I? I didn’t really talk to anybody else.
“Sam, am I boring you?” Vince had stopped talking and I hadn’t realized it - too lost on my own derailed train of thought. Sam is short for Samantha. I hate being called Samantha.
“No, I’m sorry Vince. I got trapped in my head for a second. What were we talking about?”
Vince raised an eyebrow at me, but continued the conversation like normal. “Well, I was telling you about John ruining the camping trip, but… I don’t know, it was pretty fun all the same. Nice to get out.”
He sipped his beer, and I sipped mine. Silence did happen between us occasionally, but it wasn’t what you would call uncomfortable.
The question flew from my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. “How’s Layla doin’? You heard much from her since she moved to Oregon?”
Vince took a long swallow from his beer, thinking about how to answer what appeared to be a simple question. “She’s alright, I s’pose. She’s out and about a lot, like she wants. So that’s doing her a world of good. In all honesty, I don’t hear much from her. Maybe once every couple of days, and even then sometimes it’s only a text message. But it’s something.”
He looked away then, staring off into a distance I probably couldn’t begin to fathom. I smiled, mostly to myself because Vince was too busy thinking about the girl of his dreams.
Sometimes I wish it was me he thought about.
(349 words)
I guess in a way, I appreciated it too. I mean, I know he didn’t open his mouth and blab about his life to just anybody. I suppose that would make me lucky. I didn’t necessarily feel that way. I let him say his peace, because I knew he was annoyed with his roommate, with his job, with the direction his life was taking. And I wasn’t gonna tell anybody.
Why should I? I didn’t really talk to anybody else.
“Sam, am I boring you?” Vince had stopped talking and I hadn’t realized it - too lost on my own derailed train of thought. Sam is short for Samantha. I hate being called Samantha.
“No, I’m sorry Vince. I got trapped in my head for a second. What were we talking about?”
Vince raised an eyebrow at me, but continued the conversation like normal. “Well, I was telling you about John ruining the camping trip, but… I don’t know, it was pretty fun all the same. Nice to get out.”
He sipped his beer, and I sipped mine. Silence did happen between us occasionally, but it wasn’t what you would call uncomfortable.
The question flew from my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. “How’s Layla doin’? You heard much from her since she moved to Oregon?”
Vince took a long swallow from his beer, thinking about how to answer what appeared to be a simple question. “She’s alright, I s’pose. She’s out and about a lot, like she wants. So that’s doing her a world of good. In all honesty, I don’t hear much from her. Maybe once every couple of days, and even then sometimes it’s only a text message. But it’s something.”
He looked away then, staring off into a distance I probably couldn’t begin to fathom. I smiled, mostly to myself because Vince was too busy thinking about the girl of his dreams.
Sometimes I wish it was me he thought about.
(349 words)
To Whom It May Concern
I stared at the letter in my hands and had to reread the letterhead several times. Then I scanned the contents of the letter and swallowed hard. It was business-like and impersonal, if polite, but then it wasn’t addressed to me. It was addressed to whom it may concern. I knew who this letter concerned, and it sure as hell wasn’t Chief Moreno.
I darted a glance over my shoulder at the other two desk sergeants, then dove for my cell phone. I poked through my contact list and cursed myself for not adding my brothers to speed dial sooner. In the time it took for five rings to jingle across the line, I tapped my foot impatiently and read the letterhead again.
Five years of complete and utter silence, and now this? It was pure chance, I knew - the dry legalese stated that this department had been chosen to represent part of a “random sample”, but how random could it be, really, that this letter had ended up on my desk?
“Dammit, pick up,” I muttered.
After the fifth ring, someone said, “D’you know what time it is, Dan?”
Only Clay would be that rude from the get-go. “I don’t care what time it is,” I said, and darted another glance over my shoulder at the two sergeants. My heart was pounding in my chest, and hell, was this even a good idea? That didn’t matter. “Get Bob on the phone now.”
There was a rustle as Clay dragged the phone away from his ear, and I heard a faint Bobby, phone for you. Your brother’s an effin’ nut.
And then Bob said, “H’lo?”
“Get a paper and pen,” I said.
“Dan, it’s eleven hours’ difference,” Bob began, but I cut him off.
“Get a pen, dammit!” I ducked instinctively, realizing I’d raised my voice, but no one looked my way. I was low man on the totem pole, fresh out of the academy, and I was pretty sure the other guys hated me. I couldn’t really afford to tick them off, but - this was huge.
“All right, all right, gimme a moment.” There was more crackling, then a crash - Bob was probably fumbling in the dark. Some swearing and then a Turn off the light filtered through the phone line, and then Bob said, “I have a pen. I swear, if this isn’t Beyoncé’s number, I’m coming all the way back to Calgary just to kick your ass.”
I bit my lip. Should I do this, really? “Write down this address,” I said, and read it off to him.
“Who do we know who lives in...Cedarville, Utah?”
I closed my eyes. I was going to regret this.
“...Dan? Dan, I swear if you hung up on me, I’m gonna - Clay. Get up. We’re going to Calgary to kill Dan.”
I felt my head begin to swim. This was almost worse than the day I’d told Dad about me and Joey. “Bob -”
“Just so you know, we’re coming to kill you. Triplets no more, Dan.”
“Bob, that address is for Carolyn Pierce.” There. I said it.
Now Bob’s end of the line was silent. I counted the beats of silence, waiting. Had I killed him? Had he keeled over dead? Clay wasn’t screaming, but then he slept like a corpse... “Bobby?”
“If this is a prank, I really am coming home to kill you.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. My voice came out sounding miserable. “No, it’s not a prank.”
“How do you know it’s her?”
“She always said she’d be a lawyer.”
(600 words)
I darted a glance over my shoulder at the other two desk sergeants, then dove for my cell phone. I poked through my contact list and cursed myself for not adding my brothers to speed dial sooner. In the time it took for five rings to jingle across the line, I tapped my foot impatiently and read the letterhead again.
Five years of complete and utter silence, and now this? It was pure chance, I knew - the dry legalese stated that this department had been chosen to represent part of a “random sample”, but how random could it be, really, that this letter had ended up on my desk?
“Dammit, pick up,” I muttered.
After the fifth ring, someone said, “D’you know what time it is, Dan?”
Only Clay would be that rude from the get-go. “I don’t care what time it is,” I said, and darted another glance over my shoulder at the two sergeants. My heart was pounding in my chest, and hell, was this even a good idea? That didn’t matter. “Get Bob on the phone now.”
There was a rustle as Clay dragged the phone away from his ear, and I heard a faint Bobby, phone for you. Your brother’s an effin’ nut.
And then Bob said, “H’lo?”
“Get a paper and pen,” I said.
“Dan, it’s eleven hours’ difference,” Bob began, but I cut him off.
“Get a pen, dammit!” I ducked instinctively, realizing I’d raised my voice, but no one looked my way. I was low man on the totem pole, fresh out of the academy, and I was pretty sure the other guys hated me. I couldn’t really afford to tick them off, but - this was huge.
“All right, all right, gimme a moment.” There was more crackling, then a crash - Bob was probably fumbling in the dark. Some swearing and then a Turn off the light filtered through the phone line, and then Bob said, “I have a pen. I swear, if this isn’t Beyoncé’s number, I’m coming all the way back to Calgary just to kick your ass.”
I bit my lip. Should I do this, really? “Write down this address,” I said, and read it off to him.
“Who do we know who lives in...Cedarville, Utah?”
I closed my eyes. I was going to regret this.
“...Dan? Dan, I swear if you hung up on me, I’m gonna - Clay. Get up. We’re going to Calgary to kill Dan.”
I felt my head begin to swim. This was almost worse than the day I’d told Dad about me and Joey. “Bob -”
“Just so you know, we’re coming to kill you. Triplets no more, Dan.”
“Bob, that address is for Carolyn Pierce.” There. I said it.
Now Bob’s end of the line was silent. I counted the beats of silence, waiting. Had I killed him? Had he keeled over dead? Clay wasn’t screaming, but then he slept like a corpse... “Bobby?”
“If this is a prank, I really am coming home to kill you.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. My voice came out sounding miserable. “No, it’s not a prank.”
“How do you know it’s her?”
“She always said she’d be a lawyer.”
(600 words)
Revenge
I have thought of nothing but my revenge since Arianna's death. The only thing to take my mind off of it was my next mission. The next mission and training, endless training that would lead to my revenge. But always, my mind came back to revenge. I have imagined it a thousand times, a different scenario for every night that she was not by my side. I imagined guns, bombs, knives; slow torments and quick deaths, none give any relief to my mind.
Each plan never seemed to fulfill my need for revenge, each fell short. Each one ended in his death. He would never suffer the way that I have suffered, because he will be dead. He will be dead, and I will still be alive.
Alive without her.
Each plan never seemed to fulfill my need for revenge, each fell short. Each one ended in his death. He would never suffer the way that I have suffered, because he will be dead. He will be dead, and I will still be alive.
Alive without her.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Project Assignment #32: First Person
I know you guys have done a POV challenge before, but it is rare that we see any first person POV around here. I want to be inside your character's heads, or at least hear the way they see situations as opposed to the general omnicient third person POV.
100-600 words, I'd say. That's good.
I swear I'll post this week guys. Let me know if this isn't an up-to-par challenge.
100-600 words, I'd say. That's good.
I swear I'll post this week guys. Let me know if this isn't an up-to-par challenge.
Overview #31 - Dreams
This week didn't go as I planned. I had thought to give greater insight into the characters by their dreams, but that didn't really happen. I found myself giving premonitions or visions almost to their dreams. Like Steven's a vision of David dying, or Joe's seeing the battles of the world in his sleep. I have come to realize that I pick on Joe quite a bit. If there is abuse to be given, Joe usually gets it. I should really stop abusing him so much. Mark and Bryan tend to have it easier. Steve gets plenty of abuse and David gets his fair share. I hipe I am able to define my characters more in the weeks to come.
Overview #31 - Dreams
So this didn't quite turn out how I wanted it to. When I started with Naoya, I had grand visions of painting surrealist worlds with words alone, because dreams are so rarely linear and rarely clear, but I ended up...torturing Bob and Carolyn some more. Which is, admittedly, pretty mean of me. It was interesting not to write any dialogue, which was good practice. I think I got some good description in there, but in a couple of places I can see my attempts at description go awry. Either way, it was a definite learning experience for me, and one that I enjoyed. The exercise made me think back on dreams that I've had, the ones that were completely unreal, the ones that seemed so real I was still terrified when I woke up, and the ones that I like to have over and over again. (I will confess, more than once in my life I've fallen asleep to 2BP on my iPod, and it has done weird things to my dreams.)
It's a good thing Freud wasn't hanging around this blog, hm?
It's a good thing Freud wasn't hanging around this blog, hm?
Ordinary Day
Sometimes dreams were deceptive. Those were usually the worst kind, because Carolyn couldn’t tell if she was awake or asleep until it was too late.
The dream she hated worst started just like an ordinary day of hers, with her opening her eyes thirty seconds before her alarm went off. She hit the button to shut off the alarm before it could start and rolled out of bed. She hit the gym in her apartment building for a good half-hour workout, then hit the shower. She dressed and ate and headed for the office.
Kara, the receptionist, was as bright and bubbly as ever and greeted her with a list of appointments, a stack of files she had requested, and a chain of sticky notes for all of the calls left on the office voicemail for her.
Carolyn was halfway to her desk, puzzled as to why the attorney general was calling about the Millay case, and then Kara called her back. There was a Robert Summers waiting in her office, Kara said. Slipped in before her ten o’clock meeting.
It took Carolyn a moment, because she’d never really called him Robert aloud before, and only infrequently in her head, and then she knew precisely who Kara meant. Kara smiled and said he was polite and soft-spoken, seemingly shy, but pretty darn cute, and she hoped he wasn’t in some sort of legal trouble.
Carolyn only half-heard Kara’s words, and the stack of folders in her arms would have tumbled to the floor but for the glimpse she caught of a man standing in her office, back to her. His head turned, and she saw the line of his profile, traced its familiar shape, and her heart began to pound in her chest. How had he found her? The Agency had declared her officially dead, given her a new start.
But what if it wasn’t him? The man standing her office had short hair, and was taller than she remembered and -
She woke up.
Thirty seconds before her alarm went off.
(344 words)
The dream she hated worst started just like an ordinary day of hers, with her opening her eyes thirty seconds before her alarm went off. She hit the button to shut off the alarm before it could start and rolled out of bed. She hit the gym in her apartment building for a good half-hour workout, then hit the shower. She dressed and ate and headed for the office.
Kara, the receptionist, was as bright and bubbly as ever and greeted her with a list of appointments, a stack of files she had requested, and a chain of sticky notes for all of the calls left on the office voicemail for her.
Carolyn was halfway to her desk, puzzled as to why the attorney general was calling about the Millay case, and then Kara called her back. There was a Robert Summers waiting in her office, Kara said. Slipped in before her ten o’clock meeting.
It took Carolyn a moment, because she’d never really called him Robert aloud before, and only infrequently in her head, and then she knew precisely who Kara meant. Kara smiled and said he was polite and soft-spoken, seemingly shy, but pretty darn cute, and she hoped he wasn’t in some sort of legal trouble.
Carolyn only half-heard Kara’s words, and the stack of folders in her arms would have tumbled to the floor but for the glimpse she caught of a man standing in her office, back to her. His head turned, and she saw the line of his profile, traced its familiar shape, and her heart began to pound in her chest. How had he found her? The Agency had declared her officially dead, given her a new start.
But what if it wasn’t him? The man standing her office had short hair, and was taller than she remembered and -
She woke up.
Thirty seconds before her alarm went off.
(344 words)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Looking Back At Him
It was a cruel game Bob and Clay had played on their father. Back when they were younger, when they were still the same height and their voices sounded exactly alike (Clay’s voice broke first, Bob ended up being taller), they’d pretend to be one another. It was easy, in the mornings, for Bob to dig through Clay’s duffel bag and pull on some of his clothes. Clay just had to pull a baseball cap on backward to cover his hair, let Bob carry his bass case, and their father never knew.
But in dreams the prank took on a twist. Most nights, once a show was ready to roll, Bob and Clay would have to give themselves up, because they were good actors, but they couldn’t play each other’s instruments.
More than once Scott had woken up to the sound of Bob tossing and turning, moaning and kicking at the sheets. Bob was usually the quietest sleeper of them all, and Clay would kneel beside him, shake him hard, but it was impossible to wake him up.
Because in his sleep, no one believed him when he tried to take his identity back. He was twelve years old and backstage, tapping his foot impatiently, because Dad’s pep talk was the same every night, and Bob just wanted to crank out his twenty-five push-ups and hit the stage. Twenty-five push-ups it was, and then Bob was on his feet. He rolled his wrists a few times to loosen them up, tugged his gloves on, and reached for his drum sticks - only Clay had picked them up and was heading for the stage.
Bob tried to catch his shoulder, protest, but then his father yelled at him, told him to come pick up his bass, because Scott was already onstage. Bob tried to explain the truth, that he really wasn’t Clay, that Clay would completely and utterly ruin the rhythm line, but his father shook him, told him the bass was part of the rhythm section too, and to get out there, because Dan was terrible at stalling a crowd.
Bob insisted - he wasn’t Clay. His father spun him around, tugged the baseball cap off his head, and pushed him toward the mirror.
The face looking back at him was Clay’s.
Bob screamed.
He opened his eyes, and the face looking back at him was Clay’s. He lashed out, tried to break the mirror with his fists, and then Clay had him by the wrists and Dan was beside him, stroking his shoulder and making wordless, soothing sounds.
For the next two days, Bob refused to look in a mirror.
(443 words)
But in dreams the prank took on a twist. Most nights, once a show was ready to roll, Bob and Clay would have to give themselves up, because they were good actors, but they couldn’t play each other’s instruments.
More than once Scott had woken up to the sound of Bob tossing and turning, moaning and kicking at the sheets. Bob was usually the quietest sleeper of them all, and Clay would kneel beside him, shake him hard, but it was impossible to wake him up.
Because in his sleep, no one believed him when he tried to take his identity back. He was twelve years old and backstage, tapping his foot impatiently, because Dad’s pep talk was the same every night, and Bob just wanted to crank out his twenty-five push-ups and hit the stage. Twenty-five push-ups it was, and then Bob was on his feet. He rolled his wrists a few times to loosen them up, tugged his gloves on, and reached for his drum sticks - only Clay had picked them up and was heading for the stage.
Bob tried to catch his shoulder, protest, but then his father yelled at him, told him to come pick up his bass, because Scott was already onstage. Bob tried to explain the truth, that he really wasn’t Clay, that Clay would completely and utterly ruin the rhythm line, but his father shook him, told him the bass was part of the rhythm section too, and to get out there, because Dan was terrible at stalling a crowd.
Bob insisted - he wasn’t Clay. His father spun him around, tugged the baseball cap off his head, and pushed him toward the mirror.
The face looking back at him was Clay’s.
Bob screamed.
He opened his eyes, and the face looking back at him was Clay’s. He lashed out, tried to break the mirror with his fists, and then Clay had him by the wrists and Dan was beside him, stroking his shoulder and making wordless, soothing sounds.
For the next two days, Bob refused to look in a mirror.
(443 words)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Battle of the World
"In my dream, I stood on a high place. Below me I could see armies of the world, past and present, marching across the land. Men in chariots, men in tanks, and men on horseback. There were jets streaking across they sky and bombs falling with bright flashes. I could feel the earth rumbling under my feet, the sky was dark and there was a storm in the distance. The scent of war was on the wind, sharp, acrid, and it burned my nose. The wind was also hot, stuffy, and laden with the the decay of bodies," Joe recounted his dream to the psychologist at his yearly checkup.
Joe continued, "I saw the armies below me in vast platoons, moving slowly across the fields, bent on destroying each other. All around me there were dead and dying men. And I didn't know who I belonged with. I looked around and saw others just standing there, watching as the world destroyed itself, and I didn't know if I was dead or alive myself. I thought for a while that it would be better to be dead. I looked at my own hands and found them stained with blood, bright, vivid red and dripping," Joe finished, looking up at the psychologist.
Laura finished neatly writing down an observation and looked at Joe, "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. I know I have seen many awful things since I have come here. I have done many extreme things," Joe said, hesitant to lead her in any way.
"Well Joe. I think that you need a short vacation. I want you to get away somewhere peaceful and quiet for two weeks," Laura said. She wrote a brief explanation to Major Cole.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Laura asked as Joe was standing up.
"No. I am sure I will find somewhere though," Joe said as he walked quietly from the office.
Joe continued, "I saw the armies below me in vast platoons, moving slowly across the fields, bent on destroying each other. All around me there were dead and dying men. And I didn't know who I belonged with. I looked around and saw others just standing there, watching as the world destroyed itself, and I didn't know if I was dead or alive myself. I thought for a while that it would be better to be dead. I looked at my own hands and found them stained with blood, bright, vivid red and dripping," Joe finished, looking up at the psychologist.
Laura finished neatly writing down an observation and looked at Joe, "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. I know I have seen many awful things since I have come here. I have done many extreme things," Joe said, hesitant to lead her in any way.
"Well Joe. I think that you need a short vacation. I want you to get away somewhere peaceful and quiet for two weeks," Laura said. She wrote a brief explanation to Major Cole.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Laura asked as Joe was standing up.
"No. I am sure I will find somewhere though," Joe said as he walked quietly from the office.
Second Unlocking
Maybe the teachers shouldn’t have given him that chemistry textbook, because he was too smart for his own good, and a few hours with that book and an old biology book and suddenly he knew how people were put together.
People looked the most beautiful in his dreams, because he could see each and every part of them, the strands of coiling oxygen and hydrogen, iron and carbon, calcium and potassium that made up blood and bones, marrow and muscle. He learned about polypeptide chains and hydrocarbon chains, and when he looked at the boys who haunted him on the playground, he could see colors dancing through their skin. He knew that if he tugged just the right one - a shimmer of violet tinged fuschia at the edges - he could unravel every single carbohydrate in a given limb.
The rush of power through his body was exhilarating, and in his dream-world he felt as though he could fly.
When Naoya woke in the middle of the night to one of the orphanage mothers screaming, he realized that his talent could wake without him.
And that another door had opened when he was dreaming.
(194 words)
People looked the most beautiful in his dreams, because he could see each and every part of them, the strands of coiling oxygen and hydrogen, iron and carbon, calcium and potassium that made up blood and bones, marrow and muscle. He learned about polypeptide chains and hydrocarbon chains, and when he looked at the boys who haunted him on the playground, he could see colors dancing through their skin. He knew that if he tugged just the right one - a shimmer of violet tinged fuschia at the edges - he could unravel every single carbohydrate in a given limb.
The rush of power through his body was exhilarating, and in his dream-world he felt as though he could fly.
When Naoya woke in the middle of the night to one of the orphanage mothers screaming, he realized that his talent could wake without him.
And that another door had opened when he was dreaming.
(194 words)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Just so you know...
I'm not dead.
Will join back in next week when I must give the assignment.
Sorry guys. ;(
Stress has given me writer's block.
Will join back in next week when I must give the assignment.
Sorry guys. ;(
Stress has given me writer's block.
Twenty-Seven Across, Thirteen Up
It came to him on random nights, when he least expected it, the journey into hell.
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
Where Lovers Meet
David became aware of the warmth of a body beside him; a long slender figure curling into his side; arms wrapping around his chest.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
At the End of the Day
At the end of a long, hard day at the office, Carolyn wanted to punch something. Or cry.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
Trying to Remember
Alastrina dreamed about the bar that night. Heard his voice in her sleep. It was if he was right there, singing her softly to sleep. She could only see his eyes and his smile, just as in life. Her unconscious mind wanting to fill in the blanks.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
Dreams or Visions
"I had a dream last night," Steve said.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
Monday, June 15, 2009
First Unlocking
Dreams were the key to unlocking his mind, opening doors to places he never even knew he had. Naoya closed his eyes and dreamt of vengeance, tucked under a threadbare blanket in his corner of the dorm room. The other boys threw rocks at him, called him a freak.
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Project Assignment # 31 - Dreams
Dreams are very useful in fiction, as well as fun to write. They are a part of life. They can also be used to show a character's mood or even to make a point, as a sort of allegory in the mind of a character. Write a dream for a character.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
Okay, I had a few bump this week. I found that the songs that I chose for the piece didn't always fit, or I would start them at the wrong point. I also found that I need to expand my music collection.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
So this assignment ended up being better and worse than I thought it would be. It was better because by the end of the week, I had a series of key scenes that could realistically be turned into something in the way of a novel. I'd have to pick a better starting point, and I'd have to develop background and conflict more (what was so important about Bob anyway, right?), but it could be done. All summer I've felt like all I've been writing are tiny pieces that end up being nothing and that my ability to complete a work has gone down the drain, since I skip straight to the fun scene and don't work at the nuts and bolts. But this could be something, and who knows what it would be.
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
Slapstick
Mark settled into his seat in the darkened theater just as the beginning credits were starting to roll. Wednesday was his favorite night to go to the movies. Old black and white and silent films were the best. Grinning from ear to ear Mark popped a a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth the antics started.
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
All For You
“All this. All for me?” Bob gestured a the fallen bodies, the charred buildings.
Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.
“All my life was for you.”
Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”
Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.
She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.
Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”
Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.
Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”
Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,
“Agent Pierce!”
And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.
Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.
“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.
“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”
“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.
“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.
Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”
(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)
Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.
“All my life was for you.”
Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”
Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.
She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.
Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”
Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.
Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”
Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,
“Agent Pierce!”
And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.
Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.
“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.
“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”
“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.
“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.
Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”
(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)
On Our Own
Scott was sure this was a nightmare. He’d had one just like it as a child. He’d wake up in his bedroom and find his brothers slaughtered in bed beside him, throats dripping with blood. Only he was in a hotel room this time, and his brothers were yelling at the sight of black-uniformed men sprawled across the beds and floor, throats cut. Carolyn stood in the doorway, holding a knife. Her hands were covered in blood. She cast the knife aside and drew a gun from somewhere beneath her jacket, and then she shouted for Bob.
“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”
He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.
“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.
“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”
An explosion rocked the building.
The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”
John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”
Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.
Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”
Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”
The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.
John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”
The only response was static.
John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”
Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”
(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)
“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”
He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.
“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.
“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”
An explosion rocked the building.
The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”
John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”
Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.
Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”
Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”
The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.
John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”
The only response was static.
John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”
Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”
(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)
Internet Phenomenon
Bryan sat typing rapidly at his computer. Nothing seemed to be going right today. Bryan glanced up at the clock again and sighed. He knew he was not going to be able to leave for another forty-five minutes. He was going to be late for his date.
Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.
Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.
Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.
Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.
"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.
"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.
"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.
"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.
Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.
Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.
Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.
Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.
"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.
"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.
"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.
"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
What You Seem
Dan leaned in the doorway and watched Carolyn kick her duffel bag under the bed. She was good, and no one had noticed that it wasn’t the same duffel bag where she kept her books and CDs, but Dan was more observant than his brothers usually gave him credit for. Carolyn went to tug the gun from its holster in the small of her back, and then she turned.
“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.
“No one else has noticed,” he said.
She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”
“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”
Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”
“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”
Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”
That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you done what you’ve done?”
A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”
Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.
But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”
“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.
“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.
Dan felt his throat close. “I --”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.
Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever can.”
(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)
“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.
“No one else has noticed,” he said.
She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”
“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”
Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”
“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”
Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”
That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you done what you’ve done?”
A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”
Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.
But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”
“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.
“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.
Dan felt his throat close. “I --”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.
Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever can.”
(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)
First Solo
Joe fidgeted with the zipper on his jumpsuit. His body made jerking movements as if he was not sure if he wanted to run, or if he was just eager to get started. Joe was dressed in a one piece jumpsuit, his helmet on the ground beside him. His fingers twitched as he mentally checked off procedures in his head.
"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"
Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."
Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."
"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.
"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.
"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.
"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.
"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.
Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.
David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.
"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.
Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.
The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.
Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.
Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.
Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.
Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.
David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.
As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.
"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.
"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.
"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.
"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"
Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."
Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."
"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.
"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.
"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.
"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.
"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.
Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.
David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.
"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.
Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.
The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.
Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.
Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.
Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.
Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.
David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.
As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.
"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.
"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.
"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Caught
Walking was the only way to properly digest a heavy Italian meal. It hadn’t been horrendous, by any means - just heavy in the way that made you want to curl up on any semi-soft surface and go to sleep. Heavy, but content.
So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.
“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.
“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.
He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.
“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”
Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.
“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.
“You know the answer… don’t you?”
He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.
(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)
So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.
“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.
“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.
He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.
“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”
Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.
“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.
“You know the answer… don’t you?”
He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.
(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)
Alive Beside Carolyn
(play it low)
“Hey, wake up.”
Clay hated waking up like this. Carolyn’s voice was soft and gentle, and Clay knew if he opened his eyes he’d see her kneeling beside Bob’s side of the bed, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. Everyone thought Bob was such an early riser because he was disciplined or some kind of morning person, but Clay knew that Bob was out of bed first so he could have fifteen minutes alone with Carolyn in the kitchenette while she fixed breakfast for the rest.
Clay kept his eyes closed, and anyone looking at him just then would’ve thought he was still deep in sleep and not listening to Carolyn and Bob share a brief, sweet good morning kiss. Anyone who looked closer would see Clay had one hand curled into a white-knuckled fist from the effort of staying still.
Two sets of footsteps faded, and Clay finally opened his eyes, rolled onto his back. Their dad insisted that none of them date so they weren’t lying when reporters asked the damned girlfriend question, but hell if everyone didn’t know that Carolyn was the default girl, the one each of them were supposed to fall in love with so they’d stay out of trouble. And hell if it hadn’t worked.
Clay had seen Carolyn deep in conversation with Dan after a long day of press work, heads bent close while Dan dealt cards and Carolyn swindled him out of pocket change. No one knew what they talked about, but every now and again Carolyn would make a casual comment and then she and Dan would share a secret smile. And Scott - even though he professed grand detachment from Lady Caro, he’d hover over her whenever she wanted, showing her how to hold his favorite guitar, lacing his fingers with hers to show her how to lay a chord. At best, Carolyn smiled at Clay once in a while, teased him about flirting with girls on venue crews, and Clay smiled back, because it was all he could do. But she never talked to him like she talked to the others, and he was lucky if he could earn more than a passing glance in a single day. He felt utterly helpless whenever she looked at him, and he wondered how he’d missed it when they were children, when it was still all right to tackle her in a flying leap and pin her to the grass, tickle her till she shrieked with laughter.
Scott and Dan woke themselves up because they smelled food, but they wouldn’t bother to try to wake Clay. Everyone thought he was the late sleeper. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep - he was steeling himself for another day of being alive beside Carolyn without living with her, without really being in her life.
(472 words - "Who Do You Love" by The Moffatts, and yes, Clint totally sings lead on this one - apropos, I thought)
“Hey, wake up.”
Clay hated waking up like this. Carolyn’s voice was soft and gentle, and Clay knew if he opened his eyes he’d see her kneeling beside Bob’s side of the bed, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. Everyone thought Bob was such an early riser because he was disciplined or some kind of morning person, but Clay knew that Bob was out of bed first so he could have fifteen minutes alone with Carolyn in the kitchenette while she fixed breakfast for the rest.
Clay kept his eyes closed, and anyone looking at him just then would’ve thought he was still deep in sleep and not listening to Carolyn and Bob share a brief, sweet good morning kiss. Anyone who looked closer would see Clay had one hand curled into a white-knuckled fist from the effort of staying still.
Two sets of footsteps faded, and Clay finally opened his eyes, rolled onto his back. Their dad insisted that none of them date so they weren’t lying when reporters asked the damned girlfriend question, but hell if everyone didn’t know that Carolyn was the default girl, the one each of them were supposed to fall in love with so they’d stay out of trouble. And hell if it hadn’t worked.
Clay had seen Carolyn deep in conversation with Dan after a long day of press work, heads bent close while Dan dealt cards and Carolyn swindled him out of pocket change. No one knew what they talked about, but every now and again Carolyn would make a casual comment and then she and Dan would share a secret smile. And Scott - even though he professed grand detachment from Lady Caro, he’d hover over her whenever she wanted, showing her how to hold his favorite guitar, lacing his fingers with hers to show her how to lay a chord. At best, Carolyn smiled at Clay once in a while, teased him about flirting with girls on venue crews, and Clay smiled back, because it was all he could do. But she never talked to him like she talked to the others, and he was lucky if he could earn more than a passing glance in a single day. He felt utterly helpless whenever she looked at him, and he wondered how he’d missed it when they were children, when it was still all right to tackle her in a flying leap and pin her to the grass, tickle her till she shrieked with laughter.
Scott and Dan woke themselves up because they smelled food, but they wouldn’t bother to try to wake Clay. Everyone thought he was the late sleeper. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep - he was steeling himself for another day of being alive beside Carolyn without living with her, without really being in her life.
(472 words - "Who Do You Love" by The Moffatts, and yes, Clint totally sings lead on this one - apropos, I thought)
Help is on the way
(the song should be low in the background. I know it may be a bit dramatic, but....I needed something foreboding...Skip forward to about the 1 minute mark)
"Lieutenant Blackwood." Steve answered the phone.
"Steve!" A panicked voice came over the line."
"Rachel?" Steve was surprised to hear his sisters voice.
"Steve, you've got to help me." Rachel's voice quiet, as if afraid someone would overhear her.
"Rachel, what's wrong? Where are you?" Steve was starting to get more than a little worried. His normally unflappable sister sounded on the verge of a panic attack.
"I don't know where I am. Please you have got to find me." Rachel sounded like she was almost in tears.
"Okay, Rachel, calm down. Where were you last? Where is Mom and Dad?" Steve was kicking into operation mode, trying to get all the facts.
"I was out with some friends, We were going to a bar at the edge of town. I don't know where Mom and Dad are."
"Okay Rachel. I want you to stay calm. I'm coming to find you." Steve said, reassuring his sister.
"Please hurry Steve, I'm scared."
"Hey, have I ever let you down?" Steve asked in a lighter tone, trying to dispel some of her anxiety.
"No," Rachel whispered.
Steve was loathed to hang up on his sister when she needed him, but he had to find her as fast as possible.
Steve tore into the bunk room, grabbing clothes and equipment and stuffing them into a duffel bag. The rest of the team were standing in surprise at the state of the normally calm First Lieutenant.
Steve was running out the door when he ran into David.
"Commander, I have to leave. My sister is in trouble. I have to help her." Steve spoke very fast, trying to edge around his leader.
David nodded, "Let's go men, grab your gear and we will be out in two minutes."
Steve looked at David with gratitude. "Thank you Major."
"Your family is my family Steve," said David, as the team jogged out of the barrack and down the hall towards the aircraft hanger.
"Lieutenant Blackwood." Steve answered the phone.
"Steve!" A panicked voice came over the line."
"Rachel?" Steve was surprised to hear his sisters voice.
"Steve, you've got to help me." Rachel's voice quiet, as if afraid someone would overhear her.
"Rachel, what's wrong? Where are you?" Steve was starting to get more than a little worried. His normally unflappable sister sounded on the verge of a panic attack.
"I don't know where I am. Please you have got to find me." Rachel sounded like she was almost in tears.
"Okay, Rachel, calm down. Where were you last? Where is Mom and Dad?" Steve was kicking into operation mode, trying to get all the facts.
"I was out with some friends, We were going to a bar at the edge of town. I don't know where Mom and Dad are."
"Okay Rachel. I want you to stay calm. I'm coming to find you." Steve said, reassuring his sister.
"Please hurry Steve, I'm scared."
"Hey, have I ever let you down?" Steve asked in a lighter tone, trying to dispel some of her anxiety.
"No," Rachel whispered.
Steve was loathed to hang up on his sister when she needed him, but he had to find her as fast as possible.
Steve tore into the bunk room, grabbing clothes and equipment and stuffing them into a duffel bag. The rest of the team were standing in surprise at the state of the normally calm First Lieutenant.
Steve was running out the door when he ran into David.
"Commander, I have to leave. My sister is in trouble. I have to help her." Steve spoke very fast, trying to edge around his leader.
David nodded, "Let's go men, grab your gear and we will be out in two minutes."
Steve looked at David with gratitude. "Thank you Major."
"Your family is my family Steve," said David, as the team jogged out of the barrack and down the hall towards the aircraft hanger.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
An Interlude
She wasn’t sitting alone on the bench today. Instead of loitering in the break room for the entirety of her lunch hour, Jamie had wandered out of the building, down the street, into a cab, and into Central Park. She honestly hadn’t planned on seeing Miles, but she couldn’t deny the fact that she had been grinning so hard it hurt since the moment she saw him.
He was petting his dog affectionately and not saying much. Jamie wasn’t sure if it was out of shyness or if he felt uneasy around her. They were still in the stranger lingering on acquaintance stage. What did she expect?
“So, what’s your dog’s name? She really is a cutie.” Jamie looked over at Miles tentatively.
Miles chuckled. “He, actually. His name is Bruiser. Tough name, but he really is a softy. You can pet him, he doesn’t bite. He’s great around strangers.”
Strangers.
Jamie reached over and pet Bruiser on the head. He panted happily and Jamie smiled.
“So,” Miles began, “you said you were on your lunch break, right? Where do you work?”
“I write a column for the New York Times… it’s in the Arts section. I write about different restaurants in New York, the culinary world. I like food.” Obviously, Jamie, or you wouldn’t write a column about food, she thought to herself.
Miles laughed again. His eyes seemed to dance.
“Well, Jamie, writer for the Times who likes food and my dog… I need to get going. I work from home… I’m a writer too, actually, and I feel the need to work all of the sudden.”
“You’re a writer too?” She didn’t want to seem too eager, but the fact that they had something as big as their careers in common was an excellent place to start.
“Yeah…” Miles seemed to clam up. “It’s kind of complicated. But hey, uh… I’m probably going to walk Bruiser around this time tomorrow too if you feel the need to see Bruiser’s smiling face…” He scratched his head nervously.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He walked away, Bruiser almost pulling him along trying to get him to keep up. Jamie sighed, looked up at the clear blue high noon sky, and out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Miles glancing back.
(386 words, Ben Folds - Before Cologne)
He was petting his dog affectionately and not saying much. Jamie wasn’t sure if it was out of shyness or if he felt uneasy around her. They were still in the stranger lingering on acquaintance stage. What did she expect?
“So, what’s your dog’s name? She really is a cutie.” Jamie looked over at Miles tentatively.
Miles chuckled. “He, actually. His name is Bruiser. Tough name, but he really is a softy. You can pet him, he doesn’t bite. He’s great around strangers.”
Strangers.
Jamie reached over and pet Bruiser on the head. He panted happily and Jamie smiled.
“So,” Miles began, “you said you were on your lunch break, right? Where do you work?”
“I write a column for the New York Times… it’s in the Arts section. I write about different restaurants in New York, the culinary world. I like food.” Obviously, Jamie, or you wouldn’t write a column about food, she thought to herself.
Miles laughed again. His eyes seemed to dance.
“Well, Jamie, writer for the Times who likes food and my dog… I need to get going. I work from home… I’m a writer too, actually, and I feel the need to work all of the sudden.”
“You’re a writer too?” She didn’t want to seem too eager, but the fact that they had something as big as their careers in common was an excellent place to start.
“Yeah…” Miles seemed to clam up. “It’s kind of complicated. But hey, uh… I’m probably going to walk Bruiser around this time tomorrow too if you feel the need to see Bruiser’s smiling face…” He scratched his head nervously.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He walked away, Bruiser almost pulling him along trying to get him to keep up. Jamie sighed, looked up at the clear blue high noon sky, and out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Miles glancing back.
(386 words, Ben Folds - Before Cologne)
In Five Years
If Kevin caught them, they’d be in massive trouble, but the summer night was warm and the glow from the candles made everything gold, and it was easy not to care.
“Where do you think you’ll be in five years?” Bob asked. He had his trig textbook open on his lap and a notebook full of half-finished problems next to his knee, but he was lying back on the bed, hands tucked under his head.
Carolyn had a secured transactions textbook propping up her feet, and she was stretched out on the bed opposite Bob so her head was beside his. “As soon as I’m old enough I’m taking the bar, remember? So I’m probably going to be a lawyer.”
Bob turned his head and nuzzled her hair, felt her smile against his shoulder. “Every now and again I forget how smart you are.”
“Not smart,” Carolyn said, like she always did. “Just lucky. Besides, you’re the musical prodigy, not me.”
“Hardly a prodigy.” Bob closed his eyes and shifted closer to her, felt her tuck herself against him. Her skin was soft, always had been, even back when she’d been a staff-wielding tomboy who put all four brothers to shame during karate training. Some days he wondered what the hell he’d done to deserve her. His friends back in Tennessee were fond of reminding him that she was worthy of more than his lame home-schooled self, but then he was sixteen and on top of the world. “I just play in a band.”
“To stadiums full of thousands of screaming girls every night.” Carolyn laughed.
“You know there’s only one girl who matters,” Bob said, and Carolyn shoved his shoulder.
“Hello Hollywood cliché!”
He silenced further argument with a slow kiss.
Carolyn was smiling as she pulled back. “Well put, Mr. Summers.”
“I learned from the best,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile.
Carolyn reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “What about you? Where will you be in five years?”
“Probably still performing and recording with my brothers.” Bob shrugged. For some reason, it seemed like a bleak future, even though when he was younger it had been the greatest dream in the world, to always make music. If he was always on the road, how would he see Carolyn, who’d be a partner in some fancy law firm in some big city far away?
“Where do you want to be in five years?” Carolyn asked.
Bob closed his eyes and sighed. She knew him too well. “In five years, I want to be just like this, only no textbooks and no homework, no parents just down the hall ready to boot one of us out the window for breaking curfew.”
As if on cue, there was a thump at the door, and Scott said,
“Shelley wants to check your math!”
Bob swung around and tugged Carolyn into his arms for a kiss. Around them, the candles guttered out.
(500 words - "So New" by Cillian Murphy)
“Where do you think you’ll be in five years?” Bob asked. He had his trig textbook open on his lap and a notebook full of half-finished problems next to his knee, but he was lying back on the bed, hands tucked under his head.
Carolyn had a secured transactions textbook propping up her feet, and she was stretched out on the bed opposite Bob so her head was beside his. “As soon as I’m old enough I’m taking the bar, remember? So I’m probably going to be a lawyer.”
Bob turned his head and nuzzled her hair, felt her smile against his shoulder. “Every now and again I forget how smart you are.”
“Not smart,” Carolyn said, like she always did. “Just lucky. Besides, you’re the musical prodigy, not me.”
“Hardly a prodigy.” Bob closed his eyes and shifted closer to her, felt her tuck herself against him. Her skin was soft, always had been, even back when she’d been a staff-wielding tomboy who put all four brothers to shame during karate training. Some days he wondered what the hell he’d done to deserve her. His friends back in Tennessee were fond of reminding him that she was worthy of more than his lame home-schooled self, but then he was sixteen and on top of the world. “I just play in a band.”
“To stadiums full of thousands of screaming girls every night.” Carolyn laughed.
“You know there’s only one girl who matters,” Bob said, and Carolyn shoved his shoulder.
“Hello Hollywood cliché!”
He silenced further argument with a slow kiss.
Carolyn was smiling as she pulled back. “Well put, Mr. Summers.”
“I learned from the best,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile.
Carolyn reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “What about you? Where will you be in five years?”
“Probably still performing and recording with my brothers.” Bob shrugged. For some reason, it seemed like a bleak future, even though when he was younger it had been the greatest dream in the world, to always make music. If he was always on the road, how would he see Carolyn, who’d be a partner in some fancy law firm in some big city far away?
“Where do you want to be in five years?” Carolyn asked.
Bob closed his eyes and sighed. She knew him too well. “In five years, I want to be just like this, only no textbooks and no homework, no parents just down the hall ready to boot one of us out the window for breaking curfew.”
As if on cue, there was a thump at the door, and Scott said,
“Shelley wants to check your math!”
Bob swung around and tugged Carolyn into his arms for a kiss. Around them, the candles guttered out.
(500 words - "So New" by Cillian Murphy)
A Vow
David woke up in his bunk, his blankets tucked tightly around him. He blinked back the pain from his hangover. He only vaguely remembered Steve and the others finding him the the warehouse. There was a light coming from off to his right and behind him. Slowly he turned his head to look around; the room spinning around him. His eyes at last landed on Steve.
Steve looked down at him when he saw the movement, "Hey boss," He said quietly.
David blinked, not sure yet if he could speak.
"Rough couple of days sir?" Steve picked up a glass of water and held it to his commanders lips. David sipped at it for a second.
Memories played in David's mind like a bad film that he could not get rid of. Men dying, men that he had killed. "I killed them Steve," David said at last. "I knew every single one of them, and I don't know why I was ordered to terminate them." David could see their faces, see their eyes as the light went out of them. "They had families, people who loved them. They were just boys."
Steve sat in silence, waiting for his commander to finish speaking.
David drew in a shaky breath. "Do you ever stop to ask yourself, why we supposed to kill them? I never used to ask why. But in those faces, I could see the faces of everyone I love. You. Joe. The twins. All the men I have served with."
"You did what you were ordered to do sir," Steve said at last when it seemed David had no more to say.
"I made a vow to myself Steve," David said quietly, almost inaudibly. Steve had to lean close to hear what he had to say. "I vowed I would protect my men, protect my family, the only family I have now.
David turned into the wall and Steve stood to leave.
"I killed them all to save my own," David whispered into the dark.
Steve looked down at him when he saw the movement, "Hey boss," He said quietly.
David blinked, not sure yet if he could speak.
"Rough couple of days sir?" Steve picked up a glass of water and held it to his commanders lips. David sipped at it for a second.
Memories played in David's mind like a bad film that he could not get rid of. Men dying, men that he had killed. "I killed them Steve," David said at last. "I knew every single one of them, and I don't know why I was ordered to terminate them." David could see their faces, see their eyes as the light went out of them. "They had families, people who loved them. They were just boys."
Steve sat in silence, waiting for his commander to finish speaking.
David drew in a shaky breath. "Do you ever stop to ask yourself, why we supposed to kill them? I never used to ask why. But in those faces, I could see the faces of everyone I love. You. Joe. The twins. All the men I have served with."
"You did what you were ordered to do sir," Steve said at last when it seemed David had no more to say.
"I made a vow to myself Steve," David said quietly, almost inaudibly. Steve had to lean close to hear what he had to say. "I vowed I would protect my men, protect my family, the only family I have now.
David turned into the wall and Steve stood to leave.
"I killed them all to save my own," David whispered into the dark.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Turn
She sat alone on a park bench, a warm box of Chinese takeout in one hand, a pair of wooden chopsticks in the other. She ate absently. Her mind was on other things - like, the parking ticket she’d gotten earlier that day, how her boss had harped on her for nearly an hour about an upcoming deadline, and…
And there he was.
She had seen him around Central Park a few times, walking his dog. He was alone now, which seemed slightly odd to her. He was beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, a simple yet stunning smile. They had nodded hellos to one another before, but she hadn’t really talked to him.
Her chopsticks scraped the bottom of the cardboard container. She hadn’t even noticed that all her food was gone. She didn’t feel full.
And he was about to pass her by, again.
A deep breath. A beat.
“Hello.”
She had said it loud enough that he glanced backward to see if he was the one being greeted, and when his eyes met hers, her heart leapt into her throat.
“Hi there.”
She stood up. She wasn’t sure what was sending the impulses to move her limbs, because it surely wasn’t her brain.
“Would you mind if I walked with you?”
He smiled. “No, I wouldn’t mind some company.” A pause. “I’m Miles.” He extended his hand.
She returned the gesture. “I’m Jamie.”
It was a perfect night in the city.
(243 words, Ben Folds - Lullabye)
And there he was.
She had seen him around Central Park a few times, walking his dog. He was alone now, which seemed slightly odd to her. He was beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, a simple yet stunning smile. They had nodded hellos to one another before, but she hadn’t really talked to him.
Her chopsticks scraped the bottom of the cardboard container. She hadn’t even noticed that all her food was gone. She didn’t feel full.
And he was about to pass her by, again.
A deep breath. A beat.
“Hello.”
She had said it loud enough that he glanced backward to see if he was the one being greeted, and when his eyes met hers, her heart leapt into her throat.
“Hi there.”
She stood up. She wasn’t sure what was sending the impulses to move her limbs, because it surely wasn’t her brain.
“Would you mind if I walked with you?”
He smiled. “No, I wouldn’t mind some company.” A pause. “I’m Miles.” He extended his hand.
She returned the gesture. “I’m Jamie.”
It was a perfect night in the city.
(243 words, Ben Folds - Lullabye)
A Promise Unkept
David stood on top of a hill outside of Rome; the setting sun painting everything gold and red. In the distance he could hear the bells of the many chapels in the valley below calling the faithful to come and worship at evening mass. A warm salty wind blew in off of the Mediterranean sea. David looked to his left and could see faintly the Coliseum on the horizon. A mission had brought him here, and a memory was keeping him here.
David closed his eyes and drew in the breeze, making it a part of himself for just a moment, his thoughts wandering far into the past.
Arianna's voice seemed to come to him on the wind. David's breath caught in his chest, her voice as clear as if she were standing right next to him. "I've always wanted to go to Italy. Let's go to Italy David. Let's just pick up and go to Rome."
He had promised that they would, that they would make it to Italy. He had promised, and she had died.
Tears flowed down his cheeks as the sun finished setting. "I'm so sorry Ari," David whispered into the growing dusk.
David closed his eyes and drew in the breeze, making it a part of himself for just a moment, his thoughts wandering far into the past.
Arianna's voice seemed to come to him on the wind. David's breath caught in his chest, her voice as clear as if she were standing right next to him. "I've always wanted to go to Italy. Let's go to Italy David. Let's just pick up and go to Rome."
He had promised that they would, that they would make it to Italy. He had promised, and she had died.
Tears flowed down his cheeks as the sun finished setting. "I'm so sorry Ari," David whispered into the growing dusk.
Contact Established
(click on the link to start the song at the appropriate time - best to open the song in another tab if you can)
There were many ways to make an entrance, and Carolyn was determined to make the best one. She lingered in the doorway of the diner, watching Scott and Clay squabble over their pool cues while Dan quietly cleared the table behind them. Scott looked different with short hair, older, but then they were all determined to look older than they were. They’d grown up too fast.
None of them were expecting that Carolyn had grown anything but taller. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothed down her blouse, and swiveled her hips to test the flare of her skirt.
Bob hovered over the jukebox, jangling quarters in one hand. He’d finally cut his hair so it didn’t look like a girl’s, and it wasn’t nearly as apt to get into his face while he was drumming.
Carolyn took a deep breath. Time to make her mark. She pushed open the door and strode across the diner. She kept her shoulders back and her chin up. Several heads turned as she passed, but she ignored them.
Clay and Scott’s argument came to an abrupt halt. Dan missed a shot, and Carolyn resisted the urge to smirk to herself. She’d waited a long time for this.
“Hey Robbie.” She kept her voice low, tapped him on the shoulder. “I thought your dad told me you’d meet me outside.”
Bob jumped and spun, one fist coming up, and that was good - he’d kept his alertness in the three years Carolyn had been gone. Surprise lit his eyes, and his lips parted, and then he said,
“Hello?”
Carolyn reached up - she had to reach up now - and ruffled his hair like she had when they were twelve. “Robbie, it’s me. Caro. Come on - you remember me?” She pretended to rabbit-punch him, and he blocked automatically, but his gaze was glued to her legs.
She shimmied her hips a little bit and saw him swallow hard. “I know, it looks so weird, but my mom’s been on me forever about not being a tomboy, so I figured if I wore a skirt in public just once she’d get over herself. How’ve you been? I almost didn’t recognize you - you’re so tall! Taller than Clay. I thought you were twins.”
Behind Bob, the jukebox player came to life. Boy With The Beat. Of course.
“We’ve -” his voice squeaked, and he turned bright red, coughed, “we’ve been good. Just got back from Hawaii where we were recording -”
Carolyn tugged on his wrist. “I love this song. You picked it - you have to dance with me.”
Bob allowed himself to be led out to the middle of the diner floor. Carolyn called out to his brothers and waved. They gaped. In the corner, John spoke into his comm.
Contact with targets established.
(466 words - "I Love Rock'n'Roll" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts)
There were many ways to make an entrance, and Carolyn was determined to make the best one. She lingered in the doorway of the diner, watching Scott and Clay squabble over their pool cues while Dan quietly cleared the table behind them. Scott looked different with short hair, older, but then they were all determined to look older than they were. They’d grown up too fast.
None of them were expecting that Carolyn had grown anything but taller. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothed down her blouse, and swiveled her hips to test the flare of her skirt.
Bob hovered over the jukebox, jangling quarters in one hand. He’d finally cut his hair so it didn’t look like a girl’s, and it wasn’t nearly as apt to get into his face while he was drumming.
Carolyn took a deep breath. Time to make her mark. She pushed open the door and strode across the diner. She kept her shoulders back and her chin up. Several heads turned as she passed, but she ignored them.
Clay and Scott’s argument came to an abrupt halt. Dan missed a shot, and Carolyn resisted the urge to smirk to herself. She’d waited a long time for this.
“Hey Robbie.” She kept her voice low, tapped him on the shoulder. “I thought your dad told me you’d meet me outside.”
Bob jumped and spun, one fist coming up, and that was good - he’d kept his alertness in the three years Carolyn had been gone. Surprise lit his eyes, and his lips parted, and then he said,
“Hello?”
Carolyn reached up - she had to reach up now - and ruffled his hair like she had when they were twelve. “Robbie, it’s me. Caro. Come on - you remember me?” She pretended to rabbit-punch him, and he blocked automatically, but his gaze was glued to her legs.
She shimmied her hips a little bit and saw him swallow hard. “I know, it looks so weird, but my mom’s been on me forever about not being a tomboy, so I figured if I wore a skirt in public just once she’d get over herself. How’ve you been? I almost didn’t recognize you - you’re so tall! Taller than Clay. I thought you were twins.”
Behind Bob, the jukebox player came to life. Boy With The Beat. Of course.
“We’ve -” his voice squeaked, and he turned bright red, coughed, “we’ve been good. Just got back from Hawaii where we were recording -”
Carolyn tugged on his wrist. “I love this song. You picked it - you have to dance with me.”
Bob allowed himself to be led out to the middle of the diner floor. Carolyn called out to his brothers and waved. They gaped. In the corner, John spoke into his comm.
Contact with targets established.
(466 words - "I Love Rock'n'Roll" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts)
Overview #29 - Poetic Moments
Okay, so I couldn't get into my poetry groove this week. I don't really know what happened, but I felt like I was forcing it all week. Nothing wanted to come, or if anything did, it sounded juvenile and ridiculous. Normally poetry is one of my stronger points, and it was frustrating that nothing would turn out. I guess I have been writing prose for to long. Most of my poems this week turned out to be more prose-ish with line breaks. I also know that some kind of leave you hanging, but I thought better to end it than to try to carry on and make it horrible. This next week should be better.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Project #30: Soundtrack
Write a scene, 100-500 words long, set to a particular song. Not a songfic, and don't include the lyrics. Just pick a song that has inspired you, the sort of song you envision as a backdrop to a scene you're writing as if that scene is from a movie instead of from a book or story, and write. Then post a link to the song (maybe a YouTube vid with the song as a background or something) so that your readers can listen to the song while they read what you wrote and run with it that way. It doesn't even have to be a modern song - it could be a classical or instrumental piece. Just pick a song that you'd love to have on the soundtrack of your "movie" and enjoy the ride.
Post the name of the song and the artist who sang it, if you please.
ETA: try not to use a song you used in a previous project.
Post the name of the song and the artist who sang it, if you please.
ETA: try not to use a song you used in a previous project.
Overview #29 - Poetic Moments
Oh, but this was a great challenge for me. First of all, having JadedChaos on board was fantastic and spurred me to leave better feedback than "oh, that was cute today!" So I'm glad to have her on board with this lovely thing we call the writing game of Master and Madness. This felt like a pretty successful week for me, too. I felt like I improved each day with each poem. I didn't improve much, but I improved enough that I felt as though my final poem for the week was much better than my initial poem.
Finding poetic moments in each day was enlightening as well - it taught me not to dismiss random moments as banal, but to treasure them and savor them and file them away for later. It also taught me to tap into the inspiration of a single moment and not shrug it off because I was in the middle of work. So far so good.
Finding poetic moments in each day was enlightening as well - it taught me not to dismiss random moments as banal, but to treasure them and savor them and file them away for later. It also taught me to tap into the inspiration of a single moment and not shrug it off because I was in the middle of work. So far so good.
Overview #29 - Poetic Moments
Well, I had an excellent first week here. It feels good to be writing something, anything... especially when I am sitting down to do it every single day.
I think I had some good and bad days this week. My poetry tends to be very personal, and while some people may know what I'm talking about (Nagi) and understand my poems, others (Madness) may have absolutely no idea what the heck I'm trying to say. It's great to have both kinds of feedback, because it lets me know that I still need to work on making my poetry a little less cryptic, but still be able to talk about things that happen to me that have a personal enough effect to cause poetry.
Thanks you guys. Can't wait to see what the new challenge is.
I think I had some good and bad days this week. My poetry tends to be very personal, and while some people may know what I'm talking about (Nagi) and understand my poems, others (Madness) may have absolutely no idea what the heck I'm trying to say. It's great to have both kinds of feedback, because it lets me know that I still need to work on making my poetry a little less cryptic, but still be able to talk about things that happen to me that have a personal enough effect to cause poetry.
Thanks you guys. Can't wait to see what the new challenge is.
The Storm Passes
The rain gives birth
to tiny blossoms
of thought,
growing in my brain
until
the petals float away.
I write letters to you
in my head,
beginning
ending
the same way
every time.
The rush of slick
freeway, the trickle
of man-made drain,
and I know the only way
to end
this feeling is to cut
myself off.
Forget, move on,
repress.
We could pretend,
but never commit
to the loss.
(72 words, sorry this is late)
to tiny blossoms
of thought,
growing in my brain
until
the petals float away.
I write letters to you
in my head,
beginning
ending
the same way
every time.
The rush of slick
freeway, the trickle
of man-made drain,
and I know the only way
to end
this feeling is to cut
myself off.
Forget, move on,
repress.
We could pretend,
but never commit
to the loss.
(72 words, sorry this is late)
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Scars
Some wounds are just skin deep.
They scab and flake away,
a scar left behind.
An interesting story.
Some things pull upon your heartstrings;
so that you feel your heart should break.
Thick calloused scars,
buried deep in your soul
They scab and flake away,
a scar left behind.
An interesting story.
Some things pull upon your heartstrings;
so that you feel your heart should break.
Thick calloused scars,
buried deep in your soul
Craft
Rough and calloused hands smooth water across the surface of the leather.
The gentle scent of released tannins permeate the room.
Sure and steady fingers guide the knife as it cuts furrows into the surface;
delicate curves and sharp angles.
Gentle tapping echoes through the house, hour after hour.
Tap. Shift. Tap. Shift.
An image slowly surfaces as the mallet and tools move across the leather.
First an outline, then details are painstakingly added.
The artist breathing life into a piece of hide.
(This isn't the official one for today, I just had to get it out of my head so I could move on.)
The gentle scent of released tannins permeate the room.
Sure and steady fingers guide the knife as it cuts furrows into the surface;
delicate curves and sharp angles.
Gentle tapping echoes through the house, hour after hour.
Tap. Shift. Tap. Shift.
An image slowly surfaces as the mallet and tools move across the leather.
First an outline, then details are painstakingly added.
The artist breathing life into a piece of hide.
(This isn't the official one for today, I just had to get it out of my head so I could move on.)
Coming Home
Memory is never as sweet as
A first time.
The second bite
Doesn’t tingle with the same newness
As the first trepidation
Of closing lips over spoon
Or tentatively picking
At the first line of a novel,
Word by word
Like marbles from a dish.
Age dims youthful enthusiasm.
Dull shadows linger in
Corners of chapters where
Starlight and moonshine beamed.
Metaphors that tasted of gold
Tarnish to copper on the tongue.
Plot, a winding snake, is
Inexplicably a predictable pattern
Of endless scales, row on row.
But finishing a beloved book
Is stepping across a threshold
From winter’s chill
Into fire-lit warmth
And coming
Home.
A first time.
The second bite
Doesn’t tingle with the same newness
As the first trepidation
Of closing lips over spoon
Or tentatively picking
At the first line of a novel,
Word by word
Like marbles from a dish.
Age dims youthful enthusiasm.
Dull shadows linger in
Corners of chapters where
Starlight and moonshine beamed.
Metaphors that tasted of gold
Tarnish to copper on the tongue.
Plot, a winding snake, is
Inexplicably a predictable pattern
Of endless scales, row on row.
But finishing a beloved book
Is stepping across a threshold
From winter’s chill
Into fire-lit warmth
And coming
Home.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Clocking Out
The forgetful delights
of a Friday night
stretch their lazy
and wild
possibilities before me.
As we near another
full moon
I breathe deep the scent of
summertime blues
and burning fires.
Loud music and
loud talk amidst
empty shot glasses
and cigarette ashes
call me.
This night will not
be one of vice
but of sly smiles
piano notes
and that beautiful disease
I call nostalgia.
(67 words)
of a Friday night
stretch their lazy
and wild
possibilities before me.
As we near another
full moon
I breathe deep the scent of
summertime blues
and burning fires.
Loud music and
loud talk amidst
empty shot glasses
and cigarette ashes
call me.
This night will not
be one of vice
but of sly smiles
piano notes
and that beautiful disease
I call nostalgia.
(67 words)
Pace
I close my eyes,
and I can see your face.
My heart and mind vies;
which will dictate pace?
Heart begs to race,
mind pleads to wait.
Love will find a place;
by a twist of fate.
Have I asked to late?
I want to hear your call.
Hovering in an anxious state;
please. I'm ready to fall.
Let's take the chance.
Teach me to dance.
and I can see your face.
My heart and mind vies;
which will dictate pace?
Heart begs to race,
mind pleads to wait.
Love will find a place;
by a twist of fate.
Have I asked to late?
I want to hear your call.
Hovering in an anxious state;
please. I'm ready to fall.
Let's take the chance.
Teach me to dance.
Short-Changing
The clock never says what I want it to,
And at ten p.m. in my mind
The giant, parchment-colored face
Points its hands solemnly at half past one
In the morning.
The alarm clock by the bed
Blinks malicious red numbers,
Six twenty-five instead of a glorious
Half past eight.
Sunlight through the window facing east
Is a traitor with its warm fingertips
Tracing lines across my skin,
Inches from slapping me into
Wide awake.
Sometime this season
Before the shadows lengthen and
The leaves begin to change I’ll stop
Short-changing myself of sleep.
(98 words)
And at ten p.m. in my mind
The giant, parchment-colored face
Points its hands solemnly at half past one
In the morning.
The alarm clock by the bed
Blinks malicious red numbers,
Six twenty-five instead of a glorious
Half past eight.
Sunlight through the window facing east
Is a traitor with its warm fingertips
Tracing lines across my skin,
Inches from slapping me into
Wide awake.
Sometime this season
Before the shadows lengthen and
The leaves begin to change I’ll stop
Short-changing myself of sleep.
(98 words)
Thursday, June 4, 2009
A Vicious REM Cycle
An alternate universe
lies behind my eyes.
You are not with her,
I am not with him,
it is only us.
And it feels right.
Why, I could not say.
Our lips meet awkwardly.
Perhaps on another
plane of reality.
A strange affection
exists here and now,
from drinking buddies
to best friends
in one summer alone.
I wish I could stop
dreaming.
(63 words)
lies behind my eyes.
You are not with her,
I am not with him,
it is only us.
And it feels right.
Why, I could not say.
Our lips meet awkwardly.
Perhaps on another
plane of reality.
A strange affection
exists here and now,
from drinking buddies
to best friends
in one summer alone.
I wish I could stop
dreaming.
(63 words)
Maps
A map, a wonderful reminder hung on the wall;
a remembrance of good times and friendships.
Remember the bend in the river right here?
That's where I got my black eye.
That flight of locks, brutal,
but one of the best times I have ever had.
Plays, and long nights of laughter.
Ribbena and bangers and mash have become one of my favorite meals.
a remembrance of good times and friendships.
Remember the bend in the river right here?
That's where I got my black eye.
That flight of locks, brutal,
but one of the best times I have ever had.
Plays, and long nights of laughter.
Ribbena and bangers and mash have become one of my favorite meals.
Two to Go
It’s the seventh inning stretch,
The victory lap after one thousand
Two hundred and
Sixty-one
Pages read.
It’s the slide of the rib cage,
The twist of the shoulders,
Circling the ribs and shimmying the hips.
It’s drums and zills
And imaginary coins,
An eight-eight masterpiece
To a woman wailing in Arabic.
It’s the best way to work out the
Kinks
After six hours of work.
Two to go.
(71 words)
The victory lap after one thousand
Two hundred and
Sixty-one
Pages read.
It’s the slide of the rib cage,
The twist of the shoulders,
Circling the ribs and shimmying the hips.
It’s drums and zills
And imaginary coins,
An eight-eight masterpiece
To a woman wailing in Arabic.
It’s the best way to work out the
Kinks
After six hours of work.
Two to go.
(71 words)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Kairi
It was not long ago that
we waited together
in the hallway of a hospital,
getting a glimpse,
familiar to one,
unfamiliar to the rest.
He smiled, looked like
he had not slept for
days.
And then we saw her.
Someone so small,
and yet mattered so much.
I realized that life
had taken over, and that
soon this would be
just another memory.
And I will agree with Mister Folds
when he says,
"Everybody knows,
it sucks to grow up."
Well played, sir.
(84 words)
we waited together
in the hallway of a hospital,
getting a glimpse,
familiar to one,
unfamiliar to the rest.
He smiled, looked like
he had not slept for
days.
And then we saw her.
Someone so small,
and yet mattered so much.
I realized that life
had taken over, and that
soon this would be
just another memory.
And I will agree with Mister Folds
when he says,
"Everybody knows,
it sucks to grow up."
Well played, sir.
(84 words)
Keep Moving
If I keep moving, I might forget how much I cared.
It seems you already have; you've moved on yet again.
This is the third wedding you have planned on having me cater.
I'll do it because, despite the past, you are my friend.
Just don't expect me to be happy about it.
Do you know how much it hurt, having to smile when I wanted to cry?
I became really good at lying; I know you couldn't see it.
I smile though I am dying inside.
It seems you already have; you've moved on yet again.
This is the third wedding you have planned on having me cater.
I'll do it because, despite the past, you are my friend.
Just don't expect me to be happy about it.
Do you know how much it hurt, having to smile when I wanted to cry?
I became really good at lying; I know you couldn't see it.
I smile though I am dying inside.
Day-breaking Addictions
Blue eyes, warm with romance or
Cold with malice.
A pair of drummer-dexterous hands and
A crooked, boy-sweet smile.
The lightning-speed of an IQ, 187,
And an indignant kitten glower.
Thrum-humming guitar notes in crystalline acoustic and
Soul-heavy distortion.
Color-bright images, inked onto a page -
Samurai-swift strikes, claw-and-fist fights -
And leaping off a screen,
Highlighted and subtitled.
All of these can break
A solid day’s
Work.
(75 words)
(cookies to those who can name my obssessions)
Cold with malice.
A pair of drummer-dexterous hands and
A crooked, boy-sweet smile.
The lightning-speed of an IQ, 187,
And an indignant kitten glower.
Thrum-humming guitar notes in crystalline acoustic and
Soul-heavy distortion.
Color-bright images, inked onto a page -
Samurai-swift strikes, claw-and-fist fights -
And leaping off a screen,
Highlighted and subtitled.
All of these can break
A solid day’s
Work.
(75 words)
(cookies to those who can name my obssessions)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
My Cup Runneth Over
Beads of salt water,
dripping off my face,
on to my pillow.
I believed once that I
could not cry.
That I had trained myself to
hold
back
the sadness.
Now the tears come,
and they will not stop.
I have years to make up for.
(46 words)
dripping off my face,
on to my pillow.
I believed once that I
could not cry.
That I had trained myself to
hold
back
the sadness.
Now the tears come,
and they will not stop.
I have years to make up for.
(46 words)
Concentration Check: Failed
A marching band on the brain stem
Winds its way across medulla oblongata
Step-stepping along the occipital lobe.
Stray colour guards spin their jewel-bright flags
Along nerve-endings and
Tap, tap, tap behind a pair of eyes.
A memo seethes, unwritten beneath fingertips
While a poem crawls itself to life.
Hands reach for - banana chips and a sip of water.
Every footstep, jangling of keys is an excuse to
Not write.
Not work.
Not concentrate.
The sergeants played a marching tune...
(83 words)
Winds its way across medulla oblongata
Step-stepping along the occipital lobe.
Stray colour guards spin their jewel-bright flags
Along nerve-endings and
Tap, tap, tap behind a pair of eyes.
A memo seethes, unwritten beneath fingertips
While a poem crawls itself to life.
Hands reach for - banana chips and a sip of water.
Every footstep, jangling of keys is an excuse to
Not write.
Not work.
Not concentrate.
The sergeants played a marching tune...
(83 words)
The Call
Seek here again O sons of earth
pipe and branch to lead the way.
At mothers call we all shall come
to guide our brothers and show our worth.
Misty mountains lay ahead
guarded by the winds.
The road stretches on behind
showing where we've been.
Walk the way of those before
guided by the call.
Find at last O sons of earth
the place where men stand tall.
pipe and branch to lead the way.
At mothers call we all shall come
to guide our brothers and show our worth.
Misty mountains lay ahead
guarded by the winds.
The road stretches on behind
showing where we've been.
Walk the way of those before
guided by the call.
Find at last O sons of earth
the place where men stand tall.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Kindness of Strangers
Thunk.
I heard it,
refused to stop.
I was almost home,
but my hands were
shaking and I
knew I had no choice.
The tire was worn down,
falling apart,
just like my life.
Another problem to add
to the list.
But that nice man,
he stopped.
He helped.
And I wonder how long
it will be until I
can be that stranger.
Until I can help.
(67 words)
I heard it,
refused to stop.
I was almost home,
but my hands were
shaking and I
knew I had no choice.
The tire was worn down,
falling apart,
just like my life.
Another problem to add
to the list.
But that nice man,
he stopped.
He helped.
And I wonder how long
it will be until I
can be that stranger.
Until I can help.
(67 words)
Twisted Perceptions
Earth above and sky below;
Moonshine and the sunlight's glow.
Winters growth and Summers snow;
Rivers stop and Deserts flow.
(There will be more to this eventually, I just have to work it out first.)
Moonshine and the sunlight's glow.
Winters growth and Summers snow;
Rivers stop and Deserts flow.
(There will be more to this eventually, I just have to work it out first.)
Space of Human Minds
Between the voices of one or two women -
Director, secretary - arguing policy, procedure
Lingers golden light particles
Broken between smoke-black clouds.
Attention is the ticking of a watch
And the tap, tap of a benchmate’s pen.
Stardust is human thought
Hurtling through the space of imagination.
Staff meetings are
The best places for stories to be born.
(58 words)
Director, secretary - arguing policy, procedure
Lingers golden light particles
Broken between smoke-black clouds.
Attention is the ticking of a watch
And the tap, tap of a benchmate’s pen.
Stardust is human thought
Hurtling through the space of imagination.
Staff meetings are
The best places for stories to be born.
(58 words)
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Project Assignment #29 - Poetic Moments
That's right kids, in honor of me joining M&M, you get to write poetry ALL WEEK LONG!
Tee hee.
What do I mean by poetic moments? Oh, I don't know. I'm the kind of person that believes that there is a poem lurking in the corner of every day, whether it be simple or complex, an epic or a haiku. Just take something, anything from your day that made you stop and think, and try to explain or describe it in poetry.
Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else for an assignment. Let's keep them pretty short too... these are moments after all. How about a 200 word limit? It can be shorter than that though, if you want.
Good luck!
Tee hee.
What do I mean by poetic moments? Oh, I don't know. I'm the kind of person that believes that there is a poem lurking in the corner of every day, whether it be simple or complex, an epic or a haiku. Just take something, anything from your day that made you stop and think, and try to explain or describe it in poetry.
Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else for an assignment. Let's keep them pretty short too... these are moments after all. How about a 200 word limit? It can be shorter than that though, if you want.
Good luck!
Overview #28 - Description
I really failed too. I realized the first day of the challenge, that even though I had issued the challenge, it was going to be no good for me this week. I am good at descriptions of places, but not necessarily objects. And more often than not I found myself in a blank, trying to think of anything; but nothing would really come, or to me it would sound pretty lame. I did sorta like a few that I posted, but on the whole, it was a bad week for me. Next week should be better.
Again, a hearty welcome to Jaded Chaos.
Again, a hearty welcome to Jaded Chaos.
Mod Post and Rules 2.1
Let's give a big master and madness welcome to Jaded Chaos, the newest player in the game! She will join the challenge rotation between Madness and Nagi, so this week it's her turn to issue a challenge.
Rules 2.1 - New players must be apply/be invited by a current member and be screened by the admin (in this case: Nagi) before being allowed to join the game. Even though this is a free country, this corner of cyberspace is being guarded closely and the mods have discretion as to who is allowed to join the game.
Rules 2.1 - New players must be apply/be invited by a current member and be screened by the admin (in this case: Nagi) before being allowed to join the game. Even though this is a free country, this corner of cyberspace is being guarded closely and the mods have discretion as to who is allowed to join the game.
Rules 2.0
First, check the project posted at the beginning of the week. Post questions in the comments of the weekly project post if any portion of the topic confuses you at all. A week begins on Sunday (with the posting of overviews from the previous week and the new assignment for the next week) and ends on Saturday. Challenges may only be reused once every six months and not more frequently, and the same challenge may not be used thrice in one year, so check back to see what previous challenges have been issued.
Second, try to write every day. Leave lots of constructive criticism in the feedback and do the best you can to help each other.
Third, your word limit is set forth in the weekly challenge. Look at the challenge and keep an eye on the word count. At the end of the post, add your word count so we know what gives. Never go under 100 words unless there's poetry invovled.
Fourth, label your posts. Can be anything from "random" to "Dagaz" (but really, only use that one if you must). Try to use a consistent system of labels, so check the existing list of labels before randomly slapping one on your post.
Fifth, there will be overviews. At the end of the week, we make our confessions - strengths, weaknesses. Posts of our own we liked most and liked least. Types of writing we found typical, we thought were experimental, we enjoyed doing or were like pulling teeth. Places we improved. Places we screwed up.
Sixth, if you discover midweek that you're going a challenge alone, finish it out by yourself and then do your best to nudge the person whose turn it is to issue the next week's challenge.
Seventh, if for any reason life hits all the writers at once and a challenge is dead for an entire week, it is automatically renewed at the end of the week to run for another week so that no challenge is wasted.
Eighth, these rules ares subject to alteration and change as the game progresses.
In the meantime, game on.
Second, try to write every day. Leave lots of constructive criticism in the feedback and do the best you can to help each other.
Third, your word limit is set forth in the weekly challenge. Look at the challenge and keep an eye on the word count. At the end of the post, add your word count so we know what gives. Never go under 100 words unless there's poetry invovled.
Fourth, label your posts. Can be anything from "random" to "Dagaz" (but really, only use that one if you must). Try to use a consistent system of labels, so check the existing list of labels before randomly slapping one on your post.
Fifth, there will be overviews. At the end of the week, we make our confessions - strengths, weaknesses. Posts of our own we liked most and liked least. Types of writing we found typical, we thought were experimental, we enjoyed doing or were like pulling teeth. Places we improved. Places we screwed up.
Sixth, if you discover midweek that you're going a challenge alone, finish it out by yourself and then do your best to nudge the person whose turn it is to issue the next week's challenge.
Seventh, if for any reason life hits all the writers at once and a challenge is dead for an entire week, it is automatically renewed at the end of the week to run for another week so that no challenge is wasted.
Eighth, these rules ares subject to alteration and change as the game progresses.
In the meantime, game on.
Overview #28 - Description
I think I totally failed at this game. I did totally let loose as far as waxing a little purple on the lurid descriptions of whatever, but I don't know that my writing improved any. In fact, near the end of the week it seemed to devolve into fragments, lists, and run-on sentences. When I was trying to make a puzzle of what I was describing (save the entry inspired by Millay) my writing fell apart, but if I was pretty open about what was what, my writing was better. Of course, in a novel or short story one rarely plays hide the ball to quite this degree or one risks losing readers altogether. Still, it was fun to attempt to pick apart the details in daily objects.
Back Row All To Himself
Heartbeat. Military march. Machine guns. Swing dancing beneath candle light. Whiskey jazz in a smoky club. Punk and metal, pop and country, rockabilly and ska. All it took was solid rounded wood, smooth, sleek metal rounded into discs, plastic pulled taut over open mouths, hinges and screws galore, pedals and petals, a pair of nylon-head sticks and a pair of even better hands. He could play it all, was the backbone of a song, was the little row of pearls beneath blazing riffs and thumping bass, jumping from crash to ride to splash, from verse to chorus to bridge, and at the end of the day he could still hear himself play, the steady double thump-thump of a heart beating strong.
(123 words)
(123 words)
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