Few and Far Between

Mark flipped through a few pages of the old and worn book in his hands, the dates of the entry's were far apart.

He reread one entry from the middle of the book, calling to mind the memory of the day that he and his brother had decided to join the military. Their father had been proud of them.

The next entry was dated a year later. 'We have been placed in Major David Cole's command.

And the next and last entry three years later. "David gave his life for us today. Bryan is in the hospital, and Joe is missing. Steve is taking this hard.

Mark flipped the book closed and placed it back on his drawer. He didn't know when he would write in it next. Some things he would prefer to forget.

(rather pathetic I know)

Carrier Log

Carolyn and John didn’t keep anything from each other. They didn’t have heart-to-heart father-daughter chats or anything of the like. Carolyn kept a journal, a discreet black, leather-bound thing that gave off enough journal vibes to keep the boys away from it.

It wasn’t a journal in the strictest sense - Carolyn didn’t record her dreams or hopes. Like everything in her life, her journal was all about The Carrier.

8/17: attempted infiltration, south side stage door. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 22:45.

8/18: all secure. Carrier down with flu. Chicken noodle soup administered.

8/21: attempted retrieval, two blocks southeast of venue. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 19:04.

8/24: contact attempted by civilian female (read: fan). Interception by Agent Simon. Security reestablished at perimeter of hotel.

8/25: Orphaneer surveillance detected at mile marker 55 on I-80 eastbound. Countersurveillance established. Estimated time of strike unknown. Agent Simon dispatched to make undercover contact at gas station at mile marker 183.

8/26: attempted retrieval at hotel. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 05:15.

8/27: he kissed me.

8/28: attempted sedation via breakfast. Carrier grumpy and hungry. Orphaneer as yet undetected. Security at venue double-checked. 19:27 Orphaneer attempted retrieval. Intercepted. Wounded but not eliminated. Agent Simon on follow-up.

8/29: 03:32 Orphaneer eliminated. Janitors called 03:37. Bed-check revealed no disturbances with Carrier and siblings. (21:47 Clay kissed me. Trouble???)

9/1: all secure. (Robbie and Clay in a fight and not speaking. Potential for security breach due to angry carelessness?)

9/2: all secure. (Robbie and Clay still not speaking. Dan and Scott are catching on.)

9/3: all secure. (Robbie and Clay made up. Dan and Scott have figured things out. Need to keep Frank and Shelley out of the loop.)

9/4: attempted retrieval 23:02. Intercepted. Eliminated. (Good thing I was up late watching movies with the boys.) Janitors called 23:17. Reported to Agent Simon for medic check. Limited mobility in lower left quadrant, bruised ribs, sprained wrist. Agent Simon on high alert until healed.

9/5: all secure. (Robbie brought me hot chocolate so I would feel better after I “fell down the stairs” at the hotel.)

(376 words)

Why Am I Here

'Sometimes I ask myself why I am here. Not here as in the world, here as in my situation. I had a fairly normal life. How did I end up here in a black-ops unit saving the world day after day? Always another mission, always another life to save, always our way of life to uphold. Am I a glutton for punishment? Did fate just deal me these cards, though I really don't believe in fate. Fate as in something you can't escape... Nope, I don't think there is a point to that. Why do I do it and what do I hope to gain from it?'

Steve slowly closed his pocket journal and slipped it back in his bunk. These questions always rattled around in his head.

Skeletons of their Music

Kevin found it behind the desk in his sons' old bedroom, a battered spiral-bound notebook full of scribbled lyrics, chord progressions, production notes, and doodles. It was a songbook, the heart and soul of almost ten years of songwriting. Kevin sat down and paged through the smatterings of lyrics, tracing the handwriting and knowing instinctively whose hand had written what.

He’d lost his sons somewhere along the way, and all he had left was skeletons of their music.

Kevin settled back against Scott’s old bedstead and read.

Antifreeze and aeroplanes
Killing you and killing me
Tell you what? We can fly away

She makes me touch the sky
She makes me cry
Stole my heart and made me bleed
I don’t mind when she goes
Bang Bang Boom

I open my eyes and see her face
But I want one more night
in California, one more night with you

She’s all right, but
She’s a hangover I can’t get over
I call up her machine just to hear her voice
Call the doctor - she’s in my head

Every town I pass, your name’s on the road sign
Your voice is on the wind
Tell me if I make it back there again you’ll let me in

Carolyn

You keep moving, you’re tired of the places you call “there”
You are the girl of my dreams
All alone in my room wishing that you were here
I’m going down in flames
I’ll never be the same

No hard feelings
You left me breathing
How does it feel?
I don’t want you to want me
Tonight I’ll hold you tight
but I won’t come back again

I mean
I’ll be there for you
Isn’t it funny how time seems to slip away so fast?
If life is so short
I’m going to love you endlessly
But I won’t forget
Love isn’t always going to find me

Misery is when I touch you and
You can’t feel me
When I look in your eyes
Can you see me?

I look good with my heart in my throat

I’m perilously here and
She is gone

I’d say you were a supermodel, so

Tell me why do these walls
Lead me to a place
Where I can’t think about your face
Without missing you
So raise a glass to a love long past

This one’s for you

Every drink you down you taste reluctantly
Free yourself, be yourself, or lie my pretty
Venus butterfly

I’m walking behind while
They’re banging on every door
Hoping you’re alive
What were they looking for?

When you touch me it’s like
Nothing I have ever known, but

I’ve seen you looking at him
Who do you love?

We can take our time
Take it on
Take it all in till it’s all gone
In the moonlight you’re
Wide-eyed and lovely

I want to be wild at heart but
Without you my world

came
     undone

Maybe it’s wrong to have fun

(493 words)

Voice from the Past

Joe stood shuffling through a stack of papers and items. He had gathered everything up when he left the foster home. Everything.

Joe pulled another box towards himself where he sat on the floor in his tiny one room flat. He swallowed down a lump when he saw the box was labeled 'Alec.' He gently opened the flaps on the top and looked over a confusion of papers and assorted bits of the past.

Joe lingered over the papers, reading his brothers words, hearing his voice in his head. As Joe reached into the box for the final load of papers, his fingers encountered a book that was somewhat thicker than the normal composition books that had been filled with snatches of prose and bits of poetry.

The book was large and Joe could tell immediately that it was some kind of journal. Joe closed his eyes and flipped the book open to where the bookmark was inserted, to where Alec had written his thought for the last time.

'September 20

I've just been accepted to Purdue. I don't know though if I will go. Joe needs me here. The old man is such a bastard. I can't bear to think what he would do, what he would do worse if I were to leave. I can't do that to Joe. He's so innocent sometimes. I hate to see what the world is doing to him. Everyday I see the sparkle lessen in his eyes. Everyday that he has to face down the Bastard, every time he gets a beating. I can take it. I know eventually Joe would be able to bear that too, but he shouldn't have to. I will make a deal with the Bastard. He leaves Joe alone and he had whup me as much as he wants. I want Joe to have a happy life; well at least as happy as it can be, all things considered.
I won't go to Purdue. I won't leave Joe to that Bastard. the local college will be good enough for me. And when I get a good paying job, me and Joe will move out to a simple apartment, and Joe can just be a kid.'

Joe felt the salt drying on his cheek hours later, felt the tightening of the skin, the tightening of his heart. He gently placed the journal back into the box and placed it on a high shelf. A memory to be stored and returned to later.

To My Brothers

Dear Scott, Clay, and Bob,

I know you’re reading this (dirty traitors) so I will dispense with pretenses and get straight to the heart of things.

Scott was off key during the second chorus of Crazy tonight. Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but while I was helping Bob set up his drums someone - I suspect Clay - spoke to the sound engineer and had him remix my monitor so Scott’s voice was the loudest. Clay was a little off his game tonight, but then he started flirting with some girl in the first row and things might have been going well - until the forty-year-old woman behind the teenage girl thought Clay was flirting with her and --

Well, Clay has good reflexes. He ducked.

Which meant poor Bob ended up with some strange woman’s bra hanging from his crash cymbal. Luckily for Bob, he could hide his embarrassingly bright blush behind his pretty long hair.

We’re professionals, though, and none of us laughed.

Until we made it off stage.

Even Carolyn laughed. Apparently Dad had asked her to skip onto stage between songs and rescue the bra - none of the guys on crew wanted to go near it - but she was laughing too hard to be of any use.

Bob really, really needs to cut his hair.

Or at least clean it out of the drain in the shower after he’s done, because I don’t much appreciate getting his hair wound around my toe while I’m showering first thing in the morning.

From now on, when we get two rooms, I am so rooming with Clay. Let the long-haired monsters share the shower.

Adieu,

Dan

(276 words)

Project Assignment #50 - Dear Diary

Okay, lets pretend for a second that your characters keep diaries or journals, or whatever. What would an entry look like? Do they keep a daily record, or is it a once in a while thing as major events happen?

500 word max

Have fun writers!!

Overview #49: Fairytale Remix

Once we did a longer, more complex version of this challenge on Heavy Noir, and recently I read through some fairytale remixes, and I thought it would be fun to do some brief ones, in the vein of the comic A Softer World or maybe even A Merlin World. I like mythological and fairytale remixes, especially in urban fantasy settings the way Neil Gaiman does them. It's also fun to play with gender roles or give characters more personality or spine than they had in the original tale and see where that takes us, or to suggest that a less pleasant, less romantic version is the true version.

I'm pretty lame at most genres besides action thrillers and badly-ending romances, and I figure a few exercises in other genres is a lot of fun.

I couldn't resist a little Arthurian Legend thrown in for good measure.

The Matter of Merlin

He was tall, blond, muscular, and far more handsome than the first dozen or so princes who had come through the court seeking to win the Princess’s hand.

He also looked very surprised when the King tried to hand him a sword.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m actually quite useless with a sword.”

The King blinked.

The young man smiled and lifted one hand, conjured a ball of light on his palm. “I’m a sorcerer, not a warrior. My prince, however, is a fine swordsman.”

The prince was a few inches taller than the sorcerer, whipcord thin, and pale, dark-haired. He had lovely blue eyes, but his cheekbones and mouth were distressingly pretty, and it looked as though the armor he was wearing had been made for a twelve-year-old squire. He did, however, accept the sword with easy grace, as one used to wielding a weapon, and he bowed.

“Well, Prince, er, Merlin, I’m sure my daughter is looking forward to your prowess in single combat. Isn’t that right, Guinevere?” The King cast his daughter a look.

She wrenched her gaze away from the sorcerer and nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Good luck, Prince Merlin.”

He bowed and kissed her hand, and when he smiled, she felt something in her chest hitch. “Thank you, my princess,” he said, and he straightened up, strode into the ring where the kingdom’s finest warrior was waiting.

“Is he good?” Guinevere asked the sorcerer.

“He’s better than he looks,” the sorcerer said. He smiled and added, “My name’s Arthur, by the way.”

(260 words)

The Door in the Tower

She sighed and picked disconsolately at the tapestry she was supposed to be making. She didn’t even remember what the picture was supposed to be anymore. Before she could fling herself restlessly onto her bed, she heard the familiar call, that ridiculous name Aunt had picked and that stupid chant about her hair.

She bundled her hair up, hauled it across the tower, and peered out.

Another buffoon in fancy armor on a horse. Of course.

She sighed again and let her hair down, and when he made it to the top she kissed him on the cheek before Aunt burst out of nowhere and chased the boy off with magic.

“You can’t be so picky,” Aunt said after the knight tumbled to the ground and staggered away, blinded and cursed.

“I want an interesting boy, thank you very much,” Rapunzel said, and plopped down in front of the tapestry next door.

“You won’t be young and pretty forever, and if I keep cursing those knights soon no one will be telling your story in the courts,” Aunt said.

Rapunzel shrugged and picked at the tapestry some more.

***

She woke in the middle of the night to find a young man perched on her windowsill. A scarf covered the lower half of his face, and he had a wicked-looking dagger instead of a sword.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“A thief,” he said. “I heard there was a fancy tapestry here that would fetch good money. Go to sleep, let me take the tapestry, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Well,” Rapunzel said, “how about you cut all this stupid hair off, marry me, and then for once, someone can use the stupid door at the bottom of the tower?”

“Why should I marry you?”

“I’m a princess.”

(298 words)

Logic From a Former Mermaid

“Well,” she mused over the side of the deck to her sisters, “if he was willing to forget me so easily, perhaps he doesn’t love me as much as I thought he did.”

One sister blinked. “As you said, he was enchanted.”

“This is true, but enchantments can be broken by true love. Apparently his love is not so true.”

Another sister nodded. “Then do what you must.” She swam closer to the deck, reared up on the cap of a wave and offered her tool. “Take it and return to live with us forever.”

The former mermaid nodded and accepted the knife.


A few minutes later, she realized that, even if her prince’s heart had not been true, it had at least been quite healthy. She sank her teeth into the thickness of the muscle, tasted iron on her tongue, and when it was done, she flung herself overboard --

And vanished beneath the waves with a splash and a flick of her shiny new tail.

(166 words)

Role Reversal

"I tell you I saw one. I'm not lying," cub said, trying to get anyone's attention.

Everyone passed by the young one, ignoring what he was saying.

"Please, you've got to believe me," he begged, trying to get anyone to stop and listen to him.

"Do you really think that anyone is going to believe that there are humans out there," one said as they brushed past the cub.

"But."

"Give it up," another said and bumped him back.

The young cub sulked as he trotted to the edge of the clearing, "No one believed me."

"Can you blame them?" A voice asked from behind him.

House of Brick

“I think,” First said, “that dynamite might be apropos at this point.”

Second tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Look, just because wind and fire haven’t worked at this point doesn’t mean we need to be quite so extreme. Maybe a high-powered blast of water? What say you, Third?”

Third already had a detonator, a pair of pliers, and several blocks of plastique out on his work bench.

“Then the majority has ruled,” First said. “Dynamite it is.”

Second sighed and shook his head. He turned back toward the brick house and called out. “Really, Mr. Wolf, this is becoming quite tiresome! This is the third house of yours we’re going to have to demolish. You might as well give up now.”

“No!” came the muffled reply from behind the front door. “Go away!”

“Look,” Third said drolly, “he’s lit a fire to prevent us from crawling down the chimney.”

First reached for the pliers. “Let’s get to work, brothers.”

(159 words)

Musings from the Psuedo Grave

"I bet no one ever told you that it was a nightmare, this tale over which you sigh romantically. I bet they never told you while you listened to some sweet fairytale, that it wasn't all a path lined with roses. I'm sure that you realized that at one point, but I am just as sure that you ignored it. How do you know that the slipper didn't have a nail through it, or the kiss of life wasn't really just an excuse to put the moves on a helpless woman. Did you ever stop to wonder if I'm really asleep, or whether I can still hear and think. That I have been slowly going crazy year after year. Every storm I've heard, every rap on my glass coffin, every step in the woods."

"Yup. Slowly going crazy..."

Deceptive Beauty

What no one realized was that she could hear everything. Over time she’d learned to tell who people were, where they were, just by the sound of their footsteps and voices. Slow, shuffling footsteps accompanied by wheezing breath and a voice like a creaky door meant some old woman - a hedge-witch, likely - collecting herbs. Quick, light steps and bright, sparkling laughter meant children exploring the ancient, overgrown castle.

She wasn’t quite sure how time passed, because she couldn’t see anything and had no concept of light or dark, day or night, but she knew one voice that came regularly. She was quite sure he was the only one who knew she was there, and he would talk to her - about everything. About how his mother nagged him, about how he was doing his best to fill his dead father’s shoes, about how his little sister let the goat loose again.

So when she heard the almost-forgotten clank of armor and swirl of a heavy cape and knew that some prince had arrived, she knew her time had come.

When he kissed her, she could feel the spell that had weighed her limbs down for so long begin to stir, pull free. But she kept very, very still and waited until he left, heavy footsteps slow with disappointment.

And then she heard that familiar light, easy gait, that gentle tenor.

“Good day, my sleeping princess. It’s been quite a madcap out there - someone left the bull’s pen open and he’s been marauding in the village. We just barely managed to wrangle him back into place.”

She felt him settle on the edge of her bed.

She opened her eyes and sat up.

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Aurora.” And she kissed him.

(294 words)

Warts

"All you have to do is kiss me and I'll turn back into a prince," the frog croaked.

"Yeah, but won't I get warts or something," the young girl asked. She looked skeptically at the little frog. she had just been sitting near the pond resting when the creature had hopped up next to her and started talking.

"Nope. Trust me," the frog pleaded, trying his best to get her to come nearer.

"You know, my mother always warned me about talking animals. I think I had better not," She said as she stepped away from the little green amphibian.

Little Red's True Colours

"Sorry Grandma," Little Red said.


She gazed at the sleeping wolf for a little longer, then brought the axe squarely down on its neck.

"But I want the inheritance."

Then Little Red stepped out of the house in the woods, threw her head back, and screamed. The woodcutter who had spotted her walking along the trail with her basket full of baked treats came running. She cried prettily for him, and he held her, comforted her.

As soon as the funeral was done and the will was probated, Little Red split the proceeds with her mother.

None of the wolves on the edge of the forest ever came near Little Red again.

(112 words)

Project #49: Fairytale Remix

I've decided that it's been a while since we took on a genre assignment, so here I thought we would take fairytales and remix them. Think Neil Gaiman's "Snow, Glass, Apples" if you're confused about what this means. What if the princess instead of the prince were the frog? What if Snow White didn't wake up? What if the stepmother wasn't really evil? Give yourself 100-300 words to turn the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen on their heads.

Mod Post Again

That's right. Another mod post.

So totally no one took me up on the free-write. No new challenge will be up until Sunday, when we will resume our usual posting schedule. I think I have plans for the challenge since I think it's my turn in the rotation again. In the meantime...cogitate on fairytales. I think it will be awesome.

Welcome back, writers!

Mod Post

Yes, I abuse this post title a lot.

Okay...so, I had the plague over the weekend. And I have a horrifically important trial competition coming up. The sort of thing that makes or breaks a law student's soul, if not her career. So things may be...quiet. Around here. For a while. But we will get caught up, don't get me wrong. In the meantime, feel free to take a gander through your own universe. In the grand Madness tradition...freewrite! Freedom! And writing! For all! Up to 500 words.

-- Nagi out.