Flash Fiction: Brainstorming

It's been a while, Dear Readers, somewhere between theatre and snow I haven't been as dutiful with posted. I need to change that. That where this post comes in. I need to write some, not only to keep in practice, but it's what we writer do, and next month is the A to Z challenge, and while I have been focusing on submitting my completed work, and revising a select few pieces to go into the submission rotation (of rejection letter. you know what I mean). I also have a big sooper sekrit project that I have been working on developing. More on that at a another post.

In the mean time, Dear Readers, here is a little piece I whipped up for a group I am part of, #writestuff's monthly writing prompt, created by Tamara Woods (check her out!). Spring having returned, mostly, and the muse trying to break out of her frozen winter encasement I thought I would whip out a piece of flash fiction. So, remember, that this is the rough draft, I want to go back and polish it up some. I have a few projects I am currently working on and trying to limit creating new stories that might distract from them. But for now, I present a story about something writers often face, Brainstorming...

The voice echoed across the sunshine streaming in through the windows.

“I remember the journey that took me into the heart of Chicago. It wasn’t the grandest of adventures, after all I was only sixteen.”

The voice began again, only this time preceded by a click.

“Remember that trip into Chicago? I do.” Emphatic and articulate, the voice spoke of riding the El Trains around the perimeter of Chicago base. “I was only sixteen, but it felt like a whole different world.” The click resounded and the whirling on rewinding tape. The old and wrinkled hands fumbled across the cassette recorder for the stop button, which had rubbed off most of the lettering on the machine, yet still worked perfectly.

“It was the year of my sixteenth year….” the voice stopped but didn’t stop the recorder, “In the sixteenth year of my life, I traveled the first time. I left my home and my family to find something that I was looking for…” Click! The voice sighed deeply, setting down the recorder, and glanced it’s pale blue eyes out the window.

She was an older woman, hands trembled slightly, but grasped a hold of a nearby pencil and began writing on a small notepad. “Maybe it’s time to try the old way,” she said, stopping to glanced back out the window. The sky was blue without any cloud cover, but the wind blew, and the women knew it was a cold wind. “”Why am I trying to write about Chicago?” she said, glancing across her small single room apartment.

It was packed tightly with bookshelves and a small fold out couch. She scanned across the shelves, unsure and frowning, “The must have left,” she said. Picking up the pencil, she scribbled some words, a name, and several places. “Chicago? I have never been to chicago...well, once when I was younger, and on a layover when I had to run across O’Hare Airport to catch my next flight…” Her eyes squinting in the dim light of the apartment, and her gaze fell across of row of books.

“Ah, yes...I remember these...Must be why I have Chicago on the brain.” Laughing the woman stood up and strode across the room’s width to the shelf in question and pull off a greyish blue tinted book. “Ah, Tris, somehow you remind me more of myself than the others,” she said sweeping her arm across the shelves of books and manuscripts. “But your story is NOT mine,” and she wagged a finger at the book. The pages were old and slightly faded, as it had been many years since the woman had opened these pages. She leaned in and inhaled.

“Ah, that’s the stuff that brings me to life,” and a sudden snap of the book brought her out of her revelry. “Maybe I should try something different, after all I will not be successful if I don’t at least write.” She carefully placed the book back on the shelf, sliding it between a thick volume of Poe’s writings, a greenish grey one,  an orangey red one, and a thin book with a dragon printed on the side. “What is it he said?” Her hands trailed over a small globe, spinning it and blurring the colours in a rainbow of flurries across the globe’s imagery sky. “Write what you know?”

Her footsteps echoed quietly on the carpet of her flat and the sound of a nearby train rumbled into her meager space. The cup on the desk rattled, along with countless dragon knick knacks. She smiled, thinking about the day she moved out here. Her hands grasped ahold of the old mug, it was clipped and the handled had been re-glued at least three times, but it was her oldest cup she owned, and the one that survived the move out here.

“I remember when I had only one coffee cup, and one plate, and one bowl.” Laughing, she glanced around, “Now I have plenty! And more than enough for a different cup,” she said and looked at the mug and the fade pictures of her as Bottom the Ass; Mrs. Sowerberry, the Undertaker Wife; and Mrs. Elbert Cook Jr. “Those were the days,” she smiled and glanced out the window. Her view included a small flower box filled with flowers and a small tomato plant. “Maybe this hand I’ll get some tomatoes.”

The clock chimed the hour, and the woman set down the cup and returned to her chair. While not so stiff from age, she moved much more slowly than she did when she moved in some twenty years ago, “I need to get started, or I’ll never make deadline.” Picking up the pencil, and pulling out a larger notepad, the woman began scratching out words, “You know, sometimes it is worth it to get stuck in Chicago, even if it was only for an hour, sometimes the best adventures happen in your twenties, and still others are sweeter in your forties. This one is about adventure though, about taking chances, and pulling a sword out of a barn door at three in the morning.

“Ha! That’s pull them in…” she chuckled to herself, “Just enough truth, and a whole lot of adventure…” she said to herself, glancing back over at the shelf with the globe. “I can have just as many adventures as you, Tris, some even better…” Her pencil scratching across the page. The world building itself and her coffee cooled and the afternoon passed into evening.

Dear Readers, leave me a comment about the story (what did you like, or not like), or how your brainstorm ideas for stories, and what kind of muse do you follow (or how you get inspired).,,

The Birthright

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Nana,” Celeste said, staring into the box where a blue dress lay folded up neatly. It looked, almost, like a piece of origami paper what with the white polka dots that looked like stars swimming in a sea of inky blackness. Celeste ran her hand over the fabric. It felt woolen and slightly itchy and made her less likely to actually wear it. But as she took a hold of the shoulders and pulled it out in a quick snap.

The older woman at her side said, “Careful dear, this fabric is precious.”

“So how am I supposed to wear it?” Celeste asked flippantly, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she held up the dress. It looked less like wool now that she was holding it. Squinting, her eyes saw stars and galaxies and the whole of universes within the fabric. “Is this cashmere, Nana?” she asked, holding it up. It looks much prettier than in the box.

“It was made of a rare breed of sheep and mixed with Angora rabbit hair.” Her Nana stood there, “your Poppi brought me some of this yarn, from some far away place while he was in the army. It sat in my box of yarn for almost three decades before I decided to use it. He said something about the yarn, from the lady he bought it from. This yarn was only to be used for special occasions. And your graduation is a special occasion. It’s a beginning of a new life.”

Celeste carefully held up the dress you her chest. I felt surprisingly soft against her skin. “You just forgot about this yarn? Why?” she asked, looking at her Nana.

“Oh you know how much yarn I keep around and how much I buy,” her Nana laughed and fingered the edge of the dress. She looked at her granddaughter with a sad pride. “It was a wonder I ever found anything….” Nana laughed. “Poppi told me he wanted me to make something so beautiful to celebrate, that’s why he bought it.”

“What was it called, Nana? The yarn I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t rightly remember. Tessa something…” Nana stood behind Celeste, beaming. “I am so proud of you, My Dear. I never thought for once that I would have this…” gesturing to Celeste.

“Naaaaaaanaaaa, are you going to embarrass me,” Celeste mock whined.

“To whom, Dear,” as she gestured to the empty room, “No I mean it. When you’re Poppi and me were first married we planned to have a big family, eight children at least. But after five years I guess I gave up. You Poppi he was always sad after that…” Sighing, she pulled Celeste over to the floor length mirror. Caressing the fabric, she smiled at her granddaughter. 

“Why was he sad?”

“Oh, that’s a long story…” Her Nana sounding sad as she petted the dress that was pressed up against Celeste’s body,” I guess at the time he wanted as much as I did.”

“But you made Mom. Why would he be sad?”

“You know how things don’t turn out the way you plan. Well, Poppi’s feels that way about his life.”

“But, once you made Mom, I would think me would be happier?”

Her Nana smiled into the mirror, she looked so sad.

“Oh Nana! I’m sorry. Did I say something?” She looked into the mirror and caught her Nana’s gaze. Celeste couldn’t say a word, but she put her hand on her Nana’s shoulder and smiling said, “I love the dress.

“I’m glad. I do hope you wear it for graduation.”

“I will,” Celeste glanced at the dress. It was really very pretty. It was an A frame style dress bluish black with almost iridescent “stars” and sworls of purple and black swimming across the fabric. “I love it!” She smiled the fabric soft against her knees and hands. “I will wear it for graduation.”

“You’ll be the most beautiful graduate on that stage.” Nana stopped, turning away.

“Nana?”

“Its nothing, I just was thinking.” Her Nana took a hold of the dress and Celeste pulled her shirt off to try the dress on.

“About what?”

“Your Mom. You know she never graduated high school.” Her Nana held the dress over Celeste’s head as she lifted her arms. 

“I didn’t know. She never really talks about her childhood much. I just assumed…”

“She had it rough. Even from the beginning...”

“How so?” Celeste asked, as suddenly she shrieked excitedly as the dress fell around her hips, it practically conformed to her body. Celeste removed her capris and looked into the mirror. “Oh Nana, I love it. I’m sorry if I sounded ungrateful earlier.”

“No you weren’t ungrateful, the fabric is meant to be worn and will only look appropriate when on the person it was made for. You are destined for the stars, My Dear.” Her Nana beamed.

“But didn’t my Mom deserve something this awesome too.” Celeste twirled in the mirror. The edges of the dress flared briefly and settle back down.

Her Nana was silent.

“Nana?” Celeste turned away from the mirror. She faced her Nana, “What’s the matter?” She saw her Nana tearing up, her deep blue eyes filling with tears.

“Oh, this is wrong!” her Nana said, turning slowly away.

“What is it Nana?”

“I have a secret, Celeste. Something I haven’t told anyone.”

“What is it, Nana?”

“Your mother?”

“My mother?”

“Your mother, she isn’t your mother. She is my daughter, a young lady your Poppi and I adopted after our fifth year of marriage. I was about thirty and we went to adopt. We found a little girl of about five, parents had died. She was traumatized. Wouldn’t even call us mom and dad 

“He never really loved her. I believe he tried, at least for me, but in the end they were never close and I think she resented that. She was rebellious and did everything against what your Poppi said and did for her. She ran away too many times to count. And only came home for money.

“Then one day everything change. Your ‘Mother’ was twenty five and I was fifty. I learned I was pregnant...

The words hung in the air. Celeste dropped her hands from her Nana’s shoulders. Looking at her Nana and then turning away, she saw herself in the mirror. Realization hit even before her Nana should say another words. In the mirror she saw that Her Nana looked so much like her, while her mother hardly looked like her. Her Nana had blue eyes wavy hair, while her ‘mother’ had black hair and straight. She realized that she never knew much about her mother. She hardly spent much time with her, but she always around her Nana.

As she stared in the mirror, the sworls seemed to stop, frozen in mid swirl; her hands ran across the dresses folds, soft and comforting. And then she looked up and saw her Nana put an arm around her shoulder, “Mom?” Celeste said the word carefully into the mirror.

Her Nana, blue eyes shining and her wavy white hair falling in ringlets around her face nodding.

“Yes, I am your Mother. My other daughter is your older sister and I think she was even more resentful when I ask her to pretend to be your ‘Mother’. And I never told you, because I was ashamed. But when you were ready to graduate and begin a new life I realized I couldn’t hold this back from you anymore. You are my daughter, and I was saving this fabric to give you a birthright to be worthy of.

Celeste wanted to cry, she felt the shudder in her chest as she choked on tears. “So, if you are my Mom, then that makes me a Delacoeur like you, not a Smythe like my Sister?” The words tasted funny as she said them, but they felt right so she smiled into the mirror at her Mother’s smiling face.

Yes, I want you to be Celeste Delacoeur after all this time.”

Nana?” 

“Yes?”

“No, Mom,” Celeste tasted the words on her tongue, “When I filed for my diploma, I already put Delacoeur on my diploma. I already thought of you are my mother, even if I didn’t know it yet.” Celeste took a hold of her Mother’s hand and squeezed it tight. “This is the best way to start a new life.” 

From andrebog on MorgueFile

Little Bit of This and That...Labour Day and End of Summer

So much to report....

This Week:
       *Reading: I have been bouncing between my menagerie of books. Haven't finished reading anything new yet, but enjoying the progress. Currently, I am working on Invisible Moon (James A. Owen), The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (Agatha Christie), and Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (Douglas Adams). I have recently discovered that I enjoy jumping from book to book, as it suit my mood. This sprang up from a conversation with an old friend from High School two weekends ago now about how we read books. I always marveled at her ability to read books quickly.
       *Writing: wrote Monday (650 words) and Tuesday (953 words), and will be blitzing later today on Modern Muses.
       *Editing: finished the reading through/edit of The Real Road Trip back on Friday. I am reallt please dto have made it the whole way through and even more pleased that the story is still workable. Just need some massive re-writes in the process. Enjoyed a bit of a break during the weekend. Now I start the next phase of the edits.
       *Social Media: keeping up with my sponsor duties and returning to my daily 4 blog visits. Spent a little more time on Twitter with my #writestuff tweet chat yesterday.

In the middle of all this I have to find a schedule to accommodate my upcoming rehearsal schedule. Daunted? Maybe a little. Determined? Heck yeah! I built some good habit over the summer and don't want to lose that. I am also trying to do more challenges, like the WWW Wednesdays:

What are you currently reading?
   -about 5 different novels. The one I am leaning more towards is Invisible Moon (James A. Owen). It the second in his Mythworld series about what happens when Rangarok happens in a little Upstate New York town. I don't think that was too spoilery.

What did you recently finish reading?
     -The Festival of Bones, Mythworld Book 1 (James A. Owen). What happens when ancient literature meets opera?

What do you think you’ll read next?
     -finish one of the other books I have started. Also want to revisit and finish the Inkheart series (Cornelia Finke) . I have a pending review of the movie that is just waiting to happen. I do book to movie review/analysis.

This (upcoming) Week:
     *Reading: finish reading Invisible Moon and maybe Murder Comes Ashore (Julie Anne Lindsey).
     *Writing: write daily, at  least 300 words.
     *Editing: begin my re-write of The Real Road Trip, trying the edits re-writing all the crap, and finally organizing the chapter, maybe an outline too. To be completed by the end of September.
      *Blogging: missed my Tuesday blog day, so this week will be Thursday. 1 non-ROW80 post. Also blog about goal progress in August and September goals.
      *Submissions: 2 new submissions and report on the progress.
      *Social Media:  visit 4 blogs daily and sponsor goals. Thinking of being a sponsor for Round 4.

Music Man read through is next week. Got to work on a props list. Revise my schedule to account for rehearsals and writing/editing time. Prep for NaNoWriMo in November. Post more spoke word to my YouTube channel (as it hasn't gotten a lot of love in the last year). Prepare for OctPoWriMo in October. Also, enjoy the End of Summer.

How are your goals, Dear Readers? What have you been up to as the summer is winding down?

A Round of Words in 80 Days, a blog challenge that knows you have a life. Stop in the Blog Hop to visit my fellow bloggers/writers.

It's also, WIPpet Wednesday. The day we post a snippet of our WIP. Created by K.L. Schwengel. YOu take today's date and used the NEW MATH to get a snippet of your WIP and share with the interwebs. Visit my fellow WIPpeteers here. Today's date is 9/2/2015. Going to make it simple 9+2=11 lines from
Modern Muses.

We find Thalos calling on Teri and she arrives via a dream form...

“Guess I am hearing things now.”

“No, you’re not,” the voice came again, sounding closer.

“Teri?” Thalos called, but when he looked up he didn’t see anyone or anything.

“You called?” Teri’s voice filled his ears.

“Did I?”

“I heard to whisper my name. Then you said something. I then found myself here” 

“What was that,” he said to the emptiness that was the study and to the direction that Teri voice had come from. He closed his eyes and thought about Teri, her shape, hair colour, her smell.

“Talo, it’s me.” The voice was stronger now and he saw through his closed eyes Teri’ small frame standing near the fire. “Come here, but don’t open your eyes too fast.”

“I how can I do that and not trip over chairs and mediaeval armour?”

“It seems to work better when you close your eyes. Relax . Then slowly open your eyes.” Easier said that done, Thalos thought to himself. “I am glad you called. There seems no way out of this room.”

“Where are you?” Thalos asked, finding that he was suddenly standing.

Thalos and Teri's Song:

Maybe its Time

“You know, this is the fifth one we’ve gone to in the last month?” a man’s voice trickled out from underneath his turned up collar. It was a drizzly lightly, almost typical weather for funerals.

“You think everyone lives forever, Cal,” said a young woman’s voice out from underneath a plaid umbrella.

“No. And how did you get to that statement?” the man answered, shifting his hat across his brow and trying to keep the raindrops from his face.

“Because you were thinking it, that’s why. I know it. It was bound to come up in conversation in the next minute or so. Just you wait.”

The man eyed the young woman as they walked along the unpaved drive that winded through the glens of Forest Wake Cemetery. “I think you already mentioned it, Fea,” he said into a suddenly chilly breeze that blew into his face.

“I don’t really want to think about living or even dying, Cal.” Turning to face the young man, “I just want to be. I feel so numb that I can’t fathom anything else. So let’s not debate it. Dead is dead. Marion, Felix, Zachariah, Franz, and Becky are dead. Just let me mourn them.” She picked up her pace as the rain was starting to come down harder. The drops hurt almost as much as the loss of her friends hurt. She rushed ahead.

“You are the one who thinks that,” whispering to cold and wet headstones he passed by. A shiver ran up his back and pushed him forward.

“But you realize that you can’t turn it off, Felicity,” he called as he rushed to keep pace with her. Inhaling his breathed in the wool of his scarf and the rain, and they splattered across his nose and he wiped a hand across the bridge of his nose. It was almost like he was crying, but hiding the tears between the rain drops.

Felicity was watching him. She was sure he was trying not to cry, “You can’t turn off the emotion, Cal.”

“I know, but neither can you,” it was a jab and she felt it, as much as he did. “And I’ve never said that anyone lives forever, Fea. But, it’s been almost fifteen year since Mom died and you still think she is following you. That you can feel her in the house when you are alone, and sometimes things get moved. You are the one who thinks people ‘live forever’,” Cal made air quote while trying to sidestep puddles that were forming in the cemetery road. “Can you stop?” he called and reached for her arm, but she kept walking.

“You’re grieving, Fea. I can understand. That’s okay. I’m grieving too. They were my friends too, but you cannot ignore death like that.”

She stopped walking. He could see that her shoulders were now shaking and he knew she was crying. This was the hard part. Making she see the reason. When Felicity was so sad reason flew out the window. Cal rushed up to her. A hand rested on a nearby headstone and her plaid umbrella shook with her sobs.

His converse seemed to find every puddle and by the time he reached her his feet were soaking wet. It didn’t really matter. Life was too short to worry about wet shoes, even wet hundred and fifty dollar sneakers. He smiled for a moment as he reached out to Felicity, “Fea? I know this hurts, but we are here for each other. We will survive. It will get better.”

Laughing suddenly Felicity turned to face Cal, “Survive? Ha! You think I want to live in a world where my friends slowly die off before my eyes.”

“No…”

“There’s your answer…”

“But, we would all die off eventually…” as soon as he said it, he regretted it. “Fea, I didn’t mean it quite like that.” He didn’t know what else to say as they stood in the rain, getting wetter as the minutes passed.

“I know, you meant that we could all lived to a ripe old age and died in our sleep, right?” her words were bitter and she turned away still holding onto the tombstone. “Yes I know no one lives forever. I am not stupid, but I do believe that sometimes are souls lingers…” she panned her eyes across the rolling glades of Wake Forest Cemetery. “It’s so peaceful here…” and she saw a crow sitting on a nearby headstone, ruffling its feathers. “At least I know Becky and Franz are at peace now. They will appreciate the spot we picked out.”

“Yeah, Franz was always fond of weeping willows. I’m glad we got the last plot under the willow. Hell, the whole gang is there, Fea.”

“Right,” Felicity watched as a second crow joined the first. It began to preen under the rain that was now falling. “Too bad there’s no room for us?” she sounded not sad, but resigned.

“Oh, don’t say that. Maybe there will be tow plot available when we go?” trying to sound cheerful despite the pervasive mood.

“Did you buy up the remaining plots, Cal?” she asked, looking at the crows. “I don’t think any of the currently occupied plots will be opening up anytime soon. That must mean you knew something…” Her words sounded bitter, as she watched a third and fourth crow land on the headstone. They were now watching Felicity and Cal. “Cal, you say there are no signs of the afterlife, but look at that,” and she pointed at the chorus of crow massing on the headstone.

“Heh, it’s a murder of crows,” laughing loudly he wiped away some of the tears hanging at the corners of his eyes.

Felicity was eying Cal, “Not funny, jerk!” and she shoved him away from the headstones.

“You could never take a joke, Fea. Even after all these years. You who are my sister who knows me best, you still can’t take a joke. Hey,” he says and points at the headstone, “It can’t be the gang. There are only four crows, there were five of them.” Just then a fifth crow landed on the headstone, each cocking their head in turn and staring silently at the sibling.

“You were saying, Cal? I don’t care what you think, but I think it’s time for a vacation.” And she removed her hand from the tombstone she was leaning on and started walking to the car.

Cal walking slowly past the crows and looked down at the headstone where the crows sat perched and saw the name etched into the marble. It was Calvin.

from MorgueFile

Distance Taken

It was a Saturday! Not my first choice of days to wake up early on. But...well not even a day to wake up early to go running on.

But there was a reason. It was for Allie. That was the reason I got up early on a Saturday.

I tried to convince that Saturdays were great days for sleeping in, but it never worked. She was always up early. Ready to run. It was always the same thing, Friday night we would be out somewhere, sometimes bowling (she always beat me) or to a movie, and then afterward we would end up at the all Bagel-Tarium and Snack Shack. I would try to explain that it was the one day of the week you could truly sleep in. “You see,” I said to her, “Monday through Friday you were a slave to school or work, and Sunday was for God. Well, if you like that sort of thing. That leaves Saturday for sleeping…or other such things” I felt like I was presenting a thesis in high school, it was awkward and my palms were sweaty. 

She would just laugh and say she had her Saturday rituals and I had mine.

The words echoed from last night to the sunshine and far too early hours. The sky was bright and blue, and I scanned the sky to see a couple of birds flying overhead.

I sighed, “Really?”

She nodded and said, "I am glad you came out to join me, and not just because of the health benefits." She smiled a wide grin and began to stretch.

“Me too. But Saturdays were those days when nothing mattered and you can just do nothing.” I tried to sound convincing but felt I was failing after I said it.

“Right! Well you might feel that way. Probably because you have nothing that matters,” she said as she leaned down stretching her hamstrings. “You coming, or are you going stand there watching me?” asking in that nonchalant way of hers.

I just stared at her, watching her kneeling in the dusty driveway--breathing in her slow rhythmic and stretching in that way that I found sexy. "I have things that matter..." going quiet and eyeing her movement from one leg to the next.

“Seriously? Like what?” she asked as she moved to stretch her quads. The early morning sunlight bounced off her auburn hair making it look purpley and red. “You just gonna stand there gaping...” she trailed off, touching her fingers to her feet and circling upward in some exotic shamanic dance.”What matters to you?" she asked me.

She was definitely flexible and it made me think inappropriate thoughts rise to my mind.

"We should get moving Gretz. Time waits for no man, or woman," and she winked at me. "Besides this was your idea, wasn't it?" motioning to the sneakers and early morning sunshine.

She was right. The conversation leads to running and how he wanted to try to get into shape. Allie had suggested it and I jumped at the bait, not realizing what I was getting into. I guess I have more at stake than sacrificing my Saturday morning was worth it. “I know. It was.”

"You stretching?" she asked, as she moved onto another set of stretches.

 "Of course," I called over, miming basic stretching but my mind was thinking of other things, like watching her graceful movements. I knew I should be stretching. Hell, I was a good fifty pound overweight, but I couldn’t get my motivated, especially with Allie warming up in front of me. I was distracted. My plan for today seems suddenly flimsy. Not really sure I could go through with it.

She lifted her head to meet my eyes, “You haven’t stretched AT ALL!” Her voice seemed accusatory across the space between us.

“I am. I just stretched before I came over to meet you. I am already limber,” I said, “See?” I took my right foot and leaned back and I felt the muscle tense as I bounced up and down. “Look, totally stretched,” I said trying to sound professional, like I knew what I was doing. Truth was, it hurt, but I wasn’t going to show Allie that I really hadn't stretch. I couldn't show her my weakness. Certainly not until I said something!

“That’s not how you should do it, but as long and you are stretching, then I guess…” she trailed off to sweep her torso down and around, pulling her arms higher. It was then that I saw how she tight fitting her top clung to her breasts and I forgot everything about stretching or not stretching I was doing. 

My mind went to the male place of reason and ran with possibilities of Allie’s flexibility. Her muscles swimming underneath her running clothes and I could imagine all kinds of things. Things that would make my mother blush. Things that I would have to go to confessional for.

This was probably the best part of the morning watching her warm up routine. The sinuous and firm form and I how warm I felt in the crisp morning air. Lost in my thoughts I pulled at my arms in a mock display of stretching should Allie be watching.

“Heads up!” I hear her say and a water bottle suddenly flew through the air and hit my right shoulder. It felt like a brick slamming into my stocky form. I was a little knocked off balanced and I fumbled to catch the bottle. It dropped it and stepped sideways awkwardly into the dirty driveway to avoid falling over, but end up on one knee anyway. I felt the little stones bury into my knee and a tiny groan escaped my lips.

“Nice one, Gretz…” Allie said and she jogging over to me and helped me up, "Grab my hand,” she said planting her brightly sneakered feet and pulling me up to standing position, “Not paying attention, huh?” she laughed as I tried to pick up my water bottle. “Warmed up, then?”

I laughed, feeling suddenly self-conscious, “Yup, just call me Noodle Legs.” I felt horrible and felt my cheeks flush. I was sure she was going to say something, but she just dusted me off.

"Okay, let's go!"

I didn’t have the heart to say no, that I had been too busy ogling her athletic body and thinking impure thoughts. At least it was Saturday and not Sunday. I could think them and just confess tomorrow. Maybe I would have something to really confess about tomorrow. I grinned at the thought and started to jog.

“We’ll start slow since you haven’t been running,” she said to me.

“Nah, let’s just get to it,” I said confidently, not thinking about the possible outcome of that choice.

Her eyes met mine and I saw the greeny hazel of them, “Well,” she paused to grab my water bottle from the ground, “Even if you are up for a straight run, I want to start slow, Smarty.” She handed me the bottle, “Clasp that to your belt, Gretz and let’s go,” and she took off at a gentle lopping gait.

I didn’t think it would burn this bad. It burns that bad…

Every single breath I took, it burned. I didn’t want to show weakness and I was enjoying my time with Allie. Truth was that I spent all winter thinking about asking her out. We conversed a lot over the long winter months through email and text messages. It was hard to get down to see her when she lived a good fifty miles away and I had no car.

Allie kept trying to talk to me.

There wasn’t a lot of chatter between us as I had to focus on my breathing. My lungs were burning and saw pin prick of light around my peripheral vision.

“So, Gretz, do you know why I love to run on Saturdays?” she suddenly said over to me. I shook my head. No words escaped my lips. I was just trying to jog and breathe without keeling over.

Again I shook my head and huffed a little under my breath.

“I have morning classes every day. Every damn day from eight to noon. There is no chance to sleep in. There is always class. Been that way the last two semesters. I started running because I could get an early start every other day, I thought while not add Saturday to the roster of early mornings.” 

There was silence as all I heard was the thud of our feet hitting the ground, most of the fog had burned off by now and the sun was warm making my skin feel clammy. It was warm for a spring morning, but not that warm I thought. It felt so good being with Allie that I just tied to keep up with her and listened to her talk, about anything and everything. That and I couldn’t talk or I would probably pass out trying to do so.

“And Sunday mornings Mom comes down to visit me and we go to church in town. I hate it. Hate!" she emphasized it, almost dramatically. "Not really a church person, but Mom insists" I nodded. "She drives all the way down here so we can go spend time together.

“Up at seven and dressed, church at eight, followed by brunch.” Silence fell in step. “I hate it. Not the brunch necessarily, but the church. Did I say that already?"

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t form words. In the three and a half years since I met her, I was haven’t been able to tell her anything but the basics. I had grown fond of her. Even liked her, but I was always too scared to say anything. To tell her that she made my heart flutter and love the sound of her voice. That I thought about doing the most creative things to her to please her, sometimes sexual. I never said anything. Not once…

It occurred to me that maybe I was going to miss out. We were in our last semester, the last spring semester together. I should say something…

“Do you go to church, Gretz?” I heard her ask me. "I don't think I ever asked you that? Religion's not my thing," she said. 

I turned to face the road, not sure what to say. I also was dragged to church by my mother, but I didn’t mind it so much. I was a good catholic, but Allie was not. Well, she obvious just pretended. Not that I cared. I like her whether God was involved or not. I was afraid to tell her that too, afraid of a lot of things. But, I knew that I needed to say something, so I turned to glance at her. I opened my month to force something out of my huffing and grasping month.

The world turned over and I lost all of my breath suddenly.

It went dark.

The first thing I felt was the pain in my chest and the burning. I didn’t think anything about but the pain; it was then that I felt something on my lips, warm and wet. I wanted to exhale out, but couldn’t. There was a need to cough, but I felt her month over mine. It flowed into my mouth and down my trachea. The cool air from her lungs was opening my windpipe, while my pants felt warm and tight. I moved my lips, pulling away coughing.

“Gretz?” I heard Allie’s voice and the light made everything look like blobs of colour and the soft rays of sunlight filled my vision, “Gretz, are you okay?” she said sounded concerned standing over me.

I coughed and tried to sit up. Allie pushed me back gently laying me back to the ground, “Please don’t move yet and breathe Alan.” I heard her say my first name and I was aware of pain in my side and ankle. Coughing, I tried to roll onto my side breathing in dirt and grit. The sun was mostly midway across the sky now. It couldn’t be that late, only ten minutes or so since I blacked out. I think.

“How…” cough cough, “How…long?” cough cough, I felt the gritty dust from the dry roadway on my teeth and lips. The memory on Allie’s lips on mine, it didn’t feel strange.

“That you were out?” she asked.

I continue to cough and gasp and nodded.

“Slowly, Alan. Breathe slowly,” she said as patted my back as reinforcement.

“My ankle…hurts…” I spluttered and was still coughing, but felt a cool plastic bottle press into my hands.

“You tripped. Can you move it?”

“No, I don’t think.” I tried to rotate the ankle and felt a burning shoot up my leg, “Shit! That hurts.” And began another round of coughing.

“What?” Allie ran her hands down my leg, feeling the length for any injury. 

I am not going to lie, I liked it. Her on my leg, not the pain.

“The leg,” I motioned to the part she was touching, “It burns. It feels like a fire burning.”

“Ah,” said, “I thought you said you stretched?” I turned to look at her, she was frowning, but I could see concern in her hazel green eyes. 

My breath was returning and I felt flushed. I shook my head. “No, I guess I didn’t,” and my eyes dropped to the ground. "I'm sorry..."

“Muscle strain, that’s all it is, Gretz.” She stood up, “You ready? We need to get you to stand slowly, and walk it out,” she said accenting the words.

But, the thought occurred to me that maybe I should say something now. We were alone on Country Route 5 and it was the first day of spring, too lovely a day to ruin without saying something. We weren't going anywhere yet, or maybe we were. I really hoped we would go somewhere.

I coughed and tried to take a few more deep breaths. “Slowly, Gretz,” she said. After a few moments, that somehow felt like infinity, I sat up and pulled my burning leg closer to me.

“Now?”

“Yes, now!” she said so deliberately and stood next to me. She leaned down and grabbed me around my rather thick middle, “on the count of three slowly start to stand.”

I shifted to my knees and wincing in pain. Allie counted, "1, 2, 3…” and I slowly rose to my feet. She stood next to me, arm around my waist, keeping me stable. “Easy.”

“Call me, Alan,” I said trying to look at her, but she was not paying attention to me.

“Okay, weirdo,” she said. She got me to stand on my own, with my one foot only touching the ground with the ball of my foot.

Standing there with her arms around my waist, “I have to say....”

“…Go ahead,” she rolled her left hand out in a motion to hurry up. “Daylight’s wasting, Gretz.” She paused to look at me, “Sorry, Alan. What is it?”

“Allison, I…I....” I stumbled and stuttered all while faking a coughing fit trying to find words and my courage, but it was gone. After a moment I said, “Can we do this again?”

Allie eyed me suspiciously, “Uh, sure, Alan. But you probably should stretch next time," she shoved me gently, while still holding onto my waist. “Let’s walk.”

I turned away and took slow step, hobbling while she helped to support my weight. I wanted to bury myself in the dusty ground, but couldn’t actually leave Allie’s side. I knew it wasn’t going to be. Even after of this time, all the places we have gone, I still couldn’t tell her that I loved her.

“Gretz?” she suddenly asked. I couldn’t look at her., feeling too dumb, and too numb. “Gretz…” she said sounding sad. I still couldn’t turn to face her. “Alan,” her voice changed and she took my chin and turned my face to hers. She kissed me out there on County Route 5 in a mouthful of dust, sweat, and a pulled muscle.

WIPpet Wednesday: Love in Ferns

I made it!!!

WIPpet Wednesday:
      *17 lines from 6/3. Hmmm.... 6 + 3 = 9 + 2 + 0 + 1 + 5 = 17

Read my fellow WIPpeteers here.

It had been three or four years ago when we first met, in a dance class of all places. I wasn’t the dancer type; I just wanted a fun elective to take. The class was folk dancing and most of the class was girls who were majoring in dance or theatre, there were some were guys needing an elective to graduate, and a few random people, like me, who wanted to learn to dance. I met Callie on the first day of class, but didn’t talk until three weeks later. We had learned several group dances and were moving onto partnered dances. I was still quite shy, so the teacher paired the people without partners. Thus we were paired together for the Polka. 

Callie often wore billowy skirts and dresses. The kind that plume out when you twirl around. This she did often, and especially during class. I just wore shorts and a tee shirt and usually felt clunky next to her. The teacher Ms. Grestanoski began the explanation of the dance. Trying to follow I soon began lost, Callie leaned over and whispered in my ear, “don’t worry. I already know this one. I help you.” She smiled and I felt more at ease, or maybe it was the warmth in the pit of my stomach that quelled the sudden butterflies. This was how my friendship with Callie began.

Fun Fact: I took a Folk Dance class in college and learn the Mayim Mayim dance and the Tarantella. The tarantella is a fast and footwork heavy dance (at least what I remember of learning it). Also, while I am polish, I do  not know how to polka.

It's been a good week so far. The evil day job is gearing up, making the days long. I am loathing the phone again, but that's normal. I am almost home in the evenings and getting stuff done. It hasn't been this productive in months. Well, productive in theatre, yes. Productivity in writing was at an all time low the last two months. I am so pleased that I did manage Blogging A to Z and NaPoWriMo, that kept me afloat. Now I am writing stories and poems and beginning to get back to where I was earlier in  the year.

The weather has broken. The rampant humidity has abated and we received a few days of rain, with today baring the skies with a bright blue and balmy temperatures. Nothing quite like other parts of the country and world though, such as India, California, and Texas. Glad to hear that the rains had ceased and the drying out has begun, as I know quite a number of folks in that state.

Today check-in is much more to mu liking. I have more to report and that makes me happy. So without further ado, the check-in!

This Week:
     *Reading: finished Crispin: The Cross of Lead (Avi), which I think I mentioned for Sunday's (Monday) post. I began reading Murder in Three Acts (Agatha Christie), another Poirot mystery. I seem to be fond of the little Belgian detective. Also, I pulled out Wicked (Gregory McGuire). I think it's time to tackle that beast. I plan to also re-read The Golden Compass (Phillip Pullman) and write a review of the book versus movie, but that in the coming months.
     *Writing: I wrote yesterday about 1877 words. I nice little piece of flash fiction. It's needs to be edited and revised. But I plan to post in on #writestuff's monthly challenge and maybe even submit it to a contest or two. Depends on how the editing process goes.
     *Social Media: visited 4 blogs from Sunday's check-in. Going to visit at least 2 to 4 for today to get me caught up. Also, visited about three blogs over Monday and Tuesday. Getting back in the saddle!
     *Housework: Dishes...DONE! Laundry....DONE! Lawn...DONE! Vacuuming...downstairs done!
     *Submissions: submitted 2 poems to The Lincoln Underground. Alas, due to time constraints, graduating editors, and funding the summer issue is going to be the last issue (for now?). This journal was the one that while they rejected all of my work up to this point, they still give me constructive criticism and pushed me to keep submitting.

This (upcoming) Week:
     *Reading: continue with Murder in Three Acts.
     *Writing: write something daily.
     *Blogging: post to #writestuff's monthly challenge.
     *Editing: edit the working title Fern Love for possible submission.
     *Submissions: 1 new submission by Sunday.
   
A Round of Words in 80 Days is the blog challenge that knows you have a life. Come and visit the Blog Hop here.

This weekend is hanging out with the Whovian peeps and either hanging at the Love Shack, or going to Eldridge Park with Sara's daughters to ride the carousel and the dragon boats (with the fellow Whovians in tow). What are you, Dear Readers, up to now that it is June?

Zombie Poetry and Finding Rhythm...

What a Story

This is one tale

of a girl and a boy--

when under desk they’ll

meet, and smiles are their joy.

Of a girl and a boy,

set in high school days,

under someone’s Strict ploy

they find are the prey.

When under desk they’ll

be the point of focus

of a war, full-scale,

made into a fracas.

Meet, and smiles are their joy,

when it is all about

prom and a single boy,

also morals to tout?

The last day before the final week plus of Zombie Prom rehearsals. I thought that I hadn't really written poetry about the play, rehearsals, and all the other stuff that comes with Zombie Prom. They are plenty of times I talked about The Mousetrap or 24 Hour Theatre, even Aesop's Foibles. Zombie Prom is no different, yet it is ALL ABOUT TEH DIFFERENT. It's a musical! It's comedy!! It's social commentary?!?!?

One thing I am good at, that I am sure, of is poetry. I can write it and sometimes it is even good. today's venture is a Quadrilew and one I discovered during NaPoWriMo. A poem of 4 stanzas, rhyme scheme of abab, and each stanza uses a line from the first stanza. Without giving anything away, I present a Quadrilew about Zombie Prom.

Used rhymer.com, thesaurus.com, shadowpoetry.com to write this one when I needed a bit of help. 

A ROW80 update~

This Week (I did better):

    *Reading: The Trailmen of Xunar-Kun: Book 2 in the Tellings of Xunar-Kun (Tina Field Howe), not Alysa of the Fields. It's more like a slow romp through exposition. Finally am getting to the interesting bits. It  has fallen into the second novel slump. There characters are all interesting, but it could move quicker. I shouldn't be in a rush as the third book doesn't exist yet, but it going well. About halfway through.

going lie, I am quite absorbed. It's not the faster pace story of the

    *Writing: Wrote a poem today. w00t! First poem since NaPoWriMo. Also, I wrote poetry to my friend through gmail chat this afternoon, some haiku and a  little parody piece.

    *Social media: I visited Kait Nolan's blog today, that is one. Will try to get to at least 3 more blogs. Getting better and returning to my normal pattern of internet stuff.

    *Theatre Stuff: rehearsal with the Secretaries and the Motorwise Guys. Full rehearsals begin tomorrow (Thrusday). The show goes up May 29th in Bath, NY at Haverling High School's auditorium.

 This Week (when not at rehearsal):

      *Reading: finish The Trailmen... Start meet the Austins (Madeleine L'Engle).

      *Editing: edit my submission for #writestuff's monthly challenge.

      *Writing: write something daily, or as often as possible.

      *Submissions: 1 new submission this week! (after #writestuff challenge).

A Round of Words in 80 Days is a blog challenge that knows you get busy. It knows you have a life. The Blog Hop is a portal to other realm of writing, blogging, and guidance. Come on it!

Finding my way, again!

It is that time again...I am a day late, but after a week and weekend filled with Chitlins (Kids). They did really well and I am proud of them, but Saturday was a LOOOOOOONG day. Two show in one day!! Aesop's Foibles is put to bed. And I needed a day to re-coup from all that. so, Sunday was my day of rest. I re-discovered the fine art of colouring in colouring books. I finally finished the unicorn colouring book I have  had for 5+ plus years. My primary medium  is coloured pencils, but I will use anything to make pretty pictures.

It is a Dover colouring book, one that not only has pictures, but a historical look at the subject matter. In this case, unicorns.

 Yeah, I had fun with the colours! :-)

Now that I am down to 1 show, I feel I have some wiggle room.Time to get stuff done even! Tonight is a night off from Zombie Prom, so I am really utilizing the time.  I finally sat down and forced myself to write something. It definitely needs to be edited, but I now have something I can work on for the writing group #writestuff monthly writing challenge. check it out here! Lead by the amazing and stalwart PenPadPaper (Tamara Woods). I was introduced to her monthly challenges. I give me something to shoot for and I can practice my flash fiction writing too! Tamara also runs a weekly TweetChat for #WriteStuff on Tuesday nights at 9 pm (EST).

Okay, enough rambling. I am feeling like my new character Alan Gretz, who gets all rubber mouthed at all the wrong times.

~ROW80 check-in~

This Week:
    *Reading: Finished Alysa of the Fields (Tina Field Howe) and started The Trailmen of Xunar-Kun: Book 2 in the Tellings of Xunar-Kun. I love this series, written by a friend and local author. The only downside is book 3 is not done (not sure when it is going to be done). I  may need to bug Tina to work on it. I am through about a third of The Trailmen... Still plan to start Meet the Austin (Madeleine L'Engle) this week.
     *Writing: wrote 1885 words today. See above for details if you missed it the first time reading, or skipped to the check in.
     *Social Media: have at least visited 4 blog today. Will plan to visit 4 blog tomorrow. This is a return to form. Visiting 4 blogs daily, those I normally visit and at least one new blog, when I can.
     *Housework: dishes are done. Laundry is done. Garbage done and picked up this mornin. Lawn is mowed.So, house is returning to normal also.

To Week (upcoming):
     *Reading: continuing to read The Trailmen... and start Meet the Austins (finally).
     *Writing: write something anything. I think a review of Alysa of the Fields would be a good idea.
     *Social Media: 4 blogs to visit. Check in on Twitter.
     *Submissions: 1 submission by Wednesday.

Zombie Prom is gearing up. We have two weeks left of rehearsals after Thursday, I will have seven days of rehearsals. Sound intense. It is! Not what I am fully used to, but this is a different show and there are a lot of little part that go into the big parts, so the rehearsals are necessary. It's a good show and really fun. See?

Another shameless plug!

If you are in the vicinity of Bath, NY on or around May 29th and 30th you should come out to see it!

Done with shameless plug!

Anyway, what have you, Dear Reader been up to this May? Enjoying the spring weather. Is it warm in your area? Cold? How are those writing, editing, reading, crocheting goals coming?

A Round of Words in 80 Days is a blog challenge that knows you have a life. It is a Blog Hop! Come on in and visit. Set a spell. Have a cold glass of lemonade and a cookie or too!

A Flash Fiction Piece: To Choose

He stood there. The reality seemed far more bizarre than anything he could have cooked up in his own head. There was a man, or someone that resemble a man standing behind a bar. He couldn’t be sure if it was a man or if it was a rather androgynous looking woman. The figure was dressed in a rather loose white shirt, a bright red vest, and a dark cloak. He couldn’t tell if the features were masculine or feminine, the face looked rather gaunt. His eyes traveled down to the chest, checking out without trying to check out the figure proportions. 

It was breathing. The rather nondescript chest rose with each breath. And it was staring at him.

The fingers of the figure were on the counter and he realized that the figure was tapping out a rhythm, “Are you quite finished?” the figure said in response to his stares. Its voice was rich and raspy, belying nothing of the nature of its sex. 

He walked casually up to the counter, eyeing the frame of the figure, slowing making eye contact, “You like?” it said and gave him a smile, wide and full of teeth.

“I do…” I words slipped out and suddenly realized that the figure must have been a man, “That’s not what I meant. Let me rephrase that…”

The figure still smiled, keeping eye contact, “Well you were giving me a thoroughly extended judgment. I was wondering what you thought.” Another smile and the figure laid its hand on his hand that was now resting on the bar. He didn’t remember doing that.

“I wasn’t judging…” the words spilled out. The hand felt soft. He looked down at the hands intertwined, but still felt that the figure was watching him.

“You weren’t?” it said surprised and pulled the hand away. He looked up at the figure, but now there was a woman behind the counter. A woman with red lips, blonde hair, blue eyes, and the largest tits he had said on any woman. “Now what do you think?” the voice was still rich and raspy, and this time seductive. “Maybe I should judge you, if you are going to judge me?” She raised one eyebrow, coyly.

He was partly turned on and partly disgusted, so he laughed, “There is only one who can judge me.” He was determined to not let this person get the better of him. “Besides, I don’t know who you are.” Looking around the coffee shop, “Hell, I don’t even know where I am.” He smiled, feeling more confident now.

“Most don’t when they come to my place,” the woman smiled and turned slowly away. In a moment the room grew brighter and there was now a man in a crisp three piece suit behind the counter, “Is this more to your liking?” another devilish smile showed the figure’s pearly whites. 

“Who are you?” he said, eying the man, “And are you coming on to me?” He tried to back up but couldn’t.

“Is that what you think? The figure sauntered slowly around the counter towards him. “That you are here for pleasure?” 

“I’m not gay!” it didn’t sound like a statement, but wasn’t quite a question, as he took a step back and almost fell over. “I’m not…” The figure stood and put it’s arms around his shoulders. Face to face he now felt uncomfortable. Stuttering a little he said, “Where am I? Is this supposed to be heaven?” looking around, sure to find clouds, ethereal light, and cherubs with golden halos; but there he was standing in a coffee shop. It was small, but there were about seven tables inside and the sunshine filled the place with a warm glow, which he took for the ethereal holistic depiction of heaven. There was the smell of roasted coffee that suddenly filled his nostrils and sticky buns that made his mouth water. While still in the loose embrace of the figure, “Am I dead?”

The figure laughed and shook its head, turning once again into the androgynous figure from before, red vest, cloak, and all. “Is that what you think?” Another laugh.

“Well, you have changed your face three time now, what else am I to think?” Not budging from the embrace. “Are you God?”

The figure laughed, smiling a full and bright smile. Bringing its head closer to his. He saw that its eyes were blue and then blinked to a green, “Is that what you think I am?” It laughed again.

“I do…” the words echoed from his mouth. He felt like he was far away, “Is this a dream?” The figure leaned over and kissed him. The lips felt soft and tasted like honey.

When the figure pulled away it said, “Is that real?” 

Eyes wide, thinking and processing, “Oh God, are you the Devil?”

“So quick to jump to conclusions, Sir,” and the figure pulled away, head turning slowly form him.

“No, don’t.” He jumped outstretched, “Please don’t change again. Just stay where I can see you.” 

The figure turn back to face him, “Okay.” 

He was aware of how empty the place was, not a single costumer inside or any that had come in. “Just stand there,” his voice trembled. “Where am I?” he asked, eyes fully on the figure.

“Just a Cup Coffeehouse,” the figure said.

“I’ve never been here, have I?”

“It’s not a normal stop. Thinking of it as a waiting room,” the figure smiled and gestured to the room. “Would you like a coffee, or maybe a tea? We have some delicious scones too,” the figure made a gesture to the display case on the counter.

“So, I am not dead?”

The figure did not laugh, but looked directly at him. “No, well, we have to make a choice before you can leave, don’t we.” The figure winked. “I was thinking of changing the name to Sticks and Stirs, what do you think?”

“Um, that sounds a bit different. So, I am almost dead?”

“Maybe I will just keep it as Just a Cup. Nobody would get it anyway.” Tipping its head the figure continued, “Not sure. Oh, well” The figure crossed back to the bar. “Oh and not quite.” Gesturing to the coffee shop, “This place is where one comes to after judgment to wait to move on, but in your case, you have only to choose. Now you, Sir, have a choice to make.”

“Choice?” he said surprised. “But what did I do? I can’t seem to remember what just happened to me prior to walking through the front door.” And he gestured to the front doors that were now clearly visible.

“Yes. You need to choose, and then you will be free to leave. But I will warn you, you will not like either choice…”

“Oh, god no…” he dropped to the floor.

“You remember now?”

“I do…” he whispered

The voice echoed across the empty coffee shop. “I gotta choose whether she lives or I die? Is that right?”

“Do you?” the voice of the figure now stood over him and echoed, like the coffee shop was much bigger on the inside.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s a way,” all of the emotion was gone from the voice.

“We were to get married,” he voice took on a dream like quality as he remembered, “The wedding, I was on my way. I had been out late the night before…Celebrating that last day. I woke up late, and was trying to get ready. Rushing,” he voice hurried and frantic, “There was an accident. I wasn’t looking…I hit a car. Oh God!” He looked up at the figure. “I hit a car, it was bad. I hit a car, because I wasn’t looking.” His voice edged with tears

“You hit a car, yes.” The figure grabbed his arms, standing him up and shaking its head and the blonde’s face returned. The figure shook it’s head and become the man again. “Do you remember now?”

“The blonde, it was her. I was Britta.”

“Yes and…”

“The man was me. Is me.”

“Also right…”

He swallowed hard, “I have to choose to let Britta live and then I will die. Or I get to live, but I lose Britta.” The figure’s first face had returned, “Why would you make me choose?” he asked. Tears fell into his cheeks, “What kind of god are you?”

“I am not god, and I am not the one to judge you. You really are the only one who can judge you, Sir.” The figure leaned close, lips almost to his, “I am just here to help the ones ready to pass over.” The figure flashed a smile, all teeth and bright white. The face looked thinner thin. The rich and raspy voice continued. “I am just here, waiting…”

“Death?”

“In the flesh!” and the figure giggled. “I hate to hurry folks along, but this coffee shop needs to open and you are taking up space. Not to be rude, but it’s YOUR choice, Sir.”

“My choice, why?”

“Because you were the one that chose to rush, not to pay full attention and you have to face that choice. The choice is you or her. What is it?”

“But who make these decisions?”

“It has always been that way. It is what I do. Now your choice, Sir! So we can move along. 

He stood there and stared at the figure with the androgynous face, smiling. A quick flick and Britta’s face was there and then his face. He wanted to be selfish, but he could argue with Death. Could he?

“No you can’t. I am afraid it is one or the other. Please choose!” the voice become a bit more persistent. The coffee shop’s lights dimmed and he could hear the heart monitor beeping. He suddenly could see Britta in her bed all hooked up to machines. 

He started to cry, “I don’t want to choose!” he declared.

“If you don’t then, you stay here and she stay in her bed forever. Nothing more will happen and I will have to open another coffee shop and leave you here to service an empty coffee shop.” The words were bitterly amused, “You will be in,” a giggle, “purgatory. End of story. And you will only be able to watch her hospital room. You want that?” pointing to the back wall of the coffee shop.

No.” He stared at the wall. “No, I choose to let her live.” He wiped away the tears.

The figure smiled, and the face changed, “Thank you, Darling!” and the figure as Britta came over and kissed him long and hard. He was going to miss those lips, as she pulled away, the figure’s gaunt face returned. “Now, you will get to stay here and meet those who have to choose.” It smiled its toothy grin, its face even gaunter, almost skeletal now. 

“But, I thought I would be going on? To Heaven. Or Hell.”

“Well, you will be going on to your next assignment. That happens to be running this place until someone comes to replace you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. This is a rotating position. Oh, don’t worry, the coffee is fresh and the scones are to die for.” The figure laughed and walked out of the front doors that closed with a merry chime. 

He watched the wall as Britta began to wake up. The colour drained from his face when suddenly the chimed sounded. He turned and saw a woman, short with red hair enter looking lost and confused. He smiled a big toothy grin and said, “Welcome to Just a Cup!”

Happy F***in' Valentine's Day: A Story

I remember when the sky was a slate grey. There were clouds. Everywhere there were clouds. Looking like cotton balls coated in grey paint and nary a hint of blue. It was February. It was cold and grey.

I was sad. The wind pushed against my pea coat, while my canvas shoes sunk into the sand. Wishing that it wasn’t true.

One Step.

One Step.

One Step.

Into the sand my feet sinking as I walked.

And the shale rocks littered the bare beach. I can smell seaweed and rotting fish across this desert of sand and rocks. And there in my hand I cupped a good sized rock, all flat and perfect. I feel my hand grip it tightly and the edges feel sharp. I am not really paying attention.

The wind playing with eddies of the lake water, ripples rising to the surface, and making a deep blue and grey mosaic.

And all I can see in the images swimming before me, her face swimming in the ripples of the water. I can feel the air wash over my arm as I fling the piece of shale into the lake.

The image is broken.

One Skip.

Two Skip.

Plop!

"Damn," I said no one, but a seagull passed overhead. It was the only other life on the beach. Its call echoed across the waves and sounded like her voice. I look down to find another piece of shale, but there are also pieces of green and blue beach glass lying nearby, like jewels. I feel the impending tears as a swallowed hard. It what we did, gather beach glass early morning before the crowds appeared.

My hands scooped up a handful of wet sand, the clumps fall to the beach as I pull out the glass pieces. Blue. Milky-White. Amber. Green, like her eyes. I threw the sand to the ground and the glass went flying. I cursed myself. Sand clings to my hand. The lakes laps at my feet.

Crouching on the sand, the seagull cries, leaving an echo across the beach. I scoop up another handful of sand. More glass, finely worn pieces, blue, brown, milky-white. My mind wanders…

…Absentmindedly I grab a piece of shale, pull back I let go.

One Skip.

Two Skip.

Plop!

"Should have known," I said to the lake, excepting so other response but not getting anything. I started walking along the shore. “I should have known that she wouldn’t want to…” I could hear her voice, somewhere; the jokes and commentary that we would speak of while walking these beaches.

Looking down there's piles of seaweed, driftwood, and an occasional dead fish. I picked up a rock and lobbed hard it into the lake.

Plop!

I was thinking about her again. I could almost smell her body wash and the softness of her skin. It would have been a great month, if only… “Would you ever consider?” I asked.

I looked down and found another piece of shale, worn by the lake water; suddenly it was in my hands and then flying across the air.

One Skip.

I saw her face, there next to me, also skipping stones with her auburn hair blowing around her head. Her lips curling in a laughing smile. I could have kissed them. I wanted to.

I loved her. Her everything, I remembered now. It was the way she laughed, or the way she sang just a little off tune. “I wish…” I murmured. Not in anymore…The cold wind startled my revelry.

Two Skips.

The world slowed.

I turned. I saw her standing there. “But I thought…” I stammered, rushing across the sand. I reached her, “You came?” I grabbed a hold of her and kissed those lips. I felt the warmth and tasted her chap stick. The warmth filled me up to the brim. And there were her arms, pulling me closer. My mind ran with the thousand possibilities in that moment. I felt my lips on hers, her tongue in my mouth, searching. I let her. Finally.

That kiss.

Three skips.

That kiss.

And I was again cold and shivering and feeling very alone. I stared out into the expansive void of the lake; steel blue and slate grey sky. I was still alone.

This place was special. Not just because of her, but because it was a beautiful place. One could lose yourself. Find yourself. Be yourself.

I turn.

One Step.

One Step.

One Step.

I turn.

There she is, raising her hands to my face. Sand covers her fingers; I feel the scratchy sand against my cheeks. The wind is blowing, but I don’t feel it, not even cold now. I am warm. Leaning in she kisses me with soft lips; lips locking, soft, tongue, and arms wrap around, pulling her closer.

“Happy Valentine’s…” I whispered between breaths. There was no answer, but I continued to kiss her, warmth rising steadily. “I love you…”

Plop!

My fingers feel cold. The wind picked up. I am aware, reality sets in, and there is nothing in front of me but sand, lake, and a single gull calling overhead. There are tears and sand streaked upon my cheeks.

I turn.

Plop!

I knew it. "Happy F***in' Valentine’s Day!"

Plop!