Writober Days 26 to the enddddddd

Day 26: Hole in the wall, sucking a man in (1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 10, 4, 3, 2, 1)

   Hole,

   Is there

   In the wall,

   It is just there,

   Right where I am standing for the subway.

   A breezes rushed up, pulling me towards the hole.

   I cannot stop it.

   A slow fall

   Into

    Hole.

 

Day 27: Face coming out the wall (Villanelle – aba / aba / aba / aba / aba / abaa)

 

    The wall has a tear

    The paint slowly peeling away,

     It is more than my mind can bear,

 

      But still I stare

     With my hands folded to pray,

     Yet I want nothing more than to tear.

 

      A quick movement, I swear

      I grab a corner that began to fray

      And tug a little on that square.

 

       A moment longer and I wouldn’t care

      Peeling the paint, dare I say

      Would hardly be a nightmare.

 

     As a pulled the paintm I am caught unaware

    With eyes staring at my way

    Caught in their glare.

 

    What do I dare,

    But to rush myself straightaway

    And in no time I will forswear

    The peeling paint affair.

Day 28: Weird Goblins riding Strange Creatures. 

            In the world after there was no sunlight, no daylight, only darklight. Most who lived after took to underground as food was scarce. Hunting parties were organized to leave the home cave to search for food and to protect against the child-like darkness trolls. These trolls steal what is left of our livestock food stores. They use our livestock to hunt us. You would be surprised how fast pigs and goats are when they are starved and hungered for flesh. 

             This is where we were after the first night in the cave. The darkness goblins were assembling, and we could hear them through the walls, calling with choking laughter. 

            “Do you think this sounds like a good enough story?” asked Shannon from her bed in the corner of the room. 

            “I don’t know, but they say, write what you know,” I said back from the other corner. The room was dim with only a small lamp to light the bedroom. The outside was dark. Laughter surrounded the room, and small scratchings against the wall. Shannon lit a small candle to make the room feel larger and keep the darkness as bay. 

 

Day 29: Ghost Train with Bug Legs.  

             It was late as I stood in the subway station. I was waiting for the 5C3 train bound for my neighbourhood. There were only a few others waiting with me: an older man reading a newspaper and a younger woman stretching after a run. ‘Why would someone be out for a run this late at run?’ I thought myself. 

            Glancing at my phone, the time showed 8:15 pm, but the station clock showed 8:12 pm. That wasn’t surprising, what was surprising was the station clock was ticking, loudly. 

            Tick! Tick! Tick! 

            I checked my message, Loni messaged me, ‘Dinner is here. Please try to get home soon.’  

           ‘At the train station atm. I messaged back. 

          No response.  

          The station clock now read 8:13 pm. Tick! Tick! Tick! They sounded faster. BING! A message, another from Loni. 

          ‘Hopefully your train will be on time.’ 

          “I hope it is too,” I said aloud. 

          “What is?” said the old man. 

          “Nothing,” I said. Tick! Tick! Tick! When I looked up, I saw a train pulling up. Its face resembled a skull, and it had legs instead of wheels. Tick! Tick! Tick! 

          “I guess I’ll wait a little longer,” I said. 

Day 30: Abandon Cabin with Tentacles, surrounded by Cats. 

          “Hurry up, Bobby,” called Jacob. “We have to get there before sundown.” 

           “Why?” called Bobby, pulling at the briars and thorny weeds that grew across the path. 

           “Because, after dark you don’t want to be there,” he said. 

            Bobby stepped over a log, “I don’t want to be there now,” he said. 

           “Almost there,” said Jacob and Bobby toppled over a large rock, falling into Jacob’s back. “Look!” he said, pointing ahead. 

           Bobby followed Jocab’s fingers line and saw an old house in a clearing. It was about twenty feet away. The roof was partially caved in, but the windows were intact. “See? Cool, huh?” asked Jacob. 

           “Uh, sure,” said Bobby, untangled himself from the weeds, “but why are there all those cats sitting around the house?” when Jacob turned back to the house there were about two dozen cats lounging in the clearing. There were cats of every colour: black, orange, white, tabby, tortoiseshell, grey... “Answer me that, Jake.” 

             “I don’t know,” he said. 

Suddenly a loud roar ripped through the air and the cats all stood up as one. The roar came from the house. Bobby started to back away, reaching for Jacob. 

             “We should go,” said Bobby. A Siamese cat stood next to Bobby, clear blue eyes looking straight at him. It pushed against his shins. “I get it, we should go.” the cat meowed in response. 

              RAWR!!! 

              Another roar echoed in the clearing as the cats marched closer to the house. “Jake! Let’s go!!!” Bobby saw something long and thin pushed through the collapsed roof and jut out toward the small feline army. The cat continued their trek towards the house. “We need to leave, Jake,” said Bobby and he pulled on Jacob’s arm. 

Day 31: Possession/Obsession 

              Here I am, alone on Halloween. I have the night off, but everyone else is busy with kids or handing out candy. I am here alone with an empty house. 

               Tick. Tick. Tick, goes the clock in the hall. 

               Click. Click. Click, goes the kitchen ceiling fan. 

               The TV is playing an older movie, but the sound is turned far down, some of the figures are just miming in the dark. Strange haunting figures lumber across the screen. I feel disconnected from the zombies in the movie as they are chasing a woman through a graveyard. 

               Tick. Tick. Tick, goes the clock. 

               My mouth opens and I say, ‘Tick. Tick. Tick,” though I don’t remember speaking the words. 

               Click. Click. Click, goes the ceiling fan. 

               Again I feel my mouth open, “Click. Click. Click,” I say, though I swear it wasn’t me speaking. I try to say anything else, but nothing comes out. I try reaching for the remote control to change the channel or turn off the TV, but my hand won’t move. 

              “UIhhhhh” I let out a small moan to the empty living room. My heart begins to race. It is the only thing I am aware of even though I cannot control it. My mouth begins to move, “Uhhhhh...” Panic set in, my hands won’t move, my wrist, my fingers won’t either. Nothing! 

              My eyelids flutter closed, making everything dark. There is no sounds, no light, no body. I sit... 

Writober Days 18 thru 21

Day 18: Red Door with Figure Crawling Out.

        The house had a red door. It was why she wanted to buy the house, even though all of the other realtors told her there were other houses she could look at, other houses with red doors. “I want this one,” she said. 

       Every last realtor, save for myself, walked away from the potential commission. I didn’t and now I wish I had. 

       We closed the house with the red door on Halloween. I pulled up to the address 15 Mockingbird Heights, staring at its bright red door, winking at me. My client stood on the stoops wearing red heels. “Oh good, you’re here. I thought you’d ditch me like the others.” 

       “Me? No way. I gotta earn my commission,” I laughed, holding up the keys. The red key tags shining in the sunlight. My hand shook somewhat. “Just excited for you.” She grabbd the keys and I left a jolt up my fingertips. “Go ahead, then,” I said. 

        “Oh, but you must see it,” she begged.

        “But, I saw it during the last three tours of the house.”

        “Not when it was mine,” she said, laughing, turning to the door. The key clicked the lock open and pushed the door open, “after you,” she said grabbing my hand as she pushed me through the door, slamming it shut. 

Day 19: Faceless Figures made to look like a Face.

Front row center. 

       That’s where I was sitting. Never do I get tickets this close, but there was a question on the radio.

       “What are the names of the spooky trio in the Nightmare before Christmas?”. I dial so fast that I was surprised when it rang through and was answered by an intern.

         “What’s your answer caller number three?”

          “Uhh, Lock, Shock, and Barrel.” 

          “You’re correct,” interjected the radio DJ, “You’ve won tickets to tonight’s show. Front row, center. Whatdya think of that?”

           “Wow,” I said. Pretty big stuff. Now I was sitting in the audience, waiting for the show to start. “Funny,” I thought to myself, “I don’t even know what I am seeing.” 

           The house lights flashed and slowly dimmed. The crowd grew quiet as the curtain opened to see myself watching the show.

Day 20: Creature with long tongue and glowing eyes.

          My puppy had gotten out one night.

          It was as I was patrolling the streets in my neighbourhood with a flask, calling for her, I could hear the other neighbourhood dogs barking as I passed them.

         “Steelllllaaaaaaaa!” I called. Echoing my voice into the night. It sounded strange to be calling her as she typically never left my side. The nearby dogs barked, but as I stood on Hickock Hill Road on the sidelwalkless side of the road, the air seemed to echo with any noise. Stella was a black puppy, and it was after sunset, so much harder to see. “Stella?” I called again, “Where are you?” Brutus the pit-bull in M. Delaney’s yard was barking, it sounded like a warning.

          “Hush, Brutus,” called Mr. Delany from his porch. “Find her yet, Allie,” he asked, sipping from a teacup.

           “No, not yet,” I sighed as I scanned the yard across from Mr. Delaney, though it was mostly dark and my flashlight didn’t reach far.

            “I doubt she is in Mr. Yoshi’s yard,” said Mr. Dalaney. I shrugged, I could see the forms of Mr. Yoshi’s tuxedos cat, Pip and Pop. They were sitting in his flower bed, Pip yawned in the bean of my flashlight and Pop let out an eerily quiet yowl. “I wouldn’t worry, Allie. She’s come home, especially when she is hungry.”

           “I hope so,” I said.

            I continued walking further up Hickock Hill until I ran out of streetlight and it was quite dark that the flashlight was my only way to see anything. “Stella?” I called, swinging my flashlight left and right, when I hit something reflective. I stopped. “Stella?” I called again. I heard shuffling and paw pads on the gravel in front of me. “Stella?” 

           Suddenly there was a pool of light around me and a large creature with strangely glowing eyes. A long, wet tongue flicked out and brushed my face. “Stella!” I called, wrapping my arms around the creature. “I found you!”

Day 21: Clown in a bunker with a ‘Free Hugs’ sign.

           First day of bootcamp and after a lengthy orientation I was advised to take my bag to my bunk around at Bunker 3.

           This was the normal procedure, but I had arrived late to the orientation and didn’t have time to drop off my gear.

           No one else was in Bunker 3. There was a soul around and was surprised by this. The gravel crunched under my feet, “Home Sweet Home,” I said, “for the next year, I guess.” Smiling at the empty bunker door as I pushed it open. A chill ran up my spine.

            The door squeaked upon opening, stepping through the door I saw a figure in the middle of the main bunker room. It was a clown. It was smiling, and holding a sign that read ‘Free Hugs. Today!’

             “Um, no….thanks,” I said and slammed the bunker door closed.

              “No thanks, Sir?” a voice said behind me. I turned.

              “Captain Grant, uh, Sir,” I said, saluting. “Um, yeah, there is some…thing in Bunker 3.”

               “What?” said the Captain, lifting his head and stepped toward the door. As his hand touched the door another chill went down my spine. Captain Grant pulled the door open. The clown still stood in the middle of the main bunker room, holding its sign. “Oh, that’s just Carl. If you aren’t into hugs just let him know.” Captain Grant walked out of Bunker 3, leaving me alone with Carl and the sign.

              I smiled at Carl. Carl smiled back at me. He pointed to a bunk that appeared to be free.

              “Hey, thanks,” I said as I dropped my bag on top of the bunk.

Writober Days 13 thru 17

Day 13: Shadowy Figure ripping open a Person’s Chest.

                It was hard to tell what someone was thinking, especially if they were arguing with themselves. Gerald sat on a bench in Hathorne Park, eating his Reuben and people watching. Most of the time it was fun coming up with back stories for the people walking in Hathorne Park while on their lunch. Gerald would sometime jot down these mini stories in his notebook for a possible story. Today was a little different.

                A man was pacing in front of Gerald, who was writing frantically, the man was scratching his arms and shaking his head. There was no voice coming from the man, but his lips were moving.

                Gerald paused in his writing, taking another bite of his sandwich. He couldn’t think of why the man was so agitated. He watched the man. The man was pulling at his shirt and there appeared to be tears in his eyes. A cloud passed overhead, dimming the light in the park. The man stopped, he suddenly ripped open his shirt and collapsed.

                                Gerald just sat there watching the man. Someone rushed up to the man and started CPR. He picked up his pencil and started writing again, scratching words onto the paper of his notebook, “there was a form standing over the still man. The form was humanoid, but with long nails that were dripping with blood. The still man’s chest was deeply scratched and was red. Gerald looked at the figure, it was looking at him. 

 

Day 14: Hands Playing the Piano; Keys become Hands Grabbing Back.

Saturday

                Halie sat at the piano in practice room 12. She shook her head as she stared at the sheet music in front of her. “There’s no way I’ll be able to play this for Friday’s concert” Flipping pages, “I don’t ever know arpeggios…”

                The clock on the wall clicked loudly to the next minute. “I only started learning this piece on Wednesday.” Her hands shook as she set her metronome; tap, tap, tap! The rhythm match her heart race, ”oh help me,” she whispered to the empty practice room. Her hands on the keys, “Help me…”

                She closed her eyes and began to play, swaying in time to the metronome. When she tried to open her eyes to see what the next part was, they were stuck fast. Panic seized Halie.

                “Just follow me,” a voice said in her ears.

                “What?” she asked.

                “Shhhh…Let it happen,” the voice said, and she felt hands upon her hands. They were guiding her fingers across the keyboard. “Just follow me,” the voice said. The music spilled out from the piano, dancing around her ears.

                At the last arpeggio, Halie felt her hands released, her eyes opened. She was alone. The clock clicked another minute.

Day 15: In a car, parked in an empty lot with creepy cat figures walking around.

                There was no reason why she was still sitting in the parking lot of the Safeway. The store was closed, and the lamppost lights were all on, yet she sat there with hands on her steering wheel, not moving.

                What compelled her to stare past the empty lot when the last employee had already left her alone in the parking lot. There was a fog rolling in. It wasn’t raining, but the air felt damp.

                She looked to her right, nothing, then to her left, not expecting anything to be there. There was a slight movement, her eyes caught it. A quick turn to see a figure trotting up to her car. She slammed her automatic locks: click, click! The figure continued to trot up to her car. It stopped right in front of her and smiled a large blank smile.

                She smiled back and the figure nodded. There was a rush of movement and a herd of figures rushed in, crossing in front of her car. The lead figure was a giant cat with black dead eyes, it is waiting patiently as the herd passed her car. It nodded again as the last figure passed and then trotted off.

                She blinked slowly, but the herd of dead eyed cats were gone. Her hand turned the keys and the engine turned over. “Time to go,” she said.

Day 16: Hands coming out of a fridge.

                I learned a hard lesson once.

                It was after a dinner party with friends, were like a potluck with a little bit of everything. It was the best time, but man, was it a hard lesson. We played Cards Against the World and hastily made cocktails. Everyone brough so much food that there were leftovers.

                It was late when I stumbled home, practically falling into my apartment and ruining the leftovers. I grabbed at the fridge door, sliding the tub of chicken wings into the middle of the shelf. That was until three weeks later…

 

3:04 am.

 

                I heard shuffling downstairs. No one was home at the time except me and I was wide awake. The shuffling came from the kitchen. Grabbing an umbrella, I snuck downstairs, at the bottom of the stairs I saw a dim light reach around the corner. It was louder as I came down the stairs.

                I peeked around the corner and saw long claws coming out from the fridge’s dim light. “Shit,” I said, louder than I thought as the shuffling started to come towards me. “Those chicken wings went really bad.”

                I closed my eyes, hoping for a miracle.

 

Day 17: Laundry Machine filled with blood; Figure sitting on the Washing Machine with Red Eyes.

                I hate laundry day, especially when I must bundle up seven loads and take them down three flights of stairs to the laundry room in the basement. Thankfully it doesn’t cost me a single quarter to do my laundry like my friends’ buildings do.

                Of course, I always decide I need clean underwear at midnight. So, here I am lugging seven loads down three flights to the basement to clean my unmentionables.

                I have to fumble for the light switch, which is about three feet into  the laundry room. It is quiet except for the furnace running quietly in the corner. Setting down my hamper and large laundry bag at the doorway, I walked into the laundry room, about three feet, feeling for the switch.

                CLICK!

                There is front of me, sitting on the washing machine is a woman, reading a magazine. “Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t realize anyone else was up. She turned to me, her eyes were glowing red. “I, I, um….I didn’t realize the machine was busy.”

                I moved so fast out of the laundry room and up three flights of stairs, slamming my door with a thud. “I didn’t see that. I didn’t see THAT!” I said as I sat on my bed.

                I don’t remember anything else, except that my laundry was washed, dried, and folded right outside my door.

Writobers backlog (Days 8 thru 12)

I am finally getting my Writober pieces typed and posted here. It's a good thing that I consider early November extra Halloween time. Enjoy today's writing fare.

Day 8: Figure made of string, blowing away in the wind.

                It was the first day of September and Ariel was out in the yard. School was going to start in a week and she was feeling sad the summer was almost gone. She only had a few days, a couple of candle ends, and a Diet Pepsi. She didn’t like Diet Pepsi.

                “I wish summer didn’t have to end,” she said to the emptiness around her. Placing a candle end, one by one around her, making a circle. The circle was barely wide enough for her to sit in. “I don’t even have anyone to enjoy the last few days with me.”

                The bottle of soda ‘shhht’ her as Ariel opened it. “I wish I had someone here with me.” A fresh gust of wind blew over her candles and a ring of light surrounded her. She couldn’t feel the sun anymore, but the breeze was cool around her. There also appeared to be no sunlight out. “Hello?” she called.

                “Come here,” a voice called.

                “Who are you?” Ariel asked, as she stood up, breaking the circle of light and candle ends. She felt her arms turn to string and slowly began to unwind. “Wait! What is going on?” screamed Ariel. “You asked for someone to cone, Ariel, did you not? We have come. For you.”

                Ariel tried to scream, but all she heard was the breeze and her body blowing away.

~~~~~

Day 9: Rubix Cube with windows.

                Raymond looked out his window from his balcony, there she was, She, being Cassie. She was out in her garden, pulling weeds. “Hey Cass!” called Raymond.

                Cassie looked up, dark brown hair tied in a bandana, smiling.

                “Cassie! Up,” he called. She tilted her head at the sound of his voice, upwards and smiled.

                “Hi, Ray!” What are you doing?”

                “Oh nothing. Just staring out of my balcony at the pretty flowers.” He smiled.

                Oh, I see,” said Cassie smiling even more. She giggled as she wiped her cheek, leaving a dirty smudge of dirt. “You should come down for a bite,” said Cassie, picking up her trowel and basket of flowers.

                “Is that an invite?” asked Raymond, leaving over his balcony railing.

                “Oh course, silly. Now, come on down,” she said as she walked into her back door out of sight of Raymond.

                Raymond bolted from the balcony into his apartment. He barely took a step, when he was on his balcony, looking down at Cassie.

                “Of course, silly. Now, come on down,” said Cassie.

                Raymond bolted for his apartment from his balcony, only to see himself reappear on the balcony, looking down at Cassie. Again…

~~~~~~~~~

Day 10: Woman coming out of the pupil of an eyeball.

                All the Elders used to say that she has stars in her eyes.

                Janie would sit for hours watching the electronic vision box as programs danced around, the singers drifting across a celluloid screen. The Elders warned her about watching the electronic vision box, that nothing good would come from those abominations. She only replied, “It’ll be fine!”

                One day, while an electric storm raged outside, Janie sat watching a rerun of the Rockettes Christmas program from a long time ago. Elder Jean walked over to the vision box, bent down to turn it off. “No! Not yet,” screamed Janie, reaching for the dial at the same time, but it was too late. A bolt of lightning hit the vison box and both Elder Jean and Janie. I flash of light resounded and Janie could only see the faint vision of Rockettes kicking higher.

~~~~~~~~~

Day 11: Man in a suit standing in a pool of light.

                It was times like this one that Randell disliked. He disliked the dark and it was dark, except for the streetlamp that cast a green glow around him. He was waiting for his bus.

                “I wish I had a car,” he muttered to himself, instead of this waiting. The night air was cold, but not uncomfortable. He could hear the crickets lightly chirping and is seemed to ring around the streetlamps green light. Randell turned from the busstop’s sign. “Hello?” he called to no one in particular.

                The crickets stopped their chirping, “don’t let me bother you,” a voice called to Randell from the darkness beyond.

                “Who are you?” asked Randell, eying the darkness but couldn’t see anything. He took a step close to the darkness.

                “You shouldn’t leave the safety of the light,” said the voice, “Not right now, anyway.”

                Randell took another step, titling his head, “Are you waiting for the bus too?”

                “Waiting? Yes. For the bus? No.” the voice said.

                The air was quiet, the crickets had stopped completely. Randell took another step, only one step away from the darkness. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

                “Waiting. For you, Randell,” the voice said.

                “Why?” asked Randell, he lifted his foot to take another step.

                HONK!

                Randell turned to see the bus coming right at him. It stopped with a screech of rubber and asphalt. The voice was silent, and the crickets began chirping again…

 ~~~~~~~

Day 12: Swinging Doors with Handprints.

                “Meet me in the basement,” Bernie said to herself. “Why of all the terrible ideas should we meet in the basement. Greta has the most terrible ideas,” thought Bernie. The sound of her footfalls on the tiled floor gave the hallway an echo. Bernie was sure she heard a second set of footsteps behind her, but when she turned there was no one there.

                At the end of the hallway was the stairwell door, down to the basement. Down there was the morgue, where Greta worked. “I don’t know why we can’t meet somewhere, like maybe the coffeeshop upstairs.” Bernie pushed the stairwell door open. There was only one dim light that illuminated the stairwell this far down.

                Step.

                Step.

                Step.

                Down walked Bernie, down to the basement. She could definitely hear another set of footsteps on the stairs. She was sure of it, because as she picked up speed, so did the extra steps.

                Bernie rushed the last few steps and flung herself at the door towards the morgue, rushing into the hallway and the only less dim light of the morgue’s hallway. Turning around, Bernie still saw no one. She was breathing heavily as she ran to the morgue’s door. There were handprints on the windows of the morgue, bloody? Handprints. Bernie pushed the doors with the bloody handprints open, bracing for whatever was on the other side. The doors flew open.

                “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” called Greta and all of Bernie’s friends.

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 Story of The Thing They Made

So, I receive a piece of sloth mail from a fellow Amanda Palmer fan yesterday. This was right before I was to head to the one-time performance of Here Come Snoopy Claus. It is a show that was created and birthed within two weeks. David, Kaylara, Sara, and myself came together to write and direct a show based on the Peanuts characters and with the help of Anna, Ryan, Lily, Amanda, and some adorable Woodstocks (Wendy, Tess, Daphne, Owen, Aubrey) we made a thing, a thing that never existed before.

I am forgetting that this sloth mail I received suggested I do something CRAZY. To tell a story.

I thought that doing Here Comes Snoopy Claus was pretty crazy and then I thought, maybe I should write a story about it. I tried something different. It is a bit of a rough draft, but here is my thing of the thing that was made and performed yesterday.

Enjoy, Dear Readers!

Once upon a time there were four souls. They would spend their days creating stories for the world which they inhabited. These souls were storytellers. Each telling their own stories, in their own ways for the good of the world.

But today they came together to make something.

Their world was a place filled with strife and sadness, but these souls were beings that love to make art and beauty and love.

So one day, these souls met in a not-so-secret place and discussed the making of a thing. Something never made before. This was a thing that would bring much joy to the world.

They talked and planned. 

The souls would throw ideas against the walls of these not-so-secret place. It was a grand time. Sometimes the idea balls would stick, others exploded, and still others bounced back and the souls had to duck to avoid the flying idea balls.

They did this for the longest time, about two days, until they finally had on outline of the thing.

The souls were very excited. They told others whom wanted to take part in this thing.

Over the next several days these souls met and worked separately on this thing. They brought in other friends to help built this thing that was filled with art, songs, happiness, comedy, and love. There was guitar music and karaoke echoing across the not quite frozen lands of the soul's world. They were surprised, because it was the bleak wintertide and usually that meant cold. But it wasn't cold this year, but warmth and much still green. 

So, the souls continued to practice their art until the grand day of unveiling to the world.

Meanwhile there was sadness, when one of the souls-the oldest became ill. They souls worried as they practiced. But fear not, this story is not sad. For the old soul sought help in healing and the other souls sojourned on. They-the souls vowed to honour their friend while he was healing.

The rehearsals continued. 

And then the day was upon them.

The souls rejoiced. The main four danced and sang with their friends. The  souls of the world that lived near and far came to see with what they had created. There were lessons learned and joy to be shared, which is all the souls really wanted, and what everyone else enjoyed.

The souls they sang! Their thing brought much joy to the world.

And at the end of the day, the souls climbed upon the backs of reindeer and llamas and flew away into the night to eat chicken tenders and honey mustard.

The End.

Nursing Love

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a love story. Explore what feeds love. It can be romantic or platonic. It can be devoted or damaged. It can be recovering or enduring. Focus on characters or setting, weaving a 99-word love story. From Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge!

From MorgueFile

“Remember when you were sick that weekend?” Sasha said at the table. “And I had to make you chicken bouillon in your microwave?” while watching tiny sparrows fight at the plastic feeder hanging on the porch.

“Well, no actually,” said Myron.

“Oh come on,” she said, “You mumbled in your sleep that night, ‘Gotta catch the viruses,’” she giggled in the early morning sunshine streaming into the kitchen.

“Oh, right. Well, I remember the time you hallucinated in your sleep, he said.”

“Dreaming?”

“Okay, dreaming. You said, ‘Get the frogs after them’.”

“Okay, touché,” she said smiling at him.

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.

Sunny Days and Lovely Ferns

A Round of Words in 80 Days is a blog challenge that knows you have a life. It's a Blog Hop. Stop on in, meet some new friends and learn a thing or two. Oh and there's cheesecake and lemonade!

This Week:
     *Reading: almost a hundred pages into The Golden Compass (Phillip Pullman) and started Wicked.
(Gregory Maguire), only 1 chapter in actually. Been really good about getting up and reading before work, sometimes even on my porch.
     *Writing: wrote 1285 words yesterday, another branch to my Love in Ferns story. Might actually be a longer story or just a separate one. Not sure if I want to connect the two or not. Monday was my ROW80 check-in. so that is two days of writing, plus today's ROW80 check-in makes three in a row!!
     *Social Media: reading 8 blogs on Monday for both Sunday and Monday. 4 read yesterday. On track. Participated in Tuesday Night's #writestuff Tweet Chat.
     *Blogging: Posted yesterday (Tuesday) for #IndieRoar 10 day challenge presented by TheNotebookBlogairy.
     *Housework: dishes and laundry are caught up and staying caught up. Well...Okay, I have a few dishes in the sink and a small pile to put away still. But that is caught up for me. Trust me! :-)

This Week (upcoming):
     *Reading: continue with The Golden Compass and Wicked.
     *Writing: write daily
     *Editing: This is a BIG one! Work on Love in Ferns, currently WIP, and post it to #writestuff's monthly challenge.
     *Submissions: not done this week. 1 new submission this week.
     *Housework: vacuuming and maybe steam cleaning the carpets this weekend.

I am in week two of my vacation from theatre this summer. Still feels a little odd, like I should be doing something else. But then I see my progress on ROW80 goals. And things that I have written and I feel good. Like today, I am on my porch writing this listening to Paul McCartney's Off the Ground album and listening to the birds sing.

It's also WIPpet Wednesday! The creation of K.L. Schwengel and also a Blog Hop. Come and visit with us WIPpeteers. The math is weird, but so am I. Today's date is 6/10, so 6 + 10 + 3 = 19 lines from Love in Ferns.

Here Callie and the narrator take a walk. Sorry. That's all the lead up I can give today. This is the middle of this part of the story.

“You excited?” Callie called back. I looked up to see to the slight frame, willow-like dancing in the afternoon breeze. “This is gorgeous you know,” she said and spun around ducking below the waving branches and ferns, disappearing for a moment. My head looked around to see on the horizon dark clouds pressing closer, thunderheads. My hand pulled up over my eyes and I watched their slow march as I turned to see Callie reappeared and giggle. She was wearing a crown of buttercups, foxgloves, and daisies. Her hazel eyes looked back at me and she smiled. “You gonna tell me now?” she asking coyly.

Feeling much less nervous without a single person nearby, I put my arm around her shoulders, “not yet. Need to get to where we are going first,” as I pulled her closer.

“Don’t those look like thunder clouds?” she pointed, yet didn’t sound worried. 

I tried to be protective and pulled her closer, trying to sound like I knew everything, “I think they are.”

“What type of clouds are they then?” she said sounding callous and cocky. "Go on, tell me" she said in a mocking jest and I realized I had no response for her.

Callie pulled away, turning her hazel eyes from mine, “Can you just tell me here?” she sounded a little desperate as she motioning to the field of fern fronds, wildflowers, and trees that made the whole area look like some sort of abandoned cathedral.

I guess I was determined to have my way, “But this place is not THE place,” and I motioned past the Elms Gate up ahead. The wind slowed down and I felt the temperature rise. Or maybe it was me, but Callie looked like she had beads of sweat on her brow. I turned to look at the elm trees, the thunder clouds were closer, "Cumulonimbus Clouds," I said.

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).

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