Friday, September 26, 2014

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here. Every Friday we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom.

Write whatever you want in the comments section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. BREAK THE BLOG! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play. 

If you have a blog and you want to post your pieces there too (and link back here), that would be lovely. 

You wake up, and your jaw creaks open. You look in the mirror and expect to see broken teeth, spider-webbed abutments holding them in place. You never sleep through the night and, when you do, you wake up like someone stuffed your nostrils full of Disney powder. Don't eat the apple! There's no point dwelling on it. Use it. Twist it your way. The whole world is malleable on Fridays. 

You wonder at the strangeness of the voyage; fun-house faces leer in the darkness, and you either reach for them - wanting to remember - or you shake your head like a wet dog. It doesn't work. You lost your grip on the controls, see? And now you're bumper-car crazy down the shoulder of the freeway - all the way to the wrist where the skin is soft and pale. 

Freeways have shoulders, but they are heartless bastards nonetheless. Drive on.

Thanks for stopping by! I will be in and out all day but, rest assured, I'll be reading everything and commenting as I have time. Happy Friday!

280 comments:

  1. Nancy DeCilio GauthierSeptember 26, 2014 at 8:41 AM

    The words of the hunter cut through the hot, still afternoon. "There is an unusual place there, hidden from the eyes of most men". His words carried an ominous weight. It was as though he dared mention the unmentionable. I shivered in the heat of the day's sun; yet dared to ask what he meant. He explained it to me slowly, as though reciting a memorized passage. I listened intently, and at the end of it let out a long sigh; knowing what I must do. For as surely as I knew I existed, I knew I would not rest until my own eyes saw what few present day mortals have ever seen. Then he added "Of course, it's just a rumor". Those words just added fire to my desire.

    The next morning I rose at dawn; the air was vibrant and alive. The shimmering sun seemed to hang expectantly, waiting for the day's events to pass beneath her. I moved quietly out of my room and grabbed a few mouthfuls of food. No one must know my destination, no one must guess my wish, lest I be stopped, or worse - laughed at. I recalled the complicated and treacherous paths leading to this unusual place; if it really existed. But it must, I argued against my own mind and hoped above hope. Common sense force me to take an extra 15 minutes in preparation, it would be a 15 minutes well spent.. Now I was ready, dressed in clothes suitable for traveling through the dense forest nestled in the crevice between two mountain slopes. A hidden jungle in the midst of snowy granite peaks. It was to be here, in the forest, that I would search for the cave that led to the unusual place. The forest was quiet at this hour of the morning, except for the occasional call of a bird to its mate. The way was time consuming and time was precious to me. Sunlight, filtered through the leaves left odd patterns on the green carpet below. I knew by the landmarks that I was nearing the cave. One more turn and I would sight it - Yes, there it is !! What a humble entrance to pick for freedom to another world. I entered the cave a little hesitant. but determined. Inside it was pitch black and I was glad I brought my flashlight. When the yellow light shone on smooth cave walls, I realized this was not the humble entrance I first thought it was. The inner recesses loomed up before me in the shadows of the light. I saw another vault beyond the one I was standing in and my heart sank, it seemed to be a dead end.

    I was tempted to turn and go, but No, I must not give up so easily. I started a minute search of the walls and was justly rewarded. On the far side, in a corner made by two jutting rocks, was a narrow opening, large enough for a man to crawl through. I struggled through the narrow tunnel, pulling my pack behind.. There was a light ahead, glowing with promise of things to come. Then I dropped out on a high mountain cliff and looked down on a familiar, almost forgotten world. How different the buildings were shaped here, made of light weight plastic and self illuminating. Conveyor belts carried people to and from their destinations. I had finally come home, through a time warp in the tunnel; to where I belonged - the year 2062.


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    1. Nancy, this is so vivid and rich. Speaking of Rich (Meyer), I will leave him to comment on this: "nestled in the crevice between two mountain slopes". :)

      Tons of great imagery and sense of purpose. I like the reveal at the end, too. This is an interesting call to arms/exploration piece. Very well rendered. Bravo!

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    2. Nancy DeCilio GauthierSeptember 26, 2014 at 9:12 AM

      Thanks for your kind and encouraging words and yeah, I can imagine what Rich would get up to with a remark.

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    3. ;) And you're entirely welcome. Thanks for playing!

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    4. Nancy, this is awesome. :) I hope there's going to be more!

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    5. Nancy DeCilio GauthierSeptember 26, 2014 at 1:03 PM

      Thank you Lynne :)

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    6. Very nicely done! I could practically "see" everything! Bravo!

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    7. Really well crafted and richly drawn scenes. I felt a chill when I read the last sentence, really makes me want to read on.

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    8. Beautifully done. Loved the twist at the end.

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    9. Jeez. You guys think I'm some sorta perv or something.

      Now, it it was snow-covered or had a river...

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  2. He's have run if he'd been able to. Run and never stopped. He'd have screamed if he'd had the breath. But all he could do was struggle to keep breathing...and bleed on his mother's carpet.

    He'd fought. He hadn't known what she'd intended, but he knew she was crazed. The crazy shone through her tears, and he'd known a fear unlike any he'd ever experienced before.

    He'd been right to be afraid.

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    1. Ooh. I like this one. Cold as ice. You do such a good job of conveying the fear and uncertainty. That's always impressive, but especially with such a short piece. Well in, B.

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    2. "The crazy shone through her tears" -- perfect.

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    3. "The crazy shone through her tears, and he'd known a fear unlike any he'd ever experienced before. " Yeah, I think I'll just curl up in a ball and whimper awhile. When it comes to scaring people, you're pretty gosh darn good at it :D

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    4. "The crazy shone through her tears..." Yes. Want more.

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  3. The body twitched a bit, and I kicked at the man's face one more time. This time I heard something break. My companions were wandering the dark room, trying to find something that still had a pulse. They reminded me of vultures, but I was no better. I wasn't in it for the money, like most of them. No, I wanted the violence. I wanted the pain. I wanted the release. These pathetic, now nonexistent lives didn't matter to me at all. They were just a means to an end.

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    1. Cold blooded. This is such a dark, hearty piece of writing. I dig it. Great use of language and conservation of words - short pieces with this much impact blow me away. Well in.

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    2. Not a pleasant fellow, huh? Great job of describing your narrator without actually doing it. :)

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    3. Nothing like a thrilling peek into a dark heart. Nice!

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  4. I never thought I'd miss pine trees and red mud.

    And I was right. I don't miss it.

    Life is different here. Not more peaceful. Not happier. But different. More...real. The colors are brighter, the smells sharper, the sounds more nuanced.

    And then there are the people. If you can call them that. They certainly keep things interesting. Much more interesting than the rednecks ever did.

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    1. Strangely, I do miss the pine trees and red mud a little. A LITTLE. I can totally relate to this piece. Not a word wasted.

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    2. For all the people who thought they could never leave home... :)

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    3. Really tight writing, awesome.

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  5. The beat-up truck pulled away from the pathetic pile of dirt and bricks. Without them this was not a home, it was just a meaningless plot. How was I supposed to live without the three of them? I didn't even know how to move. I couldn't breathe. I knew I was supposed to go back in and move on, but I just couldn't do it.

    Man, if this is how it felt to lose roommates, I was never getting married or having kids!

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    1. There is sadness and desperation and resignation here. That's a lot to pack into basically one paragraph. Great visual at the beginning to. Anchors us well.

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    2. Endings are hard. End of school term, end of relationships, end of life, its all hard. You wasted not a single word while painting a complete scene.

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  6. Last week's entry, with the introduction it should have had to avoid narrative confusion:
    -----
    Pushing aside the disconcerting notion that the creep wanted her, the huntress held her ground, not budging an inch even as he slid onto the seat next to hers and scooted entirely too close for comfort. He unabashedly drank her in with his eyes while snapping his fingers and tapping the bar for immediate attention, his gaze lingering on the silk sapphire dress that accentuated her features.

    "Need somethin’?" Dave asked, his earlier chatty manner replaced by a laconic delivery.

    "In homage to the impeccable taste of my lovely seat mate, I’ll have a sapphire martini, please," the man said with affected cordiality, continuing to stare at her while the barkeep fixed the Bombay Sapphire gin and blue curacao concoction.

    His drink delivered, he raised it in a silent toast that the woman steadfastly ignored.

    "A woman after my own heart," he said after a beat. Not to be deterred by her utter lack of reaction, he continued, "I couldn’t help but notice that the goings-on which have the ruffians in a tizzy have failed to impress you, just as they bore me."

    She silently sipped her drink and stared at the bar, resolute not to acknowledge him even by rolling her eyes.

    "I, for one, could not care less about American football. I’d prefer if we could return to the Age of Enlightenment, when reason and knowledge were the ideals to which one aspired."

    "Well, you’d fit right in," she muttered to herself. He took it as an opening to introduce himself.

    "Devon Bouchard," he said, not offering a handshake but instead touching her knee. "And you are?"

    ‘Not interested, Divine Blowhard,’ she thought as she pushed away his hand.

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  7. Although everything about the creature that had slithered into the next seat at the bar repulsed her, the woman remained polite.

    "I’m not looking for company right now, thanks."

    "But surely you’re intrigued, n'est-ce pas? You did say I belonged in the Enlightenment."

    She regretted murmuring that comment under her breath.

    "No. And I can assure you that my saying you would fit in during the Enlightenment was not a compliment," the woman said, turning to face him for the first time. He looked at her, unblinking and inscrutable save for the hint of a condescending smirk. It made her all the more determined to bring him down a notch.

    "You see, for most people, the Enlightenment was anything but enlightening. Only a minuscule percentage of the population really had it good, and those who did — all white and nearly all men — were so smug that it seemed they thought their so-called superiority was granted by divine right. I’m guessing you’d do quite well among that lot of narcissistic boors."

    Her dressing-down had an unintended effect on the would-be suitor.

    "I’ll bet you’re a hellcat in bed, aren’t you?"

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    1. Man, I love this. There are so many twists, intentional misleads - the characters are very 3D, even if you can see right through them. Intent. That's the word that keeps springing to mind. Your intent as a writer and the intentions of the written. Well played.

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    2. God, what a jerk. :D I love how this story is evolving.

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    3. love that his character remains intact. Great end line.

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    4. You never know what turns some guys on, do you.? lol Well done.

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  8. I gotta go - right now. I shrug the hand off my shoulder and dart my eyes around the room. I can hear the voices and their feigned concern. They don't mean a goddamn thing. You want to look heroic in front of a roomful of strangers? Seems pretty strange to me.

    The sweat is in my eyes now, and I wipe at it with a cocktail napkin. I consider grabbing the lime-wedge knife to hack my way through their good intentions. I'm not driving. I'm not any of your concern. Go back to staring at the TV. It loves you more than I ever will.

    The night is black and cool and welcoming, and I breathe it deep into my lungs, forcing out the stale, old-beer musk that maintains its hold regardless - hidden - it will be back. I might be back, but not if I can help it.

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    1. whew. Battling some demons there. Keep fighting. Love, love, love " grabbing the lime-wedge knife to hack my way through their good intentions"

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    2. "Go back to staring at the TV. It loves you more than I ever will." Coldest thing I've ever read. And I've read some cold things... Brrrrr :)

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    3. Thanks, guys. You need to borrow a sweater, let me know Ed. ;)

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    4. What Julie and Ed said. And then some. Chilling.

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  9. The woman is old, dirty, disconnected - booze, drugs, mental illness - maybe a cocktail. You reach into your pocket and pull the dollar out. It's the last one, but one dollar don't mean shit and it might mean something to her - it might even be a kind of forcefield. She walks towards you and you can feel the fetid heat.

    "You smell like sex. Sinner. Don't tell me you're not a sinner because I can smell the sick and cum all over you."

    You stare at her smile - grim, grey teeth. The smell is overpowering - tooth decay and something sweet that makes you want to cover yourself in bleach.

    "Say something, boy. Cock. Pussy. You know all about it. I see it in your eyes - you're scared, but you don't know why."

    "I ... you ... listen, lady ..."

    You drop the dollar and run, knowing you can never run from this - it lives in you, now.

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    1. Wow. Awesome closing line. This would be a tough memory to outrun.

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    2. holy cow. That is killer writing. totally killer. I'm in awe.

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    3. I encounter a woman like this in Bali once. She was seriously toothless and had a beard thicker than mine. She insisted I let her give me a kiss for a dollar. I was terrified and you brought that memory back vividly. Thanks for the shock therapy. That was good. Can I have some more?

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    4. Thanks y'all. There's always more. :)

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    5. Shudder. I feel like I need a shower, now.

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    6. Me too. Think I'll go to the pool instead, though. ;)

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    7. I think for short fiction last lines loom large, and yours filled the entire screen here, brother!

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    8. Well, at least Dan's discovered a new career for himself...

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  10. The thunder of men on horseback grew closer, hooves pounding into the newly planted crops, their shouts and laughter a lance that pierced her nightmares. She buried her face in the hay of the synagogue attic and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Shh, tateleh,” she murmured to the young girl, and they whispered a prayer that they’d heard Mama recite over the candles on the Sabbath. It did not slow the horses. It did not stop the big men with their brass-buttoned uniforms dulled with dust and dried blood. It did not stop their shining blades from hurting the men downstairs. Papa, uncles, brothers. It stopped nothing. But it made the girl stop crying, and it made them both invisible.

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    1. Woah. Epic power and fury in this one lady. The terror is palpable. Shades of Blood Meridian for me. (That's a HUGE compliment - that's an amazing and terrifying book if you haven't read it.)

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    2. oh, and the lance. + (shudder)

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    3. The visuals and emotion took my breath away. Well done!

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    4. Well done, indeed. I wanted to hold my own breath.

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    5. A scene played too often. I can feel the fear.

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    6. This one's perfect. I can read it in my head and it sounds like a poem, a lament.

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  11. She rolled onto her back to finish her stretching routine, the plastic pain of the artificial turf of the infield no match for her thin nylon singlet, and counted the crossbeams that held up the marshmallow sky. There were pigeons trapped inside the dome; she heard their chirping, saw the streaks of what they’d left behind in the rafters when Coach made them run the stadium stairs. Carrier pigeons, they called them. Big joke. The football team, bellies jiggling, huffed in circles on the track around her, shaking the ground. She knew them all by name. Some day they’d be famous. Not her team, though. Because it wasn’t truly a team. Even though they had uniforms and a meet schedule and a coach, on paper it was just a bunch of women who liked to run, and there were whispers that only teams would be allowed in this hallowed hall. The inequity stabbed at her like the pointed tips of the fake grass, like the droplets of sweat flying off the men’s reddened faces, the occasional wads of shiny spit that only landed a few feet away from the stretching girls--ladies--women’s track club. The coach strode out to greet them, and she caught a quick shifting in his eyes before he smiled too broadly and clapped his hands together. This is it, she thought. We’re done. “Okay, ladies,” he said. “Meeting time.”

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    1. This piece is so intimate and detailed. Amazing how much emotion and sensory stimulus you can pack into a paragraph. There's a million stories in this one.

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    2. It's not a sport unless there are balls involved, right? Arrgh.... Great details, including the pigeon poop. :D

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    3. Lynne, LOL. Laurie, wonderful detail and perfect description of that coach about to deliver bad news. I can see it like a movie.

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  12. The new girl had spackled on her makeup like she was hiding from something. She stumbled in her scuffed, pleather pumps into 4th period. She reminded me of Bambi when he learned how to walk. "Do you smell skank?" The girls whispered and giggled. "Easy," the boys high fived each other and smirked. And me? I said "hello," because I figured she would need a friend.

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    1. I love this piece. So many great details. Pleather pumps! And, this is not as related to the piece, but as someone who was the new kid a LOT, I always appreciated the kid who said hello. :)

      Really dig this. Please come back and play again.

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    2. I like the narrator already. :) Nice job.

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  13. The old man sat on the bench wondering if he was old. It all depended. The 'twenty year old' him would think he was old. No doubt about that. The grey haired folks in slippers with tennis balls on the feet of their walkers - they wouldn't agree. He wasn't sure. They say you're only as old as you feel. If that was true, his body was already decomposing.

    Screw it. Enough. No sense in beating a dead load of horse shit. He stood slowly and walked to the edge of the water. He saw tadpoles and tiny fish that flashed silver, little pieces of beauty, impossible to hold. They were young, fast. He saw an old heron, tattered feathers, figured, hey, we'll flock together.

    He started back home. There were old magazines to sort.

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  14. It was snowing. Not the fluffy picture-postcard snow of a million Christmas cards -- the kind that presages a silent night -- but the angry, sleety, in-your-face kind of snow that chills you to the bone.

    She viewed the scene with dismay. She'd been in denial about the shortening days, the darkness descending as she fixed her evening meal. But this snow gave uncontrovertible proof that winter was on the way, and she wasn't ready. She didn't want to pack it in and hunker down before the fire -- not when she hadn't had a chance yet to burst forth.

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    1. Ahhh.... the butterfly, stuck in a chrysalis for another season. And I'm bracing for that kind of snow... I know it well.

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    2. damn snow. keeps us all back. This is lovely.

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    3. Thanks, y'all. :) Hoping we won't see snow here for another couple of months. Or years. :D

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    4. This is beautiful, Lynne. I love the opener with the snow analysis, but the overall flow and rhythm is flawless. Awesome work.

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  15. The pain never stopped. His left foot felt like it was on fire. Fire. Just like when they were attacked in Fallujah...

    He shook his head. that was years ago. Stay in the present the therapist said. There's no one to hurt you. That's what she said, "No one to hurt you."

    The therapist didn't see the little girl's face as he shot her father just before the bomb went off. Guess the suicide bomber had the last laugh. Would the girl ever find him? ever forgive him?

    God, why did his foot hurt so bad?

    The alarm went off. He woke up. He strapped his prosthetic leg on. Ghost pains, the therapist called them. Maybe the girl had found him after all.

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    1. Awesome. I love how the pain ties everything together.

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    2. agree with Lynne. My dad had phantom pains. It's all too real.

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    3. Love how it circles around. Yes.

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    4. Yep, this is a amazingly well constructed piece of writing. Real and scary and relatable. Well done, my friend.

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  16. Defective engagement ring for sale cheap. It fit the wrong woman.

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    1. Inspired by those microfiction things I posted on my wall earlier this week... The alleged Hemingway piece: "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn."

      And the one I saw elsewhere without an author, "WEDDING DRESS FOR SALE .
      Worn once by mistake."

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    2. THAT took you two minutes? ;)

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    3. I was weeping a lot from the emotion... had to blow my nose a lot

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  18. Lilly pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, squinting myopically down her nose.

    “So, you're telling me that grown-ups are all mean and that all they want to do is stop me having fun?”

    Her friend nodded, his mouth splitting into a smile. “That they are. They're all dim-wits and knaves. The lot of them. You'd be best taking no notice of any of them. Perhaps you'd like to come with us? I can guarantee that you'll never be bored.”

    “He's right, you know,” his companion added, chewing on a daisy stalk and pushing it from side to side comically. “I can personally guarantee it. You wouldn't believe the things we do when folk aren't about!”

    Screwing her face up, Lilly looked at them both, trying to bring them into better focus. “I suppose,” she said, beginning to push herself to her feet.

    “Lillith Ann Granger! Who's that you're talking to,” her mother shouted, her voice preceding her around the corner of the tool shed. “And how many times have I told you about talking to strangers?” she continued, stepping into the empty garden, completely missing the fluttering of their wings as they flew over her head and away into the twilight.

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    1. Uh-oh, it's the fae. They'll be back, I bet. ;)

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    2. I was right! This is a really cool piece of writing. The beginning is terrifying. The sign of relief at the end is so rewarding. Well played. And there was just the right amount of foreshadowing.

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    3. My intention was to make it even creepier. I misplayed the last line; it should read '“And how many times have I told you about talking to strangers?” she continued, stepping into the empty garden, completely missing the fluttering of three pairs of wings as they flew over her head and away into the twilight.' making it clearer that the garden is now empty.

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    4. Fae folk. Can't trust them. Well played.Peter Pan-ish.

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  19. The bare-chested man perched at the edge of my bed looked suddenly too young to be sporting a mustache. He laced his fingers together between his thighs, mouth twitching in an attempt to explain himself.

    “It’s okay,” I drawled. “Happens to every guy once in a while.”

    He turned on me with a good-natured sneer. “Funny. So I’m not the first guy she’s hidden in here when her parents came over?”

    I quickly recalculated. He wasn’t a bad guy; there was no need to make him feel inadequate, or any more like the one-nighter that my roommate had probably used him for. Still, it pissed me off to have my Sunday morning interrupted. It pissed me off even more because I’d been chasing him for months.

    “No. She usually makes them go out the window. So I guess that means you’re special.”

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    1. ohhhh... I like it! A little vindication with words...

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    2. Wow. I like this. It also reaffirms my belief that no one should ever, EVER cross you. ;) (kidding)

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  20. That fucking Adam Ant song ear-wormed its way into her subconscious. All it took was a few notes, that unmistakable guitar riff and those damn horns. What are those, trumpets? Taunts from her childhood reared up on their haunches and slapped her silly. “Goody two shoes! Goody two shoes!”

    If only they could see her now. Sure, she still had one shoe firmly planted in good-girl ground, fertile with etiquette and kindness and prayer. But the other foot dangled over the pier and dipped into the evil pool. Evil with a purpose. Evil with a heart. Or at least, half a heart. And one goody shoe.

    She slid the knife into his body one last time. He was already dead. That one was just for fun. What the justice system couldn’t deliver – she’d make good on. Every damn time.

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    1. Whoa... nice! I didn't see the last paragraph coming... I was sure it was going to be something else! Of course, I now have the song stuck in my head, thank you very much.

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    2. Ooooh...love it. Song stuck in my head, too.

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    3. Goddamn it! I had that song stuck in my head a few weeks ago and wrote it out! ;) This is a awesome and fucking scary piece. I love the evil pool. I want to go there and tread water.

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    4. Atom Ant as a fucking ear worm. Perfect. Along with the just one more time for fun. You hit all my dark Scorpio secret pleasures in just the right way. I think I've found a new hero.

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    5. "Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow. There must be something inside." :)

      Brilliant, Julie.

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  21. It was not the kind of magic he had hoped for. Before his eyes, that dream of pitching in the major league dissipated. Nathan Boyd at the pitcher’s mound whipping down speeding fast balls past 100 mph, his long arm, the twist of his left hip –– all of it blurring into ribbons of shimmering colors, then wisps of gray vapor followed by heartache.

    “They spit a lot,” his mother said, by way of parental discouragement. “Go to college. Study medicine, law, something. You could retire at 90 instead of 38. Baseball? You want a definition? One of life’s foul balls. Grow up, Nathan!”

    So it never happened. No pitching, no practicing medicine, no defending the law. He quit high school in his senior year, eventually applied for and was given a maintenance job at Yankee Stadium.

    From idealist to masochist, he kept the stands clean of throw-away hot dog ends and saucy paper pizza plates. The cheers, the boos, the cracks of the bat, the umpire’s baritone calls. Boyd pretended it didn’t matter; he had pitched all-time record games in some previous incarnation. He’d sit this one out.

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    1. Oh man, this is sad. "One of life's foul balls" -- thanks a lot, Mom.

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    2. This is sad, but wonderful. This kind of thing happens far too often, I fear. As always, your writing is so human. Empathy, my friend. You writing is soaked in it. Personally, I think empathy is the most important thing humans are capable of.

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    3. This spoke to me. I spent my summers from Junior High on doing grounds keeping at a local American Legion Park, upgrading the lighting, sprinkler system, putting imported grass in the infield, dragging and chalking the field that would host regional Babe Ruth, American Legion and Semi Pro championship series. Baseball is a game of inches and grounds keepers are the shamans of the art. You've captured the feel of the game from its most basic level.

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    4. Yes. so many lives down the drain because someone said the wrong thing when it mattered most.

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  22. The five member string ensemble was playing a lively arrangement of a Copeland classic in the mezzanine of Walter’s office building when his phone vibrated. Looking at the caller ID he was surprised to see the words County EMS. Nervously he pressed “accept call.” It was difficult to hear the person on the other end but after asking her to repeat her message twice he responded by verifying his name and address for her. The music was growing louder by the second as the first violinist strode purposefully toward Walters seat.

    “What? Say again?”

    By this time the other two violinists had followed the first directly to Walters table and had surrounded him, sawing angrily on their instruments.

    “Please speak up, I can’t hear you,” Walter begged not believing what he thought he heard dimly through the crescendo of strings. Both cello players by now had actually drug their larger instruments with them to surround him. The audience was laughing, cheering, and clapping.

    Walter pressed the end call button on his phone and hung his head. The instrumentalists returned their positions at the foot of the stairs. He lowered his head in sorrow as he had just received word his only child had been taken from him in an automobile accident. The farthest thing from his mind was the cell phone video that captured this moment to share with the entire world. The images that would soon go viral as “rude man shamed by musicians.”

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    1. Like a fine glass of wine, starting off with heady and full flavors, and finishing with a subtle flourish. Well done.

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    2. What a wonderful piece. Everybody's right, and nobody is. Nice going, Ed.

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    3. Wow. I can't think of anything else to say. Bravo.

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  23. Aside from the suddenly not so festive Mexican music in the background, the only thing you could hear in the restaurant was the thud of the cell phones and clinking of car keys hitting the bottom of the canvas tote the man carried from table to table. "Promise you will all get these back, and you'll all be able to leave as soon as our guest and his lady friend finish," he pointed to the man and woman who had taken the corner table, "and remember, dinner is on him. you can order anything you like from the menu, you just need to do it now, our guest is a very busy man," he laughed under his salt and pepper mustache. He then walked over to the entrance and stood against the wall with his arms crossed.

    "Daddy who is that man? And why is he carrying a gun?" The little girl asked as she looked at the couple in the corner table. The man wore a cowboy hat, shades, and his jeans could have been painted on. His metallic, gold paisley button down complimented his girlfriends unapologetic vulgarity. She was all hair extensions, silicone, and sparkles. Aside from the gold plated gun that he placed on the table, she was by far his most tacky accessory.

    "He's a....he's..." He turned to look at his wife. If his eyes could talk they would have said "help!"

    "He is.." His wife lowered her voice to a whisper as to remind them keep it on the down low, "he is a magic...magic cowboy. Yes, a magic cowboy."

    "Seriously mom?" The sister said with the calm cynicism that only a 14 year old could deliver in the presence of a member of the Juarez drug cartel. Her mother kicked her under the table.

    "And what about the woman?" The little girl was now craning her neck.

    The mother looked at the father and widened her eyes with concern and urgency. Your turn now, she thought.

    "She is a.....a fairy princess,". The father said.

    The sister cringed. Her mother kicked her under the table again.

    "Fairy princess?" The little girl cocked her head.

    "Yeah, don't you see all that glitter around her eyes." The sister said. Her mother kicked her under the table again.

    "And what are they doing here?" The little girl asked.

    "Well," the mother began. A layer of perspiration began to form over her upper lip. "They knew it was your birthday today, and you are just so special that they decided to come by and celebrate with you."

    "Really?" The little girl widened her eyes.

    "Why do you think his friend told everyone to order anything they wanted?" The dad leaned in and winked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

    "Shouldn't I go say thank you?" The little girl began to scoot out of her chair.

    "Not if you want to live to see your eighth birthday" the sister said, reaching over to keep the child in her place.

    "Huh?" The little girl said.

    "Nothing." The mom cut in, "it's a birthday game the magic cowboy made up just for you. The only rule is that we all have to be quiet ok?"

    The little girl nodded.

    Later on she ordered every desert on the menu. While she thought it was the best birthday ever, her parents, like the rest of the patrons, ate quietly as their spoons and forks shook in their hands. The man in the cowboy hat picked the tab up as promised, and all keys and cell phones were returned upon his exit. Years later, when the little girl began to understand the city she lived in, she thanked her parents.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Sorry I took so much space you guys! But I really wanted to post this. And no it was not 2 minutes, I am just trying my hand at writing.

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    2. Your hand works well. I love this piece. It goes from jovial to dark to sad so seamlessly. With a stroke of redemption at the end. And the contrast between the childlike curiosity and the adult (and reader's) tension is brilliant.

      Please play again. We're here every Friday.

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    3. This line is killer: Aside from the gold plated gun that he placed on the table, she was by far his most tacky accessory.

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    4. Have to agree with everything Dan said. Especially the gold plated gun line which is absolutely brilliant in every way.

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    5. Thank you for the kind comments! It means so much, especially from such a talented group of people. I am in absolute awe of what you guys do!

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    6. And that last line: quietly understated.

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  24. “Lord save me from everyone who is more than willing to share their emotional crap in the most overt way possible with perfect strangers. ”

    “Is Minerva at it again?”

    “Yes, she is. And I swear I have had ENOUGH. This can’t be a healthy form of existence.”

    “Let me guess she’s prattling on about her life in social mediums again.”

    “I cannot take one more day listening or worse, reading about how she’s pining after her man like he was God’s gift when we all know far too much about that already. Gee whiz, it’s like she doesn’t know the age old rule the more you brag the less you have to brag about.”

    “Well she’s your sister; can’t you just pull her aside and talk to her?”

    “You know Tracey you are very wise but you are also an only child and clearly have no idea what it’s like to have a sibling. I can’t tell her a thing. Nothing at all. Not even to leave me the hell alone.”

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    Replies
    1. Ouch. That last line. Wow. Gut punch time. This is an awesome piece. And as long as: “Lord save me from everyone who is more than willing to share their emotional crap in the most overt way possible with perfect strangers." doesn't refer to all of us... ;)

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    2. I have tried to stop laughter long enough to compose an intelligent response to this that doesn't bare my emotional crap in the process. I got nothin'. Perfect and well done.

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    3. Thanks JD & Ed. Actually JD, I was inspired to write this because I was uncharacteristically sharing a lot about myself on "social mediums" today and it was making me nervous. So no reference to anyone but me. Just channeling my own insecurities, as per usual. ;-)

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    4. That's one of my hobbies, channeling my own insecurities that is. ;)

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  25. The crowded bus jolted forward. She nearly lost hold of the two bags of groceries she juggled in her arms. Suddenly it all felt so wrong she wanted to cry. The bag at his feet contained one of those pop-up turkeys and gravy in a can. A package of aluminum baking pans bobbled at the top of the bag he clutched in the crook of his left elbow. His face was set into a mask of it’s-gonna-be-all-right while she was certain hers was more like I’d-rather-die. She swallowed hard, trying to make the best of it. This wasn’t his first choice either. But it didn’t feel like Thanksgiving. Her mother always put out the best china; the turkey was organic from a local farm; the stuffing took days to make, with herbs from the garden scenting her fingers. Thyme on your hands, her brothers used to joke, while she stirred the onions and celery into too much butter on the stove. This, what they were doing, this rebellion-style Turkey Day, just felt…wrong. Traitorous. And worse. She was too young to feel this old, too young to feel the ties unbind.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Holy SHIT! "She was too young to feel this old, too young to feel the ties unbind." Epic closer to a brilliant piece.

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    2. "His face was set into a mask of it’s-gonna-be-all-right while she was certain hers was more like I’d-rather-die." You scare the crap out of me sometimes.

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    3. You have a grace with words the way that Nureyev had with dance... I love reading what you write.

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  26. "See it?"
    No, I don't believe you."
    "Look deeper. Down at the bottom."
    I tightened my grip around his shoulder. "Don't be a sissy. It's there. Look again."
    "I'll fall in."
    "No you won't. I won't let you."
    Scared eyes looked into mine.
    I smiled a reassuring smile. "You want to see them don't you?"
    "Y..yes..."
    "Then bend over and look."
    "You won't let me fall in?"
    "Didn't I say so?" I gave his shoulder an extra squeeze to emphasize my words.
    "Well, hold on, OK?"
    I grinned.
    He bent way over. Splash!
    I didn't say I wouldn't push.






    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Sneaky little technicalities. Truly evil genius at work and so late in the week too ;)

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    2. Wicked. Excellent dialogue, Yvonne. Trust is so delicate, and so easily lost.

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    3. Wicked is the right word. And yes, you told this story almost entirely through well-constructed, well-thought-out dialogue. It's like you were channeling my evil older brother.

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  27. She passed all the normal people in their cattle chutes. Short shorts and a halter top and heels there was no way she paid for. She would have been beautiful if she didn't radiate repugnant privilege and arrogance. Nineteen, maybe twenty. You had to wonder what she did for those shoes...or who.

    "No one's even in this fucking line!"

    "That's because it's the express line."

    "Good, I'm in a hurry."

    She was talking to her phone and the woman at the register. All eyes on her. Most were amazed at how quickly you can take the luster off with a little bitter solvent. The air smelled like whore perfume and acetone.

    "Ma'am, I'm sorry, you'll have to wait like everyone else."

    She stormed off, clearly NOT like everyone else. Everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief, happy to flawed.

    Obviously, "perfection" ain't all it's cracked up to be.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I just "met her". To cop a line from an old story of mine, she was like an ornate crystal chalice filled with vomit. Or something. I think I said it better before. ;)

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    2. I've met a few of those - both sexes. lol

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    3. I love the way this captured the uncomfortable energy that entitled and pompous people create in public places. Sadly, where I am from, a lot of these exist, men and women. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat people who work some type of customer service like cashier, sales associate, or restaurant server. So many times I have found myself saying, "Did that just happen? Did he/she just say that?"

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  28. There was always a bruised haze in the air around River City. Like we all inhabited the heroic yet submissive persona of a domestic violence survivor.

    If you came and filmed this town you'd film it in wide angle. Long wide shots. You wouldn't want to miss any of the stuff goes on at ground level. Sure, once in a while you might want to pan up and catch an ecstatic sky or a twisting flock of birds, but mostly you'd keep your lens focussed on the rich earth where feet trace their unique and endless choreography, where twilight trysts bloom. And where the occasional splashes of blood land.

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    Replies
    1. Lovely and ugly. Just the way I like it. Glad you made it, brother. Bringing the A+ game as per usual.

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    2. Beautiful... bring me into paradise, then show me the blade. Thanks for sharing!

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    3. I knew you two in particular would like this! I think we share that sense of mining for something lovely on a dark coal face. That diamond.

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  29. Ma,

    I know this is awkward but it's the only way I can think of where I can tell you all this without you interrupting me and refusing to listen.

    I know you're afraid of being alone and I know you'll never find anyone to replace my dad but we both need to make some changes. We've been living together in Newbury for six years now – it was originally supposed to be six months – and we have to accept that I'm not a young girl anymore. In fact, it's come about that I'm looking after you more now, rather than you looking after me. I've become concerned that you're getting older and less able and now that I'm spending more and more time at work, I've begun to get worried that you're getting neglected. And I don't think it's fair.

    I've found a nice small flat for you on the ground floor in a pleasant little sheltered development in town and I've found another small flat for me. They're not far apart, so I can still come to visit you regularly – you'll probably see me nearly as much as you do now. And, what's more, at least I'll the peace of mind of knowing that you'll be able to get help whenever you need it – within a few minutes, rather than you waiting for up to an hour for me to get home. And that's important. For you and for me.

    Now, I don't expect the new flats will be perfect at first - neither yours or mine – but we'll both be living in a safer part of town and I'll do everything I can to make yours a new home for you. There'll also be people more your age nearby and a qualified nurse too, so there's every chance you'll be safer and you'll have company, whenever you want it. And I'll never be far away.

    Now, I'm sure you'll be thinking I've done this behind your back and that I've not included you in making any of the decisions and that's true – but only up to a point. I've not done anything that can't be changed - or cancelled – and you'll have every chance to check things out thoroughly before either of us commit to anything.

    So please, Ma, give this some thought. And then we can talk about it over the weekend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, man. My heart hurts. This is so well crafted, and we've all been there in one way or another, from one side or another. Excellent work, Mark.

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    2. Thanks, Dan. It's so real, isn't it?

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    3. I wonder how many children of elderly parents face this. Yes, very real.

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  30. The sunlight tickled the water, precious stones glittering on the wind wake. Red-winged blackbirds rose and fell, great mobs of them slicing the precious sunlight. Beneath the water there were fish ... and lost lures - some shiny, some rusted almost gone.

    The new ones result in long talks. "You said you wouldn't buy another lure!" Ah, they wander off...

    The important thing was the sky, that's what I want you to see. Great billowing clouds, primped and proud - majestic seems a silly word to use, but two minutes has no love for the thesaurus. So, it was majestic, you'll have to live with that.

    But try. Try to see the jewels floating on the tips of the waves. You won't regret it. I promise.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I love this. I love water though. I can just stand and watch it for hours; the corrugations from the breeze, the way the light speckles and folds. Bliss. Who needs fish and a rod?

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    2. Hard to make someone see with your eyes. Especially if they are not so inclined.

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  31. You think because you tell people that you care, it means that you actually do. I think you even believe it. Think about it, though. Explains all the gape-mouth stares and uncomfortable silences...

    You think you can make up for decades with a few well placed back-handed compliments, but I know where that hand has been and what it did. I know what it's doing NOW.

    You want everyone to look at you and think, by gum, that motherfucker is an angel. Look at that. Who would have believed...

    You want to maintain the same refrain? Sure, but I'm getting off. I'll catch the next train.

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  32. You gotta be fuckin' kidding me. They're sitting down there in happy circles like it's Reading fucking Rainbow and the world just had an instant bluebirds-on-my-shoulder transDisneyfication. And you know why they're there? They came to see a bear. Yeah, you heard me. A three hundred pound adolescent American black bear these clueless suburban clowns seem to think is a fuzzy step away from donning a goddamn duffle coat and gumboots and shoving toast and marmalade into that winsome muzzle, or is about to ask (politely, of course) to borrow one of their pic-a-nic baskets before opining, "oh bother," and sighing in a whimsical manner when he discovers someone ate all his Hunny. No, we all know what's gonna happen when he clambers down from that tree. Right? About how it all ends not with Christopher fucking Robin skipping down a lane, or with Yogi and Boo-Boo sharing a kneeslapper at Ranger Smith's expense, but with our good friend Ursus americanus there, scratching his back on a tree and picking his teeth with the still-bloody and splintered tibia of a butchered toddler after everyone else has run screaming for their worthless, oblivious fucking lives.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Woah. This is literary napalm. I like it. It's an interesting place to be put as the reader - it flows so naturally. I'm a little mad about Yogi and Boo-Boo just cause I do a mean impression. This is fire, brother.

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    2. Although this isn't me, I'm nowhere near this misanthropic (usually), I did actually see families gather in a local park to watch a back bear up in a tree. I was gobsmacked. I laughed through this, mostly, although I guess the ending is pretty dark. And anyway, what? Now I want to hear your Yogi Bear impressions!

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    3. Agree with Dan - and I do a pretty good Tigger.

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  33. “Are you ready for me yet?”

    “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    She really didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to have this moment, this vibrant connection. It was entirely too precarious given everything she knew about him. He took a step closer to her. Using the ten inches he had over her to appear as imposing as possible, he slowly dragged his forefinger down her bare arm beginning at her shoulder.

    “I think you know exactly what I meant.” He admonished her.

    She could feel her eyes narrowing, her lips twisting into a practiced smirk so she stopped herself. He had the power to make her feel like an adolescent, with just a few well-placed words and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

    “You’re right. I do know what you mean.”

    She could tell she surprised him. His eyebrows cocked and he smiled tentatively. Not one to overlook an advantage he leaned in hips first, of course.

    “There’s just one thing.” She said.

    “What’s that?” He said his mouth close to hers.

    “I will never, EVER call you Daddy.”

    He reared back to look at her wide eyed. His laughter rumbled to the surface and seemed to come from somewhere deep in his belly, surrounding her. The sound was low, melodious, and genuine.

    “What’s so funny?” She said, careful to keep herself from giving anything away.

    “Hmmm,” He wiped his mouth as if his laughter had left a trace. “well, it just occurred to me that never is such a very long time.”

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm fucking loving this. It has this kind of noir feel. I think. Everyone thinks noir means something different. This is awesome, though. I don't usually get jealous of cool noirisms, but this is badass: "“Hmmm,” He wiped his mouth as if his laughter had left a trace." It has a pretty rolling quality to it, too.

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    2. Yeah, this is another one I keep coming back to. The push and pull of conflicting desires.

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  34. Stolen

    What first made her run is long forgot, but run she did. Giving careful head in the backseat of limousines was only the beginning. She dreamed of the stars, of stardom and of actual stars, of an impossible silver life onscreen and off—red carpets, green rooms, the blue flashing lights of overdose—and when the cracks begin to show and you run out of inner space there's always the oblivion of actual space.

    Yet first she ran. Or drove. Or was driven. Endless bloodred nights, long midwestern trains keeping pace alongside her constant flight. Hitchhiking, joyriding, from turning low-track tricks to hunkering down in hayricks.

    Sometimes an easy charm, apposite words, and timely fingers down the throat won't save you. In the end, the teeming randomness of the world swoops in, all smirks and honed surfaces, and snatches you up.

    You wanted outer space? Here's space. The shattered windshield glass sprayed like the Milky Way over dark asphalt, each tiny star part of something vast, lovely, and immutably unhinged. Howling through the night, blunt force impact, then the pure silence, the longest gap between breaths, after the broken parts settle and before the cleanup arrives, when even the dry wingsongs of cicadas cease.

    Her eyes. Always so pretty. Seeing pretty things. Each piece of glass a makeshift jewel, a life inchoate, hanging amid the vast black fugue of eternal night. Watching them all swirl like bitter snowflakes and cruelty and, one by one, dissolve into nothing: hay bales, pocketbooks, purloined kisses, shining things.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. THIS is one of the best things I've read in a while. I don't construct when I write like you do - it's not something I can do, but I respect it. It's hard, but you're very good and this is SO good. It's perfect. I've got to read it again because I was half tripping on the pretty molding. Beautiful piece.

      Shit, now I don't want to go again. ;)

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    2. Thanks, bro. I don't plot, but I do connect wildly different things and try to fashion... something from them. One thing I love about flash is how abstract we can be, how we're not tied to chronology and logic, etc. It's fun.

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  35. It occurred to me to today... By which I mean it was one of those times when a thought bubbles from the miasma of whatever and you imagine tar pits and tourist pamphlets. It's something I haven't wanted to think about is what I'm saying.

    I gotta figure you're dead by now, and I don't know if I'll ever really know. And I don't know if that matters anymore, and THAT is like an old man's woolen overcoat when you're six. The weight of the world is in that fucking coat.

    And I think 'be noble' and find out and do something. I know it, though. In the deepest, saddest part of my being, I know. It happened years ago, so when it actually happens is irrelevant.

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    Replies
    1. Dude, I know that emotion. Not many people have ever even captured it. That "I gotta figure you're dead by now..." Wow. You blew my mind with this.

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  36. Replies
    1. I think this one wins. This is so funny. Jesus, my sides hurt. You know I'm counting on you to break the blog, right?

      I hate it, too. Stupid fucking bag of words. ;)

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    2. Too many typos. Damn notepad don't have a spellcheck. Reposted though :-)

      Delete
  37. "Goddamn it!" Rich said to his computer screen. "Fuckin' Mader and his fucking blog!"

    He looked at the little warning sign, oh so cute it thought it was! And the glowing red letters: "Your HTML cannot be accepted: Must be at most 4,096 characters."

    "Fuckin' thing! It ain't that long!" Rich glowered at the blog page. It hated him. It did everything it could to fuck with him. He would type in his story for Mader's Two Minutes post and what would it do? It would give him a captcha that wouldn't work, couldn't be read, or just never showed up. And then it would delete everything.

    Ah, but Rich was smart! He told the blog: "I have you now, you bastard! Try and fuck with me, will you?"

    "What are you ranting about this time?" Mona queried from the other room, where she was relaxing, watching our Roku.

    "Nothing, honey," Rich said. "Just showing Mader's blog who's the boss!"

    Rich was almost certain he heard a disgusted sigh from the living room, but that was probably DCI Barnaby making an unvoiced comment on DS Jones again on Midsomer Murders.

    Rich's plan was elementally simply: He would type out his story for Two Minutes in Notepad. That way, when he pasted it in, and Mader's Evil Fucking Blog spit it out, he would still have the tale, ready to cram down the blog's nasty cavernous esophagus until the demon of Wordpress finally took it and posted it! HAHAHAHA! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

    "What's so funny in there?" came a voice from the living room.

    "Nothing. Nothing. Just reading an old Seanbaby article. Those Super Friends...ha-ha." Rich slouched down in secrecy.

    It was just three keystrokes. Ctrl-A. Ctrl-C. Ctrl-V. And Voila! There is was in the window! Now the evil captcha would be beaten!

    Or so Rich thought. Then this evil message popped up. "NOOOOO!" He screamed.

    "Did you take your medication tonight yet, Richard?" The voice in the living room sternly queried.

    It can't be took long! How could it be too long? For fuck's sake, you evil goddamn blog! What do you want from me?

    I quickly opened Word and pressed my fists together nervously as it took forever to start. "Thing Ring, do your thing", Rich said absent-mindedly.

    A quick Ctrl-V and... "723 words? WTF? Had I written that much? It was only two mins..." Rich glanced at the time on his computer. It was twenty minutes later than when he started.

    "Damn you, you fucking blog" Rich mumbled, reaching for a pill bottle.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, the angst! the sangfroid and sangria in the face of schizophrenia! Off to check the interwebs on how to nominate for the Bookest Prize. That's like even better than the Booker.

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    2. Laughing my ass off. Oh. Awesome on a stick.

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    3. Hahahaha! I used to wonder where captchas came from until I started hanging around Mader's blog. Then I realized all captchas are born in hell. Well done, Rich.

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    4. Oh god, I laughed so hard I think I've done genuine harm to myself. LOL. Don't know why, but this understated little gem is turning me into one of those lunatics who giggles alone in front of a screen: "Rich slouched down in secrecy."

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  38. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  39. Tim applied the painter’s tape around the door while I tried not to look too bored. With all his yapping, he’d extended the two-minute task to a full fifteen. When he was finally done, I dipped my brush in the newborn shit color he’d raved about before opening the can. Seeing what pains he’d taken to lay the tape just-so, I made it a point to do the neatest painting I could muster. As Tim continued to drone on about other things he was good at besides picking paint colors and taping doorframes, he picked up a brush from the pile he’d dumped on the floor near the plastic curtain that didn’t quite hide a giant cage, and proceeded to paint the adjacent doorway, sans tape, and making a slop job of it. I kept my mouth shut. I’m just here to paint, not judge how a guy wants to paint his dungeon.

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    Replies
    1. LOL. This is also funny. Yet sort of has an undercurrent of creep. Or obsessiveness. Something.

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  40. Even though she was married she enjoyed his attention. The way he glanced her way with his broad smile and sharp features she couldn’t stop the goosebumps from forming up and down her arms. In his presence she felt giddy like a silly school girl even though she knew her husband who was busy working his ten hour shift would not have approved of her acting so friendly. He had warned her about talking to men at the gym.

    “They’re only after one thing,” he boomed.

    “Please, you think every guy that looks my way is a scumbag.

    “I don’t think it, I know it. You are so damn naive.”

    To that I could only laugh and get back to fixing dinner.

    Maybe I was naive.

    In some ways I think I was his self-fulfilling prophecy. It was just a matter of time but he saw it coming from miles away.

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  41. “You are so fat, Julie yells so practically everyone can hear. “Why don’t you go home and stuff your fatso face.”

    Looking around in horror I duck my head, turn towards the stairwell and try to escape into another room rather than listen to the kids giggle and call me silly names.

    I know I’m fat fat but it still hurts. This kind of talk is nothing new to me but I will never get used to it. People give me a hard time just for the fun of it. They think they’re being funny laughing like clowns and saying rude things about my frizzy hair. What am I suppose to do? Wear a wig. Kids are so darn cruel. That’s what my mom tells me.

    One day it got so bad that I actually ratted one of them out.

    “Miss Collins. Sarah said I’m a slob and my mom should learn how to feed me something other than Twinkies.”

    Miss Collins didn’t seem that interested.

    “Don’t pay her any mind. Just ignore her,” she smiles broadly while looking out the window without even catching the tears that are dripping down my cheeks.
    She obviously doesn’t care and can’t relate. Not that I expected her to. Sometimes teachers can be darn cruel too.


    ReplyDelete
  42. I couldn't even see my hands in front of my face as I entered the blackness of the abandoned asylum. I must be out of my mind but hey, a challenge is a challenge.All I have to do is walk the length of this corridor and I win. Ha, I grabbed my night vision goggles out of my pack and blinked to adjust my eyes. All's fair in love and war they say. I wish this warrioress would have at least thought of taking a valium before this escapade. With my keen sense of hearing this quiet stillness makes my head feel like it will explode. Just keep walking I tell myself and don't even think about the last door on the left. Some bad stuff supposedly happened there. I didn't even want to know.I could swear I just saw a damn hobbit run across the hall.OK, what's that sound? All this is getting a bit much. Just keep walking. The smell in here is horrendous! Almost there. Here it comes...the dreaded last door on the left.Oh my God. A loud screech permeates the air and I think I have peed myself a little. The door flies open and out jumps Rich and Larry. Yeah, they are hysterical. Assholes!

    ReplyDelete

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