Friday, October 30, 2015

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. #breaktheblog! 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. 

Cast yourself into redundancy and see what you catch. Could be just about anything - you never know until you try. That's how fishing works. Well, actually, there's more to it than that. But the frogs don't care to explain it, and I won't either.

You may think to yourself, shit, if I stare at this navel any longer it's gonna have to be dry-docked. That's reflection, see? Not the kind you find in bathroom mirrors. The important kind.

You take two sticks and rub them together. You don't stop until the smoke starts, hell bent for leather. And, then, you can sit back and watch the whole world collapse. It doesn't matter anymore, see? You aren't as important as you'd like to be. 



  1. Nancy DeCilio GauthierOctober 30, 2015 at 8:22 AM

    Margie breathed a sigh of relief; she and Carl were finally on their dream vacation. She had always wanted to go on a cruise; but Carl was always too consumed with work . Little did she know that a nightmare from an old case would be onboard. Carl was lounging by the pool deciding whether to take another dip, or go to the noon buffet. Margie had gone to an aerobics class; so his time was his own. All of a sudden Carl sat straight up, staring at one of the stewards passing out drinks to the pool side vacationers. Could it be; or was his overactive imagination in full gear. Carl always had a certain case in the back of his mind. The case he never brought to justice. Back when he was on the force he came very close to putting away a vicious criminal. One who had broken and entered a home; but not content with just robbing the place, he also terrorized the family. They had caught the guy; but between an error with the DNA and a slick lawyer; he got away with it. Carl vowed some day, he would find a way to put him away; or take justice in his own hands. Carl made up his mind. He slowly got up, approached the steward acting like an ailing senior citizen and asked for assistance back to his stateroom. Of course the steward complied. Little did he know who he was helping, nor did he know that Carl had noticed an out of the way corner on his stateroom floor away from prying eyes. Carl knew it though and finally found the jus

    1. Nancy DeCilio GauthierOctober 30, 2015 at 8:26 AM

      Final words got cut off, it should read: found the justice he had looked for.

      Also, I used this story for the Flash Fiction; but it wasn't chosen for voting; so thought I would post it here - LOL.

    2. I'm glad you did. And justice is a dish best served... ;)

  2. Dia de Muertos. Day of the Dead. A day I look forward to all year. A day to remember those who have passed on, to leave treats for those we love, and some say, to talk across the veil of death.
    Five years ago today. My son. I remember checking his car seat to make sure he was safe, all the buckles and straps in place. It was icy that night, so I was especially careful going home. Careful or not, the car slid into a lamp pole and I remember the BANG of the airbag going off and then blood everywhere.
    In the still of night, before the sirens tore the silence to shreds, before the red and blue flashing lights blotted out the stars, I remember the sound of weeping. Not mine, I think. It was more a feminine kind of tears.
    They took us both away. I awoke later wondering whether my son was okay.
    Five years ago today.
    And today, today there is a snickers bar on the temporary altar, the altar to remember those who have passed.
    Thank you, my son. I only wish I could taste the chocolate and kiss you one more time. Now I return to the crypt.

    (I'm taking most of the day off from the internet, so I won't leave my usual helpful comments on everyone's entries until later... write!)

    1. I am digging this piece. Great flow. And I don't know if it was intentional or not, but 'in the still of the night' works so well. Echoes of song...

  3. Sal had been waiting in the car for three hours . . . fuming. He hadn’t known what he was in for when he’d followed Cami, at least three clicks back and lights out, so she wouldn’t see him behind her on this moonless night. In some ways he was glad it was the middle of the night because they saw almost no traffic at all on this stretch of road. When he’d felt her leave their marriage bed and creep out of the room like a thief, he’d been turned away but wide awake thinking about how distracted she’d been lately.

    Well now he knew -- some at least.

    When she pulled up to the house she’d done it slowly as if rethinking her decision, which had left him to move at a glacial pace behind her. But then she’d gotten out of the car with a resolute expression and went to the door, rocking Sal to his core until he felt like he melted into himself. He hadn’t seen who opened the door when she went in but it didn’t matter. Cami had been keeping secrets from her husband and that was enough to set Sal’s teeth to grind.

    Since he didn’t know what was inside or how long she would be he decided to wait and confront her as she was leaving. But the longer Sal waited the more agitated he got. By the time hour three rolled by Sal was bouncing up and down, slamming his back and head into his seat, and gripping the wheel like a man who was seriously about to lose his shit. When he got out of the car, careful not to slam the door like he wanted to, he felt better.

    Walking towards the house, he wished he’d thought to get his bat out of the trunk but now that he was on the porch and feeling so coldly unhinged he didn’t think he’d need it. He was just about to pound on the door when he heard the growl that sent meteoric tingles down his spine. He hadn’t seen or heard a dog in all the hours he’d been out here. Turning slowly, he took in the golden eyes of the barghest first. Catlike they glowed from more than thirty feet away. The dog -- although Sal wasn’t nearly delusional enough to think anything that large or unusual looking could really be called a dog -- unlocked its massive jaws and yawned. When Sal saw the size of its teeth, he felt the fear first in his dick and it spread like running wildfire through the rest of his body from there.

    Somehow it didn’t surprise Sal when the man emerged from the copse behind the dog, silently moving with a graceful confidence. Coming closer the man rested his hand on the dog’s head scratching it. The dog reacted warmly and reciprocated by licking the man’s hand. Then abruptly the dog and man stopped to look back at Sal who’d watched them wide-eyed. Then the man spoke, calmly with a hint of bemusement.

    “She said you’d come. Cami did. She said you wouldn’t trust her so it wouldn’t matter how late or how far. You’d come. That your,” he scoffed the next few words, “righteous indignation would make it impossible for you NOT to follow her.”

    1. Holy Halloween! I love the way you set the expectations and subvert them. There is so much in this piece.


    After a dinner of scrod and potatoes, the old geezer in the lighthouse puffed away
    on his pipe, tapped out the ashes, then dozed off. He never made it to the comfort of bed. So tired, he snored in his rocking chair, his dreams run-of-the-mill, forgettable.

    Meanwhile, in the unattended dark, an out-of-control cruiser crashed on the rocks,
    ignited at impact, exploded into splinters like confetti falling from the shoreline sky while the old man slept. Later he would insist he was awake.

    “I saw the fishing boat approaching,“ he said. “I tried to warn the helmsman by flashing
    the hot bright eye of that old lighthouse. Can’t figure where that crazy fool came from.
    One minute the sea’s calm as the night sky; next, I’m taking in a scene straight out of hell!”

    But the authorities found him negligent and after the inquest he was dismissed.

    Someone else sits up in the window now And the old man rants about injustice,
    How they could take him out of his lighthouse, but they could never take that lighthouse out of him.

  5. Oh what the heck. One more. I'm an addict, I tell you.
    “Wait, I have an uncle?”
    “Yes, dear, that’s what I’m telling you.”
    “Why haven’t you told me about him before?”
    “Your father and I, well, we thought it best not to burden you with his… problems.”
    “What sort of problems does—what’s his name?—Uncle Cyrus have?”
    “It all started when he lost his hand…”
    “Mom, that is SO able-ist of you. How dare you treat someone differently because they’ve lost a body part!”
    “He sort of went… crazy after that.”
    “Mom, you are being so 20th Century. Mental health is something that we should all be aware of. We don’t disown family because of issues.”
    “He sort of fixated on young girls. Girls your age.”
    “That’s creepy.”
    “His girlfriend broke up with him when he was fitted with a hook for a hand, and he sees girls of that age – of your age – as extensions of her. Anyway, he’s been released from the mental institution he was in, and your father and I just wanted you to be aware, pay attention to strangers.”
    “I’m totally creeped out now Mom.”
    “I’ll pick you up after school. The usual time?”
    “Don’t you remember? I told you that Julio and I are going out tonight. Dinner and a movie?”
    “Oh, is that tonight?”
    “You never remember anything.”
    “Have a good day, dear. Home by eleven, you hear?”
    “So, Julio, what movie do I tell Mom we saw?”
    “Your neck… it’s like candy…”
    “Seriously, dude, we have to have our story straight.”
    “Titanic, because you are bringing me down.”
    “That hasn’t been in theatres for decades.”
    “Like she would know?”
    “Okay. The cheap theatre. That’s our story. What was that?”
    “It was the sound of my heart.”
    “No, it sounded like something hit the car. Ohmigod, is it really 10:30?”
    “Everything about the car is perfect, except that my girlfriend is talking too much.”
    “I really need to get home. I told them 11.”
    “Gah. Fine. One more kiss…”
    “Now, we need to leave now unless you want me grounded for a month…”
    “Oh, thank goodness you’re home! And look at you! Five minutes early!”
    “I promised.”
    “Wipe your feet, dear. I just had the carpet cleaned.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “How was the movie? What did you see?”
    “Some old classic about a boat sinking.”
    “Now who would be calling at this hour?”
    “Yeah, Julio? Why are you so out of breath? You found WHAT?”
    “What is it, dear?”
    “Julio… he… he found…”
    “My goodness, honey, you’re pale as a ghost!”
    “He found a hook… an artificial hand… stuck in the bumper…”
    “First the phone, now the doorbell. What is this, Halloween?”
    “Don’t leave me alone, Mom!”
    “Oh nonsense. It’s just the door!”
    “May I help…”
    Hydrogen peroxide can remove bloodstains from almost anything. But not wool carpet.

    1. I love the horror movie echoes here. Halloween!

  6. When you're in trouble, it don't matter the location of that trouble, he supposed. Just the fact you're up to your neck in a deep mess and need to darn well fix it. Yet it still bothered him that home was a damn sight more than a hop and a jump and a skipped rock away and fuckit, there were no goddamned people on this godforsaken island, apparently. Which, he had to admit, was kind of the point.

    Okay, obliterated ankle and apparent blindness aside, let's back up here.

    Grant was a proud Texan, lord of all he surveyed, which actually wasn't much. But hell, he was lord of it. A salvage yard and a used car lot, to be exact, just outside of Lubbock. Between the two, he and his crew brought them in lame and sent them out new, as the saying went. Or if you prefer a more Texan flavor: brought 'em in sinners, sent 'em out right with God. Well, almost new, almost right, close enough for Jesus to turn a blind eye. Small time as his little operation was, it nonetheless provided him with enough enticing glimpses of a world in which movers moved and shakers shook that he pretty much craved a piece of that world every waking minute. This hunting trip was the end product of some complex favors involving at least a couple bribes and even more meaningful nods and winks between connected associates and their high-powered acquaintances. And money. Which went without saying, the way of the world. All so Grant could solo-stalk some private island off of the coast of British Columbia and bag himself a timber wolf or two. Or black bear or cougar, maybe. No doubt he'd owe somebody something when he got back to civilization, but still. If he brought back the head and pelt of a wild, grizzled mutt, his wan star might rise somewhat, and he was damn sick of being the one who had to bow his own balding, blocky head in company.

    Fucking Canada. Swell idea on paper, and he still treasured the memory of the six hundred pound grizzly he eventually took down somewhere near Jasper, Alberta, but it was always either too cold or too damned wet for regular folks—a godawful place, truth be told, filled with mosquitoes, ice, socialists, and black flies, where no one gave you eye contact and too many repeated sorry and thank you instead of aiming for the top, most of them pretending to laugh at nothing in particular so's they didn't have to think about their overall predicament—the predicament being that they're an entire country that's basically Minne-fuckin-sota.

    [To be continued?]

    1. Oh, that last line. And this: "filled with mosquitoes, ice, socialists, and black flies" - I'm loving this - please continue. :)

    2. Dude, these short pieces keep wanting to get longer lately. This one turned into a genuine story! Here it is on my blog.

  7. I will stand and scream so delightfully, the world will bear my witness. I will testify, mounting sermon upon sermon - pass the hat and praise the headband, let the coins fall like rain, bills flutter like porch-light moths.

    I am the king of all I survey. I am the surveyor and my electronic eye sees farther than you can imagine - I can look into the very depths of you. I see you lurking, swirling vulture rainbows. Buzzards.

    Drink from the chalice and let the flow seep into your shirt, your chest, your heart. You are the paintbrush, and I am the art. You create me, I'll sedate you. It can all be real if you believe it's true.

    If you don't believe, leave. There's other compounds and other stalwart men like me. They may want more than your money, but you buy your ticket, you take your chance.

    Now, dance.

  8. I can talk shit with the best of them if need be.
    I will wax lyrical about the Milky way and all our endless universe if you want me too.
    Or maybe I’ll just sit quietly on a grassy knoll at dusk and watch the waves.
    Wonder at the dark sea as it dances with the lamp lights reflecting off its surface.
    I can revel in the cold sting of the salty spray against my face and breathe the briny-tinged air. Fill my nostrils, my lungs with its freshness.
    Look to the horizon at the moon melting into the ocean and the stars twinkle like the gentle kisses of a lover.
    And throw back my head and feel. Just feel. The magnificence of being here.
    And smile.

    1. I love this piece. The sensory detail is so well balanced. And hope. :)

  9. They don’t understand what it means to us. As much a part of me as my heart or lungs, my veins are saturated with the code of my ancestors. Their blood is my blood, it flows like the rivers of a distant time filling the harbour of my brain with cries and burning screams.

    Fancy hats and ripped shirts and counterfeit scars are yours to use and discard on a whim but beware…..
    ‘Tis the season of the witch, my dear and she is nearer than you think.

    Her wounds are real, a legacy of a tortured past boils in my breast.
    The sisters are coming together and thunder will crash their arrival.
    “Hycantha, matorda, rycantha, falloy….Take cover dear maiden, retreat girl and boy,
    A ship from the ocean I take from the men, to avenge poor Yerdua, you drowned her back then,
    A goat, horse and cattle will vanish this night, dear Malicia hung so ‘tis only right,
    I’ll spare you your children and mothers alike, for the sisters are merciful this Hallowed Eves night.
    Trycantha, helldora, cybantha, saloo, leaves us be or we will come back for you.”

    Trick or treat, people. Trick or treat.

    1. Trick or treat indeed. This one was a bit of both. ;) Really like it.


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