Archive for May, 2010

Speed Date


2010
05.31

“Hi.” she sat down nervously, her hair was over sprayed and her dress smelled as if it had come straight out of the closet. It still smelled a bit of old moth-balls.

“Hey” He was also a bit dishelveld, his patterned tie and patterned shirt a style most men could not pull off, and neither could he.  “Ummm…” the two of them looked around nervously in the dim lit room with the single candle as the centerpiece. “Nice weather we’ve been having hasn’t it?”

“Personally, I don’t like it, I perfer thunderstorms…” the guy looked up in suprise.

“Really?” he looked around “So do I? I just say that opening line to seem normal…”

“Wait, I know that line, from the song…” A loud bell went off and the shrill voice came over

“CHANGE PLACES!”

“Hi.”  His hands were sweatting she could tell as he sat down at her table. Starting all over again, never quite getting enough time. This one was much older and he look like he stepped straight out of a male enhancement ad. She felt something inside her pocket, he had slipped his number and emailthere. ‘Meet me later’

“Goodbye”

Polaris


2010
05.30

It’s around midnight as the silver bullet goes across the empty plains. Inside strangers are sitting next to each other, some friendly others not. Most people on the bus are asleep except for one. She’s sitting eighth row back next to the window, her eyes are wide open. Her bus ticket is tattered from all of her transfers and journeys through the elements Destination: Seattle, Washington, but she has made many more stops than that. She pulls out her small notebook.  Each name has a memory attached. By the beach, middle of the storm, the unwelcome stares at the cafe, and finally a tearful hello from a stranger she wished she had known. Each of them crossed out with notes underneath. The last one has a number. “In case of an emergency” he said. She said nothing but went onto the Greyhound to begin her travels to the next name on her list. The stars were her only constant. They varied from North to South on their degrees but they were always in the same order. The right order.  Travelling alone is lonely business but for her business she felt like she had to travel alone.  She tried to pick out the constellations that she had learned so long ago in her elementary school class, the story of the Drinking Gourd. The Drinking Gourd, or the Anglo-sized version the Big Dipper pointed the way North. For slaves this meant freedom and a new home. She closed her eyes against the window of the rumbling bus, knowing that tomorrow would be in a big city with two different names to track down.

Another name crossed off, and it was getting late. This one had shut the door in her face. None others had done that before to her.  She walked away and her stomach grumbled as she passed the market, she had no more money left. It was Seattle or no where. She passed by the troll and under a few more bridges. Slowly she knocked on the door. “What is it?” the man answered the door. He was a bit unkempt but, she had seen worse, and beyond the door she could hear other noises, children or animals she couldn’t quite tell. “I think I could be your daughter” the man looked at her. And looked to the noise. “It’s dark out, come on in”  She walked into the man’s home as the Drinking Gourd rose in the sky.

Shiny Objects


2010
05.28

Right in between the Mangoes and the Oranges it was lying there. Today was the open market on the busy street. Merchants were calling out to one another and calling in new customers to buy their local fare. Jackie had her scarves on an old wooden table, their colors vibrant against the dark wood behind it. Marc had his seemingly one-of-a-kind photos  that were sold on every street corner of New York, and Klio had her open fruit market. The steam from the black street swept the bottoms of their feet making the rest of their body seem cooler than the sun had lead them on to be. People in their Sunday best and worst made their way out to the street. Each with money in their hands seeing which stand would draw them in, seeing a spark of color drawing them closer and closer.  But on this Sunday in July as the sun beat down in between the high building, the Falcon saw something. Something small and shiny in between the Mangoes and the Oranges that made it turn attention to it while no tourists would take notice. Ruffling its black-brown feathers that the local soot had gotten to it dove toward the glinting object as Klio had her back turned talking to a confused tourist with broken English. Flying between the empty streets and packed buildings to it’s nest on top of the towering buildings. A small ring with a large rock, to keep in its nest  as a beacon, to attract a mate.

Normalcy


2010
05.27

It was another day to him at least. He woke up and drank his coffee and left work. She woke up, found nothing, cleaned up his mess and went to work. Just another day with the Haages.  At work he administrated and sat there looking important sipping his coffee every once in a while . She rubbed her head as the kids whirled around her in a frenzy. No flowers, no cards, no fanciful greetings. Another day. Her mind was exploding as she drove home, the car horns around her were not helping the case. She turned down her radio as she saw the sun set glinting on top of the metallic cars that lay in front of her. When she walked in she could smell the food. She could smell her hidden candles. But when she walked into the kitchen, nothing. The dining room, nothing. Outside, nothing, but her husband holding the rusty shed keys. “We’re going to go clean out the shed,” he said in his most monotone voice. Her heels hurt, her back ached, and her headache was getting worse. She took off her shoes and walked reluctantly to the shed. The shed had transformed. There were pillows on the floor, food on the coffee table, and a screen put up with an eight millimeter film of their wedding being run. “Happy Anniversary dear” Just a normal day.

Maybe Tommorow


2010
05.27

I am a huge procrastinator and it has been forever it seems since I’ve posted anything on here. And even if I can’t make it to 31 stories in these next few days I will say this.

I am happy to have written with some amazing writers and attempt this great goal

I think I have definitely improved my skills

And that coming with a story everyday is hard work and those who have done it you are simply amazing!

I have a rehearsal tonight with a lot of downtime so in between writing papers I will be posting stories.

Good day and good luck!

Identity Theft


2010
05.21

It was midnight at the Laurel Cemetary

A shadow was digging furiously into the ground

Searching for the thing she had left behind

A Credit Card that had fallen inside the coffin

as she had kissed her Husband goodbye

Isomnia


2010
05.18

When you wake up in the middle of the night, as I often do, people suggest several things to help you go back to sleep.  For instance, drinking warm milk, counting sheep, reading a boring book, listening to soothing music. For me I wake up and I have a plan of what I would do, other than sleep. Like make a book, color. sketch, plan my outfit, or even want to work on a song I’ve had in my head. Tonight my plan was to play my violin and practice. But it now appears that I will be writing this thing. Quite honestly I just need to ramble for a bit and I afear that my violin would wake my next door neighbors. Not because of my playing. Violins are touchy things you see, and they are very loud even before you start playing them. First you have to unzipper the case, and in the middle of the night in my small room, it seems like the zipper is tearing through pure silence. Then you open the case and there it sits, your violin. Now most have a brown tint, my two our odd in this way. My first one, my Stainer (copy) has unfinished wood, so it is rough around the edges and actually has seperation in it’s wood allowing for one to look into the inside of it if you wish. I don’t play it as often it has problems staying in tune. My other one I call Antonio or Anthony. Depending how I feel, it’s German made and the deep notes of it sing to its mate. Anthony has the sheen that other violins have but it’s color is different. More of a yellow than anything else, it stands out from the other violins surrounding it that are of a dark amber color. Next is tuning, which even after playing for close to thirteen years my ears have been marred by the ipod generation and my violin has problem being tuned perfectly.  The pegs crack and strain to reach the notes I want, sboinng, a string will pop on me and fly up into my face. Plucking and clucking as quietly as possible to get the notes I want. Once they finally reach the string’s intended notes I rosin my bow, it squeaks quietly creating the necessary friction. I clean my strings, nails on a chalk board but on different tunes. Then I play. Usually a Vivaldi piece, I often listen to him so playing the pieces for me is second natutre. Tonight though, I practice Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony Movement Two. I play second violin. For me it’s the same reason people choose to sing the middle part of a piece and not the Soprano or Alto, for the challenge of harmony. I try rushing through it as the notes begin to blend together.

I’m covered with music and my alarm is blaring. As I’m rushing out my door my elderly neighbor tries to stop me for a moment, “Brava, magnifico just like….”

“gotta go”  It’s good to know someone enjoys my insomnia.

ARGHHH!


2010
05.17

Writer’s Block…it’s killing me..

Simple Advice


2010
05.16

Dear Andrew Johnson Intermediate School Student,

       I am a current resident of the State Penitentary and was told to write you a letter on how a life of crime is not worth it. But truly I am here to tell you this. Crime is worth it. Now not all crime is worth it  taking a man’s life on purpose or dealing drugs ruins people’s lives. To make you the confused child with your simple view of black and white, I will need to let you into a little bit of my own life. You see I’m not like these other people in here. Who shoot up other people and themselves. Sure some guy may try to rub up on you. But you aren’t going to be anyone’s ‘bitch’ as long as you have a bit of a backbone, Prison’s not all that bad really, you get a steady meal and a nice workout. Moving on. Me? I was a thief. A pretty good one too. I stole not for myself but for my mother. She wanted me to be the perfect son, and nice things. What was a son supposed to do? Deny his mother the things she wants in her life? So I would beg, borrow, and steal what she wanted to make her happy. Until one job went wrong. I’ll spare you the details but somebody got hurt, so hurt they never recovered. So here I am stuck in jail for trying to make my mother happy. I’m here to tell you, Crime pays, the time doesn’t. So the key is don’t get Caught.

- Your Incarcerated Friend

Twitter Fiction – Young Love


2010
05.14

We lasted Forever

We hugged I became the boyfriend

 three years old

We didn’t realize how long forever would be

So it lasted

One Day