Friends for Dinner

FRIENDS FOR DINNER
copyright NOV 2007
Wordcount: 401
It's safe to assume certain liberties were taken with this story, after all, I had to have been all of four or so when it happened...and I probably didn't even have Keds at that point in my life. Still having format issues...sorry about the color scheme.

I crouched in cobwebs, holding my breath. while I listened to the muffled voices beyond the walls of my hiding place. The air was hot, sticky, and every accidental movement on my part made me that much easier to find. I was alone in the dark...well, almost. Crouched beside me, in the farthest corner, was my new friend. He was better at holding his breath than I was... and he seemed to be completely unaffected by the stifling temperature. His skin was perfectly cool to the touch. He might be calm, but I wasn't, and I had vowed to protect him.

The voices grew closer, and I could hear the shuffle of metal pots on the counter... the drawers opening and closing. I could see the lights dimming and brightening under the door as each shadowy person walked past.

Shh!" I told my friend, though he hadn't actually said anything. I pulled back against him, cuddling in the dark, swinging my little red Keds back onto the shelf. The voices grew louder, as I had known they would. The eruption came from my uncle, as I had also known it would.

Well, where the hell is it?!"

It can't have gone far. It was just here."

And then, of course:

"Where's Kimberly?

The search was all too short... They didn't need blood hounds...They didn't need helicopters...They homed in on us as though the Pentagon had a hand in it. My struggle was equally brief, but fierce, and I succeeded in knocking down all of the suitcases and all of the coats and one ancient hairdryer, as well as completely tripping over eight pairs of mismatched shoes.

"NO! You can't have him! He's my friend!!!"

They didn't listen, and my friend was torn from my arms. The recriminations from my family were nothing. The scoffs and gasps of dismay rolled off me unnoticed. I had betrayed my friend.

As we sat down to our Thanksgiving feast, I couldn't bring myself to eat. The guilt was a knot in my throat, and I could only think of my friend. Inevitably, my mother said those fatal words:

"You have to eat three bites and you can get up from the table."

I took my fork and placed a bite in my mouth. The meat was tasted dry and reproachful...and it was with great effort that I swallowed the remains of my lost friend, Turkey.

Moment to Moment

MOMENT
copyright NOV 2007
Wordcount: 284
In this challenge, we each came up with a title and dropped them in a hat, then we wrote something on the title we picked. Sheila Rice gave this title to me.


He was learning about dandelions. It was my first lesson. I knelt beside him, and plucked a big fuzzy one. The thick stem severed with a lovely snap. I picked another and held one up before his face and one before mine. He smiled at me, all brightness and light, and promptly wrapped his lips around the flower's fluffy crown. His eyes widened in confusion, and he tried to spit it back out, but the dandelion seeds kept sticking to his lips and tongue. Every earnest PFT! PFT! noise only made me laugh harder. He tried to wipe out his mouth with the heels of his wide-spread little hands. I took a corner of my shirt and brushed off his tongue.

"It's okay." I told him, smiling into those oh-so-serious eyes. "Try it like this."

I placed held up my own dandelion, closed my eyes and gently exhaled. The seeded tufts danced off of the stalk and scattered into the air. he watched them in wonder, eyes wide.

"You breathe and make a wish." I said. He nodded solemnly. "Want to try again?" I held up another flower. He nodded again and took the dandelion from my hand.

Carefully, he closed his eyes and brought the flower to his lips. He blew, sending several drops of saliva among the dancing seeds.

I smiled at him, and he looked up all grins and joy. He came into my arms, and very seriously cupped his hands around both my ears. He leaned in, watching me intently, tilting his nose up to mine, and rubbed it gently against me in an Eskimo Nose Kiss. His breath was on my lips.


Breathe and make a wish. I am.

The Calm

I suppose it's high time to do the required bit of legal gunk. Edmond Hillary, when asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, responded: "Because it was there." This is why I write...because an idea gets stuck in my head and won't leave me alone unless I "exorcise the demon" by putting in on paper or computer screen. Should you ever get unhappy with my writing choices, please keep these things in mind. These are my thoughts. Blogger is only responsible for the initial weird paragraph-format, but Blogger et al. is not responsible for the content of the paragraphs. You don't have to like everything I write. I'm just fine with constructive criticism on grammar, story structure, fine tuning and tweaking, but I won't backpedal for every thought process that led me to my story. You can get downright riled and grumpy with what I write, but here's the deal. Skip a paragraph, skip the section, wait a bit and read the next installment. Or don't. That's your call.

I generally try to play nice, even if it (kills me or ) costs me some really juicy blog stories, but when I write for myself, it's because the train of thought won't leave me alone. I get amused with a train of thought and want see where it will go. I post the stories I am the proudest of, and I don't expect you to think as I do. I do suggest, that if you have enjoyed my blog in the past, that you just keep an open mind...If these shadows have offended etc., etc. I may not always write something that you will enjoy tremendously, but I can say with absolute certainty that if you come along for the ride, sometimes I will.

****************************************************************************************************************

THE CALM
copyright August 2007
Wordcount: 773
Still working out formatting issues. Sorry.


A man stood in front of a small mirror and fidgeted with his clothes. His dark eyes were serious, strained and wincing slightly at the edges -- a sure sign of an impending migraine.
"Can I just say again what a really bad idea this is. I mean, you know what's going to happen." He tried to glare at his friend's reflection in the mirror, but it was pointless. His friend sat calmly on a nearby chair, as relaxed as the first man was agitated.

"Oh, I have a good idea." replied the second fellow.

"Do you? Do you realize what you're doing to me?" groaned the first man miserably, noting, and hating the slight whine that had crept into his voice."I've spent my entire life following the rules, just getting through the day. Hell, " And here, his migraine began to throb. "You were the first real act of rebellion. You know that if I go, it will all fall apart. The arguments won't stop...the guilt trips, the constant recriminations...Honestly, I don't think that I can take it."

The second man moved from his chair, and stood behind the first, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"I wouldn't have asked you if it weren't important." said the second, his warm eyes catching his friend's in the mirror.

"Well, couldn't you have asked one of the others to do this? I mean, Pete --"

"Pete," interrupted the second man. "Pete is a good guy...I'd go so far to say he could be one of the best...eventually...but he's also arrogant. He'd want to do this his way, and that means not doing it at all. And the others would just follow his lead."

"But why me?" asked the first man, trembling. "Surely Somebody's got to be more qualified for this type of ...thing." He trailed off.

"It isn't really the sort of thing that I can advertise." mused the second man. "Besides, of all of them, you've known me the longest. If I can't trust you, what's the point." The first man flinched.

"Trust me?" The first man retorted angrily to the mirror. "You throw all of this into my lap because you TRUST me?!!! You've got to be kidding me. I feel so honored."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." said the second man quietly. "I trust you, as you have always trusted me. I won't lie to you. This isn't going to be easy...it may...be very...hard...for you...perhaps hardest for you most of all."

"You think?!" replied the first man sourly. He turned abruptly, finally facing his companion. "You may think you know all of the angles, that you know how this will all turn out, but what happens if you're just kidding yourself. You know them. You know that they can't even sit down at a table without jockeying for position. No, they aren't really a bad lot, but you are the glue that holds this project together. Without the right direction, they will fall apart." The first man tugged at his collar to loosen it. He caught himself, and forced his hands hands to his sides...only to unconsciously tug at his belt. His eyes continued to throb. He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was even and calm. "They won't be able to stop themselves. You've kept them focused, but how you've kept all of those plates spinning year after year...settling all of those endless, petty, pointless squabbles...It's beyond me."

"They're only human, little brother." murmured the second man. "And to be old and wise, they must first be young and foolish. Even if they break apart, they'll find their way in the end."

"Do you really believe that?" growled the first man.

"I have to believe in something. Man's better nature has helped us out of difficult times before."

"You say that, and yet you still plan to go through with this." whispered the first man, swallowing hard.

The second man took his hand in both of his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I've got to believe in other things too."

The first man shut his eyes, to ward off tears...and perhaps to keep from seeing the inevitable."I'll do it. You know I'll do it." His voice was soft. It hurt to say the words aloud. He opened his eyes, and tried to offer his brother a weak smile.

"Thank you." said the second man simply. "I'm sorry for all of this, but thank you."

They stood for several minutes in silence, before the second man shook himself and gave the other man a lopsided-grin.

"Come on, Judas. We wouldn't want to be late for dinner."

The Great Lie

THE GREAT LIE -- MY WRITERS' GROUP APRIL PROJECT
COPYRIGHT April 2007

Wordcount: 802
premise: begin with "You would not believe what happened to me." The next sentence must be truthful. The rest of the story must contain waves upon waves of complete brown stuff. End with "and that's why I didn't have anything written to bring in today."


You simply would not believe what happened to me...

It all began with the bumblebee that I found in my kitchen the other day. The bumblebee would have had my immediate attention, even if it were not three feet long, dressed in a tailored suit, and speaking to me in a New Jersey accent.
“I am deeply sorry to have to trouble youse.” began the Bumble. “But I am here on a matter of some importance.”
“Oh? How can I be of assistance?” I stammered, trying to remain calm. All the while, I tried to nonchalantly locate a plausible weapon in my peripheral vision. A run-of-the-mill flyswatter was not going to work on this boy…but it was just possible that I had left a shovel by the adjoining dining room door.
“Youse have a Honda, right? A red Honda?” I nodded as a sinking feeling in my stomach told me where this conversation was going. “On the day of April, ah,” He consulted a small notepad that he had pulled from his double-breasted pocket. “April first, in the year of two-thousand, seven…Youse were seen leaving the scene of an incident involving one Jimmy the Monarch.”
I recalled seeing the orange and black triangle reflected in the rear view mirror as it bounced on the pavement behind me, but that hardly seemed an appropriate conversational point.
“Jimmy the Monarch? But that was a complete and total accident. He came out of nowhere. He hit my windshield at top speed. I couldn’t stop.”
“Jimmy was prone to hitting the nectar hard, and he could be somewhat erroneous in his judgment after a fresh patch of clover.” mused the Bumble amicably. “But that’s neither here nor here. The Family has demanded restitution of youse. I am here to pull off five of your legs.”
“The Family? You mean to tell me there is actually a Butterfly Mafia?” I asked, not really registering his last statement.
“They prefer to be called the Honorable Order of the Lepidoptera.” stated the Bumble. “Now, about those legs, please.”
“Gee, buddy, I’m afraid that I’m gonna have to pass.” For all of his Goodfella bluster, the Bumble had seemed a fairly polite and straightforward bug, and I felt really bad that I could not be more cooperative. Of course, I did not feel nearly as bad as the Bumble did when my shovel sliced him cleanly in half. The blade snagged only briefly on his pressed, silk shirt before leaving him in a divided state of being.
“I shall convey your sentiments to the parties involved.” sighed the Bumble as the top eighteen inches of its body crawled out of the door. Its multi-faceted eyes bore no malice, only a look of tired resignation. The Bumble looked down at itself and shook its head sadly. “Damn, that was my favorite shirt.”

* * * * *

They must have come in from every state in the Union. For days, Moths and Butterflies of every size, shape and color besieged my house. My lawn looked like an elaborate Indian tapestry. They were no longer delicate little creatures flitting from flower to flower…no, no, no…palpable menace dripped from every fluttering wing. The air became yellow and hazy with dust created from those wings. I could take it no more; I walked to the door and stepped out onto my porch. Millions of eyes watched my house and waited. What happened next was inevitable…and it was their own damn fault.
The first sneeze that erupted from my nose cleared bugs for thirty feet. The rapid succession of blasts that followed rattled windows eight miles down the road. The dust began to clear, and all that remained of my improbable enemy were the remnants of torn antennae and the occasional thorax. One solitary, snot-covered wing floated gently down from the sky.

I slumped onto the porch, exhausted and wished vainly for a Kleenex.
It was over. I closed my eyes, allowing the throbbing in my head to eventually subside. When I opened them sometime later, I found a hawk sitting in front of me, rolling a cigarette around in its beak.
“I hate to trouble youse.” said the Hawk as it pulled out a small notebook from its Armani jacket. “However, in the course of recent events...” Here the Hawk gestured at my lawn with one wing, before going back to its notes. ”Jonny the Jay was knocked completely out of his place of residence, I.e. his nest, and every single one of his feathers has been blown off. As an additional sadness, he received a knock to the head, and he now believes himself to be Don Knotts. On behalf of the entire Corvidae Family, I am here to seek restitution…”

…and that is why I did not have anything written for today.