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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:18:42 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:18:42 GMT -5
**Zach (Writer of the Week)
*Little Sister
With a sound like a baby’s kiss, leaving a volcano for the dust-mites and a river for flies,
glistening like spilled daiquiri and slowly pulling its surroundings into its color, she pulls her needle out, moistens her lips.
She whispers and her voice is the gap between bands of light. If there were stars they’d flicker out, but there are no stars.
His moan is the need she muffles with her bones, and her fingertips leave tiny smile smudges on his blue-grey thumb.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:19:17 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:19:17 GMT -5
**Lisa
The fluorescent light glistened off the tips of Paisley’s hair, a naturally wild mix of colors, with blonde being the one that stood at attention. Years spent out in the sun had carmelized her skin. Chase watched her sleep as his heart swelled with pride. He thought about the day his mother decided to play matchmaker. The day was crystal clear not a moment lost from his memory. Each one lined up single file, waiting to be at the front of the line.
Chase was waiting for his turn in the chutes. He pulled Hardrock for his final ride, a mighty foe weighing1800 pounds of pure muscle and a temper like a jealous man on steroids. He spotted his mother walking towards him with one of the most beautiful creatures his baby blues had ever soaked up. As they approached, he used his right forefinger to push up the brim of his cowboy hat. That simple gesture ignited a smile that lit the whole arena. After the simple introductions, Luke pulled him away to ride. Being nervous before a ride was normal but today he was anxious. He knew eight seconds stood between him and that smile. Everything was routine as he waited for the gate to open. His nerves were gone and he was on a simple mission to complete a job and give his eyes what they longed for. The gate opened and the next thing he remembered was the horn sounding. He spotted the clowns, and released his hand before jumping to the side of the bull. It was at that point that he realized he could win this. His nerve endings sizzled with excitement. He climbed the wooden fence, dropped down, and picked paisley up to spin her around. “You are my new good luck charm Missy” He won his prize and his life immediately brightened. “That’s Paisley to you Mister.”
That hometown rodeo changed his life. He pulled out a win and got the greatest prize of all. He would later look back and realize just how much one rodeo changed his life. He continued on a winning streak in and out of the arena. Over the years, Paisley stood beside him, supported him and loved him more than he deserved. They had two teenage boys both enthralled with riding. Although Paisley had spent more of her life nursing broken bones than dancing, she never discouraged the boys. He was certain God put her on earth just to make him happy.
Now eighteen years later they were at a crossroad. Chase was afraid for the first time in his life. His bravery shattered along with the glass and metal on route 23. He believed in God and truly felt that if good God- fearing people died they went to a better place to wait for their loved ones. The question was, with a love like theirs, what happened to the one left behind. How did their lungs continue to utilize air? How did they gain the strength to open their eyes in the morning? Last year death interrupted the life of a close friend. He and Paisley had talked in depth about how devastating it would be. Now they pulled the same fate and he was not up for the challenge.
Chase prided himself on being her comforter and stilling her fears. Now she was about to embark on a journey that he himself had never taken. How could he prepare her? After spending days praying the separation would not happen, last night the doctors confirmed it would and time was short. The pressure in his chest was overwhelming and the more he thought about it the more his heart raced. He loved watching her sleep but longed to look into her golden hazel eyes. When she slept, she felt no pain but selfishness took over, he faked a cough to stir her.
Paisley lifted her head and rewarded his selfishness with the same smile that captured his heart at that simple hometown rodeo. In an instant, a knife went through his heart as things suddenly changed. Machines began beeping and nurses charged the bed. Before the smile left her lips, it was over. The separation happened in the blink of an eye.
Chase started his journey to heaven and left Paisley to find all the answers to his questions.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:20:08 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:20:08 GMT -5
**Jinks (Writer of the Week)
*Parks Are Stupid
Possibly the last good day of fall, we absolutely needed to make use of it. We chose to go to the park where my father and I used to go when I was Jack's age. The only difference was that I was always eager to go. I wanted to play on the swings, fish on the lake, and walk across the old lock on the canal and watch the mighty Tuscarawas river wash debris down to the spillway.
The only difference was I was always eager to go. I liked being outside. Jack does not. After struggling to get his shoes on him and get him and his brother into the car, we drove the short fifteen minutes to the park. Fifteen minutes of loud complaining.
"You know why I don't like parks? Everything is old. Trees are old. Rocks are old. I only like new stuff, like Legos and Wii. Parks are stupid. Etcetera!"
Of course, he didn't say "etcetera." I just did my best to tune out the angry complaining.
We arrived just after Mamaw and Pa. I parked next to them and Pa was busy moving things around in the back of his van. Luke jumped out to explore. Jack stayed in his seat. I got out, said my hellos, and left the boys alone with Pa while I searched for a place to calm my ears from the struggle that was forcing children to have fun.
I walked a little down the blacktop trail. There were no longer swings or any playground equipment. Strike one for Jamie. In my haste to get the kids out the door, I forgot to pack the fishing poles. Strike two. I kept wandering. As I crossed over the upper lock and headed down to the river (like I had done so many times in the last 35 years) I saw something. Something that was actually interesting. A freshly felled tree was lying just off the path. It wasn't big, maybe nine feet tall and three inched diameter, but it was definitely the work of a beaver.
I headed back to the kids.
"Luke, I found something really cool!"
"What is it?" Jack asked.
"Oh, you wouldn't be interested, Jack. It's just something old in a park. Luke, would you like to go exploring?"
Luke was running along the stone bridge over the spillway, much to Mamaw's dismay, and could not hear me.
"Luke! Come explore with me! I found something cool!"
As I called for Luke, I felt something warm touch my hand. I almost pulled away but realized just in time that it was Jack's hand reaching for mine. I took it.
Jack and I headed toward the tree. Neither of us spoke until we both saw it.
"Pretty cool, huh, Jack?"
"Yeah."
After Luke and Lynn finally caught up to us, we all spent the rest of the daylight hours racing boats made of bark and twigs down the river and "fishing" with reeds and leaves to catch pretend fish. I tied at least twenty leaf "worms" to reed fishing poles that afternoon. We imagined where our boats would finally come to shore.
The Gulf of Mexico?
The Bahamas?
The Lake Avenue Trailhead where they sell the blue gummy sharks?
Maybe.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:21:10 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:21:10 GMT -5
**Cir
*White Lilies in Rising Spring
Georgia in the 1950's ...
Sweet B woke up before dawn. The room of the little shotgun house was hot in the rising Spring. She stretched from head to toe and flinched at the loud crack in her left ankle. She looked at the letters on the oak dresser. Her mind wandered to last October.
Her arm twisted underneath her. The Minister kicking her. His eyes unblinking.
She lifted her head from her hands and gathered herself to the bathroom. It was good to accomplish her routine alone after so many months being cared for. She stretched out every movement silently. Her preparations completed by a bright blue dress with no hat. Her brother Earnest, His wife, her mother in law, and his four children were still asleep. She opened a bedroom in the hallway. Her daughter B.B. was pretending to sleep while little Bill slept soundly as usual. She blew a kiss into the room and went outside.
She walked down to a house with bright flowers. She knocked twice. Sister Agnes opened the door, her short white hair bright in the morning.
“Sweet B. you are so early, how are you feeling?” Sister Agnes held the door open and met her eyes. Sweet B. looked away “I'm afraid I can't come in Sister Agnes. I have to get some things ready before church. I need some red grapes if you have any. The older woman's brow furrowed. “I know that devil of a man is back around here. Your brothers should have killed him when they had the chance” “Sister, please” Sister Agnes paused then closed the door. She came back quickly with a small container of grapes in ice and a little bouquet of water lilies. “Take these both for free today” said Sister Agnes as she shut the door.
She walked back to her house where a truck idled in the road. She climbed in next to her youngest brother George, he drove while she carefully peeled grapes. She was careful to get all the skin off each one. Every few grapes she touched a scar on her lower left cheek.
They arrived at a grocery with a tailoring and accessories store attached. George kept the truck running as she walked in and went directly to the custom shop area of the shop area. She picked a blue and yellow hat out of a group set aside to be picked up. She removed the tag with her initials and rang the hat out herself. She was startled to see a sneering woman at the cash register on her way out. Dolores had been fired a couple months ago. “Dolores?” “Oh hey Sweet B. I see you can get around again. Still walk with that little sway though” “Does Mr Mercer know you're here?” “Of course sweetie. He hired me back when your husband said he was coming home. I'm really sorry about telling him you talked to the new tailor that night after work. I just thought the wife of a minister shouldn't behave like that.” Sweet B. stared back at her for a moment and then hurried out to the car.
She tied the white lilies into the blue and yellow hat as George drove. They reached a neat little house with a white fence and stone walkway. There was no car in the short drive. She slowly walked up to the porch and up the steps to the doorway The door was open and the screen had been torn off it's hinges. She backed up and slipped down a couple steps. Her left ankle screamed and she gasped at the blood stained wood of the patio. George met her half way and helped her to the car.
She sobbed for a few minutes then fixed her make up as he drove. When they arrived at the old stone church she tapped him on the shoulder. “Take me around back to the old entrance” George nodded and circled around the growing crowd of cars and pedestrians to a back entrance.
She hugged him, took the grapes and her hat in it's box then went inside a small door near an old garden. She went down a small hallway to a prayer chapel. She opened the door and there was the Minister sitting there holding the Bible. She did her best not to seem surprised under his fixed gaze. “Sweet B.!, come here” as he stepped forward embracing her in long arms. He was dressed in a white linen suit with a red corsage “I...I..got your letters...” “Of course you did” “I saved money for a new hat...just for today”.
Sweet B. carefully opened the box and lifted out the blue and yellow hat with the white lilies. The Minister's eyes flashed with anger. He snatched the hat from her and jammed it into a wastebasket. She didn't dare move towards the twisted hat knowing what he would do.
“You don't need that one. I got you a better one upstairs.”
He led her up to a lobby outside the main sanctuary of the church. She had never seen this many people on a Sunday morning before. She looked around the room for her brothers and their wives. He grabbed her arm and she turned to see him shoving a white hat with a bright red corsage towards her.
“I have to go up. Sit up front and wear this.”
She walked with him into the sanctuary and took a seat at the front. He shook hands with the Old Minister, Mr. Mercer, and some of the other men in town before walking to the pulpit. She looked around for Sister Agnes who hadn't missed a service in thirty years. She was nowhere to be seen.
“Praise the Lord” he began and as he talked the room melted. After 15 minutes the doors of the sanctuary opened and light poured in. People looked to see who would show up to church so late. The church fell silent and Sweet B. raised her hand to her mouth as two men helped the new tailor to a pew. His face was a broken mask of cracked, red clay. He labored to sit upright in the pew. As he wheezed, small drops of blood dripped onto a torn shirt.
Everyone seemed to be looking at her now. She felt a twitch in her left ankle and looked down at her folded hands. The Minister immediately continued. His voice booming out through each heart in the congregation. At the end he led them in prayer. When Sweet B. opened her eyes the new tailor was gone.
He talked and shook hands as the crowd made it's way out. When it was mostly empty The Minister led Sweet B. out to a new Lincoln. He held the door and she got in. As he walked around to the driver's side she tucked a few white lily petals into her shoe pressed against her left ankle.
She placed the peeled grapes on the console between them. He ate them as he drove down the morning.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:22:13 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:22:13 GMT -5
**Dan
He carried a picture of her with him every day. Ever since he was thirteen and she had given him one of her school pictures once they were returned, he always had her photo close to him. A picture of her from their vacation last year in Madrid was the replacement for a photo of her in Las Vegas for her sister's wedding two years prior, that replacing a photo of her from their own wedding reception, one of his favorites. Every time one was replaced it went into the over-sized box once used to hold printer paper with the hundreds of other images of her.
Their life was crazy. He had just purchased a new piece of property, uptown in a perfect location. It was large enough to accommodate the various machines he would need for it's purpose. He was overly excited to turn the building of dry wall and metal into something more useful.
Still, he was home every night to prepare dinner, to tuck their children into bed, to fall asleep in their room. He put his family before everything else, his mind full of numerous other things, but his heart always at home.
Two months passed quickly and finally his design was finished. The entire building had been transformed into his masterpiece and he was ready to reveal it to the world. He stood in the building taking it all in, going over the checklist in his head of all the little things that would make today run perfectly.
His final task was to head to the bus station and pick up a special guest for the ribbon cutting ceremony. He checked a couple of the miscellaneous little things, wiring, lighting, making sure that every object was in just the right spot.
When he was content, he left through the rear of the building got into his car to head the three or so miles to the bus depot. It would have been a quick drive if it were anywhere else, but traffic was heavy, so it took him about twenty minutes to go that far and find parking.
He entered the bus station and sat down in one of the chairs, waiting for who he was picking up. A janitor swept the floor with a push broom, walking back and forth from one side of the room to the other. The man watched the clock, waiting for his guest of honor to arrive, thinking about how great today would be. It was the moment he had been waiting for. Once it was all over, he could finally relax a little and spend some quality time with his wife.
Two hours later, he stood in front of the store, pulling a red ribbon between two gold poles. The large windows at the front of the building were covered by black curtains. There was an air of mystery to the place, even the name was covered by a sheet.
A small crowd had gathered, the location of the store being in a very busy area, and a few of the local news outlets had turned up, fueled by an anonymous tip that there would be someone important at the grand opening.
As the crowd questioned each other about what was happening, the man checked the curtain one last time, took a deep breath and began the ceremony.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I begin a new chapter in my life today. I present to you, 'Revenge'." The man pressed the screen of his phone and the sheet fell from the sign, showing the name 'Revenge,' in jagged, red letters against a jet black background. The man pushed the screen again and the curtains slowly began to move apart. The crowd twisted their heads and moved closer to try and get the first peek through the large, glass windows of the storefront.
Gasps soon began moving back through the crowd like dominoes falling as the sight inside finally came into view. The walls of the store were covered in the photos of his wife. Every inch of the space had a Polaroid, a professional print, her face plastered onto it. Machines and generators cluttered the floor all hooked in some way to the main attraction, a man with cords on his wrists and ankles, stretching him out between the floor and the ceiling.
He blinked as light entered the room and tried to scream through a gag in his mouth and struggled in the restraints holding him helplessly.
The man wasted no time in pressing his screen one final time. The cords holding the mans arms and legs tensed, tightening his muscles and pulling his joints to the weakening point of his joints. A couple of seconds passed and a murmur went back through the crowd as people wondered what would happen. Some filmed with their cameras. Others held their mouths in horror at what they were seeing.
A buzzer went off and four long blades adjusted against his limbs before slicing cleanly through them in one movement, a small amount of blood started dripping on the floor.
The man screamed again and grimaced. The crowd shouted and looked away as his torso slid off his thighs and landed on a bed of spikes, three feet below him. Hid body was pierced in multiple places and slid down the sharp metal a few inches. He took his last breath, as the crowd dispersed.
The man waited for police and as he was pushed into the back seat of the squad car, he thought of his favorite moment of the day.
As the janitor neared his chair in the center of the room, the man pointed at him. "You're an acquaintance of my wife, right?" The janitor looked at him, squinting his eyes. "Naw, I don't think so man. What's her name?"
"Laurie. Blond. Cute."
"I don't-" the man stopped, realizing who the man was talking about.
"You're the man who murdered my wife."
The janitor's eyes went wide. He turned to run but the man was too fast for him. He grabbed the slightly taller, thinner man by his thick uniform shirt and spun him around, slamming him into the ceiling support a few feet from the line of chairs. The janitor was still attempting to escape when the man lifted him off his feet and slammed him onto his back against the floor. A minute later he had dragged him out of the mostly empty bus terminal and threw him into the back seat of his car. No one followed them as the man backed out and zipped onto the road.
He smiled as the police car pulled off, replaying the moment over and over in his head. The investigators just starting to look at his handiwork. The photo of his wife still in his back pocket.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:22:45 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:22:45 GMT -5
**Jami
They sat Indian-style in the grass, white faces skyward. Brian looked back and forth between the house and the street, checking windows for onlookers.
"Take a deep breath," said Jill, and she concentrated on the inhale, making her chest rise dramatically. Brian poked finger holes into the cool earth and scanned the lawn for the ideal whistle blade.
Jill took a moment to ponder a few spiraling leaves. She tried to identify from which tree they had escaped.
"How much longer are we going to sit out here?" Brian asked. "I think ants are lunching on my inner thighs."
She broke her Zen face to smile a bit. "Come on, you know Dr. Z told me I should take more time to appreciate the little things in life." She sighed. "Leaves are little, right?"
"Did he specifically say to go sit in your backyard and look at the sun while your neighbors silently judge you through the rosebushes?"
Jill thought for a second before responding, then her eyebrows furrowed. "He never says anything specifically. I think that's what being a therapist is." A slight breeze blew their chuckles past the rosebushes.
Nodding, Brian gently brushed the stray hairs from her forehead. "Okay, what's next?"
Jill lay back and let the green carpet coax her spine into a settled position. "Good question," she said.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:23:56 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:23:56 GMT -5
**Lynn (Writer of the Week)
*Old Boston
"I'll not wait one more damn minute, John!" Her voice carried up the stairs, punctuated by a single stamp of one modestly-heeled foot. And when that foot went down, you knew it had gone down. "Jesus crow," he muttered under his breath, annoyed by the alarm he felt.
Old school. She was long-suffering. She made the best of it. Stood by her man. Even as he muttered loudly to himself while making his white bread and roast beef sandwich. Even when he shouted out her name from across the house after she'd just sat down with a book.
"Dor!" "Yes, John." "Have you seen my reading glasses? Nevahmind! Here they are! Who puts these hee-yah? Must be one of the kids...one of the kids..."
She rolls her eyes ever so slightly, internally shutting herself off from the ever-audible buzzing of the scattered mind of her husband as she turns back to her reading.
The picture of her father in his uniform, like another book on the bookshelf, is a pastel colored cover to a tale of hard times. The real kind. A heart attack. A widow and two young girls.
And then there was John.
In high school, he'd auctioned off a date with "yours truly" to a Beatles concert to the highest bidder. Impetuous and irrepressible, he charmed and worked every situation to his advantage, before decades of trudging the bread-winner treadmill wore down the scoffing, mocking know-it-all into a bumbling grumbler with the occasional flare up of sharp dissent.
She had been swept off her feet by his charm, his Irish eyes and his raven black hair.
This is what life was. She was chosen for the Big Dance. She said "Yes." She made babies and she made a home. Never mind the biting sarcasm. Never mind the surprising expectations or the sinking feeling that she was chained to the dark side of narcissistic flash "'til death do us part."
"You take the good with the bad, Doreen," the echoes of her mother's words offering cold comfort. And, in hindsight she doesn't yet have, she hopes it gets better.
And they have good times. They share smiles and laughs. Their children bring joy and blessed noise. They visit with friends. He indulges her card club. She indulges his golfing. They cheer the Red Sox in the spring. They pick apples every fall.
And he takes care of her. He takes in her mother when she falls ill. He loves their children and he's always home at night. He stays. He provides. They are family.
She pretends that she doesn't need. Doesn't want.
And she never lets on that she knows what love can be. Memories of her father's twinkling eyes and kind heart. The tender tones in which he spoke to his wife at the dinner table floating down the short hallway in the evening were her favorite lullaby.
But she knows, for her, this is as good as it gets.
And it's not so bad.
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Week 4
May 12, 2014 16:24:46 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:24:46 GMT -5
**Ilenia
*Cotton-mouth
It was awkward. I was uncomfortable. But only for the time it took for the corner of my right eye to flip the scene right-side up and catch the silence in the sound. What I inhaled, had already set into the tiny pockets in my lungs, holding a hazy film around the perimeter of the inside of my head. I assume all the magic happens there, in the cloud between your brain and your skull. The conversation drawn among us four, dropped to two, and something grew behind us. I, being slightly awkward and highly observational by nature, felt myself slipping from the attention of whom I was facing. His words became unclear as the other half of my brain focused on what was happening where the air was still, like the aperture of a lens narrowing, revealing greater depth. You couldn’t hear it, you could just feel it and I felt it alright. I avoided situations like these, especially when I was longing for an erstwhile lover. It caught me off guard, the worst kind of circumstance, because you can’t simply slip by and un-notice the noticed. I felt like an intruder. His mouth, her mouth, weaving in and out, bobbing up and down in between, changing speeds, just like that, it happened, and the only sound you heard was your own pang of regret. It must have been the cotton-mouth.
I could finally put a scene to what I had for so long done to others with the passion between I and my last lover. Except I was the others, and I didn’t want any part of it, I wanted my own part. But that never changes. I swallowed my nostalgia, collected pieces of the conversation I had been missing, ending with a laugh that knew nothing of the past few minutes. Making sure to quickly inject my departure, handing out hugs and thank you’s, I couldn’t shake the taboo in my head. Love is private, for its intimacy has a story of its own that no one else can read. They had it. In the cloud between my brain and skull, I wished them the time I did not have, I wished them longevity.
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Week 4
May 26, 2014 19:51:12 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 26, 2014 19:51:12 GMT -5
Prompt 4:
Reveal the relationship between an influential couple you've known (parents, friends, siblings and significant others, uncles, aunts) by capturing a single prose scene between them,
Choose your own level of truth.
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