Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Gloria turned the key in the weathered oak door and looked over her shoulder. Quickly she stole through the door. Like a mother closes the door on a sleeping infant, holding her breath Gloria closed it inch by adrenaline driven inch. When the latch matched up, she silently released the handle and listened as it clicked perfectly in place, locking out the dark night sky and whirling wind. She was practiced at sneaking in after years of doing so. Gloria locked the door and shuffled quietly down the narrow aisle avoiding the creakiest floor boards. Her right hand gently tapped the top of each worn pew as she passed, an obsession she’d acquired in childhood. “Forty-three,” she breathed out at the last one.
The piano shone just before her, it’s black skin polished by her capable hands every Sunday after service. As she laid her right hand on the spine of the piano, her shoulders relaxed and her customary limp nearly vanished. To the casual observer, Gloria would have looked like a typical woman of thirty-seven. The congregation, her friends and family would have been aghast at the transformation, a miracle surely proffered by God, for they knew she was nothing more than an unrelenting cripple. One which insisted on an order that made no sense and had no place in society. Without the charity of the church, she would never survive on her own.
Gloria sat on the bench, her back straight as a pin. Her feet hovered just above the push pedals while her fingers danced a mournful tune over the keys. A hum reverberated in her throat, growing in intensity and filling every nook and cranny of the small sanctuary. “Amazing grace,” she began. Her voice was one born of faith and oppression, the kind of voice associated with slaves working in the fields under a hot sun: melodic and powerful, emotional in a way that makes the heart stop and then fall into place with the percussion that is otherwise absent. Gloria was a singer of that rich heritage and mouth gaping quality. The smooth tones of the piano and the God that looked down through the stained glass windows filled with soft moonlight and sharp starlight were the only ones who knew her secret.
After an hour, Gloria slipped out of the church as quietly as she had come in.
*** This written for swap-bot. Criteria: use the three words in the title and write it in 300 words. I'm 100 words over. My attitude? Too bad.***
Thursday, July 8, 2010
I picked up the last piece and began sliding it through the machine, effortlessly. A sudden desire to pull away fast over took me and I jerked my hand without releasing the pressure on the gas pedal. I looked down, unsure as to why it hurt and why I couldn't move my hand.
A portion of the needle stuck from my finger, the end of it still threaded and attached to the fabric. Panic rose. I swallowed hard, reaching for the shears I doubted I would be able to reach. They simply were too far.
I swallowed again as panic rose more forcefully. Tears brimmed. My phone was also out of reach. Methodically, I used the on-board cutter of the machine. It was dull and the thread pulled mercilessly before finally snapping.
My freedom came at the cost of great pain and the jail break of my panic. Slowly, I crossed the small room and picked up my phone. "John?" I said and then sobbed. "I need you to come home."
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The man continued moving forward, his pace more rapid, but still painfully slow. "Are you okay?" I called to him. He didn't even look up. Glancing down the street for more hot rod cars, I stepped off the curb and approached him. "Are you okay?" I said again.
He looked up. His body betrayed his age, his face looking so much younger than the rest of them. A school boy's charm peered at me under his heavy eye-lids. "I'm wet," he said in a thick voice while taking me in. "Just like you."
His head dropped and he began the arduous journey across the rest of the road. I followed his footsteps, wondering if I should just leave him alone. At the curb, he turned to me again. "I'm George. If you don't have anyplace else to be, there is a nice little coffee house just up the street. I'll buy you a coffee in return for your kindness."
My mouth parted before I could think of an excuse to decline his offer. "It's nice to meet you George. I'm Ally and I take my coffee with cream and sugar."