Friday, December 31, 2010
"She's beautiful. She'll definitely be able to use that too her advantage," he said, dreaming of some of the beautiful women he had met in his long life. He'd be 2,639 years old in a couple of weeks, but he didn't look a day over 35 to the doctor's and nurses.
Harriet smiled at him, a twinkling in her eye. "Do you remember that first young woman you seduced? She was a beauty too. What was her name again?"
Gorge thought back, way back, thousands of years back to his youth. "Eve," he said with the softness of an unexpected remembrance. "Her name was Eve and she did wonderful things for all of us."
"Let's name her Eve then." Harriet stroked the babes cheeks, a child of her own. It was her first child. All of her other children had been taken from other mothers. She glowed in recognition of the anger she would feel if someone were to take this child from her. An anger and devastation she knew she had caused so many.
George stroked Harriet's long black hair. "I like that. A name thought to be sweet and innocent in today's world. A name of a girl that has been easily corrupted in the past. But I am worried about the easily corrupted part." George furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. He sat like this for a long time. Harriet waited patiently for his next thought. Shadows passed through the room as the black dial on the clock marched in its endless circles. "Let's give her a small hint of who she should be while maintaining some of the innocence of the name. Let's call her Evelyn. We'll pronounce it Evil-in."
Little Evelyn shrieked. Harriet and George embraced, pleased with the child already.
*** One Minute Writer ***
The first thing I would tell you is to check out the security. The lower the immune system is functioning, the more comfortable you will be. An immune system that is working well tends to evict tenets rather quickly.
Next, bring your heaviest furniture in by spine, especially if you can start at the base of the host's neck. In my experience, this leads to confusion of the host. They seem to think the discomfort is due to a bad night's sleep or working out too hard. It buys you time to really get settled and everyone knows the more settled in you are, the longer you stay.
My preference is to decorate in deep greens and yellows. It's a nice touch when the host starts doing the dusting for you. I look at it as a little festival for them every time they sneeze.
Of course, when hanging your paintings, use the widest nail you possibly can. My personal favorite place to hang things is behind the eyes. I prefer screws for hanging the heaviest things and I find the cerebral cortex an excellent spot for this.
There are many other things I would love to share with you, but then I would be giving away some of my trade secrets so I will leave you with this: Don't forget about the basements! Throats and lungs hold surprising promises for a long and comfortable stay!
*** One Minute Writer ***
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Reaching out my hand, I gently smoothed back my husband's sweat soaked hair. His skin was clammy and cool, his eyes dull. He smiled at me weakly, that small effort causing him great discomfort. I squeezed his hand tighter and held the tears back. "Don't leave me," I croaked. "I'll have nothing left." Tears flowed and I bit my lip, desperate to take it all back.
"You have a full house, my love. You have our son. Kings high; you're the Queen. And I'm merely the Jack on Earth. I'll be your Ace in heaven." I listened to him carefully and as his eyes froze, I started wishing again.
*** One Word ***
My eyes blinked rapidly, my cheeks flushed, my knees felt week, and butterflies erupted in my stomach. In a voice softer than a whisper, I said "no" and felt my heart begin to race. Closing the door on the shining knight, I returned to the kitchen and made supper for my husband.
A true story, albeit it romanticized.
*** One Minute writer ***
*** One Word ***
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Richard would want the record too. He'd be fighting for it come the day after tomorrow. She saw the glint in his eye, his lazy smile, the dark brown hair with a soft sprinkling of grey, and his muscular body. She shook her head to rid herself of the image and focused on the small flashed of white her socks made as her legs pushed one foot after the other forward. He'd come prepared. He was always prepared. It's what made him so inexhaustible in every aspect of life.
But the record would be hers. It had to be hers. They were her lyrics and her voice. He may have helped produce it and because of him it rocketed into Billboard's top spot, but it was her property. That original recording was hers, wasn't it?
Her feet continued to pound.
*** Daily Writing Practice ***
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
The old key wouldn't open any lock; it was to something far more important. At least, that's what the note said that her grandmother had left for her. "But what could be more important than the will," Ella thought absentmindedly clasping the key in her fist. She sat on the floor with her legs folded under her in her grandmother's library. She loved this room more than any other in the big old house.
The built-in bookshelves lining the walls were laden with hundreds of hardcover books and trinkets from travels. Two high winged back chairs and a curvy chaise lounge, all covered in dark leather, sat before the large walnut-toned desk. All of this was in contrast to the sheer curtains and pastel paintings that decorated the walls. The carpet, easily the most luxurious item in the room, was a brilliant red with a braided golden border and intricate pattern which blossomed to the edges from the center; another trinket from a trip to India when Ella was twelve. Ella remembered when Grandmother Rosa had sat with her in front of the old dusty sewing machine and taught her how to make throw pillows. A few of the pillows still sat prominently on the chaise, their red a convincing match to the carpet. "How long ago was that?" she wondered.
Ella exhaled audibly, a shrill bird call breaking into her thoughts. Pushing her long blonde hair behind her ear, she looked at the key. It was a small thing, old fashioned, dark and slightly rusty. It reminded her of the keys to her childhood diaries, but heavier. She turned it over and over in her long fingers looking for an answer and finding none. She smiled at the tininess of the key in her long fingers. "Graceful fingers," Grandmother Rosa had told her on many occasions. "Fingers meant for a musician."
"Well Grandmother," Ella spoke into the air, "I'm not the musician you wanted me to be. I'm second rate at best. But I do love it, the feel of the keys under my fingers. Especially when no one has played them in a long while. The coolness is somehow electrifying." Having finished her sentence, she sat in silence again, the key twirling between her fingers like a fairy dancing on flower petals.
Ella didn't know how long she sat like that, only that the sun had now reached its zenith. Quietly she stood up to leave the room. Regretful that she still didn't know what the key fit into, she dropped it in her jean pocket as the grandfather clock down the hall announced that it was lunch time. She closed the door behind her, resting her forehead against it just to feel the warmth she was so accustomed to in that room. She felt only a foreign coolness and exhaled loudly.
"There you are darling! I've been looking for you all morning. Where have you been?" Her mother's voice came from behind her, a kind and concerned reprimand. One she knew she could play to her advantage, but using other's emotions in such a way was not in her personality.
Soothing herself more than her mother, Ella gently intoned, "Don't worry so much, Mama. I'm fine."
Taking her hand, Bella Anne gave her a sad knowing look. "I know it is difficult Ella dear. You and Grandmama Rosa had a very special bond." Bella Anne bit her lower lip dramatically while staring into Ella’s face. Coming up with nothing more comforting to say, she continued on as if she had never paused for words. "It's been two weeks now. It breaks my heart to still see you moping through the halls." Bella Anne started to escort her daughter downstairs to the Tea Room.
Ella opened her mouth to speak, but her mother’s voice resounded in the air first. "Your Grandmama Rosa wouldn't want to see your long face. You know she would tell you that you are a Chardon." Ella heard the way her last name rolled off her mother's tongue. The smooth sound of the French language, a truly beautiful language that no one in the family spoke fluently now that Grandmother Rosa had passed away. It was one of Ella's deep regrets. Grandmother Rosa had offered to teach her the language on many occasions, but Ella's thoughts were always elsewhere. On the smell of the peaches or the new boy at school. On her studies or the next dance.
Bella Anne reached the end of the sweeping stairs and turned to the Tea Room without glancing back. Ella walked more slowly, feeling the solidity of each step beneath her and watching her mother’s long, straight, elegant back disappear from the Grand Entrance. Her fingers traced the key in her pocket.
*** From two prompts: Swap-bot and Daily Writing Practice *** I hope to finish this some day.