Publication

The screen door banged against her calf as she tapped her foot impatiently. I looked at the small girl in her plaid skirt and fall jacket over the clipboard I had been using for the past several minutes. She pulled on her braid and tried to smile sweetly, but I could see the fatigue. I returned her smile, feeling fatigued myself, before returning to the long list of publications for sale. Releasing the girl with my selection to her waiting mother on the sidewalk, I sighed at the loss of school ice cream and cookie fundraisers.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Kindergarten

My son looks nothing like me except in the most unimportant ways. His second toe is longer than his big toe and the left side of the back of his hair has a colicky curl that refuses to be smoothed down. But as he walked into kindergarten that first day, I saw myself in him. His mannerisms, shyness, speech patterns, and ability to smile even though he was afraid left no doubt that he is my son.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Pumpkins

I slid the knife deep into the thick flesh of the gourd, leaving jagged scars that will never heal to the delight of the young man sitting across from me. He's nearing the end of his training and will soon be sent out as an in-field apprentice to learn the finer steps of harvesting. Picking up the stop watch, I tell him to begin. He reaches in and blindly looking for the prize as I explain that a pumpkin is an excellent substitute for the feel of human flesh.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

The Wall

My tired brain screams for rest, but I push on, knowing that the daylight will soon arrive and with its arrival my friend, the dark, will be forced to leave. I move through the thick brush as a mouse scurries to safe corners in large rooms; quickly and quietly, praying it can pass unnoticed. Finally, I see the wall standing in the distance. The solid outline and soft stone colors give it away in this urban jungle of grape vines, flowers, trimmed hedges, and children's bicycles. A few more yards and my safe escape will be recognized.

*** Daily Writing Practice/ One Word ***

I actually started writing this for one word, but then it veered so far off path I opted to use it for Daily Writing Practice.

Second of 7 Words

Making his way forward, he lifted each foot and placed it down to a steady rhythm that moved him inch by slow inch through the thick green underbrush of the forest floor. He stopped for lunch under a tender leaf, enjoying the light breeze and hot sunshine. Legend called the unexpected warm weather “Indian Summer.” He didn’t care what it was called or why it existed, only that he was living during this time. It would undoubtedly be the highlight of his short life. This was his thought as he sat munching on the crispy veiny portion of a leaf.

Lost in his desolate thoughts of a life practically unlived, he didn’t see the moth flit to a branch near him. She stared at him intently, her blue eyes searching his profile, hoping to see the same blue reflected back in his eyes. “Excuse me?” she finally spoke, her voice a whisper carried on the wind. He looked up for the source of the soft vibrations that tickled his smallest hairs. The vibration was new, yet somehow familiar.

“Who’s there?” he called cautiously, pulling his leaf in front of him as if it could protect him from a dangerous predator.

A small ripple of joy went through the moth at his reaction to her voice. He caught the slight shaking of one of her grey and black wings out of the corner of his fifth and sixth eyes on his right side. He kept those two eyes on the wing and stood still waiting for a response.

“You can see me, can’t you?” she asked gently.

Slowly, he turned, sensing that whoever was speaking to him meant him no harm. “Yes, I can see you. Who are you mistress of the night?” he asked, showing respect for the beautiful creature that had hailed him.

She looked down, more fully in his face and saw the piercing blue eyes of her husband staring back. “What is your name young one?”

“We caterpillars have such a short life that it is usually more effort than it is worth to name us. I can only tell you that I am a Geometridea.”

“No name? That seems cruel and unusual. What kind of parent would not name their child?” Her voice came harsher. The disappointment was palatable and it tasted strange to the caterpillar. He had been disappointed with the length of his life, but this disappointment was personal to the moth and yet, strangely not aimed at him.

Carefully, he constructed his answer so as not to distress her further. “Mistress, it is not thought a personal assault to the children. We grow up only knowing the concept of a parent, not the reality. We are grateful to be born at all! So short a time we have on this earth, it would be piffle to entertain naming any larval. There is much to be done in merely choosing to bore us here that everything else must come secondary to that lofty goal.”

She sat silently, considering his words, feeling her heart beat lighter than it had since she left her chrysalis. She desperately wanted this amiable caterpillar to be who she believed him to be. “Let me ask you another question, a very personal question. Where did you hatch?”

Proudly, the caterpillar raised himself. “Mistress, I was laid in a most beautiful place. I woke beneath large green leaves that tasted sweeter than anything I’ve found since. In the middle of the leaves was a purple bulb of leaves. It was dense and filling. I could not imagine a more beautiful place or one that would provide a sweeter start to life. If my parents were alive, I would owe them a great debt of thanks for thinking of me so well.”

At this, the moth shuddered violently. The caterpillar was concerned and began to move himself toward the low lying branch. He twisted his body gracefully over a root and around a few fallen twigs before beginning his climb up the slender trunk. It was a rough climb, something suited for an experienced contortionist; something that all caterpillars can claim is one of their primary strengths. The sun set and the moon rose before he reached the branch she sat on.

“Mistress,” he called softly. Thinking he had left, she turned, surprised he was so near and her body rocked once more with a shudder. “Mistress, what is it that shakes you so?”

“Oh sweet boy,” she cried, a smile buried under her tears. “You, my child….” Her hesitation seemed to last forever. The caterpillar stood frozen to the spot, looking deep in her eyes and into a future he couldn’t yet comprehend. She began again, more assured of herself. “You are my true child. And I am what you will become.” She beamed at the surprise and wonder in his eyes. “Of all of my larval, you are the only one whom I am delighted to call my own, and as my own, you deserve a name. Your name shall be Zabbai. I cannot give you any greater gift than this my dear.” Spreading her wings, she welcomed his strong embrace and melted in the warmth of his fluffy hair. Together, they dined on the branches moist leaves and talked about life’s opportunities, even the short ones.

*** A challenge on swap-bot. My words were: caterpillar, desolate, weather, piffle, amiable, contortionist, and fluffy. ***

The Long Wait

I felt like a tea pot, tipped this way and that, emptying my hot emotions into any available cup, and then set back down to simmer some more. How could this have happened? How could they have lost my son? Combing through the details made the little hope I had of seeing him before the next day evaporate into little steam clouds. My anger and frustration continued to rise like mercury in a thermometer. I was ready to blow the whistle and bring the inept airline into the limelight. I'd serve them up brewed, but without sugar or cream.

Then he called, my sweet little boy. "Mommy?" he said. "The lady told me to tell you we are on the right plane now and will see you in an hour." With those few words, my anger dissipated and I knew the long wait was almost over.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Four Words

The police and the reporters got it all wrong. I wasn't an intruder and I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. That was just all bad luck. I shouldn't be held responsible for misfortune's dirty hand. But here I am, sitting on a narrow plank disguised as a bed and waiting for the judge to summon me. A fair trial? Yeah, right. No one in that room is going to believe a thing I say after the muckety-muck the media and police have made of the investigation.

But you think you are different. You're an impartial observer who wants to see justice done. I've heard that line before by, say, 20 different reporters. You've read the papers? You've seen how they've turned my story topsy-turvy! So, why should I trust that you will handle it any differently?

I guess that's true. I'll never know if I don't tell you the truth of what happened. You're right. How could another spin possibly do me anymore harm. Okay. I'll tell you, but you only get the short version got it? No prying for details to use out of context and you print it exactly as I say it. I want quotes around the whole damn thing.

Yeah. We have a deal.

So here it is, the nitty-gritty undeniable truth. Big Porker and I met on the internet. It wasn't a dating thing, just a generic chat room for those against Animal Hate Crimes. We hit it off, often chatting about some of the dirty things we've seen or done as youth. One day, he tells me has a Halloween prank he wants to play on his two brothers. He tells me he just wants to scare them and asks if I would be willing to help out. I ask why he wants me and he tells me that I have the best personna, and well, that my species showing up on their doorstep would be enough to send them into a serious tizzy.

I think about it for a while and send him a message. Sure, I say, I'll do it as long as it is a prank and I don't have to do much more than show up at their door. I'm not growling or baring my teeth. That would cross the line, you know. He agrees that my presence will be enough and we set up a time to meet at the Corner Field Cafe. We show up, talk a little while before ordering some slop. The pig sure could eat!

Anyway, we make a plan. I'm to show up on Halloween Eve, really late and ring the doorbell. When his brothers answer, I'm suppose to ask them to let me in. When they deny me, as any smart animal should if some stranger shows up at that time of night, I'm suppose to tell them I am going to I'll blow down their house. Meanwhile, Porker was going to be shoving stories of this mysterious wolf that would blow down houses and eat anyone inside.

That's what all the journalists and police reports claim I did. Blew down a house and tried to eat the pig inside. But that is not what happened! I got to the brothers' house and no one was home. I waited until three in the morning before giving up. By then, it had started to storm. The rain was coming down heavy and I could hear thunder in the distance.

I went to Big Porker's house and knocked on his door hoping he would let me crash. He lived a lot closer than where my den was and I was so tired already. So, I knocked on his door and he calls out, "Who's there?" Thinking it would be funny, I start acting out our little script. He responds "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin," and I bust out laughing. He opens the door and lets me in, but I am kind of big for his house so in trying to get in, I broke a couple of the hinges.

I'm inside the house and he puts on some apple cider and cinnamon to help me warm up. Only, I am allergic to cinnamon so I start sneezing like mad. It was chaos! I would step back after a sneeze and trip over a chair, knock over the table, my tail punched out one of the windows. The house was becoming a wreck and I couldn't stop sneezing. It made quite a ruckus and I am guessing it woke the neighbors up because someone called the police.

When they got there, I was just backing out of the house, trying to get some fresh air. They thought I had intruded and went inside to make sure everything was all right. What they saw, I'm sure looked pretty bad. Like I said, things were knocked over, the door and window were broken, and who knows what else. What I didn't know is that one of my sneezes knocked some heavy books off the bookshelf and they had fallen on Big Porker's head, killing him instantly. At least, that's what they told me I did based on their investigation. They said I knocked him on the head with a copy of the Piglet Society Encyclopedia. Yeah right!

Of course, the books falling on his head meant the cinnamon spilled everywhere making my allergies worse. In my haste to leave for some fresh air, my tail must have knocked the bag of apples off the counter. One fell into Big Porker's mouth. And that is how they found him. Spread on the floor, an apple in his mouth and sprinkled in cinnamon. It would have been heaven in Porker's mind. A proper sending off so to speak. He had an odd sense of humor that way.

But, like I said, it was all an accident and I shouldn't be held responsible. The problem stands that the only one who can clear my name and vouch for me is dead. May he rest in peace.

***Daily Writing Practice ***