"The black room took us in like a cave" - Maya

It was just what I wanted – walls painted black, even the windows, which were painted shut as well. They were covered with heavy curtains, but I pulled them back to check. No light. A single bulb dangled from the remnants of a long-discarded light fixture in the ceiling, but that was no problem. We didn’t have to turn it on. And we wouldn’t.

The black room took us in like a cave. I know what you’re thinking – like a womb. I don’t care. You can psychologize me all you want, it won’t matter. Black was what we wanted and black was what we got. We weren’t looking for airless or claustrophobic, so it was good that it was on the third floor an not, say, in the basement. Black and damp would have been too much for me. I’m allergic to mold anyway. In fact, it might have been a bright and airy room at onetime. Might be again. I wouldn’t want to be the one to paint over it or scrape off all that black paint, but that’s neither here nor there.

We had our little cave now. Our little sanctuary. Our refuge. I imagined it to be like an underground temple or a blank slate. We didn’t even need to bring much with us.

I’m sure you’re wondering why I did it. Well, you see, I didn’t know who he was when I met him. Or maybe I should say “what” he was. He was different – I could see that right away. I always was a sucker for different. And he moved fast. Those dark eyes that looked unflinchingly into mine – as though he wanted to see inside me. And did. And like who he found there.

He never lied to me. He just made sure I cared about him before he told me. All right, I’ll say it – I fell in love with him. Loved him. And he needed me, needed someone badly. He’d just arrived and wasn’t safe. He’d left his family – needed new territory, new blood, so to speak.

It’s not every day that someone promises you eternal life. Can’t you understand? Eternal life with someone you love and who loves you? I felt loved, anyway. I don’t know. I think he did love me.

So, I found the room. He promised he’d take me, turn me, once we settled in. He needed me to stay as I was to do the necessary business in daylight hours. Once we had a safe place it could happen. And it was perfect. I had the coffin moved in right away. He was so pleased. It was perfect.

How could I know he’d been followed from the old country? Tracked, like an animal. All they saw was trouble. Not his beauty, his kindness, his intense love. All they saw was danger. I didn’t. He’d explained it to me and it seemed doable. It seemed…okay. Does different have to mean bad? I’ve never thought so.

They’d waited till the sun went down and the coffin opened. Stakes in hand, they burst through the locked door – I don’t know how – and they killed him. God, they killed him. They’d have killed me, too, if he had turned me. But he hadn’t and they didn’t, obviously. They called me stupid, gullible, dangerous. They told me to leave before the police arrived. They were giving me a chance to start over. Then they left. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave him like that.

Don’t you see? I could have run away and avoided all this, but I didn’t. I wanted to stay here in our cave, our sanctuary. I wanted to be with him forever.

Prompt: "The black room took us in like a cave." - Anne Sexton
6/7/08

Forget-me-not

A long, long time ago in a kingdom far, far away lived a fair maiden and her handsome knight. They loved each other very much and planned to marry, vowing to spend the rest of their days together.

Now their country was very beautiful with wooded hills and flowering fields. And a strong wall surrounded their town. The young lady was very loyal to her homeland and had always felt quite safe. But alas, her beloved was a noble knight bound by duty to protect the neighboring countryside and villages as well. He was gone traveling a lot of the time and so they had to console themselves with the fleeting moments they were able to find to be alone. Those were precious times and they drew closer together in spirit.

One particularly fine spring day the knight was due to return from a mission. His Lady Love eagerly awaited him and carefully planned their days ahead. She dressed in a light, flowing gown, her hair freshly washed and flowers adorning her golden mane. She walked outside the town gate, wanting to be the first to spot the returning brave band of knights. And so they appeared on the horizon, as a cloud of dust at first from the pounding of their horse’s hooves. Closer and closer they came into view until she was able to spot the one to whom her heart belonged. She followed them back into the town square, anticipating the warm embrace of her loved one. But he had disappointing news for her.

“We’ve only come back for more supplies,” he told her. “There is an approaching enemy a few villages over and we must return to protect them.”

“No, you cannot leave again so soon!” she pleaded, to no avail. For she knew her knight would not shirk his duties.

“I have a short while for the horses to be fed and watered,” he told her. “Let’s take a walk down by the river. I must leave my armor on though, so I will be ready to go again quickly.”

“Okay” she agreed reluctantly. A short time was better than nothing.

They strolled off together in the warm sunshine, the birds singing and their hearts happy at the sight of each other. The knight absentmindedly picked some flowers along the way, gathering them into a bouquet to present to his betrothed. They talked of the future and their hopes and dreams. As they drew near to the riverbank they could see the current was swift and strong. But there were some especially beautiful flowers reaching over the edge that the knight felt would make his presentation all the more lovely. As he leaned over to pick them he felt himself lose his footing and he started to slip down the embankment. In he toppled with a loud SPLASH! His armor weighed him down and he was pulled under the cold water. He struggled with all his might, but realized this was the one battle he could not win. He would not make it out. He used his last strength to get above the surface and toss the flowers to the distraught one left standing on the shore. “Forget-me-not” he called as he went under for the final time.

Prompt: forget-me-not April 26, 2008

SPEED LIMIT - Kevin

"I didn't know there was a speed limit," he said (like he'd been waiting all his life to do so). The line itself was bad enough, but his wink afterwards was almost a capital offense.

Not again, she thought. I can't do this again. She instinctively glanced toward the bar's exit, toward freedom, toward her comforter and her cats and her TV.

His picture had jumped out at her, but she was suspicious of pictures. She was a voice girl -- let her hear them for five minutes and she could tell whether they actually looked like the picture. Whether they had mommy issues. Whether they had three other regular girls. Whether those shining locks were a hairpiece.

He passed the phone test with ease. They stayed on for one hour and one minute. She made an excuse to go so she didn't use all her best material before the date.

When she stood outside the bar three nights later and watched the man approach, she thought, Please let this be him, Please let this be him.

When they ordered wine she made a mental list of witty anecdotes to share.

And then the trouble started. His first comments about her meeting his dogs and his parents flew by with only a mild scent of creepiness. It was when he talked about "wintering" together upstate that the smoke alarm in her head went off. He actually used the word "wintering."

"And eventually," he said, with a flick of the wrist, "I want to teach our kids -- "

Her smoke alarm cut him off. "Slow down there, Andretti. We just met."

"I didn't know there was a speed limit." And the wink.

She didn't want to leave the wine, so she gulped it down in one massive sip. Then she put her foot on the gas and tried not to run out the door.

She Built Her House for the Next Five Decades - Maya

She walked into the new room and breathed in deeply. Ah, the good smell of freshly cut wood.

- Yes - she thought - I like this. It has a good feeling. Now I can stop. This will satisfy the demand.

She ordered furniture, chose a deep blue for the paint, and decided which of the new Oriental rugs would look best on the hardwood floor. This was something she could do. She liked being busy.

But at night, when the workmen were gone and the servants had all gone to sleep, she was left with her solitude. And that unsettled feeling began creeping back in.

Lying in her big canopy bed, alone, in the bedroom more than large enough to accomodate two, she was keenly aware of the vacancy on the other side of the mattress. Even on summer nights she often felt chilled in her clean sheets. And in the quiet she heard it call to her - it cried,it whispered in her brain. The house. It wanted more. It wanted to grow. If only her daughter had lived.... maybe a child would have satisfied it - a bright, happy, living thing filling all the empty space. But there was no child, and the house grew restless, bitter.

Every time she got fooled. She would truly believe that if she just gave it one more room or added one more wing it would retreat into silent contentment, it would snuggle down onto its foundations with an almost audible sigh of relief. Every time. But no sooner had she given in to its demands when it started again.

"Stop torturing me," she whispered. "You must be satisfied, Enough is enough."

- Never enough - she heard the reply. - Never. I must grow. Grow! Grow! -

She turned over and pulled the pillow over her head. It didn't help. She knew it wouldn't. This was not new and would not be any different from the other times. How could she be so naive as to think it would let her go. She would never be free.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, soaking into the bedding. If only she could sell the house, move away. To a cottage by the ocean or in the mountains - where the clean wind would scour her troubled mind clear of its burdens. But she couldn't. It was the house where she'd borne her child, that her husband had built for her, just for her. She couldn't abandon it.

So she did what she always did. Gave up and gave in. Sent for the contractor. Planned another addition. So the house could grow, like a living thing. Like the real,lving thing it wanted to be, drove her to make it be.

prompt from 1/19/08 (exact wording of prompt not recorded, but about Sarah Winchester)

Besides the Heat - dixie

Besides the heat, it's the dirt, the noise, and the inscrutable foreign words flapping around me like too many parakeets in the cage at the pet shop. I am certain of nothing. I am in control of nothing, except my own silence and the fake expression of calm on my face. Luckily, they go for el senor, who speaks at least some of the language. La senora gets to hide behind the suitcases and clutch her purse.

The taxi feels like a steam room, smells like a, well I don't know what. I am sweating, something I don't do. I lean against the door as we bump through the streets, sliding and honking. I wish for huge arms around me and a nice cup of tea, but his arms are busy grappling with the itinerary that he and the driver are going on about. And this doesn't seem like a cup of tea sort of country.


Prompt: besides the heat
1/25/08

Hate/Love - Greg

Prompt 12/30/2006: Think of a person you don't like and describe what you don't like and what you might say if you had to share an elevator ride.


I hated him and he hated me, and when I stepped into the elevator we looked at each other and knew what had to be, even before the doors thumped closed.

I stood to one side and he the other, but we could feel the animosity rising like noxious air in a small container. He whispered under his breath, and I turned threw a wild punch that skidded off the top of his head. He rolled with the punch then countered with his own punch which hit me on the side of the face. Then I hit him in the mouth, and I could feel with satisfaction the splash of something warm on my fist. But then he hit me in the nose and my eyes watered and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

We grabbed each other’s shirts, but it was unnecessary because neither would run away even if we could, and so we traded punch after punch like two hockey players in the middle of the rink. Now his nose was bleeding and now his mouth. I was bleeding over the left eye and both nostrils. Still we kept pounding.

The elevator stopped and the door opened. Two well-dressed old ladies stood at the door and froze, their mouths ajar and silent. We continued whaling on each other ad the door closed.

After a while the velocity of our punches slowed, our arms tiring. Blood splattered over the walls, but we did not stop. It was glorious! Soon we stopped punching, but I grabbed him and threw him against the wall, then he me. We danced about the elevator in a violent bloody dance macabre. The elevator door opened again and we fell to the floor in front of the two ladies who stepped back. The door repeatedly closed and opened on our two writhing bodies until we rolled back in.

It closed once more and in a moment we stopped and held each other in our grips breathing in each other breath, lost in exhaustion. “I hate you,” he said, but with not much conviction. “And I hate you,” I said, but realized, right then, right now, that I may have also loved him.

Another Woman - Maya

Another woman
would keep her mouth shut,
not spout her fervent beliefs
like a speaker on a soapbox.

Another woman
would have chosen
equity over experience,
settling down, and
just plain settling.

Another woman
would have stayed the course,
refused distraction and
the pangs of the heart
that lead to upheaval.

Another woman
would not vacillate hearing
the voices that preach security and
the voices that harp on ideals.

Another woman
would not succumb to worry,
knowing that it never helps
and only constricts.

Another woman
would revel in her children’s independence
instead of mourning
their day-to-day absence in her life.

Another woman
would live in gratitude every moment
for her sojourn on this gorgeous planet
and not slip into the mundane
routine of forgetting.

But I am not
another woman.
I am this woman,
led by my heart and
pulled by the conflicting voices,
a woman who
worries,
mourns,
forgets.

I am this woman,
this aging, outspoken, heart-stirred,
frightened and sometimes grateful woman,
This woman,
with this particular life
and not
another.



Prompt: Another Woman, 12/27/07