Fog Floats Over Water - Kevin

My mind is fog
Waiting for the sun
Waiting to remember

The house
The lake

Days you couldn't see five feet in front of you
And too many days of complete clarity

Our finch bounces with life in its cage
As mother watches from the bed, her life sneaking away

From across the lake a cello plays

Father's question:
Is it the big things in life that matter?
Or is it the small things that remind us how big
The big things really are?

The wood of the dock creaks steadily from out the window
Like a lullaby

I can't sleep
Then I can
I am like two different people

The cello plays and I can never see from where
It could be played by a ghost
The ghost haunts me through music

Each morning
Here on the dock
At first light
I can convince myself I am the only person on earth

By last light I have learned the hard way
That isn't true

Silver fish peekaboo beneath me like swimming nickels

Father's arms
Veins bulging
Row the boat

Mother's hands
Veins collapsing
Put on lipstick, even at the end

Our finch
The cello
Music
Life somewhere out there
Just beyond the quiet whiteness

I hold up my hand
I can barely see it
Maybe this means
I barely exist

Fog floats over water.


For more of my writing, go to: http://sportpastime.blogspot.com

Talking Rain - JohnD

He put his last three dollars into the slot machine. “Okay, I only need a seven hundred dollar jackpot and I'm back to normal,” he said to himself.

He pulled the handle: a lemon, a lemon, and a monkey. “A monkey? Is that a monkey?” he asked aloud. Nobody answered. His vision was blurred. He squinted and leaned forward and back again trying to make the monkey, if that's what it was, come into focus. The leaning motion made him mildly dizzy, blurring his vision a bit more. Maybe the monkey-like thing doubles the lemon jackpot, he hoped. But, no. Nothing happened. That was it. He was finished. He downed the rest of his drink.

“Franklin, get some more money. I'll pay off for you big time.”

“Who, what?” asked Franklin.

“Trust me Franklin,” the machine said.

Franklin looked at the slot machine as he felt the room spin slightly. “Are you talking?” he asked.

“Come on Franklin. Don't be like that,” the machine soothed. “It's me. I'll take care of you.”

“Don't be like what?” Franklin demanded.

“You don't trust me?” said the machine, tension in it's voice.

“Hold on!” said Franklin. “Just hold on.” He felt the casino tilting now as the slow spin continued. “This doesn't make any sense. I mean, when did I say anything about not trusting you? I'm just out of money. That's all!”

“Oh, come on,” the machine pleaded. “Like you don't have a credit card?”

“Stop it!” yelled Franklin. People from nearby slot machines looked up momentarily before being consumed again by their respective machines.

“Fine,” whispered the machine, sobbing gently. “You don't have to make a scene.”

“Don't start crying,” said Franklin.

The machine started bawling uncontrollably. “Well,” replied the machine. “It's just that I try my best for you, but nothing's good enough!”

Franklin shuddered. “Wait, wait!” he said to himself. “You're normal. You're a normal person. You've been drinking too much and you haven't slept in, like, 36 hours. Go, go, get out of here; get back to your hotel room!” He started leaving.

“Come back!” yelled the machine. “I need you. I'm nothing without you!”

Franklin kept walking. “Where is my hotel?” he thought. He walked to the open doors of the casino. It was raining hard.

“Hold on Franklin, don't come out into me!”

“Oh, for heaven's sake!” yelled Franklin.

“No really Franklin,” said the rain. “I'm all acidic this evening. It would be a considerable health risk. You'd better go back into the protective environment of that casino.”

“Stop it!” screamed Franklin. “Acid rain? That's ridiculous!”

“No, truly,” said the rain. “You might just want to get some more money and continue making wagers in that comfortable, dry, highly respectable gambling establishment. Given the circumstances, it's the safest course of action.”

Franklin took a deep breath. “Nobody ever said doing the right thing would be easy,” he mused. But, he had to admit that that rain was really starting to make some sense. So, after straightening his stance and patting down his hair from the sideburns back, he turned around and headed proudly back into the casino. Yes, it definitely felt good to be thinking rationally again; to do what was reasonable; to do what was right. “Whew!”

"An Ending" - Dixie

What I wouldn't give for an ending. Alas, it eludes. I have a beginning, I have a middle, I do not have an ending. The girl in the story is fully formed, or becoming so. She develops easily, although she does not have a name and is rather clueless about what is happening. She needs an ending to go forward, a light on the horizon, that North Star that the know-it-all writer is moving toward.

"So, what's the point of the bank robbery?" she asks me in that innocent way of hers.

"Yeah, I don't get it," pipes in Sanjay, the character who does have a name. "What's it have to do with the gun and the pool?" He smooths his silk shirt and tosses the gun on the table. Clunk.

"What happens after we rob the bank?" She timidly pushes the gun, as if playing spin the bottle. The muzzle points at me.

Oh, shit. They're right. What is going to happen after they rob the bank? Or are they even going to? We are all confused, except maybe the gun, which probably doesn't even belong in this story.

"Oh, well," she says dreamily and sits back into her huge sunglasses. Trust personified.

"Fuck it," says Sanjay. He stomps out of the room slamming the door behind him. Absolutely no trust.

I reluctantly pick up the gun, which turns into my pen and sends a few words spurting on the page.

"Although they had no idea what they were doing, ..."

To read the full story: http://tothebottom900.blogspot.com/
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"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)