[Notes: Yeah. I'm not so sure about this one. Feel free to offer help because I know it's messed up and I can't figure out how to make it better.]
Rena took a deep breath before entering the waiting room. She wasn't sure what she expected to find inside, but it wasn't the relatively normal room holding two other angels. "Um...hello?" She blinked as the tall man in the corner burst into tears at her greeting.
"Don't worry," said the young woman sitting in the nearby chair. "It's not you, he's been like that all day. I think he must be the angel of grief." Walking over and holding out her hand, she smiled. "I'm Tabbris, but please, call me Tabby."
"Oh, that makes sense." Rena took the offered hand eagerly. "I'm Rena, the angel of peace." She cringed and shook her head. "That...came out a little lame, didn't it? I think I've been announcing myself to humans too much, I'm beginning to sound like a Hallmark card."
"It was a little cheesy." Tabby agreed.
"That's actually why I'm here today. I've had to announce myself way too often lately. I think my invisibility booster is busted."
"Uh-huh." Tabby eyed her for a moment. "I'm sure that excuse will fly."
"You think?"
"Like it's got lead wings."
"It was worth a shot." Rena sighed. "It's just...it's just hard! I get so excited when I see them calm down and I want to rejoice with them. The first few times I just fell right out of invisibility but it was so much fun that I just kept going!"
The sound of a door opening drew the angels eyes to the end of the hallway. A slight breeze rustled around the room, whispering a name. The man in the corner stood, tears still streaming down his face, and walked slowly towards the door. Rena and Tabbris both watched in silence as the large door shut behind him.
"What do you think is going on in there?"
"I think he just let the grief go to his head." Tabby replied, her eyes fixed on the door. "He'll probably tell him to remember His joy and give him time to recuperate."
"A vacation?" Rena grinned, wondering if she would get off so lightly. "That doesn't sound so bad."
Tabby turned and met her eyes, smirking a little. "Don't worry. I'm sure you're not in big trouble either. It's not like you were operating out of pride. He will probably laugh and tell you that He can hear you even when you're invisible and send you right back to work."
"You sound like you've been here before." Rena said. "Tabbris? That's...self-determination, right?"
"Close. I'm the angel of free will." Tabby waved her arm to encompass the waiting room. "And yeah, I've been here a few times."
"Is it hard? Being that kind of angel?" Rena asked cautiously. She couldn't imagine being called here more than once.
"You have no idea." Tabby sighed, leaning back against the wall.
"Is that why you're here. Burnout - like the grief guy?"
"No. Unlike him or you...I'm really in trouble this time."
"It can't be that bad."
"I'm so jealous of free will that I'm angry at Him for not giving it to me."
"Oh." Rena winced. "That is...bad."
"Yeah." Tabby sighed. "I haven't actually done anything yet, but I'm sure He heard my heart screaming out."
"But that's good! If you haven't messed up, then just apologize and don't feel like that anymore!"
"Just-" Tabby's eyes widened in disbelief. "You don't understand how hard it is for me! You're not like me!"
"Yes, I am. We were both born into light."
"Sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Sometimes it feels like I was created like them. Out of dirt and air and clay."
"Tabby." Rena shook her head sadly. "I'm su-"
"Do you know what it's like?" Tabby interrupted. "To foster the desire in them for something that I'll never have? To push them to want something that He never gave to me?"
"Well, of course it's not the same but-"
"Please!" Tabby scoffed. "You give them peace! It's not like you don't get to feel that yourself. I have to give them free will, not too much and not too little. Always the edge of this fine line and it makes me crazy! I just want to explode and jump over the line myself."
"...you do?"
"No. Yes. Maybe? I know why it would be horrible but...my heart longs for free will so much that I think I want to satisfy that more than I want to live with
Him."
"Tabby." Rena sat heavily in the nearest chair. "Tabbris, why did you let it go so far? Why didn't you come to Him and ask for help?"
"Oh, sure." Tabby slid down to sit on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. "That would have gone well. How exactly does one have that sort of conversation? 'Hi, I think You messed up making me and giving me this job because now I think that I should be able to do my own thing.' Do you think He'd give me a chance to pack my things before kicking me out of Heaven?"
"It wouldn't be like that." Rena said nervously. "I'm sure if you explained that you still wanted to be His angel...Tabby?"
"Yeah?"
"You still want to, right? I mean, you still want to be His?"
"Yes!" She cried, burying her head in her knees. "Of course I do. It's just so hard when-"
The sound of the door opening interrupted them and they turned to hear the wind whisper its summons. With a last sniffle, Tabbris stood and straightened her shoulders, looking determinedly at the door.
"Rena?"
"Yes?"
"Pray for me."
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Monday, October 6, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Story A Day: Deep - Fried Moose
No phone number.
No address.
Not even a last name that didn't sound like it was ripped straight from a soap opera.
There were so many reasons why Sally shouldn't hire the quiet young man leaning against the stove. Being right off the old highway meant that Sally had seen her fair share of folks looking to make a fresh start and most of those people had been running away from something. She didn't have a problem with people running away from nastiness in their past, it just bugged her when that nastiness showed up on the doorstep of her diner.
This boy, with his tired eyes and quiet voice, he was in the running away camp. Even worse, from the twitch he gave whenever the bell over the door rang, even he wasn't sure if he had run far enough. Even after studying him for the last half-hour while he cooked, she didn't have a clue on what he trouble he had gotten into. He was too healthy for drugs, too clean for poverty, too nervous to be a criminal. Sally didn't know what trouble might be sliding up to her counter in the near future. And she sure as shooting didn't know that she wanted to fight someone else's battle.
In fact, there was only one thing Sally did know. The kid could cook up a mean deep-fried moose.
Notes: Man, this story fought me from beginning to end. Sally had so much extra information that really didn't fit in the story, info that I really liked. Sally's real name is something else, but she bought the diner from a 'Sally' and the name came with it, the restaurant is called "The Six-Niner Diner" (and you know how I love a cheesy rhyme!) and Sally only makes one thing on the menu, a cheese apple pie. Sadly, none of those things fit in the story. Also, I have no idea if Sally hired the young man in the end.
No address.
Not even a last name that didn't sound like it was ripped straight from a soap opera.
There were so many reasons why Sally shouldn't hire the quiet young man leaning against the stove. Being right off the old highway meant that Sally had seen her fair share of folks looking to make a fresh start and most of those people had been running away from something. She didn't have a problem with people running away from nastiness in their past, it just bugged her when that nastiness showed up on the doorstep of her diner.
This boy, with his tired eyes and quiet voice, he was in the running away camp. Even worse, from the twitch he gave whenever the bell over the door rang, even he wasn't sure if he had run far enough. Even after studying him for the last half-hour while he cooked, she didn't have a clue on what he trouble he had gotten into. He was too healthy for drugs, too clean for poverty, too nervous to be a criminal. Sally didn't know what trouble might be sliding up to her counter in the near future. And she sure as shooting didn't know that she wanted to fight someone else's battle.
In fact, there was only one thing Sally did know. The kid could cook up a mean deep-fried moose.
Notes: Man, this story fought me from beginning to end. Sally had so much extra information that really didn't fit in the story, info that I really liked. Sally's real name is something else, but she bought the diner from a 'Sally' and the name came with it, the restaurant is called "The Six-Niner Diner" (and you know how I love a cheesy rhyme!) and Sally only makes one thing on the menu, a cheese apple pie. Sadly, none of those things fit in the story. Also, I have no idea if Sally hired the young man in the end.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Story A Day: Roscoe Falls Reflections
“Ironed the pants. Ironed the shirt. Ironed the tie.” Roscoe Falls sat on the edge of his bed, and repeated the list to himself. “Ironed the pants. Ironed the shirt. Ironed the tie.”
Roscoe's date for tonight began in exactly 47 minutes and he wasn’t sure he was prepared. The corsage had been ordered, the reservations triple-checked and the floor mats of his car had all been steamed cleaned. Each extensive list he had made for himself had been completed and yet he still wasn’t positive it was enough. He could go have a conversation with everyone in the kitchen, although that was, at times, more trouble than it was worth.
“Ironed the pants. Ironed the shirt. Ironed the...tie?” Roscoe paused; he couldn’t remember if wearing a tie was appropriate for this type of date. Ties were usually worn with suit jackets and he was wearing a button down shirt tonight. His breaths started to quicken and he reached to grab the medicine bottle on the side of the bed. Roscoe didn’t immediately pry open the lid and take the little orange pill. The medicine was an option, of course, and if Roscoe was honest with himself, probably the healthiest one. But healthy didn’t always mean right and it certainly didn’t mean comforting. With a determined nod, Roscoe placed the bottle back on the nightstand and headed into the kitchen.
“If you ask me, you should be wearing dress blues.” Roscoe had barely taken a seat at the table, when the General started in on him. He turned to meet his eyes across the table. “None of these namby-pamby civvies.”
“I think he looks darling.” Mrs. Mayberry smiled. “Just darling! Don’t you think so, April?”
“He looks like…” April tilted her head and Roscoe mirrored the motion, wondering what she was looking for. There was a long pause before she dissolved into giggles. “Like a stupidhead!”
“What he looks like is a geek who’s not going to see any action.” Darrin chimed in. “Nice tie, nerd. Why not add the pocket protector and go for the whole gimmick?”
“The tie!” Roscoe lifted the offending item and looked across the table. “Can I wear a tie without a jacket? Or do I need to find a jacket? I didn’t iron one, but I might have time.”
“Now, I don’t know about that. In my days the young men always wore a jacket. Or at least a smart sweater.”
“If you were wearing your uniform, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I think jackets make you look fat!”
“One more piece of clothing means one more piece you gotta take off to do the deed.”
“I-I-I’m not g-g-going to…you know.” Roscoe blushed and noticed the same reddening of Mrs. Mayberry’s cheeks. “This is just a first date. I’ll be a g-g-gentleman.”
“I know you will, sweetie. You have good morals.”
“Fine upstanding young man. Although your salute needs some work.”
“I was just joshing ya, kid. Though you should try and at least kiss her.”
“Ew! That is soooo gross!”
Roscoe looked at April, the two of them engaged in a staring contest for several moments until they blinked simultaneously.
“Fine, you’re not gross. Much. She'll like you.”
“Thank you.” Roscoe smoothed his shirt and ran through his list once more, the kitchen silent as he mentally checked off everything again. “Alright, I think I’m ready.”
“You know, you’ve got a wrinkle in that shirt.” Darrin said with a smirk.
Roscoe pulled at the edges of his button down. “Where? I don’t see it!”
“Don’t tell him that!” April whined. “You know it’s just going to make him crazy.”
“That wasn’t nice, Darrin.” Mrs. Mayberry tutted. “There are no wrinkles, love.”
“He’s a grown man, for petes sake! Back during the – “
“During the war we ate wrinkles for breakfast. Blah, blah, blah.” Darrin interrupted.
“Please?” Roscoe pointed at his chest. “Wrinkles?”
“Not as crisp as I’d like it, solider, but you’ll do.”
“You’re fine, sweetie. Now you just go on out and have a good time.”
“We want the play-by-play later.”
“But not any kissing parts! Gross!”
Roscoe pushed his chair back from the table, watching as the five people around him stood as well. Smoothing the crease in his shirt one last time, he nodded at the now empty mirrors propped up in the kitchen chairs and headed out for his date.
Roscoe's date for tonight began in exactly 47 minutes and he wasn’t sure he was prepared. The corsage had been ordered, the reservations triple-checked and the floor mats of his car had all been steamed cleaned. Each extensive list he had made for himself had been completed and yet he still wasn’t positive it was enough. He could go have a conversation with everyone in the kitchen, although that was, at times, more trouble than it was worth.
“Ironed the pants. Ironed the shirt. Ironed the...tie?” Roscoe paused; he couldn’t remember if wearing a tie was appropriate for this type of date. Ties were usually worn with suit jackets and he was wearing a button down shirt tonight. His breaths started to quicken and he reached to grab the medicine bottle on the side of the bed. Roscoe didn’t immediately pry open the lid and take the little orange pill. The medicine was an option, of course, and if Roscoe was honest with himself, probably the healthiest one. But healthy didn’t always mean right and it certainly didn’t mean comforting. With a determined nod, Roscoe placed the bottle back on the nightstand and headed into the kitchen.
“If you ask me, you should be wearing dress blues.” Roscoe had barely taken a seat at the table, when the General started in on him. He turned to meet his eyes across the table. “None of these namby-pamby civvies.”
“I think he looks darling.” Mrs. Mayberry smiled. “Just darling! Don’t you think so, April?”
“He looks like…” April tilted her head and Roscoe mirrored the motion, wondering what she was looking for. There was a long pause before she dissolved into giggles. “Like a stupidhead!”
“What he looks like is a geek who’s not going to see any action.” Darrin chimed in. “Nice tie, nerd. Why not add the pocket protector and go for the whole gimmick?”
“The tie!” Roscoe lifted the offending item and looked across the table. “Can I wear a tie without a jacket? Or do I need to find a jacket? I didn’t iron one, but I might have time.”
“Now, I don’t know about that. In my days the young men always wore a jacket. Or at least a smart sweater.”
“If you were wearing your uniform, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I think jackets make you look fat!”
“One more piece of clothing means one more piece you gotta take off to do the deed.”
“I-I-I’m not g-g-going to…you know.” Roscoe blushed and noticed the same reddening of Mrs. Mayberry’s cheeks. “This is just a first date. I’ll be a g-g-gentleman.”
“I know you will, sweetie. You have good morals.”
“Fine upstanding young man. Although your salute needs some work.”
“I was just joshing ya, kid. Though you should try and at least kiss her.”
“Ew! That is soooo gross!”
Roscoe looked at April, the two of them engaged in a staring contest for several moments until they blinked simultaneously.
“Fine, you’re not gross. Much. She'll like you.”
“Thank you.” Roscoe smoothed his shirt and ran through his list once more, the kitchen silent as he mentally checked off everything again. “Alright, I think I’m ready.”
“You know, you’ve got a wrinkle in that shirt.” Darrin said with a smirk.
Roscoe pulled at the edges of his button down. “Where? I don’t see it!”
“Don’t tell him that!” April whined. “You know it’s just going to make him crazy.”
“That wasn’t nice, Darrin.” Mrs. Mayberry tutted. “There are no wrinkles, love.”
“He’s a grown man, for petes sake! Back during the – “
“During the war we ate wrinkles for breakfast. Blah, blah, blah.” Darrin interrupted.
“Please?” Roscoe pointed at his chest. “Wrinkles?”
“Not as crisp as I’d like it, solider, but you’ll do.”
“You’re fine, sweetie. Now you just go on out and have a good time.”
“We want the play-by-play later.”
“But not any kissing parts! Gross!”
Roscoe pushed his chair back from the table, watching as the five people around him stood as well. Smoothing the crease in his shirt one last time, he nodded at the now empty mirrors propped up in the kitchen chairs and headed out for his date.
Ideas
I have no idea how to write a script for a movie, despite the fact that I once retooled a story into one. It was tedious and confusing and I felt like I had lost everything that made the story unique. I hated it. Also, I'm pretty sure I did it wrong.
But when my cousin said that we should write an action movie together, it actually sounded like fun. (the writing together part, not the script part) So I sat down and filled up pages with ideas. It never went past the idea stage, but it was fun to do, especially the list of things that I like and don't like in an action movie.
This is a list of sidekick characters for the heroes. I had so much fun with this.
Soccer Mom
"We'll take my van!"
"Let me get the first aid kit."
"Don't take that tone with me!"
"We've got juice...or juice."
High School Science Teacher
"This is not my job!"
"Wait! Wait! I knew...*huffs for breath*...knew I should have taken that coaches job."
"I babysit teenagers around chemicals all day. I can make anything explode."
College Student
"I can download the latest hit song, not get codes for a nuclear submarine."
"I've got 2 notebooks, an iPod, my latin textbook and flip-flops."
"Cool! Free stuff! Do you think they'll care if we take these?"
Meter Maid/Traffic Cop
"You know that you parked this thing in a loading zone, right?"
"And that's for blocking the sidewalk!"
"Your meter has expired!"
"I'm not armed! I'm a meter maid! They don't even let us wear long pants!"
But when my cousin said that we should write an action movie together, it actually sounded like fun. (the writing together part, not the script part) So I sat down and filled up pages with ideas. It never went past the idea stage, but it was fun to do, especially the list of things that I like and don't like in an action movie.
This is a list of sidekick characters for the heroes. I had so much fun with this.
Soccer Mom
"We'll take my van!"
"Let me get the first aid kit."
"Don't take that tone with me!"
"We've got juice...or juice."
High School Science Teacher
"This is not my job!"
"Wait! Wait! I knew...*huffs for breath*...knew I should have taken that coaches job."
"I babysit teenagers around chemicals all day. I can make anything explode."
College Student
"I can download the latest hit song, not get codes for a nuclear submarine."
"I've got 2 notebooks, an iPod, my latin textbook and flip-flops."
"Cool! Free stuff! Do you think they'll care if we take these?"
Meter Maid/Traffic Cop
"You know that you parked this thing in a loading zone, right?"
"And that's for blocking the sidewalk!"
"Your meter has expired!"
"I'm not armed! I'm a meter maid! They don't even let us wear long pants!"
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Storytelling
A story written to make a friend smile a couple of years ago.
When the sun sets and all the family gathers round the fire, I tell the story of a man long gone. A man who still inspires me to this day.
A man....who ran the street sweeper.
"Listen here, my children." I say, gathering young Susie and little Peter onto my lap. "Listen and I'll share with you a bit of our history. I'll tell you the tale of..."
"Street Sweeper Joe!" Susie yells and claps her hands in glee.
"Seet sep 'oe!" Peter echoes drunkenly. His mother insists that he speaks that way because he's two, but I swear that I can smell the telltale whiff of whiskey when he comes near. Poor little fellow.
"Peter, you need to lay off the sauce." I admonish halfheartedly before continuing. "The story of Street Sweeper Joe is a good story, an old story, a story that must be passed on. Now let me think of how to start it."
"Many, many years ago...
The Earth had advanced to a point when little needed to be done to sustain everyday life. The necessities were taken care of and the populace went about carefree and happy.
The people rejoiced. The leaders played a lot of golf. The small woodland animals danced.
Eventually a life of leisure for everyone led to some problems. Mainly with upkeep. Everyone had forgotten how to take care of things and soon they had a problem. There was a scourge upon the land and the name of that scourge was trash. It was piled up on street corners, it was overflowing out of garbage cans, it was fluttering about in the afternoon breeze like a very poetic thing.
But it was not poetic. It was stinky. It was dirty. It was probably very unhygienic.
The people complained. The leaders fretted. The small woodland animals headed upwind.
It got so bad that one day the very last piece of grass was taken over by trash. As far as the eye could see there were piles and mounds of garbage. Everyone walked around with their noses plugged and their eyes watering and their shoes getting soggy with things they would rather not think about."
"Ewwww!" Giggled Susie.
"Mrpp" Peter drunkenly mumbled.
"Really, your mother should take away your whiskey. It's unseemly for a boy your age. Now, where was I?"
"It had gotten bad enough that the population of Earth decided to start picking up their trash. They went out in groups and gathered and shoveled and pushed and poked. But no matter how much effort they put into it, they didn't accomplish anything. They had no trash-picking skills, nowhere to put the trash and they kept getting distracted by having to swoon dramatically over the smell. Honestly, so much dramatic swooning was going on day and night that there was barely time to notice that they weren't accomplishing anything with the trash problem.
The people swooned. The leaders drank. The small woodland animals laughed at the swooning and the drinking and the drunken swooning.
Then one morning, a rumbling sound could be heard across the land. The people stopped their swooning and climbed up out of the trash. Reveled in the rays of the rising sun there stood...."
"Street Sweeper Joe!" Susie and Peter yelled. Or rather Susie yelled and Peter waved his hands wildly and burped.
"Yes, my darlings. It was Street Sweeper Joe, riding into town on his street sweeper of salvation. As he rumbled up and down the streets and highways, the trash was slowly removed. Once again the sidewalks, the pavements, even the grass was exposed to the sun again. The people came out and danced on the now-clean earth. They sang out a song extolling Street Sweeper Joe's virtues. They threw flowers, only to have Joe sweep them up quickly.
The people rejoiced. The leaders gave thanks. The small woodland animals hid from the big rumbling machine.
Finally the job was done, the trash was gone and Street Sweeper Joe pulled up in front of the capital and looked down at all the people. The leader walked up and said to Joe, 'You have saved us, you street sweeper hero! What can we do to repay you?' But Joe was a humble sort and he spoke, his voice as rumbly as the street sweeper he drove...
'Joe is name
Street sweeping is my game
I want nothing more
Than to do my little chore
No gold, rubies or cash
Just let me sweep up your trash
And I'll be happy, I say
Thank you and good day.'
The townspeople were impressed by his sentiment, even though his rhyme scheme was a little off and they gratefully agreed to let him pick up trash. Street Sweeper Joe taught the people how to keep things clean and to this day we honor when the anniversary of the day he came to town."
" 'oe still here?" Peter asked with a slur.
"No, my sweet inebriated child. One day Street Sweeper Joe started talking about recycling and compost heaps and it was decided that he was getting to be too uppity so the leaders decided to kick him out of town. But to this day, if you listen very closely in the dead of night, you might here the rumbling sound of Street Sweeper Joe."
The light fades as the fire dies down and I send the family off to bed, shaking my head at Peter's wobbling attempts to walk in a straight line. One day I'm going to figure out where that kid gets his whiskey. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow we have to go out and swoon dramatically as we try to pick up the trash that has taken over our world.
When the sun sets and all the family gathers round the fire, I tell the story of a man long gone. A man who still inspires me to this day.
A man....who ran the street sweeper.
"Listen here, my children." I say, gathering young Susie and little Peter onto my lap. "Listen and I'll share with you a bit of our history. I'll tell you the tale of..."
"Street Sweeper Joe!" Susie yells and claps her hands in glee.
"Seet sep 'oe!" Peter echoes drunkenly. His mother insists that he speaks that way because he's two, but I swear that I can smell the telltale whiff of whiskey when he comes near. Poor little fellow.
"Peter, you need to lay off the sauce." I admonish halfheartedly before continuing. "The story of Street Sweeper Joe is a good story, an old story, a story that must be passed on. Now let me think of how to start it."
"Many, many years ago...
The Earth had advanced to a point when little needed to be done to sustain everyday life. The necessities were taken care of and the populace went about carefree and happy.
The people rejoiced. The leaders played a lot of golf. The small woodland animals danced.
Eventually a life of leisure for everyone led to some problems. Mainly with upkeep. Everyone had forgotten how to take care of things and soon they had a problem. There was a scourge upon the land and the name of that scourge was trash. It was piled up on street corners, it was overflowing out of garbage cans, it was fluttering about in the afternoon breeze like a very poetic thing.
But it was not poetic. It was stinky. It was dirty. It was probably very unhygienic.
The people complained. The leaders fretted. The small woodland animals headed upwind.
It got so bad that one day the very last piece of grass was taken over by trash. As far as the eye could see there were piles and mounds of garbage. Everyone walked around with their noses plugged and their eyes watering and their shoes getting soggy with things they would rather not think about."
"Ewwww!" Giggled Susie.
"Mrpp" Peter drunkenly mumbled.
"Really, your mother should take away your whiskey. It's unseemly for a boy your age. Now, where was I?"
"It had gotten bad enough that the population of Earth decided to start picking up their trash. They went out in groups and gathered and shoveled and pushed and poked. But no matter how much effort they put into it, they didn't accomplish anything. They had no trash-picking skills, nowhere to put the trash and they kept getting distracted by having to swoon dramatically over the smell. Honestly, so much dramatic swooning was going on day and night that there was barely time to notice that they weren't accomplishing anything with the trash problem.
The people swooned. The leaders drank. The small woodland animals laughed at the swooning and the drinking and the drunken swooning.
Then one morning, a rumbling sound could be heard across the land. The people stopped their swooning and climbed up out of the trash. Reveled in the rays of the rising sun there stood...."
"Street Sweeper Joe!" Susie and Peter yelled. Or rather Susie yelled and Peter waved his hands wildly and burped.
"Yes, my darlings. It was Street Sweeper Joe, riding into town on his street sweeper of salvation. As he rumbled up and down the streets and highways, the trash was slowly removed. Once again the sidewalks, the pavements, even the grass was exposed to the sun again. The people came out and danced on the now-clean earth. They sang out a song extolling Street Sweeper Joe's virtues. They threw flowers, only to have Joe sweep them up quickly.
The people rejoiced. The leaders gave thanks. The small woodland animals hid from the big rumbling machine.
Finally the job was done, the trash was gone and Street Sweeper Joe pulled up in front of the capital and looked down at all the people. The leader walked up and said to Joe, 'You have saved us, you street sweeper hero! What can we do to repay you?' But Joe was a humble sort and he spoke, his voice as rumbly as the street sweeper he drove...
'Joe is name
Street sweeping is my game
I want nothing more
Than to do my little chore
No gold, rubies or cash
Just let me sweep up your trash
And I'll be happy, I say
Thank you and good day.'
The townspeople were impressed by his sentiment, even though his rhyme scheme was a little off and they gratefully agreed to let him pick up trash. Street Sweeper Joe taught the people how to keep things clean and to this day we honor when the anniversary of the day he came to town."
" 'oe still here?" Peter asked with a slur.
"No, my sweet inebriated child. One day Street Sweeper Joe started talking about recycling and compost heaps and it was decided that he was getting to be too uppity so the leaders decided to kick him out of town. But to this day, if you listen very closely in the dead of night, you might here the rumbling sound of Street Sweeper Joe."
The light fades as the fire dies down and I send the family off to bed, shaking my head at Peter's wobbling attempts to walk in a straight line. One day I'm going to figure out where that kid gets his whiskey. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow we have to go out and swoon dramatically as we try to pick up the trash that has taken over our world.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Orphan
I had a teacher in junior high who was just the right mixture of handsome and cool. All the girls had crushes on him and all the boys hung out with him. Everyone loved Mr. K. Even me. Although my fascination with Mr. K didn't manifest itself with schoolgirl crushes or fraternity-style jokes. No, I wrote a story and the teacher that everyone loved was much more sinister in the pages of my notebook.
There! Megan groaned in relief as she spied the doors at the end of the hallway. She felt like she had been running for hours, turned around in the darkened rooms and dimly lit halls of the high school. Throwing a hand out to lean against the nearest locker, she was surprised to see a red scrape across her knuckles. She had thought she had cut it when she shimmed under the gate at the library, but surprisingly it didn't hurt. She flexed her fingers for a moment and watched as a sluggish drop of blood ran down the back of her hand.
"That looks like it hurts." The soft voice came from so close behind her that Megan could feel his breath blow through her hair. She whirled, her hand flying out to push him away as she started to run.
"No. No. Nononononono." Megan chanted breathlessly as she careened down the hallway. She had come too far to let him get her now. With a burst of speed she aimed for the push bar on the door, hoping to get through before he could catch up. She ran, her aching lungs straining in her chest and with a cry she hit the doors.
And they hit back. There was a metallic rattle as she pushed against the bars and Megan looked through the window to see a chain wrapped around the handles. Thumping her head against the window, she felt a few tears escape her tightly clenched eyes. She could hear his footsteps behind her, slow and steady. As terrified as she was, she refused to keep her back to him now. Turning, she raised her chin and tried to meet his eyes.
"Oh, very good." He nodded as he stopped in front of her, his hand reaching out to tap her chin with one finger. "This bravery is almost believable."
Megan flinched and tried to clear her throat before speaking. "W-w-what are you going to do to me?"
"That would spoil the surprise. But I promise it'll be fun." He leaned in, his breath tickling her ear as his hands tightened on his shoulders. "I wouldn't lie to you, would I?"
With an almost silent whimper, Megan closed her eyes as he pulled into the nearest classroom.
That's actually it. It isn't part of a larger story at all. Just that one orphan scene. I've always wanted to write more of it, figure out just what Mr. K was going to do or why Megan was running, but it never materialized. It's forever just this orphan scene inspired by Mr. K grinning and whispering "I wouldn't lie to you, would I?" when he refused to tell us anymore about a special project for the next class. Even though I really liked the teacher, it sounded so wonderfully sinister that I couldn't help jotting down the snippet that popped into my mind. It's a story that's always haunted me, unable to be expanded on or finished for well over ten years. But the story and the whispered phrase still gives me the shivers.
There! Megan groaned in relief as she spied the doors at the end of the hallway. She felt like she had been running for hours, turned around in the darkened rooms and dimly lit halls of the high school. Throwing a hand out to lean against the nearest locker, she was surprised to see a red scrape across her knuckles. She had thought she had cut it when she shimmed under the gate at the library, but surprisingly it didn't hurt. She flexed her fingers for a moment and watched as a sluggish drop of blood ran down the back of her hand.
"That looks like it hurts." The soft voice came from so close behind her that Megan could feel his breath blow through her hair. She whirled, her hand flying out to push him away as she started to run.
"No. No. Nononononono." Megan chanted breathlessly as she careened down the hallway. She had come too far to let him get her now. With a burst of speed she aimed for the push bar on the door, hoping to get through before he could catch up. She ran, her aching lungs straining in her chest and with a cry she hit the doors.
And they hit back. There was a metallic rattle as she pushed against the bars and Megan looked through the window to see a chain wrapped around the handles. Thumping her head against the window, she felt a few tears escape her tightly clenched eyes. She could hear his footsteps behind her, slow and steady. As terrified as she was, she refused to keep her back to him now. Turning, she raised her chin and tried to meet his eyes.
"Oh, very good." He nodded as he stopped in front of her, his hand reaching out to tap her chin with one finger. "This bravery is almost believable."
Megan flinched and tried to clear her throat before speaking. "W-w-what are you going to do to me?"
"That would spoil the surprise. But I promise it'll be fun." He leaned in, his breath tickling her ear as his hands tightened on his shoulders. "I wouldn't lie to you, would I?"
With an almost silent whimper, Megan closed her eyes as he pulled into the nearest classroom.
That's actually it. It isn't part of a larger story at all. Just that one orphan scene. I've always wanted to write more of it, figure out just what Mr. K was going to do or why Megan was running, but it never materialized. It's forever just this orphan scene inspired by Mr. K grinning and whispering "I wouldn't lie to you, would I?" when he refused to tell us anymore about a special project for the next class. Even though I really liked the teacher, it sounded so wonderfully sinister that I couldn't help jotting down the snippet that popped into my mind. It's a story that's always haunted me, unable to be expanded on or finished for well over ten years. But the story and the whispered phrase still gives me the shivers.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
One name - several stories
In trying to write tonight, I came up with a name and just started typing. Sometimes that works for me and from out of nowhere a story will pop up and even I will be surprised where it goes. Tonight, however, was not that serendipitous of a situation. I had the name. I did the typing. Yet in a few short sentences I realized that I had nothing else to go on and the idea died. So I did what every writer would do...I gave up.
I deleted the sentences I typed and started all over. CTRL +A and Delete, the modern version of balling up paper and tossing it at the wastebasket. With a fresh start I wrote out the name and immediately another idea came streaming through my fingers. And again, it died after just a few sentences. I tried pushing it, tried coming up with the next sentence, the next word, the next letter. The harder I pushed, the more my creative juices dried up. Finally I chucked the story into that metaphorical wastebasket and started anew.
It went like that for awhile, until the frustration and draw of sleep began to diminish my desire to beat the block. I feel like I tried everything and nothing worked so maybe that means that I don't need to write a story about this name.
...or maybe it's going to be a great story but I just need to work harder at finding just what story little Benna belongs to.
I deleted the sentences I typed and started all over. CTRL +A and Delete, the modern version of balling up paper and tossing it at the wastebasket. With a fresh start I wrote out the name and immediately another idea came streaming through my fingers. And again, it died after just a few sentences. I tried pushing it, tried coming up with the next sentence, the next word, the next letter. The harder I pushed, the more my creative juices dried up. Finally I chucked the story into that metaphorical wastebasket and started anew.
It went like that for awhile, until the frustration and draw of sleep began to diminish my desire to beat the block. I feel like I tried everything and nothing worked so maybe that means that I don't need to write a story about this name.
...or maybe it's going to be a great story but I just need to work harder at finding just what story little Benna belongs to.
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