tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53397387141530727992024-02-20T22:18:11.203-08:00Facebook StorytellersA blog to showcase the writing of members of the group Facebook Storytellers. This group is a collection of my facebook friends who write original and in most cases unpublished stories. All stories however are copyrighted and cannot be reproduced anywhere without the consent, in writing, of the writer of said stories.Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-28855103176512269922012-11-22T10:14:00.001-08:002012-11-22T10:14:50.169-08:00The House in the Forest by Matt Thomas<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Stood in the middle of a forest, the rain trickling down my face and
back, my soaking T-shirt stuck to my shivering skin, the frosty bite of
the wind nipping at my flesh. I think of what the weather was like only a
few moments ago, bright, sunny and warm. I look down at my soggy
shorts, knowing that I should have known that the nice English weather
would not hold up for longer than a couple of hours. All I could hear
around me was the trickle of rain splashing off leaves and shrubs before
merging with the growing puddles of mud below my feet. The mud started
to coat my shoes as I try and find my way out of this forest. <br /><br />As
I’m walking round trying to figure which way I entered this forest, the
clouds and rain distorting my vision. I’m sure that I’m going round in
circles, but there is no way of telling as all the trees and paths look
the same and the muddy puddles make the paths all merge into one. My
darkening wet hair slipped onto my forehead forcing more water to
trickle down my face and blur my vision more. I sweep the hair out of my
eyes, yet it still slips back in the way, hindering me in my travels. <br /><br />I
carry on walking, hoping I would find my way back out of here, or at
least bump into somebody else. I remember before the rain walking past a
few hikers, carrying their large sacks and huge smiles, I wondered if
they would brace this rough English downpour still with the same smile. <br /><br />The
twigs and loose roots on the floor keep attacking my feet, threating to
trip me up and making me stumble through the trees. Each time I stumble
I close my eyes and pray that I don’t fall face first into the mud, but
always manage to gain my balance. A few times I have to grab hold of a
tree, the wet bark against my skin feeling rough and cold. <br /><br />Once
again I stumble on a loose root and fly thought the trees. I manage to
gain my balance by grabbing hold of a thin wispy tree, look down at my
feet I should watch where I’m going I think, then look up and notice I
had reached an opening between then trees and a muddy path, the water
trickling down the hill, almost forming the beginnings of a river. <br /><br />I
look up the path and notice an old, small, stone building with a spire,
it looked abandoned. Shelter I thought and ran towards the building. As
I got closer I noticed dark ivy swarming the building and infecting the
cracks, trying to strangle and destroy this stone wonder. It was also
climbing through the gaps in the roof where the pressure of earlier
storms had force parts to concave and collapse. <br /><br />I entered
through the archway where the door once hung, the remains of the wood
rotting into the ground below. Dust and cobwebs covered the air and
caught in my face tangling me in silky strings; I shook them off and
wiped my hands on my clothes, God how I hate spider webs I thought,
being more carful of where I walked. <br /><br />I could hear the pounding
of the rain falling overhead, it trickled through the cracks and gaps in
the ceiling splashing on the leaves the wind had discarded here. I
stayed away from any of the open holes, not wanted to get wetter than I
already was, which at this stage was probably impossible. I tore my
soaked T-shirt away from my sodden, cold skin but it just settle and
reconnected with it, as if they were one. I gave up and blew my hair out
of my face. <br /><br />Suddenly I heard a creaking from the floor above, I
looked at the hanging level, half the floor had collapsed, the
structure old and rotting. I saw one of the old wooden doors squeak open
and saw an old woman totter out peering down the huge gap in the floor.
<br /><br />‘Who is it?’ she peered through her squinting wrinkled eyes ‘is
that you Mary?’ She ran her bony crinkled fingers through her grey
tangled hair and squinted harder. ‘Name yourself boy!’ <br /><br />‘I’m
Dan,’ I looked up, feeling nervous and guilt for walking in here
uninvited. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you. See it’s raining outside and I
thought this house was abandoned so wanted to take shelter.’ <br /><br />She
looked at me for a while, as if she was sizing me up, judging whether
what I said was true or not. Then she slowly tottered down a set of
stoned spiraling stairs just to the right of where she was stood. She
staggered towards me. <br /><br />‘I’m sorry’ she spoke in a high pitch voice ‘I didn’t quite hear your name.’ She said lifting her ear more towards my mouth. <br /><br />‘I’m
Dan’ I said slightly louder, but not loud enough so it seemed like I
was shouting and being rude. She smiled at me the chuckled slightly. <br /><br />‘You must be hungry Dan.’ She slowly stumbled off to the other end of the `room, working her way around the rotting obstacles. <br /><br />‘I’m ok thank you. I will just go now.’ I say loudly, hoping it would travel well enough. <br /><br />‘Don’t
be silly,’ she shoed my comments off ‘You can’t go out in this.’ She
pointed to one of the larger holes in the ceiling where the most of the
water was pouring inwards. ‘I’ll cook you something up,’ She paused for
a second ‘it’s been quite a while since I’ve had a visitor.’ She
sighed. <br /><br />I felt slightly sorry for her, she seemed like a lovely,
kind women and the rain outside seemed to be getting worse. I decided
to stay for a while until the rain settled a little. Maybe she will know
the way out I thought to myself. <br /><br />The elderly woman opened a few
draws and cupboards, pulling out half rusted knives and pans, which
clanged together and echoed round the room. She then looked over at me
and smiled, tottering her way through the rubble. She came up close. <br /><br />‘What was your name again?’ She asked kindly, I could tell that her memory was not as good as it used to be. <br /><br />‘It’s
Dan.’ I said kindly, she then smiled. I looked behind her for a second
at where she had she come from, and noticed that she had not got out any
ingredients to cook with. I looked down at her petite fragile frame and
kindly asked. ‘What will you be cooking?’ <br /><br />She smiled at me,
almost chuckling, I wondered what about. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in
my stomach, at first I fought it was nausea. Wondering if maybe I had
stayed out in the rain too long and caught some sort of cold that was
already turning its ugly head. <br /><br />Then I noticed the pain was cold
and metallic. I looked down at the rusted small knife stuck in just
below my stomach, the darkness of my blood seeping through my t-shirt
and running down my body. At the end of the knife was the old woman’s
bony fingers. <br /><br />‘Why you are!’ She cackled as she pulled the knife
out and slid it back in. I fell to my knees and she bit at my neck,
ripping away a chunk of flesh. ‘Bon appetite’ She smiled with blood and
flesh hanging from her teeth. <br /><br />The pain became too much for me and blackness surround. </span></span>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-79573936142572990552012-10-31T21:04:00.001-07:002012-10-31T21:04:58.305-07:00The Gray's House by Matt Thomas<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">It’s pitch black, nothing can be seen around you. You reach out to find
the wall and stumble your hands over to the switch on the light. You
panic for a few seconds unable to find it, worried about what you may
find. There are strange grinding noises coming from in front of you.
Part of you does not want to find out what they are, you want to turn
back and run away, but there that small part of you that is stronger,
its fighting back, it’s inquisitive and curious to see what is in this
house.<br /><br />The creaking of the floor boards underfoot make your hear
race, it fills you with terror and excitement in the same beat. You give
up on finding the light switch and carefully step forward, not wanting
to make much noise. You almost seem to tip toe forward.<br /><br />Each time
you take a step dust particles fly around, they tickle your nose and
your eyes, making you feel dizzy. The small of damp contrasts to that of
the dust being kicked up, it confuses your senses and makes you feel
light headed, but you still continue forward.<br /><br />Suddenly you
remember you brought a flash light, you feel slightly embarrassed in
yourself for not thinking to use it earlier to find the switch. You sigh
and pull at the string round your wrist so the torch levels upward
toward your hand. You grab it and turn it on, the bulb flickers and
produces a thin beam of light, and it isn’t as strong as you first
anticipated when choosing it.<br /><br />You turn round, trying to look back
at the wall you once was stumbling over, you see if there’s any sort of
switch, there is nothing but torn dark wallpaper and cobwebs. You
shiver and look down at your hands; they are coated in the thick webbed
substance. You fiercely wipe your hands on your clothes felling a
sickness in your stomach as you think of the eight legged creatures
which created these webs, as you do so you let the torch drop; it
catches itself with the string round your wrist, but hits you in your
side winding you slightly. <br /><br />You curse yourself for this action,
grab at the torch again and continue to follow the direction of the wall
round. ‘This place has to have a light somewhere’, you tell yourself.
As you follow the wall round you start to notice dirt and grime on the
wallpaper, the colour is dark, tricky to place through the lack of light
your mind starts running with possibilities and it excites you a
little. ‘Maybe the rumours about this house were true’ you start to
recall the rumours you heard whilst still following the wall round with
your poor shaft of light.<br /><br />The stains start to get bigger and more
defined, they worry you, you suddenly want to leave scared of finding
worse, but you can’t leave yet, you haven’t found anything and if you
left you knew you would forfeit the dare and therefor loose.<br /><br />You
started to curse Peter under your breath for making you enter this house
‘I dare you to stay in the Gray’s House’ you hear his high pitched
voice and chuckle in your head and snarl, thinking of a way to get him
back next time.<br /><br />You suddenly notice something on the wall that
stops your thoughts in their tracks. There on the wall in front of your
poor shaft of light lays a set of markings, they almost look like
lettering. You step up closer to get a better look.<br /><br />The colour of
the stained markings becomes more noticeable and darker, it’s a
brownish reddened colour, and you still can’t see what the markings are
so you take a few more steps forward. Then it hits you, you can see what
it says and you wish you had never seen it.<br /><br />On the wall scribed
in this red substance were two warning words. The words ‘GET OUT’
scrolled down the wall. You get scared you panic, thinking that you had
over stayed your welcome.<br /><br />Suddenly the darkness is swarmed by a
bright light, your eyes shocked into temporary blindness, you don’t want
to open your eyelids to see who, or what just switched on the lights,
and yet for some strange reason you are compelled to. You open your eyes
and suddenly realise what the markings are made with.<br /><br />The dark
blooded hand prints trickling down the wall brought fear filled tears to
your eyes, your heart sunk in your chest, you panic and turn to head
for the door. You see that stood at the door was a tall shadowed figure
with piercing pale eyes. Fear builds up inside you as the figure is
suddenly standing in front of you, still covered in shadows, a few large
noticeable scars and those wild piercing eyes. The shadow grabes you by
the throat, you struggle and tears escape your eyes, wishing you had
stayed at home.<br /><br />The figure throws you against the wall, you hit
it with force. As you hit the wall a shooting pain spirals down your
side. His voice then booms across the room towards you, it makes you
freeze on the spot and fills your throat with panic and fear.<br /><br />‘Welcome to my house’ he cackles. ‘We are going to have so much fun.’</span></span>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-33441431989336620022012-10-29T08:55:00.000-07:002012-10-29T08:55:00.693-07:00An Irish barber’s tale by Martin Lochner<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On
busy station road you will find an old barber shop with red chevron
pillars and a small retro signboard depicting a male with a pipe. The
little shop is no bigger than my apartment living room and is snuggled
between a ruffian biker bar and a pawn shop. With rowdy fist fights on
the left and drunks selling their last possessions on the right you
could go to Uncle Sweeney’s for a decent crew cut and a story.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Uncle Sweeney survived the D-Day battle in Normandy but lost all of
his family due to the war. There was famine in Ireland and he felt
there was nothing for him to go back to. He was allegedly standing at
the Southampton harbour and received two voyage passages to two
different countries.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">United States was the one destination and South Africa the other
one. He allegedly flicked a coin and the toss would decide where he
would find his pot of gold. The result put him on the vessel that
sailed for Cape Town.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He would later recall that fortune was on his side when he tossed
that coin because New York was already crowded by the Irish and that
the Limerick Gang were looking for him due to an outstanding bookie
account. When Sweeney made the advance he was convinced that he would
not survive the battle and therefore spend the “little amount” on the
brothel and drink before the eve of the battle.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Arriving in Cape Town he had only two Service hair cutters he stole
and concealed in his army back pack with a nifty scissor and shaver set
he removed from a dead Nazi on the front. Feeling some gratitude for
the allied forces that taught him to cut hair, he decided to make it
his trade in South Africa.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When you enter the little shop, the smell of spirits, powder and
Jojoba oil lingered in the air and the old Panasonic played crackling
songs of Frank Sinatra and Billy Holiday. The walls were crowded with
yellow stained pictures of old and dead heroes of the past and the
magazine closest to my chair reported the big flood of 1977.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Uncle Sweeney’s assistant looked at me while finishing a small boy’s
hair and said” The old man died in his sleep last night but his wife
left a small note with a bottle of Jameson for you ”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Martin, it seems Sweeney had premonition of his death and wrote this letter with a bottle of whiskey for you”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sweeney’s note with Poem:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ah my lad...you knew me best! I return your poem back to you with a
bottle of the good stuff and for god sake no mixing it with Coca Cola! I
have no regret and love you from my Heart of hearts ...find yourself a
decent barber that knows how to cut sheep’s hair!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My friend Sweeney</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the roaring laughter</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">ridiculous tales</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">sold as the truth</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">he was unstoppable</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">those evenings at the hearth</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">we exchanged views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">between a bottle of whisky</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">as the mellow drink settled inside us</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and the last red embers died</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I saw his face damp and the heartbreak</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">of a thousand Irish families in it</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">rubbing he complained about allergies</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">telling me a limerick and cracking the seal</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">of another good label</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Post Script: Funeral speech</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">10 Life lessons old man Sweeney taught me:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 Home is everywhere you go, it is right inside you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2 Every job is noble and worthwhile when done with passion and gratitude</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3 Accept the hardships of life and compose a Limerick for each disappointment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4 Enjoy the good in your life and toast every happy event with a tot of good Irish whisky</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5 Live as if there is no tomorrow and if the next day arrive run like hell!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6 Never lose a fight against a woman but if you win than God must help you!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7 A man without a tale or a song is no man.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">8 Dishonesty is not good but if you must: lie the truth</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">9 Be true to yourself and be of the same cheerful mood every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">10 Make the most of the little resources you have and help others.</span></div>
Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-25540226394252288582012-10-29T08:53:00.000-07:002012-10-29T08:53:12.991-07:00The Two Suited Men by Matt Thomas<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>As two teenage boys sat on the
front porch of a house, a car with tinted windows pulls up. The doors open, and
two men in black suits get out and start walking towards them.</i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The boy on the left looked at
the other boy, wondering what these two men wanted. As they came closer both
boys looked at each other, they take a slight gulp of air and sigh nervously.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The two men reach the house,
they are both wearing black shades, even though the sky’s dull and cloudy; the
air is close and thick. They stop by the steps of the porch and in
synchronisation both take off their sunglasses.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The man on the left seemed to be
slightly older, shorter and a little bit more worn than the other, but except
from this they almost looked identical.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The slightly older man spoke
first.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘Which one of you is Harry?’ He asked,
glancing between the two boys looking for signs of weakness. One of the boys
stood. He had dark brown hair, was very tall and slim, yet thought he was tough
and strong.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘Who’s asking?’ He demanded as
the other, blonde haired boy, sat, watched and wondered.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘I’ll take it you’re Harry then,
shall I?’ The younger man said, stepping forward onto the first porch step. As
soon as he did so the brown haired teenager took a nervous step backwards.
Making him trip and almost stumbled back into his wicker chair.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The other boy, who had been
quietly watching, gulped and took a step forward and out of his chair. He
headed towards the suited men and placed out his hand.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘Harry Foster,’ he announced
with his clammy palm out-reached ‘How can I help you?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
Both men looked down at the
feeble peace offering and sneered, rejecting all gratitude. Harry awkwardly
dropped his hand back down to his side, then changed his mind and placed both
his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘We need to talk to you alone.’
The older man demanded and looked across at Harry’s brown haired friend as he
stumbled towards the group and interrupted.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘Nobody talks to Harry without
me.’ He paused. ‘I mean we don’t even know who you are.’ He looks at Harry for
support. Then back at the two men. The younger, suited man looked angry and was
about to take another step forward but the older man held him back. Harry then
interrupted.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘I’m sorry guys, but my friend
here is right. My mum would go mental if she found out I was talking to
strangers.’ </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
Both black suited men looked at
him simultaneously. The older man cleared his throat and spoke.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘I’m DCI Mills and this is my
partner DI Jones. We have come to ask you a few questions.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
Harry’s friend looked out the
two officers, wary of what they were saying.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘If you are officers, shouldn’t
you be wearing uniforms?’ He questioned them. Both harry and his friend looked
at each other, Harry nodded and looked back.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘Patrick’s right’ He grinned. ‘Surely
you would show us your badges from the start.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The two men looked at each other
and sighed. They both instantaneously reached into apposing pockets, which were
inside their black jackets.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘We didn’t want to do this.’ The
younger man said and, in sync, both men pulled out revolvers and pointed them
at the two boys.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
Both boys stepped back in shock,
raised their sweaty arms slightly, wishing they had never questioned the two
suited men as much. They both looked at each other in terror. Patrick was about
to open his mouth to question the men again but Harry glared at him. Patrick
instantly closed his mouth again.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘Get in the car.’ The older man
ordered. ‘We have something to show you.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
Both of the boys unwillingly
walked to the car whilst the men pressed the barrels of their guns into the
back of the teenagers’ neck. He boys opened the doors of the car and climbed
in.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
The doors slammed behind them
and the men got into the front. The younger man pointed his gun at the two boys
as the older man started the car.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
‘You should have just
co-operated from the start.’ He said they set off to their unknown destination.</span></span>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-60369738305340577292012-10-26T11:46:00.000-07:002012-10-26T11:46:19.427-07:00Grandpa by Lisa Dempsey<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">When
I first met my future father-in-law, it was hate at first sight. I
nicknamed him “The Irish Archie Bunker”. He was nasty, disagreeable,
obnoxious, unpleasant, prejudiced, sexist and judgmental. (Now let me
tell you how I REALLY feel!!!) I heard story after story from family and
friends of how he used to be fun, loving, and pleasant, but I just
could not believe they were talking about the same man. I knew he’d had a
rough life. His dad had died real young and left him responsible for
taking care of his mom and 3 brothers. He had multiple health problems, a
business stolen out from under him by someone he trusted, and some
harrowing and disturbing experiences while serving in The Korean war
(which he would not talk about). These things certainly affected him
deeply. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt for a long time,
find ways to love him and appreciate him, (or just tolerate him) but he
was just miserable. He was not a nice Grandfather either, and he and I
had a number of “heated discussions” about how he would belittle my
daughter or mercilessly tease her, bringing her to tears. <br /> <br /> One
of our bigger fights was about religion and the decision that Ed and I
made to forego any organized religion for our children. He knew I was an
atheist, and was not happy when we told him we would not baptize his
grandchildren. Being devout Catholics, he and my mother-in-law (a saint
if there ever was one) were worried that the children would not be
welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven without it. He said I would regret
it, I said I’d felt this way since I was 19 years old and that my
feelings would not change. He said “stranger things have
happened”…..(one of his many favorite expressions). He remained
miserable.<br /> <br /> Then a funny thing happened. I had another baby. He
told my mother-in-law that THIS one was “his”. He was now realizing that
when Melanie came to visit, she rushed directly into my mother-in-laws
arms for hugs and kisses, then to Uncle Jimmy. She had to be prodded to
even say hello to him. She was afraid of him and didn’t like him. As she
grew older, he saw how much he’d missed by being so stodgy and mean.
His own granddaughter didn’t want to be with him!! <br /> <br /> From the
moment Delaney was born, she WAS his!! He was caring and funny, generous
and loving. He called her “Sweet Pea” and played games with her.
Melanie was now seeing a different “Pop-pop”. He was softer with her and
so wonderful, she was loving him up as well! Now, don’t get me wrong,
he was still difficult and ornery about most things, especially about
religion. He was still pissed that we didn’t baptize the kids. But
whenever the kids were concerned, he was a changed man. Delaney never
once saw the mean Pop-pop, so she was crazy about him, and they were
very close.<br /> <br /> When Delaney was 8, I woke up about 3AM to hear her
talking. When I went into her room, she was staring into the corner,
nodding her head and saying something about water. Now, she had had
imaginary friends when she was younger, but the conversations she had
with those friends were animated and lively. That night it was almost as
if she was in a trance. I figured I knew what I was seeing. As a child,
I was a sleepwalker and a sleeptalker. I’ve been told that I’d had
entire conversations with my mother that didn’t make sense, emptied toy
boxes into bathtubs and done all sorts of other crazy things in my
sleep. I outgrew those episodes by about 9 or 10. I’d never seen her do
it before, but I figured I was seeing what my mother experienced with me
as a child.<br /> <br /> Here is the conversation as I remember it:<br /> Me: Who ya talking to, honey?<br /> Delaney: Pop-pop<br /> Me: Well, it’s the middle of the night. You have school tomorrow. Let’s go to sleep now. You can call and talk to him tomorrow.<br /> Delaney: No, I can’t. Pop-pop says he has to go.<br /> Me: Where is he going?<br /> De: I don’t know, but it’s far away. ….Mommy?<br /> Me: What, babe?<br /> De: Pop-pop says I don’t have to be baptized.<br /> Me: well, I’m glad to hear that.<br /> (she’s still staring into the corner and speaking in monotones)<br />
De: He says I don’t have to have cold water on my head, I will still
see him in Heaven anyway (we’d never talked to the girls about Heaven,
but I figured my in-laws had)<br /> Me: of course you will, a long time from now….<br />
De: He says I HAVE to go to college, that he has some money for me to
go, right? (asking the empty corner) But not enough, so I still have to
get a job.<br /> Me: (laughing) Good…’cuz college is real expensive….(trying to lay her down now) What are you looking at?<br /> De: Pop-pop...I TOLD you...he’s telling me all the STUFF before he goes.<br /> Me: (now feeling a little queasy) Like what?<br /> De: like he loves me…(nodding her head at the wall) and he loves YOU too…<br /> (Now I look to the corner, but there’s nothing there)<br />
De: ‘Night, Pop-pop, love you too (then she looks at me and says “Can I
have bologna for lunch tomorrow?” and lays down and falls right to
sleep)<br /> <br /> After that it took me a long time to fall back asleep
as I told myself it meant nothing, rationalizing that she’d been
sleepwalking. The next morning, I asked her about it and she remembered
absolutely NOTHING. She said she was so tired the night before that she
fell asleep right away and didn’t wake up until I woke her up for
school. I told the kids a little of the conversation, she said it was ME
who must’ve been dreaming. She and Melanie were laughing, and I said
“yeah, like Pop-pop would ever admit that I was actually right….” and
both girls, almost simultaneously said “Hey, stranger things have
happened” and we all got a good laugh out of it. I felt much better and
got them off to school. <br /> <br /> I was just about to leave for work
when I got the call from my mother-in-law. She said that my
father-in-law had died the night before. Later, the coroners report
would put the time of death at around 3am (just the time my daughter was
talking in her room). A few days later I learned that he had set up
college funds for both my daughters. Not a lot, but a start.<br /> <br /> To
this day, I’m not sure what to make of it. Delaney still has no memory
of it. I tell myself sometimes that it didn’t happen, that I DID dream
the whole thing. I’m not clairvoyant at all, and the timing is too
coincidental NOT to mean anything. I didn’t feel anything, or experience
anything. There was no light in the room, no “energy” or feeling or
breeze or smell. No funny buzzing noises or weird coolness. It was a
regular night. But SHE felt something (even though she doesn’t remember
it). What to make of him “telling” her that she didn’t need to be
baptized after all, that she’d still get to see him in heaven? Or him
“telling” her he had stuff to tell her before he had to “go”? What to
make of the college funds that she mentioned that no one knew about? She
was 8 years old, we had NEVER talked to her about college at that
point.<br /> And something else...she has NEVER walked or talked in her
sleep again. As far as I know, it was a one-time thing. So was it really
the same type of sleepwalking I'd experienced as a kid, or something
entirely different? I’d like to say “Stranger things have happened”, but
it’s simply not true...this is THE strangest thing that’s ever happened
to me.</span></span></span></span></h5>
Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-30801328016756521572012-10-25T08:12:00.002-07:002012-10-25T08:12:09.100-07:00Electric Boogie by Dale Garman<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">I
have always had an interest in the paranormal. While a student in high
school during my 10th grade, I was enrolled in the gifted program. One
of our assignments over the course of the school year was to produce a
research paper on a topic of our vocational or avocational interest.
When my gifted teacher reviewed the topic I had chosen, she kind of had a
brow-bending look on her face – my topic was parapsychological
phenomena. So, part of my research would involve learning about reports
of apparitional experiences.<br /> <br /> At that time, I had not
experienced any personal encounters with ghosts – it was all purely
hypothetical. It wasn’t until I was in my late 30s/early 40s (I can’t
remember exactly what year this occurred) that I actually had an
encounter.<br /> <br /> While living in Sanford, FL, I decided to join a
local community theatre – one of my other avocations. I joined the
Shoestring Theatre in Lake Helen, FL. I was involved in a couple of
plays working on the technical crew – Little Shop of Horrors and Little
Women. It wasn’t until I had enlisted for my third production (Harvey –
the one about the invisible rabbit LOL), I believe in the spring of
2002, that I heard that the theatre was supposedly haunted.<br /> <br />
Rumor had it that some of the former cast and crew members in previous
productions had seen a little girl and heard her singing at times. It
was even mentioned in an article of the theatre’s newsletter once (see
below).<br /> <br /> Well, I witnessed two of three incidents that occurred over the course of the final weekend of the play, Harvey.<br /> <br />
1st incident: On Saturday, as a few casts members were gathering
backstage to prepare for the performance, the atmosphere was ELECTRIC.
Everyone was excited – Saturday performances most always were, because
many of the cast and crew had family and friends attending to see the
performance on Saturdays – there was a lot of energy in the air, a
vibrancy of the living. The handyman who built our sets came in to the
room with his little, 4-or-5-year-old daughter trailing him. She was
laughing and giggling and telling her Daddy – “look at the girl up there
Daddy, she’s funny” – maybe not in those words, but you get the gist.
What she was pointing at was the corner of the room where wall meets
ceiling. There was nothing there. But, the little girl was seeing
something which amused her.<br /> <br /> 2nd incident: That same night, I
was backstage in the men’s dressing room with another actor preparing
for our final scene. As we were getting dressed, we were standing
face-to-face talking to each other. At the same instant during our
conversation – his eyes veered to the right and my eyes veered to the
left – while the hair on both of our necks stood up. A noise had
interrupted our conversation. To our side was the bathroom for the
men’s dressing room where a paper towel roll was rapidly and frantically
unrolling itself to the floor. It was a full roll – and it all ended
up on the floor.<br /> <br /> 3rd incident: As I was on the technical crew
also for Harvey, part of my job was to make sure the actors and
actresses were ready for their cue. During our Sunday performance, I
went to find one of the actresses due on stage. When I went to the
women’s dressing room, she was pounding on the door and yelling “Let me
out.” I simply turned the knob to the door – no problem. Asking her
why she couldn’t open the door, she said it had slammed and she heard a
female voice scream “No!!!” as it slammed. All her efforts to open the
door yielded nothing but a jammed door.<br /> <br /> So, there’s my story. I
never actually saw a little girl or heard any vocal utterings from the
supposed apparition that haunts the theatre. But, I am convinced to
this day that there were no “tricks” being played – no fishing lines or
pulleys or anything like that. Believe me - that paper towel roll was
moving at an astounding speed and any wires or pulleys being used to
guide the feat would have become tangled – it’s Murphy’s Law. And, if
the handyman’s little daughter was just putting on a performance, then, I
hope to see her one day on Broadway – because she was very convincing.
As for the jammed door – your guess is as good as mine.<br /> <br /> I was
never in fear for my or others’ safety while witnessing these incidents.
It’s almost as if the unseen presence was playful. Just an unseen
presence, wanting to dance with mere mortals - like electricity wanting
us to dance the…</span></span></span></span></h5>
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Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-31403800673170492282012-09-06T09:02:00.004-07:002012-09-06T09:02:47.665-07:00Slipping Away by Mark David<b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;">Day by day<br />It is all slipping away<br /><br />hours<br />minutes<br />seconds<br />days<br />years<br />hopes<br />fears<br />joys<br />sorrows<br />memories<br />more memories<br />new memories<br />old memories<br />just memories<br /><br />day by day</span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />my youth slips away</span></span></b>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-68798591298911510172012-08-28T12:17:00.003-07:002012-08-28T12:17:24.172-07:00The Rush and the Drain<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I can feel it. Shortly after the rush there is the drain.
The rush is so exhilarating that I am sure the drain has started long
before the rush comes, but you don't feel it. Then, that powerful rush.
It jolts through your whole body. Like an electric shock. You feel no
pain. You don't notice anything around it but the rush itself. But, the
rush ends.<br />
You know the rush is coming. You have been there before. It is always as
good as the last time. Maybe even better sometimes. All the whole time,
you are aiming for that rush. You know that rush feeling and you have
to have it. It is all you can think of when you are draining every last
ounce of energy out of your body in pursuit of it.<br />
Then you are numb. Satisfied, but numb. Then, after a while, you just lie there, and you feel the drain.<br />All
the energy you once had, you once expended, is gone. The drain has
taken effect. The rush is but a memory. A great memory, but a memory.
You remember the rush, but that great feeling is long gone and you can
barely, if at all, remember the feeling of the rush. The rush lives in
the moment, and the moment is brief. Then it is gone. The rush's
by-product, the drain, has taken its grip. It lasts much longer and you
always remember the feeling of the drain, even as you approach the rush
again. You know the drain is coming after the rush, and you know it
doesn't feel good. But, you don't care. You want the rush, at any costs.<br />
I keep telling myself that I will never do this again. Drain myself like
this. It is unhealthy. It serves no purpose, other than the incredible
rush it brings. I tell myself I won't succumb to the rush, but I know I
will. As soon as the drain has ended, and the energy has accumulated
again, I will seek out the rush and drain myself again. And again. And
again. And again. One day, the energy simply won't return. Or the hunger
for the rush won't be there anymore. Or, maybe it will always be there
and I will be the slave to the master that is the rush. <br />
As bad as the drain is, the rush is much more powerful and overwhelming.
I am the moth to the light. No matter how much I know about the rush,
and the drain, I will fly into that light until the rush is not powerful
anymore. That means, likely, never.</span></div>
Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-63227014076986724322012-08-13T08:57:00.001-07:002012-08-13T08:57:22.511-07:00No Way Out by Mark David<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The stairs were winding but no matter which direction I
went, I kept ending up back where I started. Which was nowhere. I tried
the elevator, but the result was the same. I started on the ninth floor
and I always ended up there. There seemed to be no way out. I had had
this dream for many years, but it was always the same dream, the same
building, the same place. But I woke up this day and realized it wasn't
really a dream. It was also a reality.<br />
The people there seemed to want to keep me there. They liked that I
never went further. Never achieved the greater path. They did achieve
the greater path and they liked that I didn't. They could maintain and
use me there and know I would never leave. I could not leave. I didn't
know the path to freedom from myself, not to that point anyway.<br />
I always found my way there all right, but I have no idea how I got
there. Almost as if I had arrived without making the journey. I was just
there. When I looked around, I was always there. If only I could figure
out how I got there, I might be able to figure out how to leave. Or,
at least how to return to the finish, which might have been the start. <br />
It was always that way for me. Getting there is easy. Getting stuck in
limbo is even easier. Leaving when it is complete and not returning to
the same endless pit of limbo was much more difficult. Difficult is a
relative term. Impossible seemed to be a better one. I could never find
my way to the finish line. <br />
Life was a bunch of promising starts with no finishes. Every road led
back to the start, which was a promising yet pointless start because
that is all it ever was. <br />
The dream always went that way. So did the reality in life. If all my
starts could add up to one great finish, then it would all be worth it.
So far, it had been nothing but worthless.</span></div>
Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-84695235903365364572012-07-31T09:37:00.001-07:002012-07-31T09:37:14.273-07:00the aliens by Martin Lochner<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="color: blue;" /></span><br />
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It felt like Christmas in my suburb with local choral groups
parading the streets, singing gospel songs and waving candles. The
churches were full to the brim and plastic chairs were put on the lawn
for the unlucky ones that could not get a seat inside.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A big screen television was mounted outside and a Pastor delivered a
booming speech about the book of revelation and the end of all the
sinners. “This is the fullest I ever saw the St Thomas Evangelist
church.” I thought.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Driving was extremely difficult with whole families walking in their
pyjamas and crowding the streets. They were armed with family bibles
and were probably going to join up with the singing or congregate at
the church.”So mother were right about the craziness that was occurring
here at home”</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was pulling up at the garage when father ran from the porch
towards me” Come in! The streets went nuts when they made the
announcement this evening” As I walked in I saw the neighbours
curtains was closed and no sign of John that usually watered his garden
at this time. “Where is the Gillian family dad “I enquired from the
old man that was now pushing me into the front door?”</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mother was standing now in the corner of the entrance and answered
me weakly ” Dick ,we heard shots go off .” Father chipped in “ it was
gun shots ....I think they killed themselves” Did any of you contact
the Police “ I asked and they looked at me blankly .Mother was tearing
up and said dryly “ Does it matter Dick ,in 48 hours life as we know
it....”she then collapsed unto her knees and was sobbing.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Jesus Mom ,they could not confirm it definitely and they are still
investigating if this piece of junk in the sky is a hoax....come on let
me help you up, we need to pack ,we are leaving the city “ I am not
leaving my house for the looting bands to plunder “ Father said picking
up his Lee Enfield and waving it. “ For fuck sake listen to me ! We
were fleeing from a looting gang that ravaged a whole city and the
radio said that they were on their way to the affluent neighbourhood of
Goodwood .It is a score of at least 500 heavily armed men coming to
rape and plunder ”</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">2</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s not a good idea Dick leaving like this, the Police
Commissioner said that we must stay at our homes” Dad said from the
back seat. Mother nervously looked at Dad for support and said “ They
also said that if these things saw us fleeing then the changes was
greater for them to attack us” Feeling growing irritation I stopped the
car and turned around to face them “ My dear parents I am taking you
to the remote desert where we will be out of the centre of attention.
Mother removed some knitting work out her bag and dad sang the chorus
part of the final countdown that played on the radio.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We arrived at the desert and we drove to one of the old missionary
stations that were left abandoned after they gave up on the pagan
Bushmen. These poor believers did not yield one converted Bushmen for
the Kingdom but rather followed these little men into the bush to
learn their shamanism to the outrage of the church.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“ It seems other clever folks already beat us for the best rooms
in the old building” I said when I saw activity and vehicles at the
camp. Mother dropped her knitting and said staring into the glaring
distance “ It seems they are sending out a welcoming committee because
cars are coming towards us.”</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As the blots increased in definition it was the National defence
force vehicles and they were hooting their vehicles and some of the
troopers shouted at us.” What is their bloody case and look that one
soldier is aiming his canon at us ! “</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Boom! Boom! Boom!</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The vehicle explodes when the bullets hit the body of the
vehicle.Dick somehow survived when the impact of the projectile
violently ripped him out of the car.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Almost completely paralyzed he tries to lift his head to see if his
parents survived but is unable to do so and can only hear the screams
of his father” I am burning ,oh god help me” A shot goes off and dad
fell silent.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A soldier stands over him saying “ What the hell are you doing here
!” Dick somehow pulls himself up slightly and observes in the distance
big mounted missiles. Crying Dick says “ Should you not focus on rather
killing the aliens that threatens our planet, you fucking murdering
bastards!</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Soldier smirks and says “ there is no alien’s man...the image in
the sky is an illusion of light and image and the media reports are
all false. Those missiles are intended to reduce the total of the
undesirable human population on earth . Certain ghetto towns, scoundrel
countries will be wiped off this earth”</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately you now possess privileged information and must be
terminated. The sound of a 9 mm echoes and the countdown starts :</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">10</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">9</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">8</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">7.........</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-68678470002102798462012-07-31T09:36:00.000-07:002012-07-31T09:36:03.348-07:00HornedToad by River Jordan<div style="color: blue; margin: 1ex;">
<div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">As a surprise, we were staying at
my gramma’s house in McAllen, Texas, for the summer. We drove all
day yesterday and were so tired we went straight to sleep and slept
all night until the next morning. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">It felt strange waking up and not
knowing where I was. I looked around and saw mom and Darla in the same
bed with me and I felt comfortable enough to sit up and look around.
Then I remembered we were at Gramma’s house and I smiled. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">The spicy scent of chorizo and eggs
wafted in from the kitchen and my stomach made a growling noise. I could
hear Gramma singing in the kitchen while she cooked. Scooching down
I slipped off of the foot of the bed so I wouldn’t wake Darla and
mom. After brushing my teeth, I wandered into the kitchen, knowing it
would just be the two of us. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Buenas dias, nina!” She hugged
and kissed me like she always does, squeezing me tight. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Buenas dias, Abuelita! Mmmm it
smells so good!” I said as my stomach growled. I sat down at the table
and Gramma served me a plate of warm chorizo and eggs along with a flour
tortilla. It was smaller than she normally made them, special just for
me. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Grampa slammed the back door as he
walked in the kitchen, grabbing his cup of coffee before sitting across
from me. Leaning down, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Daisy,
we been seein’ a lotta horned toads.” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Grampa! May I have one, please?”
I was used to asking for pets and he was used to me asking for them.
He said yes and of course I gave him a big hug. He sat me on his lap
and brought my plate over to eat on his lap. “Grampa, I’m too heavy!”
</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Well, you are the baby of the
family…” he smiled down at me. I waited, knowing what he was going
to say, “…baby elephant!” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">I didn’t particularly like being
treated like a baby, but as long as Darla wasn’t awake to witness
it, I was okay. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Making fast work of my breakfast
that was so delicious, I hugged Gramma, “Thanks Gramma, that was the
best breakfast ever!” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Mija, you don’t need to say
that,” she laughed, “I’ll be cooking all weekend.” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“I can’t wait for lunch already!”
</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Later that day, my cousins Delilah
and Beverly came over with my aunt and uncle. I was outside trying to
catch horned toads since Gramps said I could have one for a pet. Mom
had said no, but Grampa over rode her decision since it was his house.
</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">We ran around playing freeze tag
for a while but it was already extremely hot and it wasn’t even lunch
time yet. We sat under the Mimosa tree for shade to cool off. We were
laughing and going on about this and that when out of the corner of
my eye I saw a horned toad. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Hey,” I said, “I’m gonna
catch me a horned toad!” Delilah and Beverly both exclaimed happily.
</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Go slow, Daisy, don’t scare
it off.” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">I crouched down low and duck walked
toward the bush the toad was cooling itself under. With horned toads
you had to go slow so they won’t spit in your eye. I had never been
spit in my eye and I didn’t want to. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Come on little toad, don’t you
wanna be my pet?” I whispered. “You’ll have all the crickets you
want to eat, so be good and let me catch you.” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">When I was within a couple feet of
the toad, I pounced on it. Screeching with joy I lifted the handful
of toad into the air. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“All right Daisy!” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Hurry, let’s find a box!” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Delilah and Beverly were both as
happy as I was. “Grampa, Grampa!” I yelled. “I got one, I got
me a horny toad pet!” Grampa came out with a shoe box and helped me
get him in there. He poked some holes in the lid so the toad would have
air to breathe. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">We all took turns looking into the
holes at the toad. “What are you going to name it?” Delilah asked
me. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“I’m going to name it…Star!”
We all giggled about that. The last time Grampa gave me a kitten I named
it Star too. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">We decided to take a ride on our
bikes. I placed Star’s shoebox in the basket of my bike and
we went down the road on our bikes. We stopped when we saw that
the cactus had some prickly pears on them. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“I’m gonna have me one of them
prickly pears!” I said. “I’m nine years old now.” I said, as
if that gave me the right to eat a prickly pear.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“No Daisy, Gramma says not to eat
them if she’s not here.” They tried to warn me but also they were
excited, too. Feeling like they could do it too without permission,
they grabbed one each.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">We grabbed the prickly pears, careful
to not touch the invisible prickles and peeled them casually as I’d
seen Darla do many times, to eat the yummy fruit.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">They went along cautiously peeling
the prickly. I’d already finished my fruit, before they even
took the first bite.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Not satisfied with just one, I took
the last one on the bush, feeling very much like an almost “tweenager”.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">In the first, big, happy bite, I
immediately cried out because I’d missed a prickly and it stuck horribly
in my tongue.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Ahhhh!” Tears streamed
down my face at the sharp pain in my tongue. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Oh, no Daisy, I told you to be
careful!” They both threw down their fruit as if it were on
fire, faces filled with concern.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">“Come on! Let’s go home!
Gramma will know what to do.” They got on their bikes and motioned
for me to do the same.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">I slowly got on my bike, making sure
Star was in the basket and not falling out.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Delilah and Beverly couldn’t help
but laugh as I rode along, tears streaming down my face, tongue lolling
out of my mouth. I wanted to laugh too, but it hurt too much!</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">Well, Gramma saved the day by running
a gentle fingertip along my too dry tongue and finding the teeny little
thorn. She took a pair of tweezers and gently pulled it out!</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','Arial';">That night I slept with Star’s
box, not able to enjoy gramma’s lunch or supper, but happily snuggling
with my new pet! The End</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-64615856946769051522012-07-28T12:15:00.004-07:002012-07-28T12:15:38.090-07:00A shot (of writing) in the dark by Mark David<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />It
is late at night. Very dark is the night. Hardly a streetlight to shed
any light on anything. The same things that are there in the light of
day are there in the dark of night. But they seem very different,
whether they even appear at all. Everything appears just that shade of
dangerous, mysterious in the dark of the night. You have no clue what
that movement you can identify during the light of day might be in the
dark of the night. It is just a sound or a movement. It could be
anything. Just like your thoughts. During the day they rarely amount to
much of anything. At night, in the dark and quiet of the night, they can
amount to anything. At night you can't see anything but you can see
everything. See the things you miss during the day even though they are
there all the time and right in front of you. You don't see them because
you are looking elsewhere.<br />I like walking in the dark. The darkness.
So much more peaceful. Less kids. Less dogs. Less people. More peace. I
walk for the peace. Sure, I walk for the exercise, but I also walk for
the peace, and to gather my thoughts into some sort of semblance of
gather.<br />
The darkness. Less distractions to distract me from my thoughts. I am
easily distracted and so reflective that any semblance of light that
sheds light on anything distracts me from gathering my thoughts into
what I want and need them to be. The darker it gets, or seems, the
clearer my thoughts seem to be. It seems that the dark night is my
bright light.<br />
It seems I can go all night. At some point I am so in the zone that I
don't even remember where I am or that I am even walking. My feet and
legs are moving fast in the right direction and my subconscious mind
knows the way, but I have no conscious mind of where I am. I am totally
lost in my thoughts. Like driving a car on a road and route I have
driven a thousand times before, I just carry on without paying any
attention to it. I only pay attention to my thoughts now. I am lost in
those thoughts. I will find my way home because my mind always knows
where home is. I will find my way back on the long dark walk because my
muse knows where my inspiration needs to go to be fed its daily meal of
survival.<br />
I will arrive at home but I will have no recollection of the things
along the way I would have noticed in the light of day. I am just a
vessel moving in the space and time but no vision other than my creative
mind, which is not paying any attention to the route I take. The only
thing that matters, or that I remember, are the thoughts that have
nothing to do with the walking.<br />
There is no chance of distraction. Or not much of a chance anyway. The
real world life doesn't exist on my walk from somewhere to nowhere and
then back to somewhere. Somewhere I don't always want to be. I like
being nowhere. Being no one. Being nothing but a sounding board for my
own thoughts and ideas. Not being pulled back into the reality of life. I
like existing on the outside of the reality of life. If even just for
an hour out of my day. I am isolated within myself.<br />
Isolation is togetherness and oneness for me. The more I isolate myself
the more together I feel. It won't last and it cannot. I know that. I
accept that. It must be brief and that is always the way it will be. I
must cherish it for what it is. A brief respite from the grind. The
mental grind of life that eats away at my creativity and vitality.
Slowly dissipating and looking for replenishment. The long walk in the
dark replenishes my dissipating vitality, only to begin dissipating
again as soon as it is done. It is like oxygen to me. It has to always
be replaced or I will die. <br />
It is a shot in the dark. A shot of creative adrenaline in the dark. I
can write, but I cannot write well if I don't replenish it in this way.<br />A shot of writing in the dark.<br />Now,
the light is trying to creep in. I don't mind. I expect the light to
try and creep in. It always does. Darkness is only appreciated when it
is compared to the light. We need light to appreciate dark. We
appreciate the light much more when we gain perspective in the dark.
They are each others ying to each others yang.<br />
I am walking in the dark, as the sun begins to rise and the light
finds its way into the picture. I know I am almost home now. The
darkness has ended and the light takes over. I have gained my thoughts.
Gathered my thoughts. In the light of the day, I will form those
thoughts into something that will carry me to the next night, when I
will venture out again into the dark and try to see the light...in the
dark.</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-24236780082935628442012-07-28T01:33:00.002-07:002012-07-28T01:33:29.270-07:00Chickensquawk by River Jordan<div style="color: blue; margin: 1ex;">
<div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">I’d arrived home late the night before. Gina,
Nieves and I had gone to the late show at the movies and then out to
eat afterward with other friends.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">Dad was awake even though it was 2am. “What time
is it?” he asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">“Not sure, Dad”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">“Get to bed.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">“Yessir” I did my nightly ablutions and was in
bed within 30 minutes. I was so tired I fell asleep immediately.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">I’ve always been a light sleeper and in the mornings
I would usually hover in that space between sleep and full wakefulness.
That next morning I realized that the back door (which was in my room)
was ajar. I wouldn’t say that I was afraid or startled because
a lot of times Mom would step outside to smoke a cigarette. But
I was concerned since it was still before dawn.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">I didn’t get up out of bed just tried to see if
mom was outside. Usually I’d see the red tip of the cigarette
as she inhaled. But tonight there was no sign or scent that meant
she was outside smoking.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">Deciding to investigate, I threw the covers back
toward the wall since my bed was flush with the wall. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">At that moment a blood curdling squawk ripped through
the room; followed immediately by my blood curdling scream. I
jumped right out of bed at the same time that the most frightening horribly
monstrous completely evil creature thrashed underneath my blanket.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">I looked around for a weapon but all I saw were shadows
creeping toward me, disguising themselves as piles of clothing or tennis
shoes. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">Suddenly I was running for all I was worth, faster
and faster as the creature let off some evil floating things into the
air.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">By this time everyone was awake and piling toward
my room. “Daisy, what is wrong with you?” my mom yelled.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">“Arrhhh, ahhhh, uhhgghhh,” was all I could say.
My incoherence seemed to strike their funny bones as Darla and mom began
to laugh. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">The world must be going insane, I thought.
My incredulous expression met theirs and I followed their gaze toward
the bed. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">There, calmly making its way off my bed, was a big
fat white chicken! Of course it would be a chicken, I thought. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">Soon everyone was laughing and I had to laugh, too.
My poultry bed mate strutted out the back door calmly and then was gone.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">We laughed until tears streamed from our eyes.
Them going on and on about how freaked out I looked and how I’d been
running in place so frantically. Yeah. Real funny, but I
know the real truth…</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">The frightening horribly monstrous completely evil
creature was REAL and just changed its form to safely escape me.
Word of my being a bratty warrior princess had finally made its way
into the Netherworld. I had prepared myself to face the creatures
of the dark but maybe I’d have to work on my game face a little.
No more running in place screaming like a banshee, just not really warrior
princess actions. *smiles* *winks* </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow','Arial';">The ENd</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-58129330119717895122012-07-23T17:43:00.001-07:002012-07-23T17:43:01.607-07:00ChickenPeeps By River Jordan<div style="color: blue; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mom!
I'm going to play outside!" It was the first day of summer break and I
was ready to play freeze tag with my friend Dottie from across the
street.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay,
don't go far!" Mom always let me play with Dottie, even when it was
dusk outside. "But don't go further than Dottie's yard. Darla, go with
your sister!" I knew that was coming. I let my breath go frustratedly,
but ran outside happily anyway. Darla was my older sister and everyone
thought she was cool. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We'd just moved into my great grandmother's house, it was tiny but had a big yard and lots of chickens. The kind that are not in cages. Our house out in the country had burned down and my Aunt Rachel had invited us to stay in great grandma's house. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dottie
and Cathy were waiting for us outside. We had a plan. First, we would
play Hide N Seek. Then, it would be storytelling time! </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hi Dottie! Hi Cathy!" I ran up to them. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Not it!" said Cathy.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Not it!" yelled Dottie as she ran off to hide. I looked at my sister Darla and knew that I'd be the Seeker for this game.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
covered my eyes with my arm and leaned my face against the Chinaberry
tree in the middle of our yard. "One, two, three..." I counted to fifty
and turned around, no sight of anyone!</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Cathy
would be easy to find, she always hid in Uncle Pete's workshop. I ran
as quietly as I could. I stood on tiptoe to look into the window.
Smiling confidently, I went around back and entered in through the back
door. She was crouched next to the front door because she was afraid to
go deeper into the darkness of the workshop. I wasn't and tapped her
on the shoulder.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Daisy!!" She shrieked. We both giggled and ran out to find the others. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We found Dottie up on a tree branch. Cathy jumped up and tapped her out.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">All
three of us spent the next ten minutes searching for Darla. She'd
hidden under the house which I would never do because there were spiders
down there!</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dottie reached in to tap her but couldn't reach her. We all declared Darla the winner, again.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It
was now full dark and we gathered around the huge Chinaberry tree and
attempted to scare each other silly. As usual we laughed until tears
squirted out of our eyes. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom called us in and we quickly made our plans for the next day.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0pt 0pt 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That night Mom, Darla and I slept in the strange metal bed next to the window. We prayed for Daddy to come home.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Soon
their sleeping muffled breaths whispered in the room. My shower that
proved to relax my mom and sister, did the opposite for me. I lay on one arm, looking out of the window up at the moon. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s
frightening to sleep in a strange house sometimes. But I must have
slipped into sleep because I remember waking later, my body twitching
awake as if I’d been startled.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
was awake but with my eyes closed. But they flew open when I heard a
strange noise. A little noise that sounded like a door creaking open.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I looked to see if the door had opened but it hadn’t.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The strange noises kept me awake and after a while I nudged my mom awake.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mom” I whispered, “wake up”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What is it Daisy?” she said sleepily.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />”What’s that noise?” It was more obvious now. A creaking noise, then a responding noise. The most scary images kept flitting through my mind.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s the chickens, they’re talking.” Mom said and promptly began to snore lightly again.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What?” The slow little creaks were actually chicken peeps? </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“They’re talking in their sleep.” Mama responded, frustration showing.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What are they saying?” The thought of chickens talking to each other mesmerized me and my mind flew with the possibilities.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Daisy, I don’t speak chicken, okay? Go to sleep, now.” </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I lay my head back down and thought about that for a minute. The thought of the chickens talking made me smile.
Suddenly I was giggling and my giggling woke Darla up. When I told her
what mom had said we were both giggling uncontrollably.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Girls! It’s the middle of the night, go to sleep!” We finally controlled our giggles and soon drifted off to sleep. The end.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Did I ever tell you about the time I woke with a chicken in my bed? </span></div>
</div>
</div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-69624247971857300262012-07-04T12:24:00.001-07:002012-07-04T12:24:17.564-07:00In Darkest Night by Christina Richter<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Crested moon and sundered sight<br /> Twisted hag and blackened night<br /> Once and thrice the shrew doth wail<br /> Shrouded by her bloodied veil<br /> Crowned by thorns and bound by woe<br /> ‘Neath rotting moors her seed doth sew<br /> Mercy hath no venture here<br /> Her sired succubus draws near.<br /><br />
A piercing scream sliced through the air and stabbed at her ears with
stark terror as she bolted upright in her bed. It took only a moment to
realize the scream was her own, leaving her throat raw and hoarse. Her
frail form shaking, slender fingers wiped at the beads of sweat that had
formed on her brow. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> It was coming more often now, the
nightmare ravaging her dreams these last few months. It was the same
thing every time and it always left her weak and looking over her
shoulder. “What did it all mean?” she wondered, frustration settling
deep in the hunch of her shoulders. With a sigh she fell back against
her disheveled pillows, reliving the dream in her mind.</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> That face, she shuddered. That face burned behind her eyes and wouldn’t
leave her even in her waking hours. Sometimes she often thought she saw
his face, swimming amid the crowd of bustling strangers. A jogger, the
soft and gentle face of an elderly woman, the Policeman on the corner,
their faces would suddenly melt into a grotesque and malevolent sneer
with cold, dead eyes. Maybe she was losing her mind. They say it runs in
the family. She was told her mother went crazy, spoke to shadows and
danced naked in the rain. I suppose there’s no harm in dancing but naked
in the downtown square chanting some garble about the devil siring your
bastard child was frowned upon. They locked her up, but as misfortune
would have it, she was found three days later hanging by her bed sheets.
Mary didn’t know her mother enough to grieve for her. Although she
supposed she grieved the idea of her. After having given her up at
birth, she spent much of her life in and out of the hell known as Foster
Care. She didn’t care to relive any of those memories.<br /><br /> Mary
swept the blankets off and stumbled into the bathroom. She flipped on
the light and leaned against the sink studying herself in the mirror.
Lines had started parading across her forehead and gray hair was peeking
out from her temples. Her eyes that were still puffy from sleep seemed
to have permanent bags under them, she was getting old. As she studied
herself a moment more, another sigh punched past her lips, today was
going to be a long day. </span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The brisk shower and strong coffee seemed to stave off the sleep
deprivation that kept nagging at her these days. She was even amicable
to the impatient jerks at the crosswalk that were always pushing and
shoving past. Instead of shoving back and barking “Watch it!” she just
grunted and kept on going, shoving her fists into her pockets. She even
kept her cool when Mr. Idiot Delivery Guy careened down the street that
she worked on at break neck speeds. “One of these days you’re going to
kill someone,” she muttered under her breath.<br /><br /> ***</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Hi, Mary!” came the elated voices of the kids at St. Luke’s Group Home.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
“Hey guys!” she smiled and waved to them all sitting in the games room.
She found it ironic that her field of work had been in the very area
that she had fought so hard to get away from, but these kids were
different. This was a special needs group home; all of the “friends”
were physically and/or mentally challenged.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Mary! Mary!” a young, smiling man yelled while running towards her with arms out stretched.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Hi, Tommy,” she laughed, taking him in for a big hug. “Have you finished your breakfast?”</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> He laughed and smiled wide, “Yeah!”<br /><br /> “Good boy!” she winked,
which made him clap and laugh happily. Tommy looked like any other 19
year old, but he had the mind of a 6 year and wouldn’t develop passed
that age. He had been in the home since he was 10, his father no longer
willing to care for a son who was “different”.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “I see that you have to finish your breakfast, Mary!” he said, pointing to the paper bag in her hand that had her Beggel.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
“That’s right, Tommy! I’m heading to my office right now and that’s
just what I’m going to do. Now, how about you go in there and make sure
that the others finish up their breakfast, ok?” </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Ok, Mary,” he replied, never making eye contact but smiling happily none the less.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
Mary smiled and reached out giving his arm a gentle squeeze, “Good
boy,” she whispered with a wink. She continued on her way to her office,
greeting her fellow staff members as she went. Just before she got to
her door she noticed David, one of the residents, peeking from behind a
corner watching her. She smiled knowing that he was shy and quiet. He
was what they referred to as “a lifer”, left on their doorstep as a
baby. His parents saw his down syndrome as a reason to abandon him.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Good morning, David,” she offered, hoping that it would draw him out to
talk to her, but the moment she spoke he had turned away and left,
probably fleeing to the safety of his room. “Hmm,” she muttered,
shrugging and then entering her office. There was a stack of messages
waiting for her on the desk, the usual “Mr. & Mrs. So and So want to
meet you about their son/daughter,” blah, blah, blah’s. She squared her
shoulders picking up the phone, “And the fun begins,” she sighed.<br /><br />
Mary worked right through lunch, someone brought her a tray but the
only thing she had eaten from it was the apple slices. Sitting, staring
at the computer screen was making her eyes burn…on top of the burn from
lack of sleep. She leaned back in her chair rubbing her eyes, taking a
long, deep breath. A second deep breath ended up as a yawn and it was on
the exhale that she noticed David standing outside her office watching
her again. “David?” she asked, tilting her head curiously. Startled he
jumped back and retreated.</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “David wait!” she yelled, getting up to follow him. He was already
halfway down the hall when she started after him. “David wait, please!
Why are you avoiding me?” He kept glancing over his shoulder at her;
there was a look of fear in his eyes that she needed to get to the
bottom of. She didn’t understand why he would be afraid of her. She had
to talk to him. “David, please…slow down, you’re way too fast for me!”
she laughed, hoping to ease the situation and get him to stop. She
managed to catch up to him in the hallway near his room and was able to
stop him from shutting his door on her. “David…” she pleaded, stopping
his door with her hand. “David, whatever is the matter? Why are you
trying to get away from me?” David cast his eyes down to the floor and
didn’t reply. “Have I done something to upset you?” He shook his head
no. “Has something happened?” Again he shook his head. “What is it then,
David?” He looked at her then and took her hand pulling her into his
room and ushering her to sit on his bed with him. “Ok, David…what is it?
You know you can tell me anyth—“<br /><br /> “You’re going to die!” David blurted.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> Mary stared at him a moment, “Excuse me?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “He’s coming,” he whispered.</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Who’s coming? David, what are you talking about?”<br /><br /> “The bad man with the scary face is coming! He’s going to get you, Mary!” he was looking at her with genuine fear in his eyes.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “David…” she put her hands on his shoulders, “did you have a bad dream? No one is coming to get me. I’m fine, ok?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “No! I saw it! He’s coming! I see him in my dreams and so do you, Mary!”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> Stunned, Mary looked at him shaking her head. He couldn’t possibly…”David…how do you know about my dreams?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> David looked down at his hands in his lap, “Sometimes I see things, Mary, things that come true.”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “What else have you seen, David?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “I saw when Tommy was going to break his arm last year and it came true, Mary! It came true!”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Yes, David, Tommy did break his arm but that doesn’t mea—“</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Someone else is going to die too.”<br /><br /> Mary searched David’s features looking for something that made sense. This was all crazy! “What do you mean, David?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
“Someone else is going to die. They’re going to be in a car accident
and it’s going to happen soon.” David sat there concentrating on his
hands, holding them tightly together.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Car accidents happen all the time, David…”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “This one will happen here on our street,” he said, pointing his finger downward, “right out front!”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “David, I—“</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
David suddenly flung his arms around her, “Please don’t go home
tonight, Mary! He’s there and he’s going to get you! I don’t want you to
die!”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> Mary slowly put her arms around him confused and
frightened; her heart beating against her chest. She was unable to say
anything, his words were echoing in her mind.</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> A moment later she looked up to see staff members running by, some were
on their cell phones speaking urgently. Mary got up and stuck her head
out the door, “What’s going on?” she asked one of the nurses running by.<br /><br /> “Someone just got hit out front!”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
Mary gasped and took off running behind the nurse. When they got
outside a crowd had gathered. The nurse pushed through the people hoping
that she could help. They cleared a path and let her through and when
Mary saw, her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. There, lying on the
pavement was an elderly man lying in a pool of blood. His body was
twisted, his neck snapped and his eyes were staring out vacant and
lifeless. About fifty feet away Mr. Idiot Delivery Guy stood talking on
his phone, he was pacing back and forth smoking a cigarette.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
The world around her began to spin, David’s words thundering in her
head. “He’s coming for you, Mary! He’s waiting for you!” and then
everything went black.</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ***<br /><br /> “Mary? Mary?” she heard somewhere in the fog. “I think
she’s coming around. Mary? Can you hear me?” Mary opened her eyes and
saw the nurse looking down at her smiling. “So good of you to come back
to us, that was quite the little fainting spill you took!”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> Mary sat up with some assistance and rubbed at her face and neck, “What happened?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
“Well, when you saw that poor man who got hit by the delivery van, you
just…” she gestured with her hands, “fell over and was out cold.”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “Is he—“ Mary looked at Brenda unable to continue.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
“Yes. He’s very much dead.” Mary could only stare, unable to form
words. “Listen, sweetie, I’m gonna have someone drive you home, ok?”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> Mary shook her head, more so to clear her thoughts, “Oh no, that’s not necessary, I’m fine.”</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
“Oh yes, I’m the nurse and I say, you’re gonna get a ride home.” She
looked sternly at Mary with a no if’s, and’s or but’s kind of glare.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> “A-alright…” she stuttered. “Alright, I’ll just go get my things.”</span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “No need. Fred!” the nurse yelled. From behind her stepped her assistant with Mary’s purse and sweater in hand.<br /><br />
“Oh.” Mary started to get up and hands shot out around her helping her
up. “Thank you,” she said mechanically, not bothering to look at their
faces.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> As she was helped into one of her co-worker’s cars, in
one of the front windows she saw the grim expression of David watching
her.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> At home she cracked some windows to let the breeze run
through, the summer heat already dampening her shirt with sweat. Laying
down she closed her eyes and thought about the man that died. The stare
of his dead eyes had stuck with her and she couldn’t shake that feeling.
Plus David’s words still echoed.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /> Sighing in frustration, she
decided that she wasn’t going to give his vision any power by fretting
over it. So she rolled over and went to sleep. Almost immediately the
nightmare came, the darkness, the whispers. Mary always saw his face at a
distance but the last little while his face had been closer in each
dream. Tonight’s dream had her almost within his reach. His horrific,
disfigured face sneering at her in a self-satisfied way that seemed to
say, “You’re mine.” He just stood there watching her and then all at
once he lunged at her and she screamed!</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Her scream woke her up and she bolted up right, the sheets and her
clothes drenched with sweat. Instantly she panicked because the room was
pitch black. She must have slept all day; she had forgotten to put any
lights on. Mary reached over and grasped her lamp chain and gave a
tug…nothing. Shit. She reached in the drawer and grabbed her lighter
that she used for her aromatic candles on her bedside table. After
lighting one, Mary felt her way over to her bedroom door and felt for
the switch to her room. Nothing. “What the hell?” Her heart started
racing, her throat constricting. “It’s just a power outage. It’s just a
power outage,” she desperately tried to convince herself.<br /><br /> She
started padding down the hallway, the only source of light was the
candle she held in her shaking hand. The flame flickered when her breath
shivered past her lips as she tried to ease her thundering heart. She
stretched out her arm and patted the wall for guidance as she walked.
The darkness seemed to move and surge, menacing and terrifying. </span> </div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Mary…” she sucked in a shrill breath and whirled around to face whoever
had whispered her name. But there was nothing, nothing but the wind
ruffling the lace of a curtain. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice
pitched and frantic. The only sound that returned to her was her shaky
breath that seemed so impossibly loud in the God forsaken darkness. She
wanted to cry out! To scream, but she couldn’t, she was too afraid, as
if the sound would invite unimaginable horrors. Still her footsteps
pushed forward and just as she was about to round the corner, that same
low whisper rasped her name again. She turned her head knowing that
there was nothing there. Sobbing with fear that seared every inch of her
flesh, she turned back and her eyes flared wide as there before her was
the cold, steel gaze of death, the glowering, impetuous eyes of her
predator. The candle went out, her scream pierced the night and the
darkness shifted and shuddered in its delight.<br /><br /> In darkest night the shadows creep</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /> Dripping with the fear they reap<br /> A scream is heard, the deed is done<br /> Another wretched soul’s been won.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-16860178211283115452012-06-30T08:49:00.004-07:002012-06-30T08:49:31.146-07:00Flash fiction : Desperate measures :<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There were no harvest. <br /> The swollen crop turned black.<br /> Like gangrene the gold left the flesh of wheat and died. <br /> It all just gave up in a bloated fit, <br /> It was the absconded rain of last year that came earlier this year.<br /> The flood of life drowned tons of swaying second changes.<br /> The revenue washed away in a deluge of debt. <br /> They needed to pay the thirsty overdraft of the bank and a hungry advance from the Agri.<br />
Pending payment to an inherited John Deere, a new Massey Ferguson with a
blown gasket made this strong farmer as defunct as his broken tools.<br /> The seasonal pickers with bundled babies and wages stood in those cursed lands and prayed. <br /> All of them prayed now. <br /> The Misses of inherited acres knows the hurt and damage to seven generations of shattered morale. <br /> One could say that God worked contrary to the expensive forecasts, wishes and happiness of the farmer. <br /> The farmers wife looked at her man and taught him to eat from the forbidden fruit : <br /> ' Fatten the livestock with the dead crop and accelerate their growth with hormones' <br /> ' Slaughter earlier ' the farmer said and the son wondered about the consumers and his art tour in Europe later the year.</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-12818929127938247652012-06-19T21:45:00.002-07:002012-06-19T21:45:33.350-07:00Poetic Justice on the hard streets :Crossbow Annie by Martin Lochner<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">L&L is a second hand dealer that purchases insurance write offs
from the scrap yards. With a few ingenious methods they somehow fix
these fatal wrecks with excessive amounts of putty, reinforced chains
and heavy detergents. The last scratches are hidden under a thick layer
of polish wax and chips are blotted away with nail polish. Road worthy
certificates are easily arranged with a case of whisky and a night at
some Russian lady lounge that always promises lipstick smeared orgasms.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The salesmen are gold teeth brokers from hell and sell these wheeled
coffins at a profit margin of at least 200% a unit. Everybody is
approved every time and even the blacklisted customers get credit with a
ridiculous payment plan that can never be honoured. The pride of the
lot is the repossession team that looks like a cross between the
Universal soldier and the terminator. Fierce chinned Uzbekistan chaps
that break down doors and crack kneecaps to return property to the
lawful owner called Spider.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Spider was the local Russian Mafia that ruled main road and had
territory marked off from Maitland station to Woodstock plaza. Dealings
in pawnshops, second hand furniture stores and a few other illegal
ventures made him a fast millionaire in these cut throat parts of the
city. He had a huge collection promotional coffee mugs that he
displayed conspicuously and once cut of his tea ladies ear when she
made coffee in one of the mugs displaying the queen on it.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That tea lady was my mother and she felt no gratitude when he
surgically planted her ear back on her block. One day she mixed epoxy
glue cement and sedatives in his porridge and somehow this concoction
completely disabled him to helpless watch mommy in silence with a
crossbow:</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is what she said:</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You wasted my man in one of your bars one evening when he spilled
vodka on your trouser and you killed one of my children with your
drugs. Let me read you one of his poems just before he overdosed. "</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hard Streets</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Heroic Crusader thoughts</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Fantasizing the libido chest</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Walk the ghetto</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Find your dragon</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Smoke it or knife it</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Find your princess</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pay for her or beat it</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing is stranger than fiction</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">on the hard streets</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She looked at him and started reciting squirming Spider's last rites:</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Judgement is coming to all you and there will be a gnashing of teeth
and those who do not have teeth will be issued with teeth but by the
wrath of god there will be gnashing."</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Die !" and she shot him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Read more: <a href="http://www.articlesbase.com/fiction-articles/poetic-justice-on-the-hard-streets-crossbow-annie-4922453.html#ixzz1ZLN8xArF" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.articlesbase.com/<wbr></wbr>fiction-articles/poetic-<wbr></wbr>justice-on-the-hard-streets-<wbr></wbr>crossbow-annie-4922453.html#<wbr></wbr>ixzz1ZLN8xArF</a></b></span></div>
<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Under Creative Commons License: Attribution No Derivatives</b></span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-74070331552076714312012-06-19T21:45:00.000-07:002012-06-19T21:45:12.535-07:00Bentong and the Encanto by Irene Riot<div class="mtl fbDocument" style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Carmela laid her first born son gently into his crib. <i>He has a little bit of a fever. </i>She
thought to herself. The baby intercom was turned on so she would be
able to hear if Baby Ben started to cry. He had been fussy all day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Benjamin Thomas. The name passed throughout the generations. Baby
Ben’s father was Benjamin Thomas. Benjamin Thomas, the father, was named
after his maternal grandfather. Baby Ben’s father was called Bentong as
a child. They now call him Thomas.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Carmela didn’t hear her husband’s car pull up the drive way nor did
she hear him enter their home. She was busy preparing baby bottles for
sterilization. Carmela put her career on hold after she gave birth, a
decision agreed upon by both husband and wife.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, Jesus!<i>” </i>Carmela cried as she saw her husband standing
at the entrance of their kitchen. He was smiling shyly, holding…cartons
of take out from her favorite Chinese restaurant. Carmela was career
oriented. He knew that from day one. Domestication didn’t suit her at
all yet she struggled to tackle the role.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Let's eat<i>” </i>Thomas said as he arranged the food on the
table. Carmela reluctantly sat down at the table with her husband, head
bowed in shame. She hadn’t started dinner. Oh, but everything smelled so
good! He picked up all her favorites. As hungry as she was, she felt
too embarrassed to eat. <i>This domestication thing really sucks. </i>She thought to herself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>Tension at the table<i>. She’s being hardheaded again. </i>Thomas
thought as he offered his wife a piece of sweet and sour pork. Slippery
from the sauce, the mischievous morsel escaped from Thomas’ chopsticks
and landed in Carmela’s lap.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Laughter. The couple ate, joyously, each one telling the other of
their day. More laughter. Everything just tasted better when served with
love. Carmela fed herself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Thomas cleared up after their meal as Carmela tended to their son.
After each completed their chores, husband and wife settled in the
living room in front of the television. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Baby Ben had a little bit of a fever but he’s good now” Carmela informed her husband as she snuggled under his chin. <i>Oh thank God! She’s not in one of her moods again! </i>Thomas thought as he lovingly squeezed his wife.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I remember, as a child, my parents got into this huge argument. I
think they almost separated. My father couldn’t find work at the time
while my mother worked all the time for my grandfather. He was a big
time attorney” Carmela listened, ignoring the television.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Thomas went on, “Tatay was an accountant at this one big
international company in the Philippines. They decided to transfer their
factory to China then Tatay lost his job. He was paid really well and
couldn’t find anything that could match as much as he earned. Nanay had
to go back to work for Lolo”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Nanay got extremely busy and I guess Tatay got jealous. Lolo offered
him a job at his law firm but Tatay was being hard headed at the time”
Carmela smiled at that remark. Thomas kissed her head.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I remember being sick the whole time they were fighting; they
quarreled for months. When things got better, I got better” Thomas
started to become uneasy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Silence. “Well?” Carmela eagerly asked, “What happened?” she said,
playfully slapping her husband’s chest. Laughter. It felt so good for
them to both laugh. “Tell me!” Carmela demanded. More laughter.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“When I was a child…” Thomas started out.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“How old were you?” Carmela childishly inquired.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“5, maybe 8. Definitely less than 10 years old. You know how I was always close to…”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Who was Tatay working for at the time?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“It may have been a Japanese firm. If not, Korean. I really can’t
remember. Well any way, remember all the stories about my Lolo and the
encanto?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh my God! You were cursed!" Laughter strengthening the bond of love.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“When I was about 5 or 8, definitely less than 10 years old, my
parents fought terribly after my father lost his job. Nanay worked for
Lolo so basically he supported us. This was a big insult to Tatay. Lolo
offered Tatay a job. Being an accountant, Lolo assured him he was
desperately needed but Tatay refused. He was too proud.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tatay couldn’t find anything acceptable. As Tatay lost hope, Nany
worked harder. The fighting got worse when Tatay agreed to be a stay at
home dad. My older brother, Joseph and my sister, Lourdes were pretty
much self sufficient and didn’t really need Tatay’s help much. Me being
the youngest, he spent most of the time taking care of me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tatay would take me to and from school in our pedicab. Tatay would
pedal fast, making the wind blow through my hair as we traveled along
the side of the road. People we knew waved and honked at us. Lolo knew a
lot of people where we lived so practically everyone knew us. Tatay
attended my school meetings but would spend as little time with the
other parents. I know he was embarrassed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I can’t remember the first time I got sick but I remember one night I
felt so bad, I walked into my parents’ room without knocking. I could
hear their voices from behind the door but I couldn’t really make out
what they were saying. I was that sick. I could tell from the tone of
their voices they were both mad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One time when I was less than 5 years old, I accidentally walked in
on my parents during an “intimate” moment. From then on, I was
instructed to never enter their room without permission. That night, I
was so dizzy and nauseated. My fever was running high and I felt really
bad. I walked into their room and threw up on their floor. That stopped
their fighting.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I slept with them that night. The next day, Nanay and Tatay were
lovey-dovey with each other and I felt better. They still fought after
that. Each time, I’d get sick, they’d stop fighting and I’d get better.
For a while, they thought I was faking everything. Then I got so sick
and almost died. I did get better, obviously, but Nanay and Tatay never
fought after that.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tatay was taking me to school. He knew I wasn’t feeling good but he
made me go to school anyway. I usually enjoyed our rides to school but
this ride was unbearable. There were bumpy parts of the way where I
would say “ahhhhh” just to hear my voice vibrate. The bumpy parts made
my insides sting and cramp.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The breeze blew stronger the faster Tatay pedaled. I used to enjoy
the breeze as it ran through my hair but that time, the breeze made my
body chill more and the hair on my skin stood. The honks from friends
were like sirens screaming directly in my ear. I got to school and I
threw up as soon as I stepped out of the pedicab. Tatay took me home. At
least I didn’t get the pedicab dirty.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I may have been sick for a week, maybe? I think longer. I had to go
to the hospital. That’s when my encanto friend started to visit me. At
the time, I liked it when he came to visit. We would play together, run
up and down the halls of the hospital, visit other patients. Strange
thing, people could see my body in my hospital bed but couldn’t see me
and my friend as we played.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, some people could see us. Little babies could see us and those
who were extremely ill and confused. My friend never went too close to
the babies and the older ones who could see only him died. Not everyone
saw me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then, my friend took me to his village. I had been there before. Lolo
knew where my friend lived so I didn’t mind going. I was bored with the
hospital anyway. I played all day in the village of the encanto. They
were always nice to me and there was so much to do. Creeks for swimming,
fields to explore and trees to climb.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By the end of the day, I wanted to go home. We were about to leave
when my Lolo appeared. He called for my friend and signaled for me to
wait. I was close but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I don’t
recall any verbal form of communication with the encanto. I never even
knew my friends name. We somehow had a way understanding each other.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lolo and my friend finished their conversation. Lolo smiled then
kissed my head before leaving me with the encanto. I wanted to go with
Lolo but the encanto wouldn’t let me. Even my friend was encouraging me
to stay. He looked sad. The others surrounded me and tried to comfort
me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was sad. My friend didn’t like seeing me sad. He went away that day
and left me with the others. They were nice, not as much fun as my
friend but they treated me well. It wasn’t the same without my friend. I
was missing my family. I wished they were ok.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was about to cry when my friend appeared. He was smiling. He took
me back to the hospital. Our Lady of Peace Hospital. My parents were in
the chapel. My friend and I stood in front of them. They were crying and
holding each other. They couldn’t see us. They were telling each other
how much they loved each other and apologized to each other over and
over. They vowed to never fight like this again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Nanay, Tatay, Bentong’s awake!” Joseph burst in to the chapel
shouting excitedly. Then I woke up in my hospital room. My friend was
gone. I was surrounded by my family, Nanay, Tatay, Joseph and Lourdes.
They were all hugging me. Lolo stood in the corner smiling. His arms
were crossed in front of him and he looked proud, like he had
accomplished something. Lolo was always an authoritative looking figure.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After that, Tatay went to work for Lolo and Nanay went back to school
to become a lawyer. She eventually took over Lolo’s practice. The years
she went to school were a little hard but they were good times. We were
all happy then and Nanay and Tatay never fought again.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The baby intercom spoke. Thomas and Carmela could hear Baby Ben
laughing. Husband and wife went to their son. “There is my big little
boy” Thomas said as he lifted his son. Carmela embraced them both. Baby
Ben laughed but seemed distracted, as if to be preoccupied with
something else.</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-34348055406567116882012-06-15T09:03:00.002-07:002012-06-15T09:03:26.369-07:00Rose's Thorns ~ by John S. McCormick<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sam
Miller's phone rings at one o'clock in the morning. Once again, it's
his sister, Rose Sellars, calling late crying hysterically. In between
sobs, she tries to speak, "My children hate me. I must be a bad person
for them to hate me so much."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sam responds irritably, "Rose, I am tired of you calling me about
those brats! You don't deserve what they put you through." "No. I must
do something to make them feel this way.", she says softly. "Rose, they
are adults in their twenties and thirties! They need to grow up and get
over whatever issues they have with you and treat you right!", Sam says
forcefully.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"They blame me for everything, including marrying Nick. The fact he
is now dead isn't even good enough for them. They even blame me for the
way Ted treated me. They say I deserved it.", Rose says as she starts
crying heavily again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rose married Nick Sellars after twenty years of physical and verbal
abuse while married to her kids' father, Ted Barker. After her divorce
from Ted, she learned her high school sweetheart, Nick, was in prison.
Rose believed in his innocence and married him while he was still in
prison. She worked hard on his case eventually proving his innocence
setting him free.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, after ten years in prison, Ted never adjusted back to
the real world. He eventually committed suicide. Rose found his dead
body next to hers in their bed. He had taken an overdose of her
prescription medications.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">All of her children frowned on all of this, especially her youngest
daughter, Marie Porter. "Marie even said I can't see her daughter when
she is born unless I get rid of everything in my life that reminds me of
Nick.", Rose said. "Rose, that's bullshit! You're not going to do that,
are you?", Sam says angrily. "I don't know what to do. I want to see my
new granddaughter.", Rose says sadly. "You can't let Marie manipulate
and control your life. Who is she anyways, but a spoiled immature
arrogant brat! What the hell does she know about anything?", Sam says
getting more upset.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's not just Marie. The others girls and Clay say horrible things
to me.", Rose explains. In addition to Marie, Rose has twin daughters,
Lynn Meyers and Tricia Phillips, which are her oldest kids. She also has
a son, Clay Barker. "Rose, I am so sick of all this. It has to stop.
Just don't talk to them anymore for a long time. Then maybe they will
appreciate you more.", Sam says still upset.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rose explains, "You're not a mother. That's easier said than done,
and I want to see my granddaughter." "Well, it's your life, and I don't
mean to sound rude, but I don't want to hear about anything they are
doing or saying to you like this anymore. You do what you want.", Sam
says firmly. "I'm sorry I bothered you with all this.", Rose says. "You
didn't bother me. You can call me anytime you want to. I just don't want
to talk about your kids anymore unless they are treating you right.",
Sam says again firm. Rose and Sam end their conversation and say
goodbye.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sam still fuming, decides to send emails to all four of Rose's kids
asking them to give their mother a break and treat her better. He tries
to be very diplomatic in what he writes. He received in response
extremely nasty emails basically telling him to mind his own business.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Marie's email was the nastiest. She said that Sam just made sure her
mom would never see her granddaughter. She also said her mother was a
shitty mother because her mother's mother, her grandmother, was a shitty
mother, too. She went a step further and called Sam's side of the
family white trash.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This infuriated Sam even more, but he didn't respond back to any of
their emails or tried to contact them in any way. He didn't want to make
matters worse. Sam later found out that all of Rose's kids blamed her
for him sending his emails. This made Rose and her kids have an even
more strained relationship. Sam felt horrible for his part in causing
that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, Rose took Sam's advice and moved across the country to
live with him until she got a job and found her own place. In the
meantime, Rose's kids are still blaming her for things. However, Marie
has agreed to let Rose come to her daughter's first birthday where Rose
will get to see her granddaughter for the first time.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rose hopes in the near future that she and her kids can be a real
family. Keeping his thoughts and opinions to himself these days, Sam
doubts that much will change or for very long for Rose and her kids.</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-63938766752947721992012-06-15T09:03:00.001-07:002012-06-15T09:03:14.262-07:00Window To The World by Demetra Fisher<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">As I look out to see</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">the world, waiting for me</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">I know I will find</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">my dreams, so kind</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">coming to fruition.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">The waiting is the worst</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">for my heart has this thirst</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">
to release all the pain</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">and be free once again</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">to live the life I wish.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">But time is on my side</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">‘cuz I know deep inside</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">that I will have what I seek</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">when I open my eyes to peek</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">through my window to the world.</span></span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-61432811519696522932012-06-15T09:03:00.000-07:002012-06-15T09:03:03.887-07:00Bangungungot By Irene Riot<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">11:47pm.
Tess got carried away with her writing again. Though it was almost
Saturday, she realized she had to be at work in a few hours and thus
needed to get some sleep.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Heeeethal, Hethal cat…where are you Hethal cat?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a night like no other October night. There were a few stars in
the sky. The moon wasn’t hindered too much by the clouds. All in all, a
very unspectacular midnight. Green glowing eyes flashed, breaking the
darkness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hethal! Come here, kitty! Come here!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As her eyes acclimated to the dark, she could see a darting form
coming towards her. Climbing up the stairs to the deck, Hethal stepped
into the light.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Scooping her precious ward into her arms, “Hethal, you silly cat”.
Hethal replied with naughty purrs, looking towards the darkness as Tess
snuggled its fur. Hethal still wanted to play.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s time to go inside you silly cat. No more, cat. No, no, no more cat”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Stepping inside, Tess had a funny feeling. The doors to her home are
not supposed to be open during the midnight hour, nor should she be
outside. A spirit might come in. It was a silly superstition, she knew
but one she followed anyway.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Exhausted. Tess lay down to sleep. Her mind was still running from
all the caffeine. Allowing herself to get lost in her thoughts, she
began to drift off to sleep. Darkness settled before her closed eyes
along with a numbing sensation that spread throughout her body. Bright
lights flashed. It was happening again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Forcing herself awake, “I’m not going to let you do this to me
again” she said in her thoughts. “I’m busy and I have to be at work
early tomorrow. Go away”. Anointing her forehead with the oil, placing
the talisman around her neck, Tess went back to sleep.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It happened again. This time it was stronger. Drifting off to sleep,
an electric shock ran up her spine and spread throughout her body. Her
eyes shut open. Though asleep, she could see her room. She could feel
herself float. She felt it at her back. It was trying to communicate
with her, again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Why does she do this to me?”. Tess thought. These things would
happen around special occasions like her mother’s birthday, Christmas.
It was the month of October, Tess’ birthday month. “Well Happy Fucking
Birthday to me, you stupid bitch. Go away!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It didn’t. It got stronger. Numbness encompassed her sleeping body,
she could feel it caress over her shoulders, down her arms, pressing
itself closer against her. Tess knew all she had to do was move and she
would break out of this but this time it was different. The harder she
struggled, the stronger it got.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess was paralyzed now. Asleep yet awake. Eyes closed yet she could
see. She could feel it right behind her, its being pressing against her
face. Would this demon reveal itself? “Fuck you, stupid monster! Go back
to the one who sent you!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then came an overwhelming sense of dread, excruciating sadness, a
pull. “You fucking can’t take me with you! You can spook me but you have
no authority over my soul! Go fucking away already! I have to be at
work in a few hours”. Tess always woke up exhausted when these things
happened.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess then felt a numbness enter her chest and surround her heart,
constricting it, limiting its capacity to beat. Her heart compensated by
beating faster. Too fast. She felt like her heart would explode. Tess
took deep slow breaths, trying to ease her heart. Then the clawed
fingers circled her throat, surrounded her neck, tightening.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh hell fucking no!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess forced herself awake and reached for the tassel to her bedside
lamp. She was awake in the dark for a split second. For a split second
she felt its presence. For a split second, she could feel its glare, its
call, its frustration, its desperation. During that split second, Tess
was suffocated by the scent of her mother’s favorite perfume.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The lamp was on now. Tess reached for the phone, “Startec longdistance, PLDT, please don’t fail me now!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">011-63-75…</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hello, Mommie”. Of course she wasn’t talking to her real mother. She
had called her sister’s mother in-law. They were quite close. She would
run to the spiritista when ever these episodes occurred.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, Darling”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mommie, binangungungot ako! It was my birthday last week…”. Tess rambled hysterically as Mommie remained silent.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Have you heard what happened to your mother?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mommie, I haven’t spoken to her in years”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I found out the other day your mother died. I don’t know when or how
it happened. Someone in the market mentioned it. I just came from
Sister Cecelia. Your mother needs prayers. She is suffering…”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess hung up the phone and started to cry.</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-69732243611929740562012-06-09T19:11:00.001-07:002012-06-09T19:11:21.399-07:00The farmer by Martin Lochner<div>
<u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u><br />
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Eternity surrounds the ancestral porch where he sat</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">chewing on the memories of men before him</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">framed and existing with strict eyes in the living room</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">he sat there and only moved with the rays of the sun</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">khaki lizard with pipe tobacco and fingering nostril sniff</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">with mint eyes he stares into this shimmering mirage of land</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“50 years I fought this ridge back bitch of soil” he said</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">cutting through his back, chewing on his spine of boulders</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Grandpa stared at me as a cart load of grain came past us</span></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The donkey moaned and he said “toil is in our blood”</span></div>
</div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-63452134333814647502012-06-09T19:11:00.000-07:002012-06-09T19:11:00.170-07:00Restricted Number by Demetra Fisher<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">The telephone began ringing as soon as we entered the house, although</span><span style="color: blue;"> we didn’t rush to answer it. We both knew that the only calls that came to</span><span style="color: blue;"> the house these days were from various telemarketers and my roommate’s</span><span style="color: blue;"> mother, who steadfastly refused to use a cell phone. My roomie smiled as</span><span style="color: blue;"> she checked the Caller ID, telling me that she would call her mom as soon as</span><span style="color: blue;"> she got settled with a cup of tea. She headed off to the kitchen and, calling</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">
back over her shoulder, asked me if I wanted a cup as well.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">“No thanks,” I called back. I just wanted to go up to my room, change,</span><span style="color: blue;"> and continue my lazy reprieve from the car ride home. As I headed up the</span><span style="color: blue;"> stairs, my cell beeped twice, letting me know I had a text message:</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">meet me at the library in ten minutes</span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">need to talk</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">The text was from a “restricted” number so I couldn’t tell who was</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">sending it, which gave me some concern. I wondered if maybe a friend</span><span style="color: blue;"> had lost her phone service again and was using someone else’s cell to</span><span style="color: blue;"> text me. But wouldn’t she have identified herself, if that was the case? I</span><span style="color: blue;"> searched my incoming calls to see if I had gotten any others recently from a</span><span style="color: blue;"> restricted number. Not finding any, I searched my contact list to see if I had</span><span style="color: blue;"> added any new numbers. Some time ago, I had discovered that if I added</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">a new number before first receiving a call, the number often showed up as</span><span style="color: blue;"> “restricted” on my detail pad the first time the person either called or texted</span><span style="color: blue;"> me. Not so this time, though. Again, I wondered who could be reaching out</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">to me when two more beeps sounded:</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">don’t waste time wondering just come</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">Now that was strange. The tone reminded me of Josh, but he was away</span><span style="color: blue;"> this weekend, so it couldn’t be him. Maybe he got back early, I thought.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">Curiosity had me and whoever sent this message, if they knew me at all,</span><span style="color: blue;"> would surely know that. Without entering my room, I spun around at the top</span><span style="color: blue;"> of the stairs and bounded back down.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">“Hey, I’m headed over to the library,” I yelled out as I grabbed my coat</span><span style="color: blue;"> knowing it would be chillier now that the sun had set. I headed out the door</span><span style="color: blue;"> as I heard a goodbye.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">Apprehension slowly began to derail me. I knew that the library wouldn’t</span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">be deserted as there were always plenty of students around at all hours of</span><span style="color: blue;"> either day or night. But I still felt somewhat ill at ease, not knowing exactly</span><span style="color: blue;"> who I was meeting. Not to mention, a would-be rapist who had struck more</span><span style="color: blue;"> than once still remained on the loose. Even so, I was way too curious to</span><span style="color: blue;"> let it get the best of me so I pressed on, making my way across campus as</span><span style="color: blue;"> quickly as I could, looking this way and that as I went.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">The library was quiet as I opened the heavy wooden door and entered the</span><span style="color: blue;"> circular lobby. The student worker behind the desk glanced up from her</span><span style="color: blue;"> book in response to my footsteps before returning once more to the pages</span><span style="color: blue;"> before her. As I walked across the expansive space, the heels of my low</span><span style="color: blue;"> boots knocked against the marble of the floor, echoing slightly. I had no</span><span style="color: blue;"> idea where I should be going but my gut told me to head over to my favorite</span><span style="color: blue;"> section. Whenever I was in the library and I wasn’t doing research, I was</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">always in the fiction aisles and if someone wanted to find me, they could</span><span style="color: blue;"> always count on my being there. I trucked up the stairs and turned to the</span><span style="color: blue;"> right, then headed for the bookcases closest to the window, knowing there</span><span style="color: blue;"> was a low couch that I could park myself on to wait. The section was</span><span style="color: blue;"> deserted as I expected it to be at this time of day. Students were either in</span><span style="color: blue;"> their dorms studying or doing research on the other side of the library.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">Just as I rounded the last corner I stopped short, remembering the last time</span><span style="color: blue;"> I was in the library and the conversation that I had overheard which had so</span><span style="color: blue;"> consumed me. I was suddenly filled with panic. Questions burned. What if</span><span style="color: blue;"> everything that’s been happening recently is more than just dreams? What if</span><span style="color: blue;"> I’m not really awake right now and this is yet another REM sequence? Oh</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">
God, I cried inwardly, my knees going weak. I don’t think I can take this</span><span style="color: blue;"> right now. Anguished, I felt the overwhelming urge to get out of there. I</span><span style="color: blue;"> couldn’t explain my sudden panic, but I knew I had to leave. Now. Without</span><span style="color: blue;"> further hesitation, I turned around and headed straight for the nearest exit.</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">Crossing the open space, I suddenly had the distinct impression that I was</span><span style="color: blue;"> not alone. Someone was watching me, maybe even following me, I was</span><span style="color: blue;"> sure of it! I gasped in fear and hurried even more so, my feet moving faster</span><span style="color: blue;"> and faster, breaking into a run. Without looking back, I slipped through the</span><span style="color: blue;"> exit door and bounded down the stairs back toward the lobby and safety, my</span><br style="color: blue;" /><span style="color: blue;">
heart pounding through my chest.</span></span>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-21307552147893814732012-06-09T19:10:00.000-07:002012-06-09T19:10:39.698-07:00Dinalaw By Irene Riot<div style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;">N....I....C....O....L....A....</span><wbr></wbr><span style="font-size: large;">S</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Eeeeeeeewwwwwww!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Omigawsh, Marese! you're going to marry Nic!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Na-uh! I'm going to marry a guy named Nic but it isn't that Nic"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ask how many kids you and Nic are going to have! You guys will have such cute babies!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The glass circled across the ouigee board, spelling out the answers to their future.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Text ring. "SWEETY, IT'S LIKE REALLY LATE". It was Marese's mother wondering if she needed to take her child home.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Text back, "WE'RE ON OUR WAY NOW. I WILL BE A WHILE BECAUSE
MICHALEA'S MOM HAS TO DRIVE EVERYON ELSE HOME FIRST. I'LL TEXT YOU WHEN I
AM ON MY WAY". Send.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I LOVE YOU, MOMMY". Send.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">12:30am. Footsteps pound on the porch. Tess could hear the muffled
goodbyes from inside. "Gosh, they're so freakin' dramatic," Tess thought
to herself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Marese burst in. "Hey, hey, Momma!" Plopping herself on the couch,
kicking off her boots, Marese turned on the TV. Another one of her
reality shows. "So, how was your day? Facebooking again? You should go
out more."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good, no and what I do with my time ain't none of your business"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mother and daughter smiled at each other. Packing up her laptop, "I'm going to my room. I can't write here".</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sorry, Mommy. Can we have breakfast together before you go to work tomorrow?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sure. Make sure you take everything to your room later. Please don't
fall asleep in the living room with the TV on. Then I can't sleep"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't use that tone with me!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sorry. Goodnight!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sarcastic bitch. She's becoming so much like her mother!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess settled herself into bed. Marese retired to her own room as
well. Quiet. 1am-ish. It wasn't long before Tess drifted off to sleep.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Welcome to Progressive! We are so proud you decided to join us! We are so proud! We are so proud! We are so proud of you!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess found herself in the commercial she had seen on TV only this
time the Progressive lady was Asian with black hair, China white skin
and strawberry red lips. There were rows and rows of "policies” to
choose from. It was bright in this dream but things started to darken as
she walked down one of the rows.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ending up in her room, asleep yet Tess was completely aware of her
surroundings. Eyes closed yet she could see everything in her room. The
jeans she wore the other day, her heels and purses scattered. There was a
tapping on her window. Floating towards the window, the blinds opened
themselves. There was a man outside. He was smiling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, shit!” Tess didn’t have a hard time snapping out of this dream.
Applying more oil to her forehead, Tess went back to sleep, clutching
her talisman.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“…..and the ouigee board said I was going to marry some guy named
Nicolas and were are going to have two kids. Mommy, if I brought a
boyfriend home, would you make fun of him?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Sure thing, Sweety. I’d laugh in his ugly face and call him stupid”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mom! But what if I brought home the perfect guy?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Sweety, you could bring home Jesus and tell me he’s going to marry you. He still wouldn’t be good enough. It’s a parent thing.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“So you guys played ouigee?” The hairs on Tess’ skin stood. No
playing ouigee in the house or else the spirit you call will remain.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“We played at Michaela’s house” Marese reasoned out.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tess was convinced a spirit followed Marese home. “I had this really weird dream but never mind. Are you ready to order?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“What time to you have to be at the hospital, Mommy?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Don’t worry, Sweety. Things are light today. Let me just answer this page”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Wendy is a 23 year old female with no prior psychiatric history
admitted on a temporary detention order due to acute onset of psychosis.
Patient is not able to offer any coherent information but family notice
she has been increasingly paranoid, talking to people who are not
there. Parents say patient has been using K2 and bath salts” the report
read.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Diagnosis: Young, dumb and stupid.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mouth open, blank stare, Wendy sat in front of Tess. Wendy mumbled incoherently as her gaze was fixed on a spot behind Tess.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Ok, I’ll tell her” Wendy said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Excuse me?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“He said he is proud of you. He came to visit you last night”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Who?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“El Pedeo”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m sorry?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Tay-tay, he said to for me to tell you that Tay-tay is proud of you”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Oh! Tatay! Elpidio! It was the American twang that threw Tess off.
Elpidio was the name of her grandfather. As a child, she called him
Tatay. Tatay meant father. He was her mother’s father.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ringing the nurse’ station, “Can I have someone come help Wendy to her room?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“He also said not to worry about your mom. She is fine. She loves you and misses you very much.”</span></div>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339738714153072799.post-79444870670042303362012-06-04T20:25:00.001-07:002012-06-04T20:25:01.930-07:00One Spear By Jacob Martinez<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">One Spear <br /> By Jacob Martinez<br /> <br />
35,000 years ago b.c. I sat in the rain. I slept under a rock. I stayed
in one spot. The others would come and go. I never moved from my spot.
No one bothered me. I sat for days, never moving anywhere. The Mattata
and the Ugh, Ugh, lived up on the cliff. I sat with the others and with
our spears. The team below would come and go. The wooly mammoth provided
us with directions to find food. We lived in trees and swung from ropes
patrolling the sky, from bird. We spoke with oos and ahs.<br /> <br /> One
Spear decided to walk. He walked and walked and walked. He came to after
3 men robbed him cold on the glacier he was skating on. Three Orbs
stole his money, some green stuff in his pocket, and two teeth he pulled
out of his jaw during a routine cleaning at the lions den. <br /> <br />
Along the way to Stonerville. One Spear decided to trash his looks. Only
froth was what he brought to the party of 5. Chancellor Stoner presided
over the town of Stonerville and quickly drank from the froth One Spear
brought with him from the mountainous region called the yelps. "He is a
distinguished character smelling the flower I placed on his ear." "Way
to go", shouted Chancellor Stoner. One Spear grabbed a pipe and began to
blow through the rocket he shaped with his hammer.<br /> <br /> Man from Jungle<br /> <br />
One Spear was eating a banana and defrosted his soup the day a check
came and petted him on the back of his head. He looked around and a
guerrilla snuggled up and gave One Spear a quiver and a jolt. The sky
was clear and it had just finished raining when a flock of birds crash
landed on his tree he was making into a cabin. The light was red when he
came to a spot on the map that turned gray and finished the bottle of
rum his mother gave him before he left to find his mate Two Packs his
mother said before he left to get his friend back from the miserable
camp he was living and sleeping with.<br /> <br /> Estudio 925 -- Steele Media Research -- Jacob Martinez -- 2012 -- Phoenix, AZ<br /> <br /> Angry Cat<br /> By Jacob Martinez<br /> <br />
One Spear as a child in a fit hurled his cat he named Simon, up against
the wall. He did this to teach his friends the meaning of child labor
practice which the sermon on the mount delivered to his stable. He was
spanked twenty times for marking his name twenty times on his door. The
back side of his head was bushy and the front part was straight. He
liked going on trips overseas. His name was captain and everybody loved
him. Millions flocked to his new home. He always answered with no body.
The size of his garage lifted tons of steel and he made furniture out of
twigs when he came back from the ocean vessel he sailed on and meant
nothing when his torpedo breached on oncoming traffic.<br /> <br />
Waterhole... One Spear was thirsty. He found himself standing near the
ocean stream pushing up along the coast. He stumbled on an abandoned
ship rusting on the shore. He looked thoroughly through the compartments
of the vessel. The ship had been wrecked from a Sunami that reached the
Americas from Japan. He listened to the sounds the wind hummed through
portals throughout the ship. In amazement he stood atop the deck and
looked out the scope in the direction of where the sun was to set.<br /> <br />
One Spear drives up in a classic Monte Carlo his parents left before
they left the ridge. Part way he sent figures to his uncle in Italy
praying it would be summer in Nova Scotia. He dreamed he could fly till
tomorrow hoping not to get stuck on the stack of bills he had to pay.
According to statistics he was doing the right thing. He traveled in
neat places to see the light his father left him. It was to dark to see
the deer in the headlights so he wrecked the plant and came right back
home to settle the score.<br /> <br /> Cupcake enters the store. Frenchfry
stands at the register with a blank expression on her face. One Spear in
a frenzy opens a bottle of skim milk and begins drinking from a plastic
cup. Frenchfry eyes the customer and calls security. The general
manager walks up to One Spear and hog ties him to a chair. Cupcake
shouts at the store manager to dissolve of this fleece he wears around
his chest and arms. Frenchfry takes her camera out and produces a
portrait of One Spear speaking to the authorities about the rest of the
milk he stole from the market. He stuns the group and makes off with
Cupcake. He talked his way out of his criminal mind and the authorities
gave One Spear a chance at his freedom. Cupcake diligently waves her
hand to the crowd she sees.<br /> <br /> Cupcake is eating bugs from the
dirt. She watches One Spear take a shower in the lake. She hands him a
towel and dries off. As she gathered the bugs together she made a small
bonfire to cook the bugs she collected from the day's journey. She
looked up to One Spear and pulled out a handkerchief she embroidered.
"Hey, this is perfect for your after dinner cleaning." One Spear dried
his hands with the handkerchief and gave it back to Cupcake. "Cupcake
what are these initials on the chief." Cupcake smiled and gave One Spear
another sandwich of bugs to eat.<br /> <br /> One Spear took one step
forward with Cupcake. The ground started to shake. The sky turned dark.
One Spear and Cupcake began running toward the forest up ahead. They ran
far enough to escape the ground that almost swallowed them up. They
stopped to rest and catch their breath. "Cupcake are you sure we are
going in the right direction?" One Spear asked. "Yes, I do believe this
is the way, One Spear." Cupcake replies. "We do things differently."
"Oh." <br /> "When we jumped over the log to get to this side, we yelled
out our names." "Why?" "Because we were told to protect each other by
the owl that watched over us last night." "Up ahead we are going to face
other obstacles." "Does our name have magical power?" "Yes, and you
will learn how to use it."</span></span></h6>Mark Deutschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02657964285111110546noreply@blogger.com0