Thursday, July 31, 2014

Prompt: Hiding in plain sight


Thanks to Alexandra Semushina for permission to use her charming artwork, "Owl"!

Trina fluffed her wings and turned her head around, tilting for parallax, as she searched for signs of any followers. Not much could keep up with her in owl form, and she’d flown far from last night’s roost. Satisfied, she opened her wings and dropped down to the ground, changing as she fell. Dropping into a crouch, she swept her feathered cape behind her back and drew her knife. Losing her owl senses always made her feel even more vulnerable.

Standing tall, she sheathed the blade and pushed her goggles back on her head. She eyed the creek beside her, looking for fish or large pincer-shrimp. Her tight-laced leggings would keep her feet safe from rocks and the freezing water if she moved quickly. There, a fat eel rested in the shadow of a boulder, the water rushing around it. Trina tugged her blade free again and crouched on the bank, pulling her goggles down to protect her eyes. Drawing on her owl speed, she plunged into the water and speared the eel with her blade pinning it against the rock. With her other hand, she grabbed its tail end—far from the needle teeth—and in one strong sweep, pulled it against the blade, slicing the length of its body until its teeth wedged on the blade. Holding the still-wriggling pieces taut against the blade, she backed out of the water and threw it on the ground.

“That will be a fine supper,” said a deep voice behind her.

Trina whirled, then grinned, pulling her goggled off her head and shaking her hair loose. “Indeed. I might even share,” she teased…

To be continued?

Dogs in House
Houdini


Time writing
~20 minutes


July word count
12,754


Prompt: Out of Time

Jeff was six the first time it happened. Dragged up to his grandparents’ boring house in the middle of nowhere for the weekend, he’d been shooting baskets with his dad’s old ball that needed air, until he got tired of that and came inside to throw himself on the floor while the grownups talked and drank cocktails and smoked stinky cigarettes. He lay on faded orange shag carpet with his arm over his eyes, and gradually he became aware of the big clock ticking in the corner. He didn’t have to look to imagine the big pendulum swinging back and forth, and slowly his breath steadied in time with the clock.

He was hot and tired and hungry and impatient for the grownups to stop talking. And all of the sudden, they did. All at once. Completely. Jeff felt a chill across his chest, and goosebumps ran along his arms. He turned his head and opened one eye, peeking at his mom, who was sitting on the sofa closest to him. She was frozen in place, holding her glass tilted in front of her lips, her mouth open in a laugh.

Jeff bolted upright, staring at his grandparents, leaning together as they always did on the opposite couch. His grandmother’s cigarette had a spiral of smoke frozen in place above it. His grandfather had his foot off the ground, where he’d lifted his leg to shift his bum knee.

Before he could move, they did. His mom startled. “What’s with you, Jeff. You sat up so fast there, I nearly jumped out of my skin.” He turned and stared at her with wide eyes, saying nothing. She smiled and crinkled her eyes with a question, but didn’t pursue it. Her father stood and said, “Let’s get the table set for supper, Bud.”

Jeff thought it was the clock, somehow. He never tried it again. After awhile, he told himself it had been some sort of a dream. Cause that couldn’t be real, right?

#

Ten years later, at Josh Stevens’ legendary party, Jeff ate a brownie while the girl handing them out giggled. He was leaning against the living room wall, nursing a Coke bottle and watching everyone laughing as they got drunk…or something. Through the crowd, the chime of the mantel clock caught his ear. He glanced over and noticed it had an elaborate set of gears in the front. He wasn’t thinking anything special as he started watching them click around and around. Until they froze, and the whole room went silent. Jeff pushed off the wall and stared around him. Everyone was frozen in place. Suddenly, the memory of his grandparents’ clock struck him, and he laughed aloud. “No way!”

To be continued…


Dogs in House
Houdini


Music Playing
Eric Clapton, “Change the World”


Time writing
25 minutes


July word count
12,482

Monday, July 28, 2014

Prompt: “When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster? Did it become something else?” ― Kristin Cashore, Graceling

Groolig sat on the riverbank with his feet in the water and his head in his hands. His curves claws tapped the tufted tips of his long ears, as he replayed the scene over and over in his head.

“Carve the skin, my pet,” Mistress crooned, fingertip tracing a hidden rune on his back. Groolig was her favorite instrument, and he’d never hesitated to do her bidding. She could as easily pick up a blade and use it on him as he could use his claws on bare skin. She had done so throughout his youth, carving the runes that covered his own flesh, now hidden by mottled, tangled fur. How many others had he sliced and torn open before their blood washed away his own, stained against his skin and fur and claws?

But Groolig didn’t want to hurt this one. He reached past her arms, suspended on the chains rattling above them, touching a claw to her cheek, where a single tear quivered. It splashed over his claw, and he remembered.

“Groolig! Catch me!” The girl cried as she leaped from the tree limb above, barely giving him time to reach up before she fell into his arms, laughing. He curled her slight body up to his chest, burying his face against her belly and blowing raspberries through her threadbare tunic. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. “You’re my best friend, Groolig. You’re not a monster! You’re not!”

“Don’t bore me, pet,” Mistress warned in a deep growl.

Groolig didn’t move the claw against the girl’s cheek. He didn’t turn his head in warning. He simply swung out behind him with his other long arm, claws outstretched, with unerring accuracy, and tore out Mistress’ throat. He never looked back as he swiped through the metal links of the chains and curled the falling girl into his arms once more. If Mistress lived, she would kill them both. But the sounds behind him told a different tale.

He carried the girl out of Mistress’ hold and into the deep forest where they once played. When he reached the river, he walked into the middle and upstream, pushing against the current without slowing his pace for hours. The girl remained still in his arms. Before the light faded, he found the hut they once built of fallen tree limbs and fresh rushes, long since dried into thatch. He lay the girl down on the thatch floor and went out to find fresh rushes to cover her while she slept.

Finally admitting he was tired, he sat on the riverbank, next to the hut, and cooled his torn feet in the rushing water. He’d spent most of his life in the stone confines of Mistress’ hold, except for rare adventure with the girl. Now Mistress was dead, and he had to take care of the girl. He didn’t know what to do. Burying his head in his hands, Groolig tried to think what she would need…

To be continued?

Dogs in House
Houdini, Brindle


Music Playing
iTunes walking playlist


Time writing
~30 minutes


July word count
11,334


Prompt: I didn't trust a smile with that many teeth…

I didn’t trust a smile with that many teeth. It didn’t help that Gorvians have no lips or gums. I tried not to hold that against Belvik. But the fact that he was a lying, cheating, thieving son of a vental didn’t help either. I pressed the flat of my blade against his wrist.

“Pull away slowly, and we’ll pretend that didn’t just happen,” I said with a growling rumble in my chest.

Belvik slowly pulled his hand away from my belt purse and held up both hands with a full-toothed grin. “No harm, no foul, friend,” he said, taking a step back before rubbing his wrist.

Sliding my blade back into its sheath, I muttered, “I didn’t cut you, you big baby. Not that you wouldn’t have deserved it.”

Belvik’s smile faded, his teeth retracting into his mouth with audible clicks...

To be continued?

Dogs in House
Houdini


Music Playing
Spanish Guitar Music Vol.1 on YouTube


Time writing
~15 minutes


July word count
10,834


Sunday, July 27, 2014

Prompt: Wishing we were different

Slighth rolled through the shallows, avoiding everyone in her path. The cool waves washed them all in frothy yellow, with green sand swirling up from below. The sun reflected on colored limbs all around her, and she sighed, glancing down at her own pale scales. Twisting past a dark-blue female and a dark purple male, she longed for scales that refracted the light with more than her own undistinguished light blues.

If only she had the same glinting teal as that female over there, curling her long tubes in the water as if she wasn’t aware of her effect on every male in sight. Slighth brushed past a pair of young dark brown males, who ignored her, entranced as they were by the myriad of other, darker scales all around.

Reaching the water’s edge, Slighth stretched out her standing tubes and rose above the waves. As she reached her fronds toward the warming sun, she pretended to be invisible…

###

Author’s note:
Here’s an idea that has fizzled. It came to me as I was walking on the beach, admiring the beautiful tanned men and women, of all shapes and sizes. I was struck by those sunbathing with such an air of relaxation…I have never been able to do this. My skin is too fair, and I don’t have the patience or tolerance to sit in the heat, when I know I will never have skin that beautiful color. We don’t even have to get into all the health issues, because this is at heart a perception-of-self issue.

So I started thinking about how to turn that little self dialogue into a different kind of scene, and rather than a fantasy setting, I came up with an otherworldly, alien setting. Which sounded fun. Trouble is, I have a setting and an initial character, but no actual story…

Sometimes these things all come together, and sometimes, they don’t.

So give it a try, and let me know what you come up with!

Time writing
20 minutes


July word count
10,692


Saturday, July 26, 2014

Prompt: 1) A van drives through the yogurt shop front window and 2) a panther escapes from the zoo

Carrie walked the empty zoo paths, making her final rounds of the Southwest exhibit. The coyotes were settling into their den, and she paused to watch the kits gambol. She was waiting for Shariya’s grumbles to startle them into the shallow cave, but there was no sound from the next enclosure. Carrie walked along the fence, looking in all the big cat’s usual hiding places. She didn’t really feel uneasy until she rounded the rock face and saw the light from the rear hallway…through the open door. “Oh, no,” she breathed.

Steve finished unloading the produce delivery in the zoo kitchen. John had signed for the delivery when he arrived and then pushed a cartload of food through the interior doors, so there was no reason to hang around. Steve actually liked the zoo deliveries, and he traded with the other drivers whenever he could. He’d loved the zoo when he was a kid, and his grandfather used to walk the trails and tell him Apache stories of the animals.

Thinking about his grandfather, Steve folded his loading cart and lifted it onto the frame inside the rear van door. Sliding the latch bolts in place, he climbed in the driver’s seat and pulled out of the delivery bay, waving to the security camera as he drove down the long drive. Emerging from the zoo grounds, he turned into the remaining evening traffic and headed back to the city.

Two blocks away from the warehouse, Steve heard a low growl from the back of the van. Shivers ran down his back, and his heart raced. Swallowing hard, he reached out slowly and pushed the power knob on the radio. In the sudden silence, he heard another long, rumbling growl. He didn’t have to see it to recognize the sound. Staring ahead, looking for a place to park and get out of the van, Steve spoke quietly, “Ndoihi…Ndoihi, I am honored. But it’s not safe for you here. Please stay where you are, and I will get you someplace—”

The cat roared. Steve felt it in his bones. His foot drove down on the gas pedal, and his hand jerked the steering wheel. His head thumped the back of the seat as the van rolled over the curb. The cat roared again, and Steve cried out, “Ndoihi!” Desparate, he pulled off his seatbelt and pushed the door open, diving out of the still-moving van. He rolled into the parking lot, then jumped up, watching in horror as the van drove straight into the glass window of the FroYo frozen yogurt shop.

The van perched on the low wall of the shattered window, rocking slowly, tires spinning. A building alarm was blaring, red and white lights flashing. Steve ran toward the wreck, then slowed as he saw the driver’s door swinging wide…


Time writing
Too long, too scattered


July word count
10,362


Thursday, July 24, 2014

Prompt: Thunder in my hand

Thinking back, I heard the guy running behind me, his shoes smacking against the wet pavement, the echoes bouncing from the buildings. He pushed past me, his arm bent in front of him, his elbow slammed against my arm. I clapped my other hand against my tricep and shouted “Ow! Watch out!”

Then I heard the woman farther behind me. “Help! He stole my purse! Stop him!”

I saw the guy running ahead of me now, clutching a woman’s purse under his left arm, his right arm pushing ahead of him as he ran.

I’m not one to get involved. I’m no hero. He just…pissed me off. Stealing some woman’s purse and pushing people around. I clenched my fists, staring after him, scowling. I felt heat against my palms, my fingers. I wasn’t thinking as I lifted my fists, just feeling them get hotter and hotter. I flung them forward, my fingers pointing toward the still-running thief. A wave of energy rolls across my skin. Thunder rumbles, echoing between the buildings. The runner arches, dropping the purse, throwing his arms out for balance, as if he was hit from behind. Still moving forward, he falls face first against the pavement.

A couple of guys jump on him, holding him down. The woman shoulders past me, wheezing. “My purse!” I stare at my open hands…

Time writing
25 minutes


July word count
9,981


Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Prompt: This Stone Longs to Speak

The words sit heavy on my tongue
How do you know 
stones have no tongue?
Have you looked inside?
You probably think 
I have no soul
No heart
No tears
No laughter

The words sit heavy on my tongue
I love you
You hurt me
I want to be with you
I want to be alone
I’m sorry
I wish
I could say the words
I wish you could hear them

The words sit heavy on my tongue
Right behind the teeth 
I don’t have
In the mouth 
you don’t notice
Wet with tears
I don’t cry
I want to dance
I want to fly
I want to feel your arms round me
I want to watch the stars cross the sky

Dogs in House
Houdini, Brindle


Time writing
20 minutes


July word count
9,667


Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Prompt: Delivering bad news

As we reached the entry to his building, Jack turned toward me and held out his hand. “Thank you, Sam. Really.” His grip was firm, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re going to be okay, Jack,” I assured him. Suddenly he pulled me close, clapping my back with the awkward hug of a man who’s isolated himself so much, his wife of 25 years engaged me to tell him she was leaving. I squeezed my hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. He looked down for a moment, then lifted his lashes and looked back at me, connected, maybe for the first time in decades. “Yes, you’re on the right path now,” I said, and this time, his eyes shone with his smile.

I waited until I had walked half a block away before checking my watch for new messages, and the time. I had thirty minutes to get to my next appointment—plenty of time to walk.

I entered the atrium lobby and appreciated the cool air contrasting with the tropic flair of palm trees and koi ponds. The receptionist eyed me warily as I approached. She recognized me, or something about me, then. I held my hands palms up to reassure her. “Good afternoon. I’m here for Rachel Kurschen.”

Relief, pity and curiosity vied for dominance. Pity won. She nodded and picked up the phone, gesturing to a cushioned bench under sweeping palm fronds. “Rachel, there’s someone to see you in the lobby.” She didn’t give Rachel time to ask questions. It wasn’t her job to deliver bad news. It was mine.

Dogs in House
Houdini, Brindle


Time writing
15 minutes


July word count
9,556


Sunday, July 20, 2014

Prompt: The Dreaming Tree

I still remember when Boa carried me to the dreaming tree for my first cutting. He tended his own rooted cutting every morning and every evening, pouring a handful of water around the long white roots , barely visible in the thick black soil that filled his pack. He showed me how the water drained through the soil and clung to the roots. “Too little and it will shrivel up; too much and it will drown and rot. You must find your cutting’s balance, see Tippa?”

Boa had tended his cutting for many years, and it stood taller than him when his pack rested on the ground. When the tribe daywalked, he carried it on his back, and those closest to him enjoyed the tree’s shade. On those rare occasions that the tribe nightwalked, Boa wrapped his sleeping blanket around the tree’s furled leaves. “We must protect them in their sleep, Tippa, or there will be no dreams for us later.”

I was three when Boa said it was time for my first cutting. Mya said I was too young to climb the dreaming tree to find the tender new growth that made best cuttings, but Boa scoffed and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Run to that round-leaved tree, Tippa, and show your Mya how well you can climb.”

His fingers pointed to a round-leaved tree that shaded old Beeba’s tent. Beeba was one of our best dreamers; everyone showed her respect with gifts of food, water, and shade. I loved to curl up with Beeba and share her dreams. When she slept longer than me, I would lie next to her and watch the sunlight through the tree’s leaves, imagining what it would be like to have my own dreaming tree someday. As long as I could remember, Boa had told me that one day, I would have my very own cutting to tend, and I would guard the tribe’s next dreaming tree…

To be continued…

Dogs in House
Houdini, Brindle


Time writing
~20 minutes


July word count
9,285