randylynne

Thanks to mum23 for passing the torch to me. Since my name is conveniently 10 letters long, my word list is an acrostic of randomly selected words using the letters of my name:

Recent
Adore
Narcissistic
Dabble
Yore
Lyrics
Yawn
Nature
Novice
Embellish

And my girlies have decreed the magic number at 528. So those of you who found it hard to keep in word count last time have a little bit more to play with. Let's see what we can come up with...

September 18th sounds like a good deadline. I look forward to seeing what you all can come with.

mum23

I love your word list, randylynne! Ideas are swirling... I hope to be able to send in a story just to show willing...

randylynne

looking forward to seeing some stories. I hope you're all getting some ideas percolating. Just over a week left in this challenge.

ladyhwin

Working on an idea as I write this... will probably put something up in a day or two...! Everything seems rather slow right now...

Hazer

I have been without a computer for a while and the new laptop distorts the pictures and gives me a tiny space to write in. I trust I wrote this right the first time because it is too late to proof read. I want to get it posted before it gets too busy so please forgive the mistakes. The word count, I believe is right. This is a continuation of the last story I entered when Jocelyn hosted this forum.

I try in vane to go about my daily routine, to put on a calm carefree front. It is such a lie and I feel somehow transparent as though even strangers I meet on the street will detect my fear. It was bad enough that his phone call caught me totally by surprise but why wasn't I strong enough to end it right there.
His voice had somehow mesmerized me as it had in the past. In my mind I pictured the handsome blond version of Elvis that I had adored as a seventeen year old. The long eyelashes, the seductive smile whenever I looked up from my books. Two years I spent sitting next to him in class.
Those were the days of yore. So much time has passed. I was a mere novice at love and relationships back then. An innocent, dabbling in one of natures most powerful forces, blissfully unaware of the consequences of my own narcissistic behavior. Oh how I had enjoyed being the center of attention back then. So arrogant. I remember the boys on the school bus singing "Hooray for Hazel" to me on the way home from a basketball game. Part of the song went "she's selfish and she's spoiled, and she knows that she's cute." I didn't like those lyrics very much. They had a little too much truth attached to them.
I am momentarily brought back to the present by the movement of my beloved Tabby as she stretches lazily, yawns, and re-positions herself in the warm afternoon sun. If only life were so simple.
I resent the intrusion he has made into my life. I want to be left alone in the warm glow of memories my late husband and I shared. His death is too recent, his presence still lingers and I don't want it to leave.
I only answered enough of his phone calls to satisfy my own curiosity. A
conversation between old friends, I told him. Nothing more. That was until I realized he has been stalking me for years. The thought of it sends chills down my spine. His lame attempts to embellish the truth only serve to make me angrier. He was at my work, my niece's wedding, my mother's funeral. Keeping just out of sight, spying on me. Worst of all he positioned himself to be where my husband worked. How long did that go on, I wonder? How often did he quiz my unsuspecting husband for information so he could continue stalking me?
The phone rings. I sit frozen in my chair. The recorded voice recites the unknown callers number. I wait for the all too familiar message. His voice is strained. He pleads with me to return his call. I erase the message. I go to my bedroom and take my husbands picture off of my dresser. I hug it close to my heart, I kiss his face. I carry his picture with me as I go from room to room closing the blinds, pulling the curtains shut and checking the locks.
I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I will always be looking over my shoulder.

Hazer

Where have all the storytellers gone ??? To win by default would just be too pitiful and way too easy for randylynne given no other choices. Time is running out and I'm really looking forward to seeing a lot more entries!

mum23

ALL of ThinkDraw seems pretty quiet at the moment. I'm sorry it coincided with your first ThinkWrite challenge. Perhaps it might be a good idea to extend the challenge for another week... this is a great word list and I'm sure you'll get some terrific entries.

randylynne

Yeah. I know my life is pretty busy these days, too. Shall we, say, go until the 25th? I was happy, though, to see Hazer's story (scary though it is--gave me chills). Was starting to wonder if I'd have to just extend it to "whoever submits something first wins." Glad I don't have to go quite that far...

cathyallheart

i have wanted to do one of these for a while, and since my mom got a thinkwrite challenge...
any ways here it is:

I started my life in the forest; I danced and played there. You may not know but since the times of yore, people try to stay out of the forest. They say that it will eat you or things like that. People rarely hunt there, but they do sometimes, that’s when my story starts.

People had come in there but the forest always warns me so I was never caught. One day I was splashing in a stream, it was a lovely day. My hair was black, a color I adore. The part of the stream I was at was in a clearing. all of a sudden a strong shock almost brought me to my knees. Someone was coming there was no where to hide. I started to run but it was too late.
A man dressed in brown came out of the trees, he had a bow in one hand though it didn’t scare me. I was caught in a snare. “Do you speak English?” He asked; I could not answer. “What are you doing in so much nature?” A wind came blowing my hair into my face, my hair was red and has been red ever since.

It has been years since that day, my hair is a pale pink in little ringlets. The man that found me 6 years ago took care of me he had four children of his own I was good, but I never was let in the forest again, but that’s not hard to understand.
A dance around flames, lyrics inviting death, like a chop, chop crash, a tree falls. I sit far away from the others after all I’m not one of them, but I don’t know how. They are trying to call good luck down, they believe in people above they call Wruve.
A man in a purple walks on stage and says in a gravely voice “we are here to give ten youth a chance for glory,” the crowd mummers in agreement, “once every few years we give a few a way to prove themselves.” I look in his face and see his narcissistic personality in smile, “ this time they must survive the forest.”
The crowd stopped breathing.
“In recent years the Wruves have dabbled with sporting championships, battling foes, and in smarts. We believe that this will test your willingness to survive,” he says, and he rolls out a scroll “ those who were chosen will now be named, James Klein,”
“Marta Ernest, Ivair Reismann, Mette Kaiser.”
I see the families of them crying and I wonder if people would miss me.
“Karel De Lang,” I look at my brother. He’s the oldest at 18. I listen to hear my name “and Mina De Lang. I hope this challenge will embellish you.”

“We need to talk,” I say to Karel.
“About what?
“ We can’t let Mina go,”
“Valla,”
“I’ll do it for her, they don’t know what she looks like and no one else will mind, and if it comes to it I’m no novice to running.”
“If you’re so sure.” he yawns, “we better go to bed, it’s going to be a big day.”

brigsis

Love all these! maybe I'll try one soon!

chelydra

The quality more than makes up for the sparse quantity.

chelydra

I came here to try writing a story, but now I find I'd rather just let these two just sink in and resonate.

randylynne

Oh, but I still want to see what YOU can come up with!

morshy

I'm in the process of editing a story. I'll try and sort it out, but if I can't, no worries. Will probably still post for others to read.

morshy

All the words are here, but I've taken a little poetic licence with them. And the word count...well so much for editing it down. Seems likely that this is more the start of something else than a self-contained answer to the challenge. But it was fun nonetheless. As ever, critical feedback is always welcomed. And if anyone wants to ask me anything/pass on any feedback, please feel free to do so.

Thanks to Randylynne for posting the challenge, and for extending the deadline, despite the fact that I've failed to keep to the strictures anyway!

***

He sat with his head on the desk, his eyes closed and his fists clenched tightly. To the naked eye, he was perfectly still. One might even assume he was dead. But on minute inspection, his body was humming, vibrating. Inside there was a war raging. He was fighting to remain calm, but it was a losing battle. Suddenly his arms shot out. They flailed left, then right then left again, sweeping everything on the desk to the floor. He jumped to his feet, and his chair was flung backwards with such force it cracked the wall. He let out an animalistic, primal scream and kicked the desk, then at the top of his voice yelled: “OH. MY. GOD!”

He stood panting, struggling to regain control. From somewhere in the void, a tiny voice, infinitesimally small, said: “Is everything alright Mr Turner?” So, he wasn’t in the privacy of his own home, and there was no void, though he could see a yawning chasm open up in front of him, one he wished would swallow him whole. He’d lost it in the classroom. In front of a bunch of kids. The Twittersphere would be singing with embellished and exaggerated details of his meltdown come lunchbreak. He looked at his watch. “Oh good,” he thought. “I have about ten minutes of a career in teaching left.”

“Everything’s fine Missy,” he said, addressing Missy Lawrence, one of his more studious pupils. “Just keep reading the chapter til the bell rings.” It was his own fault. He was the one who’d given them the assignment, so no-one else was to blame. But if he read one more essay that started: “Webster’s defines Yore as…” he would do something rash. Like losing it in front of a class full of 15 year old kids maybe? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Where was the originality? Where was that spark that blossomed into something that reminded him of why he wanted to be a teacher in the first place, of the reason he adored the English language? He sighed. It would be lunch in just a moment, and he had a couple of free periods in the afternoon, before a final, tortuous hour after which the bell would toll, signalling not only the start of the weekend, but also the end of his professional life.

The bell finally rang, chairs scraped back, books were dumped into bags and the class filed out, strangely subdued. He’d cleaned the mess from the floor, picking the papers up in a resigned fashion. Miss Lawrence stopped in front of him, and opened her mouth to ask a question. He shook his head, she closed her mouth and left, head down and silent. He decided to forego the joys of the staffroom, and instead pulled the sheets of paper towards him. He would grade them if it was the last thing he did. The first essay he came to immediately piqued his curiosity. It was written on what felt like parchment or vellum. Perhaps this was the originality he was looking for. The script was spidery, and it took him a while to decipher precisely what was being written, and who by. The kid was new, having recently moved to the area. He couldn’t recall anything in the transcripts, either positive or negative. Other than being a little quieter than the other kids, he was no different. He was pale, and had dark hair, but he assumed it was a goth phase he was going through. The paper was entitled “Dabbling in the Dark Arts: Deciphering the True Meaning Behind the Lyrical Ballads”. He had always considered Lyrical Ballads to be the start of Romanticism, that Coleridge and Wordsworth had been looking to overturn the priggish, learned and highly sculpted forms of 18th Century poems. He’d always felt that prior to the lyrical ballads, the poetry was narcissistic in the extreme. But here was a boy claiming there was something else entirely to be considered. And the thought put a smile on his face as he began to read.

The smile was soon wiped from his face. The nature of the content was highly disturbing, focusing as it did on the darker elements of magical lore, and skirting round ritual human sacrifice and devil worship. The quality of the writing was not in question, but the subject matter gave rise to some serious concerns, and not all of them were of a scholastic nature. He may only have been a novice, an apprentice wizard, but he recognised the preface of a black bible when he saw one. He would have to speak with his master, and soon, but the bell for the end of lunch wasn’t far off, and even though he was certain his earlier outburst marked the end of his tenure, he felt an obligation to the children he would be teaching at the end of the day. He slipped the essay into his bag, pulled out his mobile phone, and made a call.

ladyhwin

Finally got it done!!! Enjoy!!

**

Kayla finished the last of her food, a full and contented yawn overcoming her as she attempted to say thanks.
Through the window she could see only blackness, making the sparse light indoors seem cozy and warm. She smiled, wearily and fleetingly as another yawn captured her.
“Are you very sleepy?” Kayla looked up at her elder sister’s question. Deep, beautiful eyes looked softly back at her and twinkled faintly.
Wearily Kayla allowed herself to be led to bed. She stumbled clumsily over her own feet until finally she collapsed among the softness of pillows.
Gently the elder sister wrapped Kayla up, tucking her comfortable in, then sat down close beside her.
Kayla felt suddenly extremely small and childish. She knew she was capable of taking care of herself, that she was silly to think that the world would look out for her at all times, no matter what. She tried to say something, to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the older girl beside her, whom she adored. It was natural, wasn’t it, for the younger to admire the elder and want to be like her in every aspect, especially when the elder was so beautiful and had such a wonderful way of caring for her sisters?
Kayla looked down again as she began to yawn. She felt like such a novice when it came to caring for others. She could never say or do the right thing. She sighed and pressed more firmly against her sister, feeling love and strength through the embrace.
Slowly her own thoughts faded and she listened to the mummering of the protective girl next to her. She listened intently, sleepily. She thought she could pick out the lyrics of a song she knew, but perhaps it was a dream… perhaps she had slipped into sleep without realizing it… weren’t those bad dreams creeping among the shadows?
But no. A beautiful dark blue shadow fell over her, her sister’s shadow… she was protected from all bad dreams, all harm.
Kayla smiled sleepily, feeling the snug warmth of the covers and her sister’s loving hug. She listened again, this time to the stories of the two sisters’ adventures together. She marveled at the complete absence of narcissistic words, hearing only her own praises sung in these tales of more recent times. Then the elder sister shifted her focus, beginning an older story, one of yore, one that dabbled her and there into the use of magic and the secrets of the trees. The story became embellished with words taken from the mouths of the moon and stars, with hints of the wind’s breath and touches of the sun’s warmth.
With all these gentle, quiet words flowing about her, Kayla began again to drift into the realm of slumber. She grew numb to her surroundings, feeling only the stories she was slipping into. Her eyes drifted close and her breath grew heavier.
The elder sister slowly drew her tale to an end as she saw Kayla succumbing. She smiled softly, looking out the window towards the moon, from whence the stories had come from.

morshy

Just wondered when we could expect a judgement for this challenge...hope all is well with Randy Lynne, but think we need to move on to ensure this doesn't get stale. Want to keep the challenges moving...

randylynne

Hi. It has been a crazy week here, but I actually was just giving to the end of this week, since half of the entries came after the already-extended deadline. I wasn't wanting to drag it on forever, I promise. I appreciate all the entries--Hazer's suspenseful continuation of a story and Cathy's beginnings. I loved Ladyhwin's sweet bedtime scene--an interesting counterpart to my own morning wake-up scene.

But I think I'm going to have to pass this challenge along to Morshy, despite the extra wordcount, because the teacher melt-down was absolutely classic--and seems so appropriate since I've experienced a few of those moments myself since the new school year started. It's a good thing I only teach my own kids! Though the story grew darker, that bit stuck with me the most.

I can't wait to see what new challenge you come up with, and look forward to writing my own entry. Thanks!

morshy

Thanks for passing the torch on Randylynne. It's just gone 1am here in the UK, I've just watched Europe retain the Ryder Cup, and it's been a long week.

I'll post a new challenge tomorrow...honest!

Thanks for the great word list. Hope I can do the next one justice.

ladyhwin

Congrats, morshy! We've missed you. Can't wait for a new challenge... and more stories!!