marius

Welcome to ThinkWrite XLVI and thanks again to morshy for the honor.

Here is the word list:

orchid
flattery
arch
medallion
tactile
bear
disingenuous
rhythmic
cloak
compassion (or your choice of any word that begins with 'com' ... )

Word count is 380. Any form of word is acceptable. Will announce torch bearer sometime Saturday, June 5.

Everyone is invited to participate. Write stories, poems, fantasy, fiction, sci-fi, Doug-esque word tangles, essays, a letter (to the editor of a newspaper?), a tribute to a loved one, a how-to article, satire or metaphor, a fun little ditty or a romp ... : )

ladyhwin

I'm here and ready to write!! I think Inspiration is back! As well as Oblivion! I should have a story for you by tomorrow morning, marius, if not two!

Get ready Nyle! You're required to continue my tales! ; )

giraffe

Very nice list, marius. see ya in awhile.

Nylecoj

Awesome list Marius!!

And yes I will be ready Lady H.

five

308 words.

Title: Beverly

Absence is a pity to bear.


Frank stood under the arch, without expression, his back straight, his shoulders stiff, his eyes glued to the cut stem of the orchid he dropped.

“A medallion of beef,” Beverly used to say, laughing. “A carafe of wine, the cloak of darkness and a few stars is all we need.” He remembered the tactile delight of her warm flesh folded closing over his fingers, steadying them.

“Frank?”

No need to look. He knew his sister’s voice. “Paula.”

“Mike and John are asking for you.”

The boys. His boys. Beverly’s boys. Paula held them when he explained about their mother. They cried and asked questions he could not answer. Where is she? I don’t know. Why’d she leave. I don’t know. He looked at them blankly every night and morning since, for two weeks. He left the house whenever he could.

It would be disingenuous to say he didn’t care. He had compassion. He felt their hurt. Paula’s smiles and hugs seemed to assure them. They didn’t need him and his pain.

Orange and pink left the sky. Evening settled in, followed by night and a few visible stars. But no Beverly. No rhythmic banter as she talked about her day rousting the boys from their beds and scooting them out the door to school, visiting her toothless father at the home and wishing he’d stop calling her June, her mother’s name, plucking dandelions and crabgrass from the soft lawn and watering her garden, unpacking the boys book bags and helping with homework, breaking up their latest spat about who knew more, and tucking them in for another night. It wasn’t flattery when they said she was a great mom and he said she was a great wife. She was.

Was.

Paula took his hand and and tugged it. “Let’s go,” she said.

five

oops. I read the word count wrong. Oh well.

Dragon

marius, wonderful list, I can't wait to get cracking on it.

five, what a start to this round! Definitly brought a tear to my eye. Beautifully written.

giraffe

380 w/o title

CHEERLEADERS

The Cardinal wore a gold medalion. It was only overshadowed by his beautiful red cloak with the silver cuffs and embroidered bottom hems. Sometimes the beauty of his gowns made you want to reach out and touch him. In his processions, he made the Bishops and Priests look like wall flowers.

I was but a lowly Pawn used at their discretion to protect the Queen. My job was also to create enough room for them to attack the evil Queen on the other end of our land. She was the only one with freedom to go wherever she desired. Thank God she had that because her King was maimed and had limited mobility.

The Bishops were screwy. They couldn't walk straight. They always veered off to the left or right like they were drunk or something. My goal was to become a Rook. That meant I had to be very sneaky and capture others when they least expected it. The Cardinal told me to get nearer to the Castle - not too close, and not in the direct line of vision. I obeyed.

I had to do my job. It seemed like a good idea, but before I knew it, one of the Bishops captured me and threw me into the moat under the arch of triumph. Sometimes I'm glad when they toss me here because the tactile feel of their fingers on my neck is very creepy.

It would be disingeneous to say I gave my life for futility. The compassion of my fellow Pawns will ultimately make us the victors. From the moat I can see that one of my beloved Rooks is getting dangerously close to their Castle.

"Throw the Queen out" I screamed. " Woo her with some orchids. She has such a weakness for them. You can win her over with false flattery. Get away from the Castle and move closer to her. She's out in the field."

Can we put more pressure on her than she can bear? "Get the mean Queen." we yelled from the moat. We were now the discarded cheerleaders and were recently joined by my favorite Rook "Go, Cardinal go! " we kept yelling. Suddenly the opposition trapped our King. He had nowhere to go. The agnostic screamed "Checkmate!"

They always make us try again.

marius

Goodness! This looks to be another promising ThinkWrite. So looking forward to all the gems that will be shared. Good to hear from Nylecoj and ladyhwin, and five again!

Five - Beverly. "Absence is a pity to bear." I would have never put a sentence together like that because I would not have thought of it that way. This is what I love about TW - the lovely and creative touches that are shared. This story has all the right stuff for me. I like that you titled it Beverly because that puts the focus squarely on her. When I learned more about the family, how they are coping, who is helping them cope and how they remember Beverly ... I didn't lose my focus on the family and their pain. instead I wanted to know more about Beverly. I like the implicit idea that people we think we know do surprising things, and not always pleasant ones. [Of course, we don't know that the husband was surprised, do we?] Lovely snapshot of a painful time.

giraffe - Cheerleaders. Tee hee, that was a fun romp. Maybe it would help me play chess if I thought of the pieces that way. I did get confused with rook and castle, because aren't they the same piece? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I enjoyed it.

Qsilve - haha, you think you haven't contributed to this ThinkWrite yet, but your last story will not leave me. I'm going back to morshy's ThinkWrite to re-visit that story and leave a more um, ? proper ? comment. : )

ladyhwin

380 words exactly. Enjoy!


Deep under the mountain, hidden within the caves of stone, he lay, brooding, unable to bear the thought of light, living in a world of darkness. Beneath his feet metal clinked, gold and silver coins, medallions and other treasure collected years before by his forerunners, from whom he had inherited his cave. Yet he did nothing to improve the horde and from his disingenuousness, he gave himself a name. Oblivion.
The treasure began to change from a comfortable resting place to a tactile, rough surface that nudged at his conscience until his only thought was to explore the world beyond the cave.
By a tiny pinpoint of light, he could make out where to go. Slowly, easing out of his long-same position, he crawled through the dark, rancid tunnels. When at last, it opened into a clearing; he paused, blinking even in the moonlight that shone down upon the earth.
Cautiously he stepped closer to the open, shedding his cloak of duty and darkness, exchanging it for the raiment of freedom and life.
With another burst of excitement, he left the cave. Eagerly, he arched his long neck, stretching as he had never done before. He kneaded the ground, enjoying how his claws sank into the soft earth rather than clicking rhythmically on the stone. By turning his massive head, he could admire his looks for the first time, see how his scales gleamed silver beneath the moon, flatter himself, ignorant of how he would shimmer green come morning.
With a mighty heave, he stood, reaching for the leaves. He was full-grown, his head stretching easily to the top-most branches of the tallest trees.
One of the brilliant purple orchids flashed and a fairy fluttered out. She came up and touched the forehead of this new, strange creature.
A shudder ran through him as the magic took effect, but the next moment, he stood prouder and stronger than before. The horns on his head and neck caught the moonbeams, casting light in all directions. His tail tapped the ground impatiently, as though it had a mind of its own and would leap away to explore if he did not hurry up.
And still he stood, gazing over his new treasure and domain. He was Oblivion, dragon ruler of the forest.

ladyhwin

I've been here all along, marius! Just haven't been writing as much! Thanks to your list, I think I'm back into the spirit! : D

*note: instead of compassion, I used comfortable. : )

Dragon

Aah, ladyhwin, I enjoyed that. I knew there was someone else out there who could spin a good dragon tale.

giraffe, yours made me think of the chess sets in Harry Potter. What a thought to think of someone grabbing you by the neck and maneuvering you around.

ladyhwin

Thanks Dragon! I love dragons, and your tales are always wonderful! Maybe you can get one going too! : D

Dragon

Ask and ye shall receive ladywhin

This one's 380 not including the title, no dragons in it though.

The Guardian

She stood among the warband, a tall, glorious warrior. Alike them yet apart, like an orchid amid snapdragons. My eye was always drawn to her. Among those rough and tumble men she was a slender spear with her long hair in a tidy, intricate braid and the hilts of her twin blades peeking over the top of her shoulder. Though strikingly beautiful she seemed immune to flattery, shrugging it off like an unwanted cloak in the heat of high summer. I wished I could be so cavalier with the attentions of others but I had to admit I enjoyed the honeyed words of those disingenuous courtiers who sought only to curry favour with my father.

My father was the one who hired her on in the first place. I fought him terribly about that, I felt I had no need of a bodyguard picturing some fool puffed up in his own importance with medallions on his chest and nothing between his ears. How shocked I was when he introduced her to me. She seemed like death itself, sliding a whetstone down one of her unsheathed blades with a rhythmic whisk, whisk, whisk. She’d looked up at me with one brow arched as if to dare me to call her unfit to protect me.

Now, these many years later, I couldn’t bear to think of life without her by my side, or rather one step behind. A confidant, advisor and sister rolled into one. I can’t recall how many times I’ve seen those twin blades spinning in her hands cutting down any who would think to threaten me. I vividly recall the lessons she’s given me in handling a blade. Not the long swords or sabres of the cavalry, I’d never have the strength to wield those, but the art of the knife. Her first words about knives stayed with me always. ‘Every woman should know her way around more than just a table knife. You never know when someone might get in close.’ Now I know the tactile feel of a hilt in my hand and I’ve defended myself against compassionless killers, seen the shock on their face when they realized who brought them down.

Perhaps if my father had taken her for his own guard he’d still be alive.

marius

ladyhwin - enjoyed your 'no title.' Glad you're inspired to write again. Nice story with many lovely visuals. This is a favorite: "One of the brilliant purple orchids flashed and a fairy fluttered out."

Dragon - like the twist of a female body-guard. Very cool how you got all the words in with such ease. (Well, it read with ease.) Tee hee, "Every woman should know her way around more than just a table knife."

Great beginning to this TW. Thanks much to all who have contributed so far!

giraffe

Yeah. I mixed up the rook, castle and Knight, I'm no good at chess or strategy games. I can't throw a dart either, but I play a hell of a fiddle.

Qsilv

…wordcount’s out the window but it includes all the ones of the list. In terms of editing, that's a right miracle as I started with a memory that orchid conjured up, the rest of the story told itself ---and THEN I had to go back and figure out ways to incorporate marius' chosen gems!

[Compassion is the title but there's another com- word inside: ‘completely’.]



Compassion

My uncle raised orchids. Hell he raised everything –including hell. But the orchids were a bit of a surprise to people who knew him only casually.

Here was a bear of a guy who muscled his motorcycles off-road in hare’n’hounds races, sliding ‘em sideways through mud and roaring up mountains so fast that photos show a whole lot of empty sky BELOW his wheels. He’d get off to yank the thing up over his head and caber-toss it across a ditch if that’s what it took.

I watched him get surprised by a rattler once… it was hanging off a rafter over my bed, actually… I called his name, softly (I hoped)… he followed my eyes upward… big old hand reached out and over and… grasped it …by the tail! He cracked that long thing like a whip… its head came clean completely off… tiny drops of blood spattered around, some right on me... I was shuddering… not screaming, that was never my way… but… even just looking at that hefty sinuous body burned a tactile kind of memory deep into me… and I didn’t like the blood.

“Taste those” he nodded at the shimmering dark wet rubies, “they’ll help the spirit inside you.”

---

The spirit inside me wanted to learn to make frosting flowers on cakes.

My aunt and I spent days practicing. First dots, then lines, rhythmic lines, sinuous as snakes, then leaves with carefully pulled points… violets and pansies took a bit more care with that ruffled lower petal… mums were easy enough… roses were murder.

You have to build a little cone of frosting on a big medallion-headed nail that you twirl slowly in your fingers and then cloak it in overlapped petals, giving just the right twist as you squeeze the icing bag and pull away. We were at it for hours and those poor roses were a whole catalog of types, none of ‘em right. I managed several ivory buds that looked sweet, but no point in flattering myself, as soon as I added outer petals the whole thing turned into a cabbage.

He came in looking for lunch. We gave him lemonade and frosting flowers. He arched an eyebrow, boiled up a pot of coffee, found a chunk of ham from somewhere, sat down and watched us for a while.

Finally he wiped his fingers on his jeans, took my bag, reached for a nail, and built the prettiest most delicate half-blown rose you’ve ever seen. My aunt stood up, marched down the hall toward their bedroom, and after the slammed door you couldn’t hear a sound but the old clock.

“Um, you want to feed the plant?” my uncle asked me. Disingenuous of him, but hey, this was a rare treat. That plant came back with the orchids in his saddlebags from one of his motorcycle trips down to Guatemala. It mostly ate flies and sometimes tiny bits of hamburger. He was forever warning us against feeding it too much, but how could you resist?

I went out and fed the plant.



;>

marius

Tee hee Q, what a delight. It has everything for me ... "hook, line and sinker" ... which comment I hope kind of matches the flavor of this ... matches a bit of the man who raised orchids AND hell. Loved it all!

Doug

I'll be glad when our internet is hooked up at the house. Just stealing away bit of time to participate. Briefly perused the stories so far and they are outstanding. I will try to give more comments later. Cheers!

The reward of rhythmic reality

“Flattery will get you everywhere Mr. Flaherty”, she said with a wicked wink.

Barbara spent her childhood dreaming of dragons and strong brave men. Her father was a bricklayer, mom was “stay at home”, and her sister Brenda was, well, Brenda. All four lived in a modest meticulous house on Arch Street with a meandering brook that cut their property into serpent like shapes. Barbara spent more time outside than in always fantasizing pretending to be princesses, prom queens and prostitutes. Yes she was quite the vixen. While other children dreamed of being moms or police officers Brenda always sought out a more exotic life-choice.

Years later Barbara found herself in the confines of Vegas. Even though the strip was endless to the naked eye traps were strewn about that could enclose your mind and your soul deep within its openness. She first worked at the Belagio as a barmaid, but eventually hooked up with a more exciting and better paying gig at Mandalay Bay as the executive secretary to Phillip Flaherty. Mr. Flaherty was more than just a “business suit” he held great power within the gambling community.

It was the thirteenth day of March in 08’, a day Barbara would rather forget, when Mr. Flaherty strolled into her rather lavish office and demanded she turn over the Hansen file. Not knowing what on earth he was asking she glanced at him with a wide-eyed look and just shook her head. Mr. Flaherty with a cloak and dagger heart and no compassion gave the most disingenuous pointed stare and uttered two words, GET OUT! Barbara broke down sobbing like a mother bear that lost her cub making the most guttural groan that broke the silence of the room. She pleaded for her job but Mr. Flaherty was in a no mood for the tactile blubbering of an office temp. It didn’t matter that she had worked side by side with him for 3 years; she was still just another temp able to be discarded like the plastic purple orchid that appeared on his desk one day.

Barbara rose from her chair and moved towards the door turning back once to see the wry smile of Mr. Flaherty follow her form as it retreated towards the exit. That was when she knew how to “handle” Vegas. Her medallion of moxie and her understanding of men had b

Doug

oops..... b +egun. (I think)