marius

326 words, but 'fleeting' was exactly that - it was in the story, but ...


Little Buddy

I had quite the day with Merlin Comes-Along. Everything seemed normal until we drove up to Pine Creek to do a healing ceremony for Jonathan’s daughter, Evie. The minute we got there Merlin caressed me strangely and said, “Stay put Little Buddy.” Then he bounded into the house. When he came back he said, “We’re going to the Canyon.”

The closer we got, the more inundated I felt by the power of the calling. At first it came soft like a whisper but soon it was clamoring with such zeal that all other thoughts were vanquished, sent off to that ambiguous ‘place of between.’ All I had was my energy and it was popping.

We found her right off the bat. Merlin hopped out of his truck and started singing the calling song while he walked out to join her on that skinny precipice. He’d told me she was on the brink of big changes and he wasn’t kidding. Merlin sat right down next to her and said, “I think this is yours.” She didn’t move so he took her hand, put me in it and wrapped her fingers around tight.

He spoke quietly, “They say when you go this way that you’re taking on what don’t belong to you. You’re right that it’s time to give up, but you’re dead wrong about WHAT to give up. Feel that little rock in your hand? I want you to put everything that don’t belong, into that rock. His name is Little Buddy. He wants you to give him all that stuff right now.”

Well, she sure didn’t seem to be hearing a thing Merlin Comes-Along said, but I can tell you she did because all that cracking-up going on inside her, filled me up and then some. The next thing I knew, little tears of joy were running down somebody’s face and washing me off.

That’s the best way to clean an onyx if you didn’t know.

giraffe

Doug. Very spicy. Is it Lenora as in "Quoth the Raven"? (Lenore) I have some new Ideas. I take it that Jason Montague is the namesake of his grandfather. Hmmmm

Qsilv

..er.. "boo!" (Doug, you're a wicked tempter.)

Seriously, I'll try to steal time in this one last day or create it out of whole cloth.

Meanwhile I HAVE to say, it's not mine to judge here and I'm enjoying the whole exchange dynamic like crazy... BUT... marius' mystical stone cliff-hanger has my utmost admiration -- got that distinctive dialogue exactly right... and I'm just blown away by morshy's abandoned ghost child.

giraffe

326 words. Maybe more. Sorry for getting all squirmy.

MR. MONAGUE Lenora (the Vixen Jezebel)

She was a spitting image of Jason's grandmother, Clara. You could tell from the huge painting 'Reclining Nude' that was now on display over his big, flat screen TV in the parlor. Jason's grandfather paid a fortune to have it done and he didn't even mind letting his wife pose for it. Mr. Montague Sr. always saw art as an ambiguous form of lust. He felt it was fine to vanquish one's fleeting desires artistically. Just don't caress or touch.

The house liked Lenora. It nearly purred every time she was there. She even liked the painting of Jason's grandmother that resembled her. "Clara must have been a very zealous woman." she said.

"Yes," Jason responded, "Wearing nothing but an onyx necklace, what a vision! I'm so glad you wear it, too. Do you want to take a shower or watch Wheel of Fortune?"

"I'm going to go cook you some dinner, Big Boy. Mind if I don't get dressed?"

"No, Clara. I always want to think of you like this. Naked in onyx."

"Oh, Mr. Montague. You make me blush."

Jason stared at the painting until Lenora came back with the huge omelet. He cut it in half and said "Here's your supper, Gramps."

He knew Gramps couldn't eat in his condition (dead and all). But they both sure enjoyed Clara in her onyx necklace.

Lorena had to snap her fingers. "Jason, are you with us? Here's your supper!"

"Just lay with me, Clara. I'm not hungry."

It wasn't until days later that Jason remembered that he lived alone in a small flat in Brooklyn. He only woke up when he was hungry or needed to pee.

When Jason came to bed, he laid down on her and the air deflated. All that was left was a flat balloon with a necklace on it. Grandpa Montague was laughing hysterically.

Remember the mines. Blow her back up. She ain't really dead.

giraffe

That could be a jumping off point for a million stories. So could any moment in life. Sorry to porn out, Doug. It is just my humor. You can back up and rewrite at any time.

giraffe

Then he twittered, texted and emailed the bitch.

Qsilv

Ok, all the letters of the alphabet at least two different ways, including the listed ways, tho’ not necessarily exactly as in Ny’s list— and, er, somehow it morphed into 444 words and I’m disinclined to tinker it down.

IF you really want a title, it’s: 'Weirding Out the Kids'
;>



“Grandma, why did you kill that man?”
The oldest child asked it, and the others stopped, all eyes suddenly silently drawn to her onyx ones. The story was always pretty much the same, told in a slow whisper, almost caressing each word, but each time she’d start with a different reason.

Mind you, she always gave one. Then she’d re-tell the story with THAT reason, however ambiguous at the beginning, winding up seeming absolutely central. And yet…

Joseph’s list had grown to over a dozen now.

“You know, all in all, I think that was a mistake.”
“Sometimes you find yourself standing on a brink and things just happen in ways you don’t expect.”
“It was possible and practical to vanquish a foe; you’ll have to decide for yourselves if those were valid reasons.” (They were still debating that one.)
“There was no other choice.”
“I didn’t feel there was anything worth saving there.”
“Seemed sensible at the time.”
“He asked me to.”
“I didn’t.” (That had been the trickiest.)
“That wasn’t a man.” (Second trickiest, but it had a simple enough ending.)
“For the joy of it!”
“Over-zealousness.”
“There were extenuating circumstances.” (Little kids understand big words very well.)

This time Sep raised his hand, both his hands, actually, waving them around zealously over their heads. “I know, I know!” But he gave one of the rare repeats, reason number 7 and 14 in Joseph’s secret list. Joseph wondered if Sep had never heard her tell it that way the first time.

Then he suddenly wondered if that even WAS the first time. Hadn’t she told this story before they’d been born? Or… didn’t she make it up just for them? Or... well, was it even true?

At 8, he’d become aware that grown-ups did that sort of thing… told untruths.

Somehow that felt more unsettling than causing a death. Death was weird mysterious stuff anyhow. Who knew if there were spirits? If there were, the earth must be inundated in ‘em, just like live folks. But dead or alive, how did you deal with liars? Or even simply the lies…

And he had plenty of time to do such wondering because she seldom answered right away. She’d just poured scalding hot water into her teapot. He watched her eyes as she moved the teabag up and down on its string, releasing small clouds of ever-darker color into the brew. In turn, she seemed at first totally deaf to their requests, then tipped her head to one side… and finally met his gaze with a fleeting twinkle of her own. That was the signal.

“I don’t remember.” Whoa! THAT was an odd one.

Doug

No I think I'll let you get the last laugh. -30-

A blow up doll? You didn't go there....lol.

ladyhwin

Okay, more of a rant than anything else. Life is catching up with me and my Inspiration hasn't been around much, but spending time with my horse yesterday gave me an idea... 326 words, no title. Almost truth.... And just so it makes sense, Fury and Tempest are two other horses.

***********************
"People say bay horses are boring."

"How insulting!"

"I think you're gorgeous. And now, with your summer coat coming in and your spring dapples showing, you're stunning."

"I think so too."

"I never could figure out why Mr. Hodges sold you to me. After all, being his best trail horse, winning poles horse and the children's pet, you were worth a lot more than what we paid."

"Does that matter? Do you suppose you shoo that fly away? Thank you."

"Do you still remember being in the arena last year? With all those master horsemen watcing?"

"Quite well. You were scared so badly, even Emily's talk didn't do much."

"I couldn't help it!"

"Humans... Oh, their zealous nature, their needless, fleeting fears."

"Aw, come off it. I had fun."

"I know. The joy of receiving that perty ribbon was wonderful. You do realize I haven't seen heads or tails of the thing since we got back."

"I'm sorry!"

"And my hooves need trimming. Didn't you see how they're breaking? No, you didn't... ah, well."

"I'll call the farrier tomorrow."

"Good."

"So, what's the beautiful onyx-eyed Fury been telling you today?"

"She said your Libery session was intriguing. Although that brush wasn't exactly the caress she likes. Oh and she has a strong desire to vanquish that wierd ball.... and I do too..."

"How sweet of her. Anything else?"

"Just that she's tired of this ambiguous place and maore than ready to have Jocelyn take her home and be inundated with time and apples."

"Well, we're on the brink of sending her away."

"Yes, Tempest and I will miss her."

"By the way, dearest Lady Hwin, I'm really sorry about Saturday. I shouldn't have been so rude and demanding."

"That's alright. I forgive you. Don't I always?"

"Yes, but I was worse than normal. I know better than to act like that."

"You've been worse. Come, whisper in my ear. Tell me what's wrong. I'll listen."

marius

"weirding out the kids" - Qsilv, fun title and story! Much enjoyment. LOVE grandma, love little Sep trying to think on all of it. Tee hee ... 'round here we'd say, "Yeah, that granny sure was a character!" Made me think of men and their tall tales about fish. Think granny has them trumped! : )

marius

ladyhwin, enjoyed that much. Could have kept reading - wanted more, which, duh, is what we're supposed to want. Felt like I was sitting at the barnyard with Fern in "Charlotte's Web." Delightful.

morshy

326 words (not including the title), and all of the required words are there...I think.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -

Failure

The water had long gone cold. The muted glow from a street lamp outside illuminated the bathroom, the dull orange light falling on empty beer cans and discarded liquor bottles. He blinked once, and a solitary tear slid down his craggy features. He closed his eyes, let out a long, slow breath, and quietly slipped under the water.

They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die, that you see a bright light. I had both. Though to say my entire life flashed before my eyes would be rich. It was more like a highlights reel, and there were precious few of those. The times of intense joy were fleeting, but memorable, and they made it. And so too did the depths of despair, when melancholy laid me low and brought me, all too often, to the brink. The blade of the razor had caressed my naked arms, whispering promises of sweet release. But cowardice, or courage, had stayed my hand.

I won’t blame him (how could I?), his beauty had me spellbound. I lay vanquished before him, yearning for his kiss, to be inundated by feelings of love, desire, happiness. But love is a zealous, fickle mistress. And no sooner did he have me under his spell than he cast me aside and moved on. There was nothing ambiguous about his actions. They were the cold, calculated machinations of a killer.

A corona of light round a dark, onyx hole. I could feel myself rushing towards this release, and end to my misery. I welcomed it, yearned for it, craved it!

He erupted from the icy waters, heaving air into his chest, clutching at the slick sides of the bathtub before falling back and scrabbling for purchase. His breathing was ragged and tears coursed down his face as he clambered out of the tub and lay in a panting heap on the tiled floor. Something new to add to the highlights reel.

giraffe

Yeah, Doug. I don't know where that sick twist came from. Maybe I've read too much Vonnegut, Adams and Robbins. The whole thing was fun. Maybe it was all a delusion in Jason's twisted mind. Then again he might wake up out of that nightmare and be back at his mansion - The Lenore.

Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore'.

giraffe

Morshy. Beautiful, creepy and very tasteful. "Cowardice or courage stays our hand" is a great line. I really like this one. I'm way behind on my reading but spit happens.

Nylecoj

Alright, I had fun, and hope everyone else did too! 33 works, with 17 that had all the words and count coming from 9 different writers. You all made it very hard to choose.

Marius, I pass the torch to you.

Doug

Congrats marius! Might we see another "quixmickle" in the word list?

morshy

Ok, so entries are now closed. The word count for this has gone WAY over the allowed limit. But...meh.

***************************************

Georgia

Skeeter had a banged up banjo. It was held together with “twigs ‘n’ twine” as he used to say. If you plucked a single string, you’d cringe, it was so bad out of tune. But man, could he make it sing. Sitting out on the porch, in the last fading rays of the day, he’d cast a spell. And you could see the joy, written all over that weather-beaten face of his. Ain’t been much joy round here in a while. Guess that’s cos Skeeter hasn’t been around much neither.

I remember it like yesterday. It was hot, the air like molasses. The kind of heat that has the flies panting and lying on their backs in the dirt. Through the heat shimmer, I saw someone approach. Skeeter had just picked up his banjo, but slowly put it down on the floor, and slid it behind the cool box. Ma Reilly took a long, slow sip of her iced tea, the ice cubes clinking in the glass. I held the bottle of beer up to my forehead, savouring the icy coolness. Rufus, Skeeter’s old bloodhound let out a fart, the only sign he was still alive. The smell, we knew, would stay on the porch all evening if we didn’t do something. But it would have meant moving, and in that heat, we’d all have rather sat in the stink than stir up the air.

He was tall, and handsome in a painful way. He wore a dark suit and a hat, and looked immaculate in it. He carried a long, flat case. It looked heavy, but he carried it with such ease. He stopped in front of the porch, placed the case flat on the ground, and turned to us. He took off his hat, squinted into the dying sun, and said:

“Who among you is Luis Ferfallon?”

The voice weren’t more than a whisper, but it carried easily. Seemed to me like all sound stopped. Tweren’t no birds in the trees nor crickets in the grass. I was about to tell him no-one went by that name when Skeeter stood up. I’d never heard Skeeter utter more’n a few words. He reached down, behind the cooler, and drew out the banjo. He looked at the stranger, and in an equally quiet voice, replied “I am.”

The stranger knelt down to his case, flipped open the clasp and raised the lid. From inside, he pulled out a sleek, slim guitar. The scratchboard was onyx black, the body a beautiful rosewood and the neck a deep mahogany. The stranger set foot on the porch. Rufus let out a low, long growl, his hackles rising. Skeeter silenced him with a look. Ma Reilly silently slipped into the cabin, and came out with a stool. The stranger nodded his thanks, and sat down. Once he was comfortable, he stretched his fingers, closed his eyes, breathed slowly and deeply through his nose, then began to play.

It was like nothing I’d ever heard. The way his fingers caressed the strings, like a zealous lover. My senses were overwhelmed and I was inundated with images I failed to comprehend. I felt the bottle of beer fall from my fingers and spill out over my naked toes. And just when I thought there could be no more, that I had been taken to the brink, Skeeter replied. His was a counter melody so haunting, so beautiful. It was no less intricate than the stranger’s, but more beguiling. The two complimented one another, intertwining throughout each other’s music. And then something subtle changed. The nuance shifted, and it went from being complimentary to feudal. The musical barrage became brutal, no longer the beauty of an evening under the stars, but of a well executed assault.

The encounter was fleeting. The last note rang out. The stranger had fallen from the stool, eyes unseeing, mouth open in a silent stream. His fingers were cut to ribbons, the blood smeared all over the beautiful guitar. Utterly vanquished, and also utterly dead. I blinked, and the spell was broken. I turned to Skeeter, questions fighting their way to the front of the queue in my mind. One look was all it took, and they fled. Ma Reilly was cowering in the corner, head bowed and rocking back and forth on her heels. Rufus was gone. Skeeter picked up his banjo. “Such beautiful, sweet music. And always someone has to spoil it. Always looking to duel the devil.”

Skeeter stepped from the porch. I’d never really looked at his feet before. And I didn’t now, not directly. But I watched him as he walked away, and the hoof prints he left behind. There was nothing ambiguous there.

Dragon

morshy, nice! And here I thought the stranger was the devil, great twist.

marius congrats on being next torch bearer, I can't wait to see your list.

Qsilv

morshy .....wowwwwwwwww...

marius! Congrats! You'll be a delightful leader...

Ny - thank you for your nifty new twist on the wordlist --and your patience!

marius

My goodness! Thanks Nylecoj! Have been gone all day and more to do, so if new TW isn't up and going by tonight (have to think of words ya know), look for it tomorrow morning.

And, Nylecoj, thanks for your patience indeed, and thanks for another fun, and educational, TW! : )