notanotherone

“Acting, out.”

Put your politics aside. Do it for a minute. Please.

I once saw the crypt of a knight.

I spent a night of my life waiting to see Reagan’s casket in the Rotunda. I waited on the mall with like-minded people. I was lucky in many ways.

There were, according to the news, another one hundred thousand like-minded souls. The DC government had done all it could do. None of us actually cared.

We arrived on the sward. It was after volleyball and drinking when we had decided.

Here’s how it worked. You have to manage a hundred thousand people after all.

They had turnstiles positioned all over the place. But the sunstroke and all made them move the lanes under the trees. Nice. That. Except. Night means darkness and all those danged roots. No lyre players or dance steps for, like, three-to-six weeks. Ouch.

We arrived and were under the trees. But that’s extrinsic. This though is intrinsic: there was no jostling. None.

Imagine a roller coaster. And the turnstiles. And seeing the same people over and over. Now imagine those turnstiles a mile long. And think about this. People left their children at the turn. Left them to sleep. And left them with the crowd. Knowing they would be back in an hour or two.

Those were the safest children in the history of the US. They were.

I was with my best friend. We played a silly game. My reposte versus yours. He had an Asian girlfriend and I had invited at beer an Asian girl. How odd a pair of pairs we must’ve been.

It is nothing to say I don’t condone all the man’s politics. Speaking now of Reagan – not my friend. I mean, Star Wars. Really? But I was 14 when he was shot and it mattered to me. That means something.

While we waited I saw things. An elderly man who tipped the ash of his occasional cigarette into some kind of container. He would not spoil the mall. And a girl with crutches who struggled through the roots. She worked harder that night than anyone else. But she knelt down to collect a pigeon feather when she spied it.

I got a Charlie horse walking up that damned hill. I did.

And when we got into the rotunda and saw his casket they closed the doors.

Huh?

And we saw the changing of the guard. And wept.

Until my Asian girlfriend knocked over the velvet-wrapped traffic guides – then I laughed a little.

Dead President’s are always a little funny aren’t they?

five

Title: Interruption

(255 words)

Nothing is too extrinsic to games of skill.

“We’ll melt if it gets hotter,” Ron said, wiping his brow. He swung his mallet.

“Missed the ball. You’re trying to lose,” Charles said. Across the lawn, Alice watched. Charles waved; she turned away.

“She’s something?”

“Something.”

“Ask her?”

Charles stared silently at Alice, then turned his eyes to the wooden ball nestled in brown grass. The grass needed rain.

“Well?”

“I’m concentrating.” Charles said, lining up his mallet.

He knocked Ron’s ball onto the walkway. It rolled to a stop at Alice’s feet.

“Watch it,” she said, kicking the ball and puffing a cigarette. “You’ve abandoned the sward.”

“Huh?”

“The sward.”

“What have you been smoking?”

“It’s a gentleman’s game?”

“Knocking balls through hoops; kills time.” He tapped the mallet on the sidewalk.

“Riposte!” Ron hollered, as Charles’ ball flew toward Alice and Charles. “Duck!” Alice yelled. She yanked his arm hard, and he followed to the concrete, skinning a knee. The ball sailed overhead and disappeared in bushes.

“My knight in shining armor.” Charles sighed.

Alice tapped her cigarette. Ash dropped between them. She giggled.

“Nice; very nice.”

He pulled his harmonica from his pocket.

“You should play the lyre,” Alice said close to his ear, “like the Gods.”

“On the sward,” he said.

“On the sward.”

They looked intently at each other. “Would you -- Ow, what the?” Charles rolled over as Ron’s shoe struck his side again. “That’s a feather in my cap,” Ron said, danced around them and collapsed beside Alice.

Charles glared.

Doug

giraffe: "Is that you?". Me thinks that the protector who failed at his job may have not lived to old age. I think the queen would have had his own sword turned against him and off with his head! Touching story..her being the young and dreamy type and the protector longing for her, but unfullfilled.

marius: "The Glass House"..interesting way to turn an old story into a modern reality. I think "gran" always told us stories to teach us life-lessons. I spent a great deal of time with my great grandmother whom we called "grandma in the garden" and she would regale us with tales from the olden days. I still remember many of those stories and either "times" have not changed or we keep repeating those same foibles over and over again. Thanks for making me think of her.

five: Indeed, it is a "gentlemans' game. The chase...the competition over winning the battle of the heart. Nice story.

notanotherone: Welcome to ThinkWrite..a very unpolitical, political story. Enjoyed the visions of the behind the scenes of the Reagan "viewing". The funeral actually did not happen there. I remember that time very well. I was glued to the "tube" and was caught up into the emotion especially of Nancy's stoic yet somber vigil at her husbands funeral. I can still see it. As for Star Wars? He was a man ahead of his time. I think Reagan's greatest attribute was his ability to relate and communicate with us "common folk". I can't think of another president who hasn't just sounded like a stuffed shirt leader telling us something. Reagan spoke to "us", the people. Think about the current president Obamadrama. What has he really done except espouse the same ideology that he used in his campaign. Oh well, I'll get off my soap box and let you all get back to the stories.

Doug

Way over the word count and I did leave out one word. I do apologize if this seems a bit helter skelter, but I think I'm still suffering from "moveitis" which is a common condition to those who live in one place too long and then try to move the state of Pennsylvania into a Cape Cod. If only I could build an airplane hangar in my back yard to store all my "collectibles". Hmmmm.

Collecting

My wife calls me a pack rat…I call it my retirement fund. With today’s economy and the stock market in a tizzy I watch my 401K walking the gang plank. Really, what was I thinking! They told me that when I had a few thousand dollars I should diversify away from the stable “cash fund” I had opted for in the beginning. I would not condone one of their analysts hedging me towards something I didn’t research myself so I set down with my gargantuan prospectus that must have been buried in the frozen sward for centuries and studied. I came up with two viable options. A diversified stock fund seemed like a safe bet. Stocks had been rising steadily for quite some time dancing their way above the “high” mark over and over again with only tiny bubbles bursting now and again. It seemed to be a safe choice full of feathery softness that had a strong inner core that would grow my retirement savings. My second choice although a bit riskier was a real estate fund that had shown on average over the last five years a twenty percent return or better. Hallelujah! I was set. Ok, I won’t even go into what happened next…

Back to pack rattiness. As most of you know I work for McDonalds. Over the years I have collected almost every “valuable” thing we have offered from glasses to beanie babies. I’ve also picked up thousands of McDonalds NASCAR collectibles over the years. I’ve had friends and family add to my “retirement fund”. My brother who fancies himself quite the lyre not with an instrument, but with his voice scored me an actual Bill Elliot pit crew uniform from none other than Indianapolis Motor Speedway where they run the “brickyard” races. My sister-in-law decided that every Christmas I must have a McDonalds collectible and she has pored over the EBay pages and found me quite an interesting hodgepodge of McDonalds stuff I have never seen before and that is a hard task as I fancy myself as I fancy myself the expert in the field.

Maybe I’m showing my OCD side, but at Christmas, birthdays and every other holiday where presents are offered everyone always comments….”Don’t open that package, it’s a collectible!” I don’t feel ashamed. I fancy myself an enthusiast and one night when my ashes have finished their final “burn” and nothingness becomes of me, maybe my wife will unpack the boxes and have her own memories good or bad.

Retirement fund? I don’t plan on retiring.

ladyhwin

Nine stories in four days. I like!

giraffe - I enjoyed "Is That You"! The flow was very nice and the entire tale caught me. Good job!

marius - despite the word count, "The Glass House" was wonderful! I was drawn in from the beginning and I think my eyebrows danced at the end for some reason.

giraffe - "Cold" somehow had the same feel as marius' story, not sure if you meant it that way, but that's how I got it. Very, very nice!

morshy - as always, your tale was intriguing, with a sense of mystery to it. I really, really liked it and would love to see a continuation! please...?

Doug - I think I sighed... "Fitful Sleep" made me want to go find a sward of my own... Huge smile on that one.

Q - yes, I'll allow you to use the last line as your title. I'm too lenient, hehe! As always, your story interested me. Especially the amusing grammer you put in. Intriguing!

notanotherone - I laughed! That was awesome! An interesting take! Also, welcome to ThinkWrite and please stick around, I like your style so far and would like to see some more of your words!

five - "Interruption" also got a laugh out of me. Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but I enjoyed it! Good work!

Doug - I am going to let my Dad read this! I really liked "Collecting", very intriguing! Great job, and hope you get over your moveitis soon!

Awesome job so far everyone! Sriera is chattering in my ear to post her comments, but somehow I don't think I can type long enough to say everything she's trying to tell you! The Queen is just as amazed by the talent of you all and the Storyteller is smiling.

Doug

morshy: Sorry I missed commenting on your story. Just like you said that was a beginning to something far greater. I see a wonderful story coming out of that. I would be very interested to see what the scribe does next.

Qsilv

wait... the scribe's still alive?? (... must . read . that . again ...)

five

oops, I left out "condone" ... rewrote to include the word.

Title: Interruption (255 words)

Nothing is too extrinsic to games of skill.

“Can’t condone the heat?” Charles asked.

“We’ll melt if it gets hotter,” Ron said, wiping his brow. He swung his mallet.

“Missed the ball. Trying to lose?” Across the lawn, Alice watched. Charles waved; she turned away.

“She’s something?”

“Something.”

“Ask her?”

Charles stared at Alice, then turned toward the wooden ball nestled in brown grass. The grass needed rain.

“Well?”

“I’m concentrating.” Charles said, lining up his mallet.

He knocked Ron’s ball onto the walkway. It rolled to a stop at Alice’s feet.

“Watch it,” she said, kicking the ball and puffing a cigarette. “You’ve abandoned the sward.”

“Huh?”

“The sward.”

“What have you been smoking?”

“It’s a gentleman’s game?”

“Knocking balls through hoops; kills time.” He tapped the mallet on the sidewalk.

“Riposte!” Ron hollered, as Charles’ ball flew toward Alice and Charles. “Duck!” Alice yelled. She yanked his arm hard, and he followed to the concrete, skinning a knee. The ball sailed overhead and disappeared in bushes.

“My knight in shining armor.” Charles sighed.

Alice tapped her cigarette. Ash dropped between them. She giggled.

“Nice; very nice.”

He pulled his harmonica from his pocket.

“You should play the lyre,” Alice said close to his ear, “like the Gods.”

“On the sward,” he said.

“On the sward.”

They looked intently at each other. “Would you -- Ow, what the?” Charles rolled over as Ron’s shoe struck his side again. “That’s a feather in my cap,” Ron said, danced around them and collapsed beside Alice.

Charles glared.

giraffe

notanotherone, All politics aside, I think it's kinda creepy to line up to see a body. Well told, though.

five, The lighthearted croquet match made me giggle. Cool images.

doug, I saw a collection in a bizarre cafe here. Some guy had all of the PAPER products from the very beginning - the hamburger wrappers and boxes, paper cups, tray covers, french fry containers in every size et al. It was Warhol-esque. Good one.

I haven't had time to even read all of the stories yet. I mistook sward as a misspelling of sword. Bad giraffe.

Nylecoj

Wow! Great job everyone!! What a surprise to come home to so many new stories! (I was out of town for two days)
Notanotherone, welcome to ThinkWrite! glad to have you. Doug, Five, Morshy Qsilv, glad you decided to drop in and leave some stories!

giraffe

This is about 290 - a true story with some embellishment.

OPPOSING MASTERS

"What now?" Jim said. We were standing on the sward in the middle of campus. It was patrolled by police who thought they were knights or something. They didn't seem to realize that we were all like pieces controlled by opposing masters.

"Keep moving you guys." one of them growled.

"Who are you to tell me that?" was my knee-jerk riposte. Can't we just stand here and talk?"

"No." he growled. "There have been too many college demonstrations. Everybody has to keep moving so crowds don't gather."

As we walked along, Jim said "Wow. This insanity is extrinsic to logic." We both eyed the 'Campus Room' Coffee House and headed in that direction to find out if we could at least sit down there and talk. We could.

The waitress wore a feather boa like Janis Joplin. She could see the look of nothingness on our faces. "What now?" she asked. "Stick around. We have some kids from the dance department who dance to a simple lute and lyre. Starts in about 1/2 hour. Do you want anything?"

"Yeah. 3 coffees - one for you. Join us?"

She sat down and said "This is crazy. I don't see why the college condones it. Have you been stopped by the cops yet? Or I guess I mean go-ed?"

"Just now."

"This Vietnam thing is out of hand. Last week they burned our posters to ash. Right in front of us."

"I think when they realize how stupid this war is, they'll change." I said.

"Don't count on it." Jim quipped. "What now?"

ladyhwin

Hmmm... very intriguing, giraffe... but it's not clicking, I'm probably not awake yet. Will have to read again later...

Doug

Q...don't know what I was reading in Morshy's story. Now that I re-read it thte scribe got turned into cold cuts. Either way I still think there is much more to the story. I still would have liked to see more of the scribes' visions and how that played out in its effect on his surroundings.

Doug

giraffe: First let me say that you are showing your "age" a bit with that story "Opposing Masters". It kind of gave me a chuckle and I don't know why. When I think of all the "wars" we are currently fighting whether publicly or some other more clandestine missions I don't think we've learned our lesson. The great and "powerful" USA has to stick their fingers into every flavor of pie in the world. We have so many "behind the scenes" operations going on that if you counted them up we are holding our own World War. Hold on to your penchant for peace, but I don't think you'll see it in your lifetime or in our great-great-great grandchildrens.

five

Title: Harbinger

(255 words)

The lone cow, a stranger to the lyre, quietly nibbled the clover sward. A thick haze feathered out like a plume of ash, darkening the afternoon sky like night come early, and danced around the cow. The extrinsic veil lifted as dramatically and quickly as it came. The cow raised it’s head, snorted a mild riposte, and returned to chewing as though nothing had occurred: it seemed to condone the harbinger.

Henry screamed. “Oh, God, it’s happening!”

The earth shook, and a high pitched voice sounded: “What’s happening?”

Light came. Then dark. Then light again. Dark. Light. Henry blinked. Long strands of brown hair tickled his skin. He heard the high voice: “Henry, wake up. Henry!”

He focused on the hair -- a familiar soft plain brown -- and the pretty face looking down at him. “What?”

“You screamed.”

“I, I.” He reached up and cupped her chin. “Must have dozed off.”

She kissed his forehead. “Do you remember the dream this time?”

He shook his head and shrugged.

“That’s the fourth time this week. You should talk to someone.”

He pulled away, pushed his chair back, and set his fists on top of the papers on the table. “I’m fine.” He stared at the numbers on the reports that had put him in a daze. “We’re down again.”

“Not every investment will be turn out.”

“You said that last quarter.”

“You worry too much.”

“We could lose everything, Ali.”

“Not if we diversify. I moved money into the cattle futures I told you about. Trust me.”

Doug

five: The first paragragh was a masterpiece. I had to read it several times because I couldn't get enough of it. Great story. You had me enthralled throughout.

Dragon

giraffe, your story made me think of what it must have been like on that Ohio campus a day or 2 before the National Guard shot those protesters. Had a good feeling of foreboding. Nicely written.

five, I must agree with Doug, that first paragraph really sucks you in. Not sure I would want to invest in Cattle futures after that.

ladyhwin

Ah-ha!! Very nice giraffe! I read it now and I enjoyed it a lot!! Good job!

five, hmmm... why did Harbinger sound familiar... I'm not sure, but I liked it and it was VERY good!

five

Title: Camelot Was Not

(255 words)

The shard fronting the old building briefly appeared unscathed. Like a lyre plucked by an unhurried god, the mind can condone deception with surprisingly little effort. Long ago, stars distracted his eyes, warmth fooled his heart, and he and the soft-tempered damsel he rescued crossed the threshold as one.

Yet, nothing seemed more futile than burying memories where love took hold. Nature’s riposte met the effort the self proclaimed knight mustered: the sun betrayed shards of window glass among green shoots, and the wind kicked ash and crow feathers into a dance, without choreography, wholly extrinsic to the turf.

He woke to a woman no longer docile and grateful to be wed. She wanted. She insisted. She demanded. Camelot never was. He tried covering his ears. He tried leaving her be. He tried paying close attention. He tried listening to her every word. He tried what he could.

If only he would have forgotten the girl as easily as she had fooled him. If only he had tried leaving then.

The last memory, the one that followed him where ever he went, that threatened to catch him if he stilled, was ugly in its detail. Her words. Remember when you had potential? His hands, so quick. Enough. When we had the world before us. Her arm, so fragile. Enough. The world before us. Then her waist. Then the terrible sound of glass shattering. Enough, it was.

A crow flew from the roof and landed where he had lit a match and left her quiet.

___

Ladyhwin, Doug's collection/retirement story inspired Harbinger. Maybe that's why?

five

oops, type. Last story should have started, "The sward fronted..."