Special thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/
Prompt:
In a cold place just north of Sumatra, called the Blue Mountain Region, the laws preventing public physical content had long since been abolished.
"Hey there chap how are things?"
"Oh you know well, enough..."
"Cheers, to that!"
"It's cold yeh?"
"Oh ya...ruddy cold."
"Shall we start up a huddle then."
"Seems like the way to go."
The two men gave a concise understanding nod before thrusting themselves shoulder to shoulder. They walked steadily down the road pressing evenly against one another as they walked. Before any time at all, a young woman had joined the men. she was walking very close behind and had wrapped her arms around the two gentlemen's shoulders as if old friends. Though it was clear she had no relation to them. Another younger man came to her side and nestled up close to her while pushing on the gentlemen as well. The walk became a tad bit slower as the complication of walking with eight feet made a brisk pace impossible. Another older man came up in front and slowed the party even more, but not a single one seemed to mind. One by one people were joining the group at an alarming rate. Suddenly what had started as two men walking shoulder to shoulder had turned into a great a mass of people walking closer than comfortable. Yet if you asked a single one why they did it their answer would be just that...comfort.
"Hello, m'lady." A man tips his had walking up next to the pile.
"Do you mind if I join in" He asks.
"Of course not, hop in stranger." A woman replies with a smile.
"Oi' mate, room for another cold fella?" Another asks.
"Always is." Someone responds, and the man presses neatly into the amoeba of bodies pressing onward down the street.
It was an awkward sight to see, the people looked like the bubbles floating about on the top of a cappuccino. Whenever one would spill over the side of the sidewalk they would simply scuttle around to the back and queue up somewhere near, there. No one ever seemed to mind, shoving was common but not violently, only enough so that one could get to where they were going, or to pack in a little closer. The whole ordeal was carried out with unseen efficiency and speed. Whenever someone had reached their stop they seemed to effortlessly and flawlessly find their out, still it was with no small amount of coercing the bodies, which made a living obstacle around them. The exiting member would pop off and be left behind while someone else eagerly rotated and shifted in to fill their spot. It was impossible to tell if the two gentlemen who had started the fuss were even still a part of it.
A young woman had reached her stop and gracefully wriggled to the outside until she was free and the group shuffled past. Near by was a traveler, who's jaw was slack and hanging loosely from his cheeks. He was stricken with utter disbelief at the calamity he had witnessed. The young lady blushed and walked his direction. With a respectful. "ahem" she caught the foreigners attention, to which he promptly, and a tad embarrassed, snapped his open mouth shut.
"Wh-what on cafe was that" The man pointed with an intensely curled thumb protruding out from a fist full of curled fingers. It pointed in the direction of the ever advancing mass of people.
"That, dear gentle-sir, is a huddle. We do it for warmth. A'int you ever seen the penguins, on one of them television specials? A coat is nice, but it's not alive, it doesn't make it's own warmth. You know what does...?"
"A body...?"
"A body! It's twice as nice, and really not a big deal once ya get used to it."
The young lady chuckled and twirled about, retreating into the nearby building. The Traveler, walked out into the sidewalk in order to get a better view of the mass which was far off into the distance now. He looked across the street and saw a smaller group standing still but in the same kind of huddle. He saw a family walk out of a restaurant and do the same. He looked back at the shuffling feet of the mass from before. They were fading into the distance now and he had to squint to see them. He felt a sharp breeze nipping at his back. He felt an icy bite on his nose, and his cheeks received cold kisses from the humid air swirling around him. He let out a confused sigh as shivers rattled down his chattering bones. He had dressed for the occasion but it still seemed cold. The frosty breath from his sigh still hung in the air, and before he could finish wishing secretly to himself he was in one of those huddles, he heard a rumble from behind.
Suddenly he was swept up by another barreling group. He bounced from person to person, quickly uttering apologizes which were met with not a single sympathetic look. Eventually he could bounce no more, the mass of traveling bodies had swallowed him up. He felt his feet frantically shuffle beneath him. miraculously missing other feet. He got situated and felt that he was getting the hang of it. It wasn't so bad, and after all,. He was warm.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Restless Beauty
Special Thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt: Write a poem in which tulips bloom under the full moon.
a veiled beauty living, dancing, in the dark.
Reaching up and praying desperately for sun's spark.
A yellow beauty waits patient in this tease.
in a silent time where everything comes to a halt and the moon commands the sky.
Blooms, tears, with no audience
Doomed, tears, a life of violence
Trampled under busy feet searching endlessly for beauty fleeting
people working tirelessly to find happiness in dull grey.
If they could only see through the night's silver eyes greeting
Tulips strange beauty that hides in light of day
But I see it reflected in my loving Luna
awake, alert, while the world sleeps
I count my blessings as insomnia velut fortuna
My tulips and I alone in darkness creep
Beauty is ours until sunrise steals away our keep.
Prompt: Write a poem in which tulips bloom under the full moon.
Cold, Silver, Blue
Remnants of sun light echoing through.
night air, wicked with stale moisture breeze
a veiled beauty living, dancing, in the dark.
Reaching up and praying desperately for sun's spark.
A yellow beauty waits patient in this tease.
in a silent time where everything comes to a halt and the moon commands the sky.
Blooms, tears, with no audience
Doomed, tears, a life of violence
Trampled under busy feet searching endlessly for beauty fleeting
people working tirelessly to find happiness in dull grey.
If they could only see through the night's silver eyes greeting
Tulips strange beauty that hides in light of day
But I see it reflected in my loving Luna
awake, alert, while the world sleeps
I count my blessings as insomnia velut fortuna
My tulips and I alone in darkness creep
Beauty is ours until sunrise steals away our keep.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Three hostages, and cream please.
Special thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt:
Three hostages stood with their backs against the wall. In front of them was liquid hot anticipation, boiling over into a vividly stark imagination where the the violent demise of everyone involved played over and over again in their minds. It didn't seem like there was a positive outcome left. For the hostage taker there was no turning back. The words had already treacherously slipped off his tongue and now, as everyone always holds true, words spoken cannot be taken back.
"I want three sugars, the rest can go."
The men of the room secretively let out personal sighs of relief and dashed out of the room, not a single one swollen with enough courage to do anything for the fates of the three left in the room with the dark captor. Now they were trapped, in a small circular room with porcelain walls. Escape was impossible.
After what seemed like an eternity, the authorities finally showed up. Information was fed to them from eye witnesses and other reports. They tried to establish a connection with the captor, a certain Juan Valdez.
"Juan this is the city of Sumatra Police department, we don't want anyone to get hurt today, why don't you let those hostages go?"
"Never, you can't stop this now."
"Okay hold on there pal, let's not be so rash. What are your demands?"
"I only have one...to get creamed when this is all over."
The officers looked at each other a little confused. Before they could react a horrifying sound resonated from within the ceramic room...
Splash! Splash! Splash!
"Affogato, stop playing with your food! Look you're making a mess"
"But mom, it isn't food it's drink, so it doesn't count."
"If it goes in your mouth, you shouldn't be playing with it, and besides you're making a mess. Clean it up."
"But mom, Juan Valdez has made a hostage demand. Remember?
"Ugh, fine..."
The boys mother reluctantly pours some milk into the drink. The murky black beverage clouds with caramel colored swirls and Juan Valdez's final request was fulfilled. The city of Sumatra will never be the same.
"Your father should have never let you drink coffee..."
Prompt:
Three hostages stood with their backs against the wall. In front of them was liquid hot anticipation, boiling over into a vividly stark imagination where the the violent demise of everyone involved played over and over again in their minds. It didn't seem like there was a positive outcome left. For the hostage taker there was no turning back. The words had already treacherously slipped off his tongue and now, as everyone always holds true, words spoken cannot be taken back.
"I want three sugars, the rest can go."
The men of the room secretively let out personal sighs of relief and dashed out of the room, not a single one swollen with enough courage to do anything for the fates of the three left in the room with the dark captor. Now they were trapped, in a small circular room with porcelain walls. Escape was impossible.
After what seemed like an eternity, the authorities finally showed up. Information was fed to them from eye witnesses and other reports. They tried to establish a connection with the captor, a certain Juan Valdez.
"Juan this is the city of Sumatra Police department, we don't want anyone to get hurt today, why don't you let those hostages go?"
"Never, you can't stop this now."
"Okay hold on there pal, let's not be so rash. What are your demands?"
"I only have one...to get creamed when this is all over."
The officers looked at each other a little confused. Before they could react a horrifying sound resonated from within the ceramic room...
Splash! Splash! Splash!
"Affogato, stop playing with your food! Look you're making a mess"
"But mom, it isn't food it's drink, so it doesn't count."
"If it goes in your mouth, you shouldn't be playing with it, and besides you're making a mess. Clean it up."
"But mom, Juan Valdez has made a hostage demand. Remember?
"Ugh, fine..."
The boys mother reluctantly pours some milk into the drink. The murky black beverage clouds with caramel colored swirls and Juan Valdez's final request was fulfilled. The city of Sumatra will never be the same.
"Your father should have never let you drink coffee..."
Thursday, January 9, 2014
A cup of Joe.
Special thanks to
http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt:
Seems like an odd life to be living. Everyday comes in with the same old sunrise, and yet it' is different every time because the sun comes shining in on a totally different story each day. Lives change, and the people rearrange, there's no telling what that burning yellow ball has seen. I know this much, I know what I've seen, and what I've seen ain't pretty. The city is a harsh mistress, she's tough, she's gritty, and if these walls could talk, well they'd swear like a sailor recounting the stories they've seen. I suppose in the end we've all seen some stuff eh? I take another swig of my coffee. It's black, just like I always take it. The bitter sour taste of the cheap beverage rolls down my tongue and starts tearing holes in my stomach. If I would just have something to eat it would probably remedy the stomach ache but to tell you the truth, I don't think I could stomach a meal, not with the things I've seen. I never ate at this diner. What a life. As I set my drink down it lets loose a ceramic thud on the diner table. The sound is lost amongst the rest of the clatter in the busy restaurant. I came here everyday, at the same time, and ordered the same thing. A cup of Joe for a guy named Joe. It's all I need, just a little pick me up while I escape the terrors of the city for a half hour or so. I leave the same tip, for the same waitress everyday, unless she is sick or something, or has her friend's wedding to go to, then I leave the same tip for a different waitress who is covering her shift. All this time I could recognize her face anywhere, but I don't even know the dame's name.She knows mine though. Says it when she walks up and says,
"You need a refill Joe?"
"No, I'm fine thanks."
"Alright well let me know when you're ready for the check."
I decide that today I'm gonna ask her.
"Say, what's your name doll?"
She rolls her eyes just barely but I saw it, and points to her name tag. I knew she wanted me to read it , but I just kept looking at her, right in those dreary eyes. Finally she caves and politely answers.
"It's Java." and tapped on her metallic name badge with a long manicured nail.
Java walked away to tend to her other patrons. I was left with a bitter taste like the coffee I was drinking, what kind of name is Java? I preferred her as just waitress, now this was probably going to change things about our relationship. Was she going to expect me to call her that from now on? Does she need a bigger tip now that we're on a first name basis? Complication that's what this is, life is complicated eh? Not as complicated as my love life though. That's a whole other story, bet the sun knows that story as well. Any way it all started when I saw her across the....Joe interrupted his own dialogue once he saw the camera pointing at him being rolled away.
"Hey where are you going?"
"Huh? The scene is over we are moving on."
"Whatdaya mean, my monologue just got going."
"Your monologue? what are you talking about? We have to get these cameras set up across town and shoot the next sequence, we are finished with the diner shots."
"Nobody said nothing about going cross town, and why would you interrupt me when I was on such a roll? You can't be done with the diner shots, I haven't even finished my cup of Joe, and I just got to the good part where I tell about my broken heart and spiteful lovers."
The camera crew had cleared the majority of the equipment out of the small diner already. The busy crowd suddenly started clearing out, leaving food and unpaid bills on the table. Java put her hands up into her hair and loosened a red wig in the shape of a beehive from off her head, revealing pinned up brunet locks.
"I didn't know Java wore a wig!" Joe was severely confused and continued to watch as his frequented diner started to come apart. People removed costumes to reveal a totally different person underneath. Java too removed her pinstripe uniform and was wearing a black tank top and jean shorts underneath. An assistant was standing behind a table with a clip board handing out belongings; purses, coats, and the like. Java grabbed her bag from him and walked out of the restaurant.
"But...I didn't even pay yet."
"Oh all payments are done through the mail, we have your information from the waiver you signed at the start of this."
"The start of what?"
Joe frantically looked around. Someone knocked over the jukebox in the corner as they walked by. It fell flat and turned out to be nothing but a painted piece of cardboard. One by one familiar staples of the diner scenery collapsed into props. Microphones were unhinged from all over the place, and chords were gathered up and wrapped neatly away from seemingly every nook and cranny. The vibrant establishment Joe had come to know disappeared and left behind a dark warehouse with nothing but a few forgotten decorations and some prop tables and booths. All around him black colored v-neck shirts darted about gathering up things and cleaning out the dreary space. Joe snapped his fingers at the assistant he had been talking with.
"Hey you, tell me what the devil is going on. I thought I was being filmed for the news on account of me solving that missing person case."
"Right...good character? Except we aren't the news and we have to start filming the other scenes."
"I thought this was about me."
"What? No you were just an extra, nobody was really sure why you were even talking. We were filming the table in the corner opposite of you, they're the real stars."
"hmph..."
Joe couldn't think of anything else to say. A moment of awkward silence passed and the assistant scurried out, leaving Joe behind in the dim industrial lit warehouse. Joe sat back down in his booth, it had been left behind but was crooked now. Dust could be seen dancing in the beams of light from the standard fixtures hung from the warehouse ceiling. It settled on the unsettling scene, landing in on Joe's bewildered head and in his coffee. He took another sip and had to fight from spitting it out. It was cold now, and had a film of dust on it. After a second he composed himself, after all it didn't taste that much worse than it usually did. He sat in the silence finishing his drink, staring out at the morning sun. For a moment he reposed, and then calmly started his monologue again.
So there I was sitting alone in the dusty diner I had called my home. Except some cruel twist of fate had stolen that home from me. I knew the city was harsh, but today she had been crueler to me than any of my ex-loves. The sun sure did have a story to tell this time.
Joe looked at the window as he spoke and as he did a film began to roll off of the pane. It rolled up the scene of morning and the city beyond. The sun slipped under into the tunnel of the rolling sheet and the whole mirage fell to the ground crinkling as it landed. It revealed behind it the unfinished wood paneling of the set.
"Not even a window!" Joe threw his mug at the wall and it shattered like the illusion that was his life just moments ago. The impact shook the adjacent window and the scene unraveled off the wall just as before revealing another wooden panel in its' place. Joe stormed out and kicked one of the left over booths from the fake diner as he went. The booth scooted across the floor and made a sound like nails on a chalkboard as the legs scraped across the concrete. Once Joe made it outside, he took a few deep breaths and inserted his hands into his pockets where they made balled fists inside. He took a great sigh to clear the air, and ease the mood and then again bravely began his monologue one last time.
So it wasn't even day time. I was walking under the cold glance of a judgmental night skyline. The cruel city was laughing at me, and the sun had no story to tell. The walls didn't either, they had turned out to be a pack of lairs anyways. As a private eye I had seen a lot of things, but I never saw this one coming. Day turned to night, Java turned into a brunet, my heart turned to stone, and the diner I had come to every day turned out to be a fraud. The story was my life and I wasn't even the main character. Seems like an odd life to be living.
Prompt:
Seems like an odd life to be living. Everyday comes in with the same old sunrise, and yet it' is different every time because the sun comes shining in on a totally different story each day. Lives change, and the people rearrange, there's no telling what that burning yellow ball has seen. I know this much, I know what I've seen, and what I've seen ain't pretty. The city is a harsh mistress, she's tough, she's gritty, and if these walls could talk, well they'd swear like a sailor recounting the stories they've seen. I suppose in the end we've all seen some stuff eh? I take another swig of my coffee. It's black, just like I always take it. The bitter sour taste of the cheap beverage rolls down my tongue and starts tearing holes in my stomach. If I would just have something to eat it would probably remedy the stomach ache but to tell you the truth, I don't think I could stomach a meal, not with the things I've seen. I never ate at this diner. What a life. As I set my drink down it lets loose a ceramic thud on the diner table. The sound is lost amongst the rest of the clatter in the busy restaurant. I came here everyday, at the same time, and ordered the same thing. A cup of Joe for a guy named Joe. It's all I need, just a little pick me up while I escape the terrors of the city for a half hour or so. I leave the same tip, for the same waitress everyday, unless she is sick or something, or has her friend's wedding to go to, then I leave the same tip for a different waitress who is covering her shift. All this time I could recognize her face anywhere, but I don't even know the dame's name.She knows mine though. Says it when she walks up and says,
"You need a refill Joe?"
"No, I'm fine thanks."
"Alright well let me know when you're ready for the check."
I decide that today I'm gonna ask her.
"Say, what's your name doll?"
She rolls her eyes just barely but I saw it, and points to her name tag. I knew she wanted me to read it , but I just kept looking at her, right in those dreary eyes. Finally she caves and politely answers.
"It's Java." and tapped on her metallic name badge with a long manicured nail.
Java walked away to tend to her other patrons. I was left with a bitter taste like the coffee I was drinking, what kind of name is Java? I preferred her as just waitress, now this was probably going to change things about our relationship. Was she going to expect me to call her that from now on? Does she need a bigger tip now that we're on a first name basis? Complication that's what this is, life is complicated eh? Not as complicated as my love life though. That's a whole other story, bet the sun knows that story as well. Any way it all started when I saw her across the....Joe interrupted his own dialogue once he saw the camera pointing at him being rolled away.
"Hey where are you going?"
"Huh? The scene is over we are moving on."
"Whatdaya mean, my monologue just got going."
"Your monologue? what are you talking about? We have to get these cameras set up across town and shoot the next sequence, we are finished with the diner shots."
"Nobody said nothing about going cross town, and why would you interrupt me when I was on such a roll? You can't be done with the diner shots, I haven't even finished my cup of Joe, and I just got to the good part where I tell about my broken heart and spiteful lovers."
The camera crew had cleared the majority of the equipment out of the small diner already. The busy crowd suddenly started clearing out, leaving food and unpaid bills on the table. Java put her hands up into her hair and loosened a red wig in the shape of a beehive from off her head, revealing pinned up brunet locks.
"I didn't know Java wore a wig!" Joe was severely confused and continued to watch as his frequented diner started to come apart. People removed costumes to reveal a totally different person underneath. Java too removed her pinstripe uniform and was wearing a black tank top and jean shorts underneath. An assistant was standing behind a table with a clip board handing out belongings; purses, coats, and the like. Java grabbed her bag from him and walked out of the restaurant.
"But...I didn't even pay yet."
"Oh all payments are done through the mail, we have your information from the waiver you signed at the start of this."
"The start of what?"
Joe frantically looked around. Someone knocked over the jukebox in the corner as they walked by. It fell flat and turned out to be nothing but a painted piece of cardboard. One by one familiar staples of the diner scenery collapsed into props. Microphones were unhinged from all over the place, and chords were gathered up and wrapped neatly away from seemingly every nook and cranny. The vibrant establishment Joe had come to know disappeared and left behind a dark warehouse with nothing but a few forgotten decorations and some prop tables and booths. All around him black colored v-neck shirts darted about gathering up things and cleaning out the dreary space. Joe snapped his fingers at the assistant he had been talking with.
"Hey you, tell me what the devil is going on. I thought I was being filmed for the news on account of me solving that missing person case."
"Right...good character? Except we aren't the news and we have to start filming the other scenes."
"I thought this was about me."
"What? No you were just an extra, nobody was really sure why you were even talking. We were filming the table in the corner opposite of you, they're the real stars."
"hmph..."
Joe couldn't think of anything else to say. A moment of awkward silence passed and the assistant scurried out, leaving Joe behind in the dim industrial lit warehouse. Joe sat back down in his booth, it had been left behind but was crooked now. Dust could be seen dancing in the beams of light from the standard fixtures hung from the warehouse ceiling. It settled on the unsettling scene, landing in on Joe's bewildered head and in his coffee. He took another sip and had to fight from spitting it out. It was cold now, and had a film of dust on it. After a second he composed himself, after all it didn't taste that much worse than it usually did. He sat in the silence finishing his drink, staring out at the morning sun. For a moment he reposed, and then calmly started his monologue again.
So there I was sitting alone in the dusty diner I had called my home. Except some cruel twist of fate had stolen that home from me. I knew the city was harsh, but today she had been crueler to me than any of my ex-loves. The sun sure did have a story to tell this time.
Joe looked at the window as he spoke and as he did a film began to roll off of the pane. It rolled up the scene of morning and the city beyond. The sun slipped under into the tunnel of the rolling sheet and the whole mirage fell to the ground crinkling as it landed. It revealed behind it the unfinished wood paneling of the set.
"Not even a window!" Joe threw his mug at the wall and it shattered like the illusion that was his life just moments ago. The impact shook the adjacent window and the scene unraveled off the wall just as before revealing another wooden panel in its' place. Joe stormed out and kicked one of the left over booths from the fake diner as he went. The booth scooted across the floor and made a sound like nails on a chalkboard as the legs scraped across the concrete. Once Joe made it outside, he took a few deep breaths and inserted his hands into his pockets where they made balled fists inside. He took a great sigh to clear the air, and ease the mood and then again bravely began his monologue one last time.
So it wasn't even day time. I was walking under the cold glance of a judgmental night skyline. The cruel city was laughing at me, and the sun had no story to tell. The walls didn't either, they had turned out to be a pack of lairs anyways. As a private eye I had seen a lot of things, but I never saw this one coming. Day turned to night, Java turned into a brunet, my heart turned to stone, and the diner I had come to every day turned out to be a fraud. The story was my life and I wasn't even the main character. Seems like an odd life to be living.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The Story of Stiresa Macciato
Today is my birthday and in honor of it I am writing a story for my lovely Tess. I love you Tess.
Special thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt:
The moon was full and bright, casting a cool silvery-blue blanket over a secluded town out in the woods. The air was sweeter than most nights, out their tucked beneath the evergreens. Locust hummed in the humid night air and the lullaby of evening was in full swing, sending the patient people of the town to their beds. Tonight needed to be quiet, because there was a big city commotion coming to town. A girl with pale skin, and dark hair, who looks terribly out of place, was already on her way.
Special thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt:
The moon was full and bright, casting a cool silvery-blue blanket over a secluded town out in the woods. The air was sweeter than most nights, out their tucked beneath the evergreens. Locust hummed in the humid night air and the lullaby of evening was in full swing, sending the patient people of the town to their beds. Tonight needed to be quiet, because there was a big city commotion coming to town. A girl with pale skin, and dark hair, who looks terribly out of place, was already on her way.
_______
"Are you sure he is going to be there? That's like a thirty minute drive for me."
"Yes of course he is going to be there Stiresa, just make sure you have the money."
"I feel so dirty, like I shouldn't be doing this, but I got a lot of them as a kid you know, I just want to remember what it felt like."
"You ain't dirty girlfriend, everybody needs one every once in a while, and that's why guys like Espresso make money given em' out."
"Are sure he is clean?"
"As a whistle doll."
" Is it safe? I mean no shady blue coats or anything waiting to pick me up?"
"Just go sweetheart, that's why it's way out in the boonies."
" Y-you don't think I'll get hurt out there do you?"
"No way, it's a darlin' little town sugar cake."
" Have you ever done it?"
"Oh! Loads of times muffin, a girl gets lonely in the big city."
"Okay, I think I'm gonna do it this time."
"Trust me pie face, you won't regret it, Espresso is a gentle guy."
"Thanks Mocha. For setting this up I mean."
As the conversation ends Stiresa Macciato, a pale skinned, dark haired girl, who looks terribly out of place, leans in to towards the woman she has just been talking with, Mocha. The dangerous reflex draws the attention of a nearby 'blue coat', the slang term for law enforcement around the city. A whistle blows and Macciato shrivels away afraid that the tiny embrace may have been seen as PDA a strictly forbidden public action in this day and age.
"Aye ! You lot stop right there. Don't think I didn't see yous."
The officer rushed over baton in hand. Stiresa looked down at her feet in a childish attempt to dodge the situation. If she didn't look like she's paying attention maybe he will be less harsh. To her surprise, while looking down still, the officer scuttled past her. She kept her head trained at her subtly quivering ankles but rolled her eyes to peer just beneath her staunch straight bangs, and saw a couple defiantly holding hands. The officer jammed his club gently between their arms and pried their entwined embrace asunder. A look of angst sneaked across Stiresa's face. She couldn't hide it, she remembered the days when people would kiss, and hug one another open and freely, when love was not a weakness, when it was not whispered behind allegiant masks of stoicism. She was disgusted at the world that emerged in her adulthood. Mankind so proud and hateful had plunged into a stagnant bog of sterile acrimony, where physical touch was not only considered morally wrong, but was against the law. Business deals were signed from digital documents miles away, no longer sealed with a firm and understanding handshake. Courting lovers restrained themselves to batting eyes and love notes, sneaking first touches of each-others' fingertips behind closed and barred doors. A completely different meaning to 'fingering', than when she was growing up. Some saw it as better this way. Germs didn't spread, people were equals as far as public relationships went, and those that were forever alone didn't have to suffer the agony of watching those that were affectionate parade it around everywhere. Though Stiresa couldn't stand it, she was a good girl and followed the law, and tried to act morally in the eyes of her peers but tonight was going to change that. She had, had enough.
The officer proceeded to give the couple a ticket for violating the harsh regulation, during this time Mocha, and Stiresa took the opportunity to part ways. Stiresa had, a handwritten address nestled into her palm and was giddy with excitement for what was waiting for her at the destination.
_______
Creaking bolts and various hardware squeaked into the still night. Clanking around in a rickety old scooter that whizzed through sweet pine scented air, parting it like that staff of Moses. Two wheels percussed along stretches of cracked and crumbling concrete. They bounded over hurdles of lumpy chunks resounding a rhythm that echoed through the tree's and bounced in between all manner of living things. They played a march that demanded, "onwards, towards victory". Despite the big city commotion that this pale skinned, dark haired girl , who looked terribly out of place, was unleashing on the small town, it sat there somberly breathless and undisturbed. The hoi polloi of the peaceful town lay silent in their beds, with an air of unawareness wrapping the town like a bow adorning a gift. All except for one man, who was expecting, like the pale girl, something different. A man recognized more accurately by his shadow. He stood stalwart and assured in the still night air, with feet that pushed into the ground with the weight of purpose. Dark and sharp, both in look and wit. With eyes that cut through his field of vision like daggers, hidden under a slanted and jaded brow. That very brow, his cheeks, and his chin, levitating in the darkness, brought into perception by the cool silvery-blue light of the moon hung high in the night sky. If his eyes weren't cloaked by the secretive shadows clinging to his face, you could see the stars from the clear sky above reflected in them. If you could see past the stars you'd catch a glimpse of his soul, defined in a word...hope.
_______
Stiresa went through with the rest of her day as normally as she could. After meeting Mocha for lunch she returned to her job and went about it as she always does. No external change was profoundly noticeable, but on the inside a fire was igniting. It shined in her cheeks and twinkled in her eyes, it illuminated the room every time her lips could no longer fight the urge and peeled back into a smile. Her heart was conducting symphonies which resounded in her head and revolved around the central theme of the note that was nestled neatly in her hand, tucked tightly into her hand bag, and hidden hurriedly into her desk. It was as if every thought that she had and every action she took was tied with a string to that note. It kept pulling her in, relentlessly. After years of bravely schelpping around the weight of disappointment, burdening loneliness, and the distinct seclusion that detached her from her peers, she was going to feel the body of another. She fantasized about the completeness it would bring to her, the release, a chance to feel connected.
After work Stiresa Macciato rigidly headed back home. She knew she had nothing to hide, there was no law against having a note. All the same her anxiety did a superb job of convincing her subconscious that she was trotting about contraband. Once home she quietly and methodically consumed her supper. More than any other night she proceeded through all of her normal routines with robotic precision, finishing even a little bit early. She took the time to practice with a pillow, a habit she had long been engaging in, but the stuffed fabric never brought remotely the same satisfaction as the real deal. She put away the childish routine after a minute or so and resolved that the vice was one of rattled nerves. Making her way over to the window she patiently watched twilight bloom into dusk and began anticipating the introduction of nightfall. Her eyes hazed over and replaced the images of reality with dreams of her fugitive savior. She built theatrical production in her mind outlining every detail of how it would play out, then retraced and played it all over again with different possibilities every time. She helplessly worried herself over each contingency, but thought it exhilarating. With one last sigh she snapped back into consciousness and her breath carried the slow approaching night over the horizon. It was time.
_______
The clamorous scooter huffed to a stop in front of a large grove of drooping trees. They didn't tower like the rest of the evergreens, but instead bowed with humility and draped empty over the air to flutter above the ground. The melancholy little trees outlined a perfect path up a hill, which rolled steeply behind an iron gate. Stiresa uncrinkled the folded up piece of paper and carefully read the address on it. She double checked it compared with a strip of florescent numbers at the foot of the gate. It was a match, this was the place, it was finally time. She hopped off her valiant steed and started towards the opened gate. Her steps were heavy while climbing the hill and her excitement had tangled itself up and now stuck firmly as a ball in her throat. Her calm anticipation was morphing into a terrifying anxiety, the fear of the unknown. She wasn't even sure if she should be doing this. She wasn't even sure if she would still like it after all this time. She wasn't sure she should take the next step. Before she could let the thought paralyze her determined stride a voice interrupted.
"You must be Macciato."
"Huh...who's there?"
"Relax it's me."
The voice pierced the chilly darkness with a warm soothing baritone. The voice sounded fatherly and caring, like it came from someone who had seen all of the evils the world had to offer but concluded to side with the notion of goodness and refused to let them beat him down. A positivity that infected Stiresa and soothed her worried spirit.
"I'm espresso, a friend of Mocha's, she said you were coming by tonight, was everything clear on what is expected?"
"Ummn...No, not really. I mean she told me how much cash to bring, but I've never done this, I don't really know what happens."
"Don't sweat it, I know that you and I think alike. How...? Cause your here that's how. We want the same thing, these laws are ludicrous and we aren't gonna let em' govern our lives. Am I right so far?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"Right...Do you remember what it was like?"
"Only hardly."
"It's great, it'll be like your first time all over again."
With out warning the exciting talk had stirred up a warm tingling in Stiresa's core. She felt butterflies tickling her tummy, and excitement was buzzing in the back of her head and up and down her spine. She was moments away from feeling complete again.
"Look...I ask for the money mainly just to make it hard. I gotta know that the person sincerely wants it."
"Right, no problem, I understand."
"No I don't think you do. See what I'm trying to say is...well...I mean...Look, it can never be about the money, or else it isn't the same thing."
"Right... no, now I don't understand."
"I'm not gonna charge ya, I was never gonna charge ya. The money is just to show that you aren't a blue coat right. It's bigger than the money. It's better than money. I need it just as bad as you, truth be told."
"So you don't want the money?"
"Never did."
"okay...so now what?"
"Now, well, now you come here."
The deep voice leaped out from under the saggy tree. There stood a looming shadow, stretched out and tall with arms reaching towards her. Stiresa didn't know what to think. Everything was happening so fast and she was so confused. She thought she was paying for something she had craved for ages and now the dialogue had swept her about like wind tossed hair. She was standing there shrinking back, unsure if she was ready. Espresso walked closer.
"Don't be shy, no one comes out here. I do a lot for this town so they leave me alone."
"I-I-uh.."
Espresso was now totally out of the shrouding darkness and was bathed in the crystal clear moonlight. His skin absorbed the silvery-blue light and all of his sharp features were ablaze. Tall dark and handsome, but with a look of inconceivable sincerity. His smooth voice and homely appearance was again reminiscent of that stalwart fatherly figure. He was close now, very close, close enough that Stiresa could smell a faint robust bouquet that only deepened her requiescence and brought her racing mind to be calm like the breezy night air. She looked into his eyes and saw the stars reflected in them. Big round dark discs that reminded her of the innocence that you see in a puppy dog's eyes. For a moment she lingered there staring into his gaze, but then she fell through the stars and for the first time she felt more connected to someone than she ever had. She caught a glimpse of his soul and made it back with only one word...hope. She collapsed into his arms with tears welling under her tightly closed eyelids. A pale skinned, dark haired girl who seemed terribly out of place, was locked in the arms of another. There in moonlight the two strangers shared the purest of moments, manifested in a simple embrace. Long forbidden, even longer over-due, human as to human they hugged. So simple and significant, so pristine and perfect, so beautifully appropriate, a longing was fulfilled in each. To be one and to be connected. The expression of Humanity.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Remembering a good night.
Special thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt:
I couldn't have been happier. It was four in the morning and still none of us had slept. We didn't sleep much in those days, then again we probably never slept so much in our lives, it just was never in the proper time of day. When I look back on it all nothing seems clearer than that night. It wasn't life changing, I didn't come to any conclusion about some greater concept, nothing of any importance came to pass that night, but it is sort of the simplicity of it all that makes it beautiful.
We had just gotten back from a long night of mischief. I couldn't tell you what we did, that isn't what stuck out. Everyone was getting tired, but not in the sense where you struggle to keep your eyes open. It was more like the tired after you eat a big meal. A wholesome satisfied tired, where you don't have anywhere to be, and nothing to do, and nothing is really on your mind. It is a rare moment that comes sometimes only once in a lifetime. A moment where time stops, and you are there completely observing and enjoying that moment. Where you are completely present in that moment, It swallows you up like a comfortable blanket.
Our fearless leader Doppio raised his cup into the air, and as its' scathing contents sent wisps of steam into the air he said to us something about how it was important to remember times like this, and something profound that I took with me all my life...hmm....You know, I wish I could remember what he said. I know something about that night was really good. I just can't quite remember what. Oh well it isn't all about the memory, the important thing is that I was alive that night. I mean really living.
Prompt:
I couldn't have been happier. It was four in the morning and still none of us had slept. We didn't sleep much in those days, then again we probably never slept so much in our lives, it just was never in the proper time of day. When I look back on it all nothing seems clearer than that night. It wasn't life changing, I didn't come to any conclusion about some greater concept, nothing of any importance came to pass that night, but it is sort of the simplicity of it all that makes it beautiful.
We had just gotten back from a long night of mischief. I couldn't tell you what we did, that isn't what stuck out. Everyone was getting tired, but not in the sense where you struggle to keep your eyes open. It was more like the tired after you eat a big meal. A wholesome satisfied tired, where you don't have anywhere to be, and nothing to do, and nothing is really on your mind. It is a rare moment that comes sometimes only once in a lifetime. A moment where time stops, and you are there completely observing and enjoying that moment. Where you are completely present in that moment, It swallows you up like a comfortable blanket.
Our fearless leader Doppio raised his cup into the air, and as its' scathing contents sent wisps of steam into the air he said to us something about how it was important to remember times like this, and something profound that I took with me all my life...hmm....You know, I wish I could remember what he said. I know something about that night was really good. I just can't quite remember what. Oh well it isn't all about the memory, the important thing is that I was alive that night. I mean really living.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Dear Diary
Special thanks to: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/
Prompt:
Dear diary, 01.08.1933
Today I learned that I will be moving to a new town. Some place called Sumatra. I don't Know where on cafe that is but my dad says it will be a new start for us. I just don't want to leave my friends. It isn't the first time we have moved. Dad always meets some new lady in our new towns and for a while everything will be fine and dandy but then it turns sour. The relationship unfolds and my father decides that the only remedy there could possibly be is to run away. So up we go un-rooted by the storms of love. One day I hope he finds that he already has a girl that adores him. He doesn't have to run any more.
Dear diary, 03.13.1933
This new town isn't so bad. The people here seem a tad bit strange but really if you dig deep enough, which one of us isn't? I met a boy today his name is Ristretto. He lives out in the country and drives all the way in just to go to school. I don't think I will get to hang out with him much, but it is nice to spend time with him at school. He isn't the normal type of prince charming, you know ... tall dark and handsome. Nope, he is rather short actually, but that's okay, I like him cause he is a little bit odd, maybe that is what I like about this town, It all seems a little bit odd.
Dear diary, 11.22.1933
Ristretto held my hand today, I know it isn't allowed, but it was way off in the far end of the playground. We were behind a big oak tree, and since it is autumn we were picking up leaves and looking at them. I love the fall leaves it is like natures way of painting. It was only for a second but it was amazing to be so close to someone else like that. He says his dad is like him. He feels like people should be able to touch. I hope I get a chance to hold his hand again.
Dear Diary, 12.02.1933
Today Ristretto moved schools, he is going to one closer to the little town where he and his dad live. it is winter break and they decided that would be the easiest time to make the transition. I'm going to miss him a lot. I have a feeling this is going to be the coldest winter this year. My dad hasn't found anyone interesting yet so I guess we will be here for a while still.
Dear Diary, 02.07.1934
I hope you know, that I know, you are reading this. I figured out a long time ago that I wasn't just writing to my self. So how are you? I know you can't answer back, but just read and maybe it will be like we are together. I know that we aren't living in the same time, but in a way we are. You see I don't let anyone read this diary, but I am sure someday, someone will find it, and that's means you, and you are reading it, and so you are part of my story. So hello friend, it is nice to meet you.
Dear Diary, 05.03.1934
I have been talking to someone else, please don't be mad. His name is ol' Green Eye. I told him about you. I told him how you read what I write, and that you have never spoken back, because well you just can't, but that I know you are there, I know that somehow you are a part of my story. He said he understood, it is nice to be understood. Ol' Green Eye is older than me but he is nice, I can tell he is safe to talk to. He just sits out side the cafe all day, so I see him there when I walk home from school.
Dear Diary, 03.13.1937
Ol' Green Eye disappeared today. He wasn't at the cafe where he usually is I hope he is okay. It is hard not to have someone to talk to. I mean it is nice to be able to talk to you but you never talk back so it is different.
Dear Diary, 07.03.1937
Ol' Green Eye still isn't back. It is getting lonely here in Sumatra, I'm glad I still have you to talk to. My dad still is just as alone as me. I'm not mad that we came here, but it was better where we were before.
Dear Diary, 02.14.1937
I hope you know that I love you. Not in like the boyfriend girlfriend sense but in the way that one might love a puppy dog. I don't see you as a puppy dog, but it is that kind of love. I'm just so happy to have someone reading my story.
Dear Diary, 01.01.1940
It has been a couple years now. Nothing has changed much, except for everything. I don't feel the same, I don't think the same. At least you are still the same. You seem unaffected by time, like you are somewhere else entirely. If only I could be there to. I used to like to watch the seasons change, but now it just reminds me that everything is slipping through my fingers.
Dear Diary, 06.30.1940
I got into college today, that means I finally get to leave Sumatra. It is funny when I was younger I resented my father for taking me away from city to city, but ever since we came here I wanted to leave again, secretly, but some rebellious part of me I think always did. Don't worry you are coming to. Thanks for being here for me.
Dear Diary, 11.22.1943
I met another boy, and another after that, and another after that. You know what? each one hurt me. Sorry I haven't been writing lately, the boys had me distracted, but now I see how you are the only one that doesn't hurt me. I love you.
Dear Diary, 01.05.1944
I think I met the one, I know I said I was done getting hurt by boys but this one listens almost as well as you do.
Dear Diary, 07.07.1947
Getting married today,nervous and excited, just thought you should know.
Dear Diary, 03.27. 1950
I had a child today, what a big day. Oh it was awful, but when I looked into their beautiful eyes nothing could have held me down, I was floating, I was so happy.
Dear Diary, 08.29.1968
The kids are all grown up now. Going off to college today. I couldn't be happier. I know I've stopped writing, but I just don't have the time anymore, our busy lives are...well...so busy. Now that the kids are gone it feels more lonely, I just wanted to feel less alone. It was nice talking to you, it was nice that you are still here, but it just doesn't work.
Dear Diary, 01.08.1992
My husband died today, I should feel sad but I don't, I just feel alone. I needed a place to put this thought, even though I gave up on you I just needed it out of my head. Thank you...thank you for still reading my story.
Dear Diary, 05.13.1997
I feel like I'm fading away now, I'm sorry I didn't write you much, life seems to get in the way. Now more than ever I wish I could be with you in that timeless place. Every time we meet I seem to be older and yet you are in the same moment. What a cruel game, life seems so magnificent but then when the sands in the hourglass start to dwindle you see how dull it is at the end.
Dear Diary, 07.23.1997
Not feeling any better, worse in fact. The kids never come by, I'm so lonely and the world just seems to be turning grey. I should have written you more, I should have told more of my story so that I didn't seem so pathetic. Forgive me but I didn't, and now I am left with such a small amount of words to recount my days. Worse still, in this time when my desire to write you and have you read my story, and have you be a part of it, I simply don't have the strength.
Dear Diary, 09.17.1998
It is getting even harder for me to write to you, but you are the only one who ever listens to an old lady like me. I love you. Still here after all the neglect I have fed you. My hands are shaky and weak, it is too hard to write anymore, but I have always loved you, you were always there for me. Always a part of my story. This may be the last time my strength allows me to be with you, but know that you are with me in my heart, my invisible reader, always a part of this story.
Dear Diary, 03.20.1999
Time is running out, I can barely hold this pen, but just in case, I felt you at least deserved the words, good bye.
Dear Diary, 07.03.1999
This is it, no one is here but you. I love y...
Prompt:
Dear diary, 01.08.1933
Today I learned that I will be moving to a new town. Some place called Sumatra. I don't Know where on cafe that is but my dad says it will be a new start for us. I just don't want to leave my friends. It isn't the first time we have moved. Dad always meets some new lady in our new towns and for a while everything will be fine and dandy but then it turns sour. The relationship unfolds and my father decides that the only remedy there could possibly be is to run away. So up we go un-rooted by the storms of love. One day I hope he finds that he already has a girl that adores him. He doesn't have to run any more.
Dear diary, 03.13.1933
This new town isn't so bad. The people here seem a tad bit strange but really if you dig deep enough, which one of us isn't? I met a boy today his name is Ristretto. He lives out in the country and drives all the way in just to go to school. I don't think I will get to hang out with him much, but it is nice to spend time with him at school. He isn't the normal type of prince charming, you know ... tall dark and handsome. Nope, he is rather short actually, but that's okay, I like him cause he is a little bit odd, maybe that is what I like about this town, It all seems a little bit odd.
Dear diary, 11.22.1933
Ristretto held my hand today, I know it isn't allowed, but it was way off in the far end of the playground. We were behind a big oak tree, and since it is autumn we were picking up leaves and looking at them. I love the fall leaves it is like natures way of painting. It was only for a second but it was amazing to be so close to someone else like that. He says his dad is like him. He feels like people should be able to touch. I hope I get a chance to hold his hand again.
Dear Diary, 12.02.1933
Today Ristretto moved schools, he is going to one closer to the little town where he and his dad live. it is winter break and they decided that would be the easiest time to make the transition. I'm going to miss him a lot. I have a feeling this is going to be the coldest winter this year. My dad hasn't found anyone interesting yet so I guess we will be here for a while still.
Dear Diary, 02.07.1934
I hope you know, that I know, you are reading this. I figured out a long time ago that I wasn't just writing to my self. So how are you? I know you can't answer back, but just read and maybe it will be like we are together. I know that we aren't living in the same time, but in a way we are. You see I don't let anyone read this diary, but I am sure someday, someone will find it, and that's means you, and you are reading it, and so you are part of my story. So hello friend, it is nice to meet you.
Dear Diary, 05.03.1934
I have been talking to someone else, please don't be mad. His name is ol' Green Eye. I told him about you. I told him how you read what I write, and that you have never spoken back, because well you just can't, but that I know you are there, I know that somehow you are a part of my story. He said he understood, it is nice to be understood. Ol' Green Eye is older than me but he is nice, I can tell he is safe to talk to. He just sits out side the cafe all day, so I see him there when I walk home from school.
Dear Diary, 03.13.1937
Ol' Green Eye disappeared today. He wasn't at the cafe where he usually is I hope he is okay. It is hard not to have someone to talk to. I mean it is nice to be able to talk to you but you never talk back so it is different.
Dear Diary, 07.03.1937
Ol' Green Eye still isn't back. It is getting lonely here in Sumatra, I'm glad I still have you to talk to. My dad still is just as alone as me. I'm not mad that we came here, but it was better where we were before.
Dear Diary, 02.14.1937
I hope you know that I love you. Not in like the boyfriend girlfriend sense but in the way that one might love a puppy dog. I don't see you as a puppy dog, but it is that kind of love. I'm just so happy to have someone reading my story.
Dear Diary, 01.01.1940
It has been a couple years now. Nothing has changed much, except for everything. I don't feel the same, I don't think the same. At least you are still the same. You seem unaffected by time, like you are somewhere else entirely. If only I could be there to. I used to like to watch the seasons change, but now it just reminds me that everything is slipping through my fingers.
Dear Diary, 06.30.1940
I got into college today, that means I finally get to leave Sumatra. It is funny when I was younger I resented my father for taking me away from city to city, but ever since we came here I wanted to leave again, secretly, but some rebellious part of me I think always did. Don't worry you are coming to. Thanks for being here for me.
Dear Diary, 11.22.1943
I met another boy, and another after that, and another after that. You know what? each one hurt me. Sorry I haven't been writing lately, the boys had me distracted, but now I see how you are the only one that doesn't hurt me. I love you.
Dear Diary, 01.05.1944
I think I met the one, I know I said I was done getting hurt by boys but this one listens almost as well as you do.
Dear Diary, 07.07.1947
Getting married today,nervous and excited, just thought you should know.
Dear Diary, 03.27. 1950
I had a child today, what a big day. Oh it was awful, but when I looked into their beautiful eyes nothing could have held me down, I was floating, I was so happy.
Dear Diary, 08.29.1968
The kids are all grown up now. Going off to college today. I couldn't be happier. I know I've stopped writing, but I just don't have the time anymore, our busy lives are...well...so busy. Now that the kids are gone it feels more lonely, I just wanted to feel less alone. It was nice talking to you, it was nice that you are still here, but it just doesn't work.
Dear Diary, 01.08.1992
My husband died today, I should feel sad but I don't, I just feel alone. I needed a place to put this thought, even though I gave up on you I just needed it out of my head. Thank you...thank you for still reading my story.
Dear Diary, 05.13.1997
I feel like I'm fading away now, I'm sorry I didn't write you much, life seems to get in the way. Now more than ever I wish I could be with you in that timeless place. Every time we meet I seem to be older and yet you are in the same moment. What a cruel game, life seems so magnificent but then when the sands in the hourglass start to dwindle you see how dull it is at the end.
Dear Diary, 07.23.1997
Not feeling any better, worse in fact. The kids never come by, I'm so lonely and the world just seems to be turning grey. I should have written you more, I should have told more of my story so that I didn't seem so pathetic. Forgive me but I didn't, and now I am left with such a small amount of words to recount my days. Worse still, in this time when my desire to write you and have you read my story, and have you be a part of it, I simply don't have the strength.
Dear Diary, 09.17.1998
It is getting even harder for me to write to you, but you are the only one who ever listens to an old lady like me. I love you. Still here after all the neglect I have fed you. My hands are shaky and weak, it is too hard to write anymore, but I have always loved you, you were always there for me. Always a part of my story. This may be the last time my strength allows me to be with you, but know that you are with me in my heart, my invisible reader, always a part of this story.
Dear Diary, 03.20.1999
Time is running out, I can barely hold this pen, but just in case, I felt you at least deserved the words, good bye.
Dear Diary, 07.03.1999
This is it, no one is here but you. I love y...
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