Home stretch, and we'll be all caught up!
2/23/10
“Just a little more, I think.”
"Hmm....just a little more, I think," Gerald thought to himself. Dipping his brush in the paint, he added one more swirl of cerulean to his canvas. He nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect." He stepped back, gazing fondly at the canvas. It was fairly large, almost three feet in length, and 21 inches in height. He loved working with large images. This particular painting he referred to as his 'blue period'--nothing to do with Picasso, and everything to do with the fact that he ran out of everything except blue...ah well, they say necessity is the mother of invention.
Gerald was quite proud of this painting. It almost resembled an under the sea scene, with various swirls of blue complementing each other in pockets of flowing light and shadow. darker blue specks, almost black, dotted various bits of the water-scape, resembling tiny schools of fish on their way to school. Slightly lighter streaks waved up from the floor, long fingers tangling together--fronds of seaweed, he decided. Gerald smiled. This was perfect, absolutely perfect. Apparently he had a knack for working with individual colors, maybe next time he'd go with orange. Ah, the wonderful things you could do with orange. He looked around the white walls of his isolation room, imagining covering them in bright colors. The doctors would be unhappy--and if they were unhappy, he wouldn't get anymore paints and canvas. He would stick with the canvas. Maybe when he got out, they would let him sell them to museums...after all, they were definitely good enough.
Word Count: 257
Monday, March 1, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Last One For Today...
Here's the last one for today, I'll put the rest up tomorrow (don't want to overwhelm you at once!).
2/22/10
"There were exceptions for everything else...except for this."
Clarissa lived her life with exceptions to rules. She was done with men, but always managed to meet the exception. She was going to stop eating so much sugar—with the exception of chocolate and cappuccinos. She was going to start exercising—with the exception of rainy days, weekends, days she worked, and days she didn't feel like it. Everything had its exception...everything, except this. The one thing Clarissa knew there was no exception for, was the simple fact that shit happens. That was her justification for her terrible day. Even though she made exceptions, she knew that life didn't, and even though she tried to keep her Karma bank full, sometimes, it was overdrawn.
“Oh, shit!” She looked mournfully down at the puddle she currently stood in. Why? Why did it have to be raining now, on the one day she decided to dress up? Her one expensive skirt had coffee stains now, after a clumsy co-worker had spilled an espresso on it, and now, her one pair of designer boots were ankle deep in sludge. “Shit!” she reiterated, then stomped up the sidewalk to her apartment. First she dropped her key, then, just as she picked it up, someone flew past her on their bicycle, sending a wave of muddy droplets splashing up her back. She scowled, and shoved her key into the lock, where it promptly got stuck. She jiggled it futily, cursing the rainy skies above. It was all their fault.
Finally, a very wet, very stained, very upset Clarissa made it into the dry apartment building. She shook most of the water off her hands, and wrung out her hair in the foyer. Fortunately, no one was there to see her bedraggled state. A sniffle started, then a single tear, but she wiped it away quickly. No use in crying over something you can't change, she scolded herself. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the elevator. Naturally, it was out of order, so to the stairs she went. Perfect, she thought to herself. I know the rent is better, but why did I have to pick the thirteenth floor?
She started grimly up the narrow stairwell, grumbling to herself the whole way. Finally, she made it to her floor. A loud clap of thunder and the flickering of the building's lights showed that the storm was getting worse, and she scowled even more. Nothing was going to make this day better. Nothing.
She angrily opened the door to her apartment and slammed it behind her. Then she froze. Soft strains of music filtered through the air, and the whole place was filled with the flickering glow of candles. She made her way slowly into the dining room to find the table set for an intimate dinner for two, complete with vase full of crimson red roses. A man came out of the kitchen, smiling at her.
“I thought you might have had a bad day, so I thought I'd make it up to you.”
Clarissa smiled through the tears that were welling up. “Mark,” she breathed as she stepped into her fiancé's open arms. “Thank you so much.”
After all, there are exceptions for everything else, but when it comes to comfort, only the one you love can provide that.
Total Time: 16 minutes
Word Count: 547
2/22/10
"There were exceptions for everything else...except for this."
Clarissa lived her life with exceptions to rules. She was done with men, but always managed to meet the exception. She was going to stop eating so much sugar—with the exception of chocolate and cappuccinos. She was going to start exercising—with the exception of rainy days, weekends, days she worked, and days she didn't feel like it. Everything had its exception...everything, except this. The one thing Clarissa knew there was no exception for, was the simple fact that shit happens. That was her justification for her terrible day. Even though she made exceptions, she knew that life didn't, and even though she tried to keep her Karma bank full, sometimes, it was overdrawn.
“Oh, shit!” She looked mournfully down at the puddle she currently stood in. Why? Why did it have to be raining now, on the one day she decided to dress up? Her one expensive skirt had coffee stains now, after a clumsy co-worker had spilled an espresso on it, and now, her one pair of designer boots were ankle deep in sludge. “Shit!” she reiterated, then stomped up the sidewalk to her apartment. First she dropped her key, then, just as she picked it up, someone flew past her on their bicycle, sending a wave of muddy droplets splashing up her back. She scowled, and shoved her key into the lock, where it promptly got stuck. She jiggled it futily, cursing the rainy skies above. It was all their fault.
Finally, a very wet, very stained, very upset Clarissa made it into the dry apartment building. She shook most of the water off her hands, and wrung out her hair in the foyer. Fortunately, no one was there to see her bedraggled state. A sniffle started, then a single tear, but she wiped it away quickly. No use in crying over something you can't change, she scolded herself. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the elevator. Naturally, it was out of order, so to the stairs she went. Perfect, she thought to herself. I know the rent is better, but why did I have to pick the thirteenth floor?
She started grimly up the narrow stairwell, grumbling to herself the whole way. Finally, she made it to her floor. A loud clap of thunder and the flickering of the building's lights showed that the storm was getting worse, and she scowled even more. Nothing was going to make this day better. Nothing.
She angrily opened the door to her apartment and slammed it behind her. Then she froze. Soft strains of music filtered through the air, and the whole place was filled with the flickering glow of candles. She made her way slowly into the dining room to find the table set for an intimate dinner for two, complete with vase full of crimson red roses. A man came out of the kitchen, smiling at her.
“I thought you might have had a bad day, so I thought I'd make it up to you.”
Clarissa smiled through the tears that were welling up. “Mark,” she breathed as she stepped into her fiancé's open arms. “Thank you so much.”
After all, there are exceptions for everything else, but when it comes to comfort, only the one you love can provide that.
Total Time: 16 minutes
Word Count: 547
One of my Favorites
This is one of my favorites...I'm not really sure why, but I hope you enjoy it!
2/21/10
"The bassoon lay tattered in the lonely corner"
Detective Crady pushed open the door and stepped into the derelict apartment. The stench was nearly overpowering, emanating from the crumpled heap on the sagging bed. A rat scurried across the floor, followed in short order by another, smaller one. Crady stepped over the debris littering the floor, trying to hold his breath while he inspected the scene. Death was nothing new to him; he'd been on the police force for over ten years. He smiled grimly, at least this was no homicide. He was sure that the coroner's report would show that victim had died of natural causes, or at least self-inflicted causes.
Habit took over as he took another step, and he began scanning the debris. Empty take-out boxes were piled in one corner, and the next corner contained a stack of molding cardboard boxes. The third corner held the bed, and the fourth—well, that was interesting. It was nearly empty, the one clean space in the entire apartment. All alone on it's grimy stand, a battered bassoon stood sentinel. Beside it lay one other object, an ancient tape recorder. Crady pulled on his latex gloves and picked it up. Curiously, he pressed play.
His eyes shut in wonder as the first strains of music filtered through the death-ridden air. Clear and beautiful, the dead man's last legacy played through the static of the forgotten recorder. Crady looked over at the tattered bassoon, where it lay in the lonely corner. A single beam of sunlight shone through the broken window, illuminating the instrument, and for just a moment, Crady could see an image in the dust, of a young man in his prime, sitting on a stage before hundreds, his precious bassoon cradled in his lap.
Total Time: 11 minutes
Word Count: 289
2/21/10
"The bassoon lay tattered in the lonely corner"
Detective Crady pushed open the door and stepped into the derelict apartment. The stench was nearly overpowering, emanating from the crumpled heap on the sagging bed. A rat scurried across the floor, followed in short order by another, smaller one. Crady stepped over the debris littering the floor, trying to hold his breath while he inspected the scene. Death was nothing new to him; he'd been on the police force for over ten years. He smiled grimly, at least this was no homicide. He was sure that the coroner's report would show that victim had died of natural causes, or at least self-inflicted causes.
Habit took over as he took another step, and he began scanning the debris. Empty take-out boxes were piled in one corner, and the next corner contained a stack of molding cardboard boxes. The third corner held the bed, and the fourth—well, that was interesting. It was nearly empty, the one clean space in the entire apartment. All alone on it's grimy stand, a battered bassoon stood sentinel. Beside it lay one other object, an ancient tape recorder. Crady pulled on his latex gloves and picked it up. Curiously, he pressed play.
His eyes shut in wonder as the first strains of music filtered through the death-ridden air. Clear and beautiful, the dead man's last legacy played through the static of the forgotten recorder. Crady looked over at the tattered bassoon, where it lay in the lonely corner. A single beam of sunlight shone through the broken window, illuminating the instrument, and for just a moment, Crady could see an image in the dust, of a young man in his prime, sitting on a stage before hundreds, his precious bassoon cradled in his lap.
Total Time: 11 minutes
Word Count: 289
Mayan Hot Chocolate
Have you ever had Mayan hot chocolate? It's amazing, rich hot chocolate steeped with a little cinnamon, vanilla, and chili pepper. Absolutely amazing, the food of the gods, and the inspiration for this little story.
2/20/10
"It was too deliciously spicy to resist."
She sighed, breathing in the heady aroma. It floated through the air, assailing her senses deliciously. Her hands closed around the cup and the warmth seeped through the thin paper cup into her cold hands. She couldn't take a sip yet, it was too hot, but the scent itself was enough to drive her nearly mad with longing. Hot chocolate on a cold winter's day, made in the traditional Mayan style. Rich, creamy chocolate melted into hot milk and beaten to a froth, then mixed with a little vanilla, a dash of cinnamon, and, last of all, just a hint of chili pepper.
Mmmm...it was too deliciously spicy to resist.
Word Count: 110
2/20/10
"It was too deliciously spicy to resist."
She sighed, breathing in the heady aroma. It floated through the air, assailing her senses deliciously. Her hands closed around the cup and the warmth seeped through the thin paper cup into her cold hands. She couldn't take a sip yet, it was too hot, but the scent itself was enough to drive her nearly mad with longing. Hot chocolate on a cold winter's day, made in the traditional Mayan style. Rich, creamy chocolate melted into hot milk and beaten to a froth, then mixed with a little vanilla, a dash of cinnamon, and, last of all, just a hint of chili pepper.
Mmmm...it was too deliciously spicy to resist.
Word Count: 110
And Another...
2/19/10
"The air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall."
Jaq stood on the hill, breathing deeply. The sun shone brightly, but the air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall. In the distance, she could see the brightly colored leaves dancing in the wind, the court jesters of October's palace. She loved autumn. Out of all the seasons, fall was by far her favorite. She didn't know why, exactly, but she assumed it had something to do with the cool air and the russet hues that covered the landscape. That may have been part of it, but it was definitely not the whole reason.
Jaq was not entirely human. Sure, she looked, talked, and acted human, but she really wasn't. She didn't know that, but somewhere, deep inside her soul, lived something else. Her human skin, the skin she'd lived in nearly her entire life, wasn't really hers. It was a gift, a gift from her loving parents who didn't want her to grow up in a world nearly ruined by war and radiation. They pooled their innate talents and gave her a new skin. She was too young at the time to remember the event; all she knew was that her name was Jaqueline Harpy, and she lived in Northern New England with her aunt and uncle, Rob and Marsha.
I'm sure you guessed already that they weren't truly her aunt and uncle. They were wholly human, but they didn't know that Jaq wasn't. They had been conveniently convinced that Jaq was the daughter of Marsha's sister, who died tragically in a car accident. Jaq never questioned the story, but now, at age 19, she had begun to wonder why there were never any pictures of her mother, and why no one knew anything about her father. Her musings were soon to be answered, and Jaq's life was soon to be turned upside down.
Word Count: 306
"The air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall."
Jaq stood on the hill, breathing deeply. The sun shone brightly, but the air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall. In the distance, she could see the brightly colored leaves dancing in the wind, the court jesters of October's palace. She loved autumn. Out of all the seasons, fall was by far her favorite. She didn't know why, exactly, but she assumed it had something to do with the cool air and the russet hues that covered the landscape. That may have been part of it, but it was definitely not the whole reason.
Jaq was not entirely human. Sure, she looked, talked, and acted human, but she really wasn't. She didn't know that, but somewhere, deep inside her soul, lived something else. Her human skin, the skin she'd lived in nearly her entire life, wasn't really hers. It was a gift, a gift from her loving parents who didn't want her to grow up in a world nearly ruined by war and radiation. They pooled their innate talents and gave her a new skin. She was too young at the time to remember the event; all she knew was that her name was Jaqueline Harpy, and she lived in Northern New England with her aunt and uncle, Rob and Marsha.
I'm sure you guessed already that they weren't truly her aunt and uncle. They were wholly human, but they didn't know that Jaq wasn't. They had been conveniently convinced that Jaq was the daughter of Marsha's sister, who died tragically in a car accident. Jaq never questioned the story, but now, at age 19, she had begun to wonder why there were never any pictures of her mother, and why no one knew anything about her father. Her musings were soon to be answered, and Jaq's life was soon to be turned upside down.
Word Count: 306
Time-Saver
Alright, in the interests of time, here are some prompts that I wrote when I first discovered the wonderful world of writing prompts. While they're not exactly from this year, I figure it balances out since I started a month late :). I'll catch up in other ways, probably slipping bonus stories in here and there, but I hope you enjoy these!
*I'm putting them up one at a time, for ease of reading :)
2/18/10
“I want to go home…” (NaNo)
It's dark and wet, and I don't understand why I'm here. Why was I ripped from my cool, breezy heaven and thrust into this hot, wet world? I can't breathe, oxygen must be coming to me through the thick sac that encases my fragile body. Where am I? What's happened to me? I've been trapped here for months, never understanding why, why this was done to me. There's no one around. I have been without contact for months. I can hear some sounds, but they're distant, coming from outside the fleshy walls that surround me. I miss my world, my heaven, with it's open expanses and dry air. I hate wet. I hate dark. The sun never sets in my world, never.
Time passes, I feel myself growing bigger, stretching the walls surrounding me. I'm trapped, too big for my prison. I try to move around, kicking and hitting, trying to escape. Nothing works. Finally, I feel something, some sort of loosening. I'm turned upside down, a most uncomfortable position, but I can feel air on my head.
Oh God, now it hurts! I'm being forced through a horrible tight tunnel, being squished between those walls that have held me in for so long. The next thing I feel is cold. Cold air, and ghastly bright lights. It hurts, oh, it hurts so bad. I don't want to be here, why did I choose to come back? I want my heaven back. I want to go home.
Word Count: 247
*I'm putting them up one at a time, for ease of reading :)
2/18/10
“I want to go home…” (NaNo)
It's dark and wet, and I don't understand why I'm here. Why was I ripped from my cool, breezy heaven and thrust into this hot, wet world? I can't breathe, oxygen must be coming to me through the thick sac that encases my fragile body. Where am I? What's happened to me? I've been trapped here for months, never understanding why, why this was done to me. There's no one around. I have been without contact for months. I can hear some sounds, but they're distant, coming from outside the fleshy walls that surround me. I miss my world, my heaven, with it's open expanses and dry air. I hate wet. I hate dark. The sun never sets in my world, never.
Time passes, I feel myself growing bigger, stretching the walls surrounding me. I'm trapped, too big for my prison. I try to move around, kicking and hitting, trying to escape. Nothing works. Finally, I feel something, some sort of loosening. I'm turned upside down, a most uncomfortable position, but I can feel air on my head.
Oh God, now it hurts! I'm being forced through a horrible tight tunnel, being squished between those walls that have held me in for so long. The next thing I feel is cold. Cold air, and ghastly bright lights. It hurts, oh, it hurts so bad. I don't want to be here, why did I choose to come back? I want my heaven back. I want to go home.
Word Count: 247
Friday, February 26, 2010
Slowly But Surely :)
And another! This one would have been posted on my little sister's birthday...and I'd thought about doing something sort of dedicated to her...yeah, it didn't happen. By the time I wrote this, her birthday had long since passed, and now I'm just trying to catch up. I will, I promise, it just might take me a little longer.
I'm actually quite proud of myself...this is month two, and I'm still committed to maintaining this! Usually I'd have given up by now, found myself distracted by something else, but my determination is holding strong! And so here you go, my next (very belated) post!
2/17/10
“Pink. Why did it have to be pink?” (NaNo)
Charley moaned as she beheld the frothy confection her sister had chosen for a bridesmaid’s gown. Pink. Why did it have to be pink? Charley hated pink, loathed it, despised the vomitous color. And now she had to walk down the church aisle, in front of a hundred people, wearing a pink gown. And it wasn’t just any pink gown. It was a pink princess gown, with a tulle overskirt, and ruffles edging the underskirt. She felt like throwing up. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. It was her sister, the one person for whom she would actually wear that hideous color. No one else, not even her mother, could manage to convince her to wear pink, in any shade or quantity. But for her sister’s wedding, Charley would wear it. She wouldn’t like it, but she would dress in the frothy confection, feeling like a badly dressed Barbie doll, and she would do her best to make her sister’s wedding the best day ever. After that, however, all bets were completely off. And she would have a blast getting back at Amie for the humiliation. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she began plotting her revenge. It would be harmless, harmless but hilarious. She laughed quietly. Oh, she couldn’t wait.
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 212
I'm actually quite proud of myself...this is month two, and I'm still committed to maintaining this! Usually I'd have given up by now, found myself distracted by something else, but my determination is holding strong! And so here you go, my next (very belated) post!
2/17/10
“Pink. Why did it have to be pink?” (NaNo)
Charley moaned as she beheld the frothy confection her sister had chosen for a bridesmaid’s gown. Pink. Why did it have to be pink? Charley hated pink, loathed it, despised the vomitous color. And now she had to walk down the church aisle, in front of a hundred people, wearing a pink gown. And it wasn’t just any pink gown. It was a pink princess gown, with a tulle overskirt, and ruffles edging the underskirt. She felt like throwing up. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. It was her sister, the one person for whom she would actually wear that hideous color. No one else, not even her mother, could manage to convince her to wear pink, in any shade or quantity. But for her sister’s wedding, Charley would wear it. She wouldn’t like it, but she would dress in the frothy confection, feeling like a badly dressed Barbie doll, and she would do her best to make her sister’s wedding the best day ever. After that, however, all bets were completely off. And she would have a blast getting back at Amie for the humiliation. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she began plotting her revenge. It would be harmless, harmless but hilarious. She laughed quietly. Oh, she couldn’t wait.
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 212
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