Category Archives: words

No, this story has no base in reality. Sometimes I really surprise myself about what I write. This is one of those times.

Lucky Rabbit

“You ain’t ever caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine.” Elvis Presley said it, but Travis lived it. He had been a hunter since he was knee-high to a crouching puma. Lizards, grasshoppers and crawdads became his first prey: unsuspecting victims of his cruel tortures. Decapitation and amputation of limbs were not beyond his capability, and actually preferred over methodical killings. He had no inclination to truly think about his actions. Habitual brute force had been passed down through generations of instinctual assassins. Really, he couldn’t help it.

My dad encouraged me to go with Travis when I was only twelve. Essentially, passed off to the closest thing to a son he had. I became a slave and an outlet for his physical pleasures. A shell of a girl, I toughened my soul. Only shielded by faith and superstition, I managed to survive. Trinkets of luck pulled me together in the toughest times. Hidden in an old shoebox, my charms included coins from far off lands found in the road leading from the city, a rusted horseshoe, my mother’s rosary, several four-leaf clovers each taped to a royal playing card, and a lucky rabbit’s foot caught by my father, stained pink because it was my favorite color (although, I knew it was most likely from blood of the poor thing’s demise).

At fourteen, I tried to escape in the back of a pick-up truck headed for the city. But the truck was owned by the general store manager, who definitely caught a few rabbits in his day. His dumb luck became my ill-fated failure. My face shimmered bright pinks and reds that evening. The darker shades of purple, black and blue took their time to reveal. My charming friends provided shining hope during the healing.

As my face healed, I kept my head low and stuck to the misguided routine: cook breakfast, clean house, prepare lunch, wash clothes, bake dinner, satisfy Travis, pray, sleep. Something had to break. Something had to change. It was me.

Click. Click. Boom! sounded the start of my freedom. The first click was only in my head. It was the sound of a light being switched on. Voices screaming, “I am not a helpless creature ripe for torturing. I deserve to live and it is time to set me free.” The second click was the opening of the door to the back. The boom was the subsequent closing of said door.

Click. Click. Boom! echoed in my head as I ran, heart pounding and feet frozen from the lack of footing in my pajamas, through the darkened paths of the forest behind our house. Without prior thought of grabbing a change of clothes, or even shoes, my spontaneous self-release relied on that faith and luck for success. Leaping over the snow drifts, I found myself feeling like the hunted.

Click. Click. Boom! Shots rang out behind me as I felt the wind sinking deeper in my skin and my fingers turning a paler shade of blue. Ducking behind the nearest tree to catch my breath, I held my gaze towards the light growing in the distance. As the train whistle blew, I felt a warm stream pouring from my stomach and then from my chest. Click. Click. Boom! Lucky bastard.

Here is fiction 101 piece I wrote back in September that I never did anything with. I ran across it in the notes section of my iTouch as I was prepping for my Coup d’eTat set. This one still makes me smile.

Used Spaceship Available

“Used spaceship available” scrawled in large black ink on an old postcard from Palm Springs, prompted Miller to call the number listed. He managed to decipher the owner’s mumblings about needing a new ride. Arriving at the given address near the deserted icehouse, he looked around for an entrance. “10… 9… 8…” Amplified, the countdown had begun. Scrambling over a fence towards the “7… 6… 5…” Rounded the corner, “4…” just in time to see, “3…” a homeless man in a shopping cart, “2…” with a bullhorn, “1…” blasting David Bowie on a boom box. “Lift off! This is ground control…”

Here is the inspiration behind this story… courtesy of Craigslist.

Love is…

Since birth, Mason constantly questioned his mother about his father, but she would only reply, “Your father lost a fight.” Gazing into a shiny drop of dew dangling from one of the silken strands on his mother’s web, Mason checked out his slender figure in the watery reflection. “No wonder my father lost a fight,” he thought. “Any cockroach could crush this skeleton with a flick of a wing.”

Never having a strong inclination to eat or make his own web, Mason chose to live at home with his mother. When he thought of the girls in his neighborhood and how they moved out as soon as they could, spinning the most rudimentary web, he pondered if his tenuous body made him more or less desirable with the ladies.

Prying further, Mason followed up his frequently asked question of, “What ever happened to my dad?” with “Did you love him?”

The words hung in the air like the silvery filaments separating the two. His mother stopped spinning to focus her eight eyes in the direction of her son. It was obvious she was struggling with her vision in her old age as she leaned forward then back and forward again. As she found her stance, she took in the nature of the ask.

Mason swallowed with a great gulp, fearful his mother may have caught a whiff of his meddling purpose. Although her eyes were failing, her intuition only increased with time, rivaling the nose of the most sensitive bloodhound.

“Disgusting.” She responded with contempt. “You are in love.”

Mason was now winding the threads between two of his legs. Nervously, each of his eyes darted in every direction except for where his mother stood.

She continued her tirade while returning to her weaving. “You don’t want anything to do with those girls. They are all trouble. I should know, I was in the game once.”

“The game?” Mason asked. He didn’t want to be left out of any strategy keeping him from making his next move in the female department.

Knowing her son was hooked in the conversation (and perhaps even on a girl), she toned down her crass approach and decided to share a bit of history with her naïve young son.

“You know the tale of Itsy Bitsy?”

“Um, yeah. Everyone knows that one. He was the only survivor of the colossal basin flood. What does Itsy have to do with this?”

“Well,” she said, “a girl sent him up the spout that day.”

“No way! Itsy would have never done such a thing. He was too clever to be coerced by a silly ole girl.”

“Hey, watch it!” she snapped, “It is not always about smarts. The heart can do strange things sometimes.”

“Your father loved me so much, but…” Slowly, her face twisted to a sly, snarl. “But I couldn’t stomach him.”

Her face softened as she turned back to her son. “Let‘s just say we weren‘t the match made in the so-called web of life.”

Shocked at the revelation that Itsy nearly drowned due to a girl mad intentions, as well as by his mother’s sudden change in disposition, Mason crawled bleary-eyed out of the web and wandered into a nearby dark wood pile for some alone time.

Conflicting emotions ran through his head. “My mother never has loved another,” he considered with sadness. “But love does exist.” Although this notion seemed a simple piece of common sense, Mason grabbed hold of it as his saving grace; his newfound mantra. “I will fall in love. My father did and so, it seems, did Itsy.”

As Mason was falling in love with the idea that he might someday fall in love, a shiny, long-legged girl tip-toed up next to him. Full-figured with all eyes playfully looking him over, she spoke with an air of knowing.

“So you think you know all there is to falling in love?”

Mason stumbled over a split in the wood at the deep sound of her voice. The resonance reverberated throughout his body. A perfume wafted through the dark into his senses. The only appetite he ever had now came through suddenly with a blinded passion. He needed her.

“Love is…” he stammered, not quite finishing his possibly profound speech.

She tilted her head, stupefied by his unfinished thought. Mason took the slight gesture as a welcoming advance, so instinctually leaned in forward to make his move in the game. An abrupt crack in his neck forced his eyes on the vivid red mark on her chest. He stared, transfixed on the mark as the world slowly faded to black. The fragmented thoughts streaming through his conscience never seemed so clear, “Her heart, it lies there. Red. Love is there.”

Sole Mates
 
The honeymoon was over. Merona and Merino were headed to their new home nestled together. The two were pretty much inseparable since birth and now were opening the next exciting chapter of their lives.
 
As the two snuggled into their roomy top drawer apartment for the night, the neighboring couples – a colorful bunch – greeted the newlyweds with a variety of sentiments.
 
“Congratulations!” said a youngish couple with enthusiasm, “I’m sure you will love it here.”
 
A raggedy old pair agreed. “Get some good sleep. You two have a long day ahead of you. Carine plans to hike through the valley with you before cleaning up for a dinner party.”
 
“Ooh, a hike!” said Merona. “We were made for those,” feeling slightly silly for stating the obvious. Carine had purchased the wooly couple from the nearby sports store specifically for the occasion.
 
Merona and Merino bid goodnight to their neighbors and settled in, dreaming of beautiful sunrises, dusty trails and breathtaking scenic views.
 
The morning hike was all that they visualized and more. The surly-voiced hiking boots turned out to be a great tour guide, sharing stories of the valley as well as highlighting the various critter sightings from previous trips.
 
As Merona and Merino returned home, they sighed with gratitude for their fortunate life after hearing some horror stories from passing couples while residing in the store. Couples separated all the time, or were mutilated and adorned with buttons for childish purposes. There was no doubt from either of them: they would be together forever.
 
Once home, Carine stripped them from her feet and tossed them towards the hamper. Merino landed safely on top of the pile, while Merona flew past and landed just behind the bin.
 
Knowing Merona had separation anxiety, Merino shouted down, “You’ll be alright! Carine is cleaning up the place, so you’ll join me in a few minutes.”
 
Relaxing a bit, Merona waited and waited. Tired from the hike, she dozed off.
 
Rousing hours later from her hidden spot, she looked up saw the hamper was empty! Her mind raced as she imagined herself old and graying, warning other young couples of the same fate. Shaking herself from the vision, Merona decided not to take this laying down. She had to find her soul mate.
 
Peering out from the back of the bin, Merona scanned the room. Carine was no where to be seen, but the door was cracked open. She slinked over to the door to discover a pile of clothes on the other side next to a large white, noisy machine. She called out for Merino, but he didn’t answer.
 
A dusty pair of shorts recognized her from the hike. He shouted back, “He’s in the machine!”
 
Immediately and instinctually, Merona hooked one end of herself on a nail in the door frame. She backed up as far as she could stretch, and let go, catapulting her up onto the ledge of the machine, where she found a vast swirling pool of water.
 
Merona looked across the milky grey waves frothing with potential danger. She knew she must brave the waters if she ever wanted to see her love again.
 
After a steady countdown in her head, the word, “Jump!” escaped her before she slipped beneath the waves.

Spinning through the watery vortex, Merona scrambled now to save herself. Other clothes had met a similar fate but seemed oddly calm considering the terrifying experience.
 
From the swirling water, they all were transferred into a heated blower machine. Already dizzy and seasick, Merona was losing hope of ever finding her husband alive again.
 
Exhausted from all the swishing and tumbling unlike any she had ever known, Merona lay limp on the bed next to the other socks, pants and shirts. She still had not found Merino.
 
As Merona sobbed mourning the memory of her lost love, Carine moved methodically, pulling another pair of pants from the pile of laundry and onto the ironing board. Suddenly, Merona noticed a familiar texture peeking out of the front pocket. Unable to vocalize, Merona felt helpless as she saw the hot iron approaching what had to be Merino.
 
To Merona’s (and Merino’s) relief, Carine noticed the bulge just before she set the hot black iron to work to smooth out the creases. Carine snatched him from the pocket, then scanned the pile for Merona.
 
Reunited, the two curled up together in a ball. As Carine escorted them back to their cozy apartment, Merino promised, “I will never let that happen again.”

As a writer I feel like I have grown, less like a flower more like a weed… fast but rough around the edges. It has been two years since I started this blog and  I have now participated in a year’s worth of Writer’s Weekly 24-Hour Short Story Contests. This particular story I actually completed in about 3 hours and is dedicated to Steve Poltz and his wildly entertaining tweets.

The Easy Way Out

Silence filled the living room. Superficial words were only thing passed between us in what seemed like weeks. Her eyes looked shallow from lack of sleep and constant crying, yet hard with the same intensity of the question that managed to come racing out of her lips. It was brave of her to make the first move.
 
The grandfather clock in the hall, a wedding present from her parents, chimed, reminding me I should be leaving for work. But somehow I don’t think even work will grant me reprieve. Yet still no words were coming.
 
I would like to say there is an easy explanation as to why she saw me walking barefoot down the sidewalk at 7 a.m. Sunday morning wearing a silver, sequin dress with the matching pumps swinging from my finger tips. I would like to say it was just a silly frat boy prank played on me by old buddies from my college days, or even a cross-dressing theme party thrown by coworkers down at the firm. Those would have been the easy way out; well, if I hadn’t let my instincts take over. Ducking behind the nearby park bench maybe would have worked, if she hadn’t already locked eyes with me as she slowed to get a better look.
 
Oh, and I have to say borrowing (and subsequently losing) her handbag wasn’t one of my brightest moves either. But I really couldn’t justify buying a new one since she already had a purse that perfectly matched the dress AND the shoes.
 
My lifelong weakness had always been for football, golf, and younger women but ever since that night I first got up on stage with the lights and the room filled with young college boys and bachelorette parties, none of that mattered anymore. Anyone who sings karaoke or performs in a play knows the feeling. The high from the cheers and boos from perfect strangers acknowledging your guts for doing what they are too timid to try themselves.
 
The night in question, instead of sneaking home after the show, I stayed to watch the carnage that I had heard so much about from the other drag queens. The nightly hook ups turned the club into a feeding ground for unsuspecting young boys. I figured these kids had to know what was coming with a place called the Cockpit, located many miles from the nearest airport.
 
Staring at the mirror backstage, I touched up my make up. The vultures had already made their way onto the floor, already fighting over the best morsels. I found myself drifting ghostlike and ghost white around the club, not sure of where to turn. Bailing after each show separated me from my audience and now here I was, mingling amongst them.
 
A drink, I needed a drink. As I saddled, rather floated up to the bar a older gentleman dressed in a suit complimented my performance and offered to purchase my drink. I thanked the guy and accepted his offer even though free drinks were on the house for all performers. We got to talking about dog shows and horse racing, two of his passions in life. I interjected a thing or two but it was mostly just him droning on. I was slightly interested, but getting sleepy. I excused myself from the conversation politely, stating I needed to retire for the evening. He generously offered a ride home, noting that I looked utterly exhausted. I respectfully declined even though I was drained. That is the last thing I remember before I woke up with a pounding headache, naked in a strange house to the wafting smell of bacon cooking and coffee brewing.
 
Panic filled my lungs as I scrambled to gather my clothes scattered about the room. Squeezing back into last night’s dress was the last thing I wanted to do, but it beat the alternative. I noticed the sliding glass door of the bedroom led to the back porch. My heart raced, as I opened the door and dashed out, though the yard, over the fence and down the back alley. I didn’t stop running until I reached the park just blocks from our house, where I slowed to gather my thoughts.
 
Struggling to remember the details of the remainder of the night, suddenly I felt a gentle touch on the pulsating vein on my hand bringing me back to the quiet living room, my eyes flashed open and in the same instant, the words finally came, “Annulment now.”