Week 10 Prompts--distance, framing, alienation
Use three of these as springboards for pieces on your blog--and look for ways to distance, alienate, and frame in your reactions, ways to practice the week's theme-- not simple or straightforward grafs: distance, frame, alienate!
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
44. You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
45. You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
46. None of the people fallen on that field of battle were as real as I am.
47. Nature red in tooth and claw. The Law of the Jungle. Survival of the Fittest.
48. Mother Nature, Gaia, holistic, and all-natural too.
49. Doesn't matter where you begin, you'll end up back here.
50. If you don't believe I'm leaving, you can count the days I'm gone.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
44. You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
45. You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
46. None of the people fallen on that field of battle were as real as I am.
47. Nature red in tooth and claw. The Law of the Jungle. Survival of the Fittest.
48. Mother Nature, Gaia, holistic, and all-natural too.
49. Doesn't matter where you begin, you'll end up back here.
50. If you don't believe I'm leaving, you can count the days I'm gone.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
posted by johngoldfine | 10/26/2013 10:25:00 AM
101 Comments:
45. You said…but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant---
After having been sent back to her seat with her morning work, Lucy approached me and handed me her paper. I scanned it quickly for a second time, and then, in an irate voice I asked, “Why are these check marks on here?”
These second graders know the morning routine. One every day morning job is to do a paper that consists of part language work and part math work. While most can do these things, Lucy has always had problems with math. Lucy also is a daydreamer, often needing prompting to stay on task, and sometimes several rounds of instructions to understand the job. Today she gave me her morning paper to correct it after about fifteen minutes from starting it. I pointed out some mistakes in the language portion, then proceeded to correct the math. “I want you to go back and check the last row of problems.” No other explanation from me. She went back to her seat and I watched her as she looked at the paper. As I spoke to another child on the other side of the room, I lost sight of what Lucy was doing. A few minutes later she was again at my side, saying, “I did it.” “Good. Let me see it.”
I looked at the last row of math problems, and saw that there were check marks beside each answer. I look at her, I look at the paper. “Why are these check marks on here?” I ask as I point to the check marks on the last row of math problems.
“You told me to check the last row,” she quietly said. “I did.” I chuckle to myself. I smile. I should be mad, but I can’t be mad at her. She did what I said.
“Oh, Lucy, I’m sorry. I meant to check them because the answers are wrong.”
“OOOhhhhh,” she said as she took the paper from me. “That’s what you meant.”
I will tackle these tomorrow...a sinus infection, constant temperature, strep throat and double ear infections have made me bed ridden for a few days...back to reality in the morning.
Hope you feel better soon, zoe.
reta--sure, that's a flashback technique and does the job--the story starts, stops while we get the backstory, then picks right up again.
One word I can't swallow though; I keep coming back to it, saying, 'No, that can't be right, that's overstating it, that's the wrong tone....'
The word is 'irate.' Irate is how I feel when someone tells me that I'm a greedhead for expecting the other signatory of a contract I signed as a union negotiator to live up to his side of the bargain. Irate is how I feel when I'm told that online course instructors get away with murder and don't really put the time in that 'live' teachers do.
Irate to me means wicked pissed, slapping the table, saying, 'Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?'
How about 'slightly suspicious and annoyed' here instead?
John, maybe irate was the wrong word for a second grader.....may have been that i had looked at many papers already that day....may have been that I was tired....but any way, i like the slightly suspicious and annoyed that you suggested.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
He came into the room, head down, both hands clenched into tight fists, his lips tightly together, and he was making low growling noises. I approached him, put an arm around his shoulders, and asked him what was wrong. “I hate school!” he answered.
As he huffed and puffed the other kids watched him. They’ve seen this before from him. He wiggled his body away from mine and stomped to the area of his chair. I followed him. He wouldn’t look at me, just kept his eyes lowered and made growling noises. I said to just take a breath and tell me what was wrong. Again, “I hate school.” He finally sat at his desk, but then started to rip up the paper that was on it. Not a choice, he was told. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” I said.
“I wanna go home! I don’t like Mrs. R---!”
Okay, I thought. Something happened in p.e. “Tell me what happened in p.e.” I said as I knelt beside him. After minutes of trying to get him to talk, not growl, he told me that another student got to be first in the line. It’s hard to convince a child like him that a place in line isn’t a big deal, because it is a big deal to him. “Well, maybe you can be first next time,” I said. “You have to let everyone have a turn at being first.” He finally looked around the room, and I noticed his breathing was relaxing. I picked up a dot-to-dot coloring paper, put it on his desk, got the bucket of crayons for him, and moved away. As I looked back, his hands were searching through the crayons.
49. Doesn’t matter where you begin, you’ll end up back here.
“The weather here is getting hot and the snakes are coming out,” she wrote in her latest e-mail. “We’re ready to come home. Make sure the snow’s all gone at my house.”
She’s worked all her life, most years doing hard factory work. Now she’s in her middle years, and she has her own business. Own business, own boss – well actually, she has a husband who has some input into the business - but they have now decided that winters in Maine are too much. They are known as SnowBirds – a.k.a. people who are too spleeny to suck up the cold, long winters in Maine.
I remember as a child that she’d enjoy the snow and winter along with the rest of us. We’d ice skate and ice fish in front of the family camp, and go sliding in the park close to where we lived. Never once do I remember her saying she wanted to leave this area….until she married a man who was older than her a few years ago, a man who was ready for warmer weather in winter than what Maine has to offer. “Why stay here and freeze?” So come November they pack up and leave.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you with dad. That’s why I’m not going this year. Ron will go without me. I want to stay and help with mum.” Her saying this in October was a surprise to my sisters and me, and we weren’t sure if it was what mum wanted, but she decided that this was where she wanted to be. She would stay here in Maine for the winter, or for some of it, all hinging on mum’s health.
After mum passed, she stayed here with us for a while longer. She said, “I really miss the snow, it’s beauty, and how it makes Christmas Christmas. If Ron wasn’t already there I wouldn’t go.” She flew out on a gray, cloudy day, just missing the light snow that fell later that night. They’ll be back when it’s warmer, and maybe, after her husband is gone, she’ll not go away at all.
reta--you do wonders sketching in a full family story and history with just a few light brushstrokes. Last sentence is a corker, whipping the reader through several interpretations in just a second or two. You hit week 10 nicely by arranging elements in a nontraditional order, a good one
That last comment was 49, reta.
reta,l 51--now here I don't see much alienation at all. If anything, this is a very traditional audience pleaser: wild child tamed through kindness. I'm not complaining. It's a fine vignette--but I don't see week 10.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
I am in a complete panic. I can feel my body mist with sweat, but I feel cold and clammy. I have no idea where I am. I’m a small town girl in a strange city, and I have no idea where I am. Why is there no one around to ask? If there were, would that even be safe? My front tire wobbles, I can’t steer this bike any longer. I sit Indian style and cry into my lap for a bit.
Well, that didn’t do me any good. I get up, dust off my pants and push my bike this time. As I come upon a four way intersection, I have a pang of hope. There are possibilities, four of them of be exact. My pang of hope turns to elation as I see a school down the street to the right. I hop on my ten speed and peddle my little heart out.
When I reach the front door, it feels like a door made for a giant and I am a lowly peasant. I bang on it anyway, it’s going to start to get dark soon, I just know it. The door made for a giant opens slowly and on the other side is the loveliest, sweetest lady, my fairy god mother I think.
“Slow down”, she tells me. “Take a breath and start from the beginning.”
“I’m lost”, I manage to get out again. This time so she can understand me. Another deep breath and I continue. “I told them I didn’t want to go to the playground, so they left. Then I changed my mind. I tried to catch up with them, but I couldn’t. I don’t know where they went.”
She kneels down to my level, gives me a hug. She smells so good, I believe her when she tells me everything’s going to be alright. After a quick drink at the water fountain, we head outside to see my sister and friends coming around the corner, pedaling their way back.
50. If you don't believe I'm leaving, you can count the days I'm gone.
I am as snug as a bug in a rug in my usual spot. Feet up – check; comfy blanket – check; french vanilla coffee – check; laptop with high-speed internet – check; television remote control – check. I love my recliner, I do, but I’m afraid it’s time to call off this love affair. All good things must come to an end, right?
My snotty nose and hacking cough is just about through its course. The driveway is getting rutted and muddy. My flower bed is covered with leaves smoothered in gravel. I left the house yesterday, without a jacket. Gasp!
Tomorrow is April first. Spring started 10 days ago. So why the f*&@!ck did the weatherman just report 6 to 12 inches of snow for Friday?
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
I walk in the front door and slam it shut, the force of the door makes the refrigerator shake. Nick comes running out from the living room. Looking at me he see's the pissed off look and red face. "what is wrong?"
"I work my ass off for them, what do I get nothing, NOTHING AT ALL." I say
"What are you talking about, what happened?"
"I am never going to do participate again!"
"I am still confused, what aren't you going to do? What happened?"
So frustrated I begin to cry (he freaks out when I cry), he rushes over to me and wraps his arms around me.
"Shhhh, take a deep breathe, tell me what happened."
I take a few short stuttering breathes and say "I work my ass off for them, I go out of my way to do extra to make this student group look amazing, and I DON'T GET THE SCHOLARSHIP! They give it to someone who isn't even in the organization"
You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
We are running. I can feel my chest burning as I try like hell to keep up. She keeps getting further away. The sounds behind me are getting closer.
I panic as I watch her back disappear in to the trees. Oh god! No no no no nooo! A sudden wave of relief hits me as I reach the trees. I know how to hide in trees! As I feel the first pine needle brush my arm I also feel pain as finger tips dig into the back of my neck... and then I woke up and it was just a dream. I look out the window and see the moon half covered by clouds. The his face is glaring at me through the thin glass. And then i woke up.
47. Nature red in tooth and claw. The Law of the Jungle. Survival of the Fittest.
The cemetery was my duty. It didn’t rain for almost two weeks. I could’ve walked by all the headstones and tried to read the faded names, but I had done that so many times before. This wasn’t the graveyard on the dirt road, that’s where my uncle is buried—this one was the first one ever on the island, right at the head.
I recall a thief coming in the graveyard stealing trinkets off the headstones or whatever lay around them. He got caught, but by the brother of a deceased little man.
The place where he died adapted part of his name—Jo-Peas. The water flows strong there. He was young when he died, and his brother was even younger and tried to commit suicide years down the road.
Some people blamed the house where he tried to do it. He was an exception, though, to the cursed home, because he did not succeed at the hanging. The previous 4 people who took refuge in the large house at the head of the island had all been successful.
It didn’t rain for almost two weeks. The blades of grass were brown and dry, short and stubby, split and almost dead. Twigs were everywhere. Ribbons that once were tied to trees or crosses lay in corners of the graveyard, faded, like the names.
44. You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
She lay in the hedges I knew were not there. As I passed them she got my attention.
It was cold and the leaves on the hedges had been dead for a few weeks. I bent down and got under there with her.
“What are you doing” I said, “It’s freezing out and you only have on a sweatshirt.”
She smiled and moved her head to the side, “I am not cold.”
“Are you drunk?” I asked
“I drink a little bit.” She wrapped her arms around me and closed her eyes, her face getting closer to mine. Our lips touched, but I did not dare to kiss her, for the rage of wanting to for a few weeks would come back and eat at my heart.
“I miss you.”
“You know I miss you more than anything.”
“NO, I can’t!” She pulled away
I began to think. She would never drink in the day like this.
“No me beses asi,” she said weakly.
“Look at me,” I said, but it’s muffled.
I rolled out from the dead hedges. “Go home,” I said, “I can’t do it anyway.”
*
Pure sweat, anxiety, all rose like the hedges that weren’t there. I went to the couch and drank coffee, looking out the balcony window, imagining her walking up, to the door.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning
I run into the room, panic on my face. "oh no, this is not good!" I cried. I scurry around in a frantic manner, lifting up cushions, throwing clothes, and looking under furniture. "What's wrong?"
A few years back my grandmother whom I was very close to gave me a necklace. This necklace was very special to me because she passed away of lung cancer. Earlier that day, I was playing a few games on the Wii with my friends which can be very strenuous at times. I must have not noticed when the necklace fell off during that time of fun until after everyone left and I vaccuumed a little to clean up the mess that we had made.
"What happened?" my mother asked. I was in such a state of confusion and panic that I failed to notice her question and kept on searching and running around like a chicken with my head cut off.
"wooo! Slow down. What on earth are you looking for?"
"I lost my necklace from Grammy. I can't find it anywhere, and I vaccuumed a few minutes ago!"
"Oh... You mean this one?" as she pulled out that beautiful piece of jewelry. I could have passed out, I was so relieved.
"I picked it up because it was on the floor and I didn't want the cat to start playing with it and drag it off who knows where".
kristie, 51--whew, a happy ending--you do a nice job describing the scene and action--but I don't really see the alienation, framing, distancing or any week 10 here--to me, this reads straightforward and even heartwarming
kristie, 50--much more week 10ish with the first two grafs bouncing the reader one way and then the other and that nice question to close the piece
darci, 51--well, we can still see the steam pouring out of your ears in this one--it's a good vignette--but week 10 isn't here in any way I see
tara, dream--yep, that's the double frame I suggest in the prompt, but of course the prompt does not literally need a dream in it or waking either.
morgan, 47--almost works for me, one of those gossamer things held together by faith in poetry and mystery and association.
Here, though, I get a bit lost: "He got caught, but by the brother of a deceased little man.
The place where he died adapted part of his name—Jo-Peas. The water flows strong there. He was young when he died"
Each one of those sentences leaves a question in my mind, and four unanswered questions in a row is too much and too many.
You take risks in your stuff--mostly they pay off and mostly they pay off here too. Mostly.
then there's 44, morgan! One thing I like about my method is that usually I read one piece at a time so my reaction to each piece is not partially contaminated by my reaction to the piece next to it.
If I'd read these together, I don't think I could have appreciate the cemetery piece as much as I do.
Do you see the difference between these two? Why the cemetery mostly does work and why this mostly doesn't? Even for week 10, This is a step over the line into solipsism where you pretty much guarantee a reader can't follow--but, damn, you're working week 10 for all it's worth!
rebecca, 51--endings in vignettes are so tricky--you don't want to confuse the reader, you don't want to over-explain either. You want to leave them with a sort of rising expectation/good guess.
"Oh... You mean this one?" as she pulled out that beautiful piece of jewelry. I could have passed out, I was so relieved.
"I picked it up because it was on the floor and I didn't want the cat to start playing with it and drag it off who knows where".
To me, that overexplains. I'd end it:
"I lost my necklace from Grammy. I can't find it anywhere, and I vaccuumed a few minutes ago!"
"Oh..."she smiled reassuringly....
I'm working week ten but both pieces don't work? I'm confused. And my intention was so you could not follow me in the second piece I wrote, but rather you fill the gaps with no help from me at all. Wanted to see if it would work.
The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
She is sitting in the rocking chair staring at the wall. Her skin is pale and the dark circles under her eyes suggest that she hasn't sleep in a while. A tear silently rolls down her cheek. She does nothing... she doesn't move, she doesn't blink. Another tear falls. Cheryl gets up from across the room and walks over to her.
"I wish I knew what to say." Cheryl whispers as she wipes the tears of of her face. Still nothing, she shows no sign that any words were spoken to her.
(Inside her head)
Why won't she leave me alone? Go away! GO THE FUCK AWAY! I don't want you to say ANYTHING! I hate you and your fucking pity.
Cheryl gets up and walks over to her mother.
"I don't know... it's like she isn't even there."
47 works, morgan, I'm just being fussy. The other--no, with the best will in the world, we can't fill in those blanks.
I like that f-bomb explosion, tara! And I like the situation unexplained. And I likde the distance between what one person thinks and the other says.... Pretty week 10ish to me. Lot to like.
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
The light in the gym made me want to vomit. It was too yellow. People’s faces were melting with it, as if I’d taken drugs. All I could see was her on the ground, in pain, like many other times I’ve seen her. The bathroom was far away.
I got the call when I was done playing. I couldn’t leave though—the girls still had to play. She went to EMMC in the ambulance, like many times before.
That night I talked to her. She was OK, but drugged to the max and that still didn’t help the bone. The house was empty that night. It reminded me too much of four years ago. But I knew she was tough and would pull through just fine. At least this time there were no priests or medicine men involved, telling me to say goodbye.
She didn’t come home for 3 weeks, but when she did, she said, “Is this really the break you wanted to give me, God?” I laughed and replied,
“That son of a bitch. I was expecting a trip somewhere.”
“Well, I got a trip.” Wheeling herself around the kitchen.
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
My skin is numb to this pain; my brain is blank when I think about what is really going on in my life. I always get asked how I overcome it every time, and the answer always is, I just do.
Being healthy is something that healthy people need to take advantage of more than they do. My chronic breathing problem lands me in the hospital at least twice a week; I say I don’t feel anything but I’m lying.
I don’t feel the needle, I don’t feel the effects of the nasty drugs they push through my body but I do feel the pain of emotion. The feelings are all in my head and pretty unbearable, but I deal, I deal with the pain daily.
49. Doesn't matter where you begin, you'll end up back here.
His soft touch and his warm hug is so rewarding every time I get to experience. He is my world, and the love of my life. I could never explain to anyone how it feels to feel so comfortable for once.
Growing up I never got to experience that warmth, that love and that trust with a man, I didn’t even know it was possible. I felt like I was the one that was always wrong, I was the one that made him act the way he did, and I was the one that was never going to grow to be anything more than a child.
Now that I have that comfort in my life knowing that men can be trusted, I can go anywhere because I never second guess how I feel, what I am doing and who I am. I will never go back to where I was before, I will always end up back her; in these strong, loving arms.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
The thoughts rush through my head like a street full of bucking bulls. I can’t pick out which bull to focus on, they are moving too quickly. Why me, why now, I can’t deal with this, I just simply can’t. Is she okay; am I okay, when will they be here to help??
The sound of smashing glass and crunching metal still shrieking in my head, I come to my senses and I can smell the air bag powder, the hiss of the engine is burning my ears and waking me up more and more.
“Molly, are you okay....MOLLY!!!!!!” My heart racing because I can’t hear her voice, I look to my right and the window is smashed open and drops of blood scatter all around the window. I automatically am focused on one thing, find Molly. She is my best friend, my sister, my lifelong partner in crime.
I squeeze my way out of the passenger window side because the car is on it’s side and her window is the only escape. As I climb out of the car in a scattered daze I hear someone yelling “are you okay, was there anyone with you, where does it hurt, lay still and stop moving your neck the ambulance is just around the corner.”
The ambulance shows up and they ask me multiple questions, and I can’t remember what happened ten minutes ago how am I suppose to tell them where I am, and what happened, all I can say is the word Molly.
They keep asking me to tell them the last thing I remember, and to start at the beginning. I can’t think straight all I can think about my best friend. Then a few fire fighters walk out of the woods carrying her while she limping out of the woods, now I remember, now my thoughts are clear...now I can start at the beginning.
44. You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
I am running as fast as my legs can go. There are many of us that look the same. We all scatter with great speed and terror on our faces. The beast is chasing me. It is getting closer every second. I run with all my might but my lungs begin to give out. I can barely breathe, I am running out of steam. I trip over something long and fall on my face. The adrenalin allows me to spring back up and begin running again. I turn my head to take a peek at my pursuer. He is gone! Nowhere in sight. Where did he go? I continue running. Then, my heart beats out of my chest. I feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. I am no longer in motion.
Then I awake to the sound of the alarm clock.
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
We’re at the ER again. As expected, we wait and wait and wait. She asks the doctor why she keeps getting pneumonia and can’t get rid of this cough. “That’s a good question” is all he manages to come up with. She can’t breathe. She even tries to sit out on the cold porch to see if the cold air will help. It doesn’t. I am helpless.
***
She barely eats or drinks. Her bottle of Boost is within reach 24/7. Today’s appointment is with a doctor who is going to have her swallow a concoction while her throat and lungs are being viewed by an x-ray. She doesn’t understand the need for this appointment. If the fluids she was swallowing were going into her lungs, then she would know. Apparently not. I am helpless.
***
I had to call my mother and give her the bad news over the phone. Her mother had passed away. “No, she wasn’t alone” I told her. “Her sister was with her.” I am helpless.
43, kristie--those 'I am helpless' repetitions work for week 10 because each time you repeat, your frustration is directly passed on to the reader, each time we leave the graf just as dissatisfied with its outcome as you are--that's ordinarily not how you want your reader to react to your writing, but done with intention as here, it is effective.
rebecca, 44--give that another try in a rewrite; the point is not to recount a dream but to consider the whole cliche of 'then I woke up and it was only a dream' and to write in a way that somehow confronts or uses that notion for week 10, not just follows it directly--to play with it, to mine it for irony, to reverse it or double down on it or to mess it up somehow
morgan, 43--another piece skating on the edge of comprehensibility; I start to feel like an umpire telling you, the pitcher, if you've just delivered a a ball or a strike, if the material just nibbles the edge of the plate--or not. Maybe I'm doing that too much. Today, anyway, I think I will reject the role of ump and just be a spectator in the crowd.
"Then a few fire fighters walk out of the woods carrying her while she limping out of the woods,"
Mercy, tara--just where the suspense builds to the max and we need you to be crystal clear to resolve it, suddenly your sentence gets garbled. Which is it? Molly limping or Molly carried? Molly dead/seriously injured or Molly alive/just a booboo?
For me, that uncertaintly kills the piece. You do get to mess with your reader in week 10 and you could certainly do that by offering alternative endings or even no ending--but, as I say, I think this is just a garbled sentence, not an intentional writer's tactic.
But otherwise, on 51, tara, you do a nice job handling the action and the interior monologue and hitting the week 10 stuff--just that one sentence bothering the reader.
tara--the other two in the group feel like preliminaries, like warm-ups for 51 more than like pieces you really felt like doing for their own sake, or at least this reader doesn't find any traction in either of them, anything really grabbing.
51
I can't count how many times I've said this to Lexi. Lexi is an old friends daughter, she's four years old. Lexi called me "mommy" up until she was about 3 years old, I'm not "auntie Zoe."
I've been apart of Lexi's life since she was three months old, upon meeting her mother.
Lex's mom, Bri, and I have had many "falling outs", to say the least. There has been many times where I feel as if I'm going through a bad divorce; especially when neither Bri or I want(ed) to see or talk to each other, but we meet hastily to exchange the toddler.
Lexi is a dare devil, push the limits, always stuck in high gear, type of kid. Her un-stable upbringing has severely impacted her behaviors, especially lately.
Nine times out of ten, the second she walks through my door or gets into my car, she is talking so fast she can't catch her breath. She tries to tell an entire story in thirty seconds.
She comes back from the weekdays at her mother and "fathers" house filled with stories, most of which, filled with language and graphics that no child should ever be around.
"Just calm down, and start at the beginning." Those are my famous first words to Lexi every Friday night.
45
"You said....but....but, how was I supposed to know you meant....
It was a freezing, dark and windy afternoon in January of 2009.
I had been sitting at home for hours, we had been without power for over 24 hours and I was successfully driving my Mother crazy.
"I got paid last week, why don't you to into Bangor and walk around the mall...I'll give you my debit card."
"How much can I spend? I do needs jeans and I bleached my pink hoodie I just bought."
"40, 45 dollars...shop the sale racks. If you need gas, you can put twenty in your tank....on your way home get some ice cream."
I was in my car and headed to Bangor in less than 10 minutes.
I parked by Macys and rushed inside.
I was in heaven!! It was the month after Christmas, and they had all new designs out. I was heading for the "SALE" racks, when I saw the cutest outfit ever!
It was a summer outfit, and it was January...but the snow would be melting soon and summer months were coming up.
The top was a flowing shirt with purple, blue, yellow, green abstract flowers (looked as if it was painted) all over. It was strapless. The bottoms were a pair of white short-shorts with deep pockets on each side. The manican even had matching shoes on! They were thong sandals, the same color purple as found in the shirt.
What really pulled the look together was the accessories. A large beaded necklace, matching bracelet and dangling earing topped off the whole look.
"I have to have it. All of it." I said quietly to myself.
I instantly searched the surrounding racks, digging for the pieces to this glamorous outfit.
It took my about 4 minutes to find the shirt and shorts and another 2 minutes to try them on and fall in love.
I didn't look at the price tags, but knew they were not on sale and knew just by looking at them, that it was going to be expensive.
I walked up to the check out, eyes almost closed so I wouldn't find anything else I "couldn't live without".
Shirt- 34.00
Shorts- 48.00
Holy shit! I almost passed out. My total came to almost 90 dollars, and I wasn't even done shopping! I had to get the shoes and accessories....the outfit wouldn't look the same without them!
I walked through the cosmetic booths and over to the shoe department. This time, I went right to the "SALE" racks.
After a lot of rummaging around I found a pair of shimmery green thong sandals. 55% off!
They were not the purple I had wanted, but there was green in the top, and I knew it would still look great.
I only paid 15 dollars for the shoes, I was proud!
Next stop, accessories! I would be able to save in this department, I knew it. Macy's always had an extensive selection of clearances jewelry items and due to my ears being gaged, I didn't have to buy earrings.
I settled for a large beaded yellow, green and purple bracelet for about 3 dollars....forget the necklace.
I left Macy's holding one bag and an outfit costing 100 dollars.
I started thinking about my mom's reaction on the drive home....but focused on how cute I would look on the first day of summer.
Hopefully she can appreciate good fashion. And who know's if this outfit would still be available in a few months? Gotta get it while it's hot!
"Since when does FORTY FIVE really mean ONE HUNDRED, Zoe?! For one frekin outfit? You could have gotten TWENTY outfits on sale for that price! Who buys this shit in the middle of JANUARY? What in God's name were you thinking? You think I work 60 hours a week to make sure you look cute?!? Well, I DON'T! I let you go shopping on my dollar and this is what I frekin get. Every time, Zoe...ever time. ..Let me guess, you forgot the ice cream too? Boy, that's really going to piss me off..."
...I even forgot the ice cream
44. You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
I can't believe she did this to me, why would she take him away from me? He's not hers to take away. I will never forgive her. My mother has no right to take MY dog, that I take care of and that I have had since he was a puppy.
I'm there at the animal shelter and I'm frantic,
"WHERE IS MY DOG?! HE'S HERE I KNOW HE'S HERE, HE'S MINE GIVE HIM BACK!" I'm screaming at the lady behind the counter and she looks back with a blank look on her face, "excuse me miss you need to step back, we don't have your dog here, GET OUT!" I burst through the double doors right past her and franticaly search for my Zues. Kennel after kennel I look. I stop at one that looks like Zues but, he's all white and close shaven. That can't be Zues. He's a black and white husky. I call his name, maybe he will respond if it's him. He jumps on the cage door, ITS HIM! I knew it! Oh my god, i can't believe i found him!
BANG! The double doors fling open and in comes the lady behind the desk and two officers, "miss stop, don't move." Before I know it I am handcuffed and being pulled away from Zues.
"NOOOOOOO... MY DOG GET MY DOG!"
"Miss he's not your's, you snuck in here and tried to steal this dog, your going to jail."
"No you don't understand, HE'S MY DOG MY MOM TOOK HIM HERE SHE TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME!"
and then... i woke up and it was only a dream.
"Is this our hotel?" We asked the cab driver.
"Si."
We drive down the long road and we finally arrive at our hotel. It's huge, and when I say huge, I mean ginormous. It's absolutely the biggest hotel I have ever been in or even seen in my life. It's much bigger than what the pictures show online. I never imagined we would be staying in such a beautiful place. The hotel consists of five pyrimid looking builings that connect by only an outside hallway that lets the carribean air slowly blow in.
We check in at the main building and the frontdesk workers tell us how we have been upgraded into the fancy fifth builing, which also happens to be the furthest building away, and the furthest away from the main buildng. This builing is suppose to be for V.I.P guests, and we didn't understand why us, who are two 20 year olds, are very important. But, we didn't question.
"I'll show you where to go, it's a little confusing"
Thank god, some one was willing to show us where our room was.
After two says of vacationing in the hotel we thought we knew every nick and corner.
"Where are we?" my friend asked as we walked up a new stairway we had never seen before.
"OH! I know where we are, we go this way."
Talking to eachother we were distarcted and weren't paying attention the the new hallways we were walking through.
"How did we end up back at our room...?"
44.
My eyes suddenly open, my head still resting on my pillow, and I look at the foot of my bed. Starring into the dark, I see my recently dead friend standing at the edge of my bed infront of my feet. He's starring at me and glarring his eyes. I panic. My body laying still underneath the blankets I couldn't move. I try so hard to move and get away but I can't. He doesn't look happy at all and I'm so confused on why he would be looking so angrily at me. I lay there in shock, and we just stare at eachother. I wanted to say something to him, but I couldn't do that either. I could only think "how klong has be been standing here?". Suddenly, I wake up. I see a floating white ball float away in to the cornor of my room. I watched it dissapear into nothing. And then I woke up it was only a dream. Or was it?
I apologize for taking so long on these prompt assignments Mr. Goldfine. I have been in the hospital all weekend because my sister was having a baby. She had some complications but on Sunday had a bouncing baby boy and is doing ok now.
44. Rewrite
I am running as fast as my legs can go. There are many of us that look the same. We all scatter with great speed and terror on our faces. The beast is chasing me. It is getting closer every second. I run with all my might but my lungs begin to give out. I can barely breathe, I am running out of steam. I trip over something long and fall on my face. The adrenalin allows me to spring back up and begin running again. I turn my head to take a peek at my pursuer. He is gone! Nowhere in sight. Where did he go? I continue running. Then, my heart beats out of my chest. I feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. I am no longer in motion.
Then I awake up. I am in a cabin deep in the heart of the woods.
Wait... My heart stops. Do my ears deceive me or am I hearing the growling noises and strong, forced breathing from the creature that chased me?
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
We zoom by many buildings. My heart races. Each minute feels like an hour. She is lying there in the back of the van. She closes her eyes and takes a couple big breaths. We are all in a slight panic at this point. Finally, we reach our destination. I run and grab a wheel chair. I am going so fast and am so focused that I almost knocked someone over. I don't even know if it was a man or woman. I reach the van and we all help her out of the vehicle. Slowly and carefully. Her leg is in such a huge make-shift bandage that no one even knows what it looks like any more. A little blood leaks through the cloth. She gets into the building and they take her away. Where did they take her? What are they doing for her? Poor thing, she must be in so much pain right now!
Earlier that day we were laughing and giggling our hearts out. We were fooling around on our bicycles trying to do tricks and other crazy things. Then he showed up with a gorgeous, brand new Ninja. He always had a crush on her, so naturally she would be the first person he would take for a ride. She hopped on the back and they set off. Then the phone rang. She needed to get to the hospital right away. It was an emergency.
A little blood leaks through the bandage. She gets into the building and they take her away. Where did they take her? What are they doing for her? Poor thing, she must be in so much pain right now!
We finally see her face again. She seems calm and quiet. We all run over.
"Are you okay? I am so sorry."
"Are you in a lot of pain? How is your leg? Is it broken?"
"I am so sorry, it is all my fault"
"It's okay to cry honey."
"I am fine! I don't feel a thing! Stop apologizing! It was an accident! If you don't stop apologizing I am going to fucking kill you!"
rebecca, 43--good for you, you took a few risks and they all pay off: the repetition, the fractured time sequence, the choice of stopping point--all that works to make this definitely week 10
rebecca, 44, this prompt is always tempting but it's a tricky one alright; thanks for the rewrite.
melissa, 44--as I say to Rebecca, this is a tempting prompt, looks easy, but is actually not what it seems. If one really writes about waking up from a literal dream, it is almost bound to fail. I've either got to say that in the prompt instructions or drop 44 altogether!
melissa, hotel--first two grafs work nicely to establish the scene, the situation, the background confusion, and it's definitely alienating to stop graf 3 where you do; that's week 10ish, but it's also confusing. I'm not sure at the end if you did or didn't find your way back or how or happily or what.
emily, 44--so without the last line I'd probably be stupid and say, 'Is this fiction?' always a grumpy statement from me. On the other hand, if you forgot the prompt and just gave us the nightmare and skipped the cliche last line from the prompt, the piece would be stronger.
zoe, 45--no wonder I haven't been shopping for clothes for 35 years.
But I like your description of all the ins and outs of getting that cute outfit and the frame, the way you 'use' your mother, is all very nicely done, very smooth; it's all smooth.
The Lexi piece, on the other hand, I thought was sort of done with the idea that you might be able to make the telling about Lexi actually sound a little like Lexi was telling it--trying to tell the whole story in 30 seconds? Anyway, for my money, it's too scrambled and hurried to work--very much in contrast to the very good control you keep over everything in the Macy's piece.
45. You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
"That's IT! I'm DONE, I'm over this relationship and I'm definetly over YOU!"
"I can't believe these words are coming out of your mouth right now, we've gone way to far for way to long to end it with a drop of a hat. Over something so stupid. Really?!"
"I can't take it anymore we are done, just go away from me."
I slammed the door behind me so hard that I saw his dog jump right out of his nap he was taking. I'm not going to let him talk to me like that, I thought to myself. I'm done and outta here and I'm not looking back not for a second. I walked as fast as I could to my truck and jumped in slamming the door. Squeeled my tires as I drove away and made sure he knew I was upset that he could just throw it all away like that.
When I got home I went right up to my room, closed the door and sobbed. About a hour later my phone is buzzing and I get a text and it's from him.
"Seriously? You just left me like that, you didn't even try to fight for me, for us. Now we really are DONE!"
The only response I had in me was to text him back, "SCREW YOU! I'm not a FUCKING MIND READER ASSHOLE! Go to HELL and don't text me ever again."
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
"I'M NEVER TRYING OUT FOR ANYTHING EVER AGAIN!" I yelled out to my mom as I ran through the house past her and up to my room, slamming the door behind me a couple times for the effect. I sat down on my bed and just put my head in my hand and thought to myself I'm done with softball, I'm done with school, I'm not going back.
My mom opened the door with force since it was stuck due to all the slams I had done earlier to it.
"Em, what's going on? Did something happen today at tryouts?"
"Yeah something happened it's called I'm never going to tryout for a team ever again and I'm NOT going to school for the rest of the week I'm so humiliated."
"What happened that's so terrible that you can't go to school em?"
The gym was packed everyone was there, all the girls in their Old Town Softball shirts that had already been on the team before. I felt so out of place, I don't belong here. I mean I know that I can play, I've been on all-stars all my life but this was different this was high school politics and I'm not in with that crowd. I just wanted to walk out pretend this wasn't happening and then it happened...
"Emily your next to talk to the coaches."
Oh god. I can't do this I don't really care what their answer is, I would rather just walk out of here.
"Emily, let's go they are waiting."
"Ok.." I pushed open the big blue doors to where all the coaches were sitting behind a table all in a row.
"Have a seat Emily, we need to talk to you. I'm really sorry this isn't going to work out for us, you should try out next year we will have more spots."
"Mom it's all politics there at school I can't do it I'm DONE!"
I think you meant Kara not Tara on the three previous prompts :)
tara, kara--whoops!
emily, 51, that time disordering is done very neatly and effectively and puts you on the week 10 team for sure
emily, 45--whew, more slamming doors, is this a pattern?
;)
I think what distances the reader here is ending with all that nasty talk, no reconciliation, just more anger--that works.
43. The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
I enter the door not knowing what to expect. Every one tells me how great of a dentist this guy is but its still not on the top of my to do list. After sitting in the waiting room for what seemed to be hours my name was called. “Derek?”
Wow this kid looks petrified. He must not have heard all of the good things about me and how gentle I can really be. Sure getting your wisdom teeth out isn’t something you look forward to but at the same time it must be done. He’s a pretty big kid, we are going to have to give him some laughing gas and valume. Don’t worry he will still get the two shots of nova cane in each quadrant of his mouth.
Jeez, I don’t think my little man can handle that many needle prick into his gums. I mean he’s never even had a cavity drilled and he’s jumping into getting all of these teeth pulled at once. I wonder how far down they will actually have to dig into to his little gums and tear them all apart. They better not hurt you!
The laughing gas did exactly what the name says, gave me a serious case of the giggles. Once he noticed the valume had kicked in it was time for the nova cane. Once I saw that needle it’s almost like I was sober again it felt, pulled me right out of laughing land. “You might feel a slight pinch.” So I closed my eyes and quenched my fists for all I was worth. I felt nothing, it was one of the biggest reliefs ever. After those measly 8 shots of nova cane they started to dig into me. I was so numbed up I actually fell asleep while he was drilling into my head.
45. You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
Why in god’s name are you driving my Camaro! I love this car more than I love my wife, you know that. What would tell you that it is okay to come pick me up in my prized possession while there is an every day car sitting right next to it that you are more than welcome to use. Oh my god there is even salt on the roads still. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO VEHICLES!
To this day I don’t think I have seen my grand father that mad. He always own two vehicles growing up. A truck that was used for work and a fancy car that was his pride and joy for as long as I can remember. It seemed like he got a new “pride and joy” every couple of years and became more and more attached to each one. This one happened to be a 1967 Chevy Camaro SS, deep burgundy custom paint, big fat racing tires in the back that were rapped around nice chrome rimes, and not one imperfection on this car.
I get a call one night from him saying that he is going to need a ride tonight and he will find something for me to drive to come get him. He specifically said, once he was half in the bag that is, just take what ever one has the keys in it. Little did he know that the Camaro was the last thing he had driven and not his big work truck. So I go over and look into both vehicles and only see the keys in the Camaro. So I call him and call him and call him, no answer. He told me to be at the bar no later than mid night because he had to work the next day. So I said screw it and hopped in the Camaro and went to pick him up. Bad idea.
45. You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
Why in god’s name are you driving my Camaro! I love this car more than I love my wife, you know that. What would tell you that it is okay to come pick me up in my prized possession while there is an every day car sitting right next to it that you are more than welcome to use. Oh my god there is even salt on the roads still. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO VEHICLES!
To this day I don’t think I have seen my grand father that mad. He always own two vehicles growing up. A truck that was used for work and a fancy car that was his pride and joy for as long as I can remember. It seemed like he got a new “pride and joy” every couple of years and became more and more attached to each one. This one happened to be a 1967 Chevy Camaro SS, deep burgundy custom paint, big fat racing tires in the back that were rapped around nice chrome rimes, and not one imperfection on this car.
I get a call one night from him saying that he is going to need a ride tonight and he will find something for me to drive to come get him. He specifically said, once he was half in the bag that is, just take what ever one has the keys in it. Little did he know that the Camaro was the last thing he had driven and not his big work truck. So I go over and look into both vehicles and only see the keys in the Camaro. So I call him and call him and call him, no answer. He told me to be at the bar no later than mid night because he had to work the next day. So I said screw it and hopped in the Camaro and went to pick him up. Bad idea.
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
Right when I hit that jump at 40 mph I knew I was done for. It kicked me straight up and down and I was continuing to go upside down. Now usually you can prevent this by jamming on the brake but it was too far past that I knew this was going to hurt. I got to a point that was past saving and pushed my bike away 10 feet above the ground, “This is going to suck.”
We had ridden bikes in this pit to many times to count. The only things that was different is that is was my first day on my new bike. 04 Kawasaki KX250F, a real mean ride. I had the most confidence on that bike than anything else I’d ever ridden before. I started with small stuff like hill climbs and little table tops. Those were a breeze and on built up my confidence even more. Then came the whoops section, one of the harder parts of riding. I cranked threw each and every whoop allowing that fresh factory connection suspension eat those whoops up.
Then I remembered the step up that we had made into our little track. It had about a 50 foot gap and was doable if you had enough bike and big enough balls. Turned out on that day I had both of them. So I found some other guys that were riding and got to talking with them about the jump. They were on 450’s and had been hitting it all day. “They said about 40 mph should send you up and over no problem” they said. Didn’t seem that bad at all when I was running it through my head. They I tried to make it a reality and didn’t hit it once nice and slow to see how the lip kicked you, big mistake.
I was doing 40 alright when I launched into the air, felt a lot faster than that when I started to loose control of my bike. Even though I landed up on the landing and not the knuckle it was still the worse crash I’ve had in my career of motor vehicles. I plummeted from 10 feet right flat onto my back. Right when I hit my arms and legs started tingling. That was one of the scariest moments in my life, the first thing that came to mind was how I was paralyzed and I was never going to be able to walk again. Shortly after the moaning and groaning I was able to catch my breath and realize that I was indeed not paralyzed.
49. Doesn't matter where you begin, you'll end up back here.
My first time out on my own. Have my apartment, my job and my car. I don’t need anything or anyone. I am an able woman who is independent, brave and fearless. Looking into my future is exciting. And mom said I would be back home. HA! Not a chance. I am 18 now, I am an adult and fully ready to take things head on.
My first night in my new apartment, I was happy yet nervous. Tired yet too busy in my head to sleep. It’s midnight. I want to call someone but all my friends are sleeping. “Hi, Mom,” I say. “I know it’s late but I couldn’t sleep.”
“Are you ok?” Mom asks me. “Need me to come down or come get you?”
“Yes, I am ok,” I say to her. “No you don’t have to come down you can if you want to but it is up to you.”
“Okay, hun,” she says. “I will be right down.”
Ten minutes later there is a knock at my door. Mom is here and now I am tired all I want to do is sleep. Mom tells me to go to bed, she will be here until morning. Just to make sure all is ok. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I will be back.
51.
She walks into the classroom and finds a chair that she thinks will be the closest to the teacher. She knows her eyes are not that well so will need to be close to the board. She smiles at all the people sitting around her. On the outside, she is calm, cool, and collected. On the inside, she is a bowl of Jell-O. She starts rustling around in her backpack, taking out the notebook, textbook and blue pen. She needs to be ready.
That is what I was like on my first day of college. I always thought that College would be easy. After all, I am a thinker. I love learning things. However, I didn’t realize it was a new step in a new direction I have never gone in. Will I get a good grade? Can I get a good grade? Those were the only things going through my mind.
45.You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
Diane walks into the bathroom, starts the bath water, and undresses for her bath. One foot at a time, she gets in the water. She lays there crying then decides to do it. Taking out the razor blade she has in her shaver, she slices her wrist wide open. She cries no more.
Two weeks ago, Diane was walking hand in hand with the man she knew she would marry. She has loved him for 5 years and thought this was the perfect relationship. Walking around the park they reach a park bench when Joe asks her to sit down he needs to talk to her. This is it, he is going to ask me to marry him. They both sit down and Joe takes Diane’s hands into his.
“Diane, I don’t really know how to say this,” Joe says. He is nervous and unusually scared for a proposal
“Say what, honey?” Diane replies. “Ask me anything.” The excitement is building within her so much that she can hardly contain herself.
“Alright,” Joe hesitantly says. “I think it is time that we split up.”
“WHAT?” Diane shouts. “What did I do wrong? How can this be? I thought you loved me and was gonna marry me?”
“I do love you but I have been seeing someone else for a while now and I don’t feel right about it so I had to come clean,” Joe throws down another shocker.
“Fine, go then,” Diane says as her emotions are filling with sadness, anger and embarrassment. “Go be with your little girlfriend. I will be fine.”
Joe walks away like a dog with their tail between their legs. Never to be heard from again. Two weeks later, Diane thinks she cannot live without him and decides to end it.
Derek--I like those shifting points of view very much; that's ambitious writing and you pull it off with more ease, no doubt, than the dentist used pulling out those 4 teeth.
derek, 45--yes, starting at the ending and then giving us the backstory as you do here is an effective way to work week 10
derek, 51--this one is a little more confusing than the other two, but it comes off if the reader sticks with it. You have a nice feel for week 10, time order fractures, vignettes.
darci, 45--fiction?
darci, 51--I like the way you give us a scene here and then take us inside your mind to give the scene depth; very week 10
darci, 49--interesting; not often I get a student willing to throw herself to the wolves to make a piece work, but that's what you do here: you set yourself up as a grownup young woman in the beginning and end as momma's little girl in need of a little caring.
That's very effective at framing and alienating the reader, forcing us out of ordinary expectations (we'd expect the writer to grow up, not down)--very week 10.
43:
All I could hear was the sound of the siren muffled by the walls of the ambulance around me. There was no pain, no adrenalin, just an overwhelming sense of tranquility….
It was a beautiful day for baseball. The breeze was coming across the field and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I was on the pitcher’s mound, I don’t really remember why because I certainly wasn’t pitching. Up in the sky I saw something; I think it may have been a bird. “DUCK!” I heard someone call. Duck? No, I don’t think it’s a du- CRACK
I’ve never been much for sports, especially when I was younger. In fact, ever since that day I caught the ball with my nose, I never had much interest in those kind of games.
As I lay on the ground looking up at the sky a red filter covered my eyes. It was pretty awesome. I couldn’t feel my face, but the crimson clouds above me more than made up for it. There were people around me asking if I was okay, and what happened, but I didn’t care. I was far too preoccupied with my red sky.
At one point I remember my dad came over. I think he helped move me to the ambulance. When they got me in the ambulance I couldn’t see my red sky any more, it made me sad.
I woke up in a hospital. All I had were some vague memories of sirens and a crimson sky. I had to get filled in on the rest. I haven’t played baseball since… and I don’t rightly plan to.
44.
I’m sitting in class, doing homework for another class. I’ve tuned the teacher out. It’s so inconsiderate of him to keep talking while I’m trying to do my homework.
“Mr. Perry!” He bellowed, barely catching my ear. “Answer me this!” The formula on the board is nothing I’ve ever seen before… am I even in the right class?
“Answer me this, or FAIL” I start to sweat. Scribbling some work down on a piece of paper, I have no idea what I’m actually writing; I just hope that he thinks I’m really trying.
“53?” There’s a short pause as I answer before the entire classroom begins to laugh at me, including the professor.
I have no idea what’s going on. I have no idea what the answer is…
…and then I woke up and it was only a dream.
I’m sitting in class, and I start doing homework for another class….
44, rj--I have pretty much the same dream, except that in mine, I'm in class, just as unprepared as you are, but I'm supposed to be earning my living up there and instead I have no clue what I'm doing or even what to do about having no clue....
:(
43, rj--that's very week 10, that scrambling of time, action, thoughts at the moment, thoughts looking back; it all works to keep the reader in the...DUCK!
51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
She rushed over to me, already crying. "ARE YOU OK?" She screamed. My fists were clenched, eyes buttoned shut. All she kept saying was "IM SORRY, IM SO SORRY"
I couldnt take hearing her cry any more so I finally mumbled out the words, "MUM, Its ok. STOP."
Earlier that day the girls soccer team had beaten their rival, and gained enough points off of them to head to the play offs for the first time in thirteen years. It was the biggest game of the year, and everyone was excited.
The laughter that had once filled the air from the excitement, was now filled with whispers, cries, and making sure someone had called 911.
My mom had just driven into me, pinning me between her car and another one. As she frantically backed up, I fell to the ground not being able to hold myself up from the pain I was feeling. Once the EMT arrived, they insisted on giving me pain meds, I refused knowing they would be coming from a needle. As the EMT's touched my legs, one asked "Can you tell me what happened?" to distract me from what was really happening.
50. If you don't believe I'm leaving, you can count the days I'm gone.
At eleven years old I was sick of having to follow the rules, computer time for only an hour, no video games after dinner, and sharing the remote with my brothers were all things that got under my skin.
I ran down to my room, layed my blankey out on my bed, and threw some clothes into the center, along with my new portable CD player. "I've had it" I said under my breath. "I'm leaving". I rolled the sides of my blanket over my pile of clothes, brought the corners together and threw it over my shoulder.
"Where are you going?" Dad had asked as I passed him in the hallway, "I'm moving out" Through the door and down the steps, and still noone was stopping me. I followed the beaten path that my brothers and I had walked to go see my uncle next door, "He'll want me" I thought to myself.
But just as I had gotten to the top of the hill, I noticed noone was home.
45. You said...but, but, how was I supposed to know you meant--.
"SCORE!" I thought to myself, gripping the truck keys in my hand, I ran out the door as my dad said "You drive to Ashleys, and stay there. YOU DRIVE NO WHERE ELSE!"
At seventeen, freedom never felt so good. I had my license, senior year was in sight, and I had my dads cherry red pick up truck.
It was Saturday night, and there was nothing exciting to do, so we settled on heading up to the tennis courts to hangout. After a while, her parents called, letting us know it was time to come home for the night.
We jumped into the truck, and as a last minute decision, I decided to spin out. It felt like slow motion as I looked over at Ashley and saw her bouncing up and down in her seat, holding onto the handle, screaming "HOLY SHIT!"
When we finally came to a stop, my dads cherry red truck was teetering on a boulder. I was in disabelief.
"How in the world am I going to explain this to my dad" I screamed to myself on the inside.
carol, 45--is that part of a longer piece I saw another time (not a problem if it is) but it certainly seems familiar--or am I having a brain cramp?
Stopping where you do definitely puts it in the week 10 category
carol, 50, though, I think goes a sentence too far. "He'll want me," seems to mt to be the most likely ironic ending
carol, 51--so your mother is as much a daredevil with vehicles as you are, eh? Did two broken legs and a crushed pelvis put an end to your soccer career?
49. Doesn't matter where you begin, you'll end up back here.
This is the house where I grew up; the house where my parents have lived since I was 3. It’s a great house, one that I’ve missed living in for quite some time.
When I went off to college I lived in the dorms. Since then I’ve moved from apartment to apartment as I worked myself through school. And now that I’m graduating, when I should be moving out of state and getting a great new job I find myself back here. When I was growing up it was a great place to live, but I’m not supposed to be here now… but it seems you’ll always end up back where you started.
rj, 49, blame the economy or blame the universe's need to expand the sum total of irony....
Mother Nature... Only a Moment
They were playing with her.
Holding her up like she could do it all on her own.
It was so much fun.
Then they were done, and they moved away.
But she wasn’t done.
She wanted to do it more!
She went to them.
She got closer and closer and then…
Everything looked different, She could see them but…
She looked around. It looked…
dim… almost… out of focus, and quiet.
Oh it was quiet. Beautifully quiet.
So strange… she starts to feel funny.
She reaches for her mother.
The pain starts, and builds.
Suddenly there was a funny noise.
Sounds like…
Then a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled.
Everything was loud and bright.
She heard her mother screaming
“Oh my god! She's fucking drowning!”
Doesn’t matter where you begin, you’ll end up back here.
Here I am sitting at the Portland jetport. Thinking the same thing I'm always thinking when I find myself here. "Why the hell can't they just call it an airport? They have to be extra fancy?".
I'm back again. So soon. It seems like it was just last week I was here heading west. To Las Vegas. My mindset vastly different. I was ready to see the sites, go to bed late, and get up early.
I am heading out to Vegas, to see all the flashing lights, and famous stars. A great family vacation its sure to be, not even Tyler's shrill voice could piss me off this morning. This week will last forever, and I will never end up back here in the good ole Portland Jetport.
But, I am here, back again already. This week was going to last forever, but I am back here already.
Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
"What happened!?" my grandmother was screaming. There was blood everywhere, and I was crying so hard. My cousins were surrounding me looking on in horror, but there was nothing they cold do.
I was shaking now. My finger wrapped in a clean dish towel, stained red. The car was speeding down the back roads of the county to the nearest hospital. Sending a shooting pain through my finger with every pot hole.
Now my finger is finally numb. Thank god. I have never felt pain like that in my life, and I have never been so thankful to get a shot in my life. The hospital is a much nicer atmosphere then the the door my finger had been in only any hour earlier, and the dusty car for that matter.
The pin pricks your skin. You feel nothing.
"How do you like it?" I asked my mother.
"You know I hate them!" she said.
My back felt numb, which was good because if I could feel it, I imagine the pain would be quite fierce.
I'm sitting the wrong way on a chair, the way that cool kids sit in chairs in all the movies. The air smells like soap, and ink. And although the giant room is filled with people, the only thing I can hear is the hum of the tattoo gun behind me.
"It looks awesome!" my friend says to me, as I stand up. It felt numb now, but just an hour before, I had never felt a pain quite like it.
"How do you like it mom?"
"You know I hate them!"
Hey tara--I'm not much for poetry but I like the drowning piece--try that for the Eyrie if you like--it's very much week 10 and it's also very much that literary pointillism from week 9
ryan, tattoo--hey, nice piece! very week 10; I like the cool kids line and I like that you really week 10 it by not telling us what they were putting on your back.
ryan, jetport--you're showing a lot this week; week 10 agrees with you! this is not confusing writing, just a bit edgy and playful--nice!
ryan, finger--you play around very effectively with time sequence and with witholding information--works very well
41
I can hear the tattoo gun buzzing but it doesn't feel like Joe had started.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked him.
"Just the outline, why, hurt?"
I hadn't even realized he had begun.
Joe sat behind me hard at work tattooing my back. This was the first time I had ever not been aware when the needle started pricking my skin.
"Must be all that extra cushioning I have back there, huh?" I said, with a smirk
Joe ignored my remark, but I could tell it made him smile.
While the fist 10 minutes were easy as pie and I didn't feel anything that resembled pain, the rest of the 3 hour session was hell.
43
He stares at his hand, fascinated. Several stick through the skin, the member twitching slightly.
Jab here and the pain explodes in an instant. Stab there and it blossoms, red and sweet.
His flesh confuses him. A puzzle that needs to be solved. A game that must be won.
50.
Regret in a series of numbers
Twenty four hours a day I took care of you.
Seven days a week I was ridiculed for being with you.
Five times you drove me to the brink.
Four times I dragged you back from the brink.
Three years I loved you unconditionally.
Two times you abandoned me.
One day you will regret that.
49
He would always end up back there, staring at his reflection, contemplating oblivion. His hand would always be gripping the final solution. The substance of the tool didn't matter: knife, razor or pills, it's nature was always lethal.
He could not escape that place, it always dragged him back with the bleak gravity that plagued the self-destructive.
It was only after of years of struggle that he realized the truth. That pit of failures, in all it's broken glory, was the only constant in his life.
zoe, 41, 190 minutes is a lot of tattoo! I don't know if you really hit week 10 here. I suppose it could be argued that NOT telling us what the tattoo was is an alienating technique....
oroboros, 50--yes! slick approach, slickly compressing a lot into a tiny space--you're the miniaturist in the class!
oroboros, 49--that's more in the way of exploring a risky subject than it is a week 10 alienating the reader thing or if it is week 10-y I am missing it
oroboros, 43--I like this very much whereas 49 in contrast seems overwritten and murky
50.
"That's it! It's either me or her, Dad! You can choose."
My father had never really been around. This started when I was little. It was a rise and fall effect. Sometime he would be around more than usual, then he would just dissapear.
He had been doing good lately. He was ditching my brother and I less and less but the only thing was that he had a new, alcoholic girlfriend. She was nice during the day, but at night it was a different story. She became a whole other person when she drank, and it was scary.
One night it got really bad. She wen't on a drunken rampage.This wasn't the first time, but, it was deffinately the worst it had been yet. We became scared because the household was so unsafe. I called my mother to come pick my brother and I up. She quickly hurried to come get us.
As I was walking out the door, being the brave 11 year old that I was. I told my dad he needed to choose who was more important.
Luckily he made the right decision... for a while.
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