I am pleased to report that the battery of physicians and psychiatrists who monitor my well-being on a daily basis have at long last declared me fit to proceed with another contest!
You remember the last one? The one I’m not even linking to because clicking over to it may crash your computer?
Well. This one will be even more preposterously magnificent than all of the others combined, as it arises out of this imponderable question: what makes good dialogue… good?
I don’t really know. I know it when I see it, but what does good dialogue have in common? Do we really know? I don’t. Let’s find out!
Here are the contest rules, which may be amended with zesty randomness and are subject to my own interpretations and opinions, which are known to be both feckless and strongly held. You’ve been warned.
The rules!
1. Please enter up-to-but-not-exceeding 250 words of dialogue and supporting description in an entry in the comments section of this blog post. The balance between dialogue and supporting description is up to your discretion, bearing in mind that this is a dialogue contest and not a supporting description contest.
b. You may enter once, and once you may enter.
*. Spreading the word about the contest is not only encouraged, it is strongly encouraged.
5. Snarky anonymous comments about entries, the weather, Barbaro the horse, Norman Mailer and/or any other subject will be deleted with relish. This is a free speech zone, or rather the opposite thereof.
f. Against strenuous doctors orders, I will be the sole judge of the contest this time.
T. The deadline for this contest is 5:00 PM Pacific Time on Wednesday May 21st. Finalists will be announced Thursday morning, and you will have the opportunity to vote on the winner, which will be announced on Friday.
PRIZES. The ultimate grand prize deluxe winner will receive the satisfaction of knowing they have written some seriously awesome dialogue, and will have a choice of a query critique, partial critique, or 10 minute phone conversation. Runners-up will receive a query critique or other agreed-upon prize.
Let the dialogue about dialogue begin!
Cam says
(YA Historical fiction, Abolition-era Boston, 1860):
“Cassie, sit,” Mother instructs as the girl ambles into the kitchen, heavy with child.
“Oh, no, Miss Liz.” Cassie says, looking down. “That’d be impertinent.”
“Cassandra, please.” Mother slides out a chair.
“We’re headin’ out tonight on foot,” Samuel announces as he and Emma enter the room behind their daughter. “It’s too much, you puttin’ yourselves in harm’s way for us — ”
“But Samuel!” I interrupt. “The baby’s coming. Cassie cannot walk nine miles to the Parker House.”
“Cassie and Emma will go in the coach tonight,” Mother decides. “Samuel, we’ll send for you in the coach after the women are safe at the Parker House.”
“The coach?” Samuel says, chuckling. “I reckon you’re a tad optimistic, Miss Liz! They’ve got price tags out on our heads — twenty-five dollars apiece I hear. There ‘aint no way a bunch a coloreds’ll make it across Boston in a coach.”
“Daddy’s right,” Cassie breaks a brief, uncomfortable silence. “I’ll walk.”
“No, Cassie. Ann and I will take you and your Mama tonight,” Mother says, throwing a sidelong glance at Samuel.
“Due respect, Miss Liz, I believe you’ve lost your head!” Samuel laughs. “You ride with them, they’ll send you back to Georgia with us!”
“Nonsense,” Mother ends the argument.
“But… Let me do something for your troubles,” Samuel acquiesces, shuffling about the kitchen. “I’ll fix up the safehouse. It’ll be right perfect with no trace of us ‘fore I go.”
“If you insist,” Mother shrugs.
Laura in Aurora says
“Gotham’s Razor, I think.”
“What are you talking about?” Marnie’s impatience snipped though the phone.
“Mr…Officer Ostrowski. The nice one. The one who told me I could call? He said it when I told him about my theory.”
“Your theory,” she said sarcastically.
Jenny began to pace, sneaking bites of her donut, rotating the mouthpiece of the phone upwards so Marnie wouldn’t hear her chewing. “You know. Her. The body. Gotham’s Razor is some police thing…”
“They’re gonna think you did it,” Marnie said flatly.
“Don’t be –“
“I’m serious, Jenny. You keep calling that cop, there’s gonna be trouble.”
“But–!”
“Don’t be an idiot. It’s not your problem.”
“The body was—“
“Yes. You found it. In your yard. Lucky you.”
“Marnie—“ Jenny said reprovingly.
“…But you keep talking about it, they’re going to come after you. Or Karl.”
“I’m just… I just wanna help.”
“Don’t help. Got it?” Marnie paused. “Are you eating something?”
Jenny gulped. “No,” she said guiltily.
“That the best you can lie? Maybe they won’t suspect you,” said Marnie with disgust.
“He said to call if I remembered anything.”
“You called him again? What, the fifth time?”
“Not that much,” Jenny sulked.
“Four then? Girl, if you had half a brain you’d forget that little baby.”
“But I had an idea!”
“You think someone like you can figure this out? All you want is the tv trucks back on your front lawn and a reporter’s butt on your davenport.”
tj says
“Honey, please?”
“No.”
“But you have absolutely no idea where you are.”
“No.”
“No, you do have an idea where you are, or no, you in fact agree, you have no idea where you are and you are a stubborn mule?”
“Hmmpf.”
“Excuse me? Did you say something Mr. Mule?”
“No.”
“Look. I don’t see what the big deal is. Really. This could make us late and you know how I hate to be late to these events.”
“Right.”
“Right, you know how I hate to be late to these events, or right, this could make us late?”
“Hmmpf.”
“I’m sure we have already passed the exit. Don’t you think? It must have been a few miles back. Why don’t we pull over and ask someone at the next gas station we see.”
“No.”
“Look, dear. This isn’t good. We could get completely lost and never find our way back.”
“Sure.”
“Honey, are you even listening to me?”
“Sure.”
“Fine. By the way, I’m having an affair.”
“Sure.”
“Wanna know with who?”
“Sure.”
“With a man who has no problem pulling over and ASKING SOMEONE AT THE NEAREST GAS STATION!”
“Hmmpf.”
“Ok. Fine. Have it your way. We might soon find ourselves in another STATE but that shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure they have Christmas parties there too. I mean, really, this is absurd. You’re such a mule!”
“Sure.”
“That’s it. I’m getting out and walking to the party!”
“Ok.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Chasman says
from Low Jinks on the High Seas
“I don’t suppose this is a social call,” I said, handing him a beer.
“Not exactly.”
“Billie send you?”
He shook his head.
In my years of navigating the Earth, I’d suffered many disappointments. Just now, Vaughn’s simple gesture devastated me.
“If you’re interested in making a few bucks, I have some people—mostly the hangers-on to a Spanish dive party—who want to charter a boat for day-sails. My plan tomorrow is to take the divers out to the Rhone. If you were to take the others out to Norman Island and snorkel The Caves you could pick up some cash and help me out.”
I easily saw through the pretense of Vaughn’s invitation. Still, it offered a face-saving opportunity to return to Flamingo Bay. Without undue eagerness, I accepted.
“You’ll enjoy yourself. The women—not that they compare to Lorelei and Ilsa—are exhibitionists in their own right. Ever see spike heels and gold lamé blouses at the Congo Club?”
I shook my head.
“You’ll see all that and more. They’ve cornered the market on glamour. You’ll feel like you’re in San Juan.” Vaughn turned his head and looked me square in the eye. “And while you’re home, you may want to take care of business. You’ve got problems.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Things are getting worse. Time for you to straighten them out.”
I felt like a contrary Odysseus reluctant to fight the suitors for home and wife.
Christine says
“Hi Shelley. Do I need to come down and fill out more paperwork?”
“Oh, no, that monster of a pile is done. Actually, we have a job for you. I know you’re not supposed to start until Monday, but Dick’s son is playing in the game tomorrow down at Penn State, so Dick’s out of town until Sunday. So we need you.”
“Who died?” Evie asked.
“Peter Dodge. You might remember him – he has that big yellow house on Market Street. Everybody calls him Old Peter.”
“I do remember him. He’s not far from me, maybe a few blocks. How does he look?”
Shelley laughed, but it wasn’t the normal, happy, I’ve-had-way-too-much-sugar laugh that Evie remembered from high school. It sounded nervous. “Mack wouldn’t say anything. Just that it was odd and to get you down there.”
Evie raised an eyebrow. “Really? Something riled Mack?”
“Yeah.”
Evie blew a low whistle. “All right,” she said. “Let me throw on some clothes and I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“I’ll let him know. And Evie?”
“Yeah?”
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” Evie said, closing the phone. She did a quick mental review of the few clean clothes that were unpacked and bee-lined for her bedroom closet.
Nicki Beck says
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you start building a wing here.” Mai added.
“What! Why?”
“Well, as far as I know you’re the only angel Eniryt in the States now. I know that there are two or three in the rest of the world, but you’re the first here.” Mai said.
I sank back to the floor. “Are you serious? How many do you think will come?”
She shrugged. “Angels aren’t all that common, though there are more of them than dragons. Probably no more than a couple hundred at best. On that note, since the CSI’s are done swabbing you, we need to get you to a safe place for the night.”
How on earth could I be considered responsible for that many people? I’d had a hard enough time keeping myself safe.
“Tash, are you listening?” Mai tapped me on the shoulder.
I nodded.
“You need to go home with Quinn.”
“He just fired me!”
“Hush,” She chided. “The Osborns and I can’t take you in right now. It’s too much of a risk with our own children in the house. Taliba is on shaky ground and can’t offer you safety and we all know what an irresponsible prick Kenric is. Quinn has the largest power base and no children in the house. Suck it up, Chicky. You’re playing in our level now.”
Heaven help me! I’d have to play fast and furious to just stay alive now.
Margaret says
“Is he an invalid that he needed so long to feed him? He seemed quite well to me a might bit earlier.”
“No, Father. Just found the food strange.” She left out all else that had occurred.
“Stranger than gnawing on fish scales? He’s an odd one, my Gwen. You keep mind of that.” Her father gave Gwenhyvar a sharp look.
“Not so much odd as foreign, Father. He knows not a word of our land. I speak and can see he’s listening, but not one bit of comprehension shows on his face.”
“Hmm,” her father grunted. “Just how far did he drift, do you think? He’s one lucky sailor to have come ashore where you could find him. You always were bringing home strays, my girl. Just remember most you tended only to let them go free.”
She spooned out the last of their meal then scrubbed the pot before answering. “And what if this one doesn’t want to go? You could use an extra set of hands, and he must know his way around a boat.”
Her father shrugged. “Knows how to fall out of one at least. I don’t want you raising false hopes. People don’t just come from the sea. They have lives and others who are waiting for them. If you want a man who will stay, you’ll have to dress up and come to the village. There you can find a proper husband who will appreciate you and stay to care for you.”
Flamingalah says
“Are you offering me a bribe, sir?”
“No, certainly not, just a tip for doing such a great job.”
“Oh, well, thank you sir,” Victor said, pocketing the money.
“Are you dissatisfied with my performance, sir,” asked Sid.
“No, no, not at all,” said Ego, quickly looking for another note. He pulled out a tenner. He bit his lip. “Oh, all right, here you go,” he said, handing the money over.
“Thank you, sir. Most generous.”
“Yes,” said Ego.
“Do I take it, sir, that you feel Sid here has done a better job than me, sir, to warrant a tip double the size of the one you’ve just given me,” Victor asked.
“What? You’ve got to be…” Ego looked at his watch. Teresa was due to arrive at any moment. “Fine,” he said, rifling through his pockets. He counted coins onto Victor’s palm. “Three, three-fifty, three-eighty, three-ninety…”
“Ego?” Teresa was standing in the doorway.
Ego beamed. “We’ll finish this later,” he said to Victor through gritted teeth. “Hello, my dear,” he said, “right this way.”
“Just one moment, sir,” Sid said.
“What is it,” Ego asked pleasantly.
“This lady does not have security clearance, sir.”
“But I thought we’d just arranged that,” he said, his voice rising in pitch ever so slightly.
“I’m afraid not, sir. You came out here and gave us both a generous tip,” Sid began.
“One more generous than the other…” said Victor.
“…And were yet to broach any other matters with us, sir.”
Scott from Oregon says
Beneath the towering cockroach I helped Dijon pick the rusty curlicues from his leather welding gear. He worked the front– his apron and his chaps– and I swiped at his shoulders and the middle of his back. While we picked at rusty metal we caught up with the lost bits of time. There were genuine “how are you”’s and the mentions of women. There were taunts and softening-belly pokes and staunch punches to the tops of healthy man arms.
“Art,” came an unasked for answer from Dijon. “In case you were confused.”
I had always been confused. “A giant cockroach out of metal scrap is art?”
“It better be. Or I‘ll have to change my business cards.”
“And you’ve been “arting” around out here for ten crazy years?”
“Have I? Those dogs were pups, if I recall. That’s a lot of dog food. You?”
“I tried to get out. Living in the city made me too available, though. Now I’m knee deep in it again and I need a machine.”
“Ah… Not just a social call, then? I was hoping for a wedding invite. Something normal that would drag me out of here for a weekend.”
“Normal? You live in the trees and weld three story cockroaches. I can’t see you craving normal.”
“You crave normal everyday. I can see it in the way you carry yourself. Every step and shift of body weight tells me you prefer sidewalks and six o‘clocks.”
“Look,” I said. “My hands are bleeding.”
Viola says
Setup: Law-enforcement Angel questioning men in front of homeless shelter.
“Savannah?” He asked with a lilt of hope in his voice.
“No, sorry, dude. My name’s Abigail. Have you seen this guy around?” I lifted the photograph to his face.
“Savannah?” he repeated, so I moved on to man number six.
“Have you seen this guy around?”
Number six’s face was severely sun damaged with dark blotchy spots here and there and deep-set wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. “What are you? A cop?” he asked.
“No, I’m an Angel.” I winked at him. “My wings are at the cleaners.” Usually that got a chuckle or two out of the humans I ran into, but this guy wasn’t impressed with my sense of humor.
“Jesus saves,” he mumbled in an exhausted tone.
“Amen,” I said.
He rolled his eyes at me and pointed to something behind me. “He’s under the cross sign over there.”
I jerked around and lo and behold, Peter Piper was lighting up a cigarette underneath the “Jesus Saves” cross-shaped sign hanging out from the corner of the building.
Hmm. I loved irony.
Casually, I thanked man number six and walked back to the car. I sat back in the driver’s side and reached for the duffle bag in the back seat. “See the guy under the ‘Jesus Saves’ sign?” I asked Pauline.
“Uh, yeah.”
“His name is Peter Piper and I have reason to believe he’s one of the demons who’s been attacking Angels.”
Victoria Schwab says
From a young adult story about the world between life and death, the Shadow Mile:
The shadow woman pointed down the street and spoke.
“It’s a left. Don’t forget.” She said, patting Nell’s shoulder. It was an awkward feeling, not quite solid but certainly thicker than air. “Always a left. Never go right. Right never goes where you want it to.”
Nell nodded slowly. “Right’s wrong. Got it.”
The shadow woman shook her head and the hole where her mouth should be pursed. “No, no. Right’s not wrong. It’s just not right for you.”
“Mildred, you’re confusing her.” Sighed the shadow man. He raised a long shadow hand and pointed.
“At the end of the road, turn left. Straights are unpredictable. They don’t tend to lead you straight to anything.”
“How will I know when I’ve found an Out door?” Asked Nell.
“Don’t worry about that.” Said the shadow woman. “You found an In door. An Out door will probably find you.”
“You’ll stumble upon one, if you’re lucky.” Added the shadow man.
Nell thanked the two, and apologized again for intruding. She took a step, then stopped.
“I’m sorry, but would you mind telling me what this place is called?”
“You don’t know?” Asked the shadow woman. “But…”
“It’s called the Shadow Mile.” Interjected the man.
“Oh,” Said Nell. There was a flicker of familiarity, but then it was gone. “That’s a strange thing to call a place.”
“It’s a strange place.” Said the man.
And since this made nothing much clearer, Nell simply thanked them and turned and, standing very straight, walked away down the shadow street.
Inner Child says
“Maggie, you get down here right now. You’re going to be late for school!
NO! NO! NO! The words came roaring down the stairs. Maggie’s mom, Hilda, shook her head. “Now what?” she wondered.
Making her way up the creaky stairs to Maggie’s room, she noted with approval the cobwebs the spiders had created in the nooks and crannies of the staircase.
At the top of the staircase she could easily see into Maggie’s room. She was sitting on the bed with her arms crossed bouncing her little bare legs off the edge of the bed.
“Maggie, I have a very busy day planned. There are herbs to gather and spells to cast. I don’t have time for this. Just what is your problem?”
“I am not going to school! I won’t go to school! You can’t make me go to school!”
“Maggie, you don’t have an option. Every witch needs to start school by the time she’s five years old.”
“I don’t care! I’m not going and you can’t make me!”
“Maggie, do you remember Abigail? The little witch who lived by the pond?”
“No!”
“Oh, I think you do. Do you remember what happened to her when she refused to go to school?”
Maggie scowled “How could I when I don’t even remember her?”
“Well, let me remind you. The Witch’s Council turned Abigail into a beautiful butterfly.”
“Gross. You’d think they’d at least turn her into a bat or something else nice.”
zhadi says
“Wait a moment!”
The three actors stopped in mid-action.
“You guys have to be a lot quicker on that first punch!” I stood up and paced as I talked. “Shaun, you have to lunge the second Chris says ‘Take him, Tiny!’ ”
“Okay.” Shaun was not one for wasting words.
“Try it again.”
This time Shaun lunged immediately, but Chris mixed up the order of his punches and blocks and clipped Brad sharply on the jaw.
“Shit!” Brad grabbed his chin and stumbled back a few paces.
“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry!”
“Chris,” I said very carefully, “it’s duck, block, then hit, not duck, hit, then block. We’ve been over this section before.”
“I know, Connie! I’m sorry! But in the Marines they trained us to always be on the offensive so these moves just aren’t natural!”
I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the voice in my head chanting that line from the song Alice’s Restaurant, ‘Why do you want to be a Marine, young man? Because I wanna killlllll!’
“It’s not supposed to be natural,” I finally said as patiently as was possible, given the circumstances and my temperament. “It’s supposed to be stylized.”
“Yeah, but realistically stylized,” Chris said insistently. If his brow lowered any further, we’d be able to use it for shelf space. “It shouldn’t be unnatural.”
“Hey, that would make our fight an unnatural act,” Shaun said helpfully. “Isn’t that illegal in California?”
Brad rubbed his jaw. “It should be.”
E.A. West says
“Tell me about this dragon.” Dad looked interested. “Your mother said you were injured while running away from it.”
Gil laughed. “The dragon was an airplane that happened to fly over. But since planes didn’t exist in the medieval world, they become dragons in our game.”
“And if it weren’t for an archer who decided to waste his arrows on it, we wouldn’t be here,” Chloe added with a sigh. “He stopped right in front of me, and I had to go to the side to miss him. That’s where I found the hole.”
“I see,” Dad said, nodding wisely. “And what happened after you fell?”
“We dropped out of the game. I have an invitation to go to the next game in a couple of weeks, assuming my ankle is better.”
“Beware the dragons.” Curtis tapped a finger against his chin. “Although Lord Paravel might slay it for you next time.”
Chloe rolled her eyes and hoped no one saw the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “He’s the Ruler of the Wood. He’ll get a peasant to deal with the dragon.”
“Perhaps,” Gil said, slipping into his character. “Or perhaps he will slay the beast to win the favor of the peasant he wishes for his servant.”
He and Curtis laughed, and Chloe wished she could sink into the floor. “You guys just won’t let that go, will you?”
Curtis grinned. “Nope, it’s too funny. Don’t worry, we’ll tell Mark about it as well.”
Kim Haynes says
Setting: A movie studio lot, 1938
“Havin’ trouble, Miss Holden?” A man’s voice, warm with a Southern accent like caramel drizzled on an ice cream sundae. I hate caramel.
He lounged against the balcony railing of the building across the road. Dark wavy hair and a chin that earned its own caricatures. What was he doing here?
Catching my expression, he raised an eyebrow. “Bad day?”
I mustered up a tight smile. “Not at all. Hope I didn’t disturb you.”
Without warning, he slid down the stair rail, landing with surefooted grace on the curb across from me.
“Quite a move,” I said. “Do you use that to escape from ladies’ bedrooms when their husbands are coming?”
“Not always. Sometimes I swing from a rope like Tarzan — dependin’ on the lady’s preference.”
“Charming.”
“Heard there was a little excitement this mornin’,” he said. “Is your friend all right?”
“She’ll be fine.” Now if he’d just go away….
“If y’all are ready, I could see you home.”
I eyed him. “Surely the studio could help with that speech impediment.”
“Most ladies find my accent charmin’.”
“Any man who needs a phony accent to win the girl must be… lacking in other ways.”
“Is that so?” His accent had almost disappeared. I was in something less than a state of shock. “Most ladies would disagree with you.”
“Keep your testimonials. I’m not interested.”
“Can I help you find something?” he asked. “Your car… the exit… some good manners?”
NaomiM says
His old acquaintances – the tramp with his dog – were there too. Harry tried to avoid making eye contact, but after a long pregnant pause the man called out to him.
‘Don’t suppose you got a tin of dog food?’
‘Sorry’ Harry made a show of patting his pockets, ‘not on me’.
‘I’ll just take the cash then’.
Harry knew he’d been suckered and handed over a few coins, just as a dapper Mr St John Stephens finally strode into view, a vision in pink and pin-strip and swinging his purple snakeskin briefcase.
‘You’re late’, Harry snapped at him.
‘It took a little longer than expected,’ said the man.
‘To dress?’
‘To find. I had to ask Marcus to help’
‘Who the hell’s Marcus?’
‘The plasterer, a lovely Croatian lad‘
Harry cut him off, ‘won’t that look suspicious?’
‘I told him I’d lost one of my blueprints. And someone had to get into the skip – you can’t expect me to do it?’
Not in that outfit, thought Harry. The man opened the briefcase and withdrew a carrier-bag, handing it over with a conspiratorial whisper, ‘It’s inside’
It was hardly likely to be elsewhere, thought Harry, and slipped it inside his jacket before any of the ‘manly men’ in the Social Security crowd caught sight of the bag’s logo: Rigby and Peller, Corsetières to Royalty and Gentry.
Harry could swear he saw the dog smirk.
Lucy says
“You carry your own scars,” Lukar observed softly, when he noticed that her eyes were straying to his ankles, intent for any trace of a limp.
“We all do, I think,” she whispered back. “At least mine are my own fault.”
“I don’t think I would say ‘fault.’ Choice perhaps.” He thought it over. “My people would say that karma invariably has a hand. Yet what we do may determine, even change our karma.”
She chuckled, a low engaging sound.
“You’ve argued yourself back into a corner, Lukar. It still comes down to choice, and wrong choice equals fault.”
“Ah, but what is a wrong choice and who says it’s wrong?” His voice held a teasing note. “Are negative consequences the only way to determine a wrong choice?”
This time Dana laughed out loud.
“You sound like Lochoe!”
He laughed too, but when he answered her again, he was sober.
“Sometimes a right choice causes a lot of suffering,” he said thoughtfully. “And we do not always know if what we did was ‘right.’ But I do not think that punishing yourself for what is over and done can ever be good, or help you to choose a good path.”
She hesitated before she spoke.
“Did you ever fail someone? Because you weren’t brave?”
He did take her hand then.
“More times than I care to admit.”
At last she looked up, and her voice was very low.
“Did they die?”
Alex says
“Trent,” said Gabby. She paused for a moment. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone, but I don’t know when or if you’re actually going to be home next. I’m… I’m pregnant.”
Trent felt his arm go weak for a moment, and he almost dropped the cell phone.
“What?”
“I’m pregnant. With child. Knocked up. I’ve got a bun in the oven. I’m preggo, pregtastic, pregtacular, pregalicious…”
“I’ve got the idea,” he said, interrupting Gabby’s litany. “How did this happen?”
“I thought you would have understood the mechanics by now, but when a man and a woman love each other very much, or get very drunk, they have sex. I don’t remember which it was in our case, but that’s basically how a woman gets pregnant.”
“But, I thought you were on something.”
“I was, but apparently birth control is no match for the Schaefer super seed.”
“Just don’t do anything until I get there, okay?” said Trent. “We’ll talk through this.”
“Don’t do anything? What do you expect me to do? Start bending coat hangers?”
“I don’t know,” said Trent. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“And when will that be?”
“I’m not sure. I’m in the middle of something. It’ll probably be on the news.”
“Jesus. Whatever, Trent. Just come home whenever. I don’t care.”
Notalama says
“Luc. Seriously. hut up.”
Luc deigned to open one eye and ogled Kai with it.
“Or you’ll…what, exactly?”
“Lucius Kerrion, sut up, or I will feed you to Joe.”
“Joe? Who’s Joe?” Luc sat up. “Is Joe your giant biker boyfriend? Because if he is, then I don’t want to know.”
Kai glared. Then he pointed at the big,rather scaly head rising above the water.
“No. That is Joe.”
“Joe’s a sea monster?”
“Yes.”
“Kai, you have a sea monster and you didn’t tell me? Wait, back up.” He looked at his friend sternly. “You have a sea monster, and you named him Joe?
Californio says
From THE LOTUS EATERS, a YA murder mystery. In which protagonist Gemela’s mother, who she had thought was on a business trip, returns.
“I came back to … “ Mom’s voice trailed off as she looked around the entry hall, apparently surprised to find everything exactly as she had left it weeks before. Or perhaps speechless at the fact that I was here, which was contrary to her instructions. My dad and Gran must have left me as a kind of twisted revenge, with no concern about its effect on me.
“You came back to what?” I demanded.
“To get my things.”
“What things?”
“My furniture.”
I took a step back in horror. “Which furniture is yours?” I asked in confusion.
“Half of everything.”
I turned my attention to the man beside her. “And who is he?”
“This,” my mother declared, coming back to focus, to center, “is Marvin, and I will love him forever.”
Let’s just start by saying that here was not a man with the look of a romantic hero. His hair was frizzy and uncut and he had glasses and his chin was so badly undershot it appeared to have been pushed back into his face, either surgically or in some kind of accident.
“Who is he?”
“He’s a painter.”
“You mean like an artist?”
“No, he paints the house before people move in.”
Marvin smiled weakly. He was friendly, at least.
I looked doubtfully at his tentative smile. “And did I just hear you say you were going to love him forever?”
“That’s right, forever.”
Diana says
“Have you found it?” she asked. “Someone to see the world like you do?”
She was nibbling at the sugar on the brim of her glass. Her lips were red and well-shaped.
“Found and lost.”
“How’s that?”
I shrugged.
“Like two paintings that start off from the same landscape. They never end up alike.”
I must have been a little tipsy.
“Paintings don’t talk to one another,” she said.
“Neither do people.”
On the wall behind her, a clock was counting green sleepless hours. The pale eyes of the drinks twinkled. She drew on her cigarette and spoke again.
“Tell me something about you.”
She was astute, but not enough. I leaned across the table.
“A secret?”
“Anything.”
“I’m scared of heights.”
She blew the smoke up and her lips curled. She was small, narrow shoulders, small waist. I imagined her soul like a stalk that you can hold between your fingers.
“I did bungee-jumping once”, she said.
I shuddered as if the thought terrified me and she gave a soft-hearted laugh. Then I knew it was over, I had won. She smiled and her eyes shone with such trust that I felt something close to extasy.
“This guy I met. He said we were soulmates. If you’d heard the shit he spun…”
I nodded.
“He’d done the same stuff I had. Climbed mountains and collected fir cones; ate snow and had sex in a park.”
She wasn’t so drunk. She should have realized she was saying too much.
joe says
Todd slumped onto the couch. “Alright,” he said, “what is it you want?”
Wendell raised his chin. “What do you think?”
“You out for revenge?”
“Revenge? No, no, I actually admire what you’ve done.”
“What then?”
Wendell strolled to Todd’s pantry, went right for the drawer of cigars. “Way I see it,” he said, a cigar clenched between his teeth, “you got a good thing down here. Me? Not so good. So I figure you and I should come to some sort of arrangement.”
“Like what?”
“I suggest you consider buying my silence.”
“What’s silence going for these days?”
Wendell blew a ring of smoke. “It ain’t cheap.”
“Ballpark figure?”
Wendell glanced down at the floor. Pouted his lips. Then brought his stare back up. “Ten million,” he said. “Get me ten and you never see me again.”
“What!”
Wendell tapped ash to the hardwood floor. “You have the weekend.”
Todd rose from the couch. “Wait, let’s talk it over. Where you staying?”
“Here.”
“That’s not an option.”
“And I say it is,” Wendell said. “You got a good-sized guestroom. Not the Hilton, but it’ll do just the same.”
“I live with my girlfriend. I’d rather you not stay here.”
“Afraid she’ll fall for me?”
“Hardly… how about I put you up in a suite on the strip?”
“Not a chance. Need to keep an eye on my investment, you see.”
“Look, you can’t stay here.”
“Todd,” Wendell said. “I’m going upstairs to relax. Traveling tires me so.”
Anonymous says
“Gardenia…..,” said the voice. This was an angry voice and it belonged to my mama. She turned from the kitchen sink. “Where have you—What in the world do you have in you hair?”
“Which part?”
“Gardenia Elizabeth Beam,” she sniffed the air. “Why do you smell like a catfish?”
“Cause I have fish oil in my hair, Mama.”
She wrinkled up her nose. “Do you want to tell me why?”
“I was practicing my swimming and John Mark said that fish could swim fast cause the oil on their skin made them slide through the water. He had some cod liver oil in the kitchen cabinet and we were going to use a little bit but my hair sopped it up and it didn’t get slick until we’d used the entire bottle.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed on the top of my head. “And what’s that orange stuff?”
stevepurl says
“All right fella’s?” Sergeant Charlie Fox asked the harried Armed Response Vehicle crew. “What’s the score?”
From the passenger seat Phil, the controller looked up from his plotting board and grinned. “Hello sarge,” he responded, “Never a dull moment when your team’s around.” Charlie shrugged his shoulders somehow managing a smile.
“House number twenty-five,” Phil added. “Containment front and rear, your two bad guys are holed up inside.”
Charlie nodded. “And the rest of my team?”
“House next door, number twenty three, waiting for the boss to arrive”.
Charlie raised his eyes. “Safe route in?”
Phil pointed. “Along the building line, they’re all flush, nobody can see you without hanging out of a window, and if that happens they’re on offer to our containment team out front”.
“Thanks Phil”. Charlie tapped him on the shoulder, before thoughtfully adding. “By the way, how the fuck did you get here so fast?”
Phil smiled, “We were on patrol in Trafalgar Road when your robbery went wrong, we responded to a call for assistance, then put in the containment, once the bad guys were housed. Don’t know what you’d do without us”.
Charlie nodded, he was right, with the rising gun crime in London CO19were stretched thin, without the Armed Response Vehicles they’d be totally swamped. “Come on Dave”, he said grabbing the big mans arm, “Let’s get this over with before the whole world and his brother arrives”.
Dave sighed, as at a trot they made for the building line.
Gypsy Wannabe says
Ding ding ding. Carly tapped her champagne glass.
“Hello? Everybody’s asking how Carl and I met, so we thought we’d let you all know at once.”
“This ought to be good,” Jeremy whispered in my ear.
“Well, we met at this place where we were both volunteering,” said Carly.
“That place being Carly’s kitchen where they heated up soup for her mono-stricken roommate Brigitte,” Jeremy quietly added.
“And right away we realized we had so many things in common,” Carly continued.
”Like Brigitte, whom Carl had been dating for two years,” I whispered back.
“One night when things were really quiet,” said Carly.
“Because Brigitte was drugged asleep,” said Jeremy.
“We stayed up the whole night having these really intense conversations,” said Carly.
“Or really intense sex on the couch,” I said.
“And now we’re getting married! Thanks for coming.”
“And for bringing me an engagement present, since the shower and wedding gifts won’t be enough,” I said.
“Come on, the wedding’s over a year away,” said Jeremy. They’re going to need platinum garlic presses before then. What you’d get her?”
“I offered to take some engagement photos. I’m in too much debt to buy her a reward for a long engagement.”
“For a female you are remarkably cynical about this whole thing. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”
He pointed to some seemingly normal women drooling over Carly’s ring.
“I haven’t found where they’re serving the wedding kool-aid,” I replied.
“You haven’t caught it yet?” he asked. “The bridalmania. Looks highly contagious.”
Gypsy Wannabe says
Ding ding ding. Carly tapped her champagne glass.
“Hello? Everybody’s asking how Carl and I met, so we thought we’d let you all know at once.”
“This ought to be good,” Jeremy whispered in my ear.
“Well, we met at this place where we were both volunteering,” said Carly.
“That place being Carly’s kitchen where they heated up soup for her mono-stricken roommate Brigitte,” Jeremy quietly added.
“And right away we realized we had so many things in common,” Carly continued.
”Like Brigitte, whom Carl had been dating for two years,” I whispered back.
“One night when things were really quiet,” said Carly.
“Because Brigitte was drugged asleep,” said Jeremy.
“We stayed up the whole night having these really intense conversations,” said Carly.
“Or really intense sex on the couch,” I said.
“And now we’re getting married! Thanks for coming.”
“And for bringing me an engagement present, since the shower and wedding gifts won’t be enough,” I said.
“Come on, the wedding’s over a year away,” said Jeremy. They’re going to need platinum garlic presses before then. What you’d get her?”
“I offered to take some engagement photos. I’m in too much debt to buy her a reward for a long engagement.”
“For a female you are remarkably cynical about this whole thing. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”
He pointed to some seemingly normal women drooling over Carly’s ring.
“I haven’t found where they’re serving the wedding kool-aid,” I replied.
“You haven’t caught it yet?” he asked. “The bridalmania. Looks highly contagious.”
Lavinia says
The cafe smelled like cigarettes and stale grease. A bunch of older boys hung around the jukebox, looking like they thought they were Elvis Presley.
“In or out, kiddies. It’s cold out there,” said one of the Elvises.
“Hey! It’s Howdy Doody Time!” said a boy in a leather jacket.
As he sang the Howdy Doody song. Dodie let the door slam and marched right up to him, hands on her hips. Maude hovered, not sure what to do.
“Bug off, Doody,” the boy said.
Dodie didn’t budge. “Take it back, Frankie! Howdy Doody is a boy. I am not a boy!”
“How could I tell? You sure don’t have any titties,” The boy laughed and grabbed for Dodie’s chest.
She pulled away, but instead of running, she turned and lifted her middle finger in a nasty sign like a cab driver in New York. Then she said the F-word.
Maude had never heard a kid her age use a word that bad, but Dodie said it loud and clear, right in front everybody at Patsy’s Lakewood Dinette.
“What did you say to me?” The boy had a deep growly voice. “Girls can’t use words like that. You’re gonna apologize, Doody. Right now.”
Dodie shook her head. “Being a girl does not mean you have to apologize to goons.”
“I’ll bet you don’t even know what that word means, do you, Doody? Want me to show you what that means?” The boy’s face got scary.
“Run!” Dodie grabbed Maude’s arm.
Straka says
“Spear?”
“Check.”
“Wooden shield painted with family crest?”
“Check.”
“One hundred feet of rope?”
“Check, and double check.”
“Steel Helm?” Crispin asked.
“I could only find this winged helm, looks pretty poor,” said his friend Jonathan.
“After my heroic deeds I’ll just have to bring it back into style,” Crispin stated coolly. A silly looking helmet was not going to stunt his enthusiasm.
“What is next on that list of yours?” Jonathan asked tiredly.
“I need a haversack and a leather waterskin,” Crispin read off the ‘Official’ list of Monster Hunters by Burt Bradley.
“I don’t envy you one bit. This is gross. Think of it, you’re drinking water from animal skin.”
“Adventure isn’t about comfort Jonathan!” Crispin said then returned to his list. “Ack! I lack a long stem pipe and tobacco.”
“Since when do you smoke?” Jonathan said surprised, arching an eyebrow.
“I don’t, but it’s on this list therefore it must be important. See? Whoever owned this book previously even underlined it.”
Jonathan groaned.
“Jonathan. You’re clever with numbers, but you lack heart. Heart is what kills monsters. Adventures are supposed to be fantastic! Not bogged down with trivial earthly details.”
“Those tales fail to mention the hero getting the runs after drinking too much ale but it still happens,” Jonathan sighed.
Crispin gave him a sour look. “Help me get this pack up on my back. Ready? One… Two…” With the immensity of the pack Crispin tipped over onto the ground with a thud.
Anonymous says
Surely not what you’re looking for, but I thought maybe a writer or two might relate:
Describe what you are writing.
It is the story of John Duff.
What of it?
He lives alone. Is timid. Cooks. Loves a woman from afar. Has a sad past. Corresponds with a ministry that may, or may not, be sinister. Or only callous.
Not enough. Tell me more.
He receives in the mail a purple cloth that allows him a do-over.
How does this work?
It erases what has happened after he puts it over his eyes.
Interesting. Tell me more.
There is not so much. He uses it to woo the girl.
Trial and error?
Yes.
To what effect?
He succeeds.
And?
He strangles a man at the theater and goes to prison.
What of the cloth?
It goes missing.
What can we learn from this?
Nothing.
What else happens?
Hank discovers a man in the mountain who may be God.
Who is Hank?
Alias for the narrator, who may be John’s father.
That’s a stretch.
Yes.
What type of god is this man in the mountain?
I don’t know yet. He smites several thousand people.
Really?
Well, maybe. This is when he plucks the narrator from 3rd to first person, so maybe it is only for the purpose of the story that they are smitten.
Another stretch.
Yes.
What of Hank?
He is replaced by the narrator.
It sounds confused, muddled.
Yes, this is the problem. I sense a cohesion but it is strained. Perhaps beyond repair.
Maybe not. What is being avoided?
What do you mean?
Well, it sounds somewhat fearful. The distance, or stretching. The lack of cohesion is probably a reaction to fear. Fear produces avoidance.
I don’t know. But I don’t disagree. That is as good an explanation as any.
What would happen to John if you had your druthers?
He would get the girl, he would find happiness.
And how is he now?
Alone and uncertain. I am uncertain about him (hence the trip to the man in the mountain), but he also seems uncertain. The girl is who knows where.
Maybe she should be found.
To what end?
Tension. Resolution. Answers.
And what of the cloth?
He should use it or not. Like Chekov’s rifle.
Yes, of course.
And what of John’s father, Henry.
What of him?
He is a bastard, I think.
Why?
He put John out of the family car, onto the Mass Turnpike, when John was five.
John survived. It is not enough.
But John has barely survived. He is crippled. Timid. Reluctant.
Then more is needed. How did Henry react to John not being found? Did he suffer?
Unknown. Or, not written. I believe he did. Greatly.
Then if he is to be a bastard, or not, it must be known.
Yes.
What else?
There is the question of the Ministry.
What is their game?
It is assumed that they are involved. They sound creepy.
Get them in or out. More or none.
Yes.
What else?
Should the narrator be Henry? Is this his penance, watching John, telling his story, perhaps over and over?
Sounds weak. But, if it is so, let it be so. But not because you have decided this but because it can be no other way.
Yes.
So, how would you describe this novel, in your query?
I can not.
Then you have not found its essence yet.
That is disheartening.
Surely it is.
What advice have you?
Find it. Simple, yes?
Yes. But not so easy as it is simple.
Start with John.
But where?
Anywhere. When you find John you will find it.
Will you speak to me on a more general topic?
Yes.
John’s story lacks depth, and surely for the reasons you have stated. What is necessary to move the reader, to make it an emotional experience?
Movement. Or unfair restraint of same. This is very basic and something you know already.
Character wants, character reaches, obstacles, etc.?
Of course.
Then why do I find it so difficult to achieve?
You fear the pain that is necessary. You substitute wit and whimsy. You favor control, which suggests nothing is really at stake. The reader can not feel the fear.
Always it is the fear?
Yes. Always.
Sarah D says
The bride was swarmed with doting personal attendants, an uptight older sister, and an uncompromising mother. All eyes turned to us as we entered. The first thing said to us after a quick glance at our ears and neckline by the perfect doting sister was, “Did you remember your jewelry?”
I racked my brain trying to remember when we missed jewelry instructions and we both simultaneously and cautiously answered, “What jewelry?”
“The jewelry Elise made,” said the perfect sister, displaying the beautiful matching necklace and earrings she was wearing. They did finish the bridesmaid look off perfectly.
“Didn’t you get yours at the rehearsal dinner?” the mother asked.
“No…we got some nice smelling lotion in a gift bag,” I answered and my sister, Chari, nodded in agreement. I was thankful I wasn’t alone in my ignorance.
“The gift bag was beautiful,” added my sister.
“Well, the jewelry was wrapped in the tissue paper in the gift bag. Do you need someone to get it for you?” asked the mother.
“Elise handmade it herself since she couldn’t find just the right jewelry,” informed her sister.
“It is so hard to find brown jewelry,” Elise explained while attendants fussed over her train.
“Do you need someone to run to the hotel for you?” her mother questioned again.
Now, I didn’t know what Chari had done with hers, but I was pretty sure mine was wrapped up in that beautiful gift bag on its way to the hotel trash.
Curtastrophe says
“I know what you’re thinking,” Joe said. “You’re asking yourself, ‘Now why would someone so average-looking get such a horrible tattoo?’” Edward nodded. “Courtney once tried to bunco me by skimming a few pearls after a jewelry heist. A couple days later his conscience caught up with him and he confessed to lifting the oyster fruits,” Joe’s tone grew serious. “Even though he’s a crook, he’s also a God-fearing man. Goes to church on both Easter and Christmas. Saved my life once,” He reverted to his usual voice. “But do you know what I did to him?”
“No.”
“I tied him up and personally tattooed ‘Curtastrophe’ across his right arm. The mark of the beast came afterwards… I had extra ink.”
The other man’s mouth formed the shape of an “O”, as if to utter a single-word question that began with the letter “W”. Joe held up one chubby, gold-ringed finger for silence.
“I kept my newly decorated bird around because he was truthful. I respect honesty. I also swore if he had one more screw up, I’d put him in a wooden tuxedo.”
spacepotato says
“What is that?” Angela craned her unnecessarily long neck to have a better look at the creature in the stall in front of her.
“It’s a rabbit, Ma’am. Won best in show three years in a row at the Seneca County…”
“Not the rabbit,” she replied, waving the boy’s explanation off with the flick of her gloved fingers. “The thing in the feed trough.”
“I… I don’t know, ma’am.” The boy shook his head. “The neighbor girl took a look at it a while ago and didn’t know what it was, and she’s real smart.”
Angela nodded, sucking air in through the gap in her front teeth; the phrase ‘Git-R-Done,’ lovingly stitched onto the front of his baseball cap, made her wonder what qualified for ‘real smart’ in these parts. “It has tentacles,” she said, taking a small measure of enjoyment in her grasp of the horribly obvious.
“Maybe it’s from space, like those things in that Predator movie,” the boy offered.
“Has it moved?” Angela dug through her purse for her pack of Newports and flicked the top open. “If it’s dead, it’s not much of a problem.”
“Oh, it’s moved, all right.” The boy grimaced. “There used to be three rabbits in this stall.”
“Hmm.” She held the cigarette between her lips and lit it, savoring the feeling of mentholated smoke on her constantly raw throat. “How does it eat them?”
The boy shrugged. “That’s what you’re here to figure out.”
poppyflds says
The phone rang.
‘Sister Agnes,’ she answered, then checked herself. ‘I mean, Polly Robinson’
‘Who’s Sister Agnes?’ It was the boy. It had been a while since his initial call and the sound of his voice brought with it a note of tension.
‘Just something from my past’ she said, avoiding the question.
‘I had a ‘past’ too’ he said, quietly, ‘and a ‘now’.
‘So, what’s going on in your ‘now’?’
‘Just waiting for my jelly’ he sounded sleepy. ‘Don’t you believe in God?’
The question surprised her, ‘Why do you ask that?’.
‘Because you’re not a Sister anymore, and Sisters only become ordinary people when they don’t believe in God any more and want to get married. I saw that on the TV.’
She paused to collect her thoughts, wondering if she should lie, instead she chose the truth, it was a difficult habit to break.
‘I used to, but after the train crash it became very difficult to keep believing’.
‘Oh, I still believe in him,’ the boy said with an easy air. ‘He’s got to exist or my parents wouldn’t be in Heaven, would they?’
Polly had to admit he was right, and said ‘yup’ in agreement, but quickly, in case it stuck.
Miladysa says
“I was just wondering whether you managed to see your son before he died?”
“The three of us had a few months together before he passed away. I was lucky; he knew I was there and could see and hear me. Not everyone can see the delayed, it’s a gift or curse of the few, depending which way you look at it.”
Suddenly Stanley appeared tired.
Elizabeth was curious to learn if their son had delayed, manners prevented her from asking the question. Almost as if he had read her thoughts Stanley continued,
“Like all children, Arthur never had any hesitation going into the light. You see, there is no such thing as a delayed child.”
Elizabeth fidgeted in her seat for a few seconds before speaking,
“Are you sure? People often say they have heard dead babies crying or empty cradles rock…” her words trailed to a stop.
“I have no doubt that the living have – heard or seen – what they think are the ghosts of children or babies… However, experience has taught me that there is no such thing as a delayed youngster, only those who wish you to believe that there are.”
Stanley cleared his throat.
“There… that’s enough of that for now, we’ll go into it later. Where was I? Oh yes… I was speaking of my own delay… It was love that kept me here in the beginning, my love for life and all that it involves.”
He took another sip of whisky.
Anonymous says
“Hey, did you hear about Michael?” I looked up to find Rudy Clifton towering over my desk. Rudy had a terrible habit of walking into my office without knocking and I tolerated it only because he usually brought in good work or good gossip.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“So it’s true. Michael ate his gun right here in the office?” The excitement in his voice was matched only by the glee in his eyes. New office fodder always had that effect.
“Why do you talk like that?” I rubbed my temple. The migraine was at full steam now.
“Sorry. But the man committed suicide right here at work. How do you get up, get dressed for work, pack your gun and say to yourself, ‘okay, I’ll kill myself right after I finish reading the Wall Street Journal’?”
“I feel sorry for his family.”
“Me too. But nobody commits suicide at work. Suicide is a very private act. You do it at home, in your car. Not in your office.” Rudy leaned back in the chair in front of me, hands behind his head with the easy air of someone dicussing baseball instead of a corporate executive’s suicide.
“Maybe he wanted someone to intervene and stop him.”
“At 7:30 in the morning? The lights don’t come on in this place before 9. Besides, you wouldn’t use the quickest method if you wanted someone to stop you.”
“Maybe he didn’t want his wife and kids to find his body.”
“Maybe. But it’s just odd.”
“So how did you find out?”
“Melinda Graham’s assistant said she heard the gunshot and ran into the office. She told Marlene and Marlene told Lily and as usual, Lily told the whole office.”
“God love her. We might not know what the hell goes on in this place if it weren’t for her.”
jl says
“What happened the last time?” Mom asks. She is fishing through her purse.
“It was a month ago, maybe,” I answer. “You can’t smoke in here, Mom.” I can tell she is acting compulsively.
“Oh, right. Sorry, go on.”
“You were still at work. I was doing homework. Cody came by, same as always.” I tuck the hospital gown tightly around my legs, as if for protection.
“Then what did he do?”
“Nothing. He asked for Matt and Alex. To see if they wanted to shoot some hoops. They told him they’d meet up with him.”
“Then what?”
“Then he left. The guys got their stuff and left a little later.” I pause when I hear footsteps in the hall, expecting the doctor to walk in. The footsteps pass by. “Then he came back a few minutes after that. I laughed at him. I said he must’ve just passed them.”
“What did he say?”
“He said yeah, he knew that, and then he came in the house. I was confused, I asked him what do you mean. He was standing there with this weird look on his face. Then he just…grabbed my shirt.”
“He grabbed your shirt?”
“Yeah, he grabbed at the front of my shirt.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then he backed off. All of a sudden. And then he just left.”
I lick my bruised lip. Mom draws in a deep breath, lets it go slowly. She looks away from me.
“Now tell me what happened this time.”
TALON says
(overheard at a bus stop)
“Edith! Haven’t seen you in ages. Have you lost weight?”
“Hardly. You’re too kind, Liz.”
“Something’s different–is it your hair?”
“Nothing except the gray. No more Miss Clairol for me. Besides, I hear it can cause cancer.”
“Cancer! What doesn’t cause cancer? They say having cancer can cause cancer. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Yes and who the hell are ‘they’ anyway?”
“I’m not sure, but I think they live in California. That’s where all the crazies are.”
“Did you hear about Eve Patterson?”
“No, I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“She’s never been the same since her Bert passed. Her kids got fed up with her moods–crying and calling them up all hours. They shoved her into an old folk’s home.”
“Really? Burt was such a bitter man you’d think she’d be dancing a jig all over his grave.”
“Edith, that’s a terrible thing to say! True, but terrible. After what happened to Eve I figured I’d better make myself useful. I offered to cook dinner one night a week–the daughter-in-law hates me in her kitchen–and guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m doing all the meals now. Mind you don’t offer assistance, Liz. They’ll work you to death–like a cart horse. Maybe it’s not so bad what happened to Eve. She gets her meals prepared, has company, and can play bingo every day if she likes.”
“Oh, here comes the number eleven. That’s my bus. Lovely to see you, Edith.”
“You, too, Liz.”
DeborahBrent says
MISS LENNIE
Adam reached across the table and took Miss Ida’s hands in his. “If you could talk to your Horace, what would you say to him?”
“Oh, I would tell him I forgive him for his spells, and ask him to forgive me for killing him like one of my Sunday dinner chickens. Ain’t nobody knowed the secret me and my Horace shared”
Adam moved back in his chair and slowly slid his hands out of Miss Ida’s grasp until their hands lay fingertip to fingertip for an endless moment. He leaned forward and he closed his eyes as he positioned his hands as to petition God in prayer.
He said, “Horace Baker, do you hear your beloved’s plea?” His head fell back. His eyes remained closed.
The room seemed to draw in around us, as if it could breathe. The candles hissed and flickered.
Goosebumps covered the flesh of my arms and legs.
He raised his head, looked right into Miss Ida’s eyes, and said, “My little doe, I know you tweren’t carrying on with another man, you didn’t mean ta kill me. I shoulda’ ”mebered not to git you so riled up.”
Miss Ida fairly jumped out of her skin, “Oh, Horace, my Horace!” Tears ran down her plump cheeks. Both hands trembled as the covered her mouth, “You always said my tail was as white as a doe’s in springtime. Lennie, he forgives me! My Horace forgives me.”
Macky says
I gazed up at Eva from the bed. She looked fondly at me, accepting me for all I was, for all I’d ever been.
“I miss you more than you know,” I said, the words sticking in my throat. “And I love you even more than that.”
Eva appeared unmoved by my long withheld confession.
“I do,” I insisted. “You’re always in my mind tinkering with my thoughts.” I shook my head exasperated. “It’s maddening, just maddening.”
“You love me and it’s maddening?” asked Eva, torturing me even further.
“I mean you’re always with me and it’s frustrating I can’t see you or be with you.”
The corners of Eva’s mouth turned into a wry smile. “Why, Poppy, I do believe you mean that.”
I felt oddly free for have spoken the words, so I spoke them again.
“I love you, Eva.”
Eva stood smiling at me, her eyes glistening, her mouth wanting to speak, yet she remained mute.
“What?” I asked.
“Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“You know.”
“That I love you? Sure. I love you, I love you. See, it’s easy. You try it.”
“No.”
“Please.”
Eva smirked, and then blurted, “Okay, you love me, you love me!”
I pushed myself off the bed and hugged her. Her diminutive frame melded perfectly with my over size body. “That’s not what I meant,” I whispered.
Eva gingerly bit my ear. “Then you don’t love me? That’s what you meant?”
I couldn’t win, and I didn’t care.
dragongirl says
Here’s the set-up for mine: Sally has just started working in a not-so-ordinary book shop, and she’s just started talking to a rather good-looking guy.
Dialogue:
“You must be new here,” he said, and I looked at him, surprised.
“How did you know?”
He turned, and I saw how tall he was. Taller than me by a few inches, but not so tall that I had to stare up at him. Good.
He grinned, and it was a cheeky grin that made his eyes sparkle.
“I come in here quite often, and I don’t recognize you. And you’re wearing a skirt.”
“I’m wearing a skirt? How does that make me new?”
“You really haven’t been here long, have you?”
“If you weren’t a customer, I’d give you a shove, but I don’t think my manager would approve.”
In some small part of my brain, I registered that I was flirting. Good girls did not flirt with hot emo guys who wandered into their bookshop.
“Just trust me – once you’ve been here a couple of weeks, you’ll learn it’s a bad idea. So when did you start work?”
“Just this week,” I admitted.
‘See – I was right.”
“I don’t like a smart-arse.”
“Who says you have to like me? I’m a customer, remember?”
I did my best condescending smile.
“You’ve already said you aren’t looking for anything in particular. If you don’t need my help, I’ll go back to my desk and get on with something useful.”
“I might have changed my mind.”
“Are you always this irritating?”
“Are you always this touchy?”
“I’m not being ‘touchy.’ You’re making yourself seem superior.”
Anonymous says
A Pawn Shop With Three Globes
“Have you found the mirror.”
“Yes. It was all that they said it would be.”
“Are you still angry?”
“I am always angry. Don’t concern yourself.”
“It is a difficult story to tell.”
“I have nothing to do but wait for the end to come. The challenge of telling the story helps me to retain what shreds of sanity I have chosen not to relinquish.”
“The mirror provided is a concise tool,
so that you can be true to the story, true to yourself and true to the reader.”
“A sacred trust.”
“A story that is not told is a story that has died. Stillborn so to speak. With the mirror you shall have the best guideline for when your confidence wanes or your physical strength is ebbing”
“Thank you for taking the time to help me.When you see the three globes of the pawnbroker, you know you are in a part of town that is safe from the temporary assailants of dissonnace.”
“Your welcome old timer. Let’s hope
the earth remains our friend and the
sun remains our guide and the moon
our sacred confidant.”
“The advice offered is accepted as the best available and shall be taken to heart as clearly readable the first time
as the ten thousandth.”
“A truthful mirror as a good mirror.”
“Agreed. “
“May your journey back to the mountains
find you home safely and securely.”
“Thank you.”
Hilary says
Pater grabbed her by the throat, effortlessly slamming her into the wall. She clawed sadistically at his hand, her platinum curls sticking to the textured wallpaper.
“Release me!” she heaved. “You don’t have the mettle to kill me. Farina was right. You’ve the backbone of a scarecrow and the wits of the disgusting bog that contains us!” Idilla cackled scornfully as her nails pierced his knuckles.
“Bitch!” roared Pater, dropping her to the ground. His face fractured in pain. Idilla laughed mockingly, pointing a skeletal finger at his bleeding hand.
“Farina now resides in that bog!” he grunted. “You will join her, you screeching fishwife!” He seized her by the head, pulling her towards the front door. “Your need to be right far outweighs your fear of death!”
“To the marsh then!” she burst, forcing a cheeky smile. “Be quick about it, my ancestors await my arrival!” She impudently straitened her dress as Pater stiffly dragged her by her blonde locks. “Be sure to toss in my powder. I don’t want to meet them without my face!”
She pursed her ruby lips in a defiant goodbye kiss. “Idilla,” he moaned dejectedly, as his black hair fell over his forehead. “Why,” he paused, “why do I repulse you so? Is our life as bleak as the marsh we live in?” Pater crumpled to the floor.
Idilla’s face softened. “You have ruined my life. You have devastated my future. Already, I’m fixed in the bog. I choked long ago. I am dead.”
Chris Marshall says
“Get out, you demon!” the witch spat, trading the cross for her wand.
Roan refocused his attention on the hag. “I see you got a new stick, Drahmia,” he taunted. “It’s bigger than your last one.” He couldn’t help but grin now.
She ignored his teasing and began a chant; waving her weapon in the dank air.
Roan circled her like a wolf; it was impossible to take her seriously. Her last spell had left an ungodly stench about his castle; but that was the most harm she’d ever caused him.
“We are both creatures of the night, Drahmia. We should be working together.”
“Never!” she snarled. “I am a healer and you are a thief. You stole my mother’s soul, Stuart Roan. I will never work with you.”
“Right,” Roan said with a curt nod, “you forget that she ran at me with a hacksaw. I had no choice but to defend myself.” He was tired of having the same conversation with the witch; Drahmia’s mother had been crazier than she was and he was glad to be rid of her soul.
“We had an agreement,” she said through clenched teeth. “We could have lived together peacefully. She was the strongest witch alive, Roan. Her death must be avenged!”
Roan certainly had no interest in Drahmia’s deranged soul. Every time he saw her, it was the same thing: blah, blah, blah. You killed my mother, Stuart Roan. I’m going to kill you, Stuart Roan.
Ken Schneyer says
The letter said:
Dear Larry,
We’ve been at my grandmother’s house all month. The weather’s gorgeous, and I learned to windsurf! I’m getting tan and actually losing weight. Hopefully I’ll be presentable for B-school.
Well, I’m sure my vacation isn’t as eventful as yours. All those places, all those weeks! You’ll have things to tell us all for years. I look forward to hearing all about it when you get back.
Ed says hi.
Love,
Meredith
Larry looked up from the letter. “Ed says hi,” he reported.
“Just to you, or to both of us?”
“Just me, I guess; she might not have known I’d share the letter.”
“She didn’t send me a greeting, then?”
Larry reread the letter. “No. Just to me. And the greeting from Ed.”
“Nice of Ed to say hi,” Don ventured.
“Yes.”
“Nice of him to remind you he’s there.”
“Yes.”
“Because you might have forgotten.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Not ‘bloody’ likely, is it? How English of you. I’m glad you didn’t say, ‘not fucking likely,’ because if you had — ”
“Don, please.”
Larry re-read the letter again. Then he stared at it, not reading.
“You know,” he said. “I don’t think Ed really said hello.”
“How unkind of him.”
“I think it was Meredith who wanted to remind me that Ed was there.”
“Ah, yes.” Don nodded. “Ed wouldn’t go out of his way to remind you.”
“No. Ed’s a nice guy.”
“Meredith clearly thinks so.”
“Don, for crying out loud!”
“Sorry.”
Hollan says
“Well?” Niamh buzzes from a holo-screen over my head.
“It’s in three days. I have time to pack before then.”
“It will take approximately twenty eight hours to arrive at Kiriv from the Solomon Foundation with the minimum of two gate jumps.”
If I put the pillow over my head, can I asphyxiate myself? No. Probably not.
“Are you worried?”
“Why?”
“You’re blood pressure is high.”
“Stop spying on my vitals,” I say through the pillow.
“I’m not spying. You programmed me to be observational. Can I stop my programming?”
“I don’t care how I programmed you. I was eight. We all make mistakes.”
“Do you think I’m a mistake?”
Damn. Why did I program her female? “Not really.”
No response. Good. I can lie alone and sink deeper into self pity. They’ll be watching me the whole time. It’s like letting a dog out on a lease. That’s what I am. A goddamn dog on an intergalactic lease. Sick ‘em boy!
“Aldous is returning,” Niamh says neutrally. Maybe her feelings are hurt.
A moment later Aldous hoovers in, and I take the pillow off of my head.
“What ship are they giving me?” At least let it be shearwater class.
“I’ve been informed that Solomon intends to allow you to use the Tern 0X9.”
“Gull class?” Pillow on face. “They are trying to get me killed, not doubt about it.”
Jeanette says
‘Why do you spend so much time down there? “
“For the time alone”
“Why, do you feel crowded?”
“No, I would be there anyway, even if you weren’t here. I feel insulated down there.”
“You mean cut off”
“No, I mean exactly what I said”
“You can’t just fold up and disappear. That won’t change anything. The world is still out here waiting for you”
“Then the world will be disappointed. I don’t have anything to give it.”
“James, you have so much to contribute; your gifts, intellect.”
“Do you think it makes any difference to anyone except you whether I’m involved in the matters of the world or not? The world which you value so highly doesn’t care about any of us.”
“It makes a difference to me. I see you wasting all that you’ve been given and you’re content to rot down there surrounded by your books and that damn computer.”
“You’d think you’d be happy about the computer. Make up your mind. You criticize my isolation, but disapprove when I find a way to be alone and still have a connection with other people. You have ridiculous standards.”
“That isn’t reality. Those people you’re so fond aren’t real they are personas, screen names, pretend”
“How is that so different from your real people? Even you. You’d tell me anything right now to get me to behave, as you want. At least those personas you’re complaining are honest in their deception. “
AJH says
“Where have you been?” Graham asks.
Reply somewhat coldly: “I’ve been here all week.”
“I couldn’t get away.”
Be sarcastic: “Were you abducted?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Be detached: “Stranded on a desert isle with no phone line?”
“Held hostage at work.”
Be icy: “I’ve been to your office. There appeared to be several working telephones available.”
“I wasn’t sure we had plans.”
Be like Maude: “I’m quite sure we don’t.”
“At least have a drink with me.”
Recall you’ve had enough to drink.
“Please, Nora.”
Well, since he used the magic word.
Agree: “One drink.”
The bar is nearly empty. He chooses a booth in the far corner. When you sit, he squeezes in next to you.
“Graham, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are about fifty open seats in this place. Sitting so close just looks –”
“Since when do you care about how things look?”
“Oh, you’re right. My mistake. That’s what you care about.”
He laughs: “Same old Nora.”
Reply: “Only I’m not, Graham. Not in name and not in substance. I’m not the same person at all.”
“Yes, you are. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Contemplate whether to be flattered or enraged. Decide on enraged.
“Actually, I’ve changed a lot. Mostly thanks to you. And Maude, of course, let’s not forget your fiancée.”
AJH says
“Where have you been?” Graham asks.
Reply somewhat coldly: “I’ve been here all week.”
“I couldn’t get away.”
Be sarcastic: “Were you abducted?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Be detached: “Stranded on a desert isle with no phone line?”
“Held hostage at work.”
Be icy: “I’ve been to your office. There appeared to be several working telephones available.”
“I wasn’t sure we had plans.”
Be like Maude: “I’m quite sure we don’t.”
“At least have a drink with me.”
Recall you’ve had enough to drink.
“Please, Nora.”
Well, since he used the magic word.
Agree: “One drink.”
The bar is nearly empty. He chooses a booth in the far corner. When you sit, he squeezes in next to you.
“Graham, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are about fifty open seats in this place. Sitting so close just looks –”
“Since when do you care about how things look?”
“Oh, you’re right. My mistake. That’s what you care about.”
He laughs: “Same old Nora.”
Reply: “Only I’m not, Graham. Not in name and not in substance. I’m not the same person at all.”
“Yes, you are. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Contemplate whether to be flattered or enraged. Decide on enraged.
“Actually, I’ve changed a lot. Mostly thanks to you. And Maude, of course, let’s not forget your fiancée.”
darillian says
I think I may be out of my league, but I’ll post this anyway. Maybe it will give someone a good natured chuckle.
“We need someone to house-sit,” Mom said as she sat down on the couch. “The Nilsons?”
I shook my head, “Ginny goes through my stuff.”
My sister shook her eight-year-old head too, “And Billy breaks all my toys.”
We sat quietly. This trip to the Islands was becoming a problem. Suddenly Mom was inspired, “How about the Moraleses?”
I brightened, “Yeah, they’d be perfect!” No teenagers, just a new baby.
Susie became very serious, “Well, yes. But, Mom,” she paused dramatically, “They are virgins, aren’t they?”
Mom and I were completely taken aback. “Virgins?” Mom prompted.
“Well, yes. People who don’t eat meat.”
I started to snicker, “Well… Mom gave me a warning look and I switched tacks, “You mean a vegetarian.”
“Oh right, vegetarians. They are, aren’t they?”
“Well, yes, honey, but that’s irrelevant.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” We all sat back, Mom and I breathing sighs of relief. Too soon. Susie asked, “So what’s a virgin?”
I looked at Mom like, “You’re the parent.”
Hers responded with, “Take it, Big Sister.”
I glared at her, then turned to Susie, “Well, see, a virgin is someone who’s never had sex.”
Susie took this in stride, “Oh.” Then it hit her and she blushed a deep red, “Oooohhhh.”
We were all silent. Finally Susie recovered, “So, are the Virgin Islands is where nobody has sex?”
“God, I hope not,” Mom exclaimed, scooping up our tickets on the way to the phone.
Susie and I just sat there, shocked.
darillian says
My apologies. My formatting did not transfer over at all. Hope you can read it anyway. 🙂