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!
Zoombie says
They kept walking. Jimmy watched the terrain crawl by, his legs feeling even worse than before. When he asked about that, Gabe just said. “Second day is the worst when yer marching.”
“What so it gets better on the third day?”
Gabe’s grinned had a mean edge to it.
The walk continued. The Armory went by with horrible, agonizing slowness.
“How did people survive before hovercars?” Pix muttered.
“People survived before hovercars?” Jimmy asked.
“They used to go on wheels, too. And before that, there were no cars at all.” Pix scowled. “And now, we’re getting a nice little trip to the past. I’m surprised people didn’t just melt.”
“Why,” Jimmy snorted. “Why in the galaxy would people melt?”
“Cause they’d have to walk so far.” Pix nodded.
Anonymous says
“A Midsummer’s Revenge,” by Jonathan Janz
“The guy we’re after,” Anderson said, “is a convicted pedophile and a miserable excuse for a human being.”
“What’s he look like?” Boston asked.
“Saul Sparks is short and bald.”
After a time, Jimmy was able to ask, “Sparks is a sex offender?”
“That so hard to believe?”
Jimmy wasn’t sure. He’d seen many sex offenders on television and a few in real life. He didn’t know what he expected one to look like. The only trend he’d noticed was that most of them were teachers or Indian guys who programmed computers.
Anderson went on, “He goes jogging every day around five o’clock.”
“It’s five now,” Boston said.
“Which means you two need to get your asses in gear.”
“You say he’s bald?” Boston asked.
“Almost. What hair he has is black. He’ll be wearing a wife beater and blue shorty shorts. Sometimes he wears a blue headband to match his shorts. Oh yeah, he’ll have glasses on, too.”
“Sounds like a retard,” Boston said.
“That’s about right.”
“Why’re we using knives?” Boston asked. “Why not just shoot him?”
“The knives can’t be traced to you,” Anderson said. “The bullets can.”
“Wait a minute,” Jimmy said.
Anderson shook his head. “We don’t have a minute.”
Jimmy seized on an idea. “He’s a pedophile, he might not park here if he sees the squad cars. Maybe we better do this another day.”
Anderson stared at him. “We do it now.”
Dale says
“I’m a cop. I understood that’s what you needed,” he retorted. “But from the looks of you, either you’re a mud wrestler or just badly in need of a bath. Sorry, I don’t do those.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
He should have died on the spot from her withering look. At least his appeal went down a notch. Now he looked like plain trouble.
“Don’t be an idiot. My morning wasn’t going well before I got here, now it’s pissed itself right down the drain.”
“How appropriate considering where you’re sitting. Now I repeat – what’s the problem?”
There was no help for it. If he was who he said he was, she was going to have to tell him. Seconds later, she stood in front of him, covered in drying slime.
“Where’s your badge?” she asked. Since when did cops look like this?
“Here!” He dug in his pocket to pull out his identification. “Now stop wasting my time!”
Alex raised an eyebrow before glancing over to read his name aloud, “Detective Kevin Sutherland.” Okay, he was a cop. She held out her hand.
He looked at her in mock horror and put his own hands behind his back.
She half-grinned half-sneered as she presented the muddy object to him. “It’s all right I don’t want to shake your hand either.”
“Look, I’d rather be home in bed than here slinging insults with you …” His gaze zeroed in on her hand. “Where did you get this?” he snapped.
KHR says
“Pocahontas wasn’t a Native American,” Marko said, walking down the aisle of the church.
“She,” he said, pausing, “was a Slovenian.”
“That’s just ridiculous, Marko,” my mother said to her cousin, the cross looming over us as we approached the altar of the church. I wondered if the knots in the wood were watching us, like the eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg.
“She was a Slovenian,” Marko said again. “Born and bred. Do you seriously believe the Disney version?”
My mother and I looked at each other.
“Listen, there are Slovenians lurking everywhere,” he said, and my mother laughed.
“Marko, that’s just… odd,” she said.
“Remember Chop?” he asked.
“Chop?” my mother said.
“No, not chop, like chopsticks,” he said, “Choooop—long ‘o’. The crazy fool who tried to steal our grandfather’s land in Yugoslavia?”
“No,” my mother said, “and I really don’t think you do, either. You weren’t even born when any of that happened.”
“Hello?” his 5-year-old daughter said, picking up his cell phone even though it wasn’t ringing. “It’s not Chop, it’s Choooop, OK?”
“Chop was an imbecile,” Marko said. “But let’s not get carried away. There are plenty of good Slovenians, no need to focus on the bad. Take Pocahontas, for example—”
The knots in the wood were watching me. There may very well be a Chop among us, I thought to myself, but before I could say it, Marko was back:
“Native American?” he said. “No way. It’s all just modernist hype.”
orion_mk3 says
“Charmed, charmed!” the man said, rising and vigorously pumping the captain’s hand. “Valerian Ivanovitch Albanov. You may call me Valerian, Ivanovitch, Albanov, or any combination of the three, though just Ivanovitch will probably fetch more than just me!”
“I see,” said Lebedev. He licked his lips, trying to think of something to ask about, to break the ice. “Have Berenty and his men been giving you any trouble?”
“Trouble? Not in the usual way. Berenty has simply told us that if we don’t perform our duties to the utmost, that great shaggy bear of a Korenchkin will hurl us in the brig and show us some tricks that haven’t been used since Trotsky. It’s got everyone in the lab scared; reminds me of an old joke, actually. Ask me if there would be a KGB in a perfect socialist system.”
“Ah, tell me, Albanov,” Lebedev said. “Would there be a KGB in a perfect socialist system?”
“Of course not! In a perfect socialist system the state will be abolished, together with its mechanisms of oppression,” said Albanov. “People will arrest themselves!”
The captain forced a chuckle. “That’s a fine joke, Valerian Ivanovitch, though I think I may have heard it before. A man who’ll tell a joke like that has no love of Berenty and his lot, and no fear of them either.”
“Right on the first point, wrong on the second,” said Albanov. “I only joke to those I can trust; Berenty finds me a tiresome and dull fellow.”
Noj says
“Shhh! Not so loud! They might hear you.”
“Do you think they know?”
“No. We got away with it this time. But we have to be careful.”
“I was afraid. I was afraid you would make me go away for a long time.”
“Don’t worry. I have a plan. Did you bring it? Did you bring the candy?”
“Yes. I did. Do you want some?”
“Yes…”
“It’s good isn’t it? I can bring more next time.”
“That would be good. Wait! I hear something.”
“I don’t want to go. Please don’t make me go.”
“You have to. If they think you’re here I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“But I don’t want to be alone. I’m always alone.”
“Don’t worry. As soon as they’re gone I’ll get you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Give me a kiss. Now go. The door’s opening! Go! Hurry, they’re coming.”
Go away! Go away go away go away! Don’t touch me! I hate you! I hate you! I don’t want your damn medicine! I don’t I don’t I don’t! No! No! I hate you! That’s right. You shake your head. You bad person. You go away. Far far away…
“They’re gone. Where are you? You can come out now. Please come out.”
“You scared me.”
“It’s ok. They’re gone. They only come once a day. Here. Sit with me.”
“Can I stay?”
“Don’t worry. I hid it under my tongue and spit it out. Did you bring the candy?”
“Yes…”
“Share?”
“Sure!”
“Mmmmm… my favorite.”
“Mine too.”
Lori says
“Dragon Son.”
Paul stiffened. Tony continued, speaking in Cantonese.
“You represent our Family. You cannot bow to outsiders, not even the Beggar Chief.”
“I took shelter among their clan.”
“Shelter. You were hiding from your family.”
“I don’t have a family.” Paul’s heart pounded with each word. He watched Tony’s eyes tighten with pain. Guilt punched a hole in his gut, but he didn’t back down. Neither did his cousin.
“Your grandfather called me last night. He asked about you. I told him that you’re working with us. He’s pleased you’re taking your place among us.”
Pulse racing, Paul struck back in bitter English. “Cut the bullshit, Tony. I left the Two Dragon Family. I left jianghu. I owed the Beggar Clan. That’s why I’m here and you know it.”
Paul’s heart began its erratic skip, its beat pounding in his ears. Damn it! His eyes closed to contain the pain. He took measured breaths, trying not to be obvious.
Tony pressed his hand over Paul’s heart and applied pressure. Paul’s chest tingled as his cousin’s chi, his life essence, spread through him, warming him, dissipating his anger. The skip slowed and the pulse steadied.
Paul whispered in Cantonese. “You have the power, not me. You should be the Dragon Son.”
Tony shook his head. “I wasn’t born to lead us, you were. You have the luck.”
“If I had the luck, my parents wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t have a bad heart.”
kittyboy says
Fran rolled off the yoga ball, annoyed at the interruption.
“This better be important.”
She opened the door and Mia flung herself into the room.
“I slept with Match last night!”
“What? You found your cat?”
“No, Matt is the cat.”
“Roar! So, he’s a tiger, huh?”
“No! Listen, I think you may be right about us conjuring Matt.”
Fran bowed in response, “So little one, you now believe in the master’s powers?”
“Fran, seriously, we turned Match into Matt!”
Mia’s urgent tone caused Fran to straighten her stance.
“You think we turned your cat into a man. Are you for real?”
“Yes! And I’m freaking out.”
“It’s a good thing you never had him fixed.”
“Fran, please be serious.”
“I am serious… I mean don’t you think it’s a good thing you never had him fixed?”
“Oh god! I slept with my cat.”
“Did you stroke his head?”
“Fran, stop it.”
Mia dropped her handbag and covered her face with her hands.
“I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Come sit down.”
Fran lead Mia to the sofa and poured her a cup of tea.
“Drink this; it’ll calm you down.”
Mia shakily accepted the cup and took a sip.
“I know I sound crazy, but I’m not making up all this weird stuff.”
“Just relax and tell me what you mean by ‘weird stuff.’”
“This morning I heard him purr and then he drank milk out of a bowl.”
“Honey, that just sounds like indigestion and terrible table manners.”
Elladog says
When we pulled onto the highway, the windshield started fogging up again.
“Open up your window a crack, would you, Mabel?” Grandpa wiped a circle of clear into the fog and peered through it.
Gran fumbled around for a moment.
“What’s the matter? Frozen shut?” Grandpa wiped at the window again. “Mabel? Open that window, eh?”
Gran struggled some more and then slapped the inside of the door with her palm. “Damn it.”
“What’s the trouble, there? Is it sticking?” Grandpa asked.
Gran said nothing. Her hands continued feeling around the panel.
“Come on, Mabel. Open it up.”
“I just… I don’t know how, Percy.” She slapped it again, harder. “I don’t know how to work the damned thing!”
I shut my eyes tight.
“Okay, Mabel. It’s okay.”
With a cry of frustration, Gran hit the door again.
“Leave it, Mabel.” Grandpa put a hand on her leg. “It’s okay. I can see fine. You’re tired, is all. It’s been a long, busy day. Damn thing always sticks, you know. Especially in the cold. Why don’t you just lie back and shut your eyes a bit, all right? Have a little rest.”
“Okay,” whispered Gran.
I relaxed, but kept my eyes shut. Grandpa was right. It was nothing to worry about. She was tired, and the window sticks. We could all just use a little rest.
Sandy says
The exorcist hurled him a rigid stare. “Captain Baker?”
Jack folded his arms across his chest and flashed her an impish grin. “At your service.”
Straightening in the chair, her mood changed, turning professional. “Do you know what year it is?”
“I lost count a long time ago.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Well, by the looks of your hair,” he said, “I’d say I’m definitely not in Kansas.”
“Kansas?”
“It’s a joke, see. You know, The Wizard of Oz.”
“Oh, yeah.” She paused and a sentimental smile curled on her lips. “It’s a classic.”
“Classic, huh?” God, he felt old. “Then I must be ancient.”
“That depends on what you think is ancient?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
She cupped a hand across her mouth then pointed a finger at him. “You just asked a question.”
“It wasn’t a real question.”
“Okay, ask me a real question.”
“Say, what happened to you to make your hair two different colors anyway?” he asked, aiming for distraction.
And he got it.
She jostled her two-toned locks and raked her fingers through it several times. “Hey…what’s the matter with my hair?”
“Nothing. It’s just kind of different, that’s all.” Jack liked the way insecurity crowded her demeanor. It softened her, made her seem less hardhearted.
“You don’t get out much, do you?” She tried to hide it, but the beginnings of a smile tipped on the corners of her mouth.
Mary Cote-Walkden says
“Thank God for potatoes.” Mo laughed as she grated a russet into a large bowl. “They still grow in our terrible soil, they don’t want a lot of water, and I can make just about everything with them. We won’t go hungry as long as we have spuds.” Her motions were in time to the rhythmic thump of the butter churn in the corner.
Blake was sitting on the warming plate on the wood stove. He had his knees propped up. A book rested in his lap. “What are you creating for us tonight?”
“Potato pancakes.”
“To go with the potato bread, the potato soup, the mashed potatoes, the…”
She left the potato in the bowl, rested her fists on her hips. “I get the point, Blake. It’s what we have. There are a lot of people who have less.”
“I know that. But it just frustrates me to see you and Ma working so hard. If you’re not trying to cook something for us, you’re trying to keep the place clean. I don’t know how you do it.”
Mo shrugged, picked up her potato and continued with her work. “We just do it. It has to be done. No point in crying about it. Tristan, honey, you have to lift the handle all the way up in the churn.”
Anonymous says
I took another sip of beer and spit it back. “Jake’s here ” I squeaked.
Kara ducked behind her mug laughing, shoulders bouncing.
I glared at her. “You knew he’d be here ” I dropped my head in my hands. “I can’t face him yet.” I peeked through my fingers at him. “He shouldn’t be drinking, should he?”
“I heard him talking about a dart tournament here. He’s not stupid enough to drink. It’s part of his probation. Read it in the paper.”
“It’s so sad. For both of them.” I traced the beads of sweat on my mug.
“But I know someone who could make him feel better.” She kicked me under the table.
I kicked her back. “Sure. What should I do? Go up and say, ‘Do you know I’ve loved you since high school? Oh, and sorry I got you fired?’”
“Something like that. Why not?” She raised an eyebrow; it was newly pierced.
“Because I’d need like eight more beers, and you know my rule.”
“No more than two drinks a night, never to exceed six in a week. No swearing with the exception of damn, and no smokes. Did I miss anything?” She smirked and drained her beer.
“Just wait until you have a kid. It’s hard. You want to do the right thing.”
“I know. You’re not going to screw up Chelsea, like your mother screwed up you.”
“Right. But I’m sure she’ll screw up Chelsea as long as we’re living in the same zip code.”
Anonymous says
Nathan – thought I posted this yesterday, but I don’t see it now. Sorry if it’s a duplicate.
“Save your breath, Nigel. My mind is quite made up. I am going to kill the Duke of Rutledge and nothing you say will prevent me.”
Nigel Cavendish stroked his chin with a long, elegant hand. A handsome dandy in a shocking chartreuse vest, Nigel was as renowned for his flaming red hair as he was for his calm, dispassionate nature. He blinked twice in rapid succession, raised his quizzing glass and leveled it at the aspiring assailant.
“Nonsense, Amanda.” he scoffed. “You will do nothing of the sort.”
“Oh no?” she said, with a toss of her platinum curls. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a girl, silly.” He drew himself up to his full height and wiped the eye piece with a perfectly starched cravat. “And women do not commit murder.”
The tiny blond stamped a slipper clad foot, “Is that so? Well, what about Lucretia Borgia?”
He sighed, “That’s different, Urchin. Lucretia Borgia was Italian. Italian woman are extremely volatile. A man fully expects them to kill him should he be foolish enough to rouse their ire. But you, my dear, are English. And we English do not possess the depth of passion to pull off such a crime with any degree of alacrity.”
Anonymous says
“Isn’t this exciting?” Carrie cried over the roar of the engine as the embolism was about to blow like a bald tire on a bad road.
The pilot’s warm, damp head fell tenderly against Hearn’s shoulder as if they were a dating couple.
“What the hell!” he snarled.
“What’s wrong?” Carrie cried from behind.
“He passed out.”
“Get him off the steering wheel!”
Hearn managed to haul the body upright.
“Pull the wheel back on your side!” Carrie shrilled. The plane stalled.
“Not that much!”
Her fingers were on the pilot’s neck, feeling for the carotid artery. “He’s dead. Trade places, backseat driving isn’t going to cut it.”
“You know how to fly?”
“I took lessons, but it was a long time ago. See that button on the wheel like a cruise control? It’s the autopilot.”
It was a tight squeeze over the seat, but they pushed and pulled until they traded places.
“Watch for the airstrip,” she ordered.
“Have you ever landed a plane?”
“No, but I can do it better than a dead man.” Her tawny head bent close to the instrument panel. “This looks about the same.”
“It’s by a river,” he said, looking where the pilot had made a circle with an X like on a pirate’s map.
“I don’t see one.”
“Keep looking.”
“Is that it on the left?” The worm-like coil of river was next to it.
“It’s got to be,” she said. “Hang on.”
krish says
from my almost finished victorian romance, The Flirting Master…
“You’ve been drinking,” he said in an accusatory voice.
“And what is that to you?” she snapped.
“I feel responsible for you.”
“Don’t. I appreciate that you saved me, but it does not make for a lifelong obligation. You have no right to question my actions. You’re not my father.”
“But I am your flirting master,” he said teasingly. “Am I not permitted to scold? I want to dance. Put your hand on my shoulder.”
“I promised this dance to someone else,” she said, not ready to be cajoled by his charm.
“He’ll find another partner.”
“I don’t wish to dance with you.”
“You already are. I’m about to waltz you through that doorway into the melee. You have only to decide if you will continue to grip my coat in such a charmingly intimate fashion or if you will put your hand on my shoulder in proper dance pose. It’s up to you.”
She realized with chagrin the motions of their initial struggle had settled into a swaying rhythm, and he was moving her inexorably toward the ballroom. She loosened her fingers and smoothed his crushed lapel. “You’re incorrigible,” she whispered watching his eyes dilate as she slowly slid her hand up his chest to his shoulder.
His hand tightened at her waist.
“You may be my flirting master, but you lack credibility as a dancing master if you consider this correct waltzing posture. What will people think when they see you holding me in this charmingly intimate fashion?”
Debra G says
“You take a girl out nice,” Kyle said. “Dinner, not lunch. And not coffee. You’ll never get anywhere cheaping out with coffee. And no fast food!”
He stared at me, so I repeated, “No fast food.”
“After the meal, you share a dessert. Something with chocolate. Girls love that. Hold the spoon or fork or whatever and feed her. She’ll think it’s sexy.”
I cocked my head. “Really?”
“It sounds freaky but it works,” Kyle said. “You give her a crapload of compliments, all through the meal, like every twenty minutes. Just never call her curvy. Us guys might like a little cushion for the pushin’, but girls just want to hear how thin they are. Slender. Slim. Petite. All that crap works. I even called a girl emaciated once, just as a test, and she was all over me.”
“Who was it?”
“You don’t know her. Some chubby girl in my Science for Dummies class. So start your physical moves in the restaurant. Hold her hand across the table. Play footsie with her. Take off your shoe first, though. I once accidentally kicked a girl with my loafer, and she wouldn’t even kiss me at the end of the night. What a waste of eighty bucks.” He shook his head. “The porcini risotto was great, though. Anyway, after dinner— You know that the guy always pays, right? Even if the girl insists, you pay. Otherwise, no matter what she says, she’ll be thinking you’re a cheap bastard. Got that?”
amymoe says
Chairs scuffed the floor in a deafening roar. Emily’s view through the black grate improved as the cadets sat; she could see all but one end of the table.
“Who’s our gunner tonight?” said the Firstie, as he scrutinized each new plebe in his command, his gaze stopping at a massive cadet who was overflowing his chair.
“Mobey, the great hope of the Army football team! What’s for dinner?”
Mobey looked at the ceiling. After a moment of concentration he recited, “Sir, the dinner tonight is Turkey Tetrazini with butter rolls and French green beans.”
“And dessert?”
“Sir, the dessert tonight is Mary Washington sheet cake.”
“It’s WHAT? New cadet, don’t you know the wife’s name of the father of your country? Try again.”
“Sir, the dessert tonight is Marsha Washington sheet cake.” Suppressing a laugh, Emily’s ribs ached.
“WHAT? This squad is a bunch of idiots. That’s un-American. Boils, could you please tell Mobey the name of George Washington’s wife?”
“Yes sir,” Boils sputtered, looking down at his plate. “Sir, the wife of the father of our country is Martha Washington, sir.”
“Okay, Boils, I don’t need a ‘sir’ sandwich with that. Mobey, try again.”
Perspiration trickled down Mobey’s arm as he lifted the cake plate. “Sir the dessert tonight is Martha Washington street cake. Would anyone care for a slice of Martha Washington street cake?”
brittanimae says
I was totally not planning on entering this time. And then I was writing this morning. And then I wrote this. And so now I’m entering it. These contests are so dang addictive.
Max bent to pick the books up, hoping Tess wouldn’t notice the violent shade of crimson that now burned in his cheeks. She would see that.
“Shush or I’m seriously leaving” Max hissed, his cheeks fading to pink.
“What? Now you’re embarrassed of me? I’ve been upright this whole time!”
“It’s not appropriate to giggle in a library.”
“It’s not appropriate to do flips off the library furniture either. Besides, how would you even know what’s appropriate here? Isn’t this like your first library trip . . . ever? I’ve certainly never seen you here.”
“I read books.”
“You read The Guinness Book of World Records.”
“Obviously a book: cover, pages, words. I’m pretty sure that fits the bill.”
“Still, one book hardly justifies a visit to the library—what gives?”
Max rumpled his hair and looked around.
Sheila says
“Dolores!”
His maid/temporary assistant hesitated in the doorway. Feeling guilty? Or was it the smell?
“Yeah, doctor?” Her gum snapped as she spoke.
“What are these?”
“Those? Ain’t those the bodies you asked for? From the job applicants?” The mass of intertwining bodies reached the ceiling, each one tagged with the applicant’s name.
“Oh, are they? And what, exactly, did I ask for?”
Dolores chewed her lower lip trying to come up with an answer. “You said you needed bodies. And that they should be middle aged. And male.”
“And?”
“And? Um, with skin color between cream and last week’s spoiled ham.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t appreciate that comment about my ham. Jeez, I told them just like you told me. What’s the big deal?”
The doctor dragged one body out of the pile. “Look at this body. Do you notice anything?”
“It’s missing an arm. That’s not good, is it?”
“It’s a woman!”
“Oh! I didn’t look.”
“And she’s black!” He pulled out another body. “This one doesn’t have a foot! This one was at least eight-five. And what is this? It’s not even a body!”
“It looks like a doll.”
“It’s a homunculus!”
“Well, perhaps he thought you’d appreciate his creativity?”
“I am hiring an assistant. Creativity is fine, but why would I want to hire someone who does not follow instructions?”
Dolores’s face twisted in pain as she tried to come up with an answer.
“It’s a rhetorical question! Go light the incinerator.”
macaronipants says
“You need to give her a name,” I said.
Grandma stopped twisting the key and stared at me like I’d sprouted petals. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“The truck. You need to call her something nice.” I set my back pack on the squeaky seat. “We had a name for our car and Mama used to talk real nice to her, like with plants. That car always started right up.”
“Don’t you suppose I know my own truck?” Grandma said.
“Not by name, I guess.”
Grandma heaved a sigh that would blow out at least twenty candles.
“Like this.” I got out and ran my hand along the crisp green metal, trying to channel Mama. “There you go, Granny Smith. You just take your time. I know you can do it.”
When I got to the tailgate, Grandma was staring at me through the rear view mirror, her eyes not all that unkind. She tried the ignition again and in a shuddering cough of smelly gray smoke, the truck started right up.
“Granny Smith?” Grandma said as I climbed in.
I shrugged.
After we passed about eleven thousand trees and the black-hearted whirligig, she said, “So what did you name your car?”
I figured no harm could come from telling her one small thing. “Daisy.”
Grandma nodded as though that made perfect sense.
Kylie says
[Background: My main character just found her godfather’s nephew hiding in the attic.]
“Gary…knows you’re living up here?”
Avery nodded calmly.
“He told my parents you lived on the next street over.”
“Didn’t he also tell you not to come anywhere near the fourth floor? That there was nothing interesting up here?”
“So far I haven’t found anything to prove him wrong,” I muttered, running my hands over the rounded end of the banister as I stood at the top of the stairs. Avery didn’t hear me.
“Gary doesn’t like me,” he said, closing his eyes with a smile dancing around his lips. “He’s doing his best to get me out of his house, but I won’t go, not yet.”
“Is that what you were arguing about earlier?”
His eyes opened, staring at me. “No,” he said. “It was related to the subject, but it’s something else.”
“Then what were you talking about?”
Avery rolled his eyes and then gave me a devilish grin. “My unfortunate habit for spiriting away his houseguests.”
“Right,” I said. “And then you eat them?”
He leaned forward with a wink, and half bathed in shadow, his grin made me want to shiver. “Only when I’m hungry. Otherwise, I keep them around to amuse me.”
“You must have quite a collection now.”
With a small laugh, he fell back into the sunshine, the light gleaming off the red in his hair. “Maybe that’s why Gary doesn’t like me.”
heather! anne! says
“Sit down, sit down, you look starved to death. Come here, my boy, have some eggs.”
I didn’t want eggs, I wanted ham. Maybe ham with a nice side of bacon. But I took them anyway because she’s my mama—and besides, a wolf’s got to eat.
“I found some,” I whispered as my brother sat down. “Just over past Orwell’s ridge.”
“What’d you find?” he asked, shoveling in eggs.
“Exactly what we’ve been hunting.”
“Pigs?”
“You guessed it.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Mud huts?”
“Straw and some sticks.”
He choked when I said it, and mama rushed in, dusting her paws on her apron. “What have I told you boys about eating?”
We chorused: “Slow down and savor the taste.”
“Your manners…” she sighed. Then she half-barked, half-sniffed: “But you’re grown now, so do as you please.”
I said, “I’m sorry.” My brother did too; Mama sniffed one more time for good measure. When she left, my brother slid closer to me. “They’ve built their homes out of straw?”
“One’s stick and one’s straw. They’re cousins or something. The other one can’t be much brighter.”
“What kind of pig builds his house out of straw?”
“One that wants to be eaten.”
“So, we’ll do it tonight. Quarter past ten. We’ll huff and we’ll puff and we’ll…”
“Rip through the den!”
“Nah.”
“Feast like real men!”
“Eh…”
“Chow ‘till we grin!”
“What?”
“We’ll huff and we’ll puff and we’ll… blow the house in?”
“And tomorrow, sausage for breakfast!”
Elizabeth Bemis says
“Good morning, Agent Sherwood,” Fiona said, endeavoring to make the best impression possible.
He tilted his head down and looked at her over the top of his glasses.
“Fiona O’Malley. I’m your new administrative assistant.” She held out a hand for him to shake.
His eyes made a clinical scan from the top of her hair pulled back into an efficient French braid to the bottom of her black pumps.
“Fiona,” he repeated. “I mean absolutely no offense, but please don’t expect me to remember it. You’re the sixth assistant I’ve had this month.”
There was a moment of strained silence as she tried to hold her tongue. That was a battle she was destined to lose.
“Wow. I don’t understand why you can’t keep an admin with your sunny disposition,” she said. His face darkened and she hoped briefly that he wouldn’t eat her.
“Do you know who my father is?” she asked. Normally, she didn’t lead with this. “David O’Malley.”
Agent Sherwood’s face paled ever-so-slightly beneath his tan. “Ambassador O’Malley?” he asked tightly.
“The very same. And before you ask, yes, I’m here as a favor to the old man. However, dire consequences will befall us both if I lose this job, so let’s just do what we can to get along, shall we?”
He cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you, Ms. O’Malley,” he choked out. She heard him muttering under his breath as he slipped into his office, shutting the door tightly behind him.
Michael Boyd says
First word from the kidnappers came the next morning as he drove to the airport. “We’ve got the admiral,” said a voice without a soul.
“Well, cheer up. Maybe you’ll have better luck with him than I did.” J. D. broke the connection and tossed his cell phone into the passenger seat.
Thirty seconds later the caller was back. “I don’t think you understood me. We have your father.”
“Roger that, hoss. You also have my sympathy. Just moosh up his food in a blender and give him lots of drugs if he gets too mouthy. Oh, and you might check his Depends every day or so.”
The third call made it clear that the kidnappers didn’t intend to adopt the old man. “We’re going to kill him unless you give us ten million dollars.”
“I’ll give you a hundred and fifty.”
“Million?”
“Fuck, no. A hundred and fifty bucks—take it or leave it. And I’ll need a few days to scrape it together.”
It took the caller several seconds to respond. “What kind of son are you?” he finally asked.
“Pretty much a loser,” said J. D. “You can check with my dad. He’ll back me up.”
“Listen, comedian,”—the kidnapper was beyond playing games—“if you don’t come up with ten million dollars by noon Friday, we’re gonna start mailing you his body parts.”
“Okay—let me make sure you have that address. We’re at—”
This time it was the caller who hung up.
annmarie mcl says
Background: This is an excerpt from a story narrated by a ghost.
At precisely 9:00 a.m., Frank’s campaign manager, Sam, appears at his office before Frank has even hung up his coat.
“We have a problem,” Sam says, shutting the door.
“What now?” Frank has a look on his face that says, “How can things possibly get any worse?” I’m guessing that he hasn’t informed Sam about the near collapse of his marriage.
“The Herald has dug up some information.”
Frank’s face freezes. “What kind of information?” he asks in a steely voice. He fusses with the pockets of his coat before turning around.
“Nasty stuff, and we need to confront it immediately, before the story breaks.”
“Sam, cut to the chase. I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“Can your turn around and look at me, damnit? Forget your fucking meeting. This is serious.”
Reluctantly, Frank abandons his coat and sits at his desk. He sips the coffee that Kim left there at exactly 8:58 a.m.. He takes a deep breath. “Shoot,” he orders. And Sam spills the whole story about my murder.
Frank stares at him for a long time, as if trying to read deep into his soul. “It’s true,” he finally confesses. “All of it.” He hardly flinches. “She was going to expose me.”
“But murder, Frank! My God!”
Frank lowers his head as close to Sam’s as possible without touching it. “Everyone has a past, Sam.” He backs away a couple inches, but maintains his steady gaze. “Even you know that, don’t you?”
Richard Mabry says
“Hank, we’ve got a problem. Blood pressure’s dropping, pulse is rapid.” A hint of panic rose in Dr. Murray’s voice.
The scrub nurse held out fresh gloves, and Anna plunged her hands into them. “He must be bleeding again. “Hank, was there damage to any major vessels? Superior mesenteric? Gastric?”
“Yes, but all the ligatures were secure. The wound was dry when we finished.”
“Well, we’ve got to go back in and look.” Anna turned to Dr. Murray. “Run the IV wide open. Hang another unit of blood and send for at least two more. Keep him oxygenated. And get your staff man in here. Now!”
Murray snapped out a couple of requests to the circulating nurse before turning back to Anna. “He’s getting hard to ventilate. Do you think we might have overloaded him with fluid and blood? Could he be in pulmonary edema?”
“I want your staff doctor in here now! Let him evaluate all that. We’ve got our hands full.” Anna grabbed a scalpel from the instrument tray and sliced through the half-dozen sutures Hank had just placed. “Deavor retractor.” She shoved the curved arm of the instrument into the edge of the open wound and tapped the junior resident’s hand. “Hold this.”
Anna grabbed a handful of gauze sponges, expecting blood to begin spilling out of the abdomen. There was none. So why was the blood pressure dropping?
“Pressure’s down to almost nothing.” Murray’s voice was strained. “And I’m really having trouble ventilating him.”
Connie says
It dawned on her while she watched him help the coachmen free the carriage from the ruts. She’d been so occupied with thoughts of the outlaws and being delayed until she realized who he was. He sounded and looked so familiar.
“You… you must be Armond Borel?” Amelia said to the man wearing the white shirt and snug fitting black pants. She tried to ignore the feelings running wild from thinking about him in a different way now that she was a grown woman.
“Yes. Are you looking for a doctor?” Armond asked gazing intently at her.
“A doctor? I am not looking for a doctor. You don’t recognize me?”
“No. I don’t. Have we met before?” He raised a brow.
“Surely you know who I am. It’s me Amelia.”
“Amelia Bienvenu?” He asked with a fixed stare.
“Yes, Armond.”
“It’s been years. I must admit I would have never recognized you.” His gazed moved from her face to immediately look her over.
“You’ve changed. You are all grown up.” He smiled.
“Yes it has been too long since I’ve come back to the plantation.” Amelia lifted the shell handled fan and batted it in a slow rhythm to cover up the warm blush rising from her neck to her face.
“This isn’t the welcome you anticipated. Those outlaws have been causing a lot of trouble here for awhile.
“Let me help you back into your carriage.” He took a few steps and held out his hand.
S.L. Hastings says
Billy Bob took us in into a small room that was more like a closet. He turned on the light, one of those ones where you yank the chain on the ceiling, closed the door, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a shiny…
“Don’t shoot us, please!” I screamed. “I didn’t mean to upset Peaches so badly. Grumbling has always hated me. You seem like a nice guy. Can’t we talk about this?”
“Easy now, boy, ain’t nobody hurting you. You’re jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof. I was just fixin’ to shoot y’all’s picture, that’s all.” Freddie and I were cowering in the corner when my tail poked out from under the trench. Which Billy Bob noticed immediately. “Hey, you that alligatey boy. I seen you the last time you comin’ to the outskirts of town. You been ‘flicted.”
“No, I’m not conflicted.” Why did people always assume that I didn’t like the way I was? “I’m really all right with the way that I am.”
“Boy, not con-flicted. Flicted with the mu-ta-tions.” He drawled out the last word like it was the worse thing he’d ever heard. “Gotta a cousin with some issues, though not extreme like yours. Nice little wee man. No matta. Now stand in front of that,” he said pointing to the outline of the state of Louisiana on the wall. “I’m a going to, now what is that you kids saying nowadays?”
“Hook us up?”
Lando says
“Are you irritated with me?” she asked over the phone.
“What?” I replied. “Where did that come from?”
“It was just a question.”
“Why would you ask something like that? Why would I be upset with you?”
“I didn’t say you were upset.”
“You didn’t?”
“I said irritated.”
“OK, why would I be irritated with you?”
“I was just asking.”
“Yeah, but I don’t get it.”
“It was just a question.”
“Well, what do you think of, uh, what do you think of monkeys?”
“You mean that CD you gave me?”
“Oh, no, not the Arctic Monkeys, just monkeys. I could have asked giraffes. It was just a random question, since questions don’t mean anything to you.”
Then she launched into this long diatribe about all these different kinds of monkeys she saw at the zoo recently with her nephew. I caught myself tuning her out and tried to pay attention but couldn’t. It was my luck she would have a lot to say about a topic for which I didn’t care. Then I realized she had finally stopped droning on about monkeys.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“What? What do you mean am I ‘OK’?”
“You were quiet.”
“You were talking.”
She sighed.
“Well, what are you doing?”
“Talking to you.”
“OK, smartass. What else are you doing?”
“Holding the phone to my mouth and ear.”
“Look, call me when you’re less irritated.”
Naturally, she hung up.
So into the dead reception, I said, “And I’m the irritated one?”
Kelly Maher says
“I swear Daphne’s getting rich off of me.”
Her cousin Debbie picked at the limp chef’s salad sitting in front of her. “Well, Creek Falls’ got to benefit somehow from your windfall.”
Chrissy chomped down on a fry and chewed. “Until I got back in town, I had never regretted stopping at the Kum and Go that afternoon.”
“So tell them all to shove off. You’ve been all around the world. I’m sure there’ve been times you’ve had to tell guys to leave you the hell alone.”
“I never had to worry about seeing those guys in church the next Sunday, or have them, or their mothers, call my mother about my bad manners.”
“True.” Debbie turned around in the booth. “Dolores!”
The grizzled cook popped her head through the pass through. “What d’ya want Debs?”
“A decent salad with crisp greens.”
“Get your ass back to Chicago then. Horace, you leave them girls alone or I’ll burn your chicken fried steak.”
Morgan Dempsey says
You poor bastard 🙂 I bet you’re beginning to regret opening the floodgates. Still, thanks.
===============
Death was calm, his words echoing faintly against marble walls. Rich tapestries did nothing to dampen the anger in his voice. “In my giving you those herbs, and by extension the ability to become a great healer, I had but one stipulation. Do you recall what it was?”
My godfather had one view on life: his own. Disheartening, considering his job was to shuffle people off this mortal coil. “The king is a good man –“
“Do you recall,” he said, piece by piece, “what it was?”
“It’s so simple for you, isn’t it? Bringing your toys out to play, putting them away when you’re bored? Like you did with my mother?” I walked up to him. I stood toe-to-toe with Death. It would have been more impressive if I weren’t a skull shorter. “The king is a good man. His brother isn’t.”
My godfather’s face was level, even. He had that smile. He always had that damn smile. “The king was meant to die. His time was up, and you spared him for your own selfish reasons.”
I wanted to throw the bag of herbs at him. “If his brother took the throne, he would tax this kingdom into the ground. These are good people, barely getting by.”
“Don’t give me this altruistic rubbish. You saved him because you liked how his daughter looks.”
I turned away.
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s the hearts of men. They destroy one another for a pretty face. I thought you might be better.”
===============
Thanks for reading.
Anonymous says
“Am I dreaming again?”
“Actually, I think you might be hallucinating.”
Henry shut his eyes tight and silently counted to ten before reopening them. He waited patiently for the shapeless blur to give way to the image of the young girl sitting just beyond his reach.
“Are you cold?” he asked, eyeing tanned breasts that were slightly shivering beneath a gingham halter top.
“Cold? I’m not even here, Henry. I don’t exist. I’m a figment of your imagination. Maybe I always was.”
“That’s not true. What I did to you was real. What we had later on was real. How could I be here if it wasn’t?”
“Maybe you’re insane,” she smirked. “Maybe you’re not even here. Maybe you’ve been locked away in a padded cell your whole life for reasons that are based on entirely different events. Ever think of that?”
“Sometimes. I don’t care. Hallucination or not, this is a sign; you’re presence is a sign. You’re coming back for me, aren’t you?”
“Henry,” she sighed, “enough with the all the bullshit about signs. You’ve been looking for signs your whole life.”
“No. I don’t look for them; they find me.”
“Yeah, and just look at where they’ve led you. Let it go, Henry. There aren’t anymore secrets. You’re old life is over. Start a new one while you’re still young enough to enjoy it.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to. Anyway, not all the secrets are out. There’s still one unenlightened person.”
goadingthepen says
It’s awkward sitting here with Austin. It’s always been Matt, or Matt and Austin, never just Austin.
We met him the summer of our eighth grade year. Standing in the tight aisles at Hot Topic, Matt held up a Sex Pistols t-shirt with a flag on it.
“Nice shirt,” someone commented from behind us.
Matt flipped around and bumped into him. His skin was like toasted almonds wrapped around a slight frame. His shoulder length russet hair was streaked with pale highlights.
“Way to go.” I nudged Matt. Taking note on how hot this guy was.
“Sorry man, I didn’t realize you were right there.” Their eyes met briefly. “You’re not from around here are you?”
“Nah, my dad retired from the Air Force and thought Virginia was the place to call home. I’ve lived in California for the last four years.”
His finger squeezed in the pockets, and his thumbs slipped through the belt loops, of his Lip Service jeans. Matt had a pair just like them, snug fitting all the way down to the ankles with a low cut waist.
Matt shifted awkwardly, “I’m Matt,” he put his hand on my shoulder, “and this is Jessica, but we just call her Jess.”
“I’m Austin.”
Matt made the connection. I was along for the ride. The hardest part was, once Austin walked into Matt’s world, Matt started slowly walking out of mine.
Trée says
Isn’t It?
Mairi comes around the corner of the corridor and sees Yul, knees pulled into her chest, streaks running down her face, crying. She inquires. Yul speaks between sniffles. Something to do with Rog.
Scene moves to the bar with Rog, Von and Trev. Rog and Von are talking. Trev listens and watches but doesn’t speak. Rog is hunched over his shot of snoot like a dog over a bone.
Von: Wanna talk?
Rog: Nope.
Von: Wanna talk anyway?
Rog: Nothing I ain’t already said.
Von: Well, not like I have anywhere else to be. Humor me.
Rog: I’m frustrated. That’s all.
Von: (raises his eyebrows)
Rog: Look, if I thought you could help, I’d waste your time but it’d just get in the way of a good shot of snoot.
Von: How many have you had?
Rog: Shots?
Von: Yeah.
Rog: Not enough.
Scene shifts back to Mairi and Yul
Mairi: What did he say?
Yul: He yelled at me.
Mairi: About what?
Yul: Said something about the kinds of questions I was asking.
Mairi: That’s odd. What were you asking him?
Yul: Nothing. I was just trying to get him to talk.
Mairi: What did you say?
Yul: All I said was I thought the ship seemed awful quiet.
Mairi: That’s it?
Yul: Yeah. That’s it.
Back to Rog, Von and Trev
Von: Let me guess. Yul?
Rog: I don’t even want to talk about it.
Von: What did she do this time?
Rog: I’ve told her a bazillion times I don’t like statements that end in a question. Just pisses me off to no frailing end. And you know what? No matter how many times I tell her, she still needles the shiott of of me.
Von: Give me an example.
Rog: Okay. Try this on. She says, ‘ship is awful quiet.’
Von: That’s not a question.
Rog: Right. But then she adds, ‘isn’t it?’
Von: Okay.
Rog: What?
Von: I just said okay.
Rog: You think I’m an idiot.
Von: No. I’m just not sure I follow.
Scene flips back to Mairi and Yul
Mairi: Why would that upset him?
Yul: Because he’s a Yakmuk’s arse.
Mairi: Yeah, well, besides that.
Yul: You’re asking the wrong person. I was just trying to make conversation. And he attacked me.
Mairi: Did he say anything else?
Yul: Like what?
Mairi: Anything.
Back to Rog, Von and Trev
Rog: Look, if a person wants to say something, fine. Just say it. But damn, don’t end every statement with an “isn’t it” or “don’t you agree” or, frail, just pisses me off.
Von: I can see.
Rog: Why can’t she see? I’ve told her a thousand times I hate that crap. “The ship is awful quiet, isn’t it.” Isn’t it. Isn’t it. If I hear that question one more time . . .
Back to Mairi and Yul
Yul: Get this. He accused me of trying to delibrately piss him off?
Mairi: How?
Yul: By asking him a question.
Mairi: What did you ask him?
Yul: Just asked him if he thought the ship seemed awful quiet.
Mairi: Why would he think that question was you trying to aggravate him?
Yul: Frail if I know. You see the shiott I have to put up with.
Back to Rog, Von and Trev
Von: Your permission to ask a question?
Rog: Don’t frail with me.
Von: Besides Yul and her way of asking questions is there anything else on your mind?
Rog: Well, now that you ask, actually there is.
Scene fades back to Mairi and Yul
Mairi: Are you sure their wasn’t something else he seemed upset with?
Yul: No. Not really.
Mairi: You sure?
Yul: Yeah.
Mairi: Yul.
Yul: What?
Mairi: Trust me.
Yul: Alright. Damn you.
Back to the boys
Von: Anytime you ready.
Rog: (slams back another shot) Tell me why the frail we’re just sitting here?
Von: What do you mean?
Rog: Kyra! John tells us he saw Kieran and we are just gonna sit here and do nothing? Is that what we are going to do. Nothing. Look at me Von. Nothing?
Back to the girls
Yul: He mentioned Kyra.
Mairi: How so?
Yul: Same old shiott.
Mairi: Enlighten me.
Yul: (her face starts to tremble as she searches Mairi’s face) He wants to go rescue her. (the tears cascade)
Mairi: Oh baby. (opens her arms)
Yul: (through tears she manages to say) What do I have to do? Tell me, what do I have to do?
Next thing we hear is tocins sounding and lights blinking and Arn’s voice: “We have an unexplained Pod launch.”
Rog: (to Arn) Where is John?
Arn: (no answer)
Rog: Arn?
Arn: On the Pod.
Nancy says
Historical romance about a proposed marriage of convenience between childhood sweethearts who became enemies during the English Civil War.
If Felicity tried another appeal at Whitehall as an alternative to this insane marriage idea, Hugh would be hard pressed not to thrash her. “You’re not going back to Whitehall. It would avail you nothing.”
Her eyes flashed. “My plans don’t concern you.”
“We’ve been through that. I can’t let you endanger yourself.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“If I marry you, I can.” He narrowed his eyes at that unwelcome, but unfortunately tempting, thought.
She blanched. “You don’t want to wed me. You wouldn’t dare.” She sounded uncertain, though.
“You know nothing of what I dare. Push me, and I’ll show you.” He bared his teeth in an intentionally wolfish smile. For the last twelve years, he had taken risks she couldn’t imagine.
“Don’t waste your time trying to frighten me.” She glared at him, but her voice shook. “We both know you don’t want me.”
He had shaken her. Good. He dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “Perhaps I do.”
“I know you too well to believe that.” Nervously, she licked her lips.
His blood surged. God’s nightshirt. He did want her. Enough to take her now if some miracle made her willing, and the past be damned, but a quick tumble in a coach was far different from marriage. “You no longer know me at all, my lady.”
“Nor do I want to.”
TerryT says
“I swear it was just like doing it with a woman.”
“What about the big hands?”
“Negative. They were smaller than mine.”
“Body hair?”
“Smooth as silk.”
“C’mon man, how could you not know?”
“Because she’s hotter than any woman I ever laid eyes on.”
“You mean, ‘he.’”
“No. I mean, ‘she.’ I didn’t even realize ‘til halfway through when I looked up and saw the Adam’s apple.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“You don’t get it.”
“I don’t want to get it.”
“There was no manhood, you understand? Doctors can do things today that you can’t believe.”
“You’re right, I can’t believe it.”
“It’s not like I planned it. She advertises in the paper as a woman. She looks like a woman.”
“It’s the first thing you’re supposed to ask when you call.”
“Well, I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Lesson learned.”
“What now?”
“What do you mean, what now?”
“I mean, what about you? We can’t stand on her doorstep forever.”
“There’s no way, man.”
“We came here together for an experience, for a laugh.”
“Well, it’s not funny.”
“You’ll laugh at this when you’re an old man. This is the meat of life.”
“That’s a horrible pun.”
“There’s no pun. She doesn’t have one.”
“He.”
“She!”
“He!”
“It’s your turn.”
“I don’t know, man.”
“I paid for you.”
“She looks like a chic?”
“A ten.”
“A word to anyone and I swear to God.”
“Go.”
“Christ.”
“I promise, it’s just like doing it with a woman.”
Janiss says
“I don’t know what we were thinking last Sunday,” Haley said. “We need to forget it ever happened.”
Jared looked at Haley, his resolve as firm as hers. Firmer, because Haley’s was a façade and his wasn’t.
“No.”
Haley stared at him.
“No,” he repeated. “I won’t forget it. I can’t forget. It was incredible. You were incredible.”
“It was wrong,” Haley said. She held the coffee cup with fingers that were suddenly chilly.
“We knew it was wrong from the start,” Jared pointed out.
In spite of the cup’s warmth, the chill continued up Haley’s arms and into her shoulders. But even as she shivered, she smiled into her coffee. It was a smile that Jared recognized.
“Yes, I guess I was stating the obvious,” she acquiesced.
“I want to see you tonight.”
“No! That’s impossible!”
“Why?”
“I can’t just run out the door on a Sunday evening for no reason!” Haley said. “What would I tell Bill?”
Jared grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Tell him the truth.”
Haley looked at him sharply. Jared ignored this and continued.
“Tell him that I wanted to know more about yoga, so you agreed to give me a practice session after the last class of the evening was through.”
“Jared, you are really and truly wicked.”
“So are you.”
They looked at each other. Haley knew that the chaotic, troublemaking side of her had won. What was worse was she didn’t care it had won.
“Nine o’clock?”
“Nine o’clock.”
Gwen says
thisvaleoftears@hotmail.com
Simon’s best friend, Evelina, is the victim of a demonic attack. With his mentor, Anthony, he pays a visit to the only man who might have the answers necessary to help Eva.
_______________________
“Disconcerting, very disconcerting,” Roland mumbled, running a hand through his graying hair. “There have not been reports of something of this magnitude for nigh on sixty years,” he said softly. Simon lingered by the parlour doors. He was beyond attempting to understand what Roland was talking about. His eyelids felt heavy and every bone in his body ached.
“Anthony, you are going to have to tell me exactly what happened.” Anthony still had not moved. “You understand, of course, why it is of utmost importance that you recount the events to me here, now.” Anthony nodded absently at the small man, who had now taken a few steps closer to Evelina.
“It is as we feared,” said Anthony, his voice barely above a whisper. “She is the one we have been looking for.”
Roland nodded in acknowledgement. “I had hoped that it would not come to this.” He held a hand to his lips as he stared down at Evelina. “Runes,” he sighed, stepping closer to examine the blood-soaked cloth expertly tied around her shoulder. “See here,” he said, tracing his finger over something that Simon could not see. “Grave, very grave indeed.”
Simon accidentally leaned against the parlour door and it slammed shut. Roland gave a cry of surprise and started as his eyes fell upon Simon. “Goodness gracious, Anthony! You brought the boy with you?”
“He was with her,” replied Anthony, gesturing toward Evelina. “They were being pursued. I asked him to stay with her. He couldn’t – we couldn’t leave her – ”
“No, no, of course not,” said Roland, nodding. “Very wise.” He turned to Simon. “Well, boy, do come in, then,” he smiled. “Do come in.”
exculpatory says
From BEYOND JUSTICE
Butch came by my cell. “So, enjoy your first SHU brawl?”
I didn’t answer.
“Happens all the time, don’t worry about it.” He then went around from cell to cell, banging on the doors with his rifle. When he came back to me his tone was more stern. “Look Hudson, you ain’t said a word to me since you arrived. You got a problem?”
I just huffed.
He slammed his rifle against my door. This time much louder. “Think you’re better than me? You ain’t nothing. And nobody out there knows or cares about what I can do to you. So you’d best start showing me some respect!”
I went right up to the mesh and slammed it with the heel of my hand. “All right,” I said. “I’ve got something to say.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I want to talk to the warden!”
Howls went up and echoed throughout the pod. Butch was laughing too. “Oh, so you want to see the warden, huh? What, you want an upgrade to the presidential suite?” More laughter.
“I’m going to tell him about the prisoner abuse down here,” I said. “About the cock-fighting racket you’re running.”
“Oh, right. That. Yeah. He’ll believe you over at decorated C.O. of fifteen years.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Right.” Another smack against the door and he walked away, spat his toothpick on the ground. “Liked you a whole lot better when you weren’t talking.” He swaggered away, footfalls slow and fading. “Might just have to fix that.”
andrea says
Tanya didn’t know what to make of Lieutenant Tooly’s request. She just looked at him blankly.
“So lemme get this straight, boss. You want me to release Cora Mae? Did you say that you want me to process her paperwork and then release her? Is that what I’m hearing?” She popped her double wad of Bubblicious and lowered her eyelids skeptically to half mast.
She looked at the clock to indicate that releasing Cora Mae would take too long. Lieutenant Tooly had promised her that she could get off work early today for her sister’s birthday. It was 2:00p.m., plenty of time to get the job done, but Lieutenant Ralph Tooly took one look at Tanya and knew that she really should have been his mother’s son and been pushed up the ladder of the police force. She had a weighty resolve, palpable by just a look that he could never hope to capture.
Tanya looked around, “What’s that smell?” She sniffed, cementing her take on his request. Lieutenant Tooly rubbed his head and looked at Tanya in defeat.
Tanya stood firm, “Smells like dogshit,” she said coarsely, with a punishing glint in her eyes meant to finish him off.
Robena Grant says
Gone Tropical.
“Daddy belongs to the old boy’s club and thought it was my fault the marriage failed.” Amy glanced away. Daddy had made his choice, what happened wasn’t her fault. “My ex, Firth, embezzled the company out of five million dollars.”
“You have siblings?” Sarge asked.
“Two brothers, but they live on the East Coast.” A twinge of guilt shot through her. She poured another coffee and took a sip. Being single, she was the obvious one to stay, but she’d flipped Daddy off and walked and now she was trying to fix everything. As usual.
“What type of company?” Sarge asked and took a slurp of coffee. He winced. “Who ordered flat white?”
“I was pre-occupied.” Jake shrugged.
“It’s a coffin company,” Amy said.
Sarge put his cup down. “Did you say coffins?”
“Yes. It’s in Los Angeles and called ‘A Perfect Sleep.’”
“Damn. Who’d go into that business?” Sarge muttered. “And it’s that lucrative?”
Amy flicked an eyebrow. “Yeah, people die. So, what’s the plan?”
Sarge fiddled with his hat. “I’m thinking they’re headed for the Daintree—the tropical rainforest. The girlfriend, Meg, her parents live up near Cooktown, Jake told me to get down here with transportation.”
Something didn’t stack up. Why wasn’t Jake working with the authorities in Sydney? And why was Sarge, an Army vet, doing investigation work?
She smelled Australian Federal Agent and squinted. “Where exactly is this Daintree?”
“Northern Queensland, bloody beautiful country—”
Julia says
Morales ended his conversation and turned to face Lucerne. “What can I do for you, Helpernia?”
Lucerne bristled. “Drop the innocent act, Morales. And don’t call me that.” She slammed her Paper down onto the desk, facing him. “I want an explanation.”
Morales glanced at the Paper. “Ah, I see you got the memo. It’s fairly straightforward.”
“It’s bullshit,” said Lucerne.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’re dissatisfied with your new assignment, Detective,” Morales said. “Perhaps you’d like to file a formal complaint.”
Lucerne glared. “I have been with Alpha for twenty years. Twenty Years. I have never botched an investigation, I have never been truant, I have come through for you time and again, and this is how you repay me?”
“It’s a partner, not a punishment, Lucerne.”
“You know I work best alone. I don’t want a partner. I don’t need a partner. I will not have another partner, especially not a 24-year-old hick from rookieville.”
Morales made eye contact and sighed. “Look, Luce, take pity on me. Do this as a favor. I need you on this.”
Lucerne snorted. The man was contemptible. “I’m walking.”
Anonymous says
It was quiet for a moment then he asked, “Why did you ask about my being king?”
“In the temple you said before the Song of D…Dontcha…”
He smiled, “Dochas.”
“Umm sorry. Anyway you said before the song it was the male child who was held in high esteem.” He nodded. “But that isn’t the case now?” He shook his head. “But you still will be king?”
“Perhaps.”
“Will you not give me a straight answer?”
He raised his eyebrow and said, “You seem most anxious to become queen. Perhaps I have made the error Lord Lenroc feared.”
Rene was taken aback by the statement. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowed and said between clenched teeth, “It was not I who suggested the banding. If you will remember I had very limited options.” She leaned back in the seat. “If you think my first concern is that I be queen, then that is where you have made your error.”
He continued to meet her gaze for several moments, then he also leaned back in the seat and said, “I do not know if I will be king because I do not know if Meara will become queen.”
“So you mean if Meara lives, she will be queen?”
His face grew red and she thought he might yell at her but instead he sighed and said, “I will not know if I am to be king until after Meara is banded.”
“Why?”
“Because of the song.”
“Because of a song no one knows?”
Annette Lyon says
“There you are, Markanus.” Kaezok looked at the other figures with feigned surprise. “And what have we here?” The tip of his sword ran lightly across Merinne’s cheek. “A dirty little rat. How about you hand over my goblet?”
Merinne shifted, but Markanus held her down. Kaezok placed his sword inches from her heart and held out his other hand. Markanus slowly rose to his feet, urging Torin and Merinne to stay on the ground. “Take me,” he said. “Don’t hurt them.”
“Oh, you want to bargain, do you? Somehow I don’t think you’re in a position to ask for much of anything.” Kaezok’s twisted grin spread across his face.
Markanus didn’t move. “Kill me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? They’re innocent.”
“Innocent? Hardly.” Kaezok’s dark hair played around his face as he shook his head. “Thieves must be punished. Even you cannot dispute justice. What, have they told you the goblet is theirs? You should know better than that. Now. You little urchins stand up and give it to me.”
He twisted his sword, bringing it closer to Merinne’s chest. She and her brother stood slowly, eyeing the blade, which tracked their movement.
Kaezok pointed his sword at Markanus’s chest. “I’ve waited a long time for this day. Never thought I’d be lucky enough to destroy you and get the cup at the same time. His Greatness will be most pleased.”
rrdclt says
“That’s some whack shit,” Orville said to Bridget, who was leaning against the refrigerator. “They need to do what they’re going to do with the land or sell it.” The butterflies she held captive in his stomach stirred.
“Yeah, it’s a shame,” Bridget frowned, lip over reluctant lip. “I agree, but it’s progress too even if it’s slow to come. A friend of mine swears that boarding up the houses makes them safer when they’re vacant.”
“Maybe. But how are you supposed to have a sense of community if you can’t look in your neighbor’s window?” He smiled, white teeth long and musical as the keys on a piano. “And besides what about all the people who are…what’s the opposite of gentrification?”
“You know,” she said, “I don’t know. I think the word comes from gentry, like nobility.”
“So.. then … the people who are… plebified …riffraffified-”
“-Displaced, I think,” she said and then looked down, realizing she was missing the joke. When she looked up, she saw no judgment in Orville’s eyes. “Yeah, the city needs to keep building affordable public housing. That’s what they need to do. …You know, I think Charlotte has a real chance at integration.”
“The New South,” Orville exhaled.
“Yeah …I guess you’re not optimistic.”
“I am.” Their eyes locked. “I want to be.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “Man, I better get back to work.” He smiled and dropped his feet off the table.
“Me too,” she sighed.
Lauren says
While I was deciding what kind of stir-fry to add to the rice (teriyaki vegetables? Thai-style with coconut milk?), the phone rang. I picked up the wall phone in the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Hey Mitch! Is your mom around?”
“I’m sorry, who’s this?”
“This is Joe! Of Joe’s Smorgasbord fame.”
“Oh. I didn’t recognize your voice, Joe. I guess I haven’t heard you on the phone before.” Actually, I was sure I hadn’t.
“Just calling to say hey to your mom.”
“Let me see if she’s around.”
I pressed a pot holder against the phone’s mouthpiece and turned around to where Mom was leaning against the refrigerator and reading the “Peach Buzz” gossip column in the newspaper. “Uh,” I said, “Joe of Joe’s Smogasbord fame wants to talk to you.”
Mom pulled down a corner of the paper to reveal her face. “Oh, surely not.”
“Apparently so.”
“I can’t talk to him. I knit, I’m curmudgeonly, and I’m sure I couldn’t help myself from asking him about his relationship with Jesus Christ.”
“Can I tell him that?”
“No. Just tell him I’m napping. I bet he doesn’t think much of people who sleep in the early evening.”
It seems I had lessened my pressure on the pot holder at a crucial moment, because when I put the phone to my ear again and said, “Uh, Joe?” I was met with an impassioned, “Well, you know, Mitch, Jesus is just all right with me!”
I said, “Sorry, Joe,” and hung up.
Nicole Lorenz says
“Now. Dorm rules. No smoking, drinking, or drugs. No overnights with dates. If I find you skipping classes, your grandfather will find out about it. Ask before you take food from the kitchen. Clean up after yourself. Got all that?”
I nodded, toeing the edge of my trunk. “So, can I leave this here?”
He tapped an empty drawer under my bunk. “You should be able to fit your things into these and the wardrobes. There’s storage space for luggage in the room at the end of the hall, if you want–”
“That’s all right,” I said, climbing the ladder to my bed. “I’ll just leave it there.” The ceiling brushed my scalp as I sat down on the neatly folded sheets. Picking my I.D. card from among the papers set out on my pillow, I slipped it into my pocket.
Rowyn stared at the piece of luggage. “You’re not even going to unpack?”
“I’m used to living out of my trunk.”
“I see.” He didn’t sound the least surprised.
I shrugged my backpack off onto the mattress. “So, how much did Menkin tell you about me?”
Rowyn gave me a slight frown, crossing his arms. “Six schools. Longest stay two years, shortest five weeks. You have a tendency to get yourself in trouble.”
“And he asked you to keep me out of that trouble?”
“He did.”
I shook my head, looking over the orientation sheet. “He shouldn’t do that.”
Lyxdeslic says
Fifty-feet apart, two brothers–who’d last seen each other as innocent boys–stared into the eyes of worldly men. Jonathan noted traces of himself in Theo, a bit of their father too.
A father who’d provided life to both, but died vowing to take it back from one.
“It’s funny,” Theo called out. “This reminds me of when we used to play ‘Marshals and Indians’. Remember?”
Jonathan smiled. “If I recall correctly, I was always the marshal and you the hopeless savage.”
“That’s right. What can I say? I always wanted to be the good guy!”
“Why’d you do it, Theo? Why did you have to go and demolish your life–Dad’s life? Do you know what it did to him when you left? A father, realizing he had to destroy his own son?” Jonathan exposed his gun. “You could’ve had a good life, a great one in fact. He would’ve handed you whatever you wanted. But you had to go and toss it away! Do you have any idea the problem your continued existence has caused me?”
“You really are a sanctimonious bastard,” Theo said. “I never wanted anything but the truth. I just wanted to know what he offered you, what he kept from me and the rest of the world.” He slid back the action lever on his nine-millimeter. “I can literally feel the disgust in my stomach, Jonny. I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Remorse for him? The only thing I’m repentant of is our shared blood.”
KevinS says
Their feet shared the ottoman. Drummer’s big toe provided backbeat to the tune Johan thumped on his bass while they watched the Giants and Dodgers across the room.
“How was the date?” Drummer asked.
Johan stared at the TV, his chin at his chest, he kept playing.
“Went as expected.” Madison flopped onto the couch between them. “What inning?”
“A friend of your mother?” Drummer asked. “Bottom of eight. Tied.”
“Daughter of a rose clubber. Hey, we should go.” Madison nudged Johan. “Kamarat. Want to see a baseball game?”
“What do you mean, went as expected?” Johan asked, continuing to play.
“Dodgers or Angels?” Drummer asked.
“Blind dates always feel like a job interview. I ask a question. She asks a question. Did you see that movie? What music do you like? Too much work.” Madison reached into the pretzels. “I was thinking Padres.”
“It sounds like you did not want her to want you,” Johan said.
“San Diego sounds good.” Drummer leaned forward. “We could stop at San Juan Capistrano, Johan. See the mission.”
The bass line stopped. “You could have anyone.”
At the crack of the bat, Drummer and Madison turned and watched the shortstop make the throw to first.
“So what’s her favorite band?” Drummer asked. He chuckled at the answer. “Something tells me she won’t be getting a second interview.”
“She’s lucky she got a ride home.” Madison slapped Johan’s leg. “Yeah. I’ll buy tickets.” As he stood Madison plucked the B string. “Is that so?”
Regan says
“I ran over a kid when I was sixteen.”
“Hmmmm.”
“It was an honest-to-God accident. He came out of nowhere. I didn’t even have time to swerve.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“How do you think? I was a kid myself. I’d never seen anyone die before. I can still see his face when I close my eyes. His eyes all wide and staring, mouth kinda hanging open, and his brains splattered on the pavement like bubblegum.”
“What was your first instinct, when you saw him lying there?”
“I wanted to drive away.”
“Did you?”
“I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now if I had, would I?”
“Why didn’t you run?”
“It would have been wrong. Hey, you’re not honestly going to let me in, are you?”
“Why would it have been wrong to drive away?”
“Because I killed him and I needed to take responsibility. Listen, I’m no saint. I’m not denying that I blamed the kid for what happened a time or two, but inside I’ve always known whose fault it was. You know you can’t let me in.”
“That’s not for you to decide. Did you try to save the boy?”
“He was already dead.”
“Still. Did you try to save him?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“You’re a good person, you know.”
“No. You can’t do this.”
“Go on in. You’ll see the boy inside, of course. He’s been looking forward to meeting you. Just don’t be surprised when you see his wings.”