All He Said

Today's muse: Six Sentences

This is a true story. Needless to say, it was the one and only time I skipped school. The matter was adjourned sine die, and His Honour warned us that if we appeared before The Court in any future proceeding, this matter would be revisted. I don't plan on finding out how long the statute of limitations is on this.

* * *

All He Said

On the way back to school, in the back seat of a police cruiser, I played the scenario through my mind. The scenario where I tell my father—the man who always gazed at me with pride and bragged to his friends about his Straight-A-Daughter—that I was arrested for shoplifting. My heart pounded as I imagined him shouting that I was no longer accepted in our family and the look of disgust as he showed me out the front door; the hollow echo as the lock snapped in place behind me. I wondered if any of my friends’ parents would take me in, or if I would have to survive on the street, begging for money and food. Nothing I imagined came close to the pain in my heart when my father looked at me, sadness pouring from him in waves, and said in a quiet voice: “You really disappointed me.” That was all he said.

Training Day

Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday
Today's words: abuse, cramp, hatred

* * *

Training Day

“When you’re sleeping,” she thought, “when you’re at your most vulnerable, I will come to your side and inflict pain like you have never imagined.”

Joan shifted on the narrow bench to ease the cramp that began to squeeze her left calf, cursing the man she once loved, but now hated so much she frequently planned intricate ways to kill him.

“I shouldn’t have to take this kind of abuse,” she spat out. Her soft brown eyes, usually shining with laughter, now sparked with hatred.

“You need the discipline,” Vince replied, as he repositioned her arms to his satisfaction.

“What the hell was I thinking marrying a fitness trainer?” she muttered, lifting the barbell for the next set of reps.

Gone Fishing

Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday
Today's words: bait, jump, victim

* * *

Gone Fishing

You cast the line, tickled the surface of the water, enticed me to nibble. Ripples beckoned and undulated, promised depths beyond my imagination. The bait was tempting and I surrendered my innocence. But your net held me down as I thrashed about, a helpless victim, unable to jump through the webbing to safety. The tide has now turned. The last fisherman to lure me was capsized.

Date Night

Today's muse: Six Sentences

* * *

Date Night

She moaned beneath him, clawed at his back, matching him thrust for thrust. More, was all he could think as he poured himself into her. Later, his arms wrapped around her in a protective grip, he contemplated asking her to stay, but knew she wouldn’t. Despite the intimacy of their relationship, she insisted on maintaining a certain distance. In silence, he watched her leave his bed and saunter across the room, adjusting her snug black dress. “See you next week,” she said, as she scooped up the bills from the dresser.

Garlic

Today's muse: Daily Writing Practice
Today's prompt: Garlic. Marc even said we'd get bonus points for writing something without vampires. Not easy for a Buffy fan!

* * *

Garlic

“It needs more garlic.”

“I don’t think so,” said Andrea, taking the wooden spoon from John.

“Nonna’s sauce has more garlic,” he insisted.

He peered over her shoulder as she stirred the thick red mixture. The scent was intoxicating. Fresh plum tomatoes, yellow bell peppers, Spanish onions and, of course, garlic, bubbled together in an erotic dance.

John pulled his wife’s hair back, exposing the slender column of her neck, pressed a kiss just below her ear. Andrea slapped at him and made a half-hearted attempt to shove him away.

“Stop it! Your family is going to be here soon and I have to finish the sauce.”

“The sauce is fine. Just add more garlic.”

“It doesn’t need more garlic!”

“I’ve been eating my grandmother’s sauce since I can remember. Trust me—it needs more garlic.”

Andrea slammed the spoon down on the counter. Red specks dotted the pristine backsplash. She whirled on him.

“Am I a bad cook?”

“What?” Shit, this was one of those questions with no right answer. “Of course you’re a good cook.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms in a vain attempt to sooth. She shrugged him off and turned back to the stove as the doorbell rang.

From the kitchen, she listened as his family came in, their voices raised in greeting. She pictured the confusion at the door while cheeks were kissed and hands were shook. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked to the entrance to greet her in-laws. John’s grandmother stood in the centre of the fray. Barely five feet tall, she had a stocky build that spoke of confidence and strength. There was no question she was the head of the family.

Nonna held out her arms in a warm greeting and Andrea moved forward to accept the embrace, immediately soothed by the warmth.

“Come inside,” said Andrea, leading them to the living room. Once she was satisfied that everyone was comfortable and had a drink, she excused herself to check on dinner. Moments later, John was at her side.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her neck. She shrugged her shoulder, not yet ready to forgive him.

“I’m not your grandmother,” she said, trying to control her anger. She didn’t want to argue in front of his family. “I can cook just as well as she can. Maybe my sauce doesn’t taste the same, but it’s mine. And it’s good. Damn good!” She stabbed a thumb into her chest and John captured her hand, bringing it up to kiss it, knowing he risked a jab with an angry fist.

“I never said you weren’t a good cook. I only pointed out that the sauce could use a little more garlic.” He cut off her retort with a kiss, pouring himself into it, tangling his hands in her curls. Breathless, she pulled back.

“That’s not an apology,” she said, arranging her hair, though she admitted it was a good start.

“How’s this?” He cupped her face and as his head dipped down, Andrea caught a flash over his shoulder.

“That’s enough now.” Nonna batted at John’s arm, shooing both of them away. Andrea reddened, mortified that the family matriarch had caught them making out. Nonna plucked up the wooden spoon, dipped it into the pot and tasted. She gave an approving nod.

“You take your wife away and make friends again,” she said, dismissing them with a wave.

John tugged Andrea across the kitchen, prepared to give her a proper apology in the foyer, away from prying family eyes. They looked back as Nonna began to peel and chop a number of garlic bulbs. Andrea glanced up at John who made a brave attempt at fixing a blank look on his face.

“It needed more garlic,” he said.

“Shut up.”

Truth, Lies & Judgement

Today's muse: Six Sentences

* * *

Truth, Lies & Judgement

Truths I believed as a child are coloured with lies when viewed through adult eyes. What once comforted, now only confuses and angers; makes my heart ache with questions. The black and white they preached whirls around me and the emerging gray sings to my soul. After so many years of turmoil, my spirit is now content. But, I walk the circle in darkness, afraid to step out and look into the face of judgement. And when I look up to the waning Mother for guidance, she only grins back at me like a Cheshire Cat.

One Last Time

Today's muse: Daily Writing Practice

Today's prompt ... Four lines of prose about: one last time

* * *

One Last Time

“This probably isn’t a good idea,” he said, as he nudged the door open and let me squeeze by him into the empty foyer.

I knew it wasn’t, but this was our first home—we moved in the day we were married—and we had raised a family here. As my hand brushed the etchings behind the pantry door that marked the height of each child on every birthday until they were thirteen, a tear trickled down my cheek.

“I just wanted to see it one last time.”

Growth Analysis

Today's muse: Six Sentences

* * *

Growth Analysis

The bottle of Bud spits and hisses as Jerry twists off the top. He takes a long pull, drags his bare arm across his mouth and lets out a sigh that echoes throughout the neighbourhood. Beside him, John smacks his lips (having just completed the identical ritual) and bobs his head in a meaningful nod, punctuating it with: “Yup.” Jerry takes another long pull, then lets out a thunderous belch, before continuing with the usual routine. “Comin' in nice this year,” he says. John surveys his pal’s backyard—the lawn that is the envy of every man on Falston Street—takes another pull from his beer, wipes, sighs, then: “Yup.”

The Catapult

Today's muse: Six Sentences

Further antics of Fred-the-Cat.

* * *

The Catapult

My husband called me at work and, without preamble, said: "Now before I tell you this, everything is OK." No good conversation has ever started with that sentence and a million things ran through my mind; none of which came close to what he said next: “Fred the Cat took a nose dive off our fourth floor balcony.”

It seems that as my husband stepped out onto the balcony, Fred the Cat scooted out and, upon realizing where she was, ran back and forth from end to end in a blind panic until she shot through the side bars, sailing down three flights, where she ricocheted off the front door canopy, before landing on the ground. There wasn’t a scratch on her and when I got home, she spent an hour telling me all about her exciting adventure and bemoaning the fact that, at the tender age of eight months, her cache had already dwindled down to seven lives.

For several months thereafter, my husband would ask the cat: “Hey, kitty, what’s this?” And when she turned to him, with the expectant look of a beloved pet about to receive a delicious treat, he would cup his hands around his mouth like a bullhorn and chant “Meeeeeoooooowwwww!”

A Note from School

Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday.
Today's words: gentle, praise, vulgar

* * *

A Note from School

Avoiding eye contact, Johnny placed the note from his teacher on the table, nudging it inch by inch until it lay next to his father’s coffee mug. “What the hell is this?” John Sr. snarled, snatching up the monogrammed stationery and turning it over several times, as though he could read it without actually unfolding it. Johnny mumbled a response, but all John Sr. could make out were words like “trouble” and “teacher” and “sign”. John Sr. read the note aloud: “Johnny has, of late, dismissed his usual gentle nature and has taken to using vulgar language which is, shall we say, ‘too colourful’ for our classroom.”

“Well, shit, son!” he shouted, clapping Johnny on the back, knocking the boy into the table. “That’s gawdamned high praise coming from Sister Mary Theresa!”

Lease

Today's muse: One Word. Today's word: Lease

* * *

Lease

“Sign here, here, here and here, and initial here and here,” he said, punctuating each ‘here’ by poking at the parchment with a gnarled finger. I signed and initialled and handed the Mont Blanc back to him, shivering when his cold hand brushed mine. “The contract says you will give me wealth beyond my imagination,” I said, putting out my hand, palm up. “The contract also says you will give me your soul,” he replied. I threw my head back and laughed until tears streamed down my face and he stared at me, surprised I had the audacity to mock him. “There’s nothing left,” I said, when I could catch my breath, “that bitch I married already sucked it out of me.”

Letting the Cat out of the Bag

Today's muse: Six Sentences

This site has become my new obsession. Don't worry, it won't last long. Just bear with me while I work/write through it. Besides, the format lends well to retelling anecdotes like this one (which, by the way, is a true story).

* * *

Letting the Cat Out of the Bag

A few years ago, before green was keen, we lugged our plastic grocery bags up to our apartment, and began to unload our bounty, tossing the empty plastic bags on the floor to later knot and store for use as garbage liners. Fred The Cat, living up to the Curiosity Adage (or, in her case, the Scare The Shit Outta Me Proverb), crawled into one of the discarded bags. It could have been her imaginary friend, or the ghost of Christmas Past—we’re still not sure—but something spooked her. She jumped up in the air, all four legs splayed out like a freestyle parachuter, claws at the ready. As the bag shredded to ribbons around her, one handle managed to loop around her head, and she ran around the apartment from room to room in a zigzag pattern trying to escape the evil plastic monster that dogged her every move.

It took us about fifteen minutes to remove the plastic yoke—not because we couldn’t catch her, but because we were both paralyzed with laughter.

Truth or Dare

Today's muse: Six Sentences

* * *

Truth or Dare

Staring down the length of a gun barrel wasn’t quite the experience she’d expected. More frightened, is what she should have been, and even though her heart pounded so much she was sure he could see it bump against her meagre shirt, she was rather calm about the whole thing. The argument had escalated, moving with lightening speed from harsh words to blood-letting blows, until they stood panting, each sizing up the other. He saw her gaze flick over to the night stand where he kept his .22 and he lunged after her as she darted across the room, his hand clamping on hers as she wrenched open the drawer. And now, his cold grey eyes stared back at her, unblinking, unfeeling, asking one thing: Who would have the nerve to move first? Well, she thought, it might as well be me, and she squeezed back the trigger.

Back in Order

Today's muse: Six Sentences

I have been wanting to try this for quite some time. Conveying a story (or at least a complete scenario) in six sentences is not an easy task.

* * *

Back in Order

She picked up a brass figurine, one he so often used to punish her, and wiped off a stray drop of blood. She wove her way around the various floor lamps, tables and chairs of the crowded living room, assuring herself that no item was out of place. Considering the vicious struggle that had ensued, it was quite surprising she was able to put things back the way they were—the way he liked them, the way he insisted they be. Satisfied that everything was in order, she left the house, closing the door behind her one last time. “They won’t even notice he’s missing,” she thought, quite pleased with herself. “Until he starts decomposing, of course.”

Accident ~ a haiku

Today's muse: Daily Writing Practice

It's Two Haiku Tuesday at DWP. Today's prompt: Accidents.


* * *


some say accident
but you, my lovely daughter
were a nice surprise



~


a mistake you say
yet you continue to strike
sorry’s not enough

The Spill

Today's muse: One Minute Writer


* * *


The Spill


“Shit!”

It was a frantic whisper as the glass of milk tipped and a white lake spread across the table. If he sees this, there will be hell to pay.

Sheila grabbed a cloth from the kitchen counter and sopped up the mess, lunging back and forth from the table to the sink to wring out the drenched rag.

“Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?” she muttered.

Her hands trembled and she prayed he didn’t walk in and catch her cleaning up. She knew that would be worse. Like the time she had replaced the broken vase. She had nudged it while dusting and it had exploded into a million pieces. It was days before he found a tiny shard that had slid to a far corner under the sofa. She had walked with a limp for quite a while after that.

The milk crept towards the edge of the table. She squeezed the cloth into the sink, wrung it violently, imagined it was his neck, and turned back to the table to damn the lactose waterfall.

This was how he found her. He stood in the doorway watching her. As she whipped around from the sink, shaking out the twisted cloth, she looked up and met his gaze. The terror in her eyes was unmistakeable. Her body twitched as she hesitated. He could see her mind spinning, searching for an escape, weighing all the options.

“Sheila.” He said her name quietly, afraid to startle her. “It’s me.”

His heart plummeted as he watched her crumble.

“I’m sorry!” she pleaded, holding her hands up in defence. “It was an accident.”

“I know,” he said, and started to walk towards her. She backed away, her eyes darting about, calculating the safest route to freedom.

“I can clean it up. It’ll only take a moment. I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.” Her words tripped over each other as she rushed to explain before he could mete out retribution.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” he said, his voice gentle and calm. He inched closer. “It was an accident. I know that.”

He stood next to her and studied the top of her head as she studied the floor. He was careful not to touch her, knew she’d shatter like fine crystal.

“Look at me.” It wasn’t an order, not even a suggestion. He was begging her because it tore him up inside to see her like this, to see her cower in fear. He couldn’t understand why anyone would destroy such a delicate flower.

“Please, Sheila.” He was embarrassed that his voice faltered, knew he was about to cry. “Please look at me.”

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and touched her arm. She cringed, but he only held her arm tighter. He wasn’t going to let her run away. Not this time.

“Look at me.” His voice was sharp now. This has to stop, he thought, and it’s going to stop now.

Recognizing the anger in his voice, Sheila lifted her head and met his gaze. Her eyes flared with challenge and there was no doubt she planned to win this time. He was surprised by that, and more than a little pleased. A smile played on his lips and he gave an approving nod.

“There’s my girl,” he said, and the smile broke into a grin.

“Allen.”

She was surprised to see him. Just moments ago, she was back with the monster, living a nightmare. She could feel her heart pounding, but she looked around and took in her surroundings, realized where she was.

Home. With Allen. Not the monster.

He caught her as she collapsed against him. He held her tight until her trembling stopped.

“It’s ok,” he murmured into her hair. “I got you. He won’t hurt you. He can’t. Not anymore.”