mjk

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"Words have no power to impress the mind with the exquisite horror of their reality." -Edgar Allan Poe
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Creative Scribblings - a collection of odds and ends

Penelope

Off Topic:

really? .. here's me thinking I was running amok

Off Topic:

Can we carry on an ot dialogue Gohn or are you going to impose another rule for me to ignore?

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"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

Penelope

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"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

silverwriter

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gohn67

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The Frowning Dog Blog

gohn67

Author's Note:

Just to balance out the submissions a bit more, I decided to post one, but just for fun though. Besides I went over word count by 59 words.

Mr Handsome and Sugar-Free Godiva

Joanna stares at the bouquet of thornless roses and then at the box of Godiva sugar-free chocolates that her date has given her. He stands at the door with his too white teeth and a perfect smile. She feels the sudden need to brush her teeth and apply more lipstick. Maybe even a collagen injection, a perm at some fashionable beauty salon, and nail polish to cover the dirt on her fingers.

'I hope you it like. About the roses, I made sure to get thornless ones. Don't want you to get pricked by one of them. I know women love chocolate, but also want to keep a nice figure, so I thought, why not have the best of both worlds. Sugar-free chocolate.—Well, I guess sugarless chocolate is not on par with sugared types, but they aren't half bad I tell you,' says Mr. Handsome. 'Shall we go, Joanna?' He holds out his hand – his nails look manicured and grime free.

Joanna wants to tell him that she doesn't eat sugar-free anything. She doesn't want to get cancer from saccharine and aspartame. One of her friends ate saccharine sweetened maple syrup with pancakes every morning and a few years later was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Coincidence? She thinks not. 'Okay, let's go,' says Joanna reluctantly.

They drive down to Chez TJ for what Mr. Handsome says will be a romantic dinner. Joanna doesn't listen to him but examines the nutrition facts. Maybe they didn't use saccharine or aspartame. Maybe it's truly unsweetened. In the dark, she squints her eyes, trying to read the tiny print.

Mr. Handsome looks over, driving with one hand and one eye on the road, and nods in approval. 'You can't wait to eat those chocolates huh? I knew you'd like them.'

Joanna reads the label – Aspartame! She jumps back into the cushioned seat of Mr. Handsome's Porsche 911 Carrera Coupe. The box of chocolates lying on her lap.

Dinner goes well. Mr. Handsome swallows the last of his slow poached beef tenderloin. Some oxtail consommé congealing on his plate. Joanna watches as he delicately wipes the sauce off his lips. He looks back at her and she goes back to her chilled carrot soup. Only a few pieces of dungeness crab and sea urchin are left in the bowl. With her spoon she scoops up some crab meat and stuffs it in her mouth. She tries not to taste it—seafood always made her want to vomit. How could she know that carrot soup had seafood in it? She was expecting more carrots.

And now Mr. Handsome, rubbing his palms together, says, 'Now time for desert. Why don't you open your box of Godiva.'

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The Frowning Dog Blog

Penelope

last sentence needs an edit gohn - I think it's open your box of Godiva. I only write this to let you know I read your just for fun entry because you read mine. It seems to lack an ending too. Why not have her vomit into his lap? Something romantic like that would put the sugar free icing on the story.

Have you ever had sea urchin? It has an absolutely repulsive texture or was that sea cucumber?

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"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

valeca

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"...make your own nature, not the advice of others, your guide in life." --Pythia, Oracle of Apollo at Delphi

I'm here.

Dephere

Author's Note:

This is exactly 400 words (not counting title), a tough feat to do, but I hope the judges like it.

Her beaming smile decorated the mirror, as she put on her makeup, the blush turning her full cheeks into a rosy red. She had been looking forward to this day, Saint Valentine’s Day, a day for lovers. The holiday had meant nothing to her previous years, but this year was different. She had never had a Valentine before, never had someone to share her happiness with.

As she finished applying her makeup she grabbed her satchel, stuffing her numerous books into the small brown pouch. She took one last glance in the mirror, hoping he thought she was beautiful. She never had, her rotund form proving too much for her to overcome, but she thought Jesse could overlook that. She was so happy when he had given her his card, the flowery lettering precluding her jubilation. As she read the words her heart jumped, he had asked her to be his Valentine, his special someone.

The day went by like a blur, her classes spent fantasizing about Jesse, his brown hair and blue eyes. She didn’t see him during lunch, or at nutrition break, but she knew she would have him all to herself tonight.

She sped home in a flurry of excitement, rushing to her room in her elation. There on the bed rested her pink dress. Frills decorated the lower half, giving the dress a fluffy appearance. She dawned the dress, quickly adjusting it so it fit just right. The dance was in an hour and she needed the time to make everything perfect. Reapplying her makeup seemed a breeze compared to doing her hair. She kept telling her self the arduous task was worth it, Jesse would appreciate it and her labors would pay off.

“Elizabeth,” Her’s father’s smooth voice echoed through the hall. It was time. She walked down the stairs while caught up in her anxiety, not daring to look up until she was standing next to Jesse. When she did look up, however, she was bewildered, her gaze met only by her mother and father. Her father’s brown eyes were swimming with sorrow, while her mother simply looked out the window in silence.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was faint, clouded with confusion.

“There’s been an accident.” Elizabeth froze, pangs of sorrow claiming control of her body. “Jesse didn’t make it, he was hit by a drunk driver. I’m sorry honey.” Somehow sorry wasn’t enough.

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gohn67

Off Topic:

Thanks for reading my entry Pen, and I'll see what I can do about the ending, but there are more important matters to deal with - sea cucumber.

I never ate sea urchin, but I have eaten sea cucumber. It's really good. Has a kind of jell-o texture to it.

As for sea urchin, they look disgusting so I can't eat them. Sea Urchin Roe on sushi doesn't look very appetizing either. I don't understand why I can chicken eggs but not Urchin eggs.

Off Topic:

Woohoo! A new entry!

PS- Dephere - Title. Bold. In the body of the post.

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The Frowning Dog Blog

Dephere

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Brightside

I don’t mind being on my own, he thought.

Just then the most amazing looking women casually walked passed holding an outrageously large, bright bouquet of flowers. He caught a glimpse of her sparkling smile – filled with affection for an unknown sender. Something ached within his stomach; hunger maybe. Nothing else.

‘Huh, look at the legs on that,’ said his boss, appearing like a wraith from behind the long lines of sports clothing. ‘Bet her mans rich, eh?’

Michael turned to his Store Manager, ‘yeah, ugly and rich.’

The small, balding Manager sniggered and mumbled something lurid. It was always the same. And somehow this man had courted a woman, married her, and sired two young children. How could the Universe let such a being have such beautiful things? He had the worst sense of humour, literally counted the minutes, if not seconds, of his staffs’ lunch breaks, and treated women with such distain and disrespect; Michael was surprised his wife hadn’t killed him in his sleep yet.

He would never do that. He would never treat – did not treat – any of the opposite sex in such a way (he only laughed and joked with the rest of the guys so they didn’t think he was too weird). He knew he could be a better boyfriend/husband than most of the males he worked or drank with, but, somehow, he was left alone once more during St Valentines.

Yeah, but I don’t mind being on my own, he reassured himself. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted. Play football or poker whenever; go for a drink with the lads every night (if he wanted); he could even sit eating chips in his pants watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy (extended version) all day long without anyone moaning at him – if he wanted.

Yes, he was master of his Universe, and no one could take that away from him. Well, there was no one there to take anything away…

Ever since his girlfriend slept with his brother; ever since he lost the balls to ask out a girl; ever since Valentines two years ago. The last time he spoke to his brother.

His small, cold, two roomed flat always seemed colder, even empty, this time of year.

But these things did not matter, not to Michael.

He didn’t mind being alone on the most romantic day of the year.

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My website: Heresy

Penelope

Teapot Tragedy

Author's Note:

400 words without title

He’d bought her a scarlet satin chemise the year before and watched, with delight as she’d modeled it, just for him, with a sensuous sashay. As she sauntered into their bedroom, each salsa beat of her hips reminded him of how her ass looked like an upside down heart. On the morning of the fifteenth, he’d said a silent prayer of thanks to Cupid and Pan for blessing him with a lover like Esther.

In September, Esther began drinking chamomile tea instead of spicy zinfandel wine. While she hadn’t shared any joyful news, Porter was certain she was pregnant and took up the laundry and shopping chores to lighten her routine. The late morning lie ins, canceled lunch dates and lacklustre evening meals were perfectly understandable in her delicate condition. Porter, naturally, made no overtures in their boudoir and Esther seemed ever so grateful when he began sleeping in the spare bedroom in October.

November arrived with Esther being captured by ginseng and ginger cravings which Porter interpreted as a precious expectant woman’s chemical imbalances. He’d brew pots for her quietly refilling the new fragile china cup she fancied.

She was so lithe, her svelte figure hadn’t thickened by December when she switched to Earl Grey laced with lemon and honey. She’d moodily lounge around for hours, in her tatty terry robe, staring into the abyss of tea leaves she’d upended in the Petit Point saucer. Porter told himself that moody rhymed with broody and whistled, tunelessly, while mentally discarding unsuitable names for his progeny.

One evening, in mid-January, Porter came home to discover she’d vanished. Their apartment was strewn with discarded remnants of their cohabitation. The scarlet chemise was balled up in a corner but she’d taken the china cup. Porter tore through the trash for castaway clues. In desperation, he took to steeping tea, inhaling the aroma and scouring the remains in hopes of a cosmic connection with Esther who still haunted his existence.

By Valentine’s Day, Porter’s life had taken on a bitter solo dance of come and go by happenstance. That evening, he brewed up the last of the mulberry tea she’d left behind. He poured it into a thick glass tumbler and watched the leaves spiral wildly from his incessant stirring. When he’d drunk down to the dregs he contemplated the soggy mess left behind and thought, Fortune telling is a mug’s game.

Off Topic:

This was rewritten from a flash fiction I'd done in 2005 and altered into a Valentine's Day tragedy because I love the punch line. Besides, I haven't posted fiction here at the forums in ages. This is not to be taken as an entry but I couldn't resist participating in some capacity other than rebellious.

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"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

LoneWolf

As She Waits

Valentine's Day was nothing like she had expected. Chelsea waited at every available line of communication. She stood at the window, watching the cars fly by, probably filled with the fragrant odors of perfume and roses as couples raced to their favorite restaurants. She sat beside the home phone as she stared at her cell phone, waiting for a ring, a vibration, a glimmer of hope. Chelsea turned the computer on, turned it off. Turned it on...and turned it back off. She waited.

Nick couldn't have forgotten, could he? True, he did have classes all day but surely he wouldn't have forgotten entirely, surely. The sun rose high in the sky, illuminating the joyful faces and sparkling eyes of women everywhere. As the sun sunk low beneath the horizon, kissing the sky and making it blush a dusty pink hue, bedrooms were filled with moans of ecstasy blinded couples. Still, Chelsea waited; the sound of reality shows filled her room.

Finally her phone rang. She grabbed it, put it to her ear, expecting the voice of her beloved. Chelsea was met with a voice quite similar to that of Nick's...his brother's.

So close, but not quite...

The joyful, expectant shine dimmed from her eyes as she listened to Nick's brother. Yes, he was on his way now with a gorgeous rose and a box of chocolates for his baby sister...hey, they were practically family. Yes, he had seen Nick at school. No, he didn't know where he was but boy, oh boy, did those girls get him a lot of stuff...

Chelsea listened to his brother as he continued, but unbeknownst to her a decision was being made inside of her. Her heart rose up, from which tiny slivers of broken shards fell. It cried out, begging, pleading for her next move, for her next decision. It was Valentine's Day and her shattered heart waited. She waited. They waited.

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My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way. --Ernest Hemingway

Wyndstar

Experience Observations

Abigail didn’t usually go to the mall. She was in her seventies, and liked to spent Valentine’s Day with her grand children, but they were grown now, with sweethearts of their own to woo. So rather than stew regretfully, she thought perhaps a stroll. Maybe pick up something nice to gift herself with.

She passed by a happy couple, talking and laughing. They were young, and looked very good together. There was a sort of natural ease between them, a connection the older woman had had with her husband of 45 years, before he passed five years ago.

Abigail was so grateful to those youngsters for reminding her how wonderful love and romance could be.

After a little while of drifting in the same direction as the young lovers who had shared a soda and a box of rich chocolates with each other along the way, Abigail and the pair made their way to the end of the mall.

“It’s taken me a while to understand what passes for romance these days, but take it from an old woman's experienced observations, nothing changes when it comes to couples who are really happy together.” Abigail mentioned to a woman sitting next to her, as the couple gleefully advanced to the video arcade across the way “I never thought of games like these as a proper date, but anything can be romantic now, I suppose.”

“I don’t know,” the woman answered with a strange sort of disinterest “I don’t like video games.”

“Waiting for a date then, dear?” Abigail wondered curiously “It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

“Well, I came here with my husband and we got separated an hour ago.” The woman explained with a sigh “I’ve been looking for him without success so I’m here waiting for him and—oh, there he is.”

The young woman gestured to the video arcade, and Abigail felt an embarrassed flush come over her.

“Well, of course, my best friend would find him.” She went on to say, as the young ‘lovers’ Abigail had observed acknowledged, and then went on to ignore the ‘wife’ “Christ, how they love their video games. I’ll be waiting here another hour…”

Indeed, she would be waiting for the game’s end, for a very long time. And judging from her forlorn expression, she knew it.

Not knowing what to say, Abigail sadly went on her way.

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Old enough to know better, young enough to think I can still get away with it.