Ever since the Giant Pike Accident, he keeps his mouth shut when swimming. Alone in the night, lips twitching, he can still feel the fish flap deep inside. Searching.
He’d heard the stories about changelings. He was certain that the man next door was one. How else could you explain the wolf tracks that could be seen in wet mud or snow leading up to the yard? As a little boy the thought bred fear in him. If he had to walk past the house he would often cross the street and then cross back. Or he would run like all the banshees of hell were chasing him past the house and then out of breath he would slow down to a fast walk glancing back over his shoulder nervously
As he got older the fear turned into a tingly kind of intrigue. He would watch from his window late at night trying to get a glimpse of the man/wolf emerging from the house. The large tree outside his window, and the bushes in front of the back door blocked his view. He thought he almost saw something several times but he couldn’t be sure.
Finally, one fateful moonless night he decided to sit near the trees and watch. He waited for hours, the night cold as it was late November. Silently the door opened and for a moment Mr. O’Malley could be seen. In an instant he was gone and a large grey wolf slipped out of the door. Denny gasped to see it. The wolf’s head shot up at the sound and headed in Denny’s direction. He ran through the wood. He could hear the wolf coming quickly behind him. His foot slipped and he began to fall at first into nothingness and then with a splash he fell into Jackolear Lake. His mouth wide open in a scream. Denny gasped and water filled his throat and lungs. Suddenly he found himself turned into a giant pike.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
from today's prompt
I had been persuaded and dissuaded so many times I was starting to feel like a yoyo. Should I go? Should I stay? It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal at the time. Quietly I had gone to the post office and filled out the forms, had my picture taken and spent the next three weeks rushing to the mailbox to see if it had arrived. After the arrival of the little blue book that practically screamed “Portal to Adventure” it was simply a matter of choosing where and when.
I spent the next three weeks investigating this place and that, spinning the globe and sticking my finger on it. Often I would land on some island in the south Pacific – although not totally random. The trouble started when I began to tell people of my plans to travel. Suddenly every horror story, every fear and so many what ifs that the whole process came to an alarming halt. What about disease, or terrorists, or those sorts of men who prey on women who travel alone?
There’s a part of me that longs for excitement and adventure. There’s a part of me that is scared to death of the whole thing. I’ve thought about shelving my plans but there’s part of me that fears a boring life where you slip and die in the bathtub and never get to enjoy anything anywhere because of being afraid of the what ifs.
My bag is packed. My passport is in my purse. The taxi is outside. I’m ready to go. Where, I don’t know. The plan is to go to the airport, walk up to an international ticket counter and find the next available flight to somewhere.
“Are you sure this is what you really want to do?” My mother asks.
I spent the next three weeks investigating this place and that, spinning the globe and sticking my finger on it. Often I would land on some island in the south Pacific – although not totally random. The trouble started when I began to tell people of my plans to travel. Suddenly every horror story, every fear and so many what ifs that the whole process came to an alarming halt. What about disease, or terrorists, or those sorts of men who prey on women who travel alone?
There’s a part of me that longs for excitement and adventure. There’s a part of me that is scared to death of the whole thing. I’ve thought about shelving my plans but there’s part of me that fears a boring life where you slip and die in the bathtub and never get to enjoy anything anywhere because of being afraid of the what ifs.
My bag is packed. My passport is in my purse. The taxi is outside. I’m ready to go. Where, I don’t know. The plan is to go to the airport, walk up to an international ticket counter and find the next available flight to somewhere.
“Are you sure this is what you really want to do?” My mother asks.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
sometimes 300 words is just not enough
This direction or that, I could not decide. The main road looked promising with its wide open spaces and winding ways. I can see for quite a distance and there seemed to be little danger of being waylaid by mishaps, or robbers or wild beasts. The Kingsway, you can almost see the castle from here. I was certain we would arrive by midafternoon
But, as I turn in the other direction I can just barely hear the sound of a lute playing somewhere in the shadows of the tall trees. As I look further down the wooded path I can see a deer step out onto the path. Surely if there was danger lurking there she would not be wandering so openly. There is a river further down this way I’m told, amidst tall ferns, and there is a tale of a shallow place with a golden beach where the waters are warm and healing.
That is the great draw for me. As a small child I had fallen from the parapet of my uncle’s manor and had been badly injured. The trip from my home to this place was long and painful. It had taken more than two days to get here. I would have never come had it not been a summons from her majesty. But now I debated whether to go straight to the palace or take this short detour. It would surely take no more than an extra hour or two and I could perhaps be healed from this pain forever but the letter commanded that I come to the palace as quickly as possible.
“Mistress, shall we continue to the palace.” The driver was hot and dusty from the journey. I knew that he would benefit from a little rest in the shade as well.
But, as I turn in the other direction I can just barely hear the sound of a lute playing somewhere in the shadows of the tall trees. As I look further down the wooded path I can see a deer step out onto the path. Surely if there was danger lurking there she would not be wandering so openly. There is a river further down this way I’m told, amidst tall ferns, and there is a tale of a shallow place with a golden beach where the waters are warm and healing.
That is the great draw for me. As a small child I had fallen from the parapet of my uncle’s manor and had been badly injured. The trip from my home to this place was long and painful. It had taken more than two days to get here. I would have never come had it not been a summons from her majesty. But now I debated whether to go straight to the palace or take this short detour. It would surely take no more than an extra hour or two and I could perhaps be healed from this pain forever but the letter commanded that I come to the palace as quickly as possible.
“Mistress, shall we continue to the palace.” The driver was hot and dusty from the journey. I knew that he would benefit from a little rest in the shade as well.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
not as consistent as I'd like to be but here's one for today
She could smell a hint of cinnamon in the air as she stood gazing up at the sky. The wind rustling through the trees made the silk move softly against her skin. Oh to live in a place like this forever, where possibility was everywhere. Where today was not confined by the mistakes of yesterday, or held captive by the demands of tomorrow. To just be, to just remain in a place of complete peace and contentment, but she let those thoughts go so they would not spoil this moment.
She moved softly along the path. Barefooted she could feel the warmth of the ground. In the distance she heard the calling of peacocks, and various other birds. Coming to the garden she could smell the jasmine and the honeysuckle and the fragrance of the traditional roses. There were dahlias and lilies as well. The air was alive with butterflies. She made her way through to the furthest part of the garden where she came upon a fork in the road. Looking east she saw that the path would lead to a lovely gazebo overlooking the well manicured lawns. Looking west was the more inviting way. She could see the arbor and beyond shade of the tall trees.
She made her decision and walked onwards toward the trees that seemed to be urging her forward. The path widened as she went and in the distance she could her the low roar of the river. She glanced behind her to see if anyone was following her but they were unaware of her escape. Could this be really happening or was it only a dream?
“Lovely, isn’t it?” He smiled at her. Coming closer, softly, gently he said, “Come with me. Hop on this elephant and we can go away from here.”
She moved softly along the path. Barefooted she could feel the warmth of the ground. In the distance she heard the calling of peacocks, and various other birds. Coming to the garden she could smell the jasmine and the honeysuckle and the fragrance of the traditional roses. There were dahlias and lilies as well. The air was alive with butterflies. She made her way through to the furthest part of the garden where she came upon a fork in the road. Looking east she saw that the path would lead to a lovely gazebo overlooking the well manicured lawns. Looking west was the more inviting way. She could see the arbor and beyond shade of the tall trees.
She made her decision and walked onwards toward the trees that seemed to be urging her forward. The path widened as she went and in the distance she could her the low roar of the river. She glanced behind her to see if anyone was following her but they were unaware of her escape. Could this be really happening or was it only a dream?
“Lovely, isn’t it?” He smiled at her. Coming closer, softly, gently he said, “Come with me. Hop on this elephant and we can go away from here.”
Monday, November 10, 2008
and yet another
He arrived, unaware of the lipstick on his collar. She saw. Her green eyes flashed. Her icy stare giving him a hint of the jealous silence he was to endure.
day 10
the best layed plans ... been out of the loop just a bit - but hopefully i'm back in the message game
day 10
She hadn’t expected these sorts of memories to come flooding in but she shouldn’t have been surprised. As the rain fell she remembered the spring that they had planted so many radishes. They grew in 3 weeks almost too long for the patience of a 4 year old. Mother had made radishes a hundred different ways that year. That had been the year that Elsa had first fallen in love with gardening.
As the low hanging clouds made her think of the autumn of her 18th year when she had first fallen in love. The smell of the earth in the apple orchard, laying under the trees, on a wool blanket and looking up at the harvest moon hoping that the winter would never come.
She remembered another fall as well. The year her dad came down with cancer. She had planted 300 daffodils in the yard. Believing that just the expectation of them blooming in the spring just might keep him alive longer than the doctor’s had predicted. She had been right too, they had said he wouldn’t last the winter but it wasn’t until the middle of April he had passed. The last daffodil had died and two days later he had gone.
The smell of jasmine floated in the breeze. The singing was almost over. People had stood waiting in the rain and she knew it was her turn. She stepped forward and then she bent down, reaching into the pocket of her long raincoat. She pulled out a small trowel and scooped up a small amount of dirt. This should have been the spring of radishes. She placed the dirt on the tiny coffin. Tears falling down her face, she would never have imagined that she would be planting her four year old in the ground.
day 10
She hadn’t expected these sorts of memories to come flooding in but she shouldn’t have been surprised. As the rain fell she remembered the spring that they had planted so many radishes. They grew in 3 weeks almost too long for the patience of a 4 year old. Mother had made radishes a hundred different ways that year. That had been the year that Elsa had first fallen in love with gardening.
As the low hanging clouds made her think of the autumn of her 18th year when she had first fallen in love. The smell of the earth in the apple orchard, laying under the trees, on a wool blanket and looking up at the harvest moon hoping that the winter would never come.
She remembered another fall as well. The year her dad came down with cancer. She had planted 300 daffodils in the yard. Believing that just the expectation of them blooming in the spring just might keep him alive longer than the doctor’s had predicted. She had been right too, they had said he wouldn’t last the winter but it wasn’t until the middle of April he had passed. The last daffodil had died and two days later he had gone.
The smell of jasmine floated in the breeze. The singing was almost over. People had stood waiting in the rain and she knew it was her turn. She stepped forward and then she bent down, reaching into the pocket of her long raincoat. She pulled out a small trowel and scooped up a small amount of dirt. This should have been the spring of radishes. She placed the dirt on the tiny coffin. Tears falling down her face, she would never have imagined that she would be planting her four year old in the ground.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
day three
follow this link to today's prompt and other writings for today!
Hanging in her closet was the most amazingly beautiful red dress. She had shopped for weeks to find it. She had determined that she would wear only red to the wedding. It would show off the auburn lights in her hair.
She had hunted for the right jewelry. Diamond earrings hanging against the place on her neck that he had loved to kiss. A necklace that fell just between her breasts.
Finally the shoes, beautiful red stilettos, she loved those shoes. She knew that by the end of the evening she’d be suffering but it would all be worth it.
It would most certainly be worth it if he would look at her and see that she was completely put together. That she had gotten over him and had moved on with her life. She didn’t want there to be any doubt in his mind. She didn’t need him and she didn’t want him to think that she lay awake night after night missing his touch, longing for the sound of his voice in her ears. Surely he would see that she was completely recovered and didn’t spend every gray afternoon walking about the apartment in one of his old sweaters pretending he would appear at any moment.
She’d spent hours on her makeup and hair. The dress fit perfectly. The jewelry was perfect. All she needed was the shoes. She reached into the bag but there was only one. Where could the other one be? She frantically searched the apartment. Thinking back she vaguely recalled losing her balance on the train, she hadn’t been aware of the shoe falling out of her shopping bag. In the end she hung up the dress, put away the jewelry and spent the evening roaming the apartment in on of his old sweaters.
Hanging in her closet was the most amazingly beautiful red dress. She had shopped for weeks to find it. She had determined that she would wear only red to the wedding. It would show off the auburn lights in her hair.
She had hunted for the right jewelry. Diamond earrings hanging against the place on her neck that he had loved to kiss. A necklace that fell just between her breasts.
Finally the shoes, beautiful red stilettos, she loved those shoes. She knew that by the end of the evening she’d be suffering but it would all be worth it.
It would most certainly be worth it if he would look at her and see that she was completely put together. That she had gotten over him and had moved on with her life. She didn’t want there to be any doubt in his mind. She didn’t need him and she didn’t want him to think that she lay awake night after night missing his touch, longing for the sound of his voice in her ears. Surely he would see that she was completely recovered and didn’t spend every gray afternoon walking about the apartment in one of his old sweaters pretending he would appear at any moment.
She’d spent hours on her makeup and hair. The dress fit perfectly. The jewelry was perfect. All she needed was the shoes. She reached into the bag but there was only one. Where could the other one be? She frantically searched the apartment. Thinking back she vaguely recalled losing her balance on the train, she hadn’t been aware of the shoe falling out of her shopping bag. In the end she hung up the dress, put away the jewelry and spent the evening roaming the apartment in on of his old sweaters.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
day two!
follow this link for today's prompt and other writings at Your Messages!
Howling, haunting hissing sounds. How could this have happened to them? Whispering, weeping, wailing. What will finally bring an end to this misery? She checks his room again. Still gone.
Howling, haunting hissing sounds. How could this have happened to them? Whispering, weeping, wailing. What will finally bring an end to this misery? She checks his room again. Still gone.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Hurray its November!!! Time for Your Message!!
I participated last year and had the most wonderful time (not to mention it all leading to my fabulous trip to london!!!)
To see today's prompt and read some of the others go here:
Here's mine:
The danger was there, real not imagined. She had been swimming since she was kneehigh to a tadpole. She’d heard tales about them but there was never any sign that the dangerous manfish lurked in these waters. Truth be told, as a young girl the manfish stories had seemed even less real than those of the mermaids, and sea monsters, but leaving childish things behind the story of the manfish grew more real.
She sat on the shore watching the waves rolling in. It was the summer of her 17th year. She had come almost every single day to play on the beach with her girlfriends. Together they would wander down the beach in a pack laughing a bit too loudly as they neared the boys playing beach volleyball. Pretending to be indifferent to the catcalls from the surfer dudes that they passed.
She believed she might still be resistant to the manfish, none of the other girls in her group had succumbed. Of course, not one of them had entered the water, not all summer. Oh sure, they had walked along the edge, even wandered in up to their knees but no further. Pretending they were disinterested in getting wet. But today was different. It was 102 in the shade, too hot to sit and bake on the sand.
Making her way down to the water, glancing up and down seeing nothing but the children playing on their boogie boards, older men and women bobbing up and down in the water and the surfers off in the distance, she felt she was safe enough and ran on in.
She dove below a rising wave and came up on the otherside. He was there of course, looking harmless but she knew he was about to drag her into dangerous waters.
To see today's prompt and read some of the others go here:
Here's mine:
The danger was there, real not imagined. She had been swimming since she was kneehigh to a tadpole. She’d heard tales about them but there was never any sign that the dangerous manfish lurked in these waters. Truth be told, as a young girl the manfish stories had seemed even less real than those of the mermaids, and sea monsters, but leaving childish things behind the story of the manfish grew more real.
She sat on the shore watching the waves rolling in. It was the summer of her 17th year. She had come almost every single day to play on the beach with her girlfriends. Together they would wander down the beach in a pack laughing a bit too loudly as they neared the boys playing beach volleyball. Pretending to be indifferent to the catcalls from the surfer dudes that they passed.
She believed she might still be resistant to the manfish, none of the other girls in her group had succumbed. Of course, not one of them had entered the water, not all summer. Oh sure, they had walked along the edge, even wandered in up to their knees but no further. Pretending they were disinterested in getting wet. But today was different. It was 102 in the shade, too hot to sit and bake on the sand.
Making her way down to the water, glancing up and down seeing nothing but the children playing on their boogie boards, older men and women bobbing up and down in the water and the surfers off in the distance, she felt she was safe enough and ran on in.
She dove below a rising wave and came up on the otherside. He was there of course, looking harmless but she knew he was about to drag her into dangerous waters.
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