Month: February 2015

Daily Prompt; Last Words

Daily Prompt; Last Words

 You have the chance to write one last post on your blog before you stop blogging forever. Write it.

Well this is it readers. My www access is going away and I’m not sure how long this connection will hold before I never get to talk to you again.

Some of you may remember me writing about the cash and it’s not going to do me any good now so I thought I would let you know where I hid it. Maybe one or two of my more intrepid readers will venture out to retrieve it – if you do please remember the curse and take appropriate precautions.

I put it all under the

Mirth and Motivation Haiku: Last Words… Funkangeles Last Words

What Kinda Club Was That?

“If your mother saw you today, she’d roll over in her grave. She didn’t raise you to be a fanatic.”

“I’m not a fanatic. I’m an activist.”

“You’re a fanatic.”

“I’m a visionary.”

“You’re a fanatic, a zealot.”

“I’m an enthusiast.”

“You’re a fanatic.”

“Dad, I just joined a club.”

“Like those Manson kids just joined a club?”

“Not the same thing, Dad. You know that.”

 

 

This is My Train

Ridin’ the train, Johnny on the box
Folsom Prison Blues
Shuckin’ coal, like there’s no tomorrow
The firebox glows and pulses: red, orange, red, orange
The boiler bulges and only a check valve offers relief

We won’t slow down
We won’t let up
Blowing through stations – we turn them into nothing more than
Whistle stops

Crowded platforms whoosh past us, rifling my hair
Are we standing still or is it they?
Wannabe passengers wave and smile upon realizing that
This is not their train
This is my train

Blow the whistle Johnny
Let ‘em know we’re comin’

I Mighta Just Pissed It Off

mondays-finish-the-story

The old typewriter had a mind of its own, Grandpa warned me.

“Stay away from that boy. Damn thing’s haunted, can’t get rid of it. I have thrown that sucker away, burnt it, buried it deep, back ‘hind the house. I even took a 12 pound sledge to it; busted it up in a thousand pieces.” He cocked his head and squinted.

“Mighta hurt it that time; it was back the next day though, a bit tweaked. You can see the platen ain’t quite straight anymore. I’m afraid I mighta just pissed it off with the hammer and I’ve left it alone ever since.”

“When I was a young man I took a job at the paper. That was my typewriter. Ever time I’d roll in a sheet of paper it would start typin’ on its own – spooky, like a player piano. It always wrote the same thing. It typed:”

“It was a dark and stormy night”

2015-02-23-bw-beacham
Photo by Barbara W. Beacham – 2015

Daily Prompt; A Plot of Earth

Daily Prompt; A Plot of Earth

You’re given a plot of land and have the financial resources to do what you please. What’s the plan?

 

“… and finally, I leave all 120 sections of my ranch and all the buildings (with contents not already endowed earlier in this document), roads, and resources found thereon to my Nephew, William Wilson Williams III, on the condition that he remain a good steward and protect all indigenous artifacts, burial sites, and ruins. In addition he must never divulge the location of the dinosaur and other prehistoric bones and/or fossils contained within the boundaries of said ranch property.” The lawyer folded the document in half and set it on the green blotter covering the desk he was sitting behind. He removed his spectacles and folded the temples before setting them atop the document. He squared the papers to the desk edge and squared the eyeglasses to the papers.

After this ritual he peered out at the rest of us in the office. We were seated in straight backed chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of his desk.

“Any questions?” he intoned and looked each of us in the eyes before moving his gaze to the next. My dad raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Williams?” the lawyer acknowledged.

“That’s it?” Dad said, “My own brother left me $500.00 and a dry well outside Abeline?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said the lawyer. “Well there’s also the old, sepia photograph of your grandmother posing with William Bonney. But there may be some question about its authenticity.”

“Shit,” said Dad, “Don’t that beat all?” he stood up and walked out of the office.

The lawyer called after him, “Mr. Williams, if you stop at Miss Grey’s desk she has a packet for you containing copies of all the documents concerning you which are associated with your brother’s estate.” He looked back at the rest of us, “any other questions?” There were none. He looked at me and asked me to stay after the others left so that he could hand me the keys to the house and give me the pertinent documents and information on the ranch.

I was another hour with the lawyer and Miss Grey. In the elevator lobby I found my sister waiting. “Hey Ellen,” I said, “what do you think?”

“I don’t know for sure but I think Uncle Nelson just left me about a million and a half worth of impressionist art. I could never sell it though and I can’t keep it in my apartment.”

“Why not?”

“Billy, I live in a one bedroom walk-up in Racine for God’s sake. Will you let me leave them at the ranch and let me come visit them from time to time?”

“’Course I will Elly.” I gave her a hug.

“What are you going to do with the old homestead?” she looked at me.

“I guess I gotta find those dinosaur bones and Indian graveyards,” I said, “I need to know where the things are that I’m protectin’. He never even told me about those.”

 

Time Pooled Around My Feet

I wrote this today for the Book Bandits. I’m not sure what it is but I kind of liked it.
I had 15 minutes to write and the prompt was:

  • Time pooled around my feet.

I waited until we were alone and then…
I did it –
I asked her.

I could tell that she wasn’t expecting it
she was surprised.
Her eyes widened and
her jaw went slack as she considered the enormity
of what I had asked.

Four simple words that I had so cavalierly tossed out,
in her direction.
Four simple words with the power to change my life.
To change her life.

I tried to pretend that her answer didn’t really matter to me. I couldn’t do it and,
I watched with trepidation as she groped for what she wanted to say.
Time pooled around my feet and stood still.
I waited as she considered – anticipation consuming me.
A rainbow of emotions swirled around our heads

– Kaleidoscopic –

She reached for her glass.
It was empty.
She sat it back down.

Time suddenly kicked into high gear;
Put on running shoes.
The puddles I was standing in grew deeper.
She smiled and raised her hands to her cheeks
her eyes lit up.
Looking at her was suddenly like looking at the sun and I knew what she was going to say!
“Of course” she replied.
We both pulled off our shoes and splashed around.
Why not?

We had the time.

Life is Good

Daily Prompt; Tourist Trap

 What’s your dream tourist destination — either a place you’ve been and loved, or a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you?

 

Agnes straightened up and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. She took a moment and turned all the way around looking at the shop – her shop. Five years ago, when the Bumpersteins had decided to retire and move to Gary Indiana, a place they had always wanted to visit, they offered her an opportunity to buy the shop. She had not believed her good fortune and had jumped at the chance. She sent them a payment every month.

Agnes had worked for the Bumpersteins for seventeen years, worked in this souvenir shop across the boardwalk from the beach that whole time. When they left Agnes had moved into the apartment above the shop where the Bumpersteins had lived. She had redone the floors and painted the walls. New cabinets and a dishwasher had been installed as part of the kitchen remodel. There were two bedrooms but she only needed one to sleep in. She chose to sleep in the back bedroom. The one in the front had a view of the beach. When she wasn’t working she spent most of her waking hours in there, looking out the window, or in the kitchen preparing modest meals.

Agnes had changed very little about the shop. She still sold trinkets, t-shirts, and things that tourists needed; snacks, sodas, beer, wrap-around skirts, calendars, and memory cards for cameras. She had changed the name of the shop though. It was now known as “The Tourist Trap” where it had formerly been called “Bumperstein’s Market”.

Agnes worked seven days a week. She opened at 6:00 am sharp. At 2:00 pm Cindy would come in, Agnes had been pleased when she agreed to stay, and Cindy would keep the store open till 10:00. There was a steady rotation of high school kids who would work on weekends and after school, cleaning, stocking, and the like.

Life is good, she thought to herself as she put the feather duster under the counter and picked up her keys. She turned the sign, so that it read open, unlocked the front door and held it for her first customers of the day, a young family with two kids under ten. They got snack foods, tanning lotion, an inflatable raft, and a newspaper.

“Where you folks from?” she asked the young mother.

“Indiana – Gary Indiana.”

“Really? I have good friends who live there.”

 

 

Daily Prompt; Use It or Lose It

Daily Prompt; Use It or Lose It

Write about anything you’d like, but make sure the post includes this sentence:
“I thought we’d never come back from that one.”

An errant torpedo ran athwartship beneath the boat, barreling by so close it sounded like a freight train. The sea was lit up with active pings and depth charges pounded against the hull with the sound of a hundred timpani, but we were below the layer. They knew we were there but they couldn’t pinpoint us.

Slowly, silently we settled gently to the sea bed and disappeared, nothing more than another mound. Rigged for ultra-quiet we remained silent for an entire day while the searched in vain above us until the sounds of the search receded, faded away to silence.

Still we sat, waiting. Within the hour we heard him. Three screws are noisy and the sound is distinctive. Ironically, he thought himself quiet but we easily heard him making slow turns as he crept within range. He was sweeping, searching – searching for us. We knew he was listening. We sat, inert, silent, listening to him as he listened for us and we tracked him as he passed several miles to the east.

Another day passed and the only activity we detected were biologics so we slowly rose off the ocean floor and hovered below the layer, listening, careful. Above the layer we swept the baffles and eased up to PD. A quick look through the attack scope confirmed that we were alone so we went deep and set a course for home.

“I thought we’d never come back from that one.”

Better Safe Than Sorry

“But Father, it’s awkward,” said the princess to the king.
“I know Princess, but it’s ‘til you turn sixteen.”

“I’ve been looking, at the others, scattered through the land.
Why…
am I the only girl with a thimble?
On each finger of my hands?”

“Settle down now darling.
Don’t get overwrought.
There was talk about a curse but it is prob’ly all for naught.”

“Or not!”

 

Custom Metal Flake Paint Job, With a Black Interior

 

Melinda Schweitzer was studying the photographs through magnifying lenses when Bob came into the lab. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Evening Bob,” she said. She liked the young custodian and enjoyed interacting with him on nights when she worked over. He was a curious and gentle soul.

“Oh, good evening Dr. Schweitzer,” he said. “You’re late tonight.”

“Yes, I am Bob. You might actually be interested in this. Let me show you. I have HST images of the Eagle Nebula that I am comparing and overlaying with X-Ray images we took using our own telescope here. The results are pretty amazing. Would you like to see?”

“Oh, I know what they look like Doctor. My dad had one.”

“Had one what, Bob?”

“An Eagle Nebula,” he gave a low whistle and shook his head. “I think he loved that Eagle more than he loved my momma. He had a picture of that car tattooed on his arm, right here.” Bob pointed to his right bicep. “It was inside a heart and said, ‘My Love’ underneath.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Eagle,” he said. “His car – American Motors made them from ’79 to ’87. They were really the first crossover SUV’s. They featured full time four wheel drive and got phenomenal gas mileage, for the time.” He picked up a trash can and emptied it into the bag on his cart.

Melinda knew not to pull that thread. She knew that AMC had never made a car called the Nebula but elected to roll with Bob’s line of thought. “What color was it?” she asked.

“Red,” Bob replied. “She had a custom metal flake paint job, with a black interior and fifteen inch wheels. She was a beauty.”

“Does he still have it?” she asked.

“Nah, he died in her though – hit the side of the mountain in ’96 out on highway 17, before they put the center barriers in. Witnesses said it was spectacular, a real fireball. They said he was probably going over a hundred miles an hour when it happened.” He picked up another trash can and emptied it. Put in a fresh liner and set it back under the desk.

“The next day Momma got the letter from his doctor. It was addressed to Dad but Momma opened it on account of him being killed the day before. The letter was to confirm his cancer and to set up an appointment to discuss treatment options.

“Do you think he knew, Dr. Schweitzer? Do you think he knew?”

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