"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Monday, February 28, 2011

Blanket Seas

Katie turned me on to this site, which is actually a really fun idea and thing to experience. Flash Party is a really fantastic idea. Taking the flash mob mentality, but applying it to writing and the internet. Make a statement and then be gone. More or less. But doing that in 250 words is where it's at.

I've always liked having word limits. It's a challenge and makes you think about what you want to say; the impact you want to make your words have--whether it's on purpose or by accident. But either way, I like coming up with such short, short stories to challenge myself. And to help you with the 250 words, they do have themes for every month.

February was "heat." So, after reading the submissions, getting my brain into gear, I finally sent in something.

Thanks for turning me on to this awesome way of writing, Katie. Once we get to tour together, we should go crazy with 250 word stories. :]

Blanket Seas -

                They bask on towels, baking in the rays. Her eyes are closed behind her sunglasses, blissfully enjoying the waves lapping at the sands. He sits up, downing some water; feeling its slight chill down his throat as he swallows. Setting the bottle aside, he glances to her, taking in the sight of her skin. Smiling, he continues to let his eyes roam her form; from the curves of her hips to the way her cheeks have some beaded sweat.
                Licking his chapped lips, he thinks back to their sea of blankets. It was morning when he searched for her, their lips meeting and their skin yearning for the other. Together they could dance, but apart, they were clumsy.
                Reaching out a hand, he brushed it past her navel, returning to lay on his towel with a hand resting on her. Her eyes must have opened as she cracked a smile and ran her fingers through his hair. There wasn’t a need for words; just a touch of reassurance. Smirking to himself, he shut his eyes. They could swim again later.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Fall


            The long sunny days were already becoming a distant memory. Harvest season was steadily approaching; bringing with the onslaught of frost. She stood on a hill observing the trees. Some leaves were already starting to change. Soon streets, sidewalks, parking lots, and school grounds would be littered with the leaves. Her eyes wandered to the horizon as the sun started to slip below, leaving the stars and clouds behind. Inhaling deeply, she exhaled slowly; every cloud above shuddered, before starting to pull into a large mass.
            Moments went by before they were at last together. Reaching up, her hand brushed the plume, sending it across the valley. Arms crossed, Fall waited. It took seconds before the clouds blurred and drops began to descend. She stood, protected from the water as it cascaded around her.
            Tonight was simple; only the beginning really. In a matter of days, rivers would flood, thunder would roll, and trees would bend. Her plan was set; it was just time to wait. This weather would not let up anytime soon. Children would have to remain indoors; people would rush with umbrellas or jackets. No one truly appreciated her work. With the destruction she caused, it was no wonder Fall got the feeling people looked forward to Spring and Summer.
            Her fun would arrive soon enough. It was that chilly night children would masquerade and receive candy. Observing the parade was Fall’s favorite activity of her work. A smile graced her fa├žade as she mused of the pumpkins that would adorn stoops.
            Finally moving from her hilltop, she strolled to Winter’s meadow.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Broken Limbs Part III


            In order to win this bet, I had to work fast to save her. The only person that could help me was Melvin, our resident sandman. When I found him, he was lounging about, reading quietly as his work day had ended. We spoke briefly as I retold the event as quickly as possible in order to not waste time. Hearing the story, he stared at me in disbelief. Never had a figment strived to save the life of a mortal. Such a practice or act was unheard of among our tiny population.
            We agreed on a plan, which would require her to wait until nightfall of the following day before any change might occur. Rather than go about my duties, I meandered down the slope to where her car was perched. From there I leaned against a tree and observed her. Being pinned, she could do very little in terms of nourishment. It was a struggle for her to just manage to get the dew off the rain jacket she had spread out to collect the droplets of condensation. Every part of my being wanted to help her, but it was against our policy to help her physically. My only interference was through dreams and acting as a substitute conscience.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Broken Limbs Part II

            It was like any other Wednesday. The sound of cards being shuffled and distributed while glasses clinked reminded me of the good ol’ days. Wisps of smoke from lit cigarettes and cigars spiraled to the ceiling where they slowly started to gather into a hazy cloud. Glancing around the table I looked at our motley crew of assembled beings. Each of us came from such a diverse background and yet somehow we always ended up playing cards before the bell tolled and we were on the clock.
            “Can’t we play something more interesting than poker?” A small voice piped up, looking over her cards at the figures around the table. Reaching up she adjusted her tiara and shifted positions. “If we could play something where I could stretch my wings, that’d be even better,” she said, not happy with the arrangements of our tight quarters.
            “Where’re we supposed to find someplace bigger? It’s easy to find this place, especially every week,” quipped the large bunny adjacent to her.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Broken Limbs Part I


            Reclined against a tree, I listened to the slow rustle of leaves as the light breeze lifted the edge of my hat. It had been hours since the sun had set when the roads were jammed with exhausted office workers. Already my work day was close to an end, and I barely felt as if I’d been productive today.
            Raising the brim of my fedora, I glanced at the road. It was devoid of cars this time of night. A smirk formed on my face as I inhaled and smelt the intoxicating aroma of burning rubber. Straightening, I adjusted my suit. Just as I fixed my tie a sudden gust blew about me, snatching my hat from my head. My hand flashed out and snagged it as a car sped past.
            I had my work cut out for me. Watching the car race off, I grinned. Everyone had to earn a living; mine was just a bit more peculiar. Closing my eyes I opened them to be sitting in the car with the speeding driver.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Winter

            Laughter drifted past his window. Glancing up from the tome currently in his lap, his eyes returned to the sentence he had been reading; starting over because of the distraction. Another chortle, this time louder. Setting his book aside, he got up and moved to the wall. Climbing on his stool, he peered out the circular window. A short finger pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses as he saw in the distance, people. They were having a snowball fight in the meadow he called his home. It was a morning where fog hung in the trees and fresh snow crunched under boots.
            Smiling, he observed them frolic, the children pulling a sled as they crossed the clearing. It had otherwise been untouched by humans; he’d been the one to cast the spell to bring forth the chill and flurries. His entire job was winter. Dropping off his stool, he navigated around the volumes stacked about his floor. The clouds were already starting to lift, which was not in his plans for the weather. Kneeling before the fire, he inhaled deeply before blowing across the burning logs. He watched the flames tremble and grow. Returning to the window, he could see the fog from his fireplace already starting to add to the clouds above.
            There would be more snowfall, sometime in the darkness of the midnight hour. Adjusting his spectacles for the twentieth time that day—an item he did regret purchasing from a store in the sporadic ventures into the human world—he took his hat off the shelf by the door and stepped outside. Pulling his door tightly behind him, he crossed his arms and watched the youngsters play. They were nearly across his meadow now, making their way towards the sledding hill that lay beyond. Winter knew they couldn’t see him, or know that the massive oak tree was his home.
            With his three months soon drawing to a close, he would have to bid farewell to the frozen wonderland he had created and watch Spring enjoy her time creating blossoms and warming the world before the sweltering summer days arrived. The next few weeks were his last chances to share the beauty of snow with his meadow and wait for another year.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Cain and Abel Part II

          Throughout the time people milled about our house, they would glance furtively at Becca and I as we perched on the top stairs. They whispered their apologies to mom and Casey before reminiscing of our Grandma. My eyes followed them as they each walked by occasionally, unable to meet our gaze.
          People said she died because of her big heart. Others said it was the second heart attack and her very active lifestyle. The real reason why Grandma died was on everyone’s mind. All the stress and worry over Becca and I is what finally killed her. She had seen how our mom was, and knew it was unfair that we suffered.
          Eventually the people ceased to come throughout the day and we cleaned up. My mind wandered back to the funeral earlier this morning and how perfect it was; taken straight out of a storybook. We each had our duties and lines to say, all created by our mom. This included Casey, who wasn’t even related to the family, just our fatherly stand-in; her companion.
          Pulling a chair from the dinner table I sat down as our mom served dinner. Her cheery exterior was all a ruse, another scene in her scripted life. She glanced at us, waiting for our lines to follow as she led us through this nightly routine. Some nights we would be working on this movie scene for hours until we got it right. We were her very own cast; her puppets. Her parrots; trained and knowing exactly what to say every single time.
          I casually pushed my food around my dish, not really feeling at all hungry. Her eyes must have settled on me as I blandly went through my lines, not at all wanting to put any emotion in it. The day had been long and draining; nothing would have made me want to act out her perfect family. Those eyes were now burning into me; I could feel them without needing to look up.

Cain and Abel Part I

I wrote this for my creative writing class in high school. Another short story, but the word limit was 2,600 words. This one clocks in at 2,398. I'll post part two when I get back from my grandparent's house. Oh wow, crazy coincidence--and by that, you'll understand when you read. Also, I was curious to know if readers preferred this font to the slightly larger one used in the previous post. I like the look of this one on editor, but it looks so much tinier in the preview. Thanks for reading!
_____________________________________________________________________

          She had always been overbearing. Ever since her first script was turned into a movie did she become more controlling. In those days, I didn’t understand why she celebrated so much. No six-year-old would be able to comprehend it. Becca and I were merely along for the ride. Who knew this was a rollercoaster we couldn’t get off of.
* * * * *

          My eyes watched the driveway as the bus pulled away with a shudder. I could just picture my mom pacing behind the blinds in her office. From outside her shadow looked frazzled and distraught, despite only seeing an outline. She was working on her next masterpiece, or that’s what she always claimed. Turning away from my window, I concentrated on the ceiling. The bus was loud and bustling with life and excitement that made the air tingle. Everyone chatted eagerly, speaking of their games for recess and trades for lunch.
          I could hear Becca giggling with her friends from where they sat four rows ahead of me. We were both much livelier outside of the house, being around kids our own age. A part of me wished we could stay at school all the time, but knew that was impossible. Just as it seemed we had arrived at school, we were quickly back on the bus and returning home after six hours. They felt like a blur, much like any time I was away from our estate.
          “Liam, come over today. We can watch that new cartoon and have a water balloon fight,” Mark said, appearing over the back of my seat.
          “I can’t. I have chores,” I replied, using the same excuse every time.
          “Aww, come on! You can do it later,” another said, his head appearing over the seat in front of me.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Ribbon

I wrote this four years ago for a short story contest in which the entry had to be less than 1,000 words. Yes, it probably needs editing and revising. Part of me wants to make it shorter, but that will come in time. Without further ado Ribbon.

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She giggled, tying the purple ribbon around his wrist. “You can’t take this off until Christmas alright?” Her golden eyes looked at his dark blues as she kissed him briefly on the lips.
            
“I promise. But, what’s it for?” He inquired, wondering what this odd little item was for. “It’s just a ribbon.”
           
“It’s not just a ribbon. It’s our thing we can do together. Here, pick a color and tie it on my wrist like yours,” she answered, holding out her arm. Looking through the colors, he carefully chose a golden hue that seemed to make her eyes even brighter. He delicately tied it around her wrist, and then looked at her for further explanation. “We’ll take these off when Christmas comes. As presents to each other,” she giggled.            “Oh, I get it. That’s a wonderful idea,” he smiled, kissing her back lightly. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. “I should get home. But I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
            
She nodded in agreement. “Alright, I’ll see you here,” she said, standing with her ribbon and backpack.
            
“Here, I’ll walk you home. Its getting late and you shouldn’t walk home on your own,” he said, grabbing his things and following her. They continued talking, though most of it was reminiscing of the carefree childhood days. It wasn’t long till they reached her house. Briefly kissing goodbye, they parted their ways; her into her house, and he towards his own home.
             Lying back on his bed, he stared at the ribbon on his wrist. Three weeks till Christmas he thought, smiling as he looked at it. He closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep, not a single sad notion in his head.
             That day seemed to be like many others as two weeks flew by; always going to bed eager to wake up the next day. It wasn’t long till they were on that two week break for the holidays. He held her gloved hand as they walked down the snow laden sidewalk, enjoying the time together. She sighed, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
             “I should head home. My mom wanted me to run some errands for her,” she murmured, hugging him.
             “Want some help? The roads are icy, and it’s dangerous driving,” he offered, turning to face her.
             “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ll call you tonight, okay? This shouldn’t take me very long,” she said, kissing him and then heading down half a block to her house. Sighing in defeat, he turned and headed for his house, wishing to have gone with her to help. Compared to his family, her family looked like saints, but they loved him for the gentleman he was towards their daughter; always welcome at the household not matter what. 

             He heard the phone ringing from his room, but didn’t bother to answer, figuring his mother would get it. His sketch book lay open on his desk, as he stretched his cramped arm before continuing. There was a knock at his door, in which his mother entered. “Honey, the phones for you,” she said, handing him the cordless phone.
             “Hello?” He greeted, unsure of who would call him besides his girlfriend. His features visibly paled as he heard what the caller had to say. Several tears escaped his eyes, making their way down his cheeks. Physically shaking, he hung up the phone after bidding farewell, and sat stunned at his desk. His mind just couldn’t believe the words he had just heard.


             “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to honor a girl that was a dedicated student, loved daughter and girlfriend,” the minister started to say. Everything had become a blur since hearing those words over the phone just a week before Christmas. Now, here he stood at her funeral, four days after that day of promise.
             Her mother approached him after the service, hugging him tightly and then handing him an envelope. “I found this in her room, among some papers on her desk. It’s addressed to you,” she sniffled, trying to not cry.
             “Thank you,” he murmured, hugging her again. The rest of the group had left as he stood there, staring at the letter. He couldn’t open it; his body wouldn’t let him open what his mind wanted to read. Staring at the new tombstone, he opened the letter. 

Dear David,
This Christmas is the most important holiday for the both of us. Its not just our final holiday with our family, it’s our first holiday together. The ribbon around your wrist represents our love and commitment to each other. I know I promised that you could take it off when Christmas came, but it’s much like the rings exchanged when one wants to get married. It’s a materialistic way to represent our love. For richer, for poorer; till death do us part. May we always be together.
Love,
Sooki 

             David reread the letter several times, tears streaming freely down his face as he did so. It seemed as if she wrote this just for him, before she had slid off the icy road and crashed into that tree. As if it was her last statement of their love. He wiped away the tears where more just flowed to take their place. All that remained of her was his little memento; the last gift he received from her: his ribbon.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Welcome....?

First posts are always awkward. Because really, what should you say other than to welcome the potential readers?

So, welcome to reading my blog!

It will have a wide variety of purposes. But more importantly, it won't be where I write about personal stuff. If anyone is really interested about that, I'll include a link on the side, but honestly, I wouldn't want to read about my personal life (it's full of self mockery).

Here on Cellar Door, this is specifically dedicated to writing, feedback on said writing, and some other random topics I feel attached to. Those topics would more than likely include, video games, books (manga and comic books too), music, and my random food adventures to new restaurants, or something I've prepared.

My goal is to be active on this blog and get some feedback on the short stories and future novels I've been working on.

Here's to hoping this turns out to be a fantastic year. :3

Later days.