A Boy's Determination

I'm determined to pen a script for a Hey Arnold movie about him discovering his parents. Heck, it could be live-action, or another cartoon. But as long as we finally learn what happened to them in San Lorenzo. Major cliffhanger that I can't get out of my mind.

A Boy's Determination            

             Cloud slid overhead, moving in the distant wind. He’d been observing the movement for a time, no intention of vacating his spot anytime soon. Sighing, he rolled on his side and stared at the corkboard across the room. It was covered in pictures, paper articles he couldn’t quite read, maps, and other small trinkets. Reaching on his bedside shelf, he pulled down a simple framed picture. As many times as he’d heard the stories of his parents, he loved to hear how they met. His father grinned up at them, his goofy expression, arm in a sling, some band aids covering his cheeks, and sporting quite the black eye. Meanwhile, he mom stood by his side, laughing and holding his good hand gently. Together, they stood by a large tree, her head resting on his shoulder. Brushing his thumb across the glass, he set the picture aside.

            Perking up as he heard his friends laughing and playing some game in the street, he peered out his window into the alley. Having lost their baseball, it appeared they were playing a similar game with a crushed soda can. Resting his head on the sill, the boy gave a nod to his best friend, who waved at him. Departing the window he returned to his bed and snagged the journal that sat adjacent to the picture frame. Flipping through its contents, he sighed and took a long look at the map his father had scrawled on the final pages.

            Every night he’d stare at the images, burning them to memory. It was his ritual to remind himself where his goals were and what he needed to do to accomplish them. He’d find them in San Lorenzo, even if the sleeping sickness killed him to do it.

Wandering Mind, Yearning Heart

 This is definitely going to be longer. But for now, a shortened version of what's to come! And it's part of the #royalty series!

Wandering Mind, Yearning Heart

            Nothing in the pages made sense. Every turn of the sketch book continued to puzzle him. The faces were familiar, but he couldn’t put names to them. He could guess and call these strangers whatever he wanted, but that’s all they were; strangers. Two months in this hospital and he’d filled up four books with the same people. Each book now spread across the table before him.

            Flipping the page of one, he watched the people change. Expressions of the same person filled one page before shifting to someone new. The facial features were similar, which lead him to believe they were all related. But kin to whom, he wasn’t sure. His next book had three children, happy, carefree and grinning up at him. However the final two books were his biggest mystery. A woman stared up at him with penetrating eyes despite her smile.

            Tentative, his finger traced the pencil, leaving a small smudge. No one could tell him who these people were; they were as clueless as he. Sighing, he closed the other books and continued to stare at her. Flipping a few pages, he stopped again, staring at another joyful expression gracing her delicate features. Still nothing signaled he knew her name. Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm his pounding heart; some part of him remembered her, yearned and loved her.

            He just wished the rest of him would catch up with his heart.

Forever Hold Your Peace

For some odd reason, I'm writing a lot of things about weddings lately. 

Forever Hold Your Peace        

 This entire scene felt wrong. Watching her approach as they stood along the altar, she tried to hide her glances. Her soul mate was marrying him. He was perfect, and everything she’d been searching for in a man. But despite everything she loved and disliked, they were still ready to tie the knot. She wanted to be with him. Except he didn’t know her. At least, he didn’t know her as well as he should.

            He didn’t know about her dark and twisty past, or the skeletons in her closet. There were habits she hid and problems she repressed. Everything she hated about herself, she buried deep.

            She didn’t hear the minister when he said “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” He didn’t need to utter those words – their marriage license had long since been signed. This was just the formal ceremony for family. Biting her lip, she waited patiently as everything pushed forward. It took all her might not to object. Everything in her being wanted to declare before God, the minister, their family and friends that they were not meant to be. Their marriage seemed of one out of convenience. Every expectation she wanted, he met and surpassed; each little box on her list was triple checked.

            Finally the “I do’s” were murmured, and it was official. Her best friend and soul mate was wed, and she would forever hold her peace.

Final Moments

 For some reason, I'm feeling medieval.

Final Moments

            She gasped, hand reaching to where the dagger was currently protruding from her chest. Wrapping her fingers around the hilt, she tightened her grip and tugged with all her might. The blade clattered next to her, as one hand dropped while the other pressed on the open wound. Coughing, she propped herself up on an elbow. Surveying the room, she noticed the bodies; not a single one moved, nor could she hear heavy breathing.

            Gritting her teeth, she managed to roll over and push herself to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly, unsure of their destination as she stood for a moment to collect her bearings. There wasn’t a sign of the Royals. Pushing herself toward the stairs after grabbing a blade, she made her way up, following the destruction.

            This sorcerer was powerful; his army of the fallen certainly no match for a simple soldier; nor a woman that had disguised her way into the ranks. Down the corridor she could see the flashing of colored light. Magic. Racing faster, she burst into the room as the battle ensued. Without a second thought, she flung herself amidst the dueling magic and the remaining Knights fighting the dead army. Her heart pounding, she dodged sword swings and fiery spheres.

            Ignoring the commands from the Prince, she approached and heaved the dagger at the sorcerer. It took him only moments to knock her flat, a glowing sphere hitting her breastplate. All went black as the battle raged.  

Ceiling Tiles and Laughter

I'm not sure why I penned this story; other than the fact it's a testament to my bizarre sense of humor. But I hope whatever terrible situation I may get into in the future, I could look at it with some laughter.

Ceiling Tiles and Laughter

            The ceiling tiles hadn’t changed. Even now as he lay in a different room than the one he had entered, they remained plain. Same old white, same old specks and pock marks. He glanced to his left, taking note of the monitor tracking his pulse. Inhaling slowly, he eased himself up, resting tentatively on his elbows.

            Things had changed, but he’d been too nervous the past few days to look. Nurses said he was lucky, they said he could learn and everything would be back to normal. Giving them a smile and a nod was the best response he could muster. Fingers tense as they curled around the blanket, he shifted and pulled back the sheets.

            It wasn’t as bad now, finally laying his eyes on it. He’d been so doped up on pain killers; he couldn’t believe what they’d told him. Now he could finally see it for himself. Running his hand down the flesh of his thigh, he came to the bandage and gauze that adorned his leg; or what remained. A few moments of staring at it, he laughed. After days of being angry, melancholy and overwhelmed, all that remained was laughter.

            He must have been loud, because next thing he knew, his nurse rushed in. Wiping stray tears from the corners of his eyes, he grinned up at her. The woman looked flustered, unsure what to think of her patient’s current mood.

            “I think I’ll name it, McStumpy,” he beamed.

Wedding Whispers

Finally the long awaited update! I've been busy in my new department at work, so it's been hogging my mind. Hopefully you won't have to wait so long!

Wedding Whispers

            It had been a nerve-wracking morning. He was up early thanks to his brother dragging him from bed. Breakfast followed, although he wasn’t sure he could keep it down with how his stomach kept clenching. A lot of people would be watching today, the thought making him even more anxious. After downing two cups of tea, he pulled on his tux.

            Leaving the room he had been given, he headed down to the car. It was about time he get to the church. Much to his chagrin, he had to wait while the rest of the events took place. Climbing from the car as it slid to a stop, he smiled and waved to the people cheering that had gathered outside. This was going to be his new life as a prince; continually being in the public eye with his soon-to-be wife and already princess.

            Hours passed as finally the guests started to arrive and take their seats. Peeking out, he could see that all the seats had been filled, including those for his family and the Royal Family. Pacing in the back room, he looked up as someone gave him his cue to enter. Taking a deep breath, he walked out to the altar, back turned. Staying quiet as the rest of the ceremony began, he could hear everyone stand as the music played and she walked down the aisle.

            Finally turning to see his bride, he grinned at how beautiful she was. Accepting her hand, they turned forward.

            “You look gorgeous,” he whispered.

Almanac

While I was hoping this would be a piece to submit to the Writer's Digest competition, I'll need a few hours to mull it over and potentially write something else. This was written to Blackbird by The Beatles. The song really puts me in a somber mood, even though the weather here is actually sunny.

Almanac             

           They said it wouldn’t let up. What the almanac claimed to be a perfect day, was in fact ruined by the news citing rain. Forecasts could always turn out wrong; the meteorologist had been wrong before. But after watching five channels, they all made the same prediction. That was the last time he believed The Old Farmer’s Almanac. It’s worn spine and loose pages had pointed him to choose today.

            Instead, he was staring out at an overcast as far as the eye could see. Worse than the ashen clouds was the downpour of rain that had started late in the night and had no intention of drying out. It wasn’t time to make the drive to the church. Between now and the ceremony, he had a couple hours. Tugging on his ironed over-shirt, he took another glance from behind the window; unchanged. The sound of cutlery on dishes brought him from his thoughts. Everyone was having breakfast; something he knew he should partake in. Perhaps a cup of coffee and some toast would ease his anxiety. Or make him heave the contents of his stomach across the altar. Another strike against what should be a perfect day.