Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Wish Me Luck


Thing#2 watches Sponge Bob, popping Fruit Loops. I sit next to him and smile.  He clutches the cereal box with a get-your-own look on his face.

“We’re going to your pre-school screening today. You can meet your teacher and see the play ground, there will be a bunch of other kids there to play with.” I beam, secretly holding my breath.

He looks at me with blue eyes still cloudy with sleep and gives a weary sigh. “Sounds lame, Mom.”   He stuffs a purple ring into an already crowded mouth and looks back at the TV.

I exhale and grab a handful of cereal.  It may be a long morning.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

The Conversation

Last night, Mr. K and I had an evening without Thing#1 and Thing#2.  A rarity, I assure you.  We sat in a beer garden, enjoying the company of other adults and people watching. 

“I’m trying to figure out what to start on next.  I mean I have a couple of ideas but not really sure. You know.” I tell him.  I proceed to throw out one of the storylines, young man dealing with internal demons, overcoming adversity, blah, blah.  Good shit, really.  I pause to gage Mr. K’s reaction.
He nods his head and looks off into the middle distance as if visualizing a scene. “You should write a story about aliens in Roman times.”
“OK” I say. We watched The Burrowers, the night before, so I know where this is coming from.  A mash-up of western vs. human-eating aliens, it wasn’t bad if you rolled with the cheese factor.  The special effects were pretty good. It was actually kind of fun.
I nod my head, considering it. Hell, I love sci-fi. “So what would my main character do?”
He looks at me and blinks. “Kill the aliens.”
“Ok, yeah, but what else? Why?”
Again, the look.  “Kill the aliens to save the Roman Empire.”
My turn to look off in the middle distance. “That’s an idea.” I say neutrally.
“Don’t forget to put me down as co-writer on this one.” Mr. K clinks his beer bottle to mine.
“You bet.” 

Friday, May 20, 2011

Happy Birthday!

It was my little sister's birthday yesterday. I tinkered with sending her an e-card, then got the idea to write a piece of flash fiction with her as the main character. 

I’m 39!!!


                        Joy looks at the pile of scrubs in the laundry room floor and runs her hands through her short hair.  “Not tonight.” She mumbles.  Closing the door, she heads for the kitchen and the bottle of wine that is calling her name. 
            Settling on the couch, she uncorks the wine and flips on the TV.  A groan escapes her lips at the knock at the front door.  “Who the hell can that be?”  They had been in the apartment only a few weeks.  Maybe Jared sent flowers for my birthday. She springs over the back of the couch and dances to the front door.
            Peeking out the window, her heart drops to her feet. She crouches down before she can be seen.  How did he find me? I thought I had more time! Her heart races as she takes another look. Her hands curl into fists. I do. I have another year.
            Taking a deep breath, she stands and straightens her stained t-shirt. She looks out the window again. A shiver runs down her spine and wonders if she should wake up Jared, but quickly decides against it. She can handle this.
            Leaving the security chain on the door, she opens it a crack. “Go away.” She says in a firm whisper.
            He chuckles. “Ah, come on girl. It ain’t so bad.  It’s inevitable.” He reaches in and caresses her hand with his long gray fingers.  
            “NO!” She tries to slam the door, but he’s too strong. Breaking the chain, he pushes he’s way into the small apartment.
            She’s ready for him. She crouches in an ‘Angry Flamingo’ kung-fu stance. “Come on, then.” Joy motions with her hand. “Let’s dance.”
            He takes a flying leap at her, but Joy sees it coming and does a back flip, catching him under the chin with both feet.  His head snaps back, stopping him in mid-flight.  She can feel his teeth breaking with the impact of her kick.
            He springs to his feet, seemingly unaffected by the bone crunching blow.  He smiles at her through the blood and the broken teeth. “Really, I think you’re over reacting, my dear.”
            Joy grabs the skillet she used to reheat 20 pounds of chicken Mc-nuggets for Jared’s late night snack. “It’s not my time, Forty. I have another year.”  She cartwheels over the couch and smashes the side of Forty’s face with the cast iron skillet. 
            Forty pulls his head from the sheetrock and cackles. The side of his head is caved in, clumps of gray matter drip from his open skull hitting the floor in wet plops.  He reaches a hand on each side of his jaw and wrenches his head back in place with the sound of popping cartilage. “OK. OK.” He holds up his hands. “I can see there’s no changing your mind.”
            Joy’s shoulders slump, the skillet drops to the couch. 
            Forty, seeing his chance, charges with his arms extended, he clamps his long finger around Joy’s throat.
            Joy’s blue eyes widen in surprise.  She holds on to Forty’s boney shoulders and drops onto her back, her feet catch him in the crouch. He drops to his knees. Grabbing a fist full of hair, Joy drags Forty to the front door and heaves his broken body down the flight of stairs.  She holds up her bloody fists to the sky and shouts, “I’m 39!  Come back next year Forty and we’ll dance again!”
            She walks back into the apartment and closes the door.
            “Huh, honey?” Jared shuffles out of the bedroom rubbing his head. “What’s going on?”  He looks at the hole in the living room wall.
            Joy quickly hides her bloody hands behind her back and gives him a tight smile. “Oh, got a little carried away….” Her voice trails off as Jared spies the skillet on the couch.
            “With….” He prompts.
            “Home renovations done with every day kitchen appliances.”
            Jared blinks and scratches his crotch. “Whatever.  You want to go out for your birthday?”
            Joy glances sideways at the front door. “No, let’s stay in.”


Happy Birthday!!!