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Week 48-(July 3rd-10th) Stories----Topic: Questions DONE!!
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Esther
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Jul 03, 2010 07:16AM
questions... hmmmm i think ive got a humor story coming up... or a really depressing one like i ususally do... oh well
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Title: Fireworks
Word Count: 1,342
By: Catherine
It's just not the same, I thought, turning away from the television screen. The rest of the boys were still huddled around the poor, blurry excuse of a TV watching fireworks boom over New York. The Macy's Fourth of July Celebration. Nick says he always wanted to go there.
He never would.
Every time the camera panned over the crowd, everybody inched closer just a little bit, searching desperately through the sea of faces in hopes of finding someone familiar. Sometimes, I used to delude myself into thinking I'd see a part of my wife's arm, or her pony tail, anything. I knew better than to believe it, but it always made things just a little more bearable.
I wasn't the only delirious one here, I knew for a fact that plenty of the other guys did the same thing. Every once in a while after a long, hot day, you'd catch them doing a double take at a McDonald's commercial, and you knew they were wondering when their kid began to take up acting, before realizing its just another kid with freckles.
Or maybe it was a photo on the news, a woman with blonde hair, and your heart would race for a moment at the prospect of trouble at home. Even though we were in far much more danger than our families were. We just didn't really know it yet.
This, however, was the one days of the year where things always started to look better. You would see mobs at parades on the news, saluting the flag, chanting the national anthem. There would be the occasional story on returning troops, and all the love and support they would receive on arrival that those of us still out here could only ever dream of.
And then, at the end, there were always the fireworks.
Eruptions of color and sound of all kinds. Little ones, big ones, loud ones, soft ones, fizzy ones, bright ones, crackling ones, sparking ones, ones that changed color. Anything at all, you name it.
In person, they were breathtaking. How the light stained the backs of your eyelids with the trails made by the tails of the rockets, as they soared above the clouds and twisted through the stars before falling back down to earth. But my favorite was always the booms that thundered in your chest with every new launch, making your whole body beat with the vibrations like a drum. That was what I missed most.
You couldn't feel that through the TV screen. The volume stayed the same. There was no difference between a boom and a crackle, because the sound never strayed from just above mute, so as not to wake a fellow soldier asleep in his bunk. The light did not make impressions in your eyes, no matter how hard you stared.
I gazed into that dim screen for a long time that night, fixed on every new explosion of color that filled the sky, and I would quickly squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep the image of them in my brain, but to no avail. That experience couldn't quite be transferred through a satellite either, apparently.
I found myself keeping my eyes closed long after any sort of image faded away. If you asked me, I couldn't tell you whether it was to hold on to the memory or to let it go, escaping into a world of precious peace. Perhaps a little bit of both.
Dismayed with the show, I ambled over to my bunk. There was no reason to stay. It just wasn't the same. Adding 'fireworks' to my mental list of things to remember to give special appreciation to when I got back, I called a happy fourth to the men and closed my eyes, listening to the muffled noise.
My mind raced as always, wondering how things were going at home. There were so many questions I had for all of them; if the kids had liked it, if my wife was tired - if they were thinking of me.
I always liked to believe they were thinking of me.
***********************************
Our barracks were bombed the next morning. There were no survivors.
A local terrorist group was to blame, as they always were. There was even a little snippet on the news about us, the troop that had perished for our country like so many others. But that was all we were to the world. Just another troop, just another news story, just another thing to shake your head at and appear affected.
Our bodies were all recovered out of the rubble, cleaned up, and shipped to our respective homes where each of us had a fine ceremony. I believe I saw the mayor at mine, but I wasn't really paying attention. I couldn't take my eyes off of my family.
It tore me apart to see their faces, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. I stood next to them somberly as my body was lowered into the ground. I wanted to reach out, touch them, hold them, whisper that it was all going to be okay. But of course I couldn't. I could only stare longingly at the faces of my beloved from the beyond. So close, yet worlds apart. Something they would only understand with time.
My body lays in the local cemetery. My family comes often, laying flowers on my headstone. Sometimes leaving little trinkets or notes that just get picked up later by the groundskeeper. But they don't have to know that.
And every year, they have fireworks. An amazing display, and people from all over town come to watch. My wife comes and sits by me as the children run and play with their friends. I sit beside her as she talks, wishing I could speak back, because i have so many questions still. There are so many things I want to know; so many things I want her to know. I ache for communication if only just to whisper three simple words.
I love you, I would say.
I do not feel much anymore, what with no body to feel with, but I still enjoy the fireworks. I watch them with my family, in plain sight yet invisible. I remember what it was like to be there before, in person, and I know I would give anything to be back there again.
I tilt my head up to the sky, and let the sparks rain down on me. I catch them in my palm, and burn the image into my mind.
The booms shake the earth I lay in, thundering throughout my bones. I smile with every one, remembering the sensation.
Staying true to my mental list of vows, not a single one goes unappreciated. And every year, I am back, and I do the same routine all over again. I don't so much focus on the fireworks anymore, but more on my children and how they've grown.
They are older now and have lost the use for running and playing, so they sit next to their mother; next to me. They are so big! I can't believe it. I want to know everthing, and I want it told in detail, so I can feel like I was actually there.
I wish I could have been there for them throughout the years like a normal father. Laughing with them, crying with them, a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on. But I know I can't give them that, not for a long time.
So I settle for the soft breeze that brushes their cheek, a ghostly kiss in the night as they sit upon the grass. I wonder as always if they ever think of me, ever acknowledge my prescence.
I like to believe they do.
Word Count: 1,342
By: Catherine
It's just not the same, I thought, turning away from the television screen. The rest of the boys were still huddled around the poor, blurry excuse of a TV watching fireworks boom over New York. The Macy's Fourth of July Celebration. Nick says he always wanted to go there.
He never would.
Every time the camera panned over the crowd, everybody inched closer just a little bit, searching desperately through the sea of faces in hopes of finding someone familiar. Sometimes, I used to delude myself into thinking I'd see a part of my wife's arm, or her pony tail, anything. I knew better than to believe it, but it always made things just a little more bearable.
I wasn't the only delirious one here, I knew for a fact that plenty of the other guys did the same thing. Every once in a while after a long, hot day, you'd catch them doing a double take at a McDonald's commercial, and you knew they were wondering when their kid began to take up acting, before realizing its just another kid with freckles.
Or maybe it was a photo on the news, a woman with blonde hair, and your heart would race for a moment at the prospect of trouble at home. Even though we were in far much more danger than our families were. We just didn't really know it yet.
This, however, was the one days of the year where things always started to look better. You would see mobs at parades on the news, saluting the flag, chanting the national anthem. There would be the occasional story on returning troops, and all the love and support they would receive on arrival that those of us still out here could only ever dream of.
And then, at the end, there were always the fireworks.
Eruptions of color and sound of all kinds. Little ones, big ones, loud ones, soft ones, fizzy ones, bright ones, crackling ones, sparking ones, ones that changed color. Anything at all, you name it.
In person, they were breathtaking. How the light stained the backs of your eyelids with the trails made by the tails of the rockets, as they soared above the clouds and twisted through the stars before falling back down to earth. But my favorite was always the booms that thundered in your chest with every new launch, making your whole body beat with the vibrations like a drum. That was what I missed most.
You couldn't feel that through the TV screen. The volume stayed the same. There was no difference between a boom and a crackle, because the sound never strayed from just above mute, so as not to wake a fellow soldier asleep in his bunk. The light did not make impressions in your eyes, no matter how hard you stared.
I gazed into that dim screen for a long time that night, fixed on every new explosion of color that filled the sky, and I would quickly squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep the image of them in my brain, but to no avail. That experience couldn't quite be transferred through a satellite either, apparently.
I found myself keeping my eyes closed long after any sort of image faded away. If you asked me, I couldn't tell you whether it was to hold on to the memory or to let it go, escaping into a world of precious peace. Perhaps a little bit of both.
Dismayed with the show, I ambled over to my bunk. There was no reason to stay. It just wasn't the same. Adding 'fireworks' to my mental list of things to remember to give special appreciation to when I got back, I called a happy fourth to the men and closed my eyes, listening to the muffled noise.
My mind raced as always, wondering how things were going at home. There were so many questions I had for all of them; if the kids had liked it, if my wife was tired - if they were thinking of me.
I always liked to believe they were thinking of me.
***********************************
Our barracks were bombed the next morning. There were no survivors.
A local terrorist group was to blame, as they always were. There was even a little snippet on the news about us, the troop that had perished for our country like so many others. But that was all we were to the world. Just another troop, just another news story, just another thing to shake your head at and appear affected.
Our bodies were all recovered out of the rubble, cleaned up, and shipped to our respective homes where each of us had a fine ceremony. I believe I saw the mayor at mine, but I wasn't really paying attention. I couldn't take my eyes off of my family.
It tore me apart to see their faces, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. I stood next to them somberly as my body was lowered into the ground. I wanted to reach out, touch them, hold them, whisper that it was all going to be okay. But of course I couldn't. I could only stare longingly at the faces of my beloved from the beyond. So close, yet worlds apart. Something they would only understand with time.
My body lays in the local cemetery. My family comes often, laying flowers on my headstone. Sometimes leaving little trinkets or notes that just get picked up later by the groundskeeper. But they don't have to know that.
And every year, they have fireworks. An amazing display, and people from all over town come to watch. My wife comes and sits by me as the children run and play with their friends. I sit beside her as she talks, wishing I could speak back, because i have so many questions still. There are so many things I want to know; so many things I want her to know. I ache for communication if only just to whisper three simple words.
I love you, I would say.
I do not feel much anymore, what with no body to feel with, but I still enjoy the fireworks. I watch them with my family, in plain sight yet invisible. I remember what it was like to be there before, in person, and I know I would give anything to be back there again.
I tilt my head up to the sky, and let the sparks rain down on me. I catch them in my palm, and burn the image into my mind.
The booms shake the earth I lay in, thundering throughout my bones. I smile with every one, remembering the sensation.
Staying true to my mental list of vows, not a single one goes unappreciated. And every year, I am back, and I do the same routine all over again. I don't so much focus on the fireworks anymore, but more on my children and how they've grown.
They are older now and have lost the use for running and playing, so they sit next to their mother; next to me. They are so big! I can't believe it. I want to know everthing, and I want it told in detail, so I can feel like I was actually there.
I wish I could have been there for them throughout the years like a normal father. Laughing with them, crying with them, a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on. But I know I can't give them that, not for a long time.
So I settle for the soft breeze that brushes their cheek, a ghostly kiss in the night as they sit upon the grass. I wonder as always if they ever think of me, ever acknowledge my prescence.
I like to believe they do.
A little something for the holiday, I hope it works with the topic, cuz of how he has so many questions about them all...right?
Thanks! Ya i was sick last nite and missed the fireworks so i was watching them on tv and i got inspired :p oh ya i get that i thought it would be the topic too but then im like wait no i can think of like 5 ppl right now not from here! Lol
Freedom is vague... I'd do a very negative story if that was the topic.. lol sorry, my dark intellect is showing again and I'm starting to think of all the negatives of the word "freedom"... hmm... you should do that as a topic once, it'd be fun.
yah, that would be a good topic to do, my clogs are grinding!and Catherine, that was really really good. i liked it.
I know its late, but happy holiday's for our American friends. Hope u had a good independence day. Why can't we (british) have special Great britain day. Mind u i'll only have to work as usual!
walk awayby mic
(790 words)
Half blue, half brown-red, with one rack rusted through and dangling, scraping against the one below, the single newspaper stand hunches in the back corner of a deserted grocery store, the small, local type with only seven rows and cheap off-brands in gaudy packaging. The wad of brain-gray gum clogging the coin slot doesn’t matter; the racks are bare. The empty stomach of the machine hasn’t been fed a paper in over a decade, its starved rumblings long since ceased.
* * *
The traveler meandered down a road in the heart of town, a road lined with pristine shops and clean white houses, a road that no one would look twice at. No one else stood on their lawns or trotted down the sidewalk to say hello; they all packed themselves away in their homes, mindlessly washing dishes and watching television. The sun was full and bright, frolicking among cumulus clouds and the occasional dark bird whose fellows sang out now and then from a carefully-pruned tree. Perfection.
He continued to the business section of town, ambling into the mall. Within, mothers in white Capri pants pushed tidy strollers, suited men strode briskly about and children quietly followed parents, eyes fixed on hand-held gaming devices. Only the murmur of voices asking prices and sizes mixed with the electronic bleep of check-out stations in the airy silence. The traveler took a deep breath of the cool air beyond the automatic sliding doors, then strolled to the nearest shop.
While he perused the coffee mugs and magnets, he occasionally made eye contact with other shoppers, but every time he began a friendly smile, the head would snap away, followed by purposeful footsteps sounding in the other direction. He put his head back down to inspect a humorous greeting card.
Bang.
The traveler’s head whipped up in alarm as he nearly dropped the card in his hand, giving himself a paper cut in the process. Sucking a bloody thumb, he peered out the entrance of the shop, but all as was before: white Capri pants, suits, electronics. Calm filled the air. Just some minor maintenance mishap. He made his way to the next shop.
His appendage securely bandaged, the traveler held a pair of khaki pants up to his waist to check the length, looking at himself in a nearby mirror from all angles. After some deliberation, he decided they were not, after all, the correct size. Searching through the stack of slacks, he found that the next size up wasn’t there. He hailed an employee.
“Do these come in a 34 inseam?” He heard a puzzling gasp behind him and the worker stared at him silently. The employee was taken aback, though he did his best to remain business-like. However, he seemed unable to comprehend the situation before him. After many strained moments, he gave the slightest turn of his head, no, but the gesture was a bare whisper. The traveler awkwardly replaced the pants, feeling the employee’s hard gaze following him.
Bang.
He started again, but not as badly this time. He wished the janitors would fix that soon. Hoping the apparel gods were smiling on another section of the mall, he strode toward the other end of the hallway before entering a classy, oak-trimmed men’s clothing store. Starting out toward the slacks, he was soon distracted by the sheen of silk ties and couldn’t resist a quick look. Finger on chin, he scanned the racks and rows of neckwear before narrowing it down to two ties, holding one in each hand.
“Which one is better?” he muttered. A man across the display table glared sharply at him before marching away.
Bang.
The traveler was starting to pick up on a strange vibe in the area, a suffocating coldness which clogged the room. He escaped out into the main hallway of the mall and turned left down a wider passage, the main artery of the mall. A little way ahead he saw a group of janitors near a gushing fountain in the middle of the mall. Finally, they’re fixing that banging noise. People whizzed by on either side of the sparkling water, not sparing a moment for its beauty.
Two bodies were lying on the floor, a third slumped over the edge of the fountain. Three bullet wounds oozed blood, and on further inspection, some of the spray from the fountain was indeed a watery scarlet. The maintenance crew busily cleaned the scene. No one stopped to wonder what happened. No journalist yelled rapid-fire questions. No one wanted to know.
One of the janitors glanced up, saw the traveler, gave the briefest smile, and then, as if remembering something, snapped his head back down to the task at hand.
I apologize in advance for grammatical errors or rough wording. I didn't go back and proof-read this, so please let me know if you catch anything :] Be nice, it's my first time here!
I'm a little confused, so proof-reading would probably be a good idea, but I do like your style a lot and I think it was very interesting, it could just probably be a bit clearer. Nice job, though :)
Can anyone figure out why the "" after "in each hand" isn't disappearing? I double-checked, and it's no different from any of the others.
uhhh... im really confused srry... i understood that the janitor was killing people... but thats about it
Okay, I re-read my story and changed one word and added another somewhere else, but overall I don't understand the confusion. How else can I make it clearer?
no i mean... i understand it... i understand he's about to kill him too... but i don't understand why the people were all like glaring and stuff
Hmm, I had no intention of the janitor killing my protagonist, but it's an interesting thought. But that aside, the murders aren't really the focus of the story. It's a vision of a world where no one asks questions, which is where the prompt comes in. Just think, what if no one asked, "Why are there dead bodies?" or more relevant to today, "What is Obama doing about the Gulf oil spill?" Obama and BP could simply do nothing and let the oil destroy the beaches and no one would stop them, just as here three murders go unquestioned. That's why the traveler's questions upset people and they ignored him: they don't want to get involved, because involvement leads to responsibility.
Title: His QuestionsWord Count 436
A/N srry this really sux
“You say one word and I swear to God I’ll shoot you right in your little head.” I gulped and nodded quickly. He smiled a crooked grin and dragged me by my tied wrists. He shoved me into a basement and I fell into a chair. He pulled another chair up in front of me and sat down. “Ready to talk?”
“A-about what?” I said trying to sound innocent but i knew what he was talking about.
“You know what I’m talking about girlie.” I clenched my jaw.
“My names Brigit. You know that.”
“Is it?”
I glared then kicked him in the shin. He winced for a second but his face showed no further emotion. He was like a rock.
“Was that the most smart thing you could have done?”
I bit my lip then kicked him again and again in the same spot. His face was still a rock. His eyes stared into my like daggers cutting through my soul. ... It hurt. Then he kicked me in my shin. That hurt MUCH more.
“Want to talk now?” I glared up at him and he kicked me in my other shin. Great... if I somehow get away from him I won’t be able to run. And he knew that.
“You can’t run. You might as well talk.” I glared at him again and opened my mouth as if to say something, but it ran dry. He gave her a cup of water, almost reading her mind. She sighed.
“I’ve been working for them for-”
“No. Start from the beginning.”
She took a deep breath, “My name is Brigit Smith. I’ve been working with the others for a few weeks. But then I started to regret and came here.”
“I know that’s not it.”
“What?”
He leaned close in so his face was only inches from mine, “You’re a little spy, aren’t you ‘Brigit Smith’?” I held my breath. “You are, aren’t you? You came here to find out what we were doing.”
“N-no...”
“Your first mission was to spy. But I bet you didn’t know was they expected you to be killed, did you know that?”
“No....”
“They wanted to get rid of you. They wanted to see how long you would last, did you know that?”
“No.”
He was leaning closer closer to me until his mouth was up to my ear. “They think that you’re dead, did you know that?” He whispered.
“No! Stop!” I kicked him in between the legs and he grunted. I got up and ran, ignoring the pain in my shins. I ran away from him, and his questions.
Mic, i kinda understood your story and i really liked it! :]
Ester, i liked your story, but i think you changed POV a couple of times.
A Questionable Story, or a Story in Questions?(430 words)
Will she find her true love?
Why had she already rejected two proposals of marriage from two different men? Was she setting her standards too high? Why were there never enough good men to go round, anyway? Why do parents and others who've watched you grow up with your childhood sweetheart, assume it will end in marriage? Why do they feel entitled to be disappointed when it doesn't?
Why do they think that your next romance (which happens to be with a doctor), will be the one? Why do they set so much store by you "marrying well"? Do they have a vested interest? Are they hoping that the aforementioned doctor will be a provider of free health care as they age? Are they more interested in their own welfare or their daughter's? Are they interested in their daughter's status, or their own reflected status? If their daughter's happiness is their chief concern, why are they so devastated when she refuses a second proposal? Why do they act as if it's the end of the world? Do they think she'll be forever single? Aren't there worse things? Will she remain forever single? Why don't people respect her adult ability to make up her own mind? Why does that biological clock seem to be ticking so loudly?
Why can she not now sit in this coffeeshop alone, enjoying the live piano music, without being plagued by all these thoughts?
Did that piano player really glance in her direction five times in the last five minutes? Is she just imagining things? Why is the waitress coming towards her table with a single red rose and a note? Why is her heart skipping a beat? What does the note say?
"What would you like me to play?"
What would she like him to play? Unchained Melody? Or would that be a little too forward? "Oh my love, my darling..."? Why won't her brain work quickly when she needs it to? Why is she feeling a blush creep up upon her face? Should she reply with a title such as "Somewhere over the rainbow."? Or should she write down a line from a song like:
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?
What if she asks for a song he doesn't know? Why does she want to sink through a hole in the floor? What about "Where have all the flowers gone?"?
Finally she writes on the paper:
How can you tell me you're lonely?
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
He'll know "The Streets of London", surely?
He smiles,he begins to play movingly; where's a tissue for the tears that well in her eyes? Could this be the start of something? A new romance?
Will she find her true love?
Kimathy wrote: "Ester, i liked your story, but i think you changed POV a couple of times."really??? i didn't... where?
Esther UR JUST AN UGLY CUPCAKES/UR A HATER wrote: "Kimathy wrote: "Ester, i liked your story, but i think you changed POV a couple of times."really??? i didn't... where?"
“You can’t run. You might as well talk.” I glared at him again and opened my mouth as if to say something, but it ran dry. He gave her a cup of water, almost reading her mind. She sighed. "
it starts as "I glared" then ends up with "she sighed".
Ah cute jan! I liked it! And i liked urs too esther!
Kimathy wrote: "Esther UR JUST AN UGLY CUPCAKES/UR A HATER wrote: "Kimathy wrote: "Ester, i liked your story, but i think you changed POV a couple of times."really??? i didn't... where?"
“You can’t run. Yo..."
whoops...
QUESTION : WHY ME?The same old question keeps rebounding around his head, Why me?
Then they all start, all jostling for position in his throbbing, tortured mind.
What was she going to be like today?
How bad was the pain going to be?
Would she even be out of bed?
These questions and hundreds more buzz round his head like a plague of angry bees as his car hurtles down the sunny country lanes toward the spiritual home. Everywhere else everything is perfect; the sun is beaming in a blue cloudless sky, the radio is full of happy shiny songs of joy.
Passing the corn fields, the golden wheat swaying in a gentle breeze he feels the first tear as his eyes start to glaze over. He just can’t imagine a world without his Mum. Then he remembers his wife tell him losing your Mum is like losing your best friend. And in between tears with a lump in his throat he realises that she is right.
He recalls telling his Mum about the first girl he really liked; Julie her name was, and how they both walked their bikes home after school. How she teased and sang a stupid song with Julie as the title as she cooked his fish fingers and chips.
He saw his Mum as immortal, a being that could survive the ravages of time. She was always that short dumpy lady, with thick curly hair and big round glasses, with a floral piny round her waist. She was his Mum, she didn’t get old. She wasn’t allowed to get ill.
As he shifts into top gear and overtakes a slow moving tractor he remembers the only time he can recall his Mum getting ill. She had a water infection and was bed bound for a matter of days. But to the family around her it was like the world was crumbling away as the washing up grew mould, the ironing stack grew ice it was so high. In the end the infection knew it was onto a losing battle and quit as civilisation reasserted itself.
Then the tears are huge as he realises he must be strong and be a man and face facts. There might not be a time when she rings every night at seven in between the soaps just to listen to his voice and moan at him for not eating correctly. He laughs to himself when he recalls his wife asking what they have to talk about, but he merely shrugs with the reply ‘life’.
Then with a shudder he realizes that he’s arrived as his tyres squeal and spit gravel up the drive-way. Craning his neck he can see the sun lounge spread out like some colourful metal insect. From this angle it is impossible to see if she is out there, amid the roses and her beloved richly scented jasmine. Then the groan of anguish penetrates the tranquillity of the moment as a skeletal arm reaches for a glass of iced water.
Then he’s walking up the garden, the faded grass crackling under his feet. As he reaches his Mum he bends over and kisses her pale head and asks stupidly, ‘How are you doing Mum?’
But he doesn’t need to hear her answer as he looks into her defeated face. She’s like a tiny pastry doll lying there, all white and glistening ready to be cooked by the sun.
She smiles, ‘Oh, I’ve been better, but you can’t complain,’ she starts to reply before going into a coughing fit. He can’t believe how bad she looks since last week. Her face without make-up looks like all the life has been washed away. He looks at her wispy hair, like steel wire and hopes the treatment will work.
‘Where there’s life there’s hope,’ he tells her.
‘Cancer of the lungs, and I’ve never had a cigarette in my life. Makes you laugh eh?’ she says, before laughing like a wild animal. Then she asks the question, ‘Why me?’
haha that was funny!!
Al whens the poll gng up??
Al whens the poll gng up??
Yes, when?It's already Tuesday 13th here in Australia and I'm thinking we can't be more than 24 hrs ahead of anywhere else...it's just not possible!
I keep searching the site to see if I've missed something.
Jan wrote: "Yes, when?It's already Tuesday 13th here in Australia and I'm thinking we can't be more than 24 hrs ahead of anywhere else...it's just not possible!
I keep searching the site to see if I've missed..."
really? it was the 12 on ur 13th...
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