Sunday, July 12, 2015
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Writer's Block
Hello, Porkchaps! Long time no post!
Once again, I am bored at work so I thought I'd give a tiny update and what not.
Once again (again), it's Camp NaNoWriMo month! Yaaaaay! I'm still working on that same middle grade book (hooray actual dedication!), but for the last few days I have hit a stumbling block. I'm finally in the last phase of my first draft, leading up to the climax, but my brain decided to take a holiday (not that that's different from usual).
I've been trying to get myself to put down the next few words, but something is getting lost in translation between the images in my mind and my fingertips on the keyboard. So instead of forcing the words to come, I channeled that creative energy into a rant/encouraging tale of overcoming writer's block!
Anyway, here's the poem, yo.
An Ode to Writer's Block
Once again, I am bored at work so I thought I'd give a tiny update and what not.
Once again (again), it's Camp NaNoWriMo month! Yaaaaay! I'm still working on that same middle grade book (hooray actual dedication!), but for the last few days I have hit a stumbling block. I'm finally in the last phase of my first draft, leading up to the climax, but my brain decided to take a holiday (not that that's different from usual).
I've been trying to get myself to put down the next few words, but something is getting lost in translation between the images in my mind and my fingertips on the keyboard. So instead of forcing the words to come, I channeled that creative energy into a rant/encouraging tale of overcoming writer's block!
Anyway, here's the poem, yo.
An Ode to Writer's Block
Oh, that wall in my brain
That makes me go insane,
Though I try in vain
To impale it
Writer's block is a pain
Of my existence, 'tis the bane
Like an oncoming train
Can I derail it?
What wisdom can I gain
When my brain's split in twain?
Like a barrel of hay,
Can I bail it?
It does no good to complain--
I'm a swashbuckling swain!
These words flow in my veins--
I shall prevail it!
So Writers of the World, let us unite! Pick up your pens and laptops (typewriters for you hipsters out there) and let us vanquish the Block Menace!
Happy Camp NaNoWriMo, errrbody!
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Still Hardly Working
So two and a half years ago, I made a post called "Hardly Working" that showed all the random pictures that I drew while I worked at Random Department Store, Inc. Well, here is the sequel, only this time I shall paint you a picture with WORDS.
So, the queues at my current job are completely empty and have been for the past four hours. So, because my supervisors are cool and devious at the same time, they sent us creative writing prompts to keep us busy. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I'll admit, I've actually been having way to much fun with these. Just like Obama & the Kangaroo, I decided to let my mind wander off the beaten path and just do whatever the bleep it wants.
Prompt: Create an advertisement (three to five paragraphs) using this image as your inspiration:
=====
Oooooooooh.
So, the queues at my current job are completely empty and have been for the past four hours. So, because my supervisors are cool and devious at the same time, they sent us creative writing prompts to keep us busy. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I'll admit, I've actually been having way to much fun with these. Just like Obama & the Kangaroo, I decided to let my mind wander off the beaten path and just do whatever the bleep it wants.
Prompt: Create an advertisement (three to five paragraphs) using this image as your inspiration:
"Allow me to sing you the song of my people."
Now, to me, it looks like these guys are sharing in some particularly hilarious joke. As a result. here is what I spawned:
Do you ever feel like the Netherworld is just a little too dreary at times? Our home may be
riddled with trillions of dead folks, but that doesn't mean we have to act like
it! Even Hades needs a chuckle once every few millennia.
As the sole proprietor of "Funderworld," I am here
to bring the gift of laughter back into your afterlife. My improv training seminars
give you the tools you need to tickle the funny bone of everyone you meet.
Whether you bump into the head of a somber guillotine victim
down by the River Styx or a dispirited pioneer who has still not gotten over
their death from dysentery on the Oregon Trail, I teach you how to transform
any situation into a gold mine of comedic wonder. Along with my fellow humor
instructors and the jocular antics of Cerberus, my in-depth classes are sure to
make you a veteran member of the Army of the Fundead in as little as 37 years! Transform
your eternal afterlife into the Laughterlife by enrolling today.
Contact Komos on the outskirts of the Fields of Asphodel to
register for his posthumous and post-humorous training sessions.
=====
AKA; My life in a nutshell.
Also, shout out to the person in Romania that's actually reading this. "Vă mulțumim!" ;)
Friday, August 15, 2014
House Cups & Prompts
At the behest of Amelia de Mimsy Porpington (yes that was a Harry Potter reference), I was told to put my latest prompt writing on here. So here I go!
Prompt: Write about an injury.
This was it. I was dead.
By the looks on everyone's faces, I knew.
The pain was excruciating -- it was an intense searing the likes of which I had never before experienced, and I knew I never would again.
The wound was deep. My enemy had sliced me clean through.
Cold. Mechanical.
Deliberate.
Agonizing screams erupt from my throat and fell deaf on my ears. I drifted in slow motion towards the ground, seemingly defying gravity.
I was floating, my body now in two pieces.
I landed almost poetically on the ground, my eyes fixed upward. I saw the glint of steel and felt the cold, snipping voice whisper in my ear.
"I'm sorry, my friend," he hissed, grinning. "Scissors cuts paper."
==================
I'll admit, I had way more fun writing that than I should have. ;D
Oh, and speaking of Harry Potter from earlier, Shellie and I went back on Pottermore last week after two years of inactivity to read the newest JK Rowling story (awesomeness), but we decided to create new accounts. So we both re-took the Sorting Hat quiz.
Both of us were in Hufflepuff originally (shocker there), so we were curious to see what would happen.
Two years later, I am a Ravenclaw (ka-KAW!) and Shellie is. . .
. . . A Slytherin.
I knew that chick was evil.
Prompt: Write about an injury.
This was it. I was dead.
By the looks on everyone's faces, I knew.
The pain was excruciating -- it was an intense searing the likes of which I had never before experienced, and I knew I never would again.
The wound was deep. My enemy had sliced me clean through.
Cold. Mechanical.
Deliberate.
Agonizing screams erupt from my throat and fell deaf on my ears. I drifted in slow motion towards the ground, seemingly defying gravity.
I was floating, my body now in two pieces.
I landed almost poetically on the ground, my eyes fixed upward. I saw the glint of steel and felt the cold, snipping voice whisper in my ear.
"I'm sorry, my friend," he hissed, grinning. "Scissors cuts paper."
==================
I'll admit, I had way more fun writing that than I should have. ;D
Oh, and speaking of Harry Potter from earlier, Shellie and I went back on Pottermore last week after two years of inactivity to read the newest JK Rowling story (awesomeness), but we decided to create new accounts. So we both re-took the Sorting Hat quiz.
Both of us were in Hufflepuff originally (shocker there), so we were curious to see what would happen.
Two years later, I am a Ravenclaw (ka-KAW!) and Shellie is. . .
. . . A Slytherin.
I knew that chick was evil.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Obama & the Kangaroo
Another strange title. Explanation:
At my job, we work out of a queue system, meaning there's a queue of websites that need to be written, and you go in order from there. After working overtime for a few weeks, we finally got the queues down to zero, meaning there was nothing to do.
Because of this, my now-supervisor, Stephen (whose blog you can read here), sent out a list of ridiculous creative writing prompts to do on company time to keep our creative juices flowing. This was one of them:
A kangaroo has taken the president hostage. His terms for release are the
following:
At my job, we work out of a queue system, meaning there's a queue of websites that need to be written, and you go in order from there. After working overtime for a few weeks, we finally got the queues down to zero, meaning there was nothing to do.
Because of this, my now-supervisor, Stephen (whose blog you can read here), sent out a list of ridiculous creative writing prompts to do on company time to keep our creative juices flowing. This was one of them:
A kangaroo has taken the president hostage. His terms for release are the
following:
This is
Barack Obama, President of the United States of America. The White House has
been overtaken by a group of Australian nationalists, code name Kangaroo. Wait,
it's an actual kangaroo? Really? How did this happen?
I have
been informed that it is just one kangaroo, acting of his own volition, who has
apparently subdued hundreds of trained special agents and overthrown the most
heavily guarded building in the Western Hemisphere. Because he is unable to
speak, since he is indeed a kangaroo, I am to read his demands on-air to the
entire world. Because though he cannot speak, he still does know how to write
for some reason.
Firstly,
stop calling him Kangaroo Jack. He prefers his Christian name, Kevin.
Second
Item: Stop trying to put things in his pouch. That's not for you.
Third: An
endless supply of Dunk-a-Roos.
Fourth:
Exterminate every dingo in the world. One ate his baby.
And
finally, the fifth demand: Meet the previous demands, or Kevin will kick you in
the face.
End
transmission.
=====
My mother made the comment that I should have had Obama sitting in the pouch of the kangaroo for safekeeping, so I will leave you with that ridiculously amazing image in your head for the rest of the day.
Oh, and BTDubs: Camp NaNoWriMo starts again tomorrow! Oh boy. 10K word count, here I come. Again.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Día de los Padres
Sup, guys?
Real quick before work starts, I thought I'd post a little blurb about my dad in honor of (belated) Father's Day.
Just to show you where half of my ridiculousness and narcissism comes from.
So on Sunday, my dad and I went to church and they're singing, ya know, the usual.
And my dad decides that every single song they sing, he's going to substitute the word "God" for "Dad."
Case in point: we walk out and he starts singing "My Dad is an awesome Dad, He reigns. . ."
I asked him about why he was being a blasphemer, and he just looked at me and said, deadpan: "Cuz I'm da bomb."
Despite basically calling himself God (of our household), he is right: My Dad is an awesome dad.
And now you understand me.
Sort of.
Real quick before work starts, I thought I'd post a little blurb about my dad in honor of (belated) Father's Day.
Just to show you where half of my ridiculousness and narcissism comes from.
So on Sunday, my dad and I went to church and they're singing, ya know, the usual.
And my dad decides that every single song they sing, he's going to substitute the word "God" for "Dad."
Case in point: we walk out and he starts singing "My Dad is an awesome Dad, He reigns. . ."
I asked him about why he was being a blasphemer, and he just looked at me and said, deadpan: "Cuz I'm da bomb."
Despite basically calling himself God (of our household), he is right: My Dad is an awesome dad.
And now you understand me.
Sort of.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Stop That Ferret!
Hello, all! What up with thee?
So, NaNoWriMo came and went, with my not nearing that 35,000 mark at all. I was just a tad over-zealous with that word count goal, but I am remaining positive! I finished with 10,022 words which is way more than I have written in a while, so I am calling that a definite win! There is another camp in July, so hopefully I'll be able to make even more headway on my book!
Anyway, you're probably wondering what this title is about. Allow me to elaborate.
So Amy, Shellie, and I were at the writer's meeting this past week. We have gained some new blood recently, the lovely and talented Nicole, whose phenomenal blog Dancing on a High Wire you can read here. I realize that the more people we have, the better our meeting become because we are ALL insecure about our prompts and can share in the mutual shame of our writing styles!
But this time, I felt the most inspired for a prompt than I had in a while.
After getting the initial craptastic prompt out of the way, we moved on to something new and fun.
A few weeks ago, Amy lent me a book called "How to Be a Villain," and I randomly opened to a page and immediately burst out laughing.
The line my eyes instantly flitted to?
"Stop that ferret!"
So Amy took it upon herself to transform this out-of-context phrase into a prompt for our meeting. And for some unknown reason, I felt like I was in my element.
Ridiculousness and whimsy? Totes me, yo.
So since this is something I am actually slightly proud of (and if you hate it keep it to yo'self, ya nasty), I decided to share it with you all.
So, here goes:
******
"Stop that ferret!"
Fiero scampered as fast as he could, making sure not to drop the Golden Acorn. He panted, clutching his tiny pink fists as he dodged the steady stream of toothpick arrows that whizzed past his pointed ears.
The Nutcracker Army was hot on his trail, marching remarkably fast for wooden dolls. Fiero kicked himself silently for ever taking this stupid job in the first place.
Darting through the forest, he kicked up a slew of leaves and twigs in his wake. He thought wildly for a moment that he could simply climb one of the massive oak trees, but knew that it would be futile. The Nutcrackers had access to buzz saws and heavy machinery used to whittle their wooden offspring. No, scurrying would have to do for now.
He continued his journey, the protesting shouts of the army ringing in his ears. Keep going, he thought, just a bit further. . .
Then, he saw it. His salvation.
The river.
The Nutcrackers would get carried away by the current and they would be unable to catch him if they tried to follow. With all his might, he grit his teeth and launched himself off the riverbank.
Fiero flew through the air, one arm outstretched, the other clutching the Golden Acorn. He felt the air ruffle through his fur and heard the arrows fly by his head. He remembered the skills he had learned from Plucky the Flying Squirrel: "Tuck and roll, boy! Tuck and roll!"
Bracing for impact, Fiero pulled his limbs in tight, but let out a squeak of pain as a stray arrow grazed his arm. He toppled onto the grass, gasping. But he couldn't stop. He jumped up. With a last glance over his shoulder at the shrieking Nutcracker Army on the opposite bank, Fiero .
"That's the last time I help out the nut-brained Squirrel King," he muttered bitterly, the Golden Acorn grasped firmly under his bleeding arm.
********
Sooo yeah that's it! I actually came up with an entire plot line for this story, but that's for another time and another place. ;)
Also, some more shameless plugging! My friend Sarah is currently doing awesome Disney races and is blogging about her progress! She is highly entertaining and wondies, so read her blog Running for Inspiration!
Also, Shellie's got a new blog called Shut Up and Read and I'm hoping by linking her page and seeing that people are viewing it, it will hold her accountable to actually write something. So go annoy her and leave comments that cripple her sense of self-worth unless she writes! Do it now! ;D
So, NaNoWriMo came and went, with my not nearing that 35,000 mark at all. I was just a tad over-zealous with that word count goal, but I am remaining positive! I finished with 10,022 words which is way more than I have written in a while, so I am calling that a definite win! There is another camp in July, so hopefully I'll be able to make even more headway on my book!
Anyway, you're probably wondering what this title is about. Allow me to elaborate.
So Amy, Shellie, and I were at the writer's meeting this past week. We have gained some new blood recently, the lovely and talented Nicole, whose phenomenal blog Dancing on a High Wire you can read here. I realize that the more people we have, the better our meeting become because we are ALL insecure about our prompts and can share in the mutual shame of our writing styles!
But this time, I felt the most inspired for a prompt than I had in a while.
After getting the initial craptastic prompt out of the way, we moved on to something new and fun.
A few weeks ago, Amy lent me a book called "How to Be a Villain," and I randomly opened to a page and immediately burst out laughing.
The line my eyes instantly flitted to?
"Stop that ferret!"
So Amy took it upon herself to transform this out-of-context phrase into a prompt for our meeting. And for some unknown reason, I felt like I was in my element.
Ridiculousness and whimsy? Totes me, yo.
So since this is something I am actually slightly proud of (and if you hate it keep it to yo'self, ya nasty), I decided to share it with you all.
So, here goes:
******
"Stop that ferret!"
Fiero scampered as fast as he could, making sure not to drop the Golden Acorn. He panted, clutching his tiny pink fists as he dodged the steady stream of toothpick arrows that whizzed past his pointed ears.
The Nutcracker Army was hot on his trail, marching remarkably fast for wooden dolls. Fiero kicked himself silently for ever taking this stupid job in the first place.
Darting through the forest, he kicked up a slew of leaves and twigs in his wake. He thought wildly for a moment that he could simply climb one of the massive oak trees, but knew that it would be futile. The Nutcrackers had access to buzz saws and heavy machinery used to whittle their wooden offspring. No, scurrying would have to do for now.
He continued his journey, the protesting shouts of the army ringing in his ears. Keep going, he thought, just a bit further. . .
Then, he saw it. His salvation.
The river.
The Nutcrackers would get carried away by the current and they would be unable to catch him if they tried to follow. With all his might, he grit his teeth and launched himself off the riverbank.
Fiero flew through the air, one arm outstretched, the other clutching the Golden Acorn. He felt the air ruffle through his fur and heard the arrows fly by his head. He remembered the skills he had learned from Plucky the Flying Squirrel: "Tuck and roll, boy! Tuck and roll!"
Bracing for impact, Fiero pulled his limbs in tight, but let out a squeak of pain as a stray arrow grazed his arm. He toppled onto the grass, gasping. But he couldn't stop. He jumped up. With a last glance over his shoulder at the shrieking Nutcracker Army on the opposite bank, Fiero .
"That's the last time I help out the nut-brained Squirrel King," he muttered bitterly, the Golden Acorn grasped firmly under his bleeding arm.
********
Sooo yeah that's it! I actually came up with an entire plot line for this story, but that's for another time and another place. ;)
Also, some more shameless plugging! My friend Sarah is currently doing awesome Disney races and is blogging about her progress! She is highly entertaining and wondies, so read her blog Running for Inspiration!
Also, Shellie's got a new blog called Shut Up and Read and I'm hoping by linking her page and seeing that people are viewing it, it will hold her accountable to actually write something. So go annoy her and leave comments that cripple her sense of self-worth unless she writes! Do it now! ;D
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
NaNooooooooo! WriMo
Guys.
I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo again.
Lord help me.
Amy is as well, though, so I mean, at least I'm not going through it alone, right?
Right?
Seriously, though. I'm supposed to write 35,000 by the 30th. I am currently at 4,112. That's 6, 488 words behind where I need to be to finish on time.
All day today, my eye has been twitching constantly. Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt.
Oh, but I realized I never told you how the Camp last July went!
It was . . . all right.
I mean, I reached the word count. But I didn't finish the play and kind of abandoned it. o_O
But now I've got a new story--a Christmas story! For kiddies! Yay!
And it occurs to me as I type through the last few remnants of my lunch break, that I could have been working on that story instead of updating this blog.
Meh.
I'll let you know how it works out! In the meantime, shall I shamelessly plug my cake decorating business?
Hellz yeah.
May I present:
For Goodness Cakes!
Heavenly Treats for all Occasions!
Follow the Link to Yummy Times, Yo!
Wow I really need sleep.
I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo again.
Lord help me.
Amy is as well, though, so I mean, at least I'm not going through it alone, right?
Right?
Seriously, though. I'm supposed to write 35,000 by the 30th. I am currently at 4,112. That's 6, 488 words behind where I need to be to finish on time.
All day today, my eye has been twitching constantly. Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt.
Oh, but I realized I never told you how the Camp last July went!
It was . . . all right.
I mean, I reached the word count. But I didn't finish the play and kind of abandoned it. o_O
But now I've got a new story--a Christmas story! For kiddies! Yay!
And it occurs to me as I type through the last few remnants of my lunch break, that I could have been working on that story instead of updating this blog.
Meh.
I'll let you know how it works out! In the meantime, shall I shamelessly plug my cake decorating business?
Hellz yeah.
May I present:
For Goodness Cakes!
Heavenly Treats for all Occasions!
Follow the Link to Yummy Times, Yo!
Wow I really need sleep.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Barmiffa
Yes, I know it's been a while. Yes, I know you don't care. Okay let's continue shall we?
So I recently began a new big-girl job as a copywriter! Whoop whoop! English degrees aren't so useless now, are they, Dad? ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW, PAPA??
Basically my job is to make stupid people sound halfway intelligent. A customer wants a website designed, so the sales team transcribes everything about their business and sends it to me to turn into well-written paragraphs and such.
Well, the majority of the sales team are, to put it gently, as dumb as a bag of rocks. They don't understand the concept of grammar or simply asking the customer to repeat that last sentence, please. Nope, they write down everything they hear as is.
I've gotten bogus information about non-existent cities, provinces, and celebrities (lady said she worked on "How I Met Your Mother" with Patrick Michael Harris. Seriously?). But there is one instance that I just can't. . . I just can't.
So I recently began a new big-girl job as a copywriter! Whoop whoop! English degrees aren't so useless now, are they, Dad? ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW, PAPA??
Basically my job is to make stupid people sound halfway intelligent. A customer wants a website designed, so the sales team transcribes everything about their business and sends it to me to turn into well-written paragraphs and such.
Well, the majority of the sales team are, to put it gently, as dumb as a bag of rocks. They don't understand the concept of grammar or simply asking the customer to repeat that last sentence, please. Nope, they write down everything they hear as is.
I've gotten bogus information about non-existent cities, provinces, and celebrities (lady said she worked on "How I Met Your Mother" with Patrick Michael Harris. Seriously?). But there is one instance that I just can't. . . I just can't.
 |
Learn how to fpell, feeple. For realff.
Monday, December 2, 2013
So...Close...
Okay, so I know it's been 2 and a half months since I've posted anything, but I just want you all to know. . .
There is a comic at the end of the tunnel!
I will be graduating a week from Friday (insert sigh of relief followed by blood-curdling scream due to remembrance of all the crap I gotta do before then) in which case I will actually have time to do things! Of those things shall be posting on here! Whoop whoop!
So do not fret, Porkchaps, I will return shortly! In the meantime, I hope you all had a marvelous Thanksgiving and good luck on any exams and things you might have!
There is a comic at the end of the tunnel!
I will be graduating a week from Friday (insert sigh of relief followed by blood-curdling scream due to remembrance of all the crap I gotta do before then) in which case I will actually have time to do things! Of those things shall be posting on here! Whoop whoop!
So do not fret, Porkchaps, I will return shortly! In the meantime, I hope you all had a marvelous Thanksgiving and good luck on any exams and things you might have!
Monday, September 23, 2013
Raquel the Vegetarian Zombie
So you guys know how I was honored to be a guest contributor on that dude Jonny Jimison's stupendous blog Getting Ethan? Well guess who managed to snag him for a guest comic on MY blog????
Don't strain yourselves. It's me.
So, Porkchaps, I implore you to feast your eyes on the wonderful randomness that occurs when I tell people to write stuff and I don't give them a topic.
I dunno. I think I'd totally risk bullet wounds for brains.
Yes, Irene. It is indeed.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Technological Evil
So it's still Amy week, and apparently she has major issues with personified PCs.
Let's take a look, shall we?
Let's take a look, shall we?
I'm So Sorry. . .
a poem by Amy Sandusky
Once again I
Failed
You as I
Always
Tend to do.
Looking
Back you must
Hate
Me or at
Least
Cringe with distaste
When
I fall short
Again.
Please forgive me
Forget
My constant shortcomings.
Look
Beyond my past.
Please
Remember my intentions
And
Above all else
Don’t
Trade me in
For
An Apple computer.
###
And now Amy has decided "Screw it" doesn't even try to disguise her extreme loathing of the subject of this next poem, which is simply entitled. . .
EVIL COMPUTER
a poem by Amy
Evil computer
You make me feel dumb
You ransack my brain
And that is no fun
You question my mind
And tease me all day
You think that you’re smart
I must do as you say
I bite off my nails
And pull out my hair
Your screen goes blank
And gives me a scare
You make a few beeps
Laughing in my face
The screen comes back on
The memory’s erased
I shell out my wallet
To get you fixed up
And after I’m broke
You say ‘that’s enough’
You come back to life
I shower you praise
I bring you back home
I’m truly amazed
I set you back up
And get back to work
And then you freeze up
I call you a jerk
You’re an evil computer
But now I have won
To the trash you will go
For now you are done
 |
| "Easy, Amy, easy. It's over now. Shhhh. . ." |
Once again, I implore you to read Amy's amazabulous blog of musings, "This Is Why I Write." 'Tis nifty with a capital Nuh!
Monday, September 16, 2013
My Greatest Hour
Hello again, Porkchaps! So our good pal Amy has decided to grace us with her presence again with her short story, "My Greatest Hour." Enjoy!
I knew I should have worn jeans. It had been only minutes and my knees
were already aching from the unflinching position I held, crouched in the
grass. I was careful not to make a sound or even breathe too loudly. Silence
was key. I had no watch but from the way the shadows had moved across the
ground I guessed ten minutes might have passed by. I felt a tickle in my nose,
no doubt caused by the pollen in the air. I resisted a sneeze. It would give
away my position for sure and that was the last thing I needed. I could not be
found. I had hidden here before, even leaving my name etched in the bark of one
of the trees I used for cover. “Kyle N.” I rubbed my forefinger over the
scratches. Even after all these months it still shined clearly.
A rustle in the distance. I shrunk deeper into the earth.
“Have we checked here yet?” a voice whispered.
My body tensed and I held my breath.
“He’d have to be stupid,” came the reply.
I let the air escape my lungs slowly. I still wasn’t out of the woods
yet. The day was cooling off as the sun began its decent. How much longer did I
have to wait? The minutes felt like hours and my legs throbbed in protest. My
eyes darted, looking for something to take my mind off the pain. The bush that
hid my left side was great cover. My face being inches from the branches, I
could see the insects that had made their home there. Caterpillars, ants,
spiders, bees….
My breath caught and I stifled a yelp. Bees. Who knew they lived in
bushes too? I could hear footsteps in the distance reminding me to stay quiet,
but inside I was screaming. A single bee was my kryptonite. I suddenly
remembered my mother sitting me down when I was little, holding a toy bee in
her hands. The toy was only the size of a quarter and looked small in her palm.
“Kyle, you see this?”
I nodded.
And then she threw it against the wall. “Bees are bad.”
From that moment on I was afraid to hand her any of my toys for fear
they would meet the same fate. Later my older sister explained to me that our
mom was all about visualizing to make a point. She taught us to always brush
our teeth by showing us pictures of rotting molars. I never missed a day after
that.
The buzzing brought me back to reality. I was very practiced at being
still and hoped the bee would lose interest soon. I could not afford to be
found. I had been, in a sense, training for this moment for quite a long time.
The disciplines, endurance, patience, strategy, all are things I had been
building up in my life, undoubtedly for this very moment. The bee would not get
to me. If I was stung, at least I would still be hidden, albeit passed out and
hardly breathing. I would conquer the bee. And so I sat.
Time continued to crawl by. My stomach grumbled. Food, it groaned. I looked down at my middle, knowing there was nothing I could do to satisfy it without revealing my position. I only wished it wouldn’t be so loud. I had almost lost feeling in my legs now.
Time continued to crawl by. My stomach grumbled. Food, it groaned. I looked down at my middle, knowing there was nothing I could do to satisfy it without revealing my position. I only wished it wouldn’t be so loud. I had almost lost feeling in my legs now.
The crouching stance I held was too much to keep so I resorted to
sitting with my legs pulled up to my chest. Hopefully I would not need a quick
getaway. There would be some difficulty in my escape if I had to rush out of my
hiding place. Definitely scratches and maybe even some ripped clothes. But I
didn’t need to think about that. I was perfectly undisclosed. No chance my
pursuers would find me.
The sun was nearly gone and it seemed I had avoided capture. But it wasn’t over yet. The darkness was on my side now and I would use it to my advantage. Just a few more minutes….
The sun was nearly gone and it seemed I had avoided capture. But it wasn’t over yet. The darkness was on my side now and I would use it to my advantage. Just a few more minutes….
A warm breeze flowed through the bushes and touched my face. It was
soothing and refreshing. Had long had I been there? I racked my brains but it
only made me yawn. For a moment I closed my eyes.
A whistle blew and I jumped, bumping my head into a low branch. A sudden
feeling of tickling made my skin crawl. It was dark, but I could feel little
somethings inching their way across my scalp and arms. The need to yell was
rising in my throat but I fought it. Instead I held my breath and began batting
at my skin. It felt like fire ants biting and stinging. As much as I was put
off by the attack, I was silently thankful it wasn’t a bee. I managed to shake
all the ants off but now a burning sensation was taking over my skin. I
resisted the urge to scratch by concentrating on where the whistle might have
come from. Was it an alarm? Were they regrouping? Was I still safe? I peered
through the bush forcing myself to see through the black. My eyes were met with
an interesting sight. A dog was staring right back at me. Its muzzle was not that
of a friendly dog, but one that would love to see what I tasted like.
I had another instant vision of my mother. She was holding a piece of
bacon in front of a stray dog that had wandered into our back yard. She walked
to the gate and threw the bacon as far as she could. The dog bolted after the
meat and my mother promptly shut the gate. Part of me wished desperately for
some bacon, the other part of me realized just how often my mother threw
things. With my left hand, I felt along the earth for a rock or stick. Maybe
this dog was just lonely. While tossing the object might jeopardize my
position, I figured publicity was not worse than death.
I leaned up, raised my hand and threw the stick over the bush. For a
split second I thought it hadn’t worked, the dog was still staring me dead in
the eye. After the longest second of my life, the dog spun around and darted
after the stick. I knew he would be back, and it was for that reason I decided
to come out of hiding. I crawled out of the bush, careful not to bump anything
too hard for fear of more ants, or even worse, bees. The open air hit me like a
ton of bricks, and so did the sounds to follow.
“There he is!”
“Get him!”
“KYLE!”
I jumped, seeing the dark figures of my pursuers in the distance. I
whipped my head, spotting my new destination and took off, running as fast as
my cramped legs would take me. Their feet pounded the ground behind me, but I
could barely hear it over the sound of my own gasping for breath.
They were closing in, but I was still faster. I had been training for
this moment. I saw the spot, my sanctuary. I threw my body onto the sacred
ground mere seconds before my pursuers reached the same speck of land. I was
safe.
“I won!” I gasped. I couldn’t quite see, but I could feel the glares.
“Whatever,” I heard Aaron say. “Wanna go another round?”
I closed my eyes, exhaustion setting in, my body sprawled out on the
grass. “Not it!”
“Not it!”
“Not it!”
“Not it!”
“Hey! I was it last time!”
“You were also slowest last time. We can’t help that.”
Aaron grabbed my hand and pulled me up to my feet. The five of us
trekked out into the darkness for another epic game of hide and seek.
#
Remember to check out Amy's blog, This Is Why I Write!
Friday, September 13, 2013
Beau and Dutch: The Final Final Misadventure
All right, everyone! The epic final conclusion to the final misadventure is finally here! Mighty fine!
How appropriate we should read a ghost story on Friday the 13th. Spooky.
They next day was a blur. When Beau woke up at seven, Dutch was already downstairs drinking his coffee. They didn’t talk much, they just drank until the pot was empty and they were forced to begin their day. From morning until night, they spent it fixing loose boards, cutting down dead tree limbs and removing spiders from the premises. Beau wasn’t sure why, but Dutch had been in a weird mood all day. He wasn’t talking much, he wasn’t joking around, and most the concerning, he was not threatening Beau’s life. Maybe he just didn’t get enough sleep. By the time they both stopped their work, it was dark outside. They ate sandwiches for dinner and once they realized how exhausted they were, they decided to go straight to bed. It was about nine o’clock when they went upstairs. They said good night, shut their doors and collapsed into near-comas.
A few hours later, Dutch was jolted awake by the sound the door slamming downstairs again, then footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned on his lamp immediately, but this time he found it hard to move. He knew that the wind hadn’t knocked a limb onto the roof last night. Someone had been in the house, and turned on all the lights downstairs. And whatever did it was back, and was now upstairs. After a moment he heard a door close. Dutch tried to calmhimself. Maybe it was just Beau? He finally found the courage to move his legs. He stood up and moved slowly to his door. He cracked it just barely to peek into the hallway. It was dark, but it looked clear. He swung the door open and stepped forward into the hallway. He quickly opened Beau’s bedroom door, entered the room and shut the door behind him. Dutch pressed himself firmly against the back of the door, as if to barricade someone from getting in. Dutch looked over to the small twin bed, he now felt sorry for tricking his friend into. In it, Beau was sitting straight up, his eyes were wide.
“Beau,” Dutch said simply.
“Yes, Dutch?”
“Were you just downstairs?”
“Why, no, Dutch,” Beau’s eyes grew wider, “I was actually just wondering the same about you.” Dutch swallowed hard and looked down. He stared intently, as if trying to read words on the floor.
“Maybe now is the time to tell you that last night, when I went downstairs, I wasn’t the one who had turned on all the lights. Somebody else had.” His voice was hoarse.
It was at that exact moment, as if on cue, that a music box began playing in the room next door. Dutch leapt across the room, landing on the bed next to Beau. They grabbed hold of each other, as if they were each a raft and they were going down on a sinking ship. They sat silently, one of them keeping an eye on the door while the other looked to the wall from beyond the music was coming. I’m not sure how long exactly they sat there. Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once in that moment. Finally, they turned to look at each other. Without words they knew they couldn’t just sit there forever. With shaking hands, Beau unzipped his sleeping bag and they both stood up. Still holding onto each other, they crept across the room. They both held their breath as they opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. They slid their backs against the hard wood walls, because they were too afraid to leave them exposed. When they reached the door to the little girl’s bedroom, Dutch swallowed dryly and said a prayer under his breath. He reached for the knob, twisted and pushed it open.
The room was dark and empty. They scanned the area without moving; their eyes were searching, but they weren’t completely sure what for. Then they saw the music box on a corner shelf, sitting among a long line of dolls, which became less innocent, seemed more possessed in their petrified state. They moved as one, slowly across the room, constantly throwing glances over their shoulder. Once they finally reached the music box, the music slowly came to a halt. The silence allowed them to hear something they had not noticed before, fingernails scratching on the wall behind them. Dutch jumped and turned around. Beau also jumped, but arranged himself firmly behind Dutch, using him as a human shield. In front of them was a large mirror. It looked like it was the only one left unshattered in the entire house. But that was not the strange thing about this mirror. No, the strange thing about this particular mirror was the pale young girl looking back at them from it.
It’s not every day you look straight into the face of a ghost. Most people would be out of there in a matter of seconds, but Beau and Dutch weren’t the brightest of men. They stood, petrified in their places. Beau’s mind began to race. He thought of everything they had gone through those past few days and before he knew it his mouth was running.
“I told you buying this house was a stupid idea,” Beau whispered, still unable to move his legs.
“Shut up!” Dutch forced out, his voice cracking.
“No. Honestly. This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot, Dutch.”
Well that did it. Dutch turned around, “Well I’d like to see you come up with any better ones.” He barked.
“I will!” Beau snapped.
“Fine!” Dutch yelled.
“Get out.” The girl whispered Beau and Dutch spun around in horror. Somehow, for a moment they had forgotten the girl.
“Uh… What?” Dutch asked carefully.
“Get out!” The ghost screamed.
And that was it.
“Yes ma’am!” Beau said, tipping an invisible hat. And then they flew out the door. They ran down the stairs and out the door. They never looked back.
Back in the house, the girl giggled. The door which held the large false mirror opened and she stepped out from the closet. Mr. and Mrs. BonHeight suddenly appeared at the bedroom door.
“We got another one, Grandpa!” The girl jumped up and down.
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Sweetheart!” Mr. BonHeight smiled.
“That makes seven. How many more people are we going to fool?” She asked, scrunching her face.
“As many as we can get to agree to move in as-is and without refund!” Mrs. BonHeight laughed. They all sat down on the bed. Mr. BonHeight put his arms around his wife and his granddaughter.
“It’s a tough world out there. You have to get by doing what you can.” He told them.
Out on the road, Beau was driving their old beat-up car as fast as it could go. Where? They weren’t quite sure yet.
“Hey, Beau?”
“Yeah, Dutch?”
“What do you think about askin’ your dad about getting us some jobs over at the factory?”
Beau stared through the windshield, taking in the dark road.
“I think that’s the greatest idea you’ve had yet.”
How appropriate we should read a ghost story on Friday the 13th. Spooky.
Once again, I implore you to check out the blog of Beth Arnold (Alias: Bethington Quagmire Jones) here. "Basically it's just a place where I share my art, writing, crafts, recipes, etc. It's
a place for the creative-at-heart." Who in all good conscience and owning a heart with a thirst for a creative outlet, can say no to that?
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you:
The Final Misadventure of Beau and Dutch
by Beth Arnold
They next day was a blur. When Beau woke up at seven, Dutch was already downstairs drinking his coffee. They didn’t talk much, they just drank until the pot was empty and they were forced to begin their day. From morning until night, they spent it fixing loose boards, cutting down dead tree limbs and removing spiders from the premises. Beau wasn’t sure why, but Dutch had been in a weird mood all day. He wasn’t talking much, he wasn’t joking around, and most the concerning, he was not threatening Beau’s life. Maybe he just didn’t get enough sleep. By the time they both stopped their work, it was dark outside. They ate sandwiches for dinner and once they realized how exhausted they were, they decided to go straight to bed. It was about nine o’clock when they went upstairs. They said good night, shut their doors and collapsed into near-comas.
A few hours later, Dutch was jolted awake by the sound the door slamming downstairs again, then footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned on his lamp immediately, but this time he found it hard to move. He knew that the wind hadn’t knocked a limb onto the roof last night. Someone had been in the house, and turned on all the lights downstairs. And whatever did it was back, and was now upstairs. After a moment he heard a door close. Dutch tried to calmhimself. Maybe it was just Beau? He finally found the courage to move his legs. He stood up and moved slowly to his door. He cracked it just barely to peek into the hallway. It was dark, but it looked clear. He swung the door open and stepped forward into the hallway. He quickly opened Beau’s bedroom door, entered the room and shut the door behind him. Dutch pressed himself firmly against the back of the door, as if to barricade someone from getting in. Dutch looked over to the small twin bed, he now felt sorry for tricking his friend into. In it, Beau was sitting straight up, his eyes were wide.
“Beau,” Dutch said simply.
“Yes, Dutch?”
“Were you just downstairs?”
“Why, no, Dutch,” Beau’s eyes grew wider, “I was actually just wondering the same about you.” Dutch swallowed hard and looked down. He stared intently, as if trying to read words on the floor.
“Maybe now is the time to tell you that last night, when I went downstairs, I wasn’t the one who had turned on all the lights. Somebody else had.” His voice was hoarse.
It was at that exact moment, as if on cue, that a music box began playing in the room next door. Dutch leapt across the room, landing on the bed next to Beau. They grabbed hold of each other, as if they were each a raft and they were going down on a sinking ship. They sat silently, one of them keeping an eye on the door while the other looked to the wall from beyond the music was coming. I’m not sure how long exactly they sat there. Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once in that moment. Finally, they turned to look at each other. Without words they knew they couldn’t just sit there forever. With shaking hands, Beau unzipped his sleeping bag and they both stood up. Still holding onto each other, they crept across the room. They both held their breath as they opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. They slid their backs against the hard wood walls, because they were too afraid to leave them exposed. When they reached the door to the little girl’s bedroom, Dutch swallowed dryly and said a prayer under his breath. He reached for the knob, twisted and pushed it open.
The room was dark and empty. They scanned the area without moving; their eyes were searching, but they weren’t completely sure what for. Then they saw the music box on a corner shelf, sitting among a long line of dolls, which became less innocent, seemed more possessed in their petrified state. They moved as one, slowly across the room, constantly throwing glances over their shoulder. Once they finally reached the music box, the music slowly came to a halt. The silence allowed them to hear something they had not noticed before, fingernails scratching on the wall behind them. Dutch jumped and turned around. Beau also jumped, but arranged himself firmly behind Dutch, using him as a human shield. In front of them was a large mirror. It looked like it was the only one left unshattered in the entire house. But that was not the strange thing about this mirror. No, the strange thing about this particular mirror was the pale young girl looking back at them from it.
It’s not every day you look straight into the face of a ghost. Most people would be out of there in a matter of seconds, but Beau and Dutch weren’t the brightest of men. They stood, petrified in their places. Beau’s mind began to race. He thought of everything they had gone through those past few days and before he knew it his mouth was running.
“I told you buying this house was a stupid idea,” Beau whispered, still unable to move his legs.
“Shut up!” Dutch forced out, his voice cracking.
“No. Honestly. This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot, Dutch.”
Well that did it. Dutch turned around, “Well I’d like to see you come up with any better ones.” He barked.
“I will!” Beau snapped.
“Fine!” Dutch yelled.
“Get out.” The girl whispered Beau and Dutch spun around in horror. Somehow, for a moment they had forgotten the girl.
“Uh… What?” Dutch asked carefully.
“Get out!” The ghost screamed.
And that was it.
“Yes ma’am!” Beau said, tipping an invisible hat. And then they flew out the door. They ran down the stairs and out the door. They never looked back.
Back in the house, the girl giggled. The door which held the large false mirror opened and she stepped out from the closet. Mr. and Mrs. BonHeight suddenly appeared at the bedroom door.
“We got another one, Grandpa!” The girl jumped up and down.
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Sweetheart!” Mr. BonHeight smiled.
“That makes seven. How many more people are we going to fool?” She asked, scrunching her face.
“As many as we can get to agree to move in as-is and without refund!” Mrs. BonHeight laughed. They all sat down on the bed. Mr. BonHeight put his arms around his wife and his granddaughter.
“It’s a tough world out there. You have to get by doing what you can.” He told them.
Out on the road, Beau was driving their old beat-up car as fast as it could go. Where? They weren’t quite sure yet.
“Hey, Beau?”
“Yeah, Dutch?”
“What do you think about askin’ your dad about getting us some jobs over at the factory?”
Beau stared through the windshield, taking in the dark road.
“I think that’s the greatest idea you’ve had yet.”
The End.
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