Pens of a Mighty Breed

This old House

2008-04-10T10:34:00.003-06:00

Paige sent me this little exercise from her Creative Block.

Describe - without going there - your favourite room in the house. Imagine you haven't been there for 20 years

This got away with me a bit. i started out with the intention of writing about one room, but as you'll soon see, it spread into the whole house. The return to the old house is completely fiction, but the memories are all real.

The door screen door slammed shut behind me, echoing through the empty house. I couldn't believe after 20 years, the bungalow my family lived in was still standing. I hadn't been back here since dad moved the family away. I recalled being so angry with my dad for taking me out of school and moving me halfway across the country. I knew there was no hope of ever seeing my friends again. My best friend Jenny and I clung to each other, tears streaming down our faces, promising we'd write and call every day, vowing to be together! I think we both knew it was the end, and the letters and calls pedered out after only a few months.

I laid the realtor's keys on the counter, leaned against the sink and looked around the kitchen of my childhood. The dark wood of the cupboards, the avacado green fridge, the same curtains hung over the kitchen window that my mother had sewn when I was 10. It was all still there. I stared at the same brown and orange linoleum, peeling up under the pantry door, and the old familiar geometric patterns lifted out of the lino and burned into my retinas. I recalled many a 'late night chat' with my father in that kitchen - staring off into space, picking out different patterns in the floor - anything to avoid having a real 'heart to heart'.

We left that house in B.C. so my dad could go to the University two provinces over. The last 2 years in that house, Dad became a therapist instead of a father. Every time I would cross the line, he would sit me down to talk about why I acted out, or what I felt was going on. I still remember thinking: "Just smack me, already, and get it over with." The 'talks' were the worst.

I wandered into the living room and ran my hands along the stone fireplace. Sitting on the bench-like ledge, I could almost hear my older brother screaming at me while I practiced and sobbed into my Clarinet. Funny, the memories that pop up. The carpet has changed. I remembered when we moved in - how we ripped up the old carpet and how soft and squishy the new carpet was. I felt like "this must be how the rich people live".

The living room had two picture windows that looked out into the garden, the garden was no longer there. Someone had laid down some concrete and put up a basketball hoop. Just as well, I hated summers of weeding. So many memories in this room.

Like the time a bat got in the house and we kids hid on the stairs and watched as it swooped at top speeds getting so-close to the windows and swerving out of the way at the very last second. Or the many wrestling matches that took place on mom's new rocking chair. The Christmas mornings, the smell of the pine tree that we would hike into the mountains each year to cut down.

I gazed at the circular stairs heading down to the basement, with some anticipation. yes, I was soaking in the memories, but the basement was where my old room was. The room I was most excited to see.

Standing at the top of those stairs, with my hand on the rail, I couldn't help but smile at the memory of the time my older brother and i threw my younger brother down those stairs in a suitcase. It was a harmless game at first. Patrick willingly got in the suitcase and we zipped him in, then Brent and I - standing at the top of the stairs - shook the suitcase up and down, with a laughing brother secured inside. "We're going to throw you down the stairs!" we cried, giggling as we mocked his descent down the staircase. How it happened, i'm not entirely sure, but at some point my hands left the case - and we watched, horrified, as our little brother in an old blue suitcase, bounced down the circular stairs to the cement floor below. Silence. A few seconds - that felt like ages - passed and Patrick unzipped the bag and stared up at our two terrified faces peering down at him. "You guys actually did throw me down the stairs?? Let's do that again!"

I ran my hand down the familiar railing and entered into a different world. The world of makebelieve and play. Too many memories in this basement. Part of me was releived to see that not too many changes had been made to the partially unfinished lower level. To my left, the later owners had finished what my father had started when he framed Brent's bedroom. For years it was a skeleton made of 2x4s, the walls were made of old blankets. Now, it had been gyprocked, taped, mudded and painted - with an actual door.

Standing on the last step of the stairs, and facing that direction - i remembered this was where i saw my first act of masturbation. My brother had a friend, Daryl, who was much older than Brent. Looking back now, i should have realized what kind of 20 year old hangs out with 15 year olds. But i was 13, Daryl had a fast car, dark hair, green eyes - and a Woodstock tattoo on his right shoulder. He used to 'let me' massage his shirtless back - when my parent's weren't home. He was in fairly good shape, and had a more muscular body than any of the boys i'd ever seen shirtless. I remember being amazed how soft and tanned his skin was, as i rubbed his back and shoulders.

He had a rough family, and a mean father. He stayed with us a lot. One night, I was walking down the stairs, in my pjs, to go to bed. The basement was mostly dark, but the moon was full and let enough light into the rooms to see clearly. To this day, i don't know where my brother was, but as i reached the last step of the stairs i heard a noise and stopped. It was like a soft repeated slapping, coming from the left. I looked over and through the blanket-door i saw him. naked. i couldn't move. It was like i was glued to the spot - intrigued and curious. I knew, at that age, how it was done, and why, but i'd never seen or heard it. My heart was pouding so loud I was sure i'd be found out. He picked up his pace and was grunting softly. It was the hottest i had ever been. When he finished, i waited, like a statue, until i was sure he'd fallen asleep and moved slowly and quietly to my room on the other side of the house.

I shook the memory away, and smiled. That explains a lot, i thought to myself as i stood there in the middle of the family room.

There were some changes to the family room, like carpet over the cold cement floor that we would sprint across each morning in our bare feet and jammies, the far wall had been finished. No longer could you see the half cement wall that we would spray with various things like hairspray, household cleaner, or purfumes - and light on fire to watch the floating blue green flames. Also covered over was the top portion of gyprock which, over time, we had converted into our own year-book of sorts. People who came over would sign it, or draw something on it, write a dirty limerick that my mother would scratch out with black sharpie, but not soon enough for us to have it memorized.

The pot-bellied stove that my mother would light in the winter mornings to warm the basement an hour before we had to be out of bed for school was still there. I can remember the sound of her opening the stove. The clang of its door colliding with its body, the sound of the crackling wood and the smell of the woodsmoke rising out of the open door, and the creak and clang as she shut and locked it.

I made my way to my old bedroom, and slowly opened the door. I had spent incredibly formative years in this bedroom. From age 9 to 14. It was empty, like the rest of the house, but i could see my old bed in the corner by the wall, the desk my father built for me next to the door. I could see my books on the windowsill, and could almost smell their pages dying yellow in the sun.

This is the room where I tried on my first training bra, where i wrote in my very first diary, the place where i would escape into books, the headquarters of the Best Friends Club which tanked 2 weeks later, where i sang my heart out to mixed tapes and dreamed of being a famous singer, the place i got my first period, where i sobbed into my pillow after being violated on my 13th birthday, the window i crawled out of when i ran away to protest my mother saying I couldn't keep the kitten, and years later the same window I crawled out of to meet up with an older guy who drove Jenny and I to town.

The memories swirled around my head, thick like clouds. So much of who i am transpired in this small room. There was something i was searching for, though. Something in particular. I just needed something to stand on.

When i was young and we'd move a lot, i always dreamed of finding a secret door, or a hiding place, or old love letters left in a drawer. When it was apparent we were leaving this place, i became determined to leave my mark for someone to find. At first, i wrote a message on the cement floor and covered it with a piece of carpet. It was short. It said: "This was my bedroom, take care of it. Love Laura" I looked down to see the cement floor covered with the same carpet as the living room.

I walked to the corner of the room and looked up at the floating ceiling. How many nights had i stared at those tiles before falling asleep? I counted one in from the wall, and two down. There. That was the one.

To reach the ceiling, i had to go outside to find an old log, used as a chopping block. I positioned it under the tile, and when i was sure of it was stable enough to hold me, i climbed on top. I removed the small flash light from my bag around my shoulder, turned it on, and gently lifted the tile and pushed it over.

After quickly shining the light into the hole, and realizing i wasn't high enough for it to be of any use, i turned it off and blindly reached about searching for what i knew/hoped was still there. Dust fell from the hole into my face. i resisted the urge to cough and continued the search until i found it. i managed to grab it and carefully pulled it out.

An old cracker tin. Covered in dust.

I slid the tile back in place, and hopped off the log, brushing the dust and debris from my hair and shoulders.

I returned the log to the backyard and was careful to lock the door. Holding the tin in my hand, i made my way back up the stairs. I could see the sky in shades of purple and pink through those picture windows as the sun sank lazily into the mountains. I watched the dust dance in the air for a few moments before grabbing the keys off the counter. Taking one last look, i sighed and left, locking the door.

I sat in my car for a good 10 minutes, soaking in the scenery of the little hobby farm where i grew up. With the tin sitting next to me in the passenger seat, i started the car and drove down the little dirt road - away from the home of my childhood.

Memories

2008-01-29T23:26:00.000-06:00

My memories of the past
Keep coming back to me.
Some of them I thought were dead,
Why can't they let me be?
Did I treat you like shit?
Or was it all you?
I just can't remember
What all we went through.
I don't feel like I did you wrong.
You probably think the same.
So why do I get the chills
Everytime I hear your name?
Is there a way to get past this point?
Is there a way to be friends?
I just don't know. What do we do?
Where does this insanity end???

Dreaming of Spring

2008-01-04T10:07:00.000-06:00

Today I saw a gopher
he flipped his tail
and winked at me.

Today I saw spring,
the wind smiled
and the sun laughed.

Today I saw the puddles of melted snow.

Today I saw the trees start to bud and grow.

Today I heard the birds
chattering about the new feeder
and the weather.

Today I saw the first flower.
It peaked it's face through the snow...

Today I saw Spring.

~ March 1999

Clouds in the Sunrise

2007-10-24T10:52:00.000-06:00

opaque
as they wash up on the sky's shore.
dream-like pink-
silver linings shine through

Untitled - December 15, 2006

2007-10-17T14:23:00.000-06:00

in bed
can't sleep
clock ticks
outside the
storm blows
wind
can't sleep
tic
tic

It's So Quiet And Everything's So Nice - April 1997

2007-10-17T14:08:00.000-06:00

A robin beats it's wins fiercely
and my dog looks up.
Curious; startled and awakened from her nap.
The windmill in the yard,
up on that hill over there
turns with the light breeze.
A meadowlark calls out it's song
as the clouds move overhead.
The breeze quickens,
fallen leaves begin to rustle,
playing their own game of tag in the grass.
Way in the distance, cows holler.
Thunder rolls above me
and the robin speaks it's mind.
Although these things I cannot understand,
I sit and watch....

as it begins to rain...

Old Friend

2007-10-10T08:48:00.000-06:00

She hobbled down the long apartment hallway, gathering about her sweaters and scarves, layer upon layer. Her translucent skin stretching over bony fingers as she carefully buttons up her long jacket. Hat, pinned on just perfect. In the mirror, she adjusts her wispy stormcloud hair and applies another layer of Dusty Rose lipstick from her handbag.

Keys in hand, she locks the door behind her and makes her way, painfully slowly to the elevator at the end of the hall.the bell rings, she climbs into the empty car and begins her descent. a few floors down, the car stops and an Asian couple get in seaking to each other in rapid punctuated words that she does not understand. She is frightened, change makes her so. She didn't used to get scared so easily, she recalls.

At the ground floor, she steps out gingerly, never quite sure of her footing off those elevators. The doorman, Jorge, greets her and holds the door for her and she continues her journey. No hope in flagging down a cab in this city. She stands at the corner and raises her gloved hand. all around her the cabs stop for the young, the beautiful. After 12 minutes, one cab stops and she crawls inside and tells the man the address. "i'm going to visit my friend" she tells the uninterested driver.

He drives.

She looks out the window, lost in herself.

20 minutes later they are out of the city and driving into the country. The cabbie pulls onto a dusty lane and stops at the address given. She climbs out of the back and asks the driver to stay. "i'll pay you" she says. he nods, grabs his paper and lights a cigarette.

Not much has changed since she was here last week. She knows this place well, she has been coming for over 20 years. Finally she arrives at her destination. She crouches down, her knees and body creaking with the movement, and brushes away the fallen leaves.

STANLEY WHITE
b. 1923 - d. 1987
Husband, Father, Friend.

"Hello, Stanley" she says "Have you been waiting long?"

Fade...

2007-09-19T11:24:00.001-06:00

originally posted here

Sitting here thinking of you,
Reminiscing what we went through.
Wondering if you'd ever forget,
Where and when we first met.
You were like my other half,
Never hesitating to make me laugh.
It's amazing how our friendship would grow,
Meeting people that I didn't know.
Whatever happened, you were always kind.
I always wonder "do I ever cross you mind?"
I always think that people won't remember me,
Like I was just some old memory.
Now I'm standing back, trying to hide in the shade
Please don't let the memory of me fade...

Poetry on 8th Street

2007-09-19T11:10:00.000-06:00

originally posted here

Lover: I created you

but you created me

hand in hand we stand

gazing down this broken highway

bare naked as babes

together in innocence

together in sin

arms outstretched, we travel

soaking in the sun

striding boldly into our vibrant future

away from the bleak days of solitude

Not knowing what lies ahead

leaving the past behind

-laura

Ode to My Feet

2007-09-19T11:07:00.000-06:00

For Paige Stanton
originally posted here

They are the platform of my life;
they lead me forward
they cause me to dance
they run when they need to
but walk when they can.
Perhaps they are unloved and shy
embarassed by blemishes
unsure of the Red Wine
Safely tucked away in warm sleeping bag socks
They wish for Sun, but do not dare.
neglected and weather worn
they have braved the cold winter

Super Sugar Supreme

2007-09-14T10:40:00.000-06:00

They walked into the warehouse, there wasn't anything inside. "How strange," Gerald thought to himself, "I was expecting a licorice delivery today."

The warehouse office was cold and damp, like there had been a water leak for thirty years, but it was all he could afford at the time. It would be a good start for his new candy business, Super Sugar Supreme. He was getting tired of the music industry and wanted to pursue another career. He put the shipping invoices down on the desk and picked up another sheet of paper that he had never seen before.

"What's that?" James asked.

"I'm not sure, it wasn't here last night. It's all scribbled, like a kid wrote it or something. Seems like this warehouse is haunted?" Gerald laughed. "I'm gonna be haunted by some kid for my candy. Probably a dentist's kid."

"It is kinda creepy in here. And damp." James was standing in the middle of the warehouse looking up at the rafters.

Gerald walked over to James and patted him on the shoulder. "don’t think about it, and start moving those crates on the south wall. I’m going to call the delivery company about that licorice."

Gerald walked away humming to himself. James swore it was The Good Ship Lollypop.

James took one last look at the rafters and sighed. "I guess I’m just being paranoid" he said to himself. He didn’t get far when he stopped…looking up at the rafters again. "Did that dark area just move? Or am I seeing things?"

"Hurry up I hear them coming!" Jon yelled to Marc.

"I just about got it!" Both boys scrambled down the fire escape and peered into the warehouse from a far corner window. They giggled at what they heard. Between Marc's talent with technology and Jon being known for his pranks, the two boys set up a projector to cast shadows on the roof. They couldn't believe James would go for it on the first try. "He's freaked out already!' This is gonna be great!"

As the boys watched, James investigated the situation a little more closely. "There’s nothing there!" he said, more to himself.

"Who are you talking to?" Gerald said as he came out of the office.

"Oh, uhm, nobody. Nothing. I just, I thought, nothing it’s gone."

"Okay, well, can you get to work please? That shipment will be here in about 45 minutes. I called them…stuck in traffic. Can you believe it?"

James gave his head a shake and walked over to the fork-lift, keeping his eye on the ceiling for any movement. Outside the boys were laughing hysterically. "Oh man, this is going to be good!"

In that moment, on the other side of the city, a truck get side swiped on the freeway and falls over the guard rail. It happens to be the same truck carrying a licorice delivery for Super Sugar Supreme.

"This is Sam David Henry 683 requesting back-up on the Liberty Freeway, northbound." Officer Nugat radioed for back-up at approximately 2pm, she had been on traffic duty that afternoon and happened to witness a red Lamborghini split the lanes and force a delivery truck off the road. The truck must have been loaded for bear as it readily tipped over the guard rail. As soon as officer Nugat radioed the station she noticed the driver of the truck crawling out the back doors clutching a red and black rope. She got out of her cruiser and approached the scene. It wasn't a red and black rope the driver held tightly in his hands, it was licorice!

"Sir! Is there anything I can do to help you?" Officer Nugat yelled as the driver of the delivery truck made his way back to safety using the licorice as a rope.

"No ma'am this here licorice seems to have saved this old fellers life! Guess a guy's gotta be thankful for that summer heat today! Not so sure the recipient of that there licorice is gonna be
as happy."

"Did you happen to get the licence plate number off that Lamborghini?"

"No ma'am can't say that I was payin' that much attention, had the radio blarin' in my ear y'know."

"Well I'm glad to see you're okay," Officer Nugat stated. "If you don't require any further assistance I'll be on my way."

The truck driver untangled himself from the various ropes of licorice as the officer drove away. In the distance he could hear the ambulance sirens. Officer Nugat radioed in for the address for Super Sugar Supreme and headed to the warehouse to inform the owners herself of the accident.

"What do you mean my licorice shipment was damaged?" Gerald yelled into the phone. "I've been waiting for three weeks for that, what am I supposed to tell the kids! Kids don't understand the real world!" With that he slammed down the receiver.

"Big problems little China?" James asked.

"Yeah, the delivery guy who was stuck in traffic got in an accident and the only thing that could save his life was our licorice!"

"What?!" James questioned.

"Don't even ask." As Gerald walked over to a crate of Cherry Blasters, in walked Officer Nugat.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, I'm Officer Nugat from the SCPS. I just witnessed an accident with one of your delivery trucks."

"Yeah the guy ruined our specialty licorice." Gerald retorted.

"You should be glad he's still alive." Officer Nugat replied.

"Oh don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's alive, I'm just frustrated with this whole candy business."

"I see, " stated Office Nugat.

"Was there something you needed officer?" Gerald asked.

"I was wondering if you knew anything about a vehicle traffic accident involving a red Lamborghini?"

"No, should I? I've been in this warehouse all afternoon, me and my partner James."

"Well it seems that the Lamborghini was the cause of the accident with your delivery truck."

"Oh?"

"Shortly after your delivery truck was side swiped, the Lamborghini crashed."

"Was everyone okay?"

"Yes it appears so, but the car however is not. Apparently a Jon Levine was driving it."

"Jonny? You've got to be kidding me!" Just then Gerald's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Gerry, it's Jon. You'll never guess what just happened! I was test driving this sweet ride..."

"A red Lamborghini."

"How'd you know?" Jon asked.

"There's a cop in my warehouse right now asking about you."

"Aw man that ride was so wicked..."

"Jon," Gerald interrupted, "are you hurt?"

"No."

"How's the car?"

"Well she's not in very good shape..."

"Where are you right now?" Gerald hears yelling and screaming in the background on the other end of the phone.

"I'm at the dealership, they just towed the car in..."

"Can you get a ride over here? I'll let the cop know you're okay and we'll work out the details later."

"Yeah, I've got my car, I'll be there in a bit."

"Well he's okay," Gerald told the cop. "When he get's here we'll work out what to do with the dealership. Sorry to have wasted your time officer..."

"Nugat, here's my card if you need anything." Officer Nugat left the warehouse.

"Ooo, 'here's my number - call me if you need anything'" James mimicked. Gerald glared at James.

"Dude you should have seen that sick ride!" Jon walked into the warehouse.

"Dude you now owe $300,000 for a piece of crushed metal." Gerald retorted.

"Ah shit, it's just money. If you came back to the band we could write a couple songs and this would all be taken care of!"

"I told you I wanted a change, this," Gerald said pointing to pallets of candy, "is what I do now.
James and I are trying to make this work. James?" James was aiming a shot gun at the rafters.

"There's something up there..." James said as he aimed the firearm.

"There's nothing up there," Gerald said in annoyance.

"Probably just a bat or something." Jon said with a grin on his face. Just then James pulled the trigger, reloaded the gun and fired again.

"James what the hell are you doing?!" Gerald exclaimed.

"There is something up there and I'm tired of looking over my back. I'm getting rid of it once and for all!" At this point Jon is laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny Crashy McCrashesAlot?" Gerald questions.

"It's a projector Marc and I rigged up to cast shadows to give you guys a scare!" James explains.
"What?!"

"We thought it would be a good practical joke..." James starts.

"...and maybe you'd quit this latest scheme and come back to the band." Marc chimed in. He had just heard the news cast of the crashed Lamborghini and pulled up the warehouse to see if everyone was okay.

"You're kidding me?!" Gerald fumes.

"We thought you knew," Marc said "and you were just playing along. The look on James' face this morning was priceless!"

"You guys did this?" James asked.

"Well yeah, we've been pretty bored since you guys left the band and we thought if we gave you a hard enough time you'd quit and the two of you would have no choice but to come back to the band. We kinda miss you guys..." Jon said sheepishly.

"Well I do kind of miss the music industry. I just wanted to see what else was out there..." Gerald said thinking. "And now I have some roof repairs to do...what am I gonna do with all this candy?"

"It'll be a great muse!" Marc said with his mouthful of cherry blasters.

"We could throw it out at the crowd on our next tour!" Jon chimed in.

The next day the boys went to the studio and recorded their next hit single "Super Sugar Supreme". The Philosopher Kings were back in the business, but first they had to pay a car debt...

my feet

2007-09-13T08:33:00.000-06:00

confined in a shoe
they long to be painted bright
waiting for summer

massaged by soft hands
painted pink with profession
this is heavenly

strapped in a sandal
they begin to grow a stench
longing for a bath

pounding the pavement
rhythmic in repetition
blisters are forming

stuffed in 3" heels
they cry out in agony
where are my slippers?

slouching in slippers
they warm quickly in thick terry
finally they rest

untitled

2007-08-13T16:22:00.000-06:00

when you spoke those words to me
my heart stopped
nausea at my throat
my eyes stung with tears

betrayal......

.....selfish betrayal

silence

as thick as smoke
smothers me

all at once
my heart is pounding in my chest
my lungs are filled with air
my head is screaming
my throat is dry
my eyes...

my eyes are open

and for good or bad

here we are

standing on the edge of
decision

so

we must

make a choice

Scarlet Black

2007-08-10T17:10:00.000-06:00

Scarlet Black
are the colours of my heart,
Two shades that will never part.

Two halves as one,
but the further I go
the Darker half seems to grow.

Will the brighter part move to match?
Grow to cover all the pain
and bring me back to Light again.

The classic coup between good and evil.
Will the sterling rise or fall
as the Darkness come to call?

I find no solace anywhere.
How can I know which way to go
when my heart pulls me to and fro?

Will this torment go on forever?
Is there an accord the two can reach
or from shining Light will I move to breach?

This is a battle of immense power,
One that I fear has no end.
Oh, I must believe my heart can mend.

View From The Point Of A Bird Cage - Part III

2007-08-09T15:43:00.001-06:00

Now I didn't know it was a gum ball until later, but it his Tweety smack dab in the middle of her tiny little birdie ribs! I was sure the poor dear died of a heart attack right there. But she still had one more breath in those birdie lungs of hers, I heard it escape from her beak, "Sylvester, you'll get yours..."

Just as the feathers had settled down Granny came home. She noticed me swingin' around like mad, I was trying to get her attention so she would see the gum ball. But poor Sylvester was sitting directly beneath me and the gum ball dropped right in front of him. Now Sylvester was pretty hungry, having worked up an appetite trying to climb up to the cage, and he licked up that gum ball so fast that all Granny saw was Tweety lying on her back, my cage swinging back and forth and Sylvester licking his lips. She didn't even have time to look out the window to see the neighbourhood hoodlum running away. Cuz if she'd even glanced in that direction she would've seen Dennis the Meanace running full tilt with a handfull of gumballs... Well Granny got the corn broom and came after Sylvester faster than a fat kid on a Smartie!

So now old that old putty tat is lyin' pretty low, he on his last life you know... And poor Tweety, well Granny's got her stuffed and sittin' in one of her fake plants. And I just sit here swingin'...

View From The Point Of A Bird Cage - Part II

2007-08-09T15:18:00.000-06:00

Wanna know how it happened? Well Granny left to get her hair done, you know how she likes to keep herself... And as soon as Granny leaves Tweety starts chirpin' at Sylvester. "Why don't you catch a mouse you silly putty tat, eat a mouse, don't eat me!" she would say. "You're so lazy you silly putty tat."

Well old Sylvester, he's gettin' up there in age, on his eighth life. Well he put up with a alot, from the other cats in the neighbourhood like, because he lived with a bird. All the other stray cats used to make fun of him, not so much as they would tease Tom for living with Jerry, but enough that old Sylvester he wanted revenge. He wanted to live up to his daddy's name!

Well Tweety was flitting around the cage, chirping about the lack of brains Sylvester had, and old Sylveser got so wound up I thought he was gonna pop. Imagine the mess a popped kitty would mkae... So Sylvester crawled up on a chiar and snuck up behind Tweety. She was just a chirpin' away, lost in her own little world. She had a habit of doing that, especially when the window was open and she could hear all the other little birdies singing to thier hearts content. Now where was I? Oh yes, Sylvester snuck up on Tweety, and he's not the slyest cat on the block, but just at the very moment Sylvester grabbed my door latch, this gum ball came flying through the open window.

From The Point of View of a Bird Cage - Part I

2007-08-09T11:42:00.000-06:00

I hang here all alone. Tweetie used to keep me company, but sadly she's no longer with us. She was such a bright little birdie, not so smart though, always had a cat prowling around. It seems to me had she not provoked him, the cat would've found something else to occupy his time. Ah well no one asks me, I just hang around... She sure had a hate on for him...

Diva's Writing Exercise 2

2007-08-09T09:23:00.001-06:00

Write for 2o minutes - no editing.
Write from the Point of View of a glass on the edge of the table.

The last thing i remember is her taking me out of the cupboard and filling me with Merlot. I can still feel the way the warm liquid sloshed on my sides and she swayed to the victrola. I've never heard this song before. She sings to herslef as she sips from my side.

Scarlet Sweetheart is the colour of her lipstick. Now it adorn me, the waxy feel of her lips and tongue excite me. She is decked out in pearls and lace. I can't remember the last time i was out. She's celebrating something.

A knock ont he door startles her. She puts me on the piano and leaves the room. I can feel the warm sunset on my etched crystal as it shines throught the burgundy drapes - the colour of the liquid i'm holding.

I can hear her in the other room. She is no longer alone. Another voice? A man's voice. Murmurs outside the parlour.

She returns and the burly blond man with the mustache follows her in. They argue. She walks to the window and says words to him - i don't understand. They are foreign and hard sounding, not the gentle flow of English i am used to.

She turns to him and laughs - i can tell that it is not a laugh of joy, but of fear.

Suddenly, i am lifted in the air by the frightening man. He moves me too harshly and the waves of wine cascade over my side and onto the carpet below.

She yelps and rushes to pull me from his hand. She and i walk over to the sofa and sit. Once more, she sips from my edges. Her soft warm lips on my, her sweet tongue catching a misguided drop. Her soft hands cradling my found body. She puts me on the table. It is the last time i feel her.

The man is upset. He rounds the table and grabs her wrists and pulls her from the sofa - she hangs there - suspended by his strong arms. She is crying now. "No, no" she says. I understand those words.

i am scared. She tries to pull away from him but he is too strong for her.

the commotion jostles the table and suddenly i am caught by vertigo. The world is upside down, and as i topple over, i can't see her anymore.

As i land on the table, i feel a large crack at my stem and i am in agony as it makes its path to my rim.

As the wine splashes onto the table and the floor, i see the large man huddled over top of her breathing heavily.

As the last drops flow from my broken shell hee rises and walks to the door. She does not move. His hands are red. I can see from my spot on the edge of the table that the floor is rapidly flowing red, and i know that that is not my wine.

The sun has set and the room has gone dark. The victrola has stopped its music some time back.

The wine on the table is black from the darkness.

It's quiet in here.

Dark and quiet.

Diva's Writing Exersice

2007-08-09T09:20:00.000-06:00

Write for 20 minutes - no editing.

Write a pure dialogue story. Make your story move along by using dialogues *only*. No Narration. No Description...Just dialogue.

'Hey, watchya got there?'

'....are you talking to me?'

'Yeah. What is that? What do you have?'

'What? Nothing. It's nothing. I don't have anything.'

'i saw something. you're holding it behind your back, lemme see it. C'mon.'

'No, uhm. i can't. It's a secret.'

'Is that....chocolate??'

'What?!? No!'

'It is too! You have chocolate! How on earth did you get that in here?'

'dammit.'

'Seriously, how'd you get that past the counselor? I thought everyone had their bags checked before they came in? They dumped out mine. i had a stash of twizzlers in my socks - but they took that too.'

'look - you can't say anything, okay? i don't want to get in trouble. i just can't operate on salads. Rabbit food.'

'hey, i won't say a thing....for half that chocolate.'

'HALF?'

'That's the price of secrecy, my friend. If you want to taste that sweet sweet chocolate, you better hand over my share. You think i like carrots and celery anymore than you? Christ, i'd practically give my left nut for a bag of Doritoes right now. That is - if they'd drop...Hahahaha...y'know what i mean?...Shit. You don't know. You're just a baby rookie. Hand over the chocolate, Rookie.'

'Fine!....Here, happy now?'

'Mmmm. yesh. Thatsh good shit.'

'Okay, so here's the truth. i have this cousin. He went to this camp for years. he told me all the secret hiding spots. the trouble is - i have to sneak out to the edge by the lake - that's where my cousin will bring the goods. i need a good lookout. That can be you if you can keep a secret. He said he made a killing selling this stuff to the other campers.'

'i'm listening'

'kay, i didn't want to come here, and i'm guessing you didn't either. So, if i'm going to be stuck here all summer - we might as well make some cash. i figure we'll sell at a huge profit, and after i pay my cousin, you and i will still make enought dough to make this summer not a complete and total loss.'

'Shit. Am i ever glad you got assigned to my bunk. What's your name again?'

'Brandon'

'Jeff. Nice to meet you .....partner'

'Yeah, partner.'

'So - what's your plan?'

'Well, - i figure we'll get the inventory from my cuz, and then we'll wait a few days - until everyone's crazy and sick of this health crap. Then, we'll spread the word to one or two of the guys and wait for the power of Word of Mouth to take hold. Then you and i will be rolling in it.'

'Man, i wish i would've thought of this two years ago, i'd be rich by now.'

'yeah, the hard part is not eating it all.'

'what?'

'well - this chocolate we're eating? That's it. Enjoy it while you can. After you're done - that's it.'

'what the hell? why have all this food if you're not going to eat it?'

'Because i can get five bucks for this chocolate with a properly motivated buyer. That - and my parents said if i don't take off the weight i'm going to Military School in the fall. and i say "fuck that!" Besides, someone's got to keep losing weight or the counselors will notice. So you and i are going to follow the diet AND the exercise - and when we leave we'll be forty pounds lighter and much much richer. My cousin lost 50 pounds and then totally slept with a cheerleader. That.....can be us!'

'shit! you're serious?....ok. ....i guess i'm in! Let's do it partner!'

'let's do it.'