Wednesday, February 22, 2012

100 Word Song: "Crossroads"

The once and future King of England, Lance, whose blog will get a 5 minute fighting major when it encounters your blog, has renewed the one hundred word song story challenge, this week featuring Oh Land and their song "White Nights". This story is called "Crossroads".

I loved him, but he scared me. We were sitting at an intersection, staring up at a green light. Somewhere, a siren wailed. He was listening intently, his head cocked like a dog. I watched him.

"Where are we going?," I asked softly.

"Follow the sirens," he said, making a right turn and accelerating. "That's where the action is."

I could feel the sweat pooling on my lower back as he accelerated through the night.

"Why do you keep doing this?," I said against the rushing air.

"It makes me feel alive," he said. I hoped he was right.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Indie Ink Writing Challenge: "Locked Ward"

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, R Martinez challenged me with "Kill them! ordered the voice inside my head." and I challenged Leo with ""My sense of God is my sense of wonder about the universe." -Albert Einstein"

"Kill them," it said. I tried to, but I was on the ground suddenly. I felt someone on my back, pressing me against the floor. The floor was dirty, hard tiles, and very cold. They were handling me roughly, several blue people, and one brown and one pink person. I was down on the ground, and there was a lot of yelling and chaos. I hated it when things got crazy like this.

"They're trying to kill you," it said. "Fight back! Escape!" I felt my arms being pulled backwards. My shoulders exploded in pain, and I felt tears coming to my eyes. I looked up at the pink person. I could tell it was a girl. She was standing by a blue and white cart on wheels, and she was writing something. I could see a vial and a syringe on top of the cart. I could see a little bit of her belly where it bulged out under her top, where it was pressing against the plastic of the cart. Her belly looked cute. The shot was probably for me. I hated shots, but they always gave me shots, even when I wasn't sick. I didn't want them to kill me, and I didn't want them to give me shots, but every time I moved, it hurt my shoulders. I couldn't get up, no matter how hard I tried. I kept trying to tell them about Frankenstein, and the marsupials, and the kings and the queens. Everything I said, they just told me to shut up, though.

"They'll never let you go," it said. It hurt, having them leaning on me. I couldn't get up, and every time I squirmed to try and move, they pushed down harder, which made it hurt more. I could feel the cold of the floor coming through my skin. It felt like I was going to freeze, so I kept moving my arms and legs. But every time I did that, someone would grab them or sit on them so I couldn't. I tried to say I didn't want to hurt them so they would leave me alone, but my mouth just kept saying "waffles". I really like waffles.

"It's going to be too late," it said. It was yelling at me. I hated when it yelled. Before, when I was in the bank, with all the pillars and all those people yelling, it said the same thing. It said I had to get my money out before it was too late. And now that they took me out of there and into the hospital, with all the lights and people running and beeping sounds, I knew I wasn't going to be able to do it. The government owes me money for my inventions, and I was sure it was going to be there today. But the pretty girl with the green earrings said it wasn't, and it made me mad. They had to bring first one man, then another, and then the police came and took me to the hospital. Nobody would listen to me, no matter how loud I yelled. When I came in the hospital, I tried to explain again, but nobody would listen, and then a bunch of other people came in when I got mad. I only threw one thing, though. Everybody got really mad, even though I only threw one thing.

The girl in pink came closer, and the person holding my arm let go for a second. I thought about punching someone, and maybe I could get free that way, but I looked at the pink girl's face. She had her hair pulled back from her face, so I could see the bones of her face. It was strange, almost like I was looking right at her skull. She was down on the floor, crouching like a catcher does in a baseball game. I wondered if she played softball in high school. I remembered when I used to watch the girls play softball when I was in high school, how their uniforms all looked the same, even though all the girls looked really different. I thought about the girl in the pink, and I remembered something a doctor told me once in a hospital room. He told me to try to remember that everybody I talk to has people who love them and people who will miss them if they are gone. I wondered if the pink girl had a little boy. Maybe she had a 4 year old little boy who called her Mommy and cried when she went away to work at the hospital this morning. I didn't want to punch her because it might make that boy sad. I was looking at the pink girl's eyes when I felt a pinch in my arm. I wanted to tell her about the money that the government was going to give me for all the work I did, but I just looked at her eyes, and I didn't want to say anything.

It really hurt, but then it stopped when she took it out, and it didn't hurt anymore. It tried to talk to me, but I couldn't hear it so loud anymore. I felt rubbery all of a sudden, like I couldn't stand up any more, and then I felt very sleepy, and I closed my eyes for just a second.

100 Word Song: "Always On Call"

The immortal and slightly henpecked Lance, whose blog can beat up your blog, as well as your Pinterest and Facebook pages, continues with the mad dash which is the 100 Word Song Challenge. This week's inspiration was selected by yours truly, the Black Crowes' "Hotel Illness".

The room was dark, silent and still. It had the smell of accumulated sweat and funk that you get used to when you live with another human being, whatever their age or gender.

"You OK?," I said into the dark. She had cried out suddenly, sharply, bringing me to full alertness in that panicked way parents and submariners understand.

"Yeah....migraine...," she said weakly.

"Anything I can do?"

"No," she said. "Well, yes. Sit with me. I hate feeling alone."

I went into her room and sat there, saying nothing, until her breathing finally slackened into the quiet of sleep.