Put your stories here

[ApeTheDog]

- 4000 words maximum
- Write insightful comments about the 5 stories posted before yours

[Ascending]

Drifting consciousness slowly brought to focus. An irritation, something, a warning, thoughts finally conglomerated and he woke to realize his alarm clock had brought him out of sleep. Granting the clock the attention it was begging and after a brief internal struggle began to rise for the day. Energies gathering as the unfocused union of sleep and dreams, that mode in which the mind escaped at night slid as fluid off him. Over tones of morning routine, thoughts free of convention continued. Into the house and during breakfast they shifted, blended, focusing momentarily then blurring into a holistic understanding, and focusing again bringing what they could to the conscious; the warm shower water for the moment appeasing the neurotic heaviness of the body.

Now, morning ritual complete, ready to advance the day, he entered the world of others.

*Edit* Sorry, I had thought this thread was not nessisarly whole storys but also poetry prose and such. Title would suggest against that though.

[meshou]

Ascending: I do realize the title and text together are ironic. However, it's written in a "passive voice." One of my pet peeves.

Also, that first sentance-- it reminds me of college creative writing. In a bad way. One of those techniques that's taught in art school creative writing class which has the virtue of being arty and impressive to other twenty year olds, but the vice of being unclear, needlessly wordy, and mind numbingly boring.

Please abandon it, you're talented otherwise. I like your word choices, and many of those would be great fro breaking up the structure of a paragraph, but they all run together as they are.

I hate to be so negative. It flowed well, and I know the intended irony, but it came off so self important as to be not just difficult to read, but uninteresting. If you cultivate a more active voice, you'd be awesome.

Aaaand having sorta slammed that (sorry), time to Share.

----------------------------
Yesterday James brought up the idea of being living statues.

"There are many male-female states we could try."

My mind delivered one statue weirdly quick, and refused to offer any more.

"Well, yes. Aren't many male-female statues on the, uuuh, same subject? Staying still would be, uhm... Unless you wanna be the Pieta!" I babbled.

"Are they? I've seen some. They're not lewd or anything." He raised his eyebrows at me, amused.

I grumbled to myself uncomfortably. "Now I won't show you the dolphins."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. Such a loss."

--
Earlier, he asked what animal I identified with.

"Duck-rabbit."

He commented on the optical illusion.

I asked if he'd ever seen the one with the dolphins. He said he hadn't. Just as well,it took me forever to actually find the dolphins anyway.

---

Later he called me and mentioned he'd be in Lewisville, so we might as well go out. I agreed.

He'd bought a cassette adaptor since I saw him last, and we drove around aimlessly listening to music. There was a gnarled old tree in a nice neighborhood.

"That'd be awesome to climb," he said.

"You'd have to do it quick."

"Yes. And have a getaway car ready to floor it."

"Wish I knew how to drive."

"You don't know?"

"Nope."

"You should learn." He thought for a moment. "Want to go to a parking lot or something?"

I visibly twitched. "To teach me how to drive?"

"Well, yes.. I'm not coming onto you! If it were sexual, I'd be far less subtle about it."

I babbled incoherently, finally managing, "Well, you never know with you. Just 'cause something juxtaposed doesn't mean it has to do with the next."

"Yes."

--
After learning what the peddles were all about and putting the truck into drive, I experimented with the brakes. We kept jerking to a stop. Which was the point, but I couldn't quite figure how ease into a stop.

"Not very gentle, am I?"

"Well it is your first time."

I did a very bad job of not doubling over. Couldn't look at him for a whole minute at least, not even out of the corner of my eye.
---

The problem of optical illusions, especially ones that aren't as good as the duck-rabbit, is it takes a certain sort of mind to see both. It's easy to appreciate the hag-girl and the duck-rabbit.

Dolphins, on the other hand, are harder to find.

--

Before he left, I ran out to the car with a book of optical illusions in it, and showed him the picture.

"Those dolphins (http://korimage.free.fr/mars/dauphins.jpg) suck."

"Yeah..."

[Ascending]

BuMp

[ApeTheDog]

Ascending: It's nicely written, but a bit short and boring. I like when you say dream and sleep slide off the person like a fluid. There are several really nicely chosen phrased in your story, and I those always cheer me up when I run into them. But it's too short and pointless.

Meshou: Well, it was great. It has really playful sparkling dialogue in it. I would probably not like reading an entire book written like that, but for something short like this it's wonderful. I like the hyperlink embedded in the story. It's clever. It took me a long time to see the dolphins. I don't usually care much for love stories unless they're done right but this one I really liked. Not because of what happens in it, but because of how it happens, and who the characters are.

-----------------------------------------------------

Experience the power thrill of a lifetime. Call us. That's what it said in the advertisement.
Frederick called them.

"Hello. A friend gave me this ad. He told me about your scheme. Said it costs a lot of money"
"Our prices are non-negotiable"
"That's fine. I have money"
"Welcome to GonCorp, sir. Where can we arrange to meet?"

They arranged to meet at Fredericks house. He lived in a large villa, built like a Roman mansion. Every room was an individual building, and those were all connected using a large roof standing on roman pillars. It was a beautiful mansion and it had cost Frederick a lot of his parents money to build. He would have to be careful not to spend money like that again in the next few years, or he might one day find himself in the position where he'd need to work for a living.

But this one thing, he could surely afford. This was special. This was going to change him. He would be a new man. A NEW man. Frederick has been an old, boring man up until now. He had money, a lot of money, and this meanth that he did not need to look good in order to get praised for his good looks. He was a lazy man, so this was one step he preferred to skip. Recently, he started feeling a miss in his life, though. It slowly occured to him that leading a sheltered life like he did, he'd never experience real danger, real life, up close. This was something he'd talked to his friends about often. This was the reason why one of them slipped him the advertisement one day. It was ripped out of a shoddy magazine, Frederick could tell. He was used to the best, and this was definately not it. The paper was bad. Thin. And the ink came off. On the back of the advertisement, the words "owjobs and handjobs, 20$" could be seen, along with a phone number.

Some time passes. Frederick meets with the man. The man looks italian. He is dressed in a sharp black suit. The man looks italian, but he is not italian. He is smart. He knows his clients like italians. They are what the customer expects to see. If they are going to commit a crime, they want to feel like they are playing a part in The Godfather.

"So. I go to the tower, pay the man his money, go upstairs and push this guy off the fucking tower. He falls to his death. Because of me. I kill him, take his life, end the miserable bastards life. He's a stain on the sidewalk. Yeah! And we never meet again. Right?", Frederick says. Oh, he's so fucking excited, man.
"Yes. That is how it ends. But first, we must give you a treatment. We don't want anybody to know you were there. You know we guarantee this. We'll alter your fingerprints, we'll inject you with a DNA scrambler. We'll make sure nobody will ever know you were there. You need to meet with our doctor first. This is the adress. Go there, and tell them GonCorp sent you for a number 63.", the man responds.

Frederick goes to the doctor. Tells him GonCorp sent him. Tells them he's there for a number 63. It does not hurt. Medical science is awesome that way. His fingerprints have been erased. He has to go back for a number 47 the next day, to change him back into Frederick Von Gurenberg. Right now, he's anonymous. He imagines he's a killer. He's a predator. He waits until night falls. 3 minutes to midnight, they said. Don't be early. Don't be late. Be exactly on time, or you don't get in.

He's exactly on time. He pays the man his money. "You here for the number 666" the guy asks, grinning? "Sure am, buddy", Frederick responds.

The guy hates these fuckers. He's grinning like an ass.

Frederick goes up the tower. And there, at the top, just like they said he would, a guy is standing. He's dressed in a blue raincoat. He's looking around. He does not seem to have a clue he's about to be killed. That is what they promised. Frederick goes closer. The guy doesn't suspect a thing. Strange. He must be drugged or something. Frederick pushes the guy down. He falls. He falls. He falls. Wow. He falls. This is extasy. I caused this, Frederick thinks. I took another guys life. He hits the ground. The body bursts open, a pancake of blood on the sidewalk.

Frederick feels like he has never felt before in his entire life. He's so excited. Adrenaline is rushing through his brain, along with a million endorphines, and a thousands different drugs, all natural. All in his honor. Frederick, the predator.

"I wonder where they get their victims from", he thinks. Then, too late, he feels somebody pushing him in the back. He halls. He falls. He falls. He understands. He splashes. Another pancake of blood on the sidewalk. The police never knows who they are. They have no fingerprints.

The perfect crime.

[Star Cannon]

ApeTheDog: There's a huge irony at the end. I like it. The fourth paragraph does a good job explaining why the man called the advertisers. It's dark and sinister and the ending gives a good feeling of completion. I like the: "He halls. He falls. He falls. He understands. He splashes. Another pancake of blood on the sidewalk. The police never knows who they are." Excellent way to portray someone about to die.*savors the sweetness*

Meshou: It's interesting. I myself have never read a story on optical illusions. It reminds of some snap-shotting done in Star War's Episode III only it's with the same characters and far less annoying. The dialouge seems a bit "out there" and has a very frivolous tone to it...

Ascension: The opening sentence is a bit... um... weak but the rest makes its self up rather well. The droning and run on passiveness is perfect for a story about someone who just woke up in the morning. "granting the clock the attention it was begging." OMG that is SO true...

Well, time to share. Have fun. It's unfinished but I want to see how it is so far.

***

The Squad.

A clattering melody and the drummers’ constant beat filled the halls of Fairfield High School. Friday night. Football. Home team Falconers against the away team Jaguars of Colerain. Every Friday, the band marches up and down the hallways. They fill the hallways with game music. People get psyched up for the game. People disregard the game. Still, the band marches up and down the hallways. Kimberley always marches with the band --- she's in the band. Every cell in her body destined for the band -- her trumpet blares out notes with uncanny accuracy and force. She hates football but she loves music. Music is the prime reason she stays in the band, otherwise she'd abandon it for the orchestra snobs. But not everyone was as dedicated as she. Kimberly stood at the head of the first trumpets. And they marched. She made sure of that. March--two-three-four. Halt! March again.
And in the orchestra...
"No sharps..." Vivian muttered, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her face was a permanent scowl. Assistant section leader -- A sophomore section leader in the Concert Orchestra -- the "B" orchestra. Fingers and hands fingered a note and the other hand moved a bow across the steel strings. It was a miracle in ambidexterity. Of course none of her peers cared about that. There was a game that night, stupid games. Always a game in where Fairfield either wins by 30 or loses by fifty or so points. Vivian could recall a game where the basketball team lost by ninety in her freshman year. Only because everyone in Algebra 1A was talking about it. Play hard, really hard. Vivian was playing hard with an index finger leading the accented notes on her instrument. School instruments. They weren't anything near the best Fairfield could offer... Music was a part of her core. Inseparable. Classical. Bach and Vivaldi. Beethoven and Bartok. Even Chopin. Classical and Contemporary. Harmony and dissonance. Vivian appreciated the dissonance. Dissonance made life feel like life. It raised the dead emotions of conflict -- strife. All striving like a great race. A great... something.
But none of that mattered if the second violins won't play c-sharp as c-sharp and not c-natural! Vivian gritted her teeth and stopped playing as the conduction unit of the orchestra, Frau Sophia, stopped motioning with her baton. Harmony of the masters or the dissonance of the contemporaries meant nothing if a section in the orchestra simply COULD NOT count or play in key!
"2nds, at measure 59, you hold that note for three beats! Not one, not four, THREE." Vivian wished she could say. But Frau Sophia took that privilege. Vivian's immediate superior, Katie Norman, section leader of Cellos, leaned back into the specially designed chair the cellos alone used. They were black and tilted at an angle. Very good for playing but very uncomfortable to sit in.
In the relative silence Vivian and her section head listened the band marching back into the room across the hallway. Vivian didn't like the band for two reasons: They lacked finesse and some of the people in it where simply jerks. Period. The last reason was the biggest reason. Some people called the orchestra snobbish. But, Vivian thought, five years of notes and rhythms has its consequences; however, that was a misconception. Vivian looked around and at the other sophomores in the room. Lian Kelter, 3rd chair violinist chatted away with Wilma Darkney, fourth chair, as Frau Sophia had to hammered the idea of c-natural not being c-sharp into the minds of the seconds. Vivian furthered mused, maybe people where snobbish if they talked while the conductor worked with other sections. Maybe SOME people in the orchestra where snobbish. But what to do with them... Vivian wondered. She looked over at the violas. Brandon sat slumped in his chair. He was 18. Vivian wished for his legal emancipation from school. He had: a lazy, phlegmatic attitude that had no place among songs needing vibrato and effort. He was out of place among songs that heralded emotions and effort. Still, he was adorable in his own way.
Vivian turned her eyes to the 2nd violins again. Their section leader was Kory Simons. Vivian knew she wasn't perfect by a long a shot from the burning hydrogen spheres in space but by the gods that deserted Earth so many years ago! The 2nd violins sounded like 8th graders on pot! Deniti Augustine, 2nd Chair of the 2nd violins, would have better success leading that section.
Orchestra ended an agonizing half-hour later with a prophecy from Frau Sophia about a playing test the next week on a certain Thursday... Vivian sighed and looked at her belongings. Geometry at nine in the morning. No..! Still, the schoolwork needed to be completed. And the class needed to be attended. It was required of her, though the OGT graduation all Ohio sophomores of the class of 2007 would be put through. A great meat grinder who graders did not even CARE to grade the actual mathematics or history. No, it's the writing. Like in the words of Herr Trawler, the geometry teacher she had: "BS them. Just out down a bunch of BS." He even took the time to pass out OGT rubrics. Vivian thought it was a waste of time. If the educations where looking for... she trailed off. She had no experience regarding teaching and no real ideas on how to test for success. Still, she was furious for being a forced guinea pig in both the Terra Nova AND the new Ohio Graduation Test. But who listens to those who answer: "Ich bin sechzehn Jahre alt." when asked: "Wie alt bist du?" Not so good. Vivian concluded and stalked off to Geometry.
The hallways where a mass of people walking in unconscious currents of a human ocean. Vivian always thought it was slightly strange that when in large crowds humans moved in unspoken currents. There was very little communication. Frizo, her Hispanic friend waved, and Vivian waved back. Vivian reached the end of the hallway and entered into Herr Trawler's class. Vivian sat down at a seat in the third row, took out her homework, and waited for class to begin. She talked to Hering Proust, a friend and acquaintance, about some rumor she heard in the hallway. It was about someone Junior named Isakki who was caught giving blowjobs in the men's bathroom.
"Did you hear about --"
"The drum squad beating the shit out of queer?"
"I wasn't referring to that one but go ahead."
Hering leaned forward in her seat, Vivian leaned in. Hering whispered, "Jason, Byron, and Scottlan -- the three timpani players -- well, they were arrested for literally beating someone up on Archon's Point. I think it was Isakki or something."
"I was just about to tell you about Isakki." Vivian said. "I --" Herr Trawler walked into the room. Vivian hurriedly said, "I'll talk about it later!"
Geometry passed in normal time. Mathematics was not meant to be absorbed, Vivian thought to herself. The lesson was about proofs. Proofs with intersecting lines. Geometry was going to be a nightmare of C's and D's. Hering caught up with Vivian and they both dodged incoming individuals as they chatted.
"So what where you saying?"
"Nothing important. Only that Isakki was giving blowjobs at a nickel per job rate." Vivian said.
"He gave some girl's boyfriend a blow job."
"Which one?"
"Nikki Palusky."
"That slut?" Vivian sidestepped a teacher with a cart. "I thought she was going out with some other dude."
"They broke up." Hering said.
"Figures. Look, I gotta go. I'll see you at lunch or something."
"Bye!"
Vivian ran off Deutsch Studies I. Herr Bantams, a squat man with a serious fixation on cigars and brown suites, greeted her with, "Wie geht es Ihnen, Vivian?"
Vivian replied, "Es geht mir nicht schlecht."
"Sehr gut." Herr Bantams replied. Vivian breathed a sigh of relief and sat down next Nidion Oakenford, a thin and reedy sounding epitome of the classic eighties nerd.
"Did you do your homework?" He rasped in a reedy voice.
Vivian said, "Yeah. I assume you didn't do yours?"
"I did!" Nidion took offense. Vivian raised a brow. Such defensiveness merited a -- "So you did it in five minutes?"
"Basicly. It was easy."
Vivian shrugged. Herr Bantams told the class they would be having a quiz tomorrow. Where most would groan the students cried, "Nicht eine proefung!" Vivian saw Herr Bantams smiled sinisterly and turn to the chalkboard to write the class assignments up. She sighed. Another test to study for.
Kimberly climbed up the three flights of stairs that made going to the third floor a big pain in the ass. People walked past her, with her, and behind her as she made her way to History class in room 3411. Kimberley took a seat in the second row, smack between Vivian and Isakki Arlington. Isakki was her bestest best of friends. He was a junior and just last week some idiots in the Drum Corp went and beat him up. Of course that was because some slut "informed" her date's friends about the incident in the bathroom. Kimberley didn't approve of giving out free blowjobs but she didn't agree with beating the shit out of people who did. Oh well. Kimberley sighed and glanced over at Isakki. He still had some bruises on his cheeks. Vivian leaned over and asked, "How's band?"
Kimberley replied, "It sucks. Frau Keller is making us play this insanely easy song."
"For you, perhaps?"
"I think it's easy. Others of us..." Kimberley rolled her eyes and mimicked the tone of a whining three year old, "It's toooooo hard! I can't dooooo this!" Then added, "Like they even try! How's the orchestra?"
Vivian sneered, "The 2nd violins are begging to be failed. Get this: Frau Sophia is having a playing test on Thursday just BECAUSE of the 2nds! They can't even play c-sharp!"
"Isn't that supposed to be easy for you guys?" Kimberley asked.
"Yeah. Like B-flat or something."
"That's pathetic."
"Pathetic sums it up nicely." Herr Millings walked into the room just as Kimberley was about to ask about the homework assignment. Oh well. She did it and wanted to compare answers. Kimberley spent the period taking notes and doodling on her papers. Music notes, forte and mezzo forte's where littered all over her papers. She and Isakki talked briefly at the end of the period.
"Ich habe eine Mathe Proefung am Montag." He said, mournfully clawing at the air in mock distress.
"I feel your pain." Kimberley said, nodding and giving him a brief hug. "I'll see you on the bus though -- must get to locker!" She ran with several people staring at her, leaving him to walk to his own locker as other students quickly turned away. Kimberley didn't know but the entire school was hearing about her connections with Isakki...
She and Isakki were friends since the fifth grade, when the four elementary schools in Fairfield deposited their fifth graders into the Archon Intermediate Grades: 5&6. They met in Frau Oller's Social Studies class on the first day of fifth grade. Kimberley remembered talking to Isakki for the first time -- she asked him if he had an eraser she could use.
Kimberley ran down three flights of stairs, nearly knocked over the assistant principal ("Walk!" A Principal Kelvern yelled but Kimberley didn't bother to slow down.), ran down the walkway, and finally ended up colliding into the buses steps.
She hobbled up them and collapsed into the same seat Isakki was in, both shins throbbing with pain and panting for breath.
"Did you run all the way from your locker?" Isakki sounded incredulous
"Yeah." Kimberley said and put her trumpet where it wouldn't obstruct the drivers view. "I ran the entire way."
They talked for the rest of the ride about nothing in particular -- until they both got off the bus stop. Isakki turn to face Kimberley. He was looking her straight in the eyes. Kimberley knew something big was up. He looked serious.

Vivian returned home an hour later, the last stop on her route. She already did her Deutsch Eins Hausafgaben and was almost done with Herr Trawler's geometry assignment. She sighed. Getting done with fifteen proofs in less than one hour gave Vivian a good feeling.

A week passed with both Vivian and Kimberley attending school. February ended and gave way to rainy, windy, and unpredictable March. The sun came out from its winter recluse and Fairfield was seeing signs of spring. Birds chattered in the air and students where driving to school as they attained parking permits and... the dreaded driver's license. Vivian passed both her permit and driving tests and was driving to school that day when someone rear-ended her in the school parking lot. She was wearing her seat belt, and therefore was unhurt. She unbuckled her seat belt, temper already flaring at the damn idiot who didn't watch where they were going. Vivian looked at her back bumper -- it was totaled. The car wasn't new but she was pissed. The other driver, someone from the drum line by Miller Stollsack, tumbled out, drunker than fish living in alcohol.
Vivian watched as he stumbled towards her and mumbled an apology. Vivian smelled alcohol. Her anger at the senior would have out burned out the sun had it took form.

At the other end of the parking lot, Kimberley unmistakably made out Vivian's yelling:
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD, coming to school drunk as the day the Odin discovered mean and having the goddamn audacity to drive to school in seven in the goddamn morning -- total the rear end of my car and say: 'sorry?' You fucking asshole I'll sue you for every goddamn penny you and your sorry ass parents have to pay for this damage, MILLER STOLLSACK."
Kimberley cringed. She inwardly felt sorry for the poor man Vivian was yelling at. She walked past Vivian, vividly hearing her threaten to do everything from castration to feeding his bloody remains to zebras and making him an example in Fairfield's loser history as soon as she got the chance. Kimberley saw the assistant principal walk out side to see what the commotion was about. Vivian finally stalked off -- there was a line of traffic behind her and went to park in her designated spot. When Kimberley talked to Vivian in History, she was hoarse and still fuming. Kimberley and Issaki wisely kept their distance.
The next week Vivian made good on her word in court. She sued Brian for $20,000 dollars -- the extent of the damage plus $2,000. Kimberley thought her friend was taking it too far. But Vivian said, "He was asking for it, coming to school drunk and rear ending me." Kimberley didn't push the point for Vivian made her point in court. Meanwhile, Issaki suffered from the incident with a round of rumors (something about him being a pedophile -- completely untrue) accusing him of being ring of child molesters. Kimberley told him about the rumors she heard and he shook his head and said, "People are stupid."
"I agree." Kimberley said.
Vivian walked into the room serene as an avenged angel. Kimberley glanced over and said, "Hey."
"Hi," said Issaki.
"Hello," said Vivian. "I'm going to the mall on Friday. You two want to come?"
"Sure." Isakki replied. "I'll drive you two."
"Of course!" Kimberley readily agreed. She liked to shop. She wasn't doing anything important on Friday.
The last lesson of the day passed well for Kimberley. For once in her sophomore lifetime, she didn't have any homework beside to practice for band.

[waxwing]

Ascending -- Your work struck me as more of an introduction than an actual story. I think you evoke some mood, but your sentences lack compression and power, in my opinion. What about a change in voice? Or did you envision it as you've written it? "Over tones of morning routine, thoughts free of convention continued." A nice way of summing up your theme, perhaps? The dichotomy. *Now that I reread your work, it seems very much like a preparation for continued tension between conformity and noncomformity.
Meshou -- Clever. Authentic dialogue. Good pace. Ideas are suggested but nothing is heavyhanded. I like. I think you are setting up an interesting discussion on several things at once. Or, rather, something viewed through other lenses that skew that original "picture."
Apethedog -- Interesting concept. I like the construction although my first reaction was that the verb tenses were confusing. The dialogue bled into the narrative, increasing confusion, which I realize may have been your intent. The final paragraph is nicely worked. "Pancake of blood" -- good image. Here is an example of an element of style I like: "The man looks italian. He is dressed in a sharp black suit. The man looks italian, but he is not italian." That natural afterthought is beautiful throughout. Makes for excellent pace, I think.
Star Cannon -- Such detail that I almost lost the overarching ideas. I think you've told more than shown. I get distracted by many names and details, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. Just a reaction. Nice musical allusions. I like how you've drawn out the irony in adolescent competition -- social, academic, and personal. You opening sentence --"A clattering melody and the drummers’ constant beat filled the halls of Fairfield High School." -- I think you effectively foreshadow this intermingling of "squads," at least conceptually.







Fruit Flies





She kept the Dentyne in the extra cabinet with the elbow hinge. Packs were stacked on top of canned corn and sauerkraut.

“Don’t swallow it. It’ll strangle your heart and kill you in your sleep.”

I wanted to take a piece and chew it fast – shifting cans, pots, and pans to find what I was after –then swallow it once the flavor left. But I couldn’t. Bound to the couch of propriety where she could watch me cheer for contestants winning bedroom sets, I pulled strands of yarn from her afghan.

“You’re ruining that.”

I attached my hands to my knees and held my head in line with the arm of her chair. “Sorry.”

“Your cousin ‘ll be over later.”

“He doesn’t like me ‘cause I’m a girl.”

“Well, how ‘bout Aunt Kay? She’s dropping off some lard this afternoon, and I bet she could teach you a thing or two about….”

“She told me I was fat last Thanksgiving.”

"It's her fourth marriage."

Grandma laughed like she didn’t know how to tell me that I really wasn't fat, and that her daughter's probably just lonely. Three divorces. She slapped a mosquito next to her earlobe, then went back to waving the knitting needles like batons. They were only needles, though. No music. No magic. Only a few rows of what would become an Easter Bunny sweater. For my baby cousin, still in the womb.

An illusion of order struck noon. Time to wipe the sweat from my palms, and the nail prints from my knees. A Christmas napkin will do.

“Fruit flies,” she announced between slaps.

* * * * * * * * ** *
She changed after he died in his sleep. Heart attack, they said. Her slippers looked softer. She wore perfume now, and replaced the green soap on the edge of the bathroom sink with a pink bar that smelled like peach crumb cake. The inside of the bathtub felt warmer, less gritty, but still reminded me of his wool farm flannels. One day, I heard her whistling some medley of hymns, something like “When the Saints Go Marching In,” followed by “Joy to the World.” After I saw she had taken her pots and pans down from the ceiling rack, I overheard her on the phone, hiring a strange man to build her an extra cabinet with “hinges that work like an elbow joint.” After he built it in three days, she rehearsed its opening every time she passed by, as if it were a prop in a musical, and she was the leading lady. I noticed things. She stopped wearing pantyhose, so her legs looked sick, thin. Did she know I could track the progress of the bug bites around her ankles and backs of her calves? If you make an X with your fingernail, it will stop itching.

Syncopated fly-swatting and fantasies of being slapped for chewing Dentyne occupied me until Aunt Kay arrived. She sounded like a grocery bag, but carried no paper products. She must have tripped over the rolls of wrapping paper, or fell into a cardboard box, I imagined. I remembered how Grandma said Aunt Kay was getting remarried to some man who rides a motorcycle and coaches pitching for the Mudhens. “Where is your boyfriend?” I almost asked her, but couldn’t think of the word for the kind of man you are gonna marry. Boyfriend was the wrong one. It was not my business anyway. I will ask her about mudhens and my cousin’s modeling contract. Catalogs. Sears. JC Penney. My fifteen year-old cousin wears her underwear in catalogs.

She hugged my neck and asked Grandma if I had a goddamn fever. I don’t have a fever. Goddammit.

“The Mudhens are headed for the post-season,” she said to the box fan in the doorway. “A rookie. Got twenty homers, and is tearing up the infield. Heard of Sam Summers? They’re talking cereal boxes already for him. Imagine that: Sam Summers on a box of Post.”

Sam Summers. Of course.

Standing in the path of the fan and brushing yesterday’s breakfast crumbs off the counters, she seemed uncomfortable with my eyes. Maybe she needs some eye drops or some glasses. A paper towel. She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocketbook.

“Jerry’s on the road till Wednesday. He’d better not be cheating. I stopped drinking carbonated beverages so I can lose the fat around my ankles. Lost a quarter-inch, and it’s only been a week.”

Fiancé. Jerry is her fiancé. Her shirt clung to her stomach like saran wrap. She had a tattoo on her left ankle with Uncle Rick’s name spelled like candy cane swirls. It was ugly. She was ugly. She squawked, perched on her wire of gossip and anti-cellulite sermons.

“If you lose some o’ that baby fat, I bet Sears ‘d take your picture. You’d look pretty in their dresses. Hell, I thought you were your brother with that baseball hat pulled over your eyes. How’d you like me to take you to the mall today, after I get my hair permed?”

Was she serious? I don’t like Sears. Don’t like malls. Don’t like dresses that ride up to my underwear when I sit down and force me to sit like a lady.

“Too humid to change clothes in dressing rooms.” I spit as I said it, almost losing the stale gum stuck inside my cheek. They didn’t see.

“Well, I’ll bring your Grandma the catalog tomorrow. You still be here?”

“Uh huh.”

I sighed, breathing in some of her body spray. It smelled like that orange kitchen cleaner, Newport Lights, and freshly painted nails. Kitchen cleaner. Clean. It made everything feel kinder. Countertops shone like fake acrylics. The window sill, a shelf for last year’s school pictures and artificial evergreen garland, was made to look less festive for the off-season. Must have removed the glitter and red berries, but kept the greenery. I wished the Christmas tree were still up. It played music and gave birth to flashing light. The immaculate conception. Jesus, born of the virgin Mary. My epileptic cousin had a seizure every time he looked at it, but no one turned off the lights or shut the door. It was on display, a necessary antidote for the way my family behaved. I didn’t like it, but I watched it, aware of the reason it must stay.

“They have a Christmas catalog.” Aunt Kay looked into my eyes for the first time, as if she too saw the vision of the tree and families getting together to eat Cornish game hens off trays and uneven laps. “Mary’s on the cover, wearing a red dress and red tights. They put the tree behind her. Red lights to match.” Then she said something flew into her mouth, making her choke.

“Fruit flies,” I said, reaching for a holiday napkin.

She ignored me as I handed it to her, so I folded it into an airplane.

[ApeTheDog]

Really nice, waxwing. I'm not sure I got all the subtleties - I don't really know what the fruit flies stand for. I also have this nagging suspicion it has something to do with the baby that died - and that that in turn may have something to do with the Dentyne.

I liked the main character a lot. Silent, critical but she keeps it all to herself. The dialogue is, well... great to read. Some things in there I thought were really funny. What frustrating, yet also loveable because harmless, people those two aunts are.

[Hexchild]

I'm nearly finished with this short story I've been working on, which I was planning to upload to deviantart.com once it's done. I'd love to participate with that here, but I just checked and it's well over 6000 words, and it may quite possibly pass 6500 or even 7000 before I finish. Could that still be OK? :P

[ApeTheDog]

I hereby unilaterally decide that it's okay, and that if anybody has a problem with it being okay, they can shove their concerns up their ass.

[waxwing]

Bring it on, Hexchild.

[tragula]

I enjoyed your story Ape! There's nothing like a surprise ending to a somewhat enigmatic scenario. I totally didn't see it coming :)

I thought the writing could be polished up here and there.

And I kind of like the idea of suckers getting pushed off a rooftop in an endless chain of malice and justice. Not just two. (Maybe an elevator shaft would work better?)

Meshou, you show a lot of writing talent, with great detail and dialogue. Your style is a bit on the serious side for my personal tastes. But it was undoubtedly filled with tidbits of real human emotion and all that je ne sais quoi stuff.

The whole optical illusions thing was quite clever.

I saw the dolphins in the picture very quickly and easily.

Don't have time to comment on the rest right now! (I hope comments from non-contributors are welcome. I decided I suck at writing a long time ago, but maybe I'll cook something up to add just for the fun of it.)

[YardGnome]

Here's one I wrote just this morning:

I was hungry, so I drove to the store for some food. I ate it. It was good.

The End!

I'd appreciate any constructive criticism. I'm planning on having it published and could use all the help I can get.

[ApeTheDog]

Yard: It's too short, the characters are boring. I liked when the main character ate the store, but other than that it was all bland.

[YardGnome]

I saved the employees for dessert.

I'll elaborate in the sequel...