(Fiction Friday) Jack and Jill’s Disappearance
October 4, 2007 | Filed Under (Fiction) Friday, Fiction, Linked | 7 Comments
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| This Week’s Theme: Use first line of Fable
Note: I chose Jack and Jill went up the hill, a nursery rhyme… Just popped in my head. I did delete the last few lines… I was writing about violence and I just refused to allow myself to finish it… It is one thing to write about abuse, in the hope it will help someone, either by recognizing their own situation or by seeing options… but to just write violence… I can’t do it…although it is still there… I’ll let you jump to your own conclusions. Jack and Jill’s Disappearance Jack and Jill went up the hill twice that day, but only came down once. Jeremiah stopped to chat with them on their first trip up. He told the reporters, “They were such a sweet couple. She was always laughing and putting her hand on his arm and kind of rubbing it up and down as she talked to people, kind of unconscious like. If I were a betting man, I’d bet she didn’t even realize she was doing it, she had stars in her eyes, that girl, and there was nothing that would change that.” He went on to tell about how she always took food over to Mrs. Nelson on Sunday afternoons. “You see,” he told the reporter from KJWX-TV in Deltona, “Mrs. Nelson’s son, Jake, always went to work in a nearby town on Sunday mornings early and couldn’t be there to make her Sunday lunch. So, he and Jill had this arrangement. He chopped firewood and mowed the lawn for Jill’s grandfather and she spent Sunday afternoons making and eating Sunday lunch with his mother, Mrs. Nelson.” “Now, you’re gonna hear rumors about Jack and Jill now that they are missing. You’re gonna hear about Jack and Jake behind the auto repair shop last week arguing. I heard Jill’s name was tossed back and forth between those two men. But I am here to tell you, Jill and Jake, they are not an item. Anyone can just look at those eyelashes batting around when she stands there stroking Jack’s arm. Then she kind of moves in a bit closer and rubs up against his hip, about waist high, she does. She’s got no eyes for anyone, but Jack, not Jake, not anyone.” The reported tried to end the interview, but Jeremiah was not ready to stop talking. He had that camera fixed on him and he was not backing down. “That Jack, he didn’t appreciate my Jill, he didn’t…” The reporter jumped in, “Your Jill? I don’t understand, Jeremiah, you are just the next door neighbor are you not?” Well, I’ll save the rest of the story for later, I’ve got to get inside and clean up my house. I’m expecting Jake to come fix my window and I can’t have him tripping over my dustpan. What? Oh, that. Yes, I will tell you what he said to the sheriff, Jeremiah, I mean, not Jake. Jake never spoke to the sheriff or nothing. Jeremiah later told the sheriff about why he kept talking to that reporter. “It was my time to shine, my time to get the attention. I just wanted Jack to know what there were men out there that appreciated Jill’s beauty and wouldn’t just keep on talking when she was rubbing up against them like that. How could he disrespect her like that? When a woman’s paying attention to a man like that, he needs to stop doing whatever he’s doing and take advantage of it… It’s too long between times sometimes, you know? I know how to rub right back. That’s all I was telling Jack that afternoon… I didn’t do nothing…” MeeAugraphie |
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(Fiction) Friday - Chronomentrophobia
September 20, 2007 | Filed Under (Fiction) Friday, Fiction | 12 Comments
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| This Week’s Theme: Phobia
Sharon’s brother knew why she was afraid of clocks, but he never told. In fact, he never let on he even knew. Oh, he teased her unmercifully about it in front of the other kids. After all, he couldn’t let on he knew. Well, unmercifully is an exaggeration, for he was very protective of Sharon. He always stopped short of putting one beneath her bed or hiding one in her bathrobe pocket. He couldn’t let himself go that far. He knew the ticking, the incessant, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, reminded her of those nights at their cousin’s house. He knew that if she saw the big hand on the 12 and the little hand on the 10, even now, she quietly went into the bathroom and threw up. It was the only way she could purge herself of the memory. He wanted to help. He had wanted to tell on each of those four Saturday nights, but he was afraid of Uncle Nathan’s fists. He had seen the damage they could cause the summer before she had been, well, you know. The clocks at their uncle’s house had been awfully loud: tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick was all they heard at lights out at eight. But at ten they all heard another sound, a muffled whimpering… He had to tease her, he couldn’t tell, he had to tease her, they couldn’t know he knew. They would not understand why he didn’t tell… She couldn’t know he knew. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. He reached down and smashed the clock. Then went to tell his mom that Sharon broke it. He couldn’t let them know he knew. MeeAugraphie |
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(Fiction Friday) - Black Thin Flashing Line
September 14, 2007 | Filed Under (Fiction) Friday, Poetry | 6 Comments
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| This Week’s Theme: Inaminate object
I am not real, you can’t touch me. Why do you scrape your fingers across the dust coating the window from which you view me to get at me in anger?I am not even an object, yet you look at me with disdain as if I were but a spoiled brat taunting you. Lighten up, woman. So, you don’t know my true identity None of that matters to me, You have no idea You have no idea who to call to remove me I stand tall and rail at you in my thinness. I am Black Thin Flashing Line. No, don’t leave your Google mail! MeeAugraphie This is as true as it can be… and Black Thin Flashing Line is real, although he claims to be fake… |
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