Sweltering

Sweltering heat will not deter his determined mind. The young boy knew that it was crucial to embed himself securely within the proper social group this summer before returning back to school in the fall as just another nobody.

He has spent countless hours alone, planning, plotting, and practicing the right moment at which he will show them how he's transformed from the little boy they thought they once knew. Today is the day. Clear skies, a sense of freedom in the air, and the will to succeed have all collaborated to align his path.

His childhood bedroom now barren of his former playthings, awaits new interests and hobbies to fill it's walls.

They're all there, sitting by the fire hydrant, talking about whatever cool thing it is that they're going to do on this marvelous day. Andy walks up to them as if he's been their gang leader for years now, the expression on his face as cold as his soul. "Where are we going to hit up today, boys?" he asks.

Their shock is brief, but they understand. Chris, the tall one, responds "If you're going to stick around you know what it is you have to do. We were just talking about that one, over there." Chris nodded his head towards the blue house with the boat in the driveway.

Samantha

I don't know if I'll ever manage to do this exercise on a Saturday, but here's my offering for Raven's Saturday Wordzzle.


words: Green goddess, shampoo, filibuster, please and thank you, Operation Marigold, throw pillows, up the creek without a paddle, spandex, ubiquitous, wedding ring


Samantha just knew that her husband would be up the creek without a paddle if he didn't figure out a way to prevent the filibuster his coworkers were planning for Operation Marigold. She sat, anxiously twisting her wedding ring around and around her tiny finger, wondering how she could help. But the fresh scent of the Green Goddess herb salsa she made for her lunch was distracting her so much that soon she was happily munching and consumed with trying to remember where she had last put her ubiquitous spandex to wear under her dress for the event. "Ah well, it's a little late for that now," she thought to herself. With a quick fluff of the throw pillows, she got up to shower and shampoo her hair, and get ready for tonight. She'd have to look her best tonight for the founders' dinner, and always say please and thank you, even if she despised every last one of them.

I'd Rather

I'd rather run through an open nowhere in the pouring rain than stay inside when you're angry. The way you seem to darken the skies is far more threatening that any thunder or lightening coming from high above me.

Your crooked mouth, hanging onto that last bit of humanity that I thought was lost long ago, hides broken truths and devious lies. If only you could show a glimmer of that peaceful you, the one I used to love, then I might be able to risk staying by your side. As things are now, I cannot help but leave and hope that you will meet your end swiftly.

Goodbye, Grandpa.

The Butterfly

In my blogtastic travels, I came across Raven's writing and I really liked her weekly word challenge. I am always into trying something new, so I thought I'd give it a shot here. The concept is to write a cohesive, short paragraph using the ten given words or phrases.



words: gentle spring rain, mammoth, soap opera, worry, bubble gum, garden gate, seizure, of Biblical proportions, paralysis, wrinkles


The butterfly's paralysis was only temporary. He was entranced by the enormous blooms on the hydrangea, freshly opened after drinking their fill of last week's gentle spring rain. It wasn't long before his wings were all aflutter, driving him this way and that to peruse each petal pointedly. Just past the garden gate he became aware of the mammoth groundhog, digging a hole of Biblical proportions underneath the fine stone statue presiding over the garden. Overcome with worry, the butterfly began to interrogate the groundhog as to why he chose to dig in that very spot. The butterfly feared the hole would lead the statue to become unbalanced and teeter until it toppled on top of a delicate flower waiting helplessly below. The groundhog answered "Fear not, butterfly. I have many years experience in digging such holes and I can personally vouch for the safety of all things in your garden. Anxiety does not serve you well, you will only develop premature wrinkles, or perhaps even suffer a seizure. Your disastrous scenario sounds more like something from a soap opera; let's just leave the digging to the professionals, ok?" As the groundhog turned diligently back to his hole, the butterfly realized that he would be unable to stop a falling statue anyway, and that perhaps the groundhog was right after all. He turned to float to another corner of the garden and admire the sweet scent of the honeysuckle, on his way he spied a turtle spitting out his chewed piece of bubble gum. "Excuse me, turtle, but is that necessary...." began the butterfly.

Mr. Moon

Mr. Moon, please stop staring at me. I don't have the right words, and I don't know if I ever will. Your relentless gaze is dangerous; the more I look over my shoulder to fight you off with my mean face, the less i pay attention to the road before me.

I suppose I should thank you for displaying those two deer, laying in wait, biding their time.

I'm afraid you're going to have to do a lot more, though, Mr. Moon, to make me like you tonight. Why don't you run along now and go play with the other side of life for a while, and leave me to think in darkness.

Miss Mary

Miss Mary went down to fetch a canary, all the while wishing her song would stay. She would hum along and bounce til dawn, if only the words would play.

Mary's older brother was quick to ruin her fun, telling her "You can dance all you want but no other will come."

"I need no other save my mind," thought Mary. "Everything is as free as time."

With that she turned her back on what was behind her and ran off to sing what could no longer stay inside her.

Your Food

Your food is devine, and your words are bland.

Filling my stomach starves my mind.

I could spend hours upon hours watching, learning, emulating your cuisine. Yet when you open your mouth to speak, I want to run and hide.

Where is the delicate touch you employ so well when applying a ginger foam atop a lattice of caramel? When will read your account of finding the perfect spring lobster and liberating it from it's rigid shell, and actually smell the sea scent on the creature?

I will write for you, if you will cook for me.

The Rain

I wrote this a few days ago, but I think it's still fitting seeing as how it's raining, again.



The rain was angrily slapping the young spring leaves on the old oak tree just past midnight. I awoke, picturing Mother Nature lashing about from the clouds above, twirling around and around in her green garb. Mr. Nature must have come home late again, he's been doing that more and more it seems.

The Natures have been together for so many eons now, even their moods are predictable. Every year, around this time, Mr. Nature tends to get a little cabin fever, and finds himself lingering too long after work. But Mother knows, that that is the way the world works; she expells the rain from the swollen clouds not only to vent her anger, but also to soothe and nourish her domain, making it ready so that she and the Mr. can enjoy a lovely summer picnic together

Friday Free Write

For today's free write exercise, I'm going to start with a memory of mine from when I was in Amsterdam and just see what transpires from there.


As she walked along the cobblestone street, trying in vain to stay level (who knew high heels would be so troublesome in the old part of the city?), her eyes bounced from one storefront to another. It seemed the Dutch had an endless appetite for women's apparel, which was in no way was a bad thing to Nikki.

She rounded a corner, ditched a massive sinkhole, and was overcome by a sweet smell in the air. It wasn't sickeningly sweet, like Grandma's perfume, nor was it so strong as to mask the everyday city odors. Nikki continued walking, checking her guidebook to make sure she was on the right path to the restaurant she was so excited to try, and became aware that the scent was developing more body, it was almost layering upon itself.

"The source must be nearby", she thought to herself, as she wrapped her thick wool coat tighter around her chest. April in Amsterdam was warmer than January, but not by much. She will later ask herself why she couldn't wait until the rainy season was over to come and explore this great city. Her thoughts were then interrupted as she inhaled deeply at the expanse just now coming into her view.

Nikki had stumbled upon the great Flower Market. Countless booths, floating end to end along the edge of the canal, butting up against the sidewalk stretched beyond her field of vision to her left and right, each booth containing various flowers in bloom, fresh bulbs, and other things flower related.

The source of the complex scent now revealed, Nikki was absorbed by the vibrant colors bursting forth from the booths. The flowers seemed to make the rest of the city appear in black and white. She slowed, studying every petal, touching each stem, taking in the spectacle of beauty before her. Her gaze fell on a nearby vendor, his cheerful demeanor and pleasant sounding conversation (she couldn't understand the words but could certainly hear his tone) were what made her realize that he was selling smiles, and who wouldn't be happy to do that for a living.

Nikki spent hours looking over the contents of each booth. The wind grew strong around the same time the noises her stomach were making became audible. She hated to walk away, but she knew that no matter what she did for the rest of her time here in Amsterdam, she would always have the memory of that flower market to take with her.