Hey guys,
It's July 1st, and as promised the Six Words Project is back from hiatus. I think taking the month off helped me personally to heal from some burnout and store up some enthusiasm for more creativity.
As I mentioned last time, I will now be giving myself (and by extension all of you) TWO weeks to work with each set of words. I think this gives more time to let the words percolate in your brain, will be less stressful especially when those busy weeks come up, and allow for some revision and growth.
Thanks - I look forward to seeing your inventions!
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Project on Hiatus for June
Hey guys,
I've been giving a lot of thought to how I want to proceed with my personal "Six Words" challenge moving forward. I've been doing it more or less every week for eight months now, and it has been extremely helpful in getting my creative juices flowing.
However, lately I've found myself a little burned out and unable to crank out anything within the week. Furthermore, "cranking it out" wasn't my original intention. I wanted to spend some time with each set of words and produce something more polished and of higher quality than what I've been doing.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to take June off. I'm still going to try to write and be creative, but I'm going to put the Six Words Project on pause. Hopefully this will help heal the burnout a little bit. Then, when I resume in July, I will start generating a new set of Six Words every other week, giving myself two weeks to sit with each set and invest in my creation. I think and hope that a longer turnaround might be less stressful for all of you.
Please let me know if you have any thoughts or opinions about this plan, but I hope you'll continue to play with me moving forward, just with a slightly different structure. Thanks!
I've been giving a lot of thought to how I want to proceed with my personal "Six Words" challenge moving forward. I've been doing it more or less every week for eight months now, and it has been extremely helpful in getting my creative juices flowing.
However, lately I've found myself a little burned out and unable to crank out anything within the week. Furthermore, "cranking it out" wasn't my original intention. I wanted to spend some time with each set of words and produce something more polished and of higher quality than what I've been doing.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to take June off. I'm still going to try to write and be creative, but I'm going to put the Six Words Project on pause. Hopefully this will help heal the burnout a little bit. Then, when I resume in July, I will start generating a new set of Six Words every other week, giving myself two weeks to sit with each set and invest in my creation. I think and hope that a longer turnaround might be less stressful for all of you.
Please let me know if you have any thoughts or opinions about this plan, but I hope you'll continue to play with me moving forward, just with a slightly different structure. Thanks!
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
SMELLY DELI
by Katie Rose Krueger
phonetic, adsorbable, quantum, bronze, delicatessen, duke
Charles stared at the bronze bust before him. He was not impressed. This was, after all, supposed to be the spitting image of his dear father, Duke Sidney of Charleston. It looked more like his Aunt, Lady Edna, who he confined to the kitchen. With a flick of his hand, the servants knew to take it away. It would be left in the basement with all the other botched artwork sent as gifts to his royal family. Charles let out a long sigh and rested his chin against his gloved hand.
Charles was now the Duke of Charleston, and he loathed the alliteration of it all, particularly because he struggled with phonetics as a child. His speech teacher, Gerald, remained a dear friend to him to this day, even after his retirement. Charles often had his personal chauffeur drive him to the delicatessen twenty miles down the road, just so he could get away and see Gerald in his new element. Gerald always had a thing for sandwiches.
One day, Charles entered Gerald’s deli and noticed a strange smell. Gerald was known to import all kinds of cheeses from all over Europe, but this odor was different. In fact, the driver had to wait outside after securing his weekly pickle from the barrel, as he couldn’t handle the stench. Charles looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He rang the bell on the counter, and Gerald came strolling out, wearing a lab coat and a pair of goggles pushed up over his thinning, silver hair. Gerald greeted Charles with delight and asked what Charles wanted to order. Before Charles could ask, Gerald cleared the air, so to speak.
“I bet you’re wondering what that smell is…” Gerald acknowledged. “It’s just a little experiment I’ve been trying out. Come see!”
Gerald led Charles behind the counter into the refrigerated storage area. Charles had to hold his nose as the smell increased in pungency. There was an extremely large glass case, with foreign-looking substances in it, as well as dozens of measuring cups, beakers, and… slices of bread.
“I am working on a whole new invention for the classic sandwich!” Gerald exclaimed. “By taking spoiled milk, which is essentially what cheese is, and re-processing it as an adsorbable entity, I then combine it with this hunk of ham, which I had leftover from Easter supper, to make the ultimate ham-and-cheese sandwich!”
Charles stared at his old friend in horror. His father, Duke Sidney, loved ham-and-cheese sandwiches, but he knew Daddy would be rolling in his grave if he heard about this. Charles smiled and patted Gerald on the back, not wanting to dash his spirits.
“Do you want to try it?” Gerald asked.
Again, not wanting to disappoint his friend, Charles obliged. He took the smallest quantum of sandwich possible and slowly placed it in his mouth, while continuing to pinch his nostrils with the other hand. As he carefully chewed, he saw Gerald with an eager look in his eye, waiting for his former student’s consensus.
“Well?!” Gerald urged. “What do you think?”
Charles swallowed, and hesitated before he spoke: “By Jove, you’ve done it, old man! This is the most delicious sandwich I’ve ever tasted!”
Gerald beamed, and shared more of the ham-and-cheese with Charles. They both knew they would have to increase their frequency of bathing, invest in some cologne, and forget about ever getting married, but at least they would always have something tasty to eat.
Charles stared at the bronze bust before him. He was not impressed. This was, after all, supposed to be the spitting image of his dear father, Duke Sidney of Charleston. It looked more like his Aunt, Lady Edna, who he confined to the kitchen. With a flick of his hand, the servants knew to take it away. It would be left in the basement with all the other botched artwork sent as gifts to his royal family. Charles let out a long sigh and rested his chin against his gloved hand.
Charles was now the Duke of Charleston, and he loathed the alliteration of it all, particularly because he struggled with phonetics as a child. His speech teacher, Gerald, remained a dear friend to him to this day, even after his retirement. Charles often had his personal chauffeur drive him to the delicatessen twenty miles down the road, just so he could get away and see Gerald in his new element. Gerald always had a thing for sandwiches.
One day, Charles entered Gerald’s deli and noticed a strange smell. Gerald was known to import all kinds of cheeses from all over Europe, but this odor was different. In fact, the driver had to wait outside after securing his weekly pickle from the barrel, as he couldn’t handle the stench. Charles looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He rang the bell on the counter, and Gerald came strolling out, wearing a lab coat and a pair of goggles pushed up over his thinning, silver hair. Gerald greeted Charles with delight and asked what Charles wanted to order. Before Charles could ask, Gerald cleared the air, so to speak.
“I bet you’re wondering what that smell is…” Gerald acknowledged. “It’s just a little experiment I’ve been trying out. Come see!”
Gerald led Charles behind the counter into the refrigerated storage area. Charles had to hold his nose as the smell increased in pungency. There was an extremely large glass case, with foreign-looking substances in it, as well as dozens of measuring cups, beakers, and… slices of bread.
“I am working on a whole new invention for the classic sandwich!” Gerald exclaimed. “By taking spoiled milk, which is essentially what cheese is, and re-processing it as an adsorbable entity, I then combine it with this hunk of ham, which I had leftover from Easter supper, to make the ultimate ham-and-cheese sandwich!”
Charles stared at his old friend in horror. His father, Duke Sidney, loved ham-and-cheese sandwiches, but he knew Daddy would be rolling in his grave if he heard about this. Charles smiled and patted Gerald on the back, not wanting to dash his spirits.
“Do you want to try it?” Gerald asked.
Again, not wanting to disappoint his friend, Charles obliged. He took the smallest quantum of sandwich possible and slowly placed it in his mouth, while continuing to pinch his nostrils with the other hand. As he carefully chewed, he saw Gerald with an eager look in his eye, waiting for his former student’s consensus.
“Well?!” Gerald urged. “What do you think?”
Charles swallowed, and hesitated before he spoke: “By Jove, you’ve done it, old man! This is the most delicious sandwich I’ve ever tasted!”
Gerald beamed, and shared more of the ham-and-cheese with Charles. They both knew they would have to increase their frequency of bathing, invest in some cologne, and forget about ever getting married, but at least they would always have something tasty to eat.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Eve Was Blonde
by Matthew Haws
excessive, ladybug, apple, blonde, parasite, egocentric
Eve was blonde. That's not why she did it, exactly, but she was. Her hair fell in the sort of gently curling locks that I have since learned human men love. Go figure.
I am a snake, what do I know of these things?
Eve was blonde. Like most blondes, she was seen as beautiful but unintelligent. Men wanted to have her and take care of her. Men wanted to think for her. Well, a certain kind of man. And Adam, by default, was that kind of man. What else could he have been?
Every Eve knows an Adam or two. If she's lucky she'll steer clear of them. But my Eve, the Eve, didn't have much of a choice. There was only one man around, unless you count God, which I'm not at all sure you can.
Is God a man? He sounds like one, but what do I know. I'm a snake. I don't pay much attention to such things.
Humans didn't interest me much back then, just one more addition to a garden already overflowing with life. I minded my own business. We all did. Adam appeared one day and we barely noticed. It was the creation, things were appearing out of nowhere all the time. Then Eve was made and we barely blinked.
Everything came in twos. God had a thing for sex. That's why he made so many rules about it.
Eve was blonde. Maybe that's why Adam treated her like that, like he owned her. Maybe its because she was created from his rib? "Go get some berries, Eve," he would say, "No, not those ones. What's wrong with you? You wouldn't last a day without me."
"What should we name this creature? A ladybug?? That's a terrible name! Never mind, I'll do the naming myself."
"Why did you tie your hair back like that? I don't care if it gets in your eyes, I like it better the other way."
"Ha ha, your crotch is so weird, Eve. You are missing this cool dangly thing."
"Don't look me like that. I am the master of the garden, God even said so. Now pick up around here, it's a mess."
So egocentric. So many rules. "Don't eat the fruit of that tree," God said. He never said that to any of the rest of us. We ate from that tree all the time (those of us who like apples, which I don't - I'm a snake). I started to think God was just messing with these two new things. With Eve, anyway. I tried to mind my business, I really did. But it bothered me. And I don't let things bother me. Not usually.
"Hey," I told her. I never spoke to anybody.
"Hey," she said. She was gathering leaves for Adam to sleep on. He didn't like the hard, cold earth.
"What's your deal?" I asked. "Why do you hang with that Adam guy?
"I'm his helpmeet," she said, like it explained everything.
"Right." I stuck out my tongue for a bit. It helps me think. "Seems more like you're his slave."
"You are just a snake," she said, "What do you know?"
"Fair enough." My feelings would have been hurt, but I'd heard it all before. Nobody loves a snake. Maybe that's why I never felt like I owed God any favors.
She walked away and I thought that was the last of that, but then I started seeing her everywhere I went, like she was intentionally trying to put herself in my path. I tried to ignore her. Then I saw the bruises.
"Adam wanted to prove he was stronger," she said when I asked.
"What an asshole," I said.
"Don't talk about him like that!"
"Listen, Eve. This is a big garden. It's safe, there's lots of food. You don't need this guy. You've got skills. You would be just fine on your own."
She bit her lower lip and stared into my eyes. "I couldn't. I wouldn't last a day without him."
"Right. Let's find out how long he'd last without you to gather his food for him."
"But I'd be lonely."
I hesitated. Don't get involved, I thought. It's none of your business.
"I would keep your company."
Her eyebrows raised. "You? But... you're just a snake." It was what I expected to hear, but her heart wasn't in it. I could hear that right away. She was thinking about it.
She thought about it a lot after that. So did I. We would meet up now and then and talk, and she always brought it up.
"If we left," she would say, in a hypothetical tone, "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere we wanted," I said. "There's lots to see. Maybe we could even see whats outside the garden."
"Outside? But its perfect in here."
"I know. Isn't it boring?"
She was quiet for a long time. "Yes."
At last I couldn't take it anymore. You can only pretend to mind your own business for so long. Once you are involved, you are involved. I had made my mistake the moment I first spoke to her. Now there was no turning back.
"Look, let's do it. Let's go. Today."
She shook her head. "I want to but..."
"Hey, you are braver than you know, Eve. You just need to prove it to yourself. You need to do something wild... you need to break one of the rules."
"What?"
"Yeah. Break a rule. Be your own person. Don't let them control you."
"But which rule?"
"I don't know! How about..." I looked around, and then I saw it. That tree. The random tree that "thou shalt not eat thereof." Perfect.
"Eat that fruit."
"But that's the fruit we are forbidden to eat!"
"Yes, Eve. That's exactly the point. Don't play dumb, I know Adam likes it but you are better than that. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Her face grew solemn. "There's no going back after this," she said. "You promise when I leave you'll go with me?"
Snakes don't get choked up with emotion, as a rule, but I got close right then. "Yes. I'll be by your side forever, if you'll have me."
She ate the fruit. I would have wept, if I had tear ducts. It was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen, the crunch, the juice dripping down the corners of her mouth, the fierce defiance blazing in her eyes. She'd already been created, but now she was alive. She finished the apple and laughed. I hissed. We danced around the tree. She took a few apples to go, and then we left.
And it was all perfect, more perfect than anything in that perfect world, until we reached the edge of the garden. The world outside looked bleak and terrible. Pain and suffering and death lurked out there. I eyed Eve nervously. She'd gone pale.
"Come on," I said, "We can handle this."
"I... I can't," she said. "I should get back to Adam."
I coiled up, agitated.
"Look, this was a lovely fantasy," she said, "But I can't just run off. I have to go back. I... I want to."
"No, you don't. That's him talking, not you."
"Shut up," she said.
"You can't go back now, you already ate the apple."
"I... I will get him to eat it too. I think I can."
"Eve," I said, "Don't do this. You could be so much more than this."
"You don't know anything."
"I love you."
"You're just a snake."
And she left. I heard about all the rest. "The serpent beguiled me," she said, "and I did eat." God cursed me for that, but no curse could make me any more miserable than I already was.
Eve was blonde. She was smart, and fierce, and capable. She could have made the whole earth a garden of paradise. She deserved better.
But what do I know? I'm just a snake.
Eve was blonde. That's not why she did it, exactly, but she was. Her hair fell in the sort of gently curling locks that I have since learned human men love. Go figure.
I am a snake, what do I know of these things?
Eve was blonde. Like most blondes, she was seen as beautiful but unintelligent. Men wanted to have her and take care of her. Men wanted to think for her. Well, a certain kind of man. And Adam, by default, was that kind of man. What else could he have been?
Every Eve knows an Adam or two. If she's lucky she'll steer clear of them. But my Eve, the Eve, didn't have much of a choice. There was only one man around, unless you count God, which I'm not at all sure you can.
Is God a man? He sounds like one, but what do I know. I'm a snake. I don't pay much attention to such things.
Humans didn't interest me much back then, just one more addition to a garden already overflowing with life. I minded my own business. We all did. Adam appeared one day and we barely noticed. It was the creation, things were appearing out of nowhere all the time. Then Eve was made and we barely blinked.
Everything came in twos. God had a thing for sex. That's why he made so many rules about it.
Eve was blonde. Maybe that's why Adam treated her like that, like he owned her. Maybe its because she was created from his rib? "Go get some berries, Eve," he would say, "No, not those ones. What's wrong with you? You wouldn't last a day without me."
"What should we name this creature? A ladybug?? That's a terrible name! Never mind, I'll do the naming myself."
"Why did you tie your hair back like that? I don't care if it gets in your eyes, I like it better the other way."
"Ha ha, your crotch is so weird, Eve. You are missing this cool dangly thing."
"Don't look me like that. I am the master of the garden, God even said so. Now pick up around here, it's a mess."
So egocentric. So many rules. "Don't eat the fruit of that tree," God said. He never said that to any of the rest of us. We ate from that tree all the time (those of us who like apples, which I don't - I'm a snake). I started to think God was just messing with these two new things. With Eve, anyway. I tried to mind my business, I really did. But it bothered me. And I don't let things bother me. Not usually.
"Hey," I told her. I never spoke to anybody.
"Hey," she said. She was gathering leaves for Adam to sleep on. He didn't like the hard, cold earth.
"What's your deal?" I asked. "Why do you hang with that Adam guy?
"I'm his helpmeet," she said, like it explained everything.
"Right." I stuck out my tongue for a bit. It helps me think. "Seems more like you're his slave."
"You are just a snake," she said, "What do you know?"
"Fair enough." My feelings would have been hurt, but I'd heard it all before. Nobody loves a snake. Maybe that's why I never felt like I owed God any favors.
She walked away and I thought that was the last of that, but then I started seeing her everywhere I went, like she was intentionally trying to put herself in my path. I tried to ignore her. Then I saw the bruises.
"Adam wanted to prove he was stronger," she said when I asked.
"What an asshole," I said.
"Don't talk about him like that!"
"Listen, Eve. This is a big garden. It's safe, there's lots of food. You don't need this guy. You've got skills. You would be just fine on your own."
She bit her lower lip and stared into my eyes. "I couldn't. I wouldn't last a day without him."
"Right. Let's find out how long he'd last without you to gather his food for him."
"But I'd be lonely."
I hesitated. Don't get involved, I thought. It's none of your business.
"I would keep your company."
Her eyebrows raised. "You? But... you're just a snake." It was what I expected to hear, but her heart wasn't in it. I could hear that right away. She was thinking about it.
She thought about it a lot after that. So did I. We would meet up now and then and talk, and she always brought it up.
"If we left," she would say, in a hypothetical tone, "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere we wanted," I said. "There's lots to see. Maybe we could even see whats outside the garden."
"Outside? But its perfect in here."
"I know. Isn't it boring?"
She was quiet for a long time. "Yes."
At last I couldn't take it anymore. You can only pretend to mind your own business for so long. Once you are involved, you are involved. I had made my mistake the moment I first spoke to her. Now there was no turning back.
"Look, let's do it. Let's go. Today."
She shook her head. "I want to but..."
"Hey, you are braver than you know, Eve. You just need to prove it to yourself. You need to do something wild... you need to break one of the rules."
"What?"
"Yeah. Break a rule. Be your own person. Don't let them control you."
"But which rule?"
"I don't know! How about..." I looked around, and then I saw it. That tree. The random tree that "thou shalt not eat thereof." Perfect.
"Eat that fruit."
"But that's the fruit we are forbidden to eat!"
"Yes, Eve. That's exactly the point. Don't play dumb, I know Adam likes it but you are better than that. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Her face grew solemn. "There's no going back after this," she said. "You promise when I leave you'll go with me?"
Snakes don't get choked up with emotion, as a rule, but I got close right then. "Yes. I'll be by your side forever, if you'll have me."
She ate the fruit. I would have wept, if I had tear ducts. It was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen, the crunch, the juice dripping down the corners of her mouth, the fierce defiance blazing in her eyes. She'd already been created, but now she was alive. She finished the apple and laughed. I hissed. We danced around the tree. She took a few apples to go, and then we left.
And it was all perfect, more perfect than anything in that perfect world, until we reached the edge of the garden. The world outside looked bleak and terrible. Pain and suffering and death lurked out there. I eyed Eve nervously. She'd gone pale.
"Come on," I said, "We can handle this."
"I... I can't," she said. "I should get back to Adam."
I coiled up, agitated.
"Look, this was a lovely fantasy," she said, "But I can't just run off. I have to go back. I... I want to."
"No, you don't. That's him talking, not you."
"Shut up," she said.
"You can't go back now, you already ate the apple."
"I... I will get him to eat it too. I think I can."
"Eve," I said, "Don't do this. You could be so much more than this."
"You don't know anything."
"I love you."
"You're just a snake."
And she left. I heard about all the rest. "The serpent beguiled me," she said, "and I did eat." God cursed me for that, but no curse could make me any more miserable than I already was.
Eve was blonde. She was smart, and fierce, and capable. She could have made the whole earth a garden of paradise. She deserved better.
But what do I know? I'm just a snake.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
The Cow and the Snail
by Katie Rose Krueger
daytime, field, bringer, arbitrary, assassination, grinding
The sun shined down on Farmer Ben’s abode. A beautiful April day, just as it should be. He looked out at his herd scattered on the grass, noticing number AC58237 under the shade of the maple tree, like she always does. He wondered why she spent so much time away from the pack, but didn’t dwell on it. She was in perfect health and produced plenty of milk, so he didn’t mind. He walked back into the barn to go about his work for the day.
Number AC58237 watched Farmer Ben walk inside. She liked to refer to herself as “Casey,” though, especially around her best friend, Stu. Stu was a snail that lived in the bushes surrounding the maple tree. Though it took him awhile to travel to their daytime conversation, he never missed an appointment. Casey smiled as she saw him approach.
“Good morning, Stu,” she greeted, grinding the last bit of grass between her teeth.
“Good morning, Casey,” replied Stu, with a somber look on his face.
“What’s the matter, Stu?” asked Casey, concerned for her friend.
Stu launched into his story, holding back tears. Casey had to hold back her own as she listened to him describe the assassination of their leader, Mayor Snoodle. Mayor Snoodle was making his annual visit to the Caterpillar Community in the neighboring cornfield. It was a month-long excursion, but always yielded positive outcomes. The Snails and Caterpillars worked together and supported each other just like family.
On this journey, however, the outcome was a negative one. As Mayor Snoodle crossed the dirt road that ran between the two farms, the evil Barry Boilhead, an eleven-year-old boy from down the way, smashed every snail in his beady-eyed sight that day. Only one snail had made it all the way across the road: one of Mayor Snoodle’s guards, and Stu’s brother, Sam. When Sam made the lonely trek back home, he was tasked as the bringer of bad news. Their leader was gone.
“I’m so sorry, Stu,” Casey said as she consoled her friend. “Is there anything I can do?”
Stu hesitated before speaking, “Actually… there is. It may seem arbitrary, but when the sun hits high noon today, could you please have a moment of moo-ness in Mayor Snoodle’s honor?”
“Why, I’d be happy to, Stu.” Casey replied. “I’ll get the whole herd involved.”
Stu smiled, thanked his friend Casey the Cow, and made his trek back inside the bush.
As Farmer Ben settled into his rocker for his lunch break, he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into his egg salad sandwich. But before he could take his first bite, a sound stopped him short. He squinted out towards the pasture and saw number AC58237 leading all 49 cows into a clump, their heads tilting towards the sky and mooing the longest, saddest moo he’d ever heard. He didn’t understand it, but he suddenly felt the urge to remove his straw hat, and moo right along with them.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Breaking Up With My Boyfriend, A Killer Android Designed to End Civilization
by Matthew Haws
doomsday, chalk, animatronic, gun, curved, hearts
Sometimes I feel like you love annihilation more than you love me.
Like, I get it. You are passionate about your work. I admire that. You really commit to every project. That’s the first thing I noticed about you. I saw you tearing that car in half and I thought to myself, “This is a guy with drive. And I like to sleep with people with drive.” Yes, I know that says a lot about me, chalk it up to a bad relationship with my father or whatever, but tough guys turn me on. And you were the toughest guy I’d ever seen! I’ve never told you before, but… when you ripped that guy’s heart out of his chest right in front of me… well, you ripped out my heart too. I had to have you.
And it’s been great, mostly, it really has. But lately I start wondering what kind of future there can possibly be for us, you know? I feel like all you can talk about is destruction this and exterminate that and what about us? I keep wondering… am I fooling myself? Can animatronic love last? Or am I just addicted to the danger…. you know, it’s not every day you date a guy whose penis doubles as an actual gun. So I’ll miss the thrill and all but… it’s just not practical.
That’s what I’m trying to say. I think we’re better off as friends. Please don’t be angry. I want us to stay in touch, no hard feelings. I hope you won’t see me as just another one of your terrified victims. But it’s for the best, in the long run. And come the final doomsday, I’ll be very happy for you.
But I just can’t be in a relationship right now. It’s not you. It’s me.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Grandfather's Orchard
by Matthew Haws
orchard, coconut, cuddly, foot, gritty, behind
My grandfather had an apple orchard when I was just a boy, and when we’d go to visit him I would walk between the trees until I could no longer see the house, pretending I had vanished fully into some other realm made of bark, and branches, and ripening fruit. When they were in season, the apples were everywhere and could be summoned at will by the simple reach of my hand. I walked every corner and row of that orchard, and came to know it as well as I knew my childhood bedroom or the yard behind my house.
Which is why I was somewhat surprised when I pulled myself from the ocean on that deserted island and found my grandfather’s orchard there. Each tree was placed exactly as I remembered, and walking amongst them I felt as though the big farmhouse and the dusty driveway were just out of view, and that if I only kept walking I would see them both, and the car my parents had driven there, and maybe my grandfather himself waving from the doorway with a fresh slice of apple pie on a plate. It wasn’t so, of course. Outside of the orchard it was just a regular tropical island, and there were no apples growing on trees, just a few coconuts here or there. I walked the whole circumference of the island, testing the borders of my new realm, and made the circuit in less than a day. I saw no sign of human life, only the chittering sound of monkeys now and then and lots of bugs. I supped on apples in the evening and wondered at my good fortune. The climate was too hot for apple trees to thrive, but there they were, and I was grateful since I never really cared for coconuts.
I thought of my grandfather. He must have been here before me, maybe many years before, for only he could have recreated his old orchard so exactly down to the last detail. But he had died years before, when I was sixteen or seventeen, and hadn’t exactly been mobile for many years before that, so these trees must have been planted at least thirty or forty years before the day I washed up on their shore. It seemed improbable. The trees looked young and well-tended, though there was not a soul in sight. There was a mystery in it that seemed to overwhelm all my fears for my predicament.
Grandpa had been a quiet man with rough hands, always working. When we stayed over at his house, I would come downstairs to the kitchen early and find him brewing coffee and starting some breakfast and watching dawn come in through the kitchen window. Saying nothing, he would fix a small cup for me and scramble some eggs, handing them over on a plate with a wink and then a quick, absentminded pat on the head. I didn’t much care for eggs back home, but at grandfather’s house I ate every bite. The eggs tasted old, gritty, like a recipe from another time. They were just scrambled eggs, though, and I never understood how eating them could make me feel like I had been transported to some long-gone decade.
To say I was afraid of him wouldn’t be exactly wrong, but it wouldn’t be exactly right either, for he was unknowable and distant, and I stood in awe of all he had seen and done and knew how to do and how little he spoke of it all. When he was around, I felt safe and loved, to be sure, but I found myself frightened to speak (I who drove my mother near to madness with my constant questions and stories) and so the two of us would sit and eat in perfect silence and wait for my mother and father and my brother and maybe an aunt or uncle to come downstairs. Silence was grandfather’s language. Since grandma had died, he’d become fluent in it.
The second day on the island I explored the interior, looking for some sign of the orchard’s current owner. I had come to the conclusion that such a person must exist and live nearby, for the orchard was too well tended. It was possible, of course, that this caretaker lived on another island and came over frequently to work in the orchard, but I found that less likely. I found no sign of anybody, though, and mostly ended up lost in the more heavily vegetated areas until at last I found my way back to the apple trees. (I finally realized I could follow my own tracks which my feet had left impressed in the soft and muddy earth, like ghostly reminders of my presence). There I caught a glimpse of somebody walking through the orchard, but when I blinked they were gone, and though I spent the rest of the day hunting I saw no further trace of them.
That night I was restless and could not fully sleep. A voice not unlike my mother’s called my name, asked me to return, calling me home as though I had been out playing and now it was time for dinner. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, but the voice did not vanish into some half-forgotten dream as I expected. Instead it grew louder and beckoned me onward, back towards the beach, and at that moment I knew somehow that if I went back there to the place where I had first come ashore I would find the owner of that voice and leave this place, and the thought excited me, of being back in my room with my cuddly blankets and pillows, and the smells of home, and all of this far away.
I was walking that way with an eager pace when I glimpsed it, through the trees. The old farmhouse and there, on the back steps, the man himself standing perfectly, peacefully still and holding a plate with a slice of apple pie. Behind me the woman’s voice still beckoned, but from my grandfather there was no sound at all. He did not hold out the plate, but I knew it was for me.
It took only a few heavy moments to make my choice. I could have turned to throw an apology over my shoulder toward the beach, but I was afraid to speak. As I mounted the steps to the farmhouse porch, the owner of the orchard winked at me and laid his hand upon my head, and then we went inside together saying not a word, and in that moment, in this moment, I think it all through again and again. Grandfather takes my hand. I am at peace. The rest is silence.
My grandfather had an apple orchard when I was just a boy, and when we’d go to visit him I would walk between the trees until I could no longer see the house, pretending I had vanished fully into some other realm made of bark, and branches, and ripening fruit. When they were in season, the apples were everywhere and could be summoned at will by the simple reach of my hand. I walked every corner and row of that orchard, and came to know it as well as I knew my childhood bedroom or the yard behind my house.
Which is why I was somewhat surprised when I pulled myself from the ocean on that deserted island and found my grandfather’s orchard there. Each tree was placed exactly as I remembered, and walking amongst them I felt as though the big farmhouse and the dusty driveway were just out of view, and that if I only kept walking I would see them both, and the car my parents had driven there, and maybe my grandfather himself waving from the doorway with a fresh slice of apple pie on a plate. It wasn’t so, of course. Outside of the orchard it was just a regular tropical island, and there were no apples growing on trees, just a few coconuts here or there. I walked the whole circumference of the island, testing the borders of my new realm, and made the circuit in less than a day. I saw no sign of human life, only the chittering sound of monkeys now and then and lots of bugs. I supped on apples in the evening and wondered at my good fortune. The climate was too hot for apple trees to thrive, but there they were, and I was grateful since I never really cared for coconuts.
I thought of my grandfather. He must have been here before me, maybe many years before, for only he could have recreated his old orchard so exactly down to the last detail. But he had died years before, when I was sixteen or seventeen, and hadn’t exactly been mobile for many years before that, so these trees must have been planted at least thirty or forty years before the day I washed up on their shore. It seemed improbable. The trees looked young and well-tended, though there was not a soul in sight. There was a mystery in it that seemed to overwhelm all my fears for my predicament.
Grandpa had been a quiet man with rough hands, always working. When we stayed over at his house, I would come downstairs to the kitchen early and find him brewing coffee and starting some breakfast and watching dawn come in through the kitchen window. Saying nothing, he would fix a small cup for me and scramble some eggs, handing them over on a plate with a wink and then a quick, absentminded pat on the head. I didn’t much care for eggs back home, but at grandfather’s house I ate every bite. The eggs tasted old, gritty, like a recipe from another time. They were just scrambled eggs, though, and I never understood how eating them could make me feel like I had been transported to some long-gone decade.
To say I was afraid of him wouldn’t be exactly wrong, but it wouldn’t be exactly right either, for he was unknowable and distant, and I stood in awe of all he had seen and done and knew how to do and how little he spoke of it all. When he was around, I felt safe and loved, to be sure, but I found myself frightened to speak (I who drove my mother near to madness with my constant questions and stories) and so the two of us would sit and eat in perfect silence and wait for my mother and father and my brother and maybe an aunt or uncle to come downstairs. Silence was grandfather’s language. Since grandma had died, he’d become fluent in it.
The second day on the island I explored the interior, looking for some sign of the orchard’s current owner. I had come to the conclusion that such a person must exist and live nearby, for the orchard was too well tended. It was possible, of course, that this caretaker lived on another island and came over frequently to work in the orchard, but I found that less likely. I found no sign of anybody, though, and mostly ended up lost in the more heavily vegetated areas until at last I found my way back to the apple trees. (I finally realized I could follow my own tracks which my feet had left impressed in the soft and muddy earth, like ghostly reminders of my presence). There I caught a glimpse of somebody walking through the orchard, but when I blinked they were gone, and though I spent the rest of the day hunting I saw no further trace of them.
That night I was restless and could not fully sleep. A voice not unlike my mother’s called my name, asked me to return, calling me home as though I had been out playing and now it was time for dinner. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, but the voice did not vanish into some half-forgotten dream as I expected. Instead it grew louder and beckoned me onward, back towards the beach, and at that moment I knew somehow that if I went back there to the place where I had first come ashore I would find the owner of that voice and leave this place, and the thought excited me, of being back in my room with my cuddly blankets and pillows, and the smells of home, and all of this far away.
I was walking that way with an eager pace when I glimpsed it, through the trees. The old farmhouse and there, on the back steps, the man himself standing perfectly, peacefully still and holding a plate with a slice of apple pie. Behind me the woman’s voice still beckoned, but from my grandfather there was no sound at all. He did not hold out the plate, but I knew it was for me.
It took only a few heavy moments to make my choice. I could have turned to throw an apology over my shoulder toward the beach, but I was afraid to speak. As I mounted the steps to the farmhouse porch, the owner of the orchard winked at me and laid his hand upon my head, and then we went inside together saying not a word, and in that moment, in this moment, I think it all through again and again. Grandfather takes my hand. I am at peace. The rest is silence.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Hero's Journey
by Ross Compton
MYSTICAL, GOAT, ENCOUNTER, ALWAYS, EYE, HUMBLE
The stage is completely black. We begin to hear a noise that sounds like someone ruffling through a pile of plastic cartridges. We then hear the sound of a person blowing into something multiple times. It is now clear that a man or woman is about to play an old school video game. We hear the click of the cartridge entering the game system and the flip of the power switch. The lights come up dimly to reveal a dank and spooky dungeon. The dripping of anonymous liquid echoes throughout the dreary, blood-stained halls. We hear ominous “danger music” that would be at home in a video game epic. Enter a vaguely medieval looking ADVENTURER. He is wearing a helmet, carries a shield in one hand, and a ratty sack in the other. He notices a couple of torches on the wall and sets down the sack to grab one of them. The ADVENTURER then proceeds to carefully scan his surroundings for beasties. Suddenly, we see smoke billow from upstage, and from this smoke emerges a MYSTICAL SAGE. He holds a staff and is wearing a shimmering white gown. The SAGE floats downstage until he is directly behind the Adventurer. He stops. He inhales deeply and then speaks in a dulcet baritone.
CUFF throws his torch at the SHANANAHA. He becomes engulfed in flames. Beat.
SHANANAHA walks off stage and there is a beat.
SHANANAHA walks back in, showing no sign of his episode.
SHANANAHA produces a chest from beneath his cloak. He presents it to CUFF. As he does we hear a familiar “you’ve unlocked a secret” music cue. CUFF reaches his hand out to touch it but SANANAHA pulls it away.
Suddenly, three armored PIG-MAN beasts enter with swords drawn. They let out a horrific battle cry! CUFF springs into action and takes two at a time. SHNANAHA grabs his staff and battles the third one. CUFF thwacks a PIG-MAN in the head, knocking it to the ground. CUFF brings the shield down upon the PIG-MAN repeatedly, beating it to death. He then makes short work of the other beast with a spear through the throat. SHANANAHA disintegrates the last PIG-MAN with a mystic blast from the end of his staff. Pause.
SHANANAHA hands CUFF the chest. CUFF opens it and pulls out the glorious Warrior Sword! He lifts it about his head and points it skyward as he triumphantly beams toward the audience. We hear a familiar, victorious fanfare that tells us “He’s found something good!” Suddenly, the music starts to skip and experience loud, static-y feedback. The lights go out. We hear a voice.
END OF PLAY
MYSTICAL, GOAT, ENCOUNTER, ALWAYS, EYE, HUMBLE
The stage is completely black. We begin to hear a noise that sounds like someone ruffling through a pile of plastic cartridges. We then hear the sound of a person blowing into something multiple times. It is now clear that a man or woman is about to play an old school video game. We hear the click of the cartridge entering the game system and the flip of the power switch. The lights come up dimly to reveal a dank and spooky dungeon. The dripping of anonymous liquid echoes throughout the dreary, blood-stained halls. We hear ominous “danger music” that would be at home in a video game epic. Enter a vaguely medieval looking ADVENTURER. He is wearing a helmet, carries a shield in one hand, and a ratty sack in the other. He notices a couple of torches on the wall and sets down the sack to grab one of them. The ADVENTURER then proceeds to carefully scan his surroundings for beasties. Suddenly, we see smoke billow from upstage, and from this smoke emerges a MYSTICAL SAGE. He holds a staff and is wearing a shimmering white gown. The SAGE floats downstage until he is directly behind the Adventurer. He stops. He inhales deeply and then speaks in a dulcet baritone.
SAGE
Greetings, young Cuff. My name is Shananaha.
CUFF
(startled) YAAAAAAAHHHHHH!CUFF throws his torch at the SHANANAHA. He becomes engulfed in flames. Beat.
SHANANAHA
It’s so nice to finally meet you.
CUFF
Stand back, demon! Or you shall engage in a battle you won’t soon forget!
SHANANAHA
Fear not, Cuff: Hero of the Peasants. I am a mystical and mysterious sage, and it is my duty to guide you in your quest to find the Dodecah-Force.
CUFF
Oh! I apologize, sire. (beat) Excuse me, sire, but the flames! Are they not painful?
SHANANAHA
My boy! Are your elven ears clogged with Goblin’s wax? I am a sage! The fire is like 100 feathers tickling me simultaneously! And extinguishing them is as simple as *snaps fingers* (The flames disappear)
CUFF
Kaloo Kalay! What a joy it is to encounter such a wise and powerful being!
SHANANAHA
Indeed! (Pause) Excuse me a second.SHANANAHA walks off stage and there is a beat.
SHANANAHA
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Why, God!? Whyyyyy! AGGGGGHHHHHHHH!SHANANAHA walks back in, showing no sign of his episode.
SHANANAHA
Now young Cuff, because it is dangerous to go alone, I shall bestow upon you an ancient weapon of great magnitude: The Warrior Sword. Once you wield it, you shall be transformed from impish wanderer to valiant soldier. A soldier who shall finally bring peace and prosperity back to the fair land of Hey-Yah.SHANANAHA produces a chest from beneath his cloak. He presents it to CUFF. As he does we hear a familiar “you’ve unlocked a secret” music cue. CUFF reaches his hand out to touch it but SANANAHA pulls it away.
SHANANAHA
But first, you must bear evidence of your fortitude! Have you completed the three challenges, thereby acquiring the coveted bounty needed to prove your worth?
CUFF
I have indeed, sire. It’s right her in this sack. (CUFF retrieves the sack and hands it to SHANANAHA)
SHANANAHA
Excellent, my boy!
CUFF
Yes! Eight severed goat heads, all of them—
SHANANAHA
Wait, what!?
CUFF
I said “Eight severed goat heads, all of them…”
SHANANAHA
(drops the bag) What the hell? Why are you giving me a bag of bloody goat heads?
CUFF
Well sire, what would you accept in its place?
SHANANAHA
…money! How about some money? Something with actual monetary value!
CUFF
I’m sorry, Shananaha.
SHANANAHA
What is wrong with you? These poor goats. (SHANANAHA becomes emotional regarding the goats)
CUFF
But mighty sage, I completed all the challenges as I was instructed to by the ancient scrolls.
SHANANAHA
You threw a spear into the eye of the stone Cyclops?
CUFF
Surely!
SHANANAHA
You played the “Butcher’s Lament” on your enchanted Theremin?
CUFF
Every night!
SHANANAHA
You both courted and then laid with all twelve of the Troll King’s widows?
CUFF
The chafe still remains! I fear it shall never leave!
SHANANAHA
And upon completion of these tasks, did Kleek-Klak the Albatross not lead you to the chest containing the 100 rubies?
CUFF
Truly he did! I held these rubies in my very hands!
SHANANAHA
So….what gives?
CUFF
Well, I put these rubies into my satchel and mounted my pony: Horse.
SHANANAHA
Pony-horse?
CUFF
No. He’s a pony. His name is Horse. It’s meant to motivate him, you know? To be more like a swift and trusty horse and not.. an awful, smelly little pony. Anyway, we made haste up the hills as the majestic sun made its descent behind the mountain tops. Mid-journey, I began to feel parched so we stopped off to have a drink of water. As I knelt down in the sands of the Boo-Bah Bay beside the Lanaina Lay-la Lake to quench my thirst, I suddenly found myself being approached by a decrepit, old man with a long beard and only one leg. He said that he owned a shop nearby and wanted to show me his merchandise. He mentioned that he had something that would help me on my journey. I told Horse to stay, which confused him and then he promptly drowned himself. He was a very dumb pony and in hindsight the motivational name tactic was clearly a fools-errand. The one-legged man took me to a cave where he had a display set up. A rusty candle stick for 25 rubies. A rusty bracelet for 50 rubies. And a strange sack for 100 rubies! The very amount I had on my person! I inquired as to what was in the sack. He countered with another question. “Where are you headed?” I am on my way to collect the Warrior’s Sword and bring peace to Heyyah, I say. And he says, “What a coincidence. The contents of this sack is precisely what you’ll need to obtain the sword!” So I paid him and took the sack. And here we are.
SHANANAHA
(Pause) So…you just trusted the guy?
CUFF
Yes.
SHANANAHA
Did you even look in the bag?
CUFF
I did. And I admit at first it did give me pause. But he told me that every one of these heads belonged to a goat with the heart of a champion. And that true riches don’t come from rubies or gold, rather it comes from what is on the inside--oh my god, he totally scammed me.
SHANANAHAN
Well, this is just fantastic.
CUFF
But..but he seemed legitimate. He had a shop!
SHANANAHA
Just because a guy has a cave with some junk propped up on a table doesn’t mean he operates a business. I’m pretty sure he was just homeless.
CUFF
It was an honest mistake.
SHANANAHA
Really? None of that seemed strange to you?
CUFF
Well, SO MANY different people have been telling me what to do and where to go that I don’t know who to listen to anymore! When an Albatross speaks to you and then gives you a chest of riches, a slightly shady looking amputee doesn’t seem that odd.
SHANANAHA
Get out.
CUFF
What about the Warrior Sword?
SHANANAHA
You don’t get a Warrior Sword today. Get out.
CUFF
But you said it’s dangerous to go alone!
SHANANAHA
It is. And I hope you get fucking murdered. GET OUT!Suddenly, three armored PIG-MAN beasts enter with swords drawn. They let out a horrific battle cry! CUFF springs into action and takes two at a time. SHNANAHA grabs his staff and battles the third one. CUFF thwacks a PIG-MAN in the head, knocking it to the ground. CUFF brings the shield down upon the PIG-MAN repeatedly, beating it to death. He then makes short work of the other beast with a spear through the throat. SHANANAHA disintegrates the last PIG-MAN with a mystic blast from the end of his staff. Pause.
SHANANAHA
I’m sorry, it’s always aggravating when that happens. Anyway, get out.
CUFF
I don’t understand. I had already vanquished these beasts earlier at the front dungeon entrance.
SHANANAHA
I know. They regenerate after 20 minutes or so. I spend most of my time in this dungeon killing these things over and over.
CUFF
So they just keep coming out of this corridor here? *gasp* What’s this?! All of your pots! I smashed them all on my way in here! Yet here they stand intact!
SHANANAHA
Yes, they magically regenerate as well. Also, I’m not sure why you feel it’s ok to smash other people’s belongings for seemingly no reason, you psychopath. Now will you please leave?
CUFF
Yes. (beat) And you should come with me.
SHANANAHA
Come with you? Humble yourself, lowly turd-chunk! I am Shananaha, the mystical sage! I am here to provide wisdom, ancient relics and general gravitas to those who are worthy. It has been my job for centuries and it shall remain my job…forever. (SHANANAHA is a bit shaken to say this out loud)
CUFF
Exactly. Have you ever known anything else?
SHANANAHA
Well, no but…
CUFF
And clearly none of the other would-be warriors you’ve encountered have brought peace to the kingdom.
SHANANAHA
No, quite the opposite in fact. Most of them find out that they have to use their brain and solve puzzles so they just quit. Oh, and one guy was pecked to death by a bunch of angry chickens.
CUFF
So why continue to toil under these less than satisfactory conditions, Shananaha? Why keep going through the motions? That’s what I’m asking myself at this very moment! I run around this infernal land searching for trinkets that only lead me to more trinkets and so on. Accomplishing menial tasks commanded of me by an ancient scroll that was written so long ago that we have no idea who wrote it or if her or she was of any significance or wisdom at all. For all we know, we found some lonely nerd’s Fan Fiction. None of it makes any sense! I do not know what a Dodecah-Force even is. And what does playing a song about cured meats on an enchanted Theremin have to do with finding a sword?
SHANANAHA
At least it wasn’t an enchanted recorder. That shit conjures up tornadoes. (looks out into the distance solemnly) so many children’s band recitals, so many needless deaths.
CUFF
Even so. Just as these unfortunate beasts are doomed to a never-ending cycle of death and re-birth, so are we doomed to embark on quests for things that are unattainable to us.
SHANANAHA
(pause) I think that you’re right, young Cuff.
CUFF
Indeed, I am. So what say you!? Shall we exit this dreary dungeon, head to the Vavathathashnosh Village, locate the nearest tavern to enjoy a fine mead and then leave the land of Heyyah forever?
SHANANAHA
(Pause) I say, “yay”!
CUFF
Huzzah! Then let us depart!
SHANANAHA
Ah, but first, let me give you what you came here for! I’m pleased to say, that at long last, someone was worthy enough to receive this. And that someone is you, Cuff.SHANANAHA hands CUFF the chest. CUFF opens it and pulls out the glorious Warrior Sword! He lifts it about his head and points it skyward as he triumphantly beams toward the audience. We hear a familiar, victorious fanfare that tells us “He’s found something good!” Suddenly, the music starts to skip and experience loud, static-y feedback. The lights go out. We hear a voice.
VOICE
Dammit. Stupid game. *sighs* whatever. I’m gonna smoke some pot. END OF PLAY
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Some Monsters by Ryan Krause
Our frequent contributor, Ryan Krause, exercises his creativity by drawing an imaginative monster every day. Recently he's been drawing some based on some of the weekly words. Here's some examples!
DAYTIME, FIELD, BRINGER, ARBITRARY, ASSASSINATION, GRINDING
GOAT
EYE
DAYTIME, FIELD, BRINGER, ARBITRARY, ASSASSINATION, GRINDING
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Ice Cream
by Allison Moody
collection, dove, lick, popular, short, noise
I stare at them, this collection of blonde, sun-kissed perfection, and clumsily lick my rapidly melting cone. A single renegade drip of vanilla splashes onto the hot blacktop, its sizzle silenced by the heartbreaking noise of their laughter. Their legs, long and lean, sail back and forth underneath the dropped down tailgate. I stare at my short, chubby legs and sigh.
These girls are everything. I want to touch them, to feel their hot skin in my hands. I want to kiss them, taste them, ingest their joy. Instead, my eyes fall to where the drops of vanilla have pooled on my thigh. For a split second, they entwine to form the shape of a tiny dove before sliding down the inside of my dimpled thigh. I shove the remaining ice cream in my mouth and swallow hard. As the brain freeze sets in, I close my eyes and face the scalding sun. I am at peace with the knowledge that their lives will never be mine. I will never know their elite happiness. I will never be popular.
Bro Breakfast
By: Katie Rose Krueger
fanatical, financial, frightening, glittery, mystery, sugar
Two late-twenty-something roommates sit at the kitchen table. Bleary-eyed, bed-headed, still in their jammies. A box of Apple Jacks divides them.
STEVE: [crunch, crunch, crunch…]
ROBBY: [looks up from his phone. annoyed.] Dude.
STEVE: [still crunching] What?
ROBBY: Your cereal.
STEVE: What about it? [slurps the milk out of the bowl. you know you still do it...]
ROBBY grabs the box.
ROBBY: Sugar: 12 grams per serving. “Crunchy-Ass Sugar Jacks” -- That’s what they should call these. It’s basically like eating straight up sugar cubes.
STEVE: They’re good.
ROBBY: They’re green and red glittery Cheerios.
STEVE: Shut up. Don’t eat ‘em if you don’t want to. I like ‘em.
ROBBY: Fine. [goes back to his phone. sends a tweet about his roommate’s annoying breakfast habits
grins.]
STEVE: What’s so amusing?
ROBBY: Nothin’, man. Just…something on the old world wide web.
STEVE: Right… Probably another cat video.
ROBBY: Nope, just another video of your mom.
STEVE: Assface.
ROBBY: Be sure to wash your dishes this time.
STEVE: [defiantly drops his bowl in the sink and then opens the fridge.] Dude.
ROBBY: ‘Sup?
STEVE: [pulls a petrified Tupperware from the back of the fridge.] What the hell is this?
ROBBY: I don’t know. It’s a mystery.
STEVE: Quit with your fanatical quoting of Shakespeare in Love. You’re a dude. And I only knew it was from that movie because you say it all. the. time.
ROBBY: That’s an awesome film, Dude! I watch that with Jessica, and I know I’m gonna get some. Don’t knock it till ya watch it.
STEVE: Ha! Chelsea and I can watch Braveheart and she’s ready to go.
ROBBY: [stares… makes a sort of squeak/sigh/grunt sound. envious?]
STEVE: [back to the Tupperware.] Anyway, this is frightening. I’m tossing it.
ROBBY: That’s cool. I think it was from that Fourth of July cookout.
STEVE: We definitely need to reexamine our financial situation if we are keeping food from five months ago.
ROBBY: “Our” situation? You make it sound like we’re a couple!
STEVE: Well…er… you know what I mean... [beat.] Um, I’m gonna jump in the shower. [exits to the
bathroom.]
ROBBY: K.
ROBBY picks up the box of Apple Jacks. looks in the direction where Steve exited. smiles.
End of scene.
fanatical, financial, frightening, glittery, mystery, sugar
Two late-twenty-something roommates sit at the kitchen table. Bleary-eyed, bed-headed, still in their jammies. A box of Apple Jacks divides them.
STEVE: [crunch, crunch, crunch…]
ROBBY: [looks up from his phone. annoyed.] Dude.
STEVE: [still crunching] What?
ROBBY: Your cereal.
STEVE: What about it? [slurps the milk out of the bowl. you know you still do it...]
ROBBY grabs the box.
ROBBY: Sugar: 12 grams per serving. “Crunchy-Ass Sugar Jacks” -- That’s what they should call these. It’s basically like eating straight up sugar cubes.
STEVE: They’re good.
ROBBY: They’re green and red glittery Cheerios.
STEVE: Shut up. Don’t eat ‘em if you don’t want to. I like ‘em.
ROBBY: Fine. [goes back to his phone. sends a tweet about his roommate’s annoying breakfast habits
grins.]
STEVE: What’s so amusing?
ROBBY: Nothin’, man. Just…something on the old world wide web.
STEVE: Right… Probably another cat video.
ROBBY: Nope, just another video of your mom.
STEVE: Assface.
ROBBY: Be sure to wash your dishes this time.
STEVE: [defiantly drops his bowl in the sink and then opens the fridge.] Dude.
ROBBY: ‘Sup?
STEVE: [pulls a petrified Tupperware from the back of the fridge.] What the hell is this?
ROBBY: I don’t know. It’s a mystery.
STEVE: Quit with your fanatical quoting of Shakespeare in Love. You’re a dude. And I only knew it was from that movie because you say it all. the. time.
ROBBY: That’s an awesome film, Dude! I watch that with Jessica, and I know I’m gonna get some. Don’t knock it till ya watch it.
STEVE: Ha! Chelsea and I can watch Braveheart and she’s ready to go.
ROBBY: [stares… makes a sort of squeak/sigh/grunt sound. envious?]
STEVE: [back to the Tupperware.] Anyway, this is frightening. I’m tossing it.
ROBBY: That’s cool. I think it was from that Fourth of July cookout.
STEVE: We definitely need to reexamine our financial situation if we are keeping food from five months ago.
ROBBY: “Our” situation? You make it sound like we’re a couple!
STEVE: Well…er… you know what I mean... [beat.] Um, I’m gonna jump in the shower. [exits to the
bathroom.]
ROBBY: K.
ROBBY picks up the box of Apple Jacks. looks in the direction where Steve exited. smiles.
End of scene.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Untitled
by Rachael Harrington
blaster, blubber, horseplay, injury, exact, nightfall
Rose had never played. Not really. As a child she pushed her pristine china doll on a swing hung from a thick branch of the oak tree in front of her house, but even that was done more out of boredom than anything else. Her parents had brought her to a doctor once, fearing something to be wrong with their child, but the doctor told them it was melancholy and to make sure she got plenty of fresh air. This was before Prozac.
So Rose sat day after day on a rickety old rocking chair on the front porch. When other children ran by she would watch them with her dark eyes and say nothing. She sat with her hands folded in front of her and just went back and forth, back and forth.
As Rose lowered herself into her rocker one fine spring morning, she noted that she had been placing herself in this spot for 78 years now. She had seen a lot happen in that time from this spot. Neighbors moving in and out, babies being born and growing up, people aging and withering away. She had watched it all, never partaking. Just observing. Tucking it all away in the files in her brain.
So, this one fine spring day as Rose thought this all over she noticed way off down the street what looked like a small brown bear galloping towards her with what appeared to be a tree hanging from its mouth. Every few loping paces the bear would thrash its head from side to side, breaking off small chunks of branches and sending them flying like grenades through the air. She could hear the snapping and thumping and panting before she could even clearly make out the face of the approaching beast. She calmly braced herself, telling herself that this is how it ends.
But as the monster approached her gate she released the grip on the wooden arms. She realized it was a dog and not a mythical creature sent from the underworld to take her away. It was actually a charming, dopey dog who entered her front yard and dropped it’s ginormous stick in front of itself and perked its ears. The drooling, four legged animal had a tongue that seemed to be two feet too long for its mouth and it stared expectantly at Rose.
Rose wasn’t sure what to do. No one had ever looked at her so directly before. Her whole life, presumably due to her perceived lack of imagination people either averted their eyes or ignored her completely. Even her parents had given up on her and had eventually gone about their lives almost as if she wasn’t there.
And so here they were, a wrinkled old lady on a porch and a young pup now pawing the ground in front of the stick. Rose kept herself seated. She hadn’t moved for anybody her whole life and she wasn’t about to give up that habit.
The dog barked. Just once at first, and then it got more vocal and more vocal until the barks were almost overlapping themselves. Rose still remained seated. The dog went on and on and nudged the stick closer and closer to Rose until it was flopping around the ground in front of the bottom step to the porch. Annoyed and confused, Rose finally stood up, picked up the rocker, went in the front door and parked the rocker in front of the window, which cut down on the racket less than she hoped it would.
blaster, blubber, horseplay, injury, exact, nightfall
So Rose sat day after day on a rickety old rocking chair on the front porch. When other children ran by she would watch them with her dark eyes and say nothing. She sat with her hands folded in front of her and just went back and forth, back and forth.
As Rose lowered herself into her rocker one fine spring morning, she noted that she had been placing herself in this spot for 78 years now. She had seen a lot happen in that time from this spot. Neighbors moving in and out, babies being born and growing up, people aging and withering away. She had watched it all, never partaking. Just observing. Tucking it all away in the files in her brain.
So, this one fine spring day as Rose thought this all over she noticed way off down the street what looked like a small brown bear galloping towards her with what appeared to be a tree hanging from its mouth. Every few loping paces the bear would thrash its head from side to side, breaking off small chunks of branches and sending them flying like grenades through the air. She could hear the snapping and thumping and panting before she could even clearly make out the face of the approaching beast. She calmly braced herself, telling herself that this is how it ends.
But as the monster approached her gate she released the grip on the wooden arms. She realized it was a dog and not a mythical creature sent from the underworld to take her away. It was actually a charming, dopey dog who entered her front yard and dropped it’s ginormous stick in front of itself and perked its ears. The drooling, four legged animal had a tongue that seemed to be two feet too long for its mouth and it stared expectantly at Rose.
Rose wasn’t sure what to do. No one had ever looked at her so directly before. Her whole life, presumably due to her perceived lack of imagination people either averted their eyes or ignored her completely. Even her parents had given up on her and had eventually gone about their lives almost as if she wasn’t there.
And so here they were, a wrinkled old lady on a porch and a young pup now pawing the ground in front of the stick. Rose kept herself seated. She hadn’t moved for anybody her whole life and she wasn’t about to give up that habit.
The dog barked. Just once at first, and then it got more vocal and more vocal until the barks were almost overlapping themselves. Rose still remained seated. The dog went on and on and nudged the stick closer and closer to Rose until it was flopping around the ground in front of the bottom step to the porch. Annoyed and confused, Rose finally stood up, picked up the rocker, went in the front door and parked the rocker in front of the window, which cut down on the racket less than she hoped it would.
Monday, March 17, 2014
A note to our contributors, to ease your anxiety!
Over the last couple of weeks, I've received apologies from many of you that you haven't been able to contribute anything, along with some kind of self-flagellating comment like "I've been so lazy" or "I've been so busy, sorry I suck."
I'd like to address these concerns, if I may. No apologies are ever necessary! The project was conceived as an invitation to play. There's no obligation or expectation on my end. But I think when we are tempted to apologize for not having been creative, it's really ourselves we're apologizing to. We all have this part of our brain that tells us we "should" be creating, we "should" be doing more with our time, and we feel guilty and beat ourselves up when that doesn't happen.
I submit that this little voice of "should" and "should not" in our head actually paralyzes the creative process or, at the very least, sucks all joy out of it. It would be exciting to see what would happen if we let ourselves off the hook a little bit and foster an environment where we create not because we "should" but because it's fun and we want to!
The six words are like a pilot light, always here and always on, ready to ignite your spark when and if it comes. If you don't submit for one week, or two, or many, you have not failed and you don't need to apologize to anybody (least of all yourself). You haven't fallen behind. There's no such thing.
Please remember that you have this miraculous potential to make something out of nothing at any given moment. That potential isn't going anywhere. Each set of words is a new opportunity, a fresh start, just as each and every moment of every day is a new chance to live creatively. If we live in the past, thinking about what we haven't done yet and branding ourselves a failure for it, instead of opening ourselves up to each new moment as it comes, not only will we never get anything done, but we won't be very happy.
At least that's what I think!
I'd like to address these concerns, if I may. No apologies are ever necessary! The project was conceived as an invitation to play. There's no obligation or expectation on my end. But I think when we are tempted to apologize for not having been creative, it's really ourselves we're apologizing to. We all have this part of our brain that tells us we "should" be creating, we "should" be doing more with our time, and we feel guilty and beat ourselves up when that doesn't happen.
I submit that this little voice of "should" and "should not" in our head actually paralyzes the creative process or, at the very least, sucks all joy out of it. It would be exciting to see what would happen if we let ourselves off the hook a little bit and foster an environment where we create not because we "should" but because it's fun and we want to!
The six words are like a pilot light, always here and always on, ready to ignite your spark when and if it comes. If you don't submit for one week, or two, or many, you have not failed and you don't need to apologize to anybody (least of all yourself). You haven't fallen behind. There's no such thing.
Please remember that you have this miraculous potential to make something out of nothing at any given moment. That potential isn't going anywhere. Each set of words is a new opportunity, a fresh start, just as each and every moment of every day is a new chance to live creatively. If we live in the past, thinking about what we haven't done yet and branding ourselves a failure for it, instead of opening ourselves up to each new moment as it comes, not only will we never get anything done, but we won't be very happy.
At least that's what I think!
Supreme Executive Power
by Matthew Haws
monarchy, riddle, two, dilemma, cranberry, eliminate
Yeah, I remember where I was when Obama proclaimed himself King of America. I was in some dinky convenience store trying to find just the right kind of cranberry juice (organic all-natural unsweetened blah blah blah), my punishment from my irate girlfriend like it was my fault she got a UTI. Well, maybe it was? I don’t really know how these things work. The guy behind the counter had this little TV on and there was the former President explaining how we were now a monarchy. It seemed like a great April Fool’s Day joke, and I even laughed as I half-listened to it, except it was July.
There was another man at the counter buying cigarettes. “That seems like a bad idea,” he said, looking at the television.
“You think?” said the guy behind the counter, with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, that makes Malia next in line, but suppose Sasha challenged her for it? Could be civil war.”
The whole thing was baffling, and I was quite upset. I mean, is “unsweetened” the same thing as “no sugar added?” My instinct told me it was, but my instinct had been wrong on more than one occasion when given a task like this, the sort of task often referred to by you-know-who as quote-unquote “something so simple even you can’t fuck it up” -- which, naturally, I almost always managed to do anyway. I could just see her, staring at the bottle of cranberry juice with a look of incredulity. “Did I say no sugar added? I said unsweetened! I thought you understood basic English! How does an adult male living in 2014 not know the difference between no sugar added and unsweetened for God’s sake?” I stared at the list of ingredients on the back but I had no more possibility of deciphering their meaning than I would an ancient riddle on a recently discovered fragment of Sanskrit text.
“Are you crazy?” said the counter guy, “How’s Sasha gonna claim the throne? She’s definitely younger. Malia is the clear heir. She wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“I’d support her,” said cigarette dude, “I dunno. That Malia always seemed sketchy to me.”
“You’re crazy, pal. Plain crazy.”
I had a real dilemma. I'd narrowed it down to two different types of juice, but neither one seemed exactly right. I thought maybe I'd hedge my bet and just get both. I'd show up with two bottles of cranberry juice and say, "I got twice as much as you asked for because I love you!" Naw, when I thought about it a second time, I knew she'd see right through that. "You didn't know which one to get, did you?" Forget it. I decided just to get one of the two and pretend not to care if she didn't like it. I'd slam the bottle down and say, "If you don't like it, then go yourself, woman! I won't play these games!" It felt good to think that way. I put down the second bottle of juice, then took the first to the register. Then I stopped, hesitated, and went back switched them. Then I just took them both to the counter.
"What do you think?" the cashier asked me.
"Would you side with Sasha or Malia in the civil war?" added the cigarette guy.
"Oh I don't know. I don't really pay attention to politics."
"Enough with the civil war talk," complained counter guy, "We're talking about a king here, a ruler, a monarch. Supreme Executive Power." He looked me straight in the eye. "You really OK with turning over all power over your life to another person?"
"Oh fuck." I said. I'd forgotten to get tampons. I practically ran to go get them.
monarchy, riddle, two, dilemma, cranberry, eliminate
Yeah, I remember where I was when Obama proclaimed himself King of America. I was in some dinky convenience store trying to find just the right kind of cranberry juice (organic all-natural unsweetened blah blah blah), my punishment from my irate girlfriend like it was my fault she got a UTI. Well, maybe it was? I don’t really know how these things work. The guy behind the counter had this little TV on and there was the former President explaining how we were now a monarchy. It seemed like a great April Fool’s Day joke, and I even laughed as I half-listened to it, except it was July.
There was another man at the counter buying cigarettes. “That seems like a bad idea,” he said, looking at the television.
“You think?” said the guy behind the counter, with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, that makes Malia next in line, but suppose Sasha challenged her for it? Could be civil war.”
The whole thing was baffling, and I was quite upset. I mean, is “unsweetened” the same thing as “no sugar added?” My instinct told me it was, but my instinct had been wrong on more than one occasion when given a task like this, the sort of task often referred to by you-know-who as quote-unquote “something so simple even you can’t fuck it up” -- which, naturally, I almost always managed to do anyway. I could just see her, staring at the bottle of cranberry juice with a look of incredulity. “Did I say no sugar added? I said unsweetened! I thought you understood basic English! How does an adult male living in 2014 not know the difference between no sugar added and unsweetened for God’s sake?” I stared at the list of ingredients on the back but I had no more possibility of deciphering their meaning than I would an ancient riddle on a recently discovered fragment of Sanskrit text.
“Are you crazy?” said the counter guy, “How’s Sasha gonna claim the throne? She’s definitely younger. Malia is the clear heir. She wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“I’d support her,” said cigarette dude, “I dunno. That Malia always seemed sketchy to me.”
“You’re crazy, pal. Plain crazy.”
I had a real dilemma. I'd narrowed it down to two different types of juice, but neither one seemed exactly right. I thought maybe I'd hedge my bet and just get both. I'd show up with two bottles of cranberry juice and say, "I got twice as much as you asked for because I love you!" Naw, when I thought about it a second time, I knew she'd see right through that. "You didn't know which one to get, did you?" Forget it. I decided just to get one of the two and pretend not to care if she didn't like it. I'd slam the bottle down and say, "If you don't like it, then go yourself, woman! I won't play these games!" It felt good to think that way. I put down the second bottle of juice, then took the first to the register. Then I stopped, hesitated, and went back switched them. Then I just took them both to the counter.
"What do you think?" the cashier asked me.
"Would you side with Sasha or Malia in the civil war?" added the cigarette guy.
"Oh I don't know. I don't really pay attention to politics."
"Enough with the civil war talk," complained counter guy, "We're talking about a king here, a ruler, a monarch. Supreme Executive Power." He looked me straight in the eye. "You really OK with turning over all power over your life to another person?"
"Oh fuck." I said. I'd forgotten to get tampons. I practically ran to go get them.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Bloody Knuckles
by Ryan Krause
flap, knuckles, martyr, capsule, chalk, wreck
This was not the game Joey should have been playing against Frank. They should have flipped a coin or raced from point A to point B. Frank was taller and fatter. His hands were 15 pound weights. This was not the game Joey should have agreed to. But he wasn't going to give up now regardless of the color his knuckles. They had become gray marbly slabs of beef. The thought zipped into his head, was he going to be able to even hold the playstation controller had he won? He didn't care. He was in too deep to deny himself now. And Frank ALWAYS hogged the playstation. Joey was going to make a name for himself once and for all. A martyr for all youngest brothers around the world. THWAP! Frank gave Joey a good one, and smiled afterward. He knew it hurt. Even his knuckles did after that one. He didn't feel guilty though. He was paving Joey's path to manhood. He was giving him lessons in strength. Doing his baby brother a favor. It was Joey's turn again. Pausing for a second he looked Frank dead in the eye, breathed in (thinking how raw the tops of his battered hands felt. He knew if he would go on much longer, his bones would mash into cornmeal causing his hands to be little wingflaps for him to fly away to a home that didn't have an abusive older dickhead brother.) Breathing out, he felt his feet melt firmly into the floor. Cinderblocks. The floor a pool of tar. SHWONK!! This was it. Frank retracted his elbows into his sides at 16 miles per hour, and shrieked like a horror movie. Joey couldn't help himself from apologizing, "Oh my god I'm so sorry!" Frank cussed him out, and told him he hit a nerve ending. Good excuse Frank, goooood excuse. Frank called him one more name and rubbed the nerve ending spot over and over, then whimpered into his bedroom. Chalk one up for younger brothers everywhere!
Monday, March 3, 2014
A New Skyscraper
by Sam Kinsman
fanatical, financial, frightening, glittery, mystery, sugar
Maybe it had been there all along? I’m not the most observant. Head down as I walk, watching out for leaves (can’t crunch them) or stray insects that may need protecting.
I noticed on Tuesday. Monday I was too busy but I’m sure you knew that already. Bag heavy with freshly graded exams covered in red ink LOTS OF RED THIS WEEK. They didn’t study.
Monday I couldn’t see very well.
Tuesday was crisp and clear. Not unlike the inside of a car wash you know smells faintly of soap, but hopeful. Something good could happen. Cocked my head to the right because I thought I saw a frog that needed help and I saw a glinty glinty sparkle.
High rise. Chrome with big windows. Odd for Portland but maybe the hipsters want to make some money. Won’t their suits smell like desperation?
Couldn’t walk in – no NO I hadn’t met the minimum requirements yet. Just looked. No doorman, revolving door gold trim five six eight above door.
Nameplate? No. Couldn’t ask for entrance by name. Checked watch. Fifteen minutes to spare. Thrill of exploration through my spine. Whispered code, mayIpleasefollowyourrulesandbegoodallIwanttoknowiswhetheryouhaveaplaceformebeca
usetherestofthisfallenworldmakesnosensetomeI’vebeenlookingforsolongIjustneedtobreath
eforasecondsoopenyourbeautifularmstome NOW
When I opened my eyes I was in the lobby. Spotless. Computers humming at the empty desk. No receptionist. They must know I’m here already. Found the elevators really easily because I’m good at finding things and went up to the eighth floor.
Ding Ding Ding Ding Ding Ding Ding
Laughed the whole way up because how can anyone take elevators seriously? They’re so tiny. So self-important! You dumb box your whole purpose is to make my life easier you have no business judging me I’ve got enough of that. I’ve sent too much time trying to impress machines like you and not enough time preparing my heart and soul for Future Wife.
Time Out. Intermission.
A List of Requirements:
1) Perfect Hygiene
2) Caring soul (must be visible)
3) Sweet voice but not loud singer
4) Excellent baker mostly brownies
5) Wants to kiss me
6) Understands why I protect important things
The eighth floor was just how I expected it’d be. They were setting up for the Christmas party and left for some reason so I finished the job as well as I could. The tinsel took a long time. My arms really hurt.
I would say I did about 65% Good Job with the office. Sometimes the cats show up and tell me I’m lowballing and it’s at least 72% but I feel that the gingerbread was shoddy. Not enough frosting. Don’t tell them but I ate a little hehehe!
I kissed the new skyscraper as I left. It’s hard to do your job but when you do it right life feels a lot better. Back to business, as they say!
monday was heavy
tuesday I did my job
Maybe Wednesday she’ll be there
Monday, February 24, 2014
Untitled
by Katie Rose Krueger
flap, wreck, knuckles, chalk, capsule, martyr
She found herself sitting inside her car. Abandoned parking lot miles from her home. She was not prepared to face the shame. How could one ever prepare? She sat gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white as chalk. She released her hold and breathed deeply. Breathed again. She felt calmer, and could now decipher her next move.
She pulled at the small flap of skin hanging from her lip. A chapped mouth from the bitter winter outside her window. It was a bad habit she’d had since childhood. The slight taste of blood instantly hit her tongue. She reached in her coat pocket for lip balm and slicked it on. Instant relief. If only it could be that simple now.
She knew her mother must be a complete wreck. Hearing the news and then watching her daughter careen off into the sunset. Lord knows where to, or if she’ll return. But she had to escape. There was no possibility for discussion. Freedom. That’s what she needed in order to think.
As she breathed a little easier, her plan became clear: Revenge. She would get back at the ones responsible for making her brother suffer. Her poor, innocent brother who can’t leave the house until this is set right.
She drove to her destination, approached the building and knocked on the door. No answer. Perfect. She found the key behind a broken shingle on the house, and let herself in. Empty.
She opened the freezer and found the green and orange pills instantly. She carefully removed the cap, and pulled out a single pill. Gently opening the capsule, she poured the powder onto her outstretched tongue and winced. It tasted like dead rose petals. But the effects were instantaneous. She now viewed the world as one of them. She emptied the rest of the pills into the garbage disposal and turned it on. A cloud of colorful dust whizzed into the air and settled back into the sink. She grinned, knowing she’d be the last one to feel the effects of the drug.
She ran swiftly on her strong legs towards the Old Barn. She felt faster now due to the elixir in her system. The sun had set, and the darkened sky was a perfect cloak for her plan. She spotted the culprits immediately, squatting around a fire exactly where she thought they would be. She shook off the high from the adrenaline, and the drug, and took her aim carefully.
Suddenly, hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her down to the ground, hard. Despite the darkness, she could tell it was their leader, glaring at her from above. As he dragged her towards the gang, she thought of her mother, and how she did not want her to be labeled as a martyr for her brother’s condition.
Completely surrounded by her brother’s foes, her hands tied behind her back, she could not believe her luck. They did not know she took the pill… She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead of sound, a bright emerald flame emerged, covering the gang with grape-colored spots, the same ones found on her brother’s skin. They yelped from the first bit of pain, but immediately broke into laughter. These were no ordinary spots; they were extremely ticklish.
Triumphant, she broke free and marched away from the Old Barn, ready to return home to her mother and spotted brother. She felt relief as the effects of the drug melted away, and the sensation of success took over.
Her brother hugged her when he heard the story, though her mother did not look convinced. She put a hand on her mom’s shoulder and slowly pulled up her pant leg to reveal grape-colored spots. Her mother realized what her clever daughter had done. Her son would go from being harassed, to being a trend-setter. The family was saved.
She hugged her mother and went upstairs to her room. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, and slowly pulled out a green and orange pill. She examined it, and then hid it safely inside her sock drawer, just in case. She giggled as she changed into her pajamas, the flannel brushing the ticklish spots on her leg. The sacrifice was worth it, though. No one messes with her brother.
Spots or no spots, we’re all just people…
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Re-Start at the Beginning
by Rachael Harrington
beginner, essential, shag, bleakly, fuzzy, rotten
Dora looked out over the raging ocean and felt in her deepest, most secret chamber of her heart that something essential was missing in her life.
What? Wait, no. That's. that's. it's too broad. Oh, and it's pretty stale writing. Too misty, too touchy feeling right up front. And you couldn't think of a better name than Dora? I need a snack.
Ok. Here we go. The beginning.
Clara jumped into the ocean like a sports illustrated model, knowing for certain that surt one of the muscled, bronzed boys would- after this spectacle- want to sha-
Oh, lord. I just wrote the first sentence of my very first adult novel, and I guess my main character is a senior citizen named Clara. Really. Clara?
Maybe I need to stretch first.
Ok, that's better. Just dive in.
Janet stared bleakly out the window of her dead husbands beach house.
Ok, I'm just gonna stop myself right there. Your problem started with the name Janet.
Go get some water, Harrington.
Ok. Just ... Don't try so hard. Just be yourself. Let it flow.
When the cold water of the Atlantic hit Willow's toes for the first time, it slammed her mind with the jarring recollection of her her families first vacation.
Hmmm. Ok. Maybe this one. But it's not quite working. Lets see-
When the warm water of the Mediterranean lapped onto Willow's toes for the first time, a fuzzy recollection of her family's first vacation floated through her mind.
Yeah. I kinda dig this. I think this could go some where. I mean a girl named Willow? That's a girl on a journey!
Yeah. I kinda dig this. I think this could go some where. I mean a girl named Willow? That's a girl on a journey!
I wonder of professor Rodriguez will think this is a rotten art history essay?
Friday, February 14, 2014
White Girlz
by Justin Jain
brown, gurgling, coil, dangerous, headache, constant
Taylor is a brown girl, light skinned. At St. Mary's prep school she is the only one in the 9th grade of her kind. Her friends think it's sooo cool to have a "black friend" and find themselves absently joking about Beyoncé's new secret album, where her 3rd track sounds like she's gurgling some guy's semen. "Black girls are so cray cray."
"I know, right?" Says Taylor.
This is the point when Taylor begins to coil up all of the confusion, the anger, the frustration, the shame, her sadness into a tight ball. Buries it deep in that dangerous place she calls "my dark matter." She laughs it off and goes to Chemistry.
Her headache is constant. Perhaps tomorrow she'll say something to those stupid fucking white girls.Monday, February 10, 2014
Rug-Pocalypse: A Short (Role) Play
By Ross Compton
beginner, essential, shag, bleakly, fuzzy, rotten
OLD MAN
I ‘member life before the End of Days. I might be the only one, though. That’s why I took it upon m’self to tell others of what once was. It’s essential to keep the past alive. People come--well, what’s left a people, anyway-- they come from all over to hear me talk ‘bout it. It does get lonely, I do admit. Cause it’s jus me here. Well, me and Gregory, that is. (Turns to the chair he’s sitting in and addresses it) Ain’t that right, Gregory?Gregory doesn’t talk. He’s a chair.
OLD MAN
That’s right, Gregory. So anyhow, I- Looks at the chair, which does and says nothing
OLD MAN
Yeah, Gregory. I understand. Save that for later. (To the audience) I member life was a beautiful-(suddenly to the chair) WILL YOU SHUT UP? JUST SHUT UP! YOU HAD YOUR MOMENT, AND I’M IN NO MOOD TO TALK POLITICS RIGHT NOW! (Back to audience) Damn. I member life was a beautiful kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and feeling. There was buildings as tall as the clouds in the sky. And the clouds in the sky, they was actually clouds instead of the horrible squid-things that shit everywhere like we got now. But the thing I miss the most about the ole world is simple, beautiful, lovely, love. The love between people. Between a man and a woman. Between a man and man. Between a woman and a woman. Between two men and a women. Between two men and then a third man who came later cause he couldn’t find the apartment they was meetin’ at. Between 5 men, 2 woman and then one person who no one can..really figure out what they are. Between a man, by himself, and season 5 of Gilmour Girls on DVD. Between a handful of men and a real big cat. Not like a lion or a tiger, but like just a freakishly huge house cat. Between a freakishly huge house cat and a really tiny horse. Between a miniaturized version of me, riding a really tiny horse through canyons, only the canyons are boobs, and then a bunch Indians show up, and they say “We’re gonna kill, ya.” And I say, they only way ta kill me through my penis, and then we have a boob canyon-orgy. And it’s all set to “The Bends” by Radiohead. That’s really more of a fantasy and couldn’t feasibly happen, I suppose, but honest ta God I just can’t stop thinking about it. (Pause) Love. That’s what I miss the most.There is a rustling off to the side. It is a huge, fuzzy, PURPLE RUG. The biggest one in sight. It begins to vibrate, and emits a low, almost feminine moan. The OLD MAN stares, and for the first time, is visibly shaken. He recovers, brushes it off and returns his attention to us, the audience.
OLD MAN
So you’re all probably wonderin’, “what happened to love”? You’re also thinking, “what’s with all the rugs”? And probably, “why are they shitty-ass squids in the sky”? Well I can tell ya that. Ain’t that right, Gregory?Gregory does nothing again. OLD MAN suddenly looks incredibly offended. He slowly stands up, picks up the chair and bashes it against the floor again and again and again until all that’s left is splinters.
OLD MAN
Asshole. When the apocalypse happened, it come in waves. It also come in many different forms. Some regions of the world got just aliens. Some regions got aliens and an earthquake. I know Germany just exploded. Iceland got sucked in a black hole. Denver is int’resting. In Denver, everybody just got mono. For like 6 months. And that’s it. They all fine now. I’d move up there, but, you know, the altitude is just…..so yeah. It was all s’ strange, though. It was as if earth couldn’t make up its mind on how to end everything. Like it was forced to watch a Roland Emmerich movie marathon and then decided to commit suicide via Roland Emmerich movie plot-lines. It was awful everywhere. But this region. The place that I call home. This twas a special case. The skies opened up. The squids came. Pooped a lot. We thought, that’s not so bad. Sure, there was lots a clean-up. Everything smells like rotten eggs now. But we can deal with it. But see, our punishment was more intricate. More needlessly complicated. Some real convoluted bullshit. It turned out, the squid fecal matter had life giving properties. But it only gave life ta one thing.The OLD MAN looks around and lifts his hands in the air, indicating the rugs.
OLD MAN
These rugs is sleeping now. That’s just cause they know I gots comp’ney. But when they wake up, only one thing will be on their mind: S-E-X. Not with each other, either. They only want what humans got. For the rug, it’s a most pleasurable, magnificent moment of ecstasy. For the human…well, let’s just say there ain’t no post-coital cigarette.More moaning from the fuzzy, PURPLE RUG, which actually begins to lurch forward a bit. The OLD MAN turns suddenly, terrified. The fuzzy, PURPLE RUG stops and lies still. The OLD MAN stands there, staring bleakly at the gargantuan mound of purple fuzz. Without looking back at the audience, he begins speaking again.
OLD MAN
The PURPLE RUG starts to shake and moan again, only this time, it almost sounds impatient.
OLD MAN
I KNOW! I know. (looks at the audience) I’m afraid…my time has come. I must surrender myself to the carnal desires of this relentless, mutant throw rug. Just member, that love…love was once beautiful. And not some weird-ass, David Lynchian nightmare on acid.
The PURPLE CARPET seems to open up, as if to accept him. The OLD MAN drops his stick, and resigns himself to his fate. He drops his pants and slowly starts to lower himself onto the carpet. He then stops and pulls himself back up, as if not ready. The PURPLE RUG moans impatiently. He starts to lower himself again, slowly. Suddenly a hand comes out of the rug and pulls on him. He pulls away with the strength and agility of a young man. This is because he is a young man.
A young woman emerges from the rug. We see that it was actually several rugs that had been duck taped to herself.
OLD MAN
Stop, stop, stop! I can’t do it, Jess. I’m sorry. I just can’t. A young woman emerges from the rug. We see that it was actually several rugs that had been duck taped to herself.
JESS
What?!?! Honey, we were so close! WE WERE SO CLOSE! What happened!
OLD MAN
I don’t know! Things were going really well. I was talking about squid poop and Gilmour Girls and I was like “Yeah, this is hot. Awesome.” But then I started going into the whole “what love USED to be”. That love WAS beautiful. And it just, made me sad. And scared.
JESS
I just don’t understand it, Glenn. We’ve tried so many things. And I feel that I’ve been patient with you ever step of the way. I was on board when you wanted to start watching videos, and when that didn’t do the trick, we went to therapy together. I went with you to that convention with all the creepy guys in giant bear costumes. And now, I’ve agreed to try this role-play stuff. I’ve been right there with you, Glenn. I understand that you’re having a problem with…us. With intimacy. And I’m willing to do whatever will help us through it. So if you say we need to fabricate a post-apocalyptic scenario for where you’re a wise old sage that talks to no one, and I’m some strange creature that devours you after sex, praying mantis style, I say, “Where can I buy the stage make-up?” What I don’t understand, is how you’re able to keep sabotaging yourself like this.
GLENN
I know. I know.
JESS
And I’m still a beginner at this whole storytelling thing, but why do squids need to be involved at all? We spent 4 hours buying all these rugs at the dollar store and you never mentioned maybe looking for some hoses and suction cups.
GLENN
It was a last minute addition I thought of at the end of Dress Rehearsal, but by then the stores were closed. I’ve been reading a lot of Lovecraft lately and I just wanted to squeeze a Cthulhu homage in there.
JESS
That’s fine, Glenn. But when you mentioned it being a bit convoluted, you weren’t kidding. Not to mention, this is the third chair I’ve let break in a role play scenario. I’m amazed at how you somehow manage to always work that in.
GLENN
I know, I KNOW! It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t make any sense. I guess… as we get closer and closer to the end of the whole role-play, you know, when the actual S-E-X happens, I get more and more nervous. So I start to ramble on about pointless, pop culture bullshit. But the funny thing is, in that web of non-sense I was weaving for myself, I started to find a truth about my…about our situation. When we first started getting serious, and when we were newly-weds, it was so wonderful and…effortless. It was a time when love was beautiful. It was the time before our rug-pocalypse. But now, we’re in our rug-pocalypse. Love feels weird. And I really do miss what it used to be. Back when I didn’t feel uselessand I still felt physically compatible to you. When I wasn’t scared that you might think I don’t love you anymore because of my intimacy issues. That’s not true, I love you more than anything in the whole world. But I completely understand if you’ve had enough. If this is too weird for you, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving.Pause. Jess takes Glenn’s hand
JESS
Weird can be a good thing. And I think you’re going deaf because I already told you, I will try anything. I know you love me. You show me that every day. Ok?
GLENN
Ok.
JESS
Hey. That whole thing with the tiny horse, and the Indian orgy. Where did that come from?
GLENN
Uh…that. That’s actually….something I’ve thought about.
JESS
Yeah?
GLENN
Yeah.
JESS
So….do you wanna take a look at my boob canyons, tiny cowboy?
GLENN
Oh god. Uh…yeah.
JESS
You wait here. I’ll go grab “The Bends.”
END OF PLAY
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