Exercise #28: Ethan and Emma 27 January 2012
Posted by Cimmorene in Writing Exercises.Tags: rewrite, school, story craft
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If you look at the Desk Drawer, you’ll find that Exercise 27 has been removed. So, at the suggestion of wiser heads, I decided to proceed on to Exercise #28.
This is the 60 word piece I chose:
Brother and Sister went to the same school. They learned math and reading and history. She liked the teacher, but he didn’t. Sister said the teacher was a nice person. Brother said the teacher didn’t like him and kept making him change seats. Sister said Brother just talked too much in class. Mother thinks Brother might just have a problem.
This is my 60 word rewrite:
Ethan and Emma attended Nielsen Private Academy together. The two often disagreed about Mr. Breshears, who taught them calculus, literature and culture. Emma liked him, because he was positive. Ethan didn’t get along with him at all and was often sent home. Emma told her mother that Ethan always questioned Mr. Breshears. Mom guessed Nielson might be wrong for Ethan.
Exercise #26: Cat and the Sento 23 January 2012
Posted by Cimmorene in Writing Exercises.Tags: bath, Jacuzzi, Japan, sento, Tokyo, Writing exercise
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Once a year, Katsumi’s dad had two months’ paid vacation from work and every year, as soon as school let out for the summer, just like clockwork, the Kuroki family would pack their suitcases and head to Japan to visit relatives. For the first half of vacation, they would visit her father, Katsuo’s family, who lived in Hirosaki, a relatively small village in Northern Honshu. The second half of their vacation was usually spent with her mother, Hanako’s family, in Tokyo.
The rest of the year, Cat, as she was generally known, usually wrote back and forth with her cousin, Nanako, who, at fourteen, was only six months older than Cat. Both sets of parents seemed to think this was a good arrangement, since it helped to strengthen both girls’ language skills. Cat hated to admit it, but Nanako’s English was much better than her Japanese.
This year, however, Nanako had promised a particular treat. Sometime during the last week of the family visit, Nanako would take Cat to visit a real Japanese public bath or sento. Cat could hardly contain her excitement. She’d heard a lot about Japanese bathing traditions from her father’s parents. This time, she was actually going to go see and use a sento herself.
Now, at last, the promised day had arrived. Cat’s parents gave her two thousand yen, which in American terms was roughly twenty bucks and Nanako’s parents sent her sixteen-year-old sister, Mai along to keep the two of them out of mischief. Secretly, Nanako and Cat were a trifle annoyed by this, since, once put in charge, Mai tended to be more than a little bossy. It was Mai, for example, who insisted that Cat bring her own shampoo, conditioner, soap and towels.
“You can buy some at the sento, if you don’t have any,” Mai said fussily, as Cat went to ask her mother for a canvas tote bag, “but they cost a hundred yen a piece, so it’s easier to just bring your own, if you have them.”
All the way to the train station and all during the train ride, Mai lectured Cat on sento etiquette. Cat tried several times to tell the older girl that her parents had already told her most of this on the plane, but Mai continued to talk busily and the more the she talked, the more Cat began to worry that she was going to make a mistake.
“Relax,” Nanako smiled, taking her cousin’s hand, “Mai just likes to be in charge.”
“But what if I make a mistake, Nan-chan,” Cat fretted.
“Don’t worry,” Nanako replied, squeezing Cat’s hand. “If you’re not sure about anything, just ask me. I won’t let you embarrass yourself.”
The three girls got off at the train station and walked a little ways until they came to a doorway that had a long bar with some dark blue flags across the top of it. The middle of these had a symbol that looked to Cat like a bowl of hot soup.
“This is Shimizu-yu,” said Nanako with a smile. “They just finished renovations this spring. Baba said they put in a Jacuzzi bath and I’ve never been in one of those.”
Cat relaxed a little when Nanako said this. Back home, Cat had a friend whose parents owned a Jacuzzi and she’d been in it several times.
“Come on!” Mai commanded, sticking her head back out of the doorway to gaze irritably at the other two girls.
Nanako and Cat quickly scurried in past the door flags and took their shoes off. Cat hastily shoved her shoes into the locker next to Nanako’s, putting a single hundred yen coin into the slot so that the locker key turned and came free.
[Welcome to Shimizu-yu,] smiled the man at the counter in Japanese. [Four hundred yen, please,] then added, [Do you need any shampoo or soap today?] when the girls had each paid.
[No, thank you,] Mai replied politely, steering her two charges toward a door to the right of the counter.
Past the door, Cat had to fight to keep from staring. Most of the women here were walking around naked as if they’d done so their whole lives. The closest Cat had ever come to this was the locker rooms at the pool where, if you still wanted privacy, you could always go into a bathroom stall. Here, even the toilet was out in the open, even if it was placed discreetly in a corner.
“Aren’t there any dressing rooms?” Cat asked, taken aback.
“This is the dressing room,” Nanako laughed.
Cat smiled back weakly, following her cousin to another set of lockers. Cat noticed that each of these lockers had a blue plastic coil attached to its key. Looking around, she noticed that several women here had blue coils with keys on them around their wrists or ankles. She even noticed Mai, who had undressed remarkably fast, slipping a blue plastic coil over the red-painted toenails of her left foot.
“Kat-chan,” said Nanako, pulling her cousin back to reality again, “aren’t you going to bathe?”
Cat blinked, then hurriedly began to undress, bundling her street clothes into a locker and paying another hundred yen to keep the key. After a moment’s thought, Cat put the blue coil on her wrist then slung her canvas bagful of toiletries over a shoulder and followed Nanako through a sliding door in the middle of the frosted glass partition.
She swallowed. Here, everyone was naked. The only nod to clothing Cat saw was the occasional use of a small towel to cover various private parts and that was mainly just the younger people. The older ones didn’t cover anything. Nanako led Cat to a line of low faucets and easily found a pair of vacant ones, each with its white plastic stool and bucket set carefully beneath the spout. Imitating Nanako, Cat dragged out the two plastic items and seated herself on the stool, trying to ignore the fact that she was surrounded by naked women of all ages. After a while, as she washed herself, Cat found that she was paying less attention to them.
“Don’t forget to rinse,” Mai said in officious tones. “You’re not supposed to get any soap or shampoo in the bath water.”
Nanako pulled the lid of one eye down and stuck an irreverent tongue out at her sister, but the older girl either didn’t notice or pretended not to. Still, she and Cat made sure they were completely soap and shampoo free before they stood up again.
Once they were completely clean, Cat wanted to get into the really hot bath. Laughing, Nanako said they could work up to it and tugged her down to the warm bath. Cat was surprised at how deep it was and the water was just this side of hot. Just when Cat and Nanako were ready to try the Jacuzzi, however, Mai came over and told them it was time to get dressed and go home.
Once the two girls had dressed, though, Nanako led Cat to another part of the dressing room where a pair of vending machines stood. She put four hundred yen into one of them and withdrew two drinks.
“My treat,” she said, handing one to Cat.
Cat sipped at the drink, which tasted surprisingly like milk, all the way back to her uncle’s house.
“Did you have fun, Kat-chan?” her mother asked as the girls walked in and knelt on the floor.
Cat’s only answer was a relaxed smile.
Okay, in case you were wondering, the word I picked, with some help from my daughter, was “bath.” I love learning about other cultures than my own and I know more or less about Japanese public baths from watching Ranma 1/2. So, when my daughter picked “bath” as the word I was going to write a story about, I immediately thought about writing about a visit to a Japanese public bath. It was fun learning about them and even more fun learning that, since more Japanese homes have built in bathrooms and, as a result, public baths are declining, lots of the older generation can be heard to say that the youth of today don’t understand the tradition of public baths and don’t get socialized enough. Initially, I was going to have an old lady named Mrs. Fujita who was going to be their voice, but there wasn’t enough space. By the way, just for reference, anything in brackets is supposed to be in Japanese instead of English.
Exercise #25: Regarding Dragons 6 January 2012
Posted by Cimmorene in Stories, Writing Exercises.Tags: Dragon, Fantasy Races and Creatures, Folklore, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Tales
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eux-loor /ū’ lōr/ n, pl. eux-loor: the organs in a dragon’s mouth responsible for production of its fiery breath.
The challenge of learning the ways of dragons has often fallen to female dracologists of noble blood. It was dracologist and arch-wizard, Lady Zinnathyra Urthadar, a human, who was the first of the so-called “civilized races” to brave, unarmed, the mountainous terrain that is the favorite haunt of draco horribilis, the ferocious dragon.
“Initially,” writes Lady Zinnathyra, “I chose to visit the crimson dragon known as Nathgar the Feared. I was admitted solely on the basis of my noble blood, which Nathgar was surprisingly capable of explaining to me in the common tongue. I concealed my true purpose of learning draconic anatomy and, instead, pretended a simple curiosity, since the experiences of previous dracologists has proven that the older dragons become, the more suspicious they are of those they term ‘the little peoples’.”
Following a year of service, during which time Lady Zinnathyra undertook many of the tasks humans ordinarily allocate to servants and menial laborers, such as cleaning Nathgar’s cave and caring for his body, she finally gained his trust and was able to question him.
Her first discovery was that dragons are not, as has been believed, fire-proof. They are extremely flame resistant, naturally, but they will burn if the flame is hot enough. The only flame known to be that hot is, of course, dragon fire.
Lady Zinnathyra also learned that dragons are immune to all poisons, both known and unknown. According to information gained from the dragon Nathgar, dragons metabolize all the unused chemicals, proteins and sugars in their bodies within small organs called euxloor, located in the dragon’s cheeks, into a chemical that bursts into flame on contact with the air. Special ducts, which only unseal themselves when the dragon’s mouth is completely open, convey this chemical to the mouth where it is exhaled, producing the dragon’s famous breath weapon. This property may also be the reason dragon’s blood has been found to be so valuable in the alchemical field.
She learned, further, that, though reptilian, dragons do not, as was previously believed, shed their skins similar to snakes. Their scales fall out and are renewed over time as they wear out, akin to the way that skin cells replenish themselves in mammals. Their teeth are also renewed in this way, similar to those of sharks, as they wear out. This, of course, is understandable, given that dragons are carnivorous.
The Princess Eilvyre of Oneimeth, an elf, was able to further the work of Lady Zinnathyra when she was inadvertently kidnapped by the dragon known as Rosqumas the Red. It was she who discovered something of the illnesses some dragons suffer from as they age. Younger dragons, highly vigorous, are rarely sick. However, as dragons grow older, their bodies begin to wear out. Eilvyre learned that elderly dragons, which are those over a thousand years old, commonly tend to suffer from overheating, a result of the loosening of the muscles sealing the euxloor ducts. Strangely enough, dragons can also suffer from hypothermia in their later years, a condition that can commonly lead to scale rot and other uncomfortable ailments.
Shortly after this, Princess Eilvyre was rescued by the famed half-elven adventurer, Fruros Gellantara, also known as Fruros the Seeker, who was slain when Princess Eilvyre was kidnapped a second time, this time by Gefima the Long. During her stay with Gefima, Princess Eilvyre learned much about draconic mating practices when, a year later, Gefima passed into her five hundredth year and entered her time of fertility. Following her mating flight with another dragon, known as Dusk Stormflight, Gefima and her new-found mate settled in her cave and the two of them built a nest of rocks and rubbed off dragon scales. Then Gefima climbed into the depression this created and, over the next week, laid a total of four eggs. It was here that Eilvyre learned that newly-laid dragon eggs have soft shells. These hardened quickly, however, as Gefima and Dusk took turns breathing fire on them. It was Eilvyre’s hypothesis that the euxloor of dragons contain nerve endings that allow the dragon to control the temperature of his or her flame. It was later learned that Eilvyre proved this hypothesis the hard way when, eighteen months later, the eggs that remained hatched and, at a loss for meat, Dusk and Gefima slew and roasted her in one of the extremely rare, but highly romanticized, instances of dragons eating princesses or, in this case, feeding one to their hatchlings. Her diaries, which proved highly instructive, were later discovered by an itinerant minstrel.
“When Gefima had laid her eggs,” Eilvyre wrote, “I noticed that they were roughly the same size as the eggs of an ostrich, though more oval in shape. Each of these had shiny golden shells, which may explain the predilection of older dragons for hoarding gold and other valuables. The dragons alternately croon to and breath fire on their eggs, heating both the eggs and the bed of rocks and scales that is their cradle. Following six months of gestation, we awoke to find that two of the eggs had lost their luster. Dusk casually removed these. I never learned what he did with them, but I must conclude that these eggs had become nonviable.”
It was Therlyassa Battlefate, one of the few known dwarven princesses and a consummate dracologist, who learned some of the most crucial information about dragons to date. While exploring with a company of adventurers, Therlyassa and her companions stumbled onto a large cave filled with various treasures. Unfortunately, while they were helping themselves the cave’s occupant, one Iricefi Duskhoard, a notoriously unforgiving dragon, slew and ate all of the interlopers with the exception of Therlyassa, who, until that time, had despised her royal blood.
“I was surprised,” Therlyassa told us, “to discover that Iricefi kept some things not normally considered treasure. She had some ordinary suits of armor, in various stages of completion, a number of glass bottles and about ten ordinary mirrors varying in size from hand mirrors all the way to a full-length mirror framed in teak. Among her collection of gemstones, I also found a number of less valuable rocks, such as quartz crystal and obsidian. Iricefi obviously knew these were less valuable, but continued to treasure them all the same. Then, while cleaning her cave, I found another surprise. On a shelf of rock, elevated above the rest of the hoard and, apparently, carefully preserved, I found half of a large, empty egg shell whose outside was pearly white and had obviously been polished often. When I saw that, I decided I would return home and teach my people to respect dragons.” Therlyassa later escaped her captor in one of the only recorded accounts of a self-rescuing princess.
Thanks to the efforts of these brave and noble dracologists, the communities of dragon-lovers and -haters alike has much to be thankful for. So, to them, we extend our gratitude. We are sure they live on through the pages of their work.
This whole story is meant to be more or less tongue in cheek. It’s another exercise involving creating a definition for another nonsense word, similar to exercise #13 (gasalphot). I actually had a little fun with this one because my daughter and I had just been discussing this same subject. It was fun adding a little bit of fictional history to it.
Exercise #23: The Meeting 3 January 2012
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“When is he going to be here?,” Themis snapped, shifting her grip on the sword at her right hand as she spoke.
Lachesis held the gemstone Eye the sisters shared up to her forehead. “He’s on his way,” she said, laying the gem on the edge of her loom so that she could return to her work, “He got held up at a university debate. Of the lot of us, I’d say he’s the busiest, and likely the most under-appreciated.” She caressed her distended belly as she spoke.
“He should be spending more of his energy with me, like he used to,” complained Themis, absently adjusting her blindfold. “I hardly associate with him any more except in passing.”
“We’d all like to see more of him,” said Chronos with a smile. “After all, he’s most likely the best of us. Still, you can’t blame him for at least trying to do his job. There’s so much lying and cheating in the world, now. That’s the kind of thing that has always provoked him.”
“He used to be so much happier,” Atropos remarked, twisting more thread onto the spindle dancing merrily between her feet. “But then the world was a younger and more innocent place.”
Clotho listened as she worked. Thanatos was seated nearby quietly sharpening her shears as he cradled his scythe in the crook of his arm like a beloved child. Clotho unrolled another length of Lachesis’ tapestry and searched the length for an obvious border. Finding one about nine feet along the length of the fabric, she pulled her second set of shears from a pocket and quickly cut the piece free, carefully setting the roll with the others against the edge of the table.
“That’s all fine and good,” Themis said, never one for fooling around, “but what I want to know is when he’ll be here.”
Lachesis sighed and passed the crystalline Eye to Clotho, who held it briefly to her forehead then put it down on her table.
“Well?” Themis asked impatiently.
“Give him another hour or so,” said the girl, carefully fitting dowels to either end of the cut cloth and rolling the results up for later hanging.
“Patience,” added Thanatos gloomily.
“That’s all very well for you,” Themis complained, fingering the golden balance set on the table next to her, “I have work to do.”
“We all have work to do,” Chronos replied with a frown at Themis. “Remember, though, that we decided that it was time to meet him as a group rather than constantly running into him in the course of our duties among the mortals.”
Themis sank back in her chair, her fingers restless on the hilt of her sword.
“I’ve heard of this person, I think,” said Clotho looking up from her work, “But I’ve never met him. What’s he like?”
“Most of us have met him at some point in our lives,” Atropos replied, deftly winding the rest of her wool around her twirling spindle and catching it out of the air. “Perhaps we could all tell what we know of him? Don’t we have a duty to educate the young?”
The other five all exchanged looks. Then Chronos spoke. “You’re right, of course, Atropos. Let’s take turns. Who would like to go first?”
Surprisingly, Thanatos’ hand was the first in the air.
“Very well,” said Chronos.
“Met him at a car accident on the highway,” Thanatos said, placing the now razor-sharp shears on Clotho’s table. “Three killed. Other driver was drunk. Admitted it to the police. He was there, smiling.”
“That is the kind of thing he’d like,” Chronos replied with a smile. “Anyone else?”
Themis stood, picking up her balance. “As I said,” she began, “He and I used to be associated constantly. I’ve never known the man to tell a lie and he always encouraged others to do the same, whether it hurt them or not. However, he also had a policy of keeping his mouth shut if the truth were likely to hurt someone else. That’s something that I’ve always admired about the man.”
“Good point,” Chronos nodded.
“I could tell a story or two that he told me about some of the people he loved,” Atropos said wistfully. “He told me that he once knew a man that contracted for a load of alfalfa. However, after it had been mowed, the farmer growing it had to turn it twice because it had rained a couple of times before it was dry and could be baled. Naturally, the farmer decided that, since many of the leaves on the alfalfa plants had fallen off, that the crop wasn’t worth as much as he’d originally contracted to be paid for it, so he offered it to the man for a fraction of the original price. The man, however, objected, insisting that he had contracted for the original price and he was only going to pay that. I’m given to understand that the two men argued back and forth about this for hours.”
“Did they decide anything?” Clotho asked, eyes wide with interest.
“I don’t know,” Atropos smiled. “He never told me. He just seemed pleased that they’d argued that way.”
“That’s like him,” Themis added with a smile of her own. “Nowadays, the same two men would be in court arguing the opposite opinions.”
“The other story is similar to that,” Atropos continued, sliding the twist of wool from the spindle and beginning to roll it into a ball. “Apparently, there was a young girl who was out playing baseball with some neighbor boys when she managed to hit a ball that went right through the neighbor’s window. The girl ran right home and told her father. Her father didn’t say a word to her. Instead, he got his tools and a pane of new glass and went to the neighbor’s house to fix the broken window, since the girl was obviously too young to fix it herself. The boys’ mother insisted that he didn’t have to fix it, but his simple response was just, ‘Yes, I do.’”
As Atropos finished speaking, there was a knock at the door. Clotho put her shears down and went to answer it. Standing outside was an elderly man dressed in a white suit and tie. His expression was careworn and discouraged. His short hair was graying, but it looked as if it had been some shade of blond at some point. In his right hand, he bore a large, white lantern with a fat, white candle burning inside it. Strapped to his left arm was a triangular shield of burnished steel with a gold border.
He smiled, a smile his face seemed to have been made for, and Clotho suddenly had the impression that, in his younger days, the man before her had been quite handsome.
“Is this the Hall of Fate?” he asked politely.
“It is,” Clotho smiled back, pulling the door open wider. “Come in! You’re expected. Let me get you a chair.”
“Thank you,” the man replied, quietly stepping inside.
If you read the instructions, you’ll know that this was an exercise in character development. I was supposed to choose a concept, such as Death or Justice, and personify it in a story without naming the concept I was describing. Can you guess which concept I chose to personify? Highlight at the end of this text to find out if you’re right: Honesty
How the Pied Piper of Hamelin Should Have Ended 27 November 2011
Posted by Cimmorene in Stories.Tags: Fairy Tales, Pied Piper of Hamelin, poetry, Robert Browning.
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This story was written because I told my nine-year-old the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin and she wasn’t at all pleased with the ending. In fact, she cried because the ending was so sad. So, after some discussion, we decided that it might be possible to rewrite things so that the true fools reaped the rewards of their folly and the parents got to keep their children. This is that story. Enjoy.
As the piper stepped back into the street, he was met by a young wife. In her arms, she carried a small, wooden chest. When she’d learned that the Lord Mayor and the Town Corporation intended not to pay the piper, she’d been appalled that the town’s appointed representatives were being so dishonest. As she’d suspected, the angry look on the piper’s face told her all she needed to know. With purpose, she saw him step into the town square, the same purpose he’d shown when he’d rid the town of rats. It was then that the young wife was filled with dread and knew that, if ever she was to act, it must be now.
“I beg your pardon, master piper,” she said, walking up to him with her wooden chest held out in her arms. “This chest isn’t worth much. It’s just cedar, but it’s filled with all of my gold jewelry. It’s most likely not a thousand guilders’ worth, but I offer it to you anyway in thanks for sparing my children another night of broken sleep.” With that, she kissed his cheek, then stepped back, leaving the piper with the cedar chest in his arms and a startled look on his face.
As she stepped back, there was a pause, then, one by one, the other citizens of Hamelin stepped forward, each carrying some valuable item and bidding him, some with tears in their eyes, to take them in payment. In no time, the floor around the piper was littered with valuable presents: gold, antiques, fine linens and even food. Some, with nothing to pay, merely paid with a simple kiss on that beardless cheek and a quiet murmur of gratitude. With each such gift, the piper’s smile increased.
Meanwhile, above them all, there stood the mayor and corporation on the balcony, struck dumb by the generosity of their own townsfolk.
“People of Hamelin,” said the piper, in a voice loud enough to carry to the ears of the leaders cowering above them, “your honesty and generosity has delayed the punishment I was about to give you. Had you not acted as you did, I was going to take away your children.” The assembled people gasped in shock and several mothers clutched their children to their breasts and skirts. “However, since you have acted as you did, I shall count myself paid and, instead, shall rely on you to punish the wayward leaders who would have cheated me and you of that which belongs to us.” So saying, he stepped out of the crowd of presents and walked away, leaving them all behind. As the piper left and the citizens of Hamelin began to regather their things, several of them looked up in anger.
“You would have risked so much just to continue to line your fat pockets?” snarled one.
“Let’s hale them down from their balcony and hoist them into a tree instead!” cried another. Many of the townsfolk took up this cry.
However, then the young wife stepped forward. “No!” she cried, silencing them all. “They aren’t worth the effort to kill them. Let them live with the knowledge of what their folly almost cost us. Perhaps it will make them wiser men.” The crowd muttered. “However,” cried the young wife, turning to the balcony and the sweating men standing atop it. “If you don’t become wiser, then you’ll not hold your places as leaders of this town for long. We’ll cast you out of town and none will speak to you as long as you live.” She then turned back to her fellow townspeople. “Let us go home, neighbors, and, forever after today, let this street along which the rats danced their last, be known to all as ‘the Pied Piper’s Street’ in memory of what we almost lost and let any pipers that play on it be gathered in and well cared for in His memory.” There was a murmur of consent as the crowd dispersed.
So it was done. The Mayor and Corporation were the wiser for their mistake, for they knew their townspeople watched them with a steely glint in their eyes. The street that knew the Pied Piper’s step was given the name “The Pied Piper’s Street” and, though no tavern or public house was ever allowed along its length, any piper or other musician found plying his trade on it was always brought inside someone’s house and treated like royalty. As for the people of Hamelin, they looked at their children with new eyes. Thus, it may be said that they truly lived happily ever after.
1000 Words: Interpretations 2/The Dog 12 March 2011
Posted by Cimmorene in 1000 Words.Tags: Carmen, Dog, Great Dane, pets., Samoyed
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In this one, I actually combine a couple of ideas having to do with the messy bed: A dream and a dog. Read on.
Tina woke from a sound sleep, shaking with sweat, the specter of her dream fading quickly but still hanging in her mind. Suddenly, she heard a strange noise out in the hallway; a kind of heavy breathing and clicking sound. Her breath coming quickly, Tina got out of bed and grabbed her flashlight, the sturdy one Daddy had bought her for next week’s camping trip. Flicking it on, Tina slid her feet into her slippers and began to walk to the door. There was a funny scratching sound on it. Tina’s heart was in her throat. What if it was a monster, like the one in her dream? Tina gulped, trying to slow her breathing. She had to hope, whatever it was, she could frighten it with the flashlight.
Carefully, she reached for the cold, metal doorknob, twisted it and pulled. There was a joyous bark and something large and heavy landed on her young chest, knocking her to the floor. Tina laughed in relief, wondering as she dropped the flashlight how she could ever have mistaken Carmen, her dog, for a monster. Her imagination must have run away with her again, like Mom was always saying.
Carmen, a beautiful, creamy-haired Samoyed, had been in the family almost before Tina herself. As a result, there were some things, such as knocking Tina to the ground, that Carmen could do that no other dog would be allowed to do. Sometimes, the girl could have sworn that Carmen thought of Tina as her own child. Tina stroked the dog’s long, white fur, remembering what Daddy had said about how the dog’s name had been chosen.
“You see, when Carmen was still just a pup,” said Daddy, with Tina sitting on one leg and Carmen seated sedately by the other, “she used to howl a lot.”
“Was she lonely,” Tina had asked, wide-eyed.
“Well,” said Dad, reaching to stroke Carmen’s silky fur, “we thought she was singing. So we named her Carmen, which is the name of a big-time opera.”
Tina had been about four when they had that conversation. Now, Tina was eight and Carmen was an almost constant companion. Normally, she slept in the laundry-room by the back door. Sometimes, however, the dog seemed to know, in an almost supernatural way, when Tina was having a bad dream. At times like that, the dog would come to her, lick her face and, more often than not, sleep in her bed. Tina smiled as her dog whined softly, licking her face like a tender kiss.
“Okay, Carmen,” she said, stroking the dog, “I’ll go back to bed. I just thought you were a monster, for a minute there.” Carmen licked Tina’s face one more time and began panting, her doggy grin comforting in the all-encompassing gloom. Picking up the discarded flashlight, Tina put it back in her bedside table and climbed back into her bed, pulling the twist of sheets and covers straight again and then covering herself with them. Quietly, Carmen jumped up on the bed beside Tina and, giving her face a final quick lick, settled down beside her. “Thanks, girl,” mumbled Tina as she sank back into sleep again. “Good dog.”
For a while, it felt like Tina was falling through warm water, though, strangely, she could still breathe. Then, she found herself standing in a grassy park, the same one she and Carmen came to every weekend to play Frisbee and watch the kite-fliers with their kites. This time, though, she seemed to be alone and still wearing her pajamas. How funny!
Just then, a familiar figure came around a corner. It was Carmen, her creamy fur gleaming in the mid-afternoon sunlight.
“There you are,” Tina was startled to hear the dog say in a slightly impatient voice. “Playing hide and seek, were you?”
“How long have you been able to talk?” Tina asked.
“Always,” the dog replied, sounding just as startled as Tina, “you?”
“The same,” said Tina, crouching down to look the dog in the eyes.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Carmen said, turning to walk away. “We need to get going.”
“Where are we going,” Tina asked, following curiously.
“You’ll see.”
They walked for a while until it became obvious that they were headed into town. Tina wanted to ask where they were going again. Before she could, though, she noticed that the town was full of dogs, some with humans but most of them alone. What’s more, all the buildings seemed to be dog-sized rather than people-sized. As they walked, Tina was started to see a man run past with a large German shepherd chasing after him. Carmen made a sad kind of noise as they watched.
“It’s sad, really,” she said, “so many humans are without proper homes or dogs to take care of them.”
“You mean, like you take care of me?” Tina asked, suddenly understanding. The dog was, strange as it sounded, a people catcher.
Just then, they walked up to what looked like a really swanky restaurant, as Mom called them. Carmen nosed the door open and stood by it while Tina walked in.
“Excuse me, miss,” said a large great Dane. “You can’t bring your pet into the restaurant.”
“She’s well-trained,” Carmen protested, “watch this.” Turning to Tina, she said, “Sit down, please.” Tina looked for a chair but, finding none, sat carefully, cross-legged, on the floor.
“See?” said Tina.
“Good girl,” Carmen replied, giving her a quick lick on the cheek.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said the Dane, “it’s restaurant policy. No humans allowed. They’re unsanitary. I’m sorry.”
“Hey!” said Tina, not understanding why she suddenly felt hurt, “I’m not unsanitary!”
“If you can’t keep your animal quiet, it’ll have to wait outside,” said the Dane impatiently.
“Maybe you don’t know who I am,” said Carmen, the hint of a growl in her voice.
The great Dane looked at Carmen and his eyes widened as he seemed to recognize her. “Miss Carmen,” he whined bowing slightly, “I apologize.”
“Now,” growled Carmen, “Either you let me and my human into the restaurant, or we take our business elsewhere.”
“Just one moment, please,” gasped the great Dane, who turned and quickly trotted away.
“What was that all about,” Tina asked, worried now.
“Don’t you fret, darling,” said Carmen, licking Tina’s face reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
A minute later, the Great Dane returned, “I have a seat for you out on the terrace. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he added, “I have a human at home, myself. I leave him with my sister during the day so he won’t be lonely.”
Together, they walked through the restaurant and several dogs made disgusted sounds as they passed. At last, however, they went outside and the Dane brought them to a low table with a little candle in the middle. Here, too, there were no chairs. At the other tables, the dogs seated around them were staring. Tina sat down carefully on the floor by the little table.
“Amazing,” someone whispered. “She’s so dog-like.”
“Can I go pet her, mother?” a golden retriever puppy asked from his plastic box. “Please?”
“Well, ask her owner, first,” said his mother kindly.
The puppy grinned, hopping down from his box and trotted over to Carmen. “Can I pet your human, please?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Carmen, smiling. “Just be gentle.”
Tina held very still as the little dog climbed into her lap and began licking her face. Then, without thinking, she reached out and stroked the puppy’s short fur. The puppy giggled.
“What’s she doing?” he asked.
“It’s all right,” said Carmen. “It just means that she likes you.”
Just then, a poodle wearing a pink hat walked up. “Ready to order?”
“Yes, I’ll have the steak and eggs, please,” said Carmen, glancing at the menu around the poodle’s neck, “and, can you bring some steak for my human. Make sure it’s cooked well.”
“Why does the human’s steak have to be cooked?” asked the puppy eagerly.
“Well, raw meat is very bad for humans,” Carmen replied, “like chocolate is for dogs. It could make her sick.”
“Oh,” the puppy said in a solemn voice.
“Tina can do a trick,” said Carmen, when the poodle returned with the tray of food, which hung around her neck by plastic-coated wire attached to one side and the middle and bent in such a way that she could easily put her head under it. “Would you like to see?”
“Can I?” said the puppy, its little tail waggling for all it was worth.
“Tina, eat your dinner,” said Carmen. A trick, thought Tina. What would be considered a trick in a dog’s world? Then, it struck her. Bending over, Tina grabbed her piece of steak in her teeth, pulled it into her mouth and began to chew it.
“She eats like a dog!” squealed the puppy.
“Come, Nicky,” said his mother, then. “It’s time to leave.”
“Aw,” said the puppy, climbing reluctantly from Tina’s lap.
“It’s okay,” said Carmen kindly. “We’re usually in the park just after lunch. Come visit us, then.”
“Great!” the puppy said, giving Tina one last lick before joyfully leaving in his mother’s wake.
Suddenly, Tina realized that there was something bright shining in her eyes. Turning, she squinted. It was the sun. It seemed to be shining through a window of the restaurant. She brought an arm up to cover her eyes and, abruptly, found herself in bed again. She blinked, then giggled as Carmen licked her face in the usual morning greeting.
“Get dressed, Tina,” said her mother from the door. “We’re going to a restaurant this afternoon.”
“Can we bring Carmen?” Tina asked.
“Of course,” Mom said, smiling. “After all, she’s family and I wouldn’t take you anywhere that you couldn’t bring Carmen, too.”
1000 Words: Interpretations 1/Mariele 25 February 2011
Posted by Cimmorene in 1000 Words, Writing Exercises.Tags: Arts, bed, Fiction, Online Writing
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Dear Friends,
The series of stories under the title 1000 Words comes from the book, A Picture is Worth 1000 Words by Phillip Sexton. There are no limits with these story prompts and they are all picture driven (hence the title). The photo for this one is of a rumpled bed. Sorry, I can’t provide the picture for you this time. I’m supposed to write two different stories based on the picture. This is the first of those. I’ll post the second one another time. Now, on to the story.
Mariele arrived home in the worst mood any woman can ever be in. Clouds on the horizon this morning had materialized into a summer storm in the afternoon and, as a result, her right shoulder, arthritic for eight years now, was screaming bloody murder. Some time, during her weekly art class, she’d stubbed her toe against someone else’s heavy art supply case. Who carried so many supplies to an art class, anyway? On the way home she’d been cut off in traffic no less than seven different times. She’d stopped at the grocery store on the way home to pick up something for dinner and, not only were they out of her favorite brand but the lines at the store were so long as to make buying the brand she eventually settled on moot. Then, to top it all off, not once during the day had Dan, her husband of twenty-five years today, wished her a happy anniversary. Not once! The spectacular sun-set as she pulled into her driveway, ordinarily so inspiring to her, now failed even to get her attention.
Dan, you jerk, she thought irritably as she pulled into the garage, In twenty-five years you’ve never once forgotten our anniversary. Why, of all days, did you have to forget it today? Getting out of the car, she slammed the door shut, and her shoulder shrieked with new pain. New tears running down her face, Mariele jammed her key into the lock of the trunk and yanked it open with her left hand. She then tried to pick up her own art supplies. The bag was nothing and she easily picked it out and slung it over her shoulder, which protested a bit. The easel, however, was far too heavy. When she was calmer, she’d have to get Dan to bring it in. Stalking around the car to the garage door, she pushed the button to close it and it seemed to shut almost smugly. One more thing you can’t do anymore, Mariele, it seemed to say. Mariele had to resist the urge to kick it.
As she entered the house, carefully setting her bag of supplies in their usual corner of the laundry room, her anger was temporarily forgotten. The whole house was dark. Hadn’t Dan come home from work, yet? He was usually home by now, reading his paper with his feet up on the sofa. A chill ran through Mariele’s body. She wondered briefly if she should have insisted he retire. After all, sixty was a reasonable time to want to do that. The last time she’d suggested that, he’d smiled and said, “Mary, if I have my way, I expect to die working.” They’d been joking around then, but what if he was serious? Quickly, she hung her purse on its hook by the laundry room door and walked into the dining room.
Here, the room was softly lit by the glow from a single long candle set in the center of the dining table. A group of three lavender balloons bobbed, beckoning to her from the table top, a card attached to them with cellophane tape. To Mariele, it said. Taking the card, she opened it and read, Meet me in the bedroom. Love, Dan. What on earth? she thought, then suspicion set back in as her shoulder cried out anew. If he thinks he’s going to make it up to me with a few balloons and sex, he has another think coming. Hanging her set of keys on the hook beside her husband’s set, Mariele walked to the bedroom door, which hung ever so slightly ajar. She gave it a push.
As the door swung aside, Mariele couldn’t help but gasp. Candle flames sparkled at her from every possible surface in the room, with the exception of a four-foot area around the bed.
The bed. It had been neatly remade using sheets and a coverlet that matched, almost exactly, the ones that had been in the hotel he’d taken her to for their honeymoon in Palm Beach. The covers had even been turned down slightly on her side and a small green rectangle, a chocolate mint, rested in easy state on her fluffy pillow.
“Oh, my,” Mariele gasped, all her earlier emotions dissolving as she took in the scene.
“Like it?” said a wonderfully familiar voice from behind her. She turned and, in answer, kissed his waiting lips. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Dan laughed when she stopped for breath. Smiling, she leaned in for a second helping, but Dan held her away. “This isn’t what you think. At least, not yet. There’s a surprise waiting for you in the bed.”
“More surprises?” Mariele said, “Isn’t this enough?” She gestured to the sea of flickering candles.
“Just go look,” Dan laughed again. He gave her a gentle push toward the bed.
Trepidation suddenly assailed her as Mariele moved cautiously forward. She looked back at Dan, who smiled, gesturing her forward again. Seizing the turned-down cover, she threw it aside, inadvertantly pulling the pillow out of position and knocking the mint onto the floor. Peeking from beneath the white sheet was an envelope. Mariele shoved the covers out of the way and grabbed the envelope, ripping it open. Inside the envelope were two airplane tickets.
“Check the destination,” suggested Dan, smiling in delight from the doorway.
Mariele looked. “Oahu? Really?” she squealed, sounding more like the twenty-two-year-old she’d been when she first got married. “Oh, Dan! I’ve always wanted to go there!”
“I know,” he grinned. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. The kids all know. I e-mailed them our itinerary yesterday. I put a hold on the newspaper and our neighbor is going to get our mail for us until we come back next month.”
“But, Dan,” Mariele objected, “What about your job?”
“I’ve been accumulating vacation time for years,” Dan replied, smiling with confidence. “All those weekend car trips we took while the kids were still in the house are finally going to pay off.”
“And to think that I thought for a minute that you’d forgotten our anniversary,” Mariele laughed.
This blog is about creativity. It's mostly writing, I'll grant you and much of the content is derived from exercises I found online. I hope you enjoy it.
