JSW Prompt response from 3-6-2016

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Mr. Binks shivered against my leg as I crouched behind the tombstone carved with the name Harry Hat. Somebody got screwed on that one. Mr. Binks is tiny and short-haired, so I made myself believe he was cold, at least for the moment. Then he began to growl.

I glanced right and left, to Holly and Susan, huddled behind neighboring tombstones. Could dead people have neighbors? Did they think of the person in the next grave as just living one house over? Or did it matter?

Of course it didn’t matter. I’m 12. I don’t believe in ghosts anymore. At least in the daylight.  Nighttime… I’m not quite so sure.

Jonny said the ghosts rose at midnight, dancing around the grave of a witch. Sounded fishy to me. Some of those dead folks had to have more smarts than that. Pretty stupid to rise out the grave just to do-wop around another stone. I could think of much better things to do…. like scare the pants off Jonny Brown.

Boys!

My eyes rolled of their own accord; my automatic response whenever the subject arose. On the other hand, they did have their uses. Sometimes.

I heard a sound. Not a happy kind of sound; more like the creaking of an old door opening….. Did graves have doors?

Holly cried something and I glanced over her way. The dog crept over and huddled beside her. She’d always been a scary-cat. Susan, on the other hand, was just as curious as me.

Faint music started, coming from a distance and growing louder. I glimpsed white forms gathering about twenty yards away. Pulling back, I looked over at Susan and made wavy arms motions. Ghosts didn’t look like bed sheets, not unless they are on Charlie Brown. We both nodded and looked round our headstones. The ghostly forms danced around a tombstone, bopping up and down like really bad dancers.

Susan and I locked eyes. I motioned for her to go round the other side of her stone, while I did the same with mine, good old Harry Hat watching my backside. Ducking stone to stone, we easily reached the far side of the dancers; they were so into their dance they didn’t bother to look around. Pulling on the sheets we’d hidden earlier, I mouthed, ‘One, two, three…’ We jumped up, whooing up a storm.

The ghosts stopped dead in their tracks then ran screaming, sheets streaming off to hang round tombstones like flags. Holly and I fell to the ground, laughing.

Boys… that’ll teach them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daily Post Prompt – Just Another Day

Just Another Day

Our days our organized around numerous small actions we repeat over and over. What’s your favorite daily ritual?

 

Just Another Day

He stood by the sink, staring out the window, eyes not really seeing anything beyond the paint-scarred frame. His fingers traced the edges of the sink, metal bordering porcelain, both cold, one smooth as silk and the other an entirely different kind of smooth. It was the little things, he thought, the little daily rituals, which kept him sane.

He heard the kids upstairs, galloping back and forth when they should have been in bed, but he didn’t have the energy to trudge up the stairs and tuck them in again. Energy had abandoned him the moment he’d been told, thus the week of dishes in the sink, scattered food boxes, remain of the life he’d once lived scattered throughout the house.

The only things he did do now were the little things. Shower. Brush teeth. Meals, mainly take-out, unless a neighbor stopped by with food; dishes shoved in through doorways because no one wanted to be stuck in his circle of despair. Nobody knew what to say. They stayed as far away as possible.

He didn’t blame them. If fact, he’d rather be alone. Alone was his comfort; no pressure; no need to pretend. His mind returned to the only ritual he now practiced religiously.  Rain or shine, head bowed, kneeling before the two tiny graves. Crying. Dying. Tiny little bodies in tiny little graves.

Upstairs, the noise of the children vanished and he knew, once again, they’d gone away, back to the tiny graves their mother had put them in. Two sharps cracks of a pistol.

 

 

 

 

JSW Prompt Response 1-13-2016

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  1. Moral Concept/inner conflict from any number of books
  2. Richard Gansey III from The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater
  3. I remember lying in the snow, a small red spot of warm going cold, surrounded by wolves. Shiver-Maggie Stiefvater
  4. Present-day Virginia – The Dream Thieves by Maggie Stiefvater
  5. Fantasy/reality

He remembered lying in the snow, a small red spot of warm going cold, surrounded by wolves. Dawn came hard to Monmouth Manufacturing, slinking over the low horizon of the city like a pack of starving wolves. His mind was filled with wolves as it had been every day since the dream, as if the wolves summoned him to Caveswater, teasing glances over their shoulders, taunting him, asking if he possessed the courage to go on? To Gansey, the question was moot. Of course, he would go on, even if meant alone. Which was, he admitted to himself, quite possible.

He’d lost Adam, the other boy sinking into a pit denied him, not that he’d want it but if doing so saved Adam, he’d gladly go into any darkness. He’d already died and come back; what could possibly scare him? And yet, losing Adam terrified him, his friend fading away like Caveswater had and nothing in Gansey’s self-assured life had prepared him for this eventuality. He wondered if the Lei Line was draining Adam like it was draining the town’s transformers. Had Adam given his life for Caveswater? For him? Or had Adam given that something in order to deny him his life’s dream?

Poetry Moment

I lay awake,
staring out past
the confines of my window,
sky soft and blurry.
Dark is complete.
I trace the rooms of this house,
shapes, sizes and even
the rough corners of the room’s elbows.
All the while dark lies
on my chest like a cat,
licks my cheek, fingertips.
I could reach out and turn
this night like a page,
one loud voice and
the dark would shatter
like crystal.
We did not touch –
never did you see
the dark universe I house
between my ribs
or the dull ache in my breast
that needed only stroking.
We walked together
in the cold night snow,
breath streaming behind us
like exhaust
from a car
turning circles
over a cliff.

Quote For The Day 7-26-2015

“The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, specter, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding? We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here or there, stand ajar?”
Louis L’Amour, The Haunted Mesa

Quote For The Day 7-24-015

Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.”
H. Rider Haggard, King Solomon’s Mines

JSW Prompt 7-23-2015

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Come on!  Tell me a story!