Watch Miniature Tigers "Cannibal Queen"
Friday, July 30, 2010
Handsy
Leslie choked momentarily, coughed, and pushed the morsel back into her mouth. She shook her head in disgust as Paul’s life dripped from her chin. So damn eager… too bad really. He was cute.
Watch Miniature Tigers "Cannibal Queen"
Watch Miniature Tigers "Cannibal Queen"
Friday, July 23, 2010
Home Late
This morning this story was pulling at me. Nate is a supporting character in my YA novel currently Untitled (and unfinished). This is part of his background story:
Nate watched as his instructor’s fingers danced across the strings of an acoustic guitar. He longed to play the way Mr. Williams did, and often stayed after school for free lessons. His twin sister sat out in the hall doing her homework, waiting for him to finish up, so they could head home.
“Now you try, Nathan,” Mr. Williams smiled.
Nate caressed the neck of the Gibson Sunburst his father had given him when he was ten. He turned the page of his sheet music and began to work the frets, his fingers mimicking Mr. Williams’ dance over his own strings.
The instructor’s smile spread wide across his perfect teeth, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair absorbing the beautiful music escaping from Nate’s hands. He waited until the end of the song, and clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, Nathan! You are getting better every week. Before too long, you will be outplaying me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Williams,” Nate slipped his guitar into its canvas bag and slung it across his shoulder and onto his back, “I’m practicing every night.”
“It shows, boy. It shows. I will see you… Friday?”
“Yes, sir,” he said as he slipped out into the hallway where Natalie was waiting. She had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot.
“We’re late,” she sneered.
“I know… missed the bus.”
“In trouble…” she breathed.
“Let’s get going,” Nate pushed open the front doors of the school and Natalie followed. They crossed the street and cut through the Meyer’s cornfield to get to the concrete drainage ditch. It was always dry, and the quickest route home.
“Quit trying to hold my hand, Natalie.” He shoved her hard. “Someone will see.”
“Everyone knows I’m your sister, stupid.”
“So… it’s weird.”
“We are weird; we’re twins.”
“Shut up,” he groaned. They walked in silence as Nate kicked stones and watched them ricochet off the side of the tall concrete walls.
“How much trouble, you think?”
“Loads,” Natalie huffed.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.”
“Of course I did,” she smiled at him. “Stupid… besides if I got home without you; we’d both be in trouble anyway. Dad’s always angry.”
“Yeah,” Nate watched his feet as they moved along the concrete.
As they rounded the corner to their house, the neighborhood buzzed with activity. There were police cars, a fire truck, and ambulances parked in front of their home. Neighbors were clutching each other in their front yards; they watched the blonde-headed duo and whispered – pointing with their eyes as the children closed in on the scene in front of their house.
Nate dropped his guitar in the street and walked with his sister, shoulder-to-shoulder, into their front yard, staring at the house and commotion on the porch.
For a moment, the twins were invisible. People moved between them and around them. Neighborhood dogs were going wild, drowning out the sobs and gasps of their masters.
Nate felt the pull of people’s voices and heard the drone of radio communications, but he wasn’t really listening. Two looming, black stretchers floated by and disappeared; he turned away before they reached their destination. His heart was racing; each draw of air clouding his vision around the edges.
Nate watched the officer talking to the McMillans, watched as their lips moved; the woman with the slick black gloves on the porch, the fireman dressed for the non-existent fire. Two words bounced around inside Nate’s head, appearing and reappearing. They bubbled like bile in his stomach; threatening to erupt from his mouth at any moment – spilling across the manicured lawn.
If I say the words, maybe they will disappear… maybe we can go back to school. Not miss the bus, make it home on… time. Nate shook his head and felt his sister trembling at his side. Tears were free falling off her chin as she stared at the house they would never again call home.
“Murder suicide,” Nate whispered. The moment he spoke it, he felt cold and empty.
“Nate, Natalie,” a neighbor grabbed them and squeezed them close. She searched the crowd and pulled the children toward a police officer. He looked them over and sighed. “Ok, you come with me.” He grabbed Nate’s arm and started toward one of the many police cars parked in the road.
“No!” Nate pulled from his grasp and stepped next to his sister who was sobbing uncontrollably.
“We stay together,” he said firmly, as he grabbed Natalie’s hand and weaved his fingers between hers.
The officer nodded.
Home Late
Nate watched as his instructor’s fingers danced across the strings of an acoustic guitar. He longed to play the way Mr. Williams did, and often stayed after school for free lessons. His twin sister sat out in the hall doing her homework, waiting for him to finish up, so they could head home.
“Now you try, Nathan,” Mr. Williams smiled.
Nate caressed the neck of the Gibson Sunburst his father had given him when he was ten. He turned the page of his sheet music and began to work the frets, his fingers mimicking Mr. Williams’ dance over his own strings.
The instructor’s smile spread wide across his perfect teeth, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair absorbing the beautiful music escaping from Nate’s hands. He waited until the end of the song, and clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, Nathan! You are getting better every week. Before too long, you will be outplaying me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Williams,” Nate slipped his guitar into its canvas bag and slung it across his shoulder and onto his back, “I’m practicing every night.”
“It shows, boy. It shows. I will see you… Friday?”
“Yes, sir,” he said as he slipped out into the hallway where Natalie was waiting. She had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot.
“We’re late,” she sneered.
“I know… missed the bus.”
“In trouble…” she breathed.
“Let’s get going,” Nate pushed open the front doors of the school and Natalie followed. They crossed the street and cut through the Meyer’s cornfield to get to the concrete drainage ditch. It was always dry, and the quickest route home.
“Quit trying to hold my hand, Natalie.” He shoved her hard. “Someone will see.”
“Everyone knows I’m your sister, stupid.”
“So… it’s weird.”
“We are weird; we’re twins.”
“Shut up,” he groaned. They walked in silence as Nate kicked stones and watched them ricochet off the side of the tall concrete walls.
“How much trouble, you think?”
“Loads,” Natalie huffed.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.”
“Of course I did,” she smiled at him. “Stupid… besides if I got home without you; we’d both be in trouble anyway. Dad’s always angry.”
“Yeah,” Nate watched his feet as they moved along the concrete.
As they rounded the corner to their house, the neighborhood buzzed with activity. There were police cars, a fire truck, and ambulances parked in front of their home. Neighbors were clutching each other in their front yards; they watched the blonde-headed duo and whispered – pointing with their eyes as the children closed in on the scene in front of their house.
Nate dropped his guitar in the street and walked with his sister, shoulder-to-shoulder, into their front yard, staring at the house and commotion on the porch.
For a moment, the twins were invisible. People moved between them and around them. Neighborhood dogs were going wild, drowning out the sobs and gasps of their masters.
Nate felt the pull of people’s voices and heard the drone of radio communications, but he wasn’t really listening. Two looming, black stretchers floated by and disappeared; he turned away before they reached their destination. His heart was racing; each draw of air clouding his vision around the edges.
Nate watched the officer talking to the McMillans, watched as their lips moved; the woman with the slick black gloves on the porch, the fireman dressed for the non-existent fire. Two words bounced around inside Nate’s head, appearing and reappearing. They bubbled like bile in his stomach; threatening to erupt from his mouth at any moment – spilling across the manicured lawn.
If I say the words, maybe they will disappear… maybe we can go back to school. Not miss the bus, make it home on… time. Nate shook his head and felt his sister trembling at his side. Tears were free falling off her chin as she stared at the house they would never again call home.
“Murder suicide,” Nate whispered. The moment he spoke it, he felt cold and empty.
“Nate, Natalie,” a neighbor grabbed them and squeezed them close. She searched the crowd and pulled the children toward a police officer. He looked them over and sighed. “Ok, you come with me.” He grabbed Nate’s arm and started toward one of the many police cars parked in the road.
“No!” Nate pulled from his grasp and stepped next to his sister who was sobbing uncontrollably.
“We stay together,” he said firmly, as he grabbed Natalie’s hand and weaved his fingers between hers.
The officer nodded.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Pink is the Color of Shame
Looking for inspiration today, my good friend and amazing writer/editor, Kemari, gave me a list of words to use in my post. She called it the "Magpie Method" (whatever that means). Here's the list she gave me: Birthday, Balloon Animal, Radioactive Cupcake, Moldy Hummus, and Walkie-Talkie.
Here's what I gave her:
Pink is the Color of Shame
It’s my birthday today, and I am praying for radioactive cupcakes instead of the three-tiered cake with an obscene amount of ribbon. My parents have been planning this event for almost a year now, and it will be nothing short of traumatizing.
I am almost certain there will be balloon animals and moldy hummus – like my friends would eat that anyway. The guests are probably filing into the backyard right now, laughing at me behind their wrapped packages. I am the butt of all jokes; the laughing stock, but I can deal.
If my parents weren’t so damn happy about it, I would totally blow it off. I would skip the event all together and head to Beatty’s to play his Playstation and eat pizza. We could pretend it’s just a regular day, where I am not forced to make nice with people I don’t want or care to know.
The reflection in the mirror stares back at me. I look ridiculous. I would never wear this much pink if they hadn’t insisted. I would never paint this much gunk on my face if they hadn’t asked. Oh, God… I can tell it’s going to be a nightmare.
I am pretty sure the purpose of this party is not necessarily to celebrate my birthday; they are looking for acceptable husbands. Like I would marry one of those pimple-faced booger eaters.
They want to marry me off, so I can move out of their house. They want time to do things together. Probably run around naked, or something equally gross.
“Bridget,” the walkie-talkie I’m holding hums.
I gather my strength and reply, “Yes, mother?”
“It’s time.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I really don’t want to go, but I can’t tell her that.
“Sweetie, you’re only fifteen once.” I can hear the smile in her voice. She loves me; I know. This will make her incredibly happy, so I will do it. I will paste a sickening smile on my painted face and walk down the stairs, out to the back yard, and try not to die.
I can’t make any promises.
This is also my submission to contest going on at Deanna Schrayer's blog. Check out her site: HERE
Here's what I gave her:
Pink is the Color of Shame
It’s my birthday today, and I am praying for radioactive cupcakes instead of the three-tiered cake with an obscene amount of ribbon. My parents have been planning this event for almost a year now, and it will be nothing short of traumatizing.
I am almost certain there will be balloon animals and moldy hummus – like my friends would eat that anyway. The guests are probably filing into the backyard right now, laughing at me behind their wrapped packages. I am the butt of all jokes; the laughing stock, but I can deal.
If my parents weren’t so damn happy about it, I would totally blow it off. I would skip the event all together and head to Beatty’s to play his Playstation and eat pizza. We could pretend it’s just a regular day, where I am not forced to make nice with people I don’t want or care to know.
The reflection in the mirror stares back at me. I look ridiculous. I would never wear this much pink if they hadn’t insisted. I would never paint this much gunk on my face if they hadn’t asked. Oh, God… I can tell it’s going to be a nightmare.
I am pretty sure the purpose of this party is not necessarily to celebrate my birthday; they are looking for acceptable husbands. Like I would marry one of those pimple-faced booger eaters.
They want to marry me off, so I can move out of their house. They want time to do things together. Probably run around naked, or something equally gross.
“Bridget,” the walkie-talkie I’m holding hums.
I gather my strength and reply, “Yes, mother?”
“It’s time.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I really don’t want to go, but I can’t tell her that.
“Sweetie, you’re only fifteen once.” I can hear the smile in her voice. She loves me; I know. This will make her incredibly happy, so I will do it. I will paste a sickening smile on my painted face and walk down the stairs, out to the back yard, and try not to die.
I can’t make any promises.
This is also my submission to contest going on at Deanna Schrayer's blog. Check out her site: HERE
Friday, July 9, 2010
Go Meat!
After the last box was finally unpacked, Embry decided to celebrate. She unscrewed the top from the finest bottle of Strawberry Hill Boone’s Farm had to offer and stepped onto her patio for a smoke. The neighbors were working on their already perfect lawns. Embry looked over the jungle of weeds that made up her front yard, and flicked her cigarette. She attempted a weak wave at the neighbor next door.
Being new in town was rough, and Embry just didn’t fit in with the geriatric crowd. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen old people before. In Arizona, they had whole communities of them, but she wasn’t used to seeing so many everywhere she went.
She made it easy for the neighbors to ignore her, and it was quiet, which she didn’t mind. It gave her time to think, reassess, and validate her life.
Across the street, the front door opened and the smallest white-haired woman made her way across the street. “Hi, dear, it looks like I got your mail today,” she said as she handed over a small bundle. “I’m Bess Michaels.”
“Thank you Mrs. Michaels,” Embry said as she took the mail. “I’m Embry Franks.”
“I know,” she said tapping the letters in Embry’s hand. “I see you got Reggie’s Flyer. He has a six hour meat sale twice a year. Everyone in town goes. The prices are amazing. You’re not a root-eating tree hugger, are you?”
“Uh… No. I’m a voracious carnivore.”
Bess laughed long and hard, clutching her side. “Well then, you’ll want to get there early, or all of the good stuff will be gone.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Michaels.”
“Oh no, you can call me Bess, or better, Grandma,” she winked. Embry couldn’t help but return the smile.
“Grandma,” a man yelled from across the street.
“Just a moment, Grandpa! I’m talking to our neighbor,” she shouted. She turned back to Embry, “That’s Grandpa. I would introduce you, but he’s really cranky before dinner. I must go and feed him. He’s a voracious carnivore too.” She laughed.
“Maybe some other time then,” Embry said as the woman turned to leave. “It was nice meeting you Be… Grandma.”
“Nice meeting you, dear.” Embry watched the old woman cross the road and disappear into her home.
That night Embry studied the flyer. She had an empty deep freeze sitting in the garage that she had received as a wedding gift; she never bothered to return it after her wedding plans soured. She could go to this sale, fill it up, and not have to leave the house for months. “6 a.m. God, that’s early,” she said to her empty cupboards.
She woke up long before the intended 6 a.m. Her alarm clock read 4:30. A shower and coffee later and it was only 5. She stared at the clock. “This is ridiculous,” she said to her coffee table, “I’ve spent all night standing in line for concert tickets. I even stood in line for six hours for the new iPhone. I don’t want to show up early for meat.”
Pulling into Reggie’s at 5:15, Embry was surprised to see a line outside of the store. She had intended to read on her phone to pass time, but instead, she exited her car and got into queue for meat.
“Grandma,” she heard a man say behind her in line, “You go for the chicken, and I will get some steak.”
“Sounds like a plan, Grandpa.” Embry laughed quietly. She was surrounded by grandmas and grandpas and they all insisted on calling each other just that. At least she wouldn’t have to remember anyone’s name.
At five minutes to six, a voice boomed from the loud speaker. “Welcome Reggie’s patrons! Today is our famous six hour meat sale. Are you excited?” A loud noise broke out from the crowd. “What was that?” the voice asked.
“Yeah!” the crowd yelled.
“I thought so,” the voice continued. “Please remember no pushing, no cursing, and absolutely… NO… Fighting. Thank you for shopping Reggie’s!”
“What the hell?” Embry said more to herself than anyone else, but it got the attention of the grandma in front of her.
“What’s wrong dear?” she asked.
“Fighting?”
“Oh yes. See that couple over there?” She pointed to a sweet old couple dressed in matching khakis. “Last year, he tripped Mrs. Walker, and his wife gouged out Mr. Walker’s good eye.”
Embry stared at the couple holding hands. They didn’t look the slightest bit violent.
“The man at the front, that’s Mr. Barney. Stay away from him. He will steal your basket when you’re not looking and hide it in the store.” Embry looked him over. He was carrying a cane.
Embry shook her head in disbelief. There was no way these people could act so badly.
“And there,” she pointed at Bess Michaels, Embry’s neighbor, “that’s the witch who bit me two years ago!”
“She bit you?”
“Yes, I had to get five stitches and a Tetanus shot… Crazy bitch went nuts when I grabbed the last pork roast.” Embry laughed. It was too much.
The fog horn blew signaling the beginning of the six hour meat sale, and a mad rush of grandmas and grandpas was at Embry’s back, pushing her. She attempted to move forward but was lifted off her feet and squeezed out of the line onto the sidewalk. She sat there for a moment dazed as the crowd filed into Reggie’s, then dusted herself off. Laughing, she got back into her car, giving up on the meat sale.
It was after dinner that evening when Embry answered a knock at the door. “Hi, Dear. I saw you had a hard time at Reggie’s this morning.”
“Yeah, maybe next time,” Embry shrugged.
“Well, I brought you a pork roast. Consider it a house warming gift,” she smiled.
“Thank you, Grandma. This is very nice.”
“You’re welcome dear. It was a great price, and I didn’t have to kill anyone for it.” She winked.
Being new in town was rough, and Embry just didn’t fit in with the geriatric crowd. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen old people before. In Arizona, they had whole communities of them, but she wasn’t used to seeing so many everywhere she went.
She made it easy for the neighbors to ignore her, and it was quiet, which she didn’t mind. It gave her time to think, reassess, and validate her life.
Across the street, the front door opened and the smallest white-haired woman made her way across the street. “Hi, dear, it looks like I got your mail today,” she said as she handed over a small bundle. “I’m Bess Michaels.”
“Thank you Mrs. Michaels,” Embry said as she took the mail. “I’m Embry Franks.”
“I know,” she said tapping the letters in Embry’s hand. “I see you got Reggie’s Flyer. He has a six hour meat sale twice a year. Everyone in town goes. The prices are amazing. You’re not a root-eating tree hugger, are you?”
“Uh… No. I’m a voracious carnivore.”
Bess laughed long and hard, clutching her side. “Well then, you’ll want to get there early, or all of the good stuff will be gone.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Michaels.”
“Oh no, you can call me Bess, or better, Grandma,” she winked. Embry couldn’t help but return the smile.
“Grandma,” a man yelled from across the street.
“Just a moment, Grandpa! I’m talking to our neighbor,” she shouted. She turned back to Embry, “That’s Grandpa. I would introduce you, but he’s really cranky before dinner. I must go and feed him. He’s a voracious carnivore too.” She laughed.
“Maybe some other time then,” Embry said as the woman turned to leave. “It was nice meeting you Be… Grandma.”
“Nice meeting you, dear.” Embry watched the old woman cross the road and disappear into her home.
That night Embry studied the flyer. She had an empty deep freeze sitting in the garage that she had received as a wedding gift; she never bothered to return it after her wedding plans soured. She could go to this sale, fill it up, and not have to leave the house for months. “6 a.m. God, that’s early,” she said to her empty cupboards.
She woke up long before the intended 6 a.m. Her alarm clock read 4:30. A shower and coffee later and it was only 5. She stared at the clock. “This is ridiculous,” she said to her coffee table, “I’ve spent all night standing in line for concert tickets. I even stood in line for six hours for the new iPhone. I don’t want to show up early for meat.”
Pulling into Reggie’s at 5:15, Embry was surprised to see a line outside of the store. She had intended to read on her phone to pass time, but instead, she exited her car and got into queue for meat.
“Grandma,” she heard a man say behind her in line, “You go for the chicken, and I will get some steak.”
“Sounds like a plan, Grandpa.” Embry laughed quietly. She was surrounded by grandmas and grandpas and they all insisted on calling each other just that. At least she wouldn’t have to remember anyone’s name.
At five minutes to six, a voice boomed from the loud speaker. “Welcome Reggie’s patrons! Today is our famous six hour meat sale. Are you excited?” A loud noise broke out from the crowd. “What was that?” the voice asked.
“Yeah!” the crowd yelled.
“I thought so,” the voice continued. “Please remember no pushing, no cursing, and absolutely… NO… Fighting. Thank you for shopping Reggie’s!”
“What the hell?” Embry said more to herself than anyone else, but it got the attention of the grandma in front of her.
“What’s wrong dear?” she asked.
“Fighting?”
“Oh yes. See that couple over there?” She pointed to a sweet old couple dressed in matching khakis. “Last year, he tripped Mrs. Walker, and his wife gouged out Mr. Walker’s good eye.”
Embry stared at the couple holding hands. They didn’t look the slightest bit violent.
“The man at the front, that’s Mr. Barney. Stay away from him. He will steal your basket when you’re not looking and hide it in the store.” Embry looked him over. He was carrying a cane.
Embry shook her head in disbelief. There was no way these people could act so badly.
“And there,” she pointed at Bess Michaels, Embry’s neighbor, “that’s the witch who bit me two years ago!”
“She bit you?”
“Yes, I had to get five stitches and a Tetanus shot… Crazy bitch went nuts when I grabbed the last pork roast.” Embry laughed. It was too much.
The fog horn blew signaling the beginning of the six hour meat sale, and a mad rush of grandmas and grandpas was at Embry’s back, pushing her. She attempted to move forward but was lifted off her feet and squeezed out of the line onto the sidewalk. She sat there for a moment dazed as the crowd filed into Reggie’s, then dusted herself off. Laughing, she got back into her car, giving up on the meat sale.
It was after dinner that evening when Embry answered a knock at the door. “Hi, Dear. I saw you had a hard time at Reggie’s this morning.”
“Yeah, maybe next time,” Embry shrugged.
“Well, I brought you a pork roast. Consider it a house warming gift,” she smiled.
“Thank you, Grandma. This is very nice.”
“You’re welcome dear. It was a great price, and I didn’t have to kill anyone for it.” She winked.
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