10 posts tagged “vl2f”
How it works: Write an entry of any length or style using five assigned words. Bold the five words. Tag your post with 5wordchallenge and any other tags you wish to add.
The words: indefinitely, outsmart, phantom, towel, alienated
Chloe wondered how she could outsmart time. The challenge would lie in trying to mark where one rests in a measurement of something that goes on indefinitely. Had she alienated herself from the others in showing no regard for how they would fare against the phantom of doubt and the limitation of their fatigued limbs? Long after they had thrown in the towel, would they curse her for being jubilant in her solitary triumph? She wondered aloud which was the bigger adversary, time or her own need for validation.
Thanks Red Pen.
This week's challenge: Write a short scene 250 words or less with dialogue, only dialogue about a couple dissolving. (thanks Irma for reminding me)
“It’s complicated.”
“What’s so complicated about the truth? It either is, or it isn’t. In between is what you use to avoid having to choose.”
“I know how I am.”
“Why don’t you try sharing that insight with me.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand, or accept?”
“Neither.”
“Are you in love with me?”
“You already know the an-“
“-Say it out loud. I want you to say it out loud so I can hear you lie to me.”
“It's not about love. This whole thing has nothing to do with love. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Is it so easy to hurt someone else?”
“It’s not the same with someone else.”
“What’s not the same? The expectations will be. The same fights, the same needs, the same struggle for proprietary rights on something that cannot even be measured or controlled. What you believe will be different will be your ability to leave it unscathed.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say you are a coward. And then I want you to leave.”
“You don't -.”
“Coward or fool. Perhaps you can choose that, since you
haven’t the ability to choose anything else.”
Sooz has given us the five new words, and because sleep has not been an option for me this week, I figured...why put off til tomorrow, what you can do tonight? And in the Texas style, Sooz went BIG with the challenge.
This is how it works: you get 5 words and with these 5 words you have to write an entry. The words might or might not be related. You decide how to combine them, and how long your entry will be. You tag your entry with 5wordchallenge and whatever other tags you like. Finally, you put the words in bold.
sililoquy, manhole, discover, television, optimism
In one week the challenge will be passed on to someone that participated in this one.
Here goes...
She stood before him. The moment was illuminated by the blue glow of the television he used to make the silence between them appear cordial.
They met long ago, the way lovers meet in those steamy novels written by authors with vampy names. She caught her heel on the rim of a loosened manhole cover and tripped into him. In all the ways a woman could dream of tripping into two strong arms prepared to steady her, she managed to play her role with a clumsy grace that made her immediately endearing. Time would stop, as it did in those lurid tales of seedy romance, but only they would notice it. He would discover in those 4 seconds lust borne of chance. There had been no formal search and no planned prowl. She would sweep a random curl away from her face and blush crimson as he asked her if she was okay. Her response would include an absent ramble about her shoe which would prompt him to inspect it casually for a scuff mark. He would ask her if she’d like a cup of coffee to collect her self. It had been a natural encounter.
She fell into his arms a child, but she would leave them a woman.
Rehearsing love’s final soliloquy repeatedly in her head, she took the remote from his hand and let it drop to the carpet with a muffled thud. So many years ago he had been full of life; it was a thought that prompted a melancholy smile. She pre-empted his complaint with a carefully crafted edict full of optimism her words of disgust would eventually belie. Harsh words of truth, to sting his numb ears back to their utmost sensitivity.
She would wake him from the slumber of his indifference to say goodbye but it would be months before he would actually hear it.
I swear I'm a lot smarter than this.
After virtually forgeting the process and rules, sending out torrents of emails and then having to explain my mental breakdown...I am now back together with my sanity long enough to announce this week's 5 word challenge creator.
And frankly I'm glad to do it. I nearly got my ass kicked by Mathilde on this last one though her post was brilliant as usual. Jason did a cool fantasy piece with a startling end; Unique did a deep haunting expression of memory; Sooz had me laughing out loud and Red Pen shared a heartbreaking bit of prose.
Here's
how it works: you get 5 words and with these 5 words you have to write
an entry. The words might or might not be related. You decide how to
combine them, and how long your entry will be. You tag your entry with 5wordchallenge and whatever other tags you like.
Finally, you put the words in bold.
This week's words are: word1, word2, word3, word4, word5
Don't forget to add the rules!
And the baton goes to................................................................
Sooz!
You have some fire, I know you'll make it a great one.
Last night, I pulled into the mini mall off of William Cannon, to see if I could get my nails done. It's been nearly a
month, my nails were getting a bit long and I had one that needed some major repair. Although I've been going to this spot regularly for nearly a year, I can rarely get my favorite technician, Henry - because I never make an appointment. It was 6:30 when I found a parking space. I assumed they would close at 9, as the salons back home in Philly did. Not so. The place was closing in thirty minutes.
I faltered at the door...wondering if I should be one of those people I loathe. The ones who come in requesting an hours’ worth of service fifteen minutes before closing. I stood there with my hand on the door, weighing the odds when Henry appeared from a back room off to the left. Henry has only done my nails a handful of times, but each time he has, I grow more respectful of his craft. He waved me over and began preparing his station for me, immediately.
Henry is one of my favorite studies. He's Vietnamese-American, raised by immigrant parents. Looking at him, I would guess him to be about 40. Clearly he works in the salon as something to do, as opposed to it being his livelihood. At his station, he keeps his realtor business cards, and he is always dressed as if he may dash off at any moment to show someone a home. I had often wondered if he owned the salon, because he does not have the air of an employee, at all.
He's different then any other nail tech in the place. Henry seems to pick the hands he wants to work on, and every employee in the salon seems to accept this with a silent grace. If nothing of interest arrives, Henry disappears with his cell phone into the back room. He does not smile in the almost effusive manner that the other techs do as customers arrive. He does not bother to engage customers in conversations and he rarely greets people with more than a grunt of recognition. Henry exists in his own world and he chooses carefully who will be granted admission.
I suppose that is what I like about him. Even from the first time I sat in his chair and went about being ignored for over an hour. He reminds me of my East coast upbringing, where little is spoken by mouth, but you can learn someone’s entire personality in their silence. In an odd way, that is comforting to me. I don’t have to work hard to find some common conversation, or pretend we’re friends or even in the mood for superfluous chatter. I could simply sit, and watch him work.
And watching him work, is where I began my study. If you’ve ever been to a nail salon, you know the process is nearly mechanical. It is a series of concentrated steps that finish with either a basic manicure or an extensive, ornate amusement park of nail design. No matter what you choose, you can bet it has been done millions of times before. The tech may talk with you about trivial days events, or they may talk on a cell phone, or to a neighboring technician while you nod off, stare into space or look lazily at a television looming over your head. The experience is entirely what you make it, and every technician seems to have learned this as they learn the techniques of acrylic application with a paintbrush.
Not so with Henry. My first visit with him, Henry began by studying my hand while I explained to him what I wanted. He was only partially listening. The other part of him was studying me. My hand, my jewelry, the technique of the technician before him. He scowled, he smiled at a private joke and even shook his head in total disapproval as he turned my hand this way and that. I learned quickly with Henry to just be quiet, and let him figure out what I was looking for.
“You want these shortened quite a bit?”
Before I could answer, he grunted his approval, still studying my fingers. My first time in his chair, I felt like he studied my hands more than any lover ever could.
“You have long fingers, these nails are too blocky, too thick. Makes your hands look big...bulky. You don’t need all of that.” He appeared to be talking to himself, because he made no eye contact with me at all during his assessment.
As he began to work, clearing away evidence of mediocre manicures of the past and clearing his pallet for his own effort, I watched him carefully bring the surface of my nail back to its original composition. As he worked, several technicians loomed over his shoulder, watching him work. He would occasionally blurt out thoughts in Vietnamese to them and they would nod at each other with what appeared to be a reverence.
When I left that day, I had the most memorable manicure I’ve ever experienced, and Henry had barely said six words to me.
This evening, he seemed almost happy to see me. He took my hand and shook his head again, dismayed at the excess shape given to my nails.
“When are you going to start making appointments with me?”
I looked at him, almost unsure he was speaking to me. He raised his eyes and waited for my answer.
“I am never sure when you’re going to be here. I always look for you when I come in.”
He nodded, and continued surveying my nails. I thanked him for taking me so late in the day, unannounced and he was almost warm in his dismissal of my late arrival. And without another word, he went to work.
I love to watch him, because he takes so much pride in his work. He’s a perfectionist, his perfectly styled hair and perfect nails would give him away even if his work did not. He is purposeful in every motion, and focused entirely on each nail as if it were a canvas. This time, in an effort to get to know him, I asked him about his realtor business card.
Henry looked up with interest when I asked him if he sold commercial or residential properties. I had found the key. He opened quickly, telling me about his preference for commercial over residential and the differences in the market here versus the East Coast. I shared with him my East Coast upbringing and we compared notes on the differences in culture here in Austin, versus New York and Philadelphia. Just as quickly as the conversation began, it ended. It almost seemed as if Henry realized he was coming dangerously close to having an enjoyable conversation – so he answered my next question about his work with a gruff affirmation, before resuming his focus on his work.
American Idol blared on the television behind his head, so I began to watch that while I waited for my insides to sort out what I learned about him from that five minutes of free exchange.
“I am a musician as well.”
It took me a moment to realized he had spoken, again, to me.
“The last singer? She was off pitch, and she didn’t follow the melody.”
I laughed, and agreed. When I asked him what instrument he played, he again came to life.
“I play the keyboard, I used to have a band too. We used to play weddings and small events – not anymore though, people left, moved away, jobs took them in different directions.”
As he continued working on my hands, I would occasionally mention for him to turn around to watch contestants I found particularly amusing. We’d laugh or nod in approval at each. And again, almost like clockwork, Henry would resume his work with a gruff answer which was my indication to cease the chatter. It became almost an amusing game of duck, duck goose. If I could find the right topic, he would come alive with a story only to abruptly come to a stop.
“There was another of these shows, one for comedy, a Vietnamese man won the competition. I think it was a year or maybe two years ago. I was shocked.”
It was another random blurt, which I happily consumed to learn more about him. But that was all he would offer. He went back to explaining the proper shape of my nails and the logic behind the length I preferred to keep them.
“Are you a writer?” He finally asked as he buffed the last nail to brilliant perfection.
I cocked my head, unsure of how to answer. Technically, I am a marketing director. So I asked for clarification to be sure.
“Do I type a lot?”
He shook his head. “Are you a writer?” He was insistent.
I waited for a moment as he studied my face for a silent answer. He nodded curtly and I did the same. Quickly, he stood indicating my nails were done. And they were perfect, as always whenever he takes care of them.
“Be sure to make an appointment next time for when I am here. Call first.”
I smiled and nodded. “You did a beautiful job Henry, thanks so much. I will definitely make appointments in the future.”
He was already walking away. I heard an “mmmph,” which I took as an affirmation and the wish for a goodnight.
From the wonderful Electric firefly, I present the five word challenge this week. If you're not familiar - read on.
This is how it works: you get 5 words and with these 5
words you have to write an entry. The words might or might not be
related. You decide how to combine them, and how long your entry will
be. You tag your entry with 5wordchallenge and whatever other tags you like. Finally, you put the words in bold.
This challenge: pickle, fireplace, audacious, street, surprise
And here's my entry...
There was no sense debating it, Bill and James were in a bit of a pickle.
Bill sat stoically behind the steering wheel of his 1999 Ford Taurus, watching random families pull into their driveways. James lay in a pool of his own sweat on the rear seat, the sound of his frantic breathing slowly rousing Bill’s anger.
“You see her yet?”
Bill narrowed his eyes in the rearview mirror as he watched Mary’s car slowly make its way past the house with the hideous green fence.
On cue, another car turned the corner at the stop sign and slowed to a crawl near 5701. It was Sheila, audacious enough in her lust to follow Mary home with no fear of being publicly seen or directly addressed.
“There she is.” Bill muttered, pulling the car out of park
and into neutral.
Sheila's car inched down the street past 5707, 5705, 5703. James sat up carefully and watched Sheila make her way across the street to Mary’s front door. Sheila had overheard the plans to return and take Mary by surprise. Now, in her greed, she raised the potential death toll to two.
James hated to kill anyone. He had never been that sort of thief. He preferred just taking things and running off. It required less planning, less violence. Bill however, seemed to enjoy the adrenaline surge of a plan gone awry. In their rush to leave Mary’s house with her father’s belongings, poor timing meant leaving behind the most precious item tucked away in the fireplace. In the dark recesses of that ash ridden pyre laid the keys to his safe, which was already taking up space in Bill’s trunk. James would gladly kill Sheila and Mary both to get the key for it back in his hands. They had no idea of its worth, but that was through no fault of his.
Thanks Bookmole for the reminder. :)
This is how it works: you get 5 words and with these 5 words you have to write an entry. The words might or might not be related. You decide how to combine them, and how long your entry will be. You tag your entry with 5wordchallenge and whatever other tags you like. Finally, you put the words in bold.
This challenge: flashlight, doldrums, ferocity, wash,
recesses
He wandered along the coast of an angry ocean, night winds shoving him along the beach toward a decaying lighthouse. The waves clawed at the weathered sand with great ferocity, swiping at his ankles while the hidden moon beckoned them forward with unexplained urgency.
He wondered what it would be like to be sucked into the great waves, down into the murky navy contents of the ocean floor. It was a somber thought on such a joyous night. Was it horrible to think of death in the wake of birth? She would certainly believe so. The mother of his newborn son could never understand this yearning for the doldrums.
As she lay quietly in their bedroom nursing the round, soft ball of almond colored flesh, she would gaze out of the bay window in search of his flashlight along the shore. She would search for him as he searched for the giant squall that would ride in from points unknown and snatch him away.
She searched for him; he searched for answers. Walking along the same stretch of shoreline each night, he would pray feverishly for waves to wash over him, filling the recesses of his battered spirit in order to bring anything pure and good to the surface.Every night, the walk seemed longer.
I am RPM.
I talk about it, but the past two years have made it more of a reality then ever before. I've always written. Journals, articles, random pieces of stifled thought sometimes shared, oft times not. It's never been a passing fancy for me, so I don't know why I've been tempted to treat it as such. Time to put those days of casual hobby behind me.
This year, I participated in writing contests, joined writing groups, found a local organization founded to give people like me the tools, motivation and flat out pressure to drive forward. I've received enough encouragement from many in this space and others to know it's time. It's time to press forward and complete this novel, and stop hiding behind a project that sometimes feels bigger than me.
I let the tiniest of things get in my way. I let others take my thoughts and claim it as something else. I sit back and let the world pass me by, as I scribe and squirrel away in silence.
I think it's time to come out of the shadows. It's time to dig in, in order to emerge. My mission?
To write my freedom.
This is how it works: you get 5 words and with these 5
words you have to write an entry. The words might or might not be
related. You decide how to combine them, and how long your entry will
be. You tag your entry with 5wordchallenge and whatever other tags you like. Finally, you put the words in bold.
First challenge: headphone, thrills, flower, china, mirror
You have to kill him. There is no other way for this story to end. Do it and let the people experience unfettered liberation.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was a stranger to the softness present just six months ago. Today, she was cold. She had endured the thrills of this mission at first, the espionage, the mystery, the wire taps, the chase...she had reveled in the seduction in knowing it would come to death. She had been primed for this moment, and the plan lay pregnant in her mind during their every interaction. But now as she drew nearer to the act, she mourned the loss of her compassion.
He was just a target, another man capable of the sweetest touch following the most heinous of crimes. Still there had been something like affection in the pools of his eyes, or so it seemed. And what if she failed? This was no criminal hunt in the formal sense; she had no badge to defend the kill. This would be a mercy killing. Mercy would be granted to those who had suffered by way of the chairman's hand. No mercy would be shown to her if she missed her target.
She pulled a flower from the heavy crystal vase before her. A white lily. She laid it along the crook of her arm and prepared to make her entrance into his bedroom. A cold steel blade lay menacingly against the outside of her thigh, still she managed to walk gracefully, innocently to the chairman awaiting her. This was no time for softness, she chastized. He studied her in awe as she gently laid the perfect lily across trembling bone china.
The time for killing had arrived.
The clouds broke last night and the sky cried millions of acid tears.
I shut my television off, and listened to it, wondering where that cancer moon was in the midst of it. I didn't journal yesterday, a daily habit broken by an erratic schedule of furniture delivery men, deadlines and the clutter of my own mind.
I had finished up another two hour conversation with the one person on this planet that continues to astound me with her clarity, her beauty and her study of me. My little sister. Isn't it amazing that you can share a room, a matter of years with someone and have no idea you are being studied fastidiously by them? My sister, especially in her 22nd year of life in this world, has demonstrated an elaborate case study that is my life...and I have to tell you, it is emotionally overwhelming to hear her recorded interpretations of me, as a pre-teen, a young woman and then the person I am today.
So I reviewed the secrets I told her, relived her wisdom offered back to me.
When did she become this woman? How does she understand as much as she does?
I bring my heart to her when it's battered and bruised. When the moon is covered by persistent clouds and I can no longer speak to it for peace, she comes in and she rubs my head, from thousands of miles away. And I remember it's okay to lean on her now. She's not my baby sister any longer. She's a woman. The curly-haired warrior to my quiet, reserved and wounded soul. In the most innocent of ways, I am in love with her.
So I ponder this and other things, listening to rain and wind whistle about my chimney. There's no point in trying to write during moments like those for me. I'd never share what I dared to think anyway. And as always during those moments...he calls.
It's pretty late, unusual for our "friendship" status, no matter how farcical that title may be. He's on his way home from work, apologizing that he did not have a moment yesterday to talk to me during a period when we were both online. He gets so formal in his apologies, that's always seemed so odd to me. I feel as if I'm on some perch and he bows at my feet. I suppose that's why I always felt like such a princess in my time with him. But then it could also be Libra charm, something I've grown to distrust with great zeal.
We speak with an uncomfortable cadence, choppy and awkward with manufactured questions he rehearsed before calling me. Nothing has changed. And I do mean nothing. The love, the mystery, the affection...and the distance. A faltering hand extended to hold, that shifts instead to brush a wisp of hair away from my face. This is transferred into meaningless questions you ask someone at a water cooler on the job. Questions too clipped for a love that was once so intimate.
We exchange this bizarre series of questions and artificial answers. All replies that are careful never to say to much. He asks what I've been up to. I pander with a chuckle and an effort to sound carefree when I reply "the usual stuff, you know work..." The chuckle is artificial and we're both painfully aware of it. I say nothing more, I give him no more details, and shift the conversation to his ailing father.
Another three of four minutes of torment before he tells he he's heading into the grocery store...but just wanted to say hello. Nothing is mentioned of the gift...I suppose he knows I am avoiding that encounter as much as perhaps he is. I am stone, and he makes a feeble attempt to chip away anything because he knows my fears are not unfounded and my trust has been destroyed by his indecision. He knows he has no real right to attempt to find a crack in my armor...but something in him persists.
I hear the line click and I listen to a dialtone that mocks. I wonder if he is beginning to understand that there is nowhere to go from here. I wonder if this is the friendship he wants, because this is no friendship to me. But I offer the weakened strands of what's left because I said I would.
I wait for him to go away I suppose because I won't. It feels as if either way, we lose.
That heavy rain fell all night, blocking my moon and flooding my mind's sidewalk. It always does during these times.
You've probably read something that will be adapted into my tale. We'll see...
