Thursday, April 21, 2011

The Playoffs - Theme Thursday

Horace screamed at the television, his frustration evident.
Jay-sus-H-Christ-almighty, wouldja look at these bastards??”

Adele didn’t glance up from her crossword puzzle.
“Stop cursing.”

Horace ground his teeth as the players got tangled up behind the net, scrambling for the puck.
“Sorry, dove.”

Adele glanced up and shook her head when she caught him pulling at his hair. She returned to her crossword puzzle.
“I don’t know why you continue to watch that stuff, its not good for your blood pressure.”

He turned incredulous eyes on his wife.
“Holy Hanna, dove, it’s the friggin’ playoffs! The playoffs!”

She didn't look at him, only pursed her lips in disapproval.

He grimaced.
“Sorry, dove.”

There was a hail of boos. He whipped back to the television, shouting as he caught the replay. He threw his hands up again.
“If that stupid dunderhead would do what the heck he’s supposed to do, then maybe we’d have a chance.” He plopped back down on the ottoman, reached for another beer and snapped it open, tossing back half of it. He straightened up, yelling. “It was innnnnnnnn.”  He threw his arms wide. “How can they say no goal?”

Adele calmly scratched in a six-letter word.
“I have no idea.”

“They’re blind, I tell you! Blind!” He jumped up to pace. “I can’t believe this.”

The phone rang.
He picked up the handheld, checked the caller i.d., pressed a button then shouted into it.
“The game ain’t over yet, so don’t start callin’ for money!” He jabbed a finger at the television. “We’re going into overtime!” there was a pause, then a- “Screw you!” He slammed the handheld on the cradle, cursing under his breath.

Adele took a sip of her tea, frowned and added another cube of sugar.
“I heard that.”

“Sorry, dove.”

This went on for another hour. Horace alternated between yelling at the screen, shouting into the phone and letting loose a stream of obscenities. Adele corrected him each and every time.

When his team finally won after double over-time, he tried calling his neighbor but got no response. He tried several times only to get angrier by the minute.

Adele became concerned as she watched him pace.
“Maybe, he doesn’t want to talk to you right now. Why don’t you let it be?”

He snorted.
“No can do.” He went to get his shoes on. “Do we have any black markers?”
“Look in the drawer beside the fridge.” Confused, she followed him into the kitchen. “What do you need that for?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be right back.”
The front door slammed.

And of course, Adele worried about it.
It was a full seventeen minutes before he returned.
She jumped up, went to meet him at the front door, and gasped at his appearance.
“Horace! What on earth?”

Horace smiled in between wincing from his split lip. A swelling formed under his left eye, his favourite tee-shirt was torn at the neck, his swollen nose was trickling with blood and his hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead. He held a six-pack in one skinned hand and a wad of bills with the marker in the other.
He proudly raised the hand with the beer.
“See? Not a problem.”

Adele placed her hands on his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” He nodded, handing her the beer. “This ain’t nothin’.”
“Are you sure?” She didn’t believe him. “I thought you were only betting money.”
“We were.” He toed off his shoes. “When he tried to back out of it, I had to set him straight. Cost him his beer.” 

Adele shook her head.
“I can’t believe you were over there fighting. What if someone calls the cops? Maybe, you shouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t, dove.” He brushed his cracked lips against her cheek. “I left a reminder on his forehead about the game at seven. And besides,” he went into the kitchen, “It’s tradition. We do this every year.”

© copyright 2011 by Ren Thompson April 21, 2011

Theme Thursday - Televsion

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Daddy - 3WW

“I don’t know what to.” Mason wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. Elin snapped out three tissues from the box and pressed them into his trembling fingers. Mason mumbled his thanks and blew his nose. His swollen eyes went to the window where his three little girls were at play; unaware of the tragic news he’d just received. His fingers began to shred the soggy tissue. “What do I tell them?”

Elin turned his face towards hers, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“You tell them the truth.” Her eyes met his. “They deserve to know.”
Mason pulled his face away, his distress clearly evident. He didn’t care. Everything he believed in, everything he knew, was now just a bitter illusion. He wished he didn’t possess such horrible knowledge.

“You shouldn’t have told me.” He turned back to her, his eyes cold. “I was better off not knowing.”
“Really?” Elin sat back. She threw her hands up in agitation. “You can’t be serious! Think about your children for once.”

Mason jumped up from the couch, swallowing back the tears. He went to the window, one hand braced on the wall. His daughters, three of the most beautiful creatures on earth, chased each other across the lawn. It was Sunday and they’d just returned from church. They were dressed in yellow daffodil dresses with white ruffles, their hair adorned with daisy rings, no doubt plucked from his garden. One of them, probably Kelsey, had taken off her shoes and socks.

He sighed. He knew Elin was right but it didn’t make him feel any better. He tossed another glare at her before going to the door. He called his little angels inside and they came, their faces bright and shining with happiness. They were only six years old, much too young to be told such things. Mason wondered how to tell them.

After Sharon, Jessica and Kelsey seated themselves on the couch, they stared up at him, their eyes wide and innocent. Mason cleared his throat, keeping his eyes off of Elin.
“Sweethearts, remember how I told you about Easter and the-“
“The Easter Rabbit?” Sharon piped up. She was the leader of the trio. They all started to swing their legs in excitement.
Mason blew out a breath.
“Yes, darling. Well.” He then looked to Elin who nodded for him to continue. He blinked as more hot tears began to form. “Well, he…he doesn’t exist.” He sniffled, let out a sob and put his hands up to his face again.

He was more than ready to comfort them when all three of his babies burst into peals of laughter. He stared at them in shock, his own despair forgotten.
Sharon jumped off the couch, throwing her arms around his waist.
“Oh Daddy! We knew that!” She skipped around him and went out the door. Kelsey came up next, squeezed him and followed Sharon out. Jessica tugged his hand. Mason bent down and she planted a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek before running outside.

After they’d left, he turned to face Elin who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Mason ignored her gloating look. He wiped his eyes.
“That went better than I expected.”
“Of course, it did.”
He reached for the more tissues and blew his nose. He cleared his throat again.
“How many more do I have left?”
Elin came up to him and rubbed his back in wide, slow circles.
“Just the Tooth Fairy and then you’ll be done.” Aware of his grief, she squeezed him in a half-hug. “You can wait awhile for that, though. ”
Mason closed his eyes, shaking his head.

© copyright 2011 by Ren Thompson April 13, 2011

3 Word Wednesday: Evident, Illusion and Tragic

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Summer - Thursday Tales

It was Summer.
We stood here together, you and I.
We used to plot and plan many of escapades.
You and I

So many years ago, we wanted to find out if there really was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

We ran away from home in the middle of the night and made it just to the corner before Mr. Benson caught us. He took you home first. I didn’t see you for the rest of the week.
I was grounded for the next two.

When we were twelve, we shared our first kiss.
You and I

When we were fifteen, we stopped talking when I noticed Angie-what’s-her-name. That was the four longest months of my life.
I brought you pink roses for your sixteenth birthday.

You wore a blue dress with so many ruffles for our prom. I borrowed my dad’s tux and his car. Do you remember that night?
I’ll never forget it.
Then came College.
Then separation.
Then I married someone that reminded me of you so long ago.
So many years go by.
So much sorrow
No children or grandchildren to kiss goodnight
She passed away and I will forever mourn that loss.  
I still have regrets of our own separation.

I see a young woman now. She looks similar to you. She comes and spends time with me, reading from your favorite book, Little Women. I took that from your room the last time I was there, remember?
It was Summer.

So long ago

I can’t speak to her.
I can only look upon her soft features and remember you as you were. 
Just before she leaves, she asks if I need anything. All I can do is blink.  She smiles tenderly then leaves me to my thoughts.
I wonder sometimes, if you think of me.
And when we use to stand together, plotting our next escape.

© copyright 2011 by Ren Thompson April 7, 2011
Thursday Tales

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Shame on Me

I missed the cutoff  to post the next installment for the Tuesday Serial this week.
No matter.
There's always next week. Maybe by then, I'll know what the hell I'm talking about....

Friday, April 1, 2011

Something I need to do...

I've been procrastinating in regards to my writing. I like doing the Tuesday Serial, and the 3 Word Wednesday.

I keep meaning to do more Friday Flash but by the time Friday gets here, I just want to have a glass of wine and celebrate the fact that I made it through another work week.

I happened to catch this tweet from @jocasalizzbeth:

Rebecca Clare Smith
Aspiring Writers Pledge: I discovered this pledge on Liz H. Allen’s blog after flicking through from some... #amwriting
Being the curious creature that I am, I went to this lovely lady's blog , found this pledge and thought I would share it with the rest of you:

I, ______________, take The Aspiring Writers Pledge to write a book in 2011 with the intent of publishing. I promise to update my progress weekly, ask when I need support and encourage others to complete the task at hand.

I like the whole idea of actually holding myself accountable for my writing but I do take this pledge with a bit of caution. It wasn't that long ago that I was going to write one short story and submit it each month. I totally bombed on that.

I think, though, I'm going to alter this pledge a little bit (also snatched from Rebecca) and say that I will TRY to give weekly updates. I haven't got a plot settled yet for a WIP but when I do I will post here.

So here it goes.

I, Ren Thompson, take the Aspiring Writers Pledge to write a book in 2011 with the intent of publishing. I promise to TRY update my progress weekly, ask when I need support and encourage others to complete the task at hand. So say we all. 

Okay so I added that last part, but it just seems fitting for some  reason :)