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Monday, April 29, 2013

How to …. (explain a process)




Week #102        GBE 2: Blog On    Elizabeth Grace!

How to ….  (explain a process)


While working in Human Resources at UPS, one of my tasks was to teach new supervisors the difference between a Job Description and Work Instructions.  The Job Description tells you who does a specific job.  The Work instructions tell you how to accomplish the task.  As an example, after dropping a cardigan sweater onto the floor, one of the new supervisors had to talk me through putting the sweater back on.  Needless to say, I didn’t divert an inch from the vague initial instructions given, and often wore my sweater either on the top of my head or as pants!

Explaining a task teaches several lessons.  Are you a detail person?  Do you expect others to “read” into your explanation?  How do you react when your instructions aren’t followed as you anticipated?   Do you expect others to have the background knowledge that you have in order to understand your instructions? Teaching others, teaches us about ourselves.

Back to the sweater laying on the floor.  Proper instructions to a reasonable adult are as follows;

Look at the sweater to ascertain where the collar is located.  With your right hand, reach out and grasp the sweater by the collar section.  Pick the sweater up to determine which way it may need to be turned to don.  With the sweater in your right hand, if the label is facing you slowly raise your left hand and glide it into the arm hole on the right hand side of the garment tag. Pushing your hand all the way through the sleeve until your hand is visible past the cuff.  Slide your right hand approximately four inches to the right of your current hand hold so that the sweater drapes around your back and across your shoulders.  Hunch your right shoulder to accommodate comfort.  Double your right hand up, raise your fist to shoulder height and slowly move your hand into the sleeve, pushing past the cuff.  Your cardigan sweater should either button or zip in the front.

I hope you have a warm and comfortable spring!

leigh

Z - can it be for anything other than ZOMBIE?!


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  









Z is the ultimate…the last…the last gasp…Z is for Zombie


I felt so guilty, once I learned the truth.  I had not been “there” for my family.  I had been on a holiday with my girl friends.  Thankfully, my husband stayed home.  His quick mind pulled things together long before the government keyed anyone in. 

Our first night on a seven day hiatus, we sat sipping martinis while lounging at the outdoor patio.  My friends and I giggled and laughed and had a wonderful time.  Pointing, we “oohed and aahed” over the bright green color illuminating the sky momentarily as the meteor raced overhead.  Turning to one another we remarked that it was a good omen for us to go on our casino trip the next day. 

Tanned and tired we hustled through the Pittsburgh terminal to catch our connecting flight home.  For me, home is in Michigan.  The mitten state, lower peninsula surrounded by water and the upper mitten, nearly surrounded.  Isolated and yet connected.  That has always been the nature of the mitten inhabitants, as well. 

Hustling to the monitors, we stop to check the flight information.  Ready to be on our way, to see our loved ones, and just be in our own homes, we want verification that any return trip wrinkles have be smoothed out.  Cancelled.  All flights to Michigan, cancelled. 
Trying to avoid paying the extra roaming cell phone fees, we had all turned our telephones off.  We had experienced a week of “disconnect to reconnect”.  It had been blissful!  Now, as we remembered to turn the electronic tethers back on, we found messages too numerous to count.  Nearly all of them flagged as urgent!  Each stepping away from the group to listen. 

Staggering back to one another, sobbing we hug each other.  “I need a drink” was the collective consensus.  Not certain what to do, we stumble to the nearest airport restaurant/bar trying to convince ourselves it can’t be true.

There is one television and all eyes are glued to it.  It’s true then.  The state of Michigan has been cut off from all traffic.  None in and especially none out.  The entire state is rimmed with every available military personnel. The unimaginable has actually happened.  Zombies.  People in Michigan have become zombies.  Lurching, red eyed, flesh hungering zombies. 

The calls on my phone are from my husband and daughter.  The stories blurted into my headpiece have my head spinning.  The beautiful meteor my friends and I saw light up the sky brought to Earth an ominous virus.  A virus which at first blush appeared to be affecting the brown eyed population.  However, with each day and more infections, the virus was moving through the population not just via the airborne route but through the vicious biting attacks. 

My husband, my daughter, a few blue eyed friends had all camped together.  They were defending one another.  The stand they had taken included fire arms.  The stand they have taken is honorable and morally defensible.  They have requested no incoming phone calls, fearful the ringtone will arouse notice. 

No one knows how long this virus will last, or if it will ever be eradicated. Speculation among television pundits has only confused everyone.  I know my family isn't watching television, fearful of the noise.  Urban life isn't safe.  Only this type of looter isn't looking for your computer or television set.

I wish and hope they know the signs to look for among one another.  We are told, via the television set, before the hunger set in, before the nearly inhuman strength comes about, the infected person’s eyes turn red.

I only pray that this horrific virus stays among humans. 

leigh

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Y is for Why


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  




Y is for Why

“Why?”  Those big calf eyes looking up at me.  I couldn’t resist.  Scooping her into my arms I twirled around making her laugh outright.  I do so love to hear her laughter.  At three, she already knows how to push my buttons.  As I set her down, she gives me a sidelong glance and a sly grin spreads across her face.  “Why?” 

leigh

Friday, April 26, 2013

X is for Expectations


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  








X is for Expectations


Swaying in the breeze, she bent her lower limbs to stroke the little one.  The next generation.  She was proud of how strong he had become.  His trunk grew straight and his limbs even. 

His limbs were even on the five square.  Five feet tall, five limbs evenly spaced on five facets of his trunk.  She counted them often and bragged to her neighboring friends. 

The elm hadn’t been so fortunate, her seedlings hadn’t flourished.  The poplar, on the other hand, seemed to have more offspring than any proper tree should have.  Greedy was the whisper among the treetops.  The maples seemed to have a few very small saplings growing, but they had such succulent sap the deer tended to eliminate them during the winters.

The oaks, in this copse, worked together.  Roots reaching for one another, they nurtured not only one another but especially the young.  Nutrients pulled up from the depths or the sunlight from the treetops were passed along as needed.  It was all or nothing.  This copse was determined, it was all that mattered.

Expectations were high.  This copse of oaks would last another millennium.  There were already several females well over ten feet tall.  Her offspring was the son.  The much awaited, anticipated male. 

She sent a ripple of gratitude to the others.  As much as the breeze caught their leaves, they also chatted with the rhythmic tappings and flappings of those leaves.  They were a glad community.  They had high expectations for their future.

leigh

Thursday, April 25, 2013

W is for Walk in the Clouds


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  







W for Walk in the Clouds

The digital thermometer on her computer said it was a warm 55 degrees at 8:00 am.  She was determined to add more exercise to her life, she wasn’t getting any younger but she could maintain her fitness! 

Hunching into her medium weight coat, she stuffed a pair of winter gloves into her pocket for “just in case”.   Smiling, she pulled the ski band over her head instead of the hat she had been wearing for the past few months.  Spring is here!  The days will become sun-filled tanning marathons.

Stepping out of the house, she is immediately taken back to her youth.  Those days when the warm air hit the snow piles of winter and filled the air with fog.  A mist so thick it left dewy droplets on your cheeks and eyelashes. 

Walking down the sidewalk she stretched her arms out and spun in circles, laughing.  She noticed she could barely see her fingertips. She stopped up short, peered backward toward the house.  The grandchildren would love this.

Storming back into the house, she called for the kids to don their coats and boots.  Hurry, she extolled them, hurry.  We want to capture the moment.  Imprint this in YOUR memories.  This is special.

The five of them poured out of the house.  The mist curling around them.  Enveloping.  Only the muffled sound of “ooh”  or “aah” was discernible within the thick fog. 

From across the yard they heard her call out, “Marco”.  Without a seconds hesitation, they knew the game was on.  “Polo” drifted across the yard from five separate locations.  Their voices muffled and fragmented they played outside until at last the sun burned up the last of the mist.

“Thank you Me-Maw.  Thank you for our walk in the clouds”  She smiled as she was hugged and kissed and thanked throughout the day.  It was a memory she would be able to call up long after they had grown.  She knew she would always be a part of each of them.

leigh

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

V is for Valorous


V is for Valorous

I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract) 







V is for Valorous

There have been scattered terrorists attacks on our country; The United States of America.  Initially, we were agape that anyone could have so much hate in them.  I am talking about the attacks on foreign soil, our Embassies.  The politics in those regions must be horrible to incite people to want to kill us.

We are America.  We stand for liberties and justice and especially FOR the People!  Why would other countries’ people hate us?  We try to help.  We, the people, try to help.  Actually, when help finally comes it is to the benefit of big business.  That aside, why HATE us so much?

Then came the bombings of the Twin Towers.  The World Trade Center.  Aghast wasn't the word used to describe how the country felt.  We were pissed.  That building may have held the largest, greediest, corporations in the world, but they were here on OUR soil. The collective thought, just as an ant colony, find those jerks and rip them apart!  And, finally we found their leader.  Rubbed out.  Extinguished.  Don’t mess with us, we can come together on some issues and this one is a biggie! 

Bombing the Boston Marathon.  You want to see old ladies with pitch forks out for revenge?!  You are so lucky the cops got to you first.  Just to prove how quickly this nation can become a UNION again – we will shut down the whole country if we have to just to find you, you little prick!  This is fair warning for anyone – ANY-$%#&ING-ONE!  Just watch how quickly we can become an army ant colony and march down your throat.  You may get us liberals with baseball bats, nerds with ninja stars, tea partiers with their semi-automatics, or your everyday hunter with their rifles.  Know this, we will hunt you like the smarmy, back biting, ungrateful people you are. 

We may have become the sleeping giant again.  We have allowed some greedy people to make millions off the sorrow of the minions.  We are no longer sleeping.  We will become valorous in our time of need.  See to your own.  Do not think sending bombs here will garner you any more money, food or empathy.  It will only piss us off and unite us further. 

leigh

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

U is for Universal



I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract) 







U is for Universal

We sat sipping our cocktails at the bar.  Catching up with old friends is absolutely the best thing to perk a girl up.  We had chatted about our lives, our children, our spouses, and the world in general. 

As I ordered us a second round, I slipped off my sweater.  My jacket was already on the back of an empty chair.
We had met during the war.  During the Great War.  Not on the same side of the battle.  Which makes our friendship even more odd.  And yet it has lasted most of our lives.  We meet once an  Earth year to catch up in person or rather “live”. 

The Great War, as it has become known as.  It was actually an inter-galactic war.  War of the worlds.  War of the beings.  War.  From my history books I know that the phrase “Was is Hell” was coined  back in 1863 by General William T Sherman from what was then known as The United States of America. 

Things aren’t as simple now.  But, war is still Hell! 
We met oddly.  It was a holiday every world is required to celebrate.  The Grand Union.  A universal celebration of the creation of the union.  A union of economics joining several galaxies.  It even included those barbarian wildings from the moons of Jupiter; Europa, Lo, Ganymede and Callisto.  Unusual “beings” indeed!  They were a frozen species from a frozen orb they called home.  But, I digress.  I had begun to tell you why there was a “celebration”. 

Out on patrol, on a forsaken planet, our flight tanker had been shot down.  Only one other, besides myself,  of my unit survived the crash.  Janelle was a spindly thing, she had enlisted the same time I had.  She was from a planet I only knew as B45.  They grew tall and thin.  Her skin, seemed to me, like tree bark.  With just the two of us alive, we had only each other for moral support.  We spoke using a vocal translator. She had put on the translator and told me her planet was lush and tropical.  I always imagined she must have had to grow so tall and leggy to get close to the sun.  By my calculations, we had been stranded for two Earth months. 

Our rations were low.  Quite literally, depleted.  By now I was certain she would survive her wounds, but I wasn’t certain either of us would ever survive that frozen planet.  Hunger drove me out of our cavern we had made into a shelter.  I fashioned rabbit-traps for whatever might stumble into them.  I foraged and fished.  I gathered berries and leaves. 

Upon returning to our hovel, I was met by another pair of eyes.  I dropped the frog-like thing I had fished out of the nearby river.  Stepping on its hind leg to keep it from hopping away, I brandished the pike I had fashioned.  Janelle held up a limb, halting me.

This new “being” was as different from Janelle as I was different from Janelle.  I was a medium sized female from Earth.  Janelle was a very tall female from B45.  I had heard of flight beings, but never seen one.  It has wings.  It was blue.  It was almost as big as my hand.  It had a unicorn horn sticking out of its forehead.  I was ready to step off the frog-thing and step on it. 

Janelle had the vocal translator on, “This is Dianthia, or at least that’s as close as I can get to saying her name.  She is a warrior from the planet Xellio.  At least that’s as close as I can get to saying her planet too.” 

“What the Hell?  Why is she here?  Here?!”  I could not believe Janelle would allow the enemy into our sanctuary.  She had let the blue beast into our safe haven.  My mind reeled.  Trying to think of where we would or could go to get away from the blue beast.  My pike was again at the ready. 

“She too is alone.  She is the only one left here.  They have all perished in this frozen forsaken land.  We have won our battle by default since the enemy cannot survive here, at least not for long.  She doesn't know why she lives.  She only knows that she is lonely.  She has been alone for about a month and known where we hid for most of that time.  She only just decided she had nothing to lose.  Waiting for you to leave, she snuck in here. Let her stay too.  She will go crazy and perish if we turn her out.” 

Of course I wanted proof.  I demanded to see her fallen comrades.  I wanted verification she was the last.  Eyeing the frog-thing I was standing on, she asked if we could eat first.  That was the start of our friendship.  Hardship.  Every year when we three regroup, we try to find a universal truth.

My face becomes flush and I fan myself.  Janelle laughs at me and begins to blossom.  The blue beast, Rhondu,  she begins to bloat much like someone had blown up a balloon.  Our universal truth.  A truth that is so on every planet in the universe.  We all move past those reproductive years.  All three of us mark the passage of time;  I have a hot flash,  Janelle experiences a blossom, and Rhondu bloats.   It doesn’t matter which planet you are from, our bodies mark the passage of time.

leigh




Monday, April 22, 2013

T is for Temper Tantrums



I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract) 











T is for Temper Tantrums



She stomped her foot, hands clenched at her sides, “No, absolutely NO!  I will not agree to this.  You cannot make me.  I am within my contract rights to refuse.  Why do you continue to bring me these small town gigs?” , screaming seemed to be all she did lately.  It was tough on her vocal chords. 

She tested his patience.  He knew she would change her mind.  She would go investigate why he wanted her to appear at this benefit after throwing a hissy fit.  She would read about it, and come to him demanding he put her in the show.  All the while acting as though he had never brought it up to start with. 

Hissy fits, histrionics, temper tantrum, those were the descriptions her mother had mentioned when he first signed on.  He thought Lizzy was exaggerating.  Trisha, this sweet docile little thing must have her buffaloed, is what he thought back then. He thought that before he had to duck to avoid being hit with a full vase of flowers.  The first time she missed….not many times afterward.  It seemed he was her favorite target.
She was the star.  She was the bread and butter, and she knew it.  She flaunted that card at every opportunity.  Diva.  Right…he thought, “I would call her a spoiled brat.  Someone with a little talent that got noticed.  The rest of us worked damn hard at keeping her at the top.  Earning the big dollars so she could meet payroll for those who waited on her hand and foot.” Then he calmed his jangled nerves and remembered his mission.

They had criss-crossed the country several times since he had joined the crew.  He had witnessed every kind of nastiness she had to dish up. She seemed to thrive on drama and if there wasn't any around her, she created it.  Exhausting.  But, she did have a big heart when it came to kids.  And, this would be no exception.  

He dropped the photo on the table as he turned to leave her makeup trailer.  “Dad?  What’s the cause?”  That little inquisitive girl he had fallen in love with the day she was born, was back.  He would move mountains for that girl.  Temper tantrums aside, this was why he hired on as one of his daughter’s roadies.

leigh

Sunday, April 21, 2013

S is for Stalemate



I  joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  You can still visit the site to read more stories by other authors. This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  










Stalemate

Mom and I ate quietly off to the side of the others.  We found a nice large, soft,  green tuft of grass and quietly munched.  If we were too loud, that bossy Lydia would come over and push us out of the way.  Lydia was older and much larger than either Mom or I and a lot more aggressive. For now, Lydia was the leader of our little herd.

During the day, we meandered through the woodlands.  Mom taught me about different trees to nibble on and the different bushes.  She said the grasses were great in the winter and spring of the year, when they were in full bloom they tasted like dirt.  I choose to believe her rather than test it for myself. 

The blueberries bushes had blossomed and born fruit.  They were delightful!  And so easy to pick.  Even the leaves tasted good when I got some of those while grabbing the berries.  I like blueberry season.   Wish it lasted just a little longer. 

Mom told me to stand out of the way, be wary of everything and everybody, to be very careful.  She said it was “that time of the year”.  At first I thought she meant to be careful of apples falling from the trees and hitting you on the head.  Or to be very careful as flocks of birds flew overhead, they liked to take aim and bomb anyone below them!  As the unknown males joined our herd, I knew her warnings had something to do with them.

The males, seemed to me, giants.  Our family had previously been made up of a dozen Mom’s and their children.  Now our numbers swelled as small herd after small herd joined together.  Looking out over the vast field, I thought there must be five hundred of us.  All gathered in one place to celebrate. 

I was enthralled by the feats of strength.  Those muscled males rubbing their horns higher and higher on the trees.  Mom said it was the “threat”.  The males threatening each other with combat!

Watching the pee contests baffled me.  Peeing  on themselves wasn't the most aromatic of scents.  Mom says I will probably learn to like it by next year.  I am more than a little doubtful.

Suddenly over the crest of the hill, one of the males began to trumpet.  He screamed so loudly I lowered my head and began to run.  Mom called my name and told me not to worry, but to be ever watchful and stay out of the way.  She seemed to bark at me.  I hadn't heard her bark at me before. 

Two massively adorned males charged at one another.  The crash of their two racks meeting sounded like a clap of thunder!  My friend Sylvia had come to stand by my, we both shied backwards a few feet.  Staring at the two males as they pawed up great tufts of sod and flung them around.  They charged at one another again, their horns locked , they each tossed their heads back and forth straining at the weight of the other.  The taunts and cursing of the males filled my ears.  The smell of sweat lay heavy on the air.  The males fought for hours.  They were so evenly matched it was truly a stalemate. 

I smelled a new scent on the air.  Turning to ask my mother what that was, I did not find her, immediately.  It seemed while the two old giants fought a nearly unwinnable battle for the right to mate, a few of the younger and smaller bucks had wooed several females off to a private party.  My mother, it seemed, was one of them.  

leigh

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Pause Writers Post: Blog Hop #77


The Writers Post:  Blog Hop # 77

This weeks prompt is brought to you from Michelle Liew


Rewind, Pause or Forward....if you could change anything in your life, which button would you press?





My past has shaped my present.  My past is behind me, already lived through and hopefully filled with memories to keep me thoughtful.  My past was a gas!  I have been honored to meet so many diverse personalities.  Those very personalities make me as thoughtful of others or self centered, kind or unkind, using or simply manipulative.  Shaping my present, the past was as event filled as I had time and energy to fill it. 

My future will also be shaped by my past, however I am obligated to put aside old prejudices in an effort to have the best most rewarding future I can possibly attain.  It is filled with the purple mist of magical imagination.  I aspire to fill my future with glad tidings and shout a joyful noise.

My present.  I would pause my present.  I would push that pause button to be able to examine all aspects of today.  Every word anyone spoke to me.  Every emotion behind the words.  I would hug each and every one of my friends and relatives, even if they didn't want it. Every glance, smile, frown, grimace that fills today!  I would pause it all to enjoy at length. 

leigh 

R is for Rickets


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract) 








R is for Rickets

Her bruised and broken body lay on the gurney.  Doctors and nurses alike were bleary eyed for this little one.  She had been smiling with blood oozing from her ears.  She had delighted in the Popsicle one of the orderlies found for her.  She was an angel with broken wings. 

Her normally flawless skin appeared to have been beaten with a heavy object.  Her little legs were simply “akimbo”.  Her huge smile melted our hearts and revenge was on everyone’s mind.  Who could have possibly done this heinous crime?  Who could have hurt such a defenseless baby.

The police were called.  Child services were called. 

One young intern.  One young person stepped up.  “This could be rachitogenic.  We should check her vitamin D levels.”  The physicians head snapped.  His eyes widened as his nostrils flared. 

“Order the tests.”  Was all he said as he turned and walked away, shaking his head.  “Today’s parents are not taking the precautions of ensuring a healthy life for their children.  Fast food and junk food.  Sugar and fake grease.  Food not fit for animals, and we feed it to our children.  This is the third child in two weeks.  This IS child abuse.  A new and different form, but child no less child abuse than if they had beat her with a bat.”



March 5, 2012 by Truth101
Parents Are Being Wrongly Accused Of Child
Abuse Because Of Rise In Vitamin D Deficiency


leigh

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Q is for Quentin



I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z" .  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract) 







Q is for Quentin


“I tol’ you not to fall in love wit’ me.”  He brandished the gun in her face. “I tolt you that right from the start.  I tolt you I ‘uz gonna hafta kill ya.  I even tolt ya to make a run for it.  But you jus’ hung around.  You jus’ had ta be all friendly and purty.”  He paced back and forth in front of her cage. 

She put her best smile on.  She batted her eyes while she thought of what to do next.  “Quentin”, she started slowly, drawing his name out so that it seemed to be a full sentence by itself.  “Quentin, you know you did this to me.  You made me fall in love with you.  You also know when you and your Papp took me, you were gonna fall in love with me.  There ain’t nuthin’ to be done but wed me.” 

Having seen, first hand, the hold Quentin’s father had over him she was playing the only card she thought she had.  Yes, he had told her to run – if she could.  Legs hobbled like a horse, hands cuffed behind her back, and a large gag in her mouth when left alone, she hadn’t been able to run anywhere.

The two men had snatched her from the back of the restaurant.  Closing down the diner, she had taken the garbage out to the dumpster.  The two men had jumped her, thrown a cover over her head and pushed her into a trunk.  With her hands tied behind her, she had kicked out a tail light.  To no avail, there was no one behind them on that dirt track into the hills. 

Her mind had raced through every self defense posting on Facebook she had ever seen.  Kick out a tail light, scream, do whatever your captors said, make them see your humanity, and make them take you in as “theirs”.  Anything to stay alive.  That was six months ago.  Now everything was beginning to unravel.

“Quentin, you and I could leave this place together.  I have some money saved up.  All you have to do is unlock my hands.  We could be miles away before anyone knew what was happening.  We could have a place of our own.”  She smiled as sweetly as she could.  It wasn’t much considering she was as frightened as a rabbit trapped in a dog kennel. 

Quentin scratched his dirty hair with the hand gun.  He could never be accused of being the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn’t nearly as hog-wild mean as his kin.  Quentin hadn’t hit her nearly as hard as the others.  Quentin had been the one to remember to bring her food and allow her bathroom privileges.  As kind as he could be, he had been.  Befriending him, might just pay off.  Befriending him, may save her life.  

leigh

P is for Peculiar


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z" .  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract)








P is for Peculiar


Peculiar.  Yes, I think that would be an excellent description.  She was peculiar.  I don’t know that I ever saw her without her leather skull cap, World War II aviator goggles, and white pilot scarf.  None of her actual clothing sticks out in my mind.  I am fairly certain she wore the school uniform just like the rest of us.  Perhaps she didn’t hike up her skirts as did the rest of us girls.  Perhaps she didn’t use her gym socks the way we did either.  But, she was a tad different.

In junior high, and even younger, most girls want nothing more than to be just like every other girl in junior high.  And EVERY girl in junior high wanted to look just like Paula Abdul!  She was Rad, you know, rad with a capital R!  Her hair, her clothes, her smile, and coolest of all was the mole on her face!  “Like, wow!”  Dark brown eye liner
pencils were flying off the shelf at the local drug store, so girls could pencil in their very own moles!

We wore uniforms to school.  A nice dull gray sweater over a freshly ironed white blouse.  This accompanied a black, gray and maroon plaid skirt.  We did have our choice of socks.  They could be any length we wanted and could be either white, black, maroon or gray.  Such choices! Oh, but NEVER mixed.  (One of my friends tried to wear a gray and a white sock.  She was given detention and sent home for the remainder of the day.  Oh the humiliation!  It went on her PERMANENT record!) 

Patty never gossiped while in the bathroom.  She barely even gave us a second glance when she walked in on a group of us smoking a cigarette.  Yes, there were ten of us all gagging and turning blue all the while trying to look cool.  She did, however, slide her goggles off the top of her head while using her hand to “knife” through the smoke.  One of the smoking girls whispered, “PP is going pee-pee.” To which we all fell over each other in laughter.  Later I thought it was pretty cool that she kept her mouth shut, too.

Her nickname, among those of us who ever bothered to acknowledge her existence, was Peculiar Patty or PP.  My mother would always chastise me when I called her that.  In hindsight, I see it now as a form of bullying.  The budding pushiness born of insecurity in the crowd.  A feeble attempt at fitting in, pointing the finger at someone else’s nonconformity. 

Upon graduating from high school, most of us parted ways by going to different colleges or universities. Patty joined the United States Air Force.  Proving herself in battle after battle, we would read about her in the local newspaper.  Finally, after years away fighting for her country and countrymen, she was going to attend a class reunion. 

Naturally, we invited her to speak.  She was a hero from right here in our hometown.  Patty, wearing her many colored medals and ribbons, strode to the podium.  She looked around the room and slowly drew out that old leather skull cap, World War II goggles and a tattered white scarf.  Meeting each of us eye to eye, she began to speak. “I want to thank you for making me what I am today.  Without the bullying and exclusion, I may not have felt the need to strive as fervently as I did.  Looking at you all now, I can only pity you.  After all you put me through, you think this is enough to right the wrongs of seven years of school.  You people didn’t learn much from life.  Thanks for the opportunity to tell you I fight for my family.  And my family are people who are kind to me.  My family accepts me for who I am, not how I may be dressed on any given day.”

leigh

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

O is for Officially


I have joined the group  "Blogging from A to Z.  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  The stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  My sister-in-law is writing under "Vicki's Place" currently her placement is #1259.  If you are catching this on my Facebook or as an e-mail follower my number is currently #1324.  (people drop out and the numbers contract) 












O is for Officially



Officially, they were aliens.  Officially, nothing was done.  Officially, we all knew the truth.  We could feel the truth.  They didn't come from distant galaxy.  They didn't come here, they were already here. 

As Walt Kelly portrayed in Pogo, “We have seen the enemy and it is us.”


I tend to look up rather than just out, as we drove to the next house on the showing docket.  I like to bird watch and on this day, just as many others, something in the sky caught my eye.

Two of them.  They were shiny and yet matte.  Silver and black.  It was not a silhouette I was seeing.  It was an aircraft.  One I hadn’t seen flying overhead before.  With me pointing up into the sky, he pulled off the road so we could both get a better look without endangering everyone on the road.

The other people seemed oblivious.  That evening, there was no mention of the aircraft on the news.  So, we assumed it was nothing.  Perhaps a new purchase by the military.  Nothing to concern ourselves with.  Tomorrow is Halloween! We get to delight in the little hob-goblins!

The littlest spooks and ghouls start ringing our doorbell closer to 4:00 pm.  I like that our neighborhood does that.  The youngest ones are out and home before the bigger more rambunctious kids get started.  It also stretches out the children knocking on our door.

Then it happened.  I can still hear her mother’s screams.  Suddenly, there was an aircraft above the street.  It had whisked the toddler out of her mother’s arms.  In her mother’s arms was the red cape her Super girl had been wearing.  Nearly simultaneously, screaming was heard throughout the neighborhood.  Children snatched right in front of their parents, out of strong embraces, and upwards into the unknown aircraft. 

Months later, I heard scientists had determined there had been a slip in time and dimension.  Those barbarians were our future selves.  How they made that determination, I don’t know.  Some sort of time continuum.  Time; the past, present and future, all occurring simultaneously sometimes wavers and two dimensions overlap.  Our future selves felt some twisted need to reach back in time taking with them some of our most valuable assets, children. 

Officially, we were told it was aliens.  Officially, nothing could be done.

leigh