For centuries I sat, those asinine faces staring back at me. My position, immovable.
With every ounce of my strength I wished for a different view.
The smoke finally cleared and my wish had been granted.
I realized my view would change. I hadn’t presumed I would not have moved an inch.
His ambition was unwavering and his dream was simple. He wanted to fly. And not by way of a commercial pilot’s license, he wanted to soar like a bird and feel the wind on his face.
He had studied Da Vinci’s sketches and the logic behind his contraption was irrefutably genius. He set out to recreate Da Vinci’s brilliant apparatus and after a great deal of toiling and more than a few expletives he was able to stand back and appreciate all of his efforts. It was finished. It was brilliant. It was ready for its first test.
After his laborious journey to bring Leonardo’s masterpiece to life, he intuitively knew he must wait until morning. He wanted to be mentally and physically prepared for what would happen next and he knew a good night’s sleep would help him be at his best.
He looked up to the ceiling and yelled, seemingly to himself, “Get a good rest tonight. Tomorrow, we fly.”
Morning came and the weather was perfect. The sky was clear and the breeze guaranteed a splendid baptism into the world of flight. He climbed the stairs to the attic and the sun beams peeked through the cracks in the roof. The man in the corner of the room looked terrified. The stranger was haggard, unkempt and the duct tape over his mouth prevented him from nourishing himself. But even in the man’s fatigued condition, he was sure this man would still make a great test subject for the inaugural voyage.
He left his captive once again and wheeled his new gadget out onto the crest of the large hill that protected his house from unwanted visitors. He had already created the launch ramp and after some serious effort on his part the plane was set and ready to be cut loose.
He ran back into the house with the enthusiasm of a child and dragged the man out of the attic. The man put up a great struggle but he was no match for the willpower of the scientific mind. Once the man had been strapped in, he viciously tore off the duct tape. The man’s curses echoed in the valley below. He methodically explained the steering mechanism to the man and explained what would have to happen during updrafts and downdrafts. There was a pause in his instructions when he sadly mused that he would not be the first to test his gizmo but he was not stupid and knew there was room for error.
Once the tutorial was finished, he wished the man well and cut the umbilical cord holding the plane to the launch pad. Gravity took over and the plane began to pick up speed. The man’s screams could not be heard over the cacophony of the plane hurling down the launch ramp. The loud noise of the wheels on the track stopped suddenly and the plane was in the air. As graceful as an Eagle, the plane hovered on a gust of wind and seemed to stand perfectly still for a few seconds.
The breeze changed direction and he thought he was about to witness a magical flight. But the plane seemed front heavy and could not maintain itself in the air. He watched in horror as the plane did a nose drive, plummeted and crashed violently in the valley far below his house.
Reluctantly, he climbed into his ATV and drove down the long and winding path to see the carnage and sort through the wreckage. His pilot did not survive the crash. There were pieces of the plane he could salvage and he would begin building as soon as the light of the morning allowed him to begin. Tonight he had another job. Tonight he had to find himself a new pilot.
~~
Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge to use the above photo of Da Vinci’s sketch and the word “dream”.
After hearing the word mispronounced, with the emphasis on the wrong syllable, she had an idea of what to do with the wretched people who would not allow her solace. Fanatic – indeed they were. They camped out in her driveway, followed her everywhere but, one by one, they became smaller in numbers. Her “fan-attic”, mind you, was becoming rather full. She hoped the smell would dissipate.
~~
66 Word Micro-Fiction written for the Chimera Challenge at Grammar Ghoul Press. This week’s challenge is to write a piece using the word ‘Fanatic’ – noun – a person with an extreme and uncritical enthusiasm or zeal. (image credit)
Her silence began to paw at him. Like the constant yanking of coat-tails by an impatient child, her wordlessness did more to annoy him than if she were nagging him, as she usually did on these trips. But she was petulant in her nature this morning and it was agitating him to the point that he could not focus on his painting.
The day had lent everything he required for his creative process. The sky was reflecting a profusion of purples and blues off the water and the grass was standing perfectly still, waiting for him to capture its very essence on his canvas. She began to pick at the weeds in front of her and sighed heavily each time she threw a collection of dying blades into the windless day.
With each of her exhalations, his brush stroke became angrier and more forceful. The once stunning colors on his palette were becoming a mottled collection of angry hues and the overwhelming emotion he felt rising in his cheeks began to match those shades of regret and dejection. The beautiful day now felt sour and unfriendly.
He put his brush down and stood to stretch. She turned her back to him and that simple gesture was the last act of child-like behavior he would tolerate. In one fluid motion, he reached into the canoe and, without thinking twice, grabbed the paddle and struck the back of her head with all the force he could muster. Her skull split like a ripe melon and an arc of blood spatter found the extra canvas hidden in the canoe.
After standing over her for several minutes, he delicately placed her hat back over the gash on her head. He studied her for a moment. There was such a serene quality to her silence now and he felt the inspiration to begin painting again. He reached the for the canvas in the canoe. There was something intriguing about the pattern of blood and his brush strokes on this new piece of art gingerly worked around those drops to maintain their artistic integrity.
He felt great satisfaction looking at his newest masterpiece. He placed the canvas on the now spare seat in the canoe and began looking for some large rocks. He would have to do his best to make sure she wasn’t found near the others.
~~
Written for the Grammar Ghoul challenge: using the word “paw” as a verb and using this picture to write a story up to 750 words. I’m not sure why my creative brain always goes in the direction of the macabre.
Back in June of 2013, The Cutter presented me with a fun writing challenge. He gave me four random things to use cohesively in a blog post. The result is here. I, in turn, threw down the gauntlet with five arbitrary topics and he brilliantly responded with this post.
The idea was so much fun to write, I thought I would try it again and offer the challenge to anyone else who wishes to participate. This is not a recurring challenge and there is no deadline. It just offers a little something outside the box and gives writers an excuse to deviate from their normal routine. And who knows? You could pick up a few new followers in the process.
Here are my five random ideas. If you like the challenge, I’d love to read what you write – don’t forget to tag me. And feel free to pick some random topics of your own and share it with your blogging friends.
Happy writing!
I tripped and fell upon her scaled shell,
Her feet nowhere to be seen.
She looked at me, somewhat disparagingly
asking me why I’m so mean.
She took my hand and dragged me from land.
Your mermaid is not what she seemed.
~~
Written for the Gargleblaster challenge #168.
Time slows.
The air is chilled.
My breath lingers as vapor
and I feel you near.
Neither tick nor tock
echo in the hallway.
Hands are frozen and each clock, like you,
is suspended between life and death.
Which light is stronger?
~~
Written for the Gargleblaster at YeahWrite.
This week’s ultimate question was suggested by Erica M, and comes from Alice Munro’s short story A Real Life.
Have all your clocks stopped?
Give us your answer in 42 words. You don’t need to include the question in your response, but make sure your answer stands alone. What do we mean? Write down the question. Write down your response. Now cover the question with your hand and read your answer out loud. Does it still make sense when you don’t know the question? That’s what we’re looking for. Be creative, and remember: no family allowed!
Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold
as the Earth yearned to welcome Spring.
The sun’s rays massaged the ground and the trees.
A warm breeze whispered,
playfully tickling the branches on its journey.
The smell of wet soil rose to greet the morning
as the familiar songs of new life began to play
their symphony of rebirth.
For just a moment, I was an instrument in that orchestra.
The sun kissed my cheek,
as happy to see me as I was to feel its warm embrace.
I was comforted by its nurturing essence.
But Mother Nature’s heart is frozen,
her resolve, stoic.
Her icy talons hold Spring hostage in their death grip,
encasing it in a cold and lifeless womb.
The new blanket of snow
wrapped so tightly, ceasing the flow of life,
suffocating the season.
But at the core of her being, she is a mother.
Her heart will fill with a need
to birth this new life,
to nurture it and watch it grow.
She will proudly watch Spring take those first steps
and her heart will warm once again.
~~
Written for the Speakeasy at Yeah Write. I was more inspired by this prompt this morning after waking up to 8 cm of fresh snow!! We were SO close to it all being gone.
And don’t forget to come back on Tuesday and add your link to the Inlinkz grid!
The shaking came suddenly. I had never seen him before but something about him made every hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. His pores oozed malevolent intentions. I had never feared being on my own in the past but, with one look into his eyes, all of that changed.
I got into my car and locked the doors. The engine came to life on the first try and I maneuvered around the corners in the parking garage as quickly as my limited driving skills would allow. His face burns my memory. His stare haunts my dreams.
~~
Written for the 100 Word Song challenge at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week’s song is I’m Shaking by Jack White. I’m not sure what prompted this story and I hope I don’t run into this guy!!
Photo credit: panoramio.com
We always find each other. In each lifetime, on each plain of existence we come together again. Our lives converge and our eyes meet. We know we are two old souls being reunited and, with each meeting, the feelings become more intense.
But our timing is never perfect. Each time fate brings us together the black keys on the piano play that melancholic refrain of longing. It’s too late. We both ignored the yearning from the past and forgot to wait. But you are forever a part of my soul.
You are the lonely boy I carry in my heart.
~~
Written for the 100-Word Song Challenge at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. The song is Lonely Boy by The Black Keys. (I even managed to get the band name in the story as well!!)
polysyllabic profundities 