Five Sentence Fiction - Shenanigans

Head in hands, throbbing pain behind both temples, David waited for the computer program to search each account for the missing bank deposits.

The immediate shock of discovering the scope of the theft was now overshadowed by his growing humiliation.  How could he have allowed Allan’s finely honed trickery to wreak havoc in his world again?

There could be no cover up big enough, nor explanation good enough, to makes sense of this betrayal.

David realized after twenty seven hard-fought years, his business, his closest friendship and no doubt his marriage, would soon be over.

Five Sentence Fiction - Mistletoe

Susan stood in the hall wondering why she had accepted the gift of mistletoe; with no chance of being kissed, it seemed ridiculous to hang it above the door. Then she remembered that the florist had smiled at her, just before wrapping the posy in with the advent wreath. Susan had felt she had no choice but to feign happiness, cover her grief yet again, and smile back. Now she wished she had told him, no, yelled at him, that this gesture of seasonal joy had instead pierced her heart. She let the flowers drop out of her hand, white turning crimson as they fell to the floor.

Five Sentence Fiction - Sacrifice

The question formed in her mind but she forced herself not to ask it. She kept her head tilted down, eyes closed, panic racing her heart . He didn’t slam the kitchen door to make his point - he closed it gently. His heavy boots kicked up small stones in the driveway as he strode away. She pushed the chair away from the table, went to the sink, and searched through the dirty dishes for the sharpest knife.

Special Five Sentence Fiction: Jubilant

Kern stared forward, the disconnected phone shaking in her hand, the caller’s words repeating and repeating in her head. She heard keys fumbling, the front door scraping against the hallway tiles, then hurried footsteps making their way to the living room. “What’s wrong – you look positively stricken”. Kern turned to the people she loved most in the world, meeting their concerned gazes with the beginning of a smile so heartfelt she was quite certain it would never leave her. “The final edits were approved - my novel goes into print tomorrow.”

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Christmas present for @oddparticle on the Twitter.

Five Sentence Fiction - Poison

Staring in the mirror, she understood why he had taunted her with "black and blue". Her purple cheek continued to swell, pulling and distorting the right side of her face. She touched the cool wash cloth to her eye, jerking as the material stung her red hot skin. Downstairs, glasses shattered as they hit the hardwood, bottles rang as they fell together. Then silence - frightening silence.

Five Sentence Fiction - Nineteen

Rae steadied the umbrella above her then tilted it to hold back the dark sideways rain. She hurried across the parking lot but got to the corner only in time to see the #19 pulling away from the bus stop. Annoyed, she slumped down onto the wooden bench in the shelter to wait out the next twenty minutes. Staring into inky puddles, listening to the streetlights hum, Rae thought about how much she hated working at that crappy store. Distracted, she didn’t notice immediately that someone stood behind, but feeling uneasy, she turned slowly to her right just as the sudden blast of light cracked the silence.

Five Sentence Fiction - Secrets

“Swear?  Pinkie swear?” Bobbie wasn’t sure exactly what that meant but, even at 6 years old, she understood what Heather needed to hear. “Pinkie swear” Bobbie said solemnly. The two friends crawled out of their hiding place behind the shed at the end of the yard,and gripping each other’s hand, walked slowly back towards the darkened house.

long weekend thoughts...

I don't know how professional writers do it.  I've thunk many an interesting thought over the past week but it has taken me forever to put keyboard to screen.  I'm more than slightly worried that the thoughts which seemed so pertinent, relevant and just plain witty will now seem old hat, old news, and old yawn. This blog entry may have already passed its sell by date.

Ah well, as I have my freshly made cup of coffee and several extra hours on this lovely long weekend, I might as well get started.

Last weekend I was caught up, like many Canadians, in the shock and emotion surrounding Jack Layton's passing.  I was surprised at the reverence and solemnity that met news of his death.  It seemed to me that people were thinking of how rare it is to have a public figure who actually keeps true to his beliefs throughout the stages of a political career.  It felt like the outpouring of grief (or what might be termed grief in this situation) was a reflection of how rare it is for a politician to "say what he means and means what he says".  I know the gay community, particularly in Toronto, wanted to ensure they paid their respects to him - and I was very moved to see how quickly they did so.  Then again, I learned many years ago that the gay and lesbian people of my generation, and a bit older, know how to honour the work of activists who have passed on.  Unfortunately, they HAD to learn how to do it.  What I didn't understand in all that happened over the past weeks, and I still don't, was why Christine Blatchford felt compelled to write, right away, in words dripping with sarcasm and hostility, about how Mr. Layton wasn't worthy of the widespread reverance and how basically anyone who saw any value in the public letter, distributed shortly before he died, should be considered an utter idiot and sycophant.  I don't disagree that Ms. Blatchford can write anything she wants using any words she chooses.  I do though heartily disagree with her message and I absolutely abhor the timing of her dissecting column.  Canadians coming together to remember what can be right in the world, to show respect, and to say thank you, for someone whose life's work was to make his community a better place to live for EVERYONE?  I think, Ms. Blatchford, that your meanspirited words say much more about you than they do about us.

On a much much lighter note, I have witnessed the end of summer over the past few days as the breeze is cooling down the sun early in the day and early in the evening.  I can't deny that although I love the autumn season, I have really really enjoyed the warmth of August.  It is so much easier to be happy when its sunny.  This has probably been obvious to almost everyone but me!  Still, as I said on twitter, I hope I remember the yellow sun of summer once the gray rain of winter is upon us.

Finally, a little rant about a recent purchase that has kept me pondering - well pondering off and on...  

Why are there tweezers that cost $30.?  More to the point, why are there tweezers that cost $7 then $15 then 23 then 30?  And who's the person who can discern way far in advance the level of tweezing ability they will require? Why don't tweezer manufacturers make one type that just works really well?  Does it take a long time for a tweezer grinder to sharpen a $7 tweezer into a $30 tweezer?  If you know that the $7 version is crappy then why make it?  Why have a gullible consumer purchase a $7 tweezer because, good gawd, only people with more money than brains are going to pay $30 for a tweezer, and then have Ms. Gullible Consumer find that the $7 tweezer doesn't work...it was a ruse, a wily subterfuge ...and that to really pluck her eyebrows she will have to invest in a higher priced tweezer...but still with no valid explanation as to what the differences are and perhaps the $15 one will do or even the $23 one but now, once burned, she feels slightly inclined to, yet annoyed towards, purchasing the $30 version.  But she won't.  So everytime she uses the $7 tweezer, she curses the person (and all their kin) who owns the company who makes the tweezers.

Ah well, my cup of coffee is cold and I have to go make a new one.  Have to?  Yes, that's exactly what I said.  I may be in my apartment but I'm still "going for coffee".

...bought a new book, bought a coffee

Keith Richards and I got to the coffee shop just in the nick of time.  I held the door open for some fellow following close on my heels but I knew better than to let him step ahead of me.  I've been burned before.  I'm polite but I'm not silly.  Sure enough, after I ordered my venti, non-fat cappuccino, he started in at the barista about the sizes of the cups not making any sense and did they have any decent coffee and why did the pastries cost so much?  He ended up ordering an americano which was too bad for the espresso puller because she also incurred his wrath.  She was taking too long and he wanted his money back.  I felt bad because I knew it was the three shots in my drink that was holding up his coffee. I didn't intervene though because sometimes doing so will just escalate the situation.  In any event, we ended up at the cream and sugar stand at the same time, where he promptly slopped coffee over most of the stand.  I could tell he was going to walk away and leave it so I pulled the sweet act and handed him some napkins.  "Here you go!  Isn't it awful when that happens?  I always feel so bad leaving the surface sticky!"  I wasn't trying to be bitchy, I just thought he should try to clean up some the damage he did that morning.

Keith and I sat down at the table near the door.  I usually take my knitting to coffee because 1. I like knitting and 2. its a great decoy for listening in on conversations.  I'm not ashamed that I listen.  If people are going to talk in loud enough voices, in close quarters, about interesting subject matter, well I just consider it my own personal philopher's cafe.  I've heard some doosies too.  It helps that I don't often see the speakers' faces.  Its like listening to a radio play. 

Anywho, it is much more difficult to listen to others when one is reading a good book and the first several chapters of Keith Richard's autobio "Life" have been very good.  The detail is excellent and the sentences have a unique cadence that seems quite true to Richard's voice. I think I'll do a review here when I'm done.  That might take a while - its quite a tome - but I'm not going anywhere.

what I wanted to be, though not all at the same time

popular, pretty, smart, slender, athletic, unique, thoughtful, kind, practical, comfortable, intelligent, funny, wise, at ease, talented, stylish, bohemian, carefree, happy, understanding, interesting, modest, professional, artistic, casual, friendly, musical, healthy, respected, well-read, well-fed, well-housed, well-financed, well-loved.

...and she thought and thought till her thinker was sore

I'm committed to making the most of my blog but it's been difficult to decide exactly how I want to approach this public writing. When I first started the blog, about 4 years ago, it was written somewhat anonymously so I felt quite free to write about issues of personal importance.  My thoughts, my opinions, what the heck?  When I realized that my ramblings might be read by individuals who knew me, I changed the tone somewhat and it became a journal of knitting and coffee - photo heavy.  This wasn't as satisfying in terms of content but it was safer in terms of boundaries.

I've decided to make one more change to see if I can write blogs that are interesting to me and are also actually worth writing down and sending into cyberspace.  I'm interested in many MANY things - issues, subjects - so the topics will vary; however, the main goal will be, as I said on the Twitter, to reflect an intersection between my life (thoughts, feelings, ideas, happenings) and my fondness for coffee.  I look forward to seeing if it actually works.