The Paper

Sneaking in to  The 100 Word Challenge  at the last minute with my offering; a memory.

It lay on the front walk. Wrapped in an orange plastic baggie. I watch it from the window, that bright beacon, begging me to rescue it. 

It calls to me. “Look! The Times’ Crossword, and don’t forget the sudoku.”

I gaze at it as morning slips to the afternoon. “I’m the Sunday paper; comics, sales stuffers, coupons and news!”

The afternoon wanes, still it beckons. “Editorials?”

Just before the sun sets, I rise from my chair and bring it in. 

Turning the pages hesitantly.

I gasp at his picture; though I knew it would be there.

Under the heading: Obituaries.

Check Mate

I took a stab at the Fractured Friday prompt at Our Write Side this week. The challenge was to take a famous love triangle and mix it up, change the story a bit. I chose the Arthurian trio; Guinevere, Lancelot, and of course the King himself, Arthur.



“Lance, babe. He’s the King.” 

Lancelot frowned at his fiance, “So what? How does that give him the right to claim you? There’s plenty of other girls out there. Available girls.” Lance paused and stared at Guinevere with narrowed eyes, “unless…you lobbied for his attention!”

‘Vere eye-rolled a sigh. “Really Lance, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Maids and fancy dresses. And riches! Hey, don’t worry, we can still see each other.”

“We can ‘see’ each other?” Lance snorted, “Right, I’ll wave as you roll by in the royal carriage on your way to the royal bed.”

“Don’t be an oaf, Lancelot! Marrying the King is politics. We can still, you know, be together. It’s common practice, all the kings have mistresses, I’ll have you.” She batted her lashes at her erstwhile boyfriend. “It’ll be exciting!”

Lancelot grunted, he knew his arguments were in vain. His Guinevere had always acted like royalty. Well, being the Queen was as royal as it gets. “Fine ‘Vere, be the Queen, but I’m not sitting at your knee like a pet dog.”

“Of course not, silly man. I already told Arty how special you are. He’s going to make you a knight!” ‘Vere clapped her hands in delight at her own ingenuity.

“Oh yeah? With armor and stuff?” Lance began to smile, “that’ll be cool, ‘Vere, good idea!

*****

Lancelot knelt before his King. Excalibur touched each shoulder in the solemn ceremony of knighthood.

“Rise, Sir Lancelot! Knight of the Round Table.” Arthur’s words echoed around the hall.

Lance rose, beaming giddily within Arthur’s embrace. As the celebrations began, he found the Queen and reached to give her a hug of thanks.

She dodged his grasp. “Not here, Lance!” she whispered. “I’ll send for you later. Go now, party hearty!” Then, she slipped away.

Lance sighed in resignation and returned to the festivities. After a few flagons of mead and a couple of hours of merry making, he was feeling more optimistic. As the party wound down he readied himself to retire to his quarters where he’d await the Queen’s summons. 

He approached Arthur to make his good-night and reiterate his thanks.

“Ah, Sir Lancelot! I’m glad I caught you.” The King smiled at him, “how quickly can you suit up and saddle your steed?”

“Sire?”

“I have an important task for you. A dragon needs slaying, my boy! It’s already eaten two of my best knights. But, the Queen assures me you are the best of the best.” The King waited as Lancelot hesitated, “come along, Sir Knight, time to get a move on!”

*****

‘Vere hummed to herself as she brushed her golden curls. She donned her prettiest nightgown in anticipation. When the knock at her door came, she jumped up and hurried to greet her lover.

She threw the door open, ready to throw herself at Lance. It took great effort to maintain the smile she was wearing.

“My Queen, you look lovely tonight,” Arthur said dryly as he walked past her into the bed chamber.


Guinevere followed numbly, her heart trembled as the King removed his robes.

Luck

This week's word is 'luck' at  the 100 Word Challenge over at Tara's place.. 



Greta looked warily at the hand held out to her. It was large and rough; black dirt embedded under the nails.

She forced a smile to her lips as she allowed her carefully manicured fingers to be swallowed within its grasp.

He towered over her as he led her to the dance floor. she spied the perfectly matched couples swirling gracefully. 

Greta swallowed her sigh. The luck of the draw.

His arm encircled her waist and he twirled her into the music. Greta’s reserve fled as the crowd moved back to watch. 

That night, he danced her into her dreams.

100 Word Challenge

There's a Monster Under the Bed

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Bobby’s blankets lay on the floor again. The monster under the bed pulls them off every night as Bobby sleeps.

The monster lives among the dust bunnies and one shoe that's whisked away in the middle of the night. Bobby knows it’s a monster. He hears it at night grumbling and mumbling. He dares not get up to look. Bobby has no wish to join the shoe.

Even in the morning light it’s all he can do to dive under the bed and quickly grab the stray.

If only the monster wouldn’t mess with his blankets. Bobby knows if he pulls them off the floor at night he’ll drag the beast with them. Then the monster won’t be under the bed. It will be in the bed with him.

So, he shivers through the night because he's cold without his blanket, and he's afraid of the monster under his bed.

Mommy doesn’t believe him.
Mommies never do. They're stubborn that way. 

But Bobby has a plan.
It’s a great plan and he spends the day putting it into action.

He borrows the stapler and the glue from Mommy’s desk. 
He makes the bed himself, then glues the blankets tight and staples them into place. 

He smiles as he shimmies under the covers.

But Bobby should have taken the stapler and the glue back to Mommy’s desk.
Because he can hear the monster grumbling and mumbling as it walks around the bed, gluing and stapling.
Coming closer and closer.
Stapling and gluing.

Hose-zone

Two socks enter.
Only to lose sight of each other in the agitation and tumble.
Lost somewhere between drain and lint trap,
Or upon the aberrant path leading to the dark side of the moon.
One lonely sock waits in my drawer.

The Only Answer

This weeks  100 Word Challenge word is 'idea'.  

Toss and turn. Turn and toss. My head just wouldn’t let go. 

A senseless exercise, I couldn’t change the past. All the should haves and could haves, too late.

The moon rose, the moon set. 

At sunrise I dragged my weary body out of bed and trudged blindly for the coffee maker.

It was over that first cup that an idea began to form. 

With shaking hands I grabbed the phone and put my plan into motion. 

When you said hello I rushed into it, “Don’t hang up! I have to tell you something.”

“Ok, what?” you snarled.

“I’m sorry.”

Eight More to Go

Can you stand another tale of Joe and Charlie, the two slightly inept demon's? I just can't help myself sometimes
Linked up with Coldly Calculating at Our Write Side




“Where we going Joe?”

“Home Charlie, the Boss finally got us outta that witches nest, and I need a break.”

“So…what're we doing in limbo land?”

“What? What are you talking about”? Joe looked around. His partner was right, the land was hazy and soft, no recognizable landmarks. “Oh man. This just isn’t right.”

“You're tellin’ me! I didn’t like this place the first time, it ain't got no better.” Charlie stumbled over a step hidden in the gray swirl that flowed through the landscape in random patterns.

Joe tried to remember the first time he was stuck here. It had taken forever to get out. As his memories coalesced, his eyes widened. “Charlie, you remember where we came in?”

“No, I’m just lookin’ for a way out.”

“Don't look too hard Charlie,” Joe backed up, he peered through the fog looking for the door he’d just entered.

“Uh, why?” Charlie stopped exploring and edged closer to Joe.

“Do you remember what happened when you found your way ‘out’ the first time?”

“Um, let me see, I found a key somewheres, then tripped a dozen times on all this crap laying around. Busted my snout more than once.” Charlie had a bad habit of reliving his memories while he talked, “Ow! Dammit! Just like that,” he said as he pushed himself off the ground.

“Hey! Look Joe, I found the key!” 

“No Charlie! Throw it away! We don’t want the key!”

“What?”

Before Joe could grab the key and throw it, a doorway gleamed red-gold two yards from them. “Oh no.”

“There Joe, just like last time, the way out!”

Joe rolled his eyes, “Charlie, that’s not the way out.”

“It’s not?”

Joe walked toward the door, resigned to the inevitable. The Boss was evidently still mad at them. 

“No Charlie, it’s the way in. This is limbo?”

“Yeahhh…”

Joe just sighed. 

“Oh. OH!, Joe I don’t wanna!” Charlie wailed.


Joe grabbed Charlie's arm and pulled him forward. “C’mon. No going back, which one’s next? Do you remember? Lust or gluttony?”

After Shock

Living alone means you always know where your things are. There’s no one to put the sugar on the wrong shelf. Nobody to fold the kitchen towels, then stack them in the linen closet. Or, leave every light on in the house.

Living alone simplifies everything. No opposition when picking a movie. Meals made easier with only one set of taste buds to consider. 

Daily routines are never compromised by the needs of another. 

Then one day you stand motionless in the middle of a room and realize you’ve lost your way. It’s such an odd thing to lose. 

Why is the daily routine so important? You have no schedule to follow, no reason to have lunch exactly at noon. Or supper at six. 

Is it truly necessary to get out of bed by seven? Is it necessary to get out of bed at all? 

Old habits keep you moving. Hunger pangs remind you to throw a plastic tray into the microwave. 

The dark tells you it’s time to go to bed. The sun insists it’s time to rise.

One day you find you’ve lost your voice. It’s such an odd thing to lose.

Good morning no longer falls from your smiling lips. No one asks what you want to do today.

You look in the mirror at eyes that cried through the night while you slept. The lips in the reflection no longer to smile at you. 

The silence of the house surrounds you. Every movement you make echoes through the empty rooms that used to be your home.

Finally, you just lose it.

It, is such an odd thing to lose.

Where's the Cheese?

“Where is the damn cheese?”

The cat replies with a knowing wink before slipping away to its feline agenda.

A glance at the dog provides no answer.

Then a blur of gray crosses the floor.

“Squeak!”

“Eek!”

Guess who stole the cheddar.