Cleaning Day

Write at the Merge; Week 14

The Prompts:  This week, one of your offerings is the phrase “cellar door”. “Cellar door” is considered a perfectly euphonic phrase, some say the most beautiful in the English language.

I first heard it expressed as so in the film Donnie Darko, which led me to the following image for the other half of the prompt.

Mary worked the padlock free and pulled the cellar door open.  She'd put this off long enough.  Duke raced down the stairs, plumed tail waving, as she hunted for the light switch.

She could hear the dog snuffling below as she flipped the lights on and descended the wooden steps.  when she reached the floor, she saw Duke had made himself comfortable on an old blanket laying next to John's work table.

"You spent a lot of time down here with him, didn't you, boy."  Mary began sorting through the bits and pieces littering the table.  John had loved his model planes.  There were wings, wheels, and tiny rudders.  his tools had been miniature versions of  everyday tools.

From the floor beams that made up the ceiling hung dozens of completed models.  She gently tapped a propeller and set it spinning.

John had brought his son from his first marriage down here every other weekend until the boy had grown into a young man.  They'd spend hours together, John, the boy, and the dog.  Mary smiled sadly at the memory.  She knew she couldn't just throw everything out, John had taken such care with his hobby.

She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket, quickly tapping through her contacts, she hit dial.  John Junior's wife answered, Mary took a breath, "Hi, Elise?  This is Mary, John's step..."

"Mary!  Oh my gosh, how are you?  It's so good to hear from you!" Elise gushed, then Mary heard her muffled voice as she covered the phone, "Johnny, John!  It's Mary...yes, Mary!"

"Mary?  It's John, how are you doing?  I'm so sorry I haven't stopped by, I just..."

Mary finally spoke, "I'm doing okay, John.  And I understand, I never expected a visit."  She took a breath, "But, I could really use a favor right now."

"Of course, Mary, how can I help?"

"Well, I'm trying to clean up the cellar, and I honestly don't know what to do with your Dad's planes."  Mary continued, "I don't want to throw them out.  Are you interested in them, or know someone?"

"Wow, Dad's planes."  Johnny hesitated, "I would love to have them, but, Mary?"

She waited for the rebuff, "It's okay, if..."

"Mary, could Elise and the boys and I, if it's okay, all come over and help you with them?  The boys always loved playing with Duke.  He's doing okay, isn't he?"

Mary laughed, the first good laugh in more than a year. "Duke is doing great, and I would love for all of you to come by.  Any time."

Duke lay on the floor at her feet, one ear cocked, his tail thumping as though giving his approval.

Tryst

Trifecta Week Sixty-Five
EXHAUST (transitive verb)
1a : to consume entirely : use up <exhausted our funds in a week>
  b : to tire extremely or completely <exhausted by overwork>
  c : to deprive of a valuable quality or constituent <exhaust a photographic developer>
2a : to draw off or let out completely
  b : to empty by drawing off the contents; specifically : to create a vacuum in
3a : to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely  

  b : to try out the whole number of <exhausted all the possibilities>

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

• Only one entry per writer.
• Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

Eyes lust locked.
We contemplate the next move.
Neither planned on being here.
Together. 

We have our together.
In other lives.
In listless love.
Apart.

Hesitant touches.
Seasoned with want and guilt
We exhaust the whys.
Nots.

Breathless.
We draw breath together.
Having chosen with our bodies.
Yes.

Careless Love...

The red dress brought out the highlights in her hair.  She brushed a stray brown strand back into place, as she  chewed on her lightly glossed lower lip.  

She sighed, as she gazed across the room. Covertly watching him, curly blond hair and discreet musculature. His arm possessively wrapped around a honeyed blond...

The honey blond glanced longingly, at every chance, toward the painfully shy young man. Thick black hair crowning his face, that unbeknown to him, was made for Hollywood...

Hollywood sighed, and gazed across the room at the petite brunette in the red dress, chewing on her lip.


100 words inspired by David Bowie’s Soul Love.

If Wishes...

For the first week of  Write at the Merge, I play around with only dialogue.



"Why do you keep coming around?  You know you annoy me." 

"I'm here to keep ye company, sweetling, ye spend too much time alone."

"I like being alone. I particularly prefer being alone to being followed about by a fool who chose become a monster, so afraid of death he'd risk his soul."  

"T'wasn't a fear of death, girl.  And which path to immortality would ye have rather I'd chosen?  This seemed the least malicious, and was convenient at the time."

"None.  Immortality is an unnatural condition, I had it thrust upon me.   You could have died. It would have saved me the trouble of killing you eventually."

"Aye, true that. But ye've not killed me in the last four hundred years, no matter how often ye threaten."

"It's only a matter of time."

"Well, darlin', until that time I'll be droppin' in on ye.  Because ye  oughtn't be alone all the time.  Because sometimes ye need one that has known ye longer than anyone else.  One that can tell when the years have weighed too heavy for too long."

"You give yourself a lot of credit in the subject of my feelings.  What makes you believe you're an expert?"

"My continued existence.  And this continuing conversation.  I only wish ye'd look upon me as ye began to long ago."

"Long ago you were a man.  A man I had begun to trust, and yes, to have feelings for.  Your choice destroyed that man."

"I am still that man!  Look at me, girl!  I cheated death to stay for ye, I paid an ugly price, to stay with ye.  For the love of ye. I chose."

"You chose.  You chose to become something I cannot abide.  When I thought I might care about someone again, you stole him from me.  Had you died, I could have mourned you.  I could have had a funeral, an ending.  Every time you come around, you reopen that wound, it can never heal!  I wish you had died."

"Then, kill me.  Kill me and free yourself, lass."

"I wish I could.  But then I'd be alone.  All the time."


The Prompts:  the song below and the word: Wish

Never Forget

 It should never have happened.  

Anne Marie had fallen for one of them.

She knew what he was.  

She'd stalked and destroyed enough of them.

But this one...so gentle.  Never threatening, never allowing her to see the predator within.

She lay beside him, softly brushing the hair from his forehead.  Placing her lips there, above his brow.

A tear threatened to escape.  A shuddering breath called it back.

She had made a mistake, forgetting who she was.

One last look at the crimson stained stake in his chest.  

He'd known what she was as well.  And, as well, had forgotten.

Joining Lance and Leeroy again, here are my 100 words inspired by Chasing Cars by Snow 

Borrowed Time

His heart beat against her breast in time with her own. One arm about her waist, the sleeve of his black jacket indistinguishable from the black sheath embracing her.

They floated around the dance floor as one.  The orchestral notes weaving a spell of desire.

A whisper so soft. "Don't let go..."

The final notes faded, overcome by the insistant shrill of dream's end.  They are drawn away from each other. Fingers lingering, tracing the curve of cheek, sweep of lips.

Each committing the other to memory as they are pulled apart.

"I'll come back for you."
 
"I'll be waiting."


Joining Leeroy for the 100 Word Song.  The 100 words inspired by Mumford and Sons’ I Will Wait.

Youngsters!

Annie and Cal were relieved to get home to their little bungalow, home for fifty years.

The anniversary party was a chore.

Too many old people. Too many balloons.

Too many sappy love ballads.

Fifty years didn't make them fuddy duddies.

Cal plugged the iPod into the dock and kicked up the volume. He threw his arms around Annie. She feigned coquetry, then tucked into his chest.

Stones, Elvis, Doors and more filled the tiny home.

The couple danced, jiggled, and giggled from living room to kitchen to porch, where they dropped, groping like teenagers, to the old wooden swing.

Game

The Prompt: Olympic athletes are showcasing their talents on a global stage, and we’d like you to choose your best event for this Friday’s link up. Choose one of the following prompts and come back to link up on Friday.

The 100 Meter Sprint

100 words on a conflict, competition, or game.

The Road Race

300 words on a topic of your choice. The only catch? Your setting must be London, Beijing, or Rio de Janeiro.

Synchronized Diving

Partner up with another Write on Edge writer. You each have 450 words to write about a conflict between two characters; each writer should represent a single character’s point of view.(I chose the 100 meter sprint.)

"One, two, three, four, five, sixseveneightnineten!
Here I come!" 


"Oh no, you found me!"


I found you...I win!"


"Yes, you win."


"Let's race!  I'm racing!  Catch me!
Did I win?"


"You win."


"Yay!  I win!"


"Run with me!
Play with me!
Your'e it...close your eyes!
Count!"


"I am, I am!
One , two ,three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...ready or not, here I come!"


"Do you see me?"


"Yes, boy, I see you.
Ah ha!  I found you!
We win again!"


"Come on, Gramma!"


"Wait for me..."


"I love you Gramma."


"I love you too, Kiddo..."

It's a Date

Remember when you said "I'd die for you"?

I do. You were so gallant. It made me shiver with delightful expectation.

Well, I think this is a good time to wrap that up.

I wont ask you to do it alone. I'll hold your hand until the end. I'll be right here, beside you. Watching.

I think something slow and meaningful would be best.

Perhaps an overdose of some narcotic. Those can be tricky though. Took much, too little, well you know.

Maybe a slow bleed. Yes, a controlled flow. You would just slowly fade away.

It will be perfect.

Her Heart

For this week, the prompt is the word “core” and 450 words to explore any meaning of the word in a work of creative non-fiction/memoir or fiction.


 She stands under the steaming water, her thoughts integrating this latest bit of medical information with all that has come before. 

Fifteen years ago, she stood by him through the cancer treatments. The chemo-induced puking. The hair loss. Finally the surgery that removed enough bowel to ensure a lifetime colostomy.


Ten years ago, she fretted by his side as he apologized for the heart attack. Two years later, she cried as they fought to keep him alive through the second.  


 She helped him track the cocktails of medication that finally triggered his genetic predilection for diabetes.   

The diabetes that has finally taken a toll on his kidneys. That has introduced words like "dialysis" and "high potassium levels". 

 She begins to accept his mortality.  Accepts that sooner than she imagined, she will be alone.  That there will be stresses.  Mental, physical, and even financial.

 But the heart of her weeps already,  dreading the loss of her partner. Her lover.   

The Prom

You were to write about a pair of shoes of yours or your character's. They can be real or symbolic



She was so excited!  He'd be here soon, and she was far from ready.  It was time to get a move on.

She pulled the dress on, viewed herself in the mirror, adjusted the top, straightened the skirt.  Frowned, then smiled.  Too late to hate it now. 

She brushed her hair carefully, pinned back the errant strands.  Makeup, just a touch of blush and lip color, he didn't care for a lot of "face paint".

Finally she opened the box that held them.  Her shoes, dancing shoes.  She was going to the prom, she was going to dance.  They were beige with little pearls sewed to them.  The soles flat for dancing.  She wasn't going to try to impress him stomping about on spiky little heels. These were the shoes, so soft, so perfect.

One last flash by the mirror, she smiled again, pleased with what she saw.  She was
as ready as she was going to be.

He knocked at the door, her mother led him to the living room where she waited.  He smiled at her and held out his hand.  She clasped it lightly and rose to her feet.  He put the precious corsage on her wrist.

"Are you ready to go dancing?" he asked.

"Oh yes!  I am ready!"

*****

The call had come late in the evening.  They needed someone to come identify the body.  This was not a task she wished to do, but she was the one who lived closest.

"I'm sorry you have to do this, but rules and all.  The old lady in the next room was complaining about the music.  We knocked, but your grandmother didn't answer.  We used the passkey to get in."

Her grandmother was sitting on the sofa, dressed in her best old dress.  It looked like she was wearing some lipstick.  Her hair was carefully brushed back.  In her hands, a pressed flower, no more frail than the hands that held it.

On her feet were the shoes.  The shoes she had shown her granddaughter countless times.  Even long after Granddad had passed away, Grandma would still pull out those shoes.  They were wrinkled and pale as the serene face of her grandmother.  Missing many of the tiny pearls. Her dancing shoes, the ones that had helped her win Granddad's heart.