Offering

 Trifecta Challenge-Week 59
This week's word is:
INTENTION (noun)

• 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. 

1: a determination to act in a certain way : resolve
2: import, significance
3a : what one intends to do or bring about
  b : the object for which a prayer, mass, or pious act is offered

I chose definition 3b

Marta carried her offerings to the freshly dug hole. She assured herself once more that the dimensions were correct. When she was satisfied, she set the objects on either side of the potted berry shrub that had been entrusted to her. A pail of clear spring water to the left. To the right, a basket of soil judiciously mixed with manure. She took a small spade from the ceremonial belt she wore and laid it in front of the pot.

When all was perfectly arranged, she knelt breathlessly before her intention. Her voice barely audible to herself as she began the words of prayer.

“Mother, Earth, embrace and nourish these roots that they spread and multiply.

Father, Sun, warm these limbs that the sap of life runs strong.

Sister, Rain, give drink to these buds that they become fruits.

Brother, Wind, be kind to this being that it stand straight and not break.”

With gentle hands, she removed the shrub from its pot, spreading the compacted roots so they could better reach into their Mother’s care. She lowered the plant into the hole, holding it steady with one hand, she used the spade to carefully fill the spaces around the roots with the fertilized soil. After the hole had been filled, and the earth firmly pressed around the base of the shrub, she poured the water from the pail around it.  She mouthed one last prayer for the health and survival of the plant.

She returned the spade to her belt, gathered the empty vessels, her task complete.  With one backward glance at the newly planted shrub, and the hundred others just like it.  She  faced forward again and joined the other sisters to began the long trek back to the temple.

Out of the Woods

this was more fun! The assignment: you will be presented with the opening sentence of a famous (or not so famous) book. You are to write a story using the same first sentence; 

Dodie Smith’s “I Capture the Castle” whose opening sentence is:

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink because it’s the only place that’s safe. I don’t know what the little bastards are, but they're mean and there’s a lot of them.

They came from the woods. I suppose it’s my own fault, sort of. Something was getting into the trash cans, so I put out live traps. Figured I’d catch ‘coons or 'possums raiding the garbage. Boy, was I wrong!

I went out the next morning and there was one of those little buggers in the trap. Snarling and glaring with pure hate. It was only about eight or nine inches tall, slick gray hide mottled with ugly purple. And teeth, it had nasty, yellow, pointy teeth. Lots of ‘em. Along with nasty, black claws. I may have screamed.

So I got a shovel out of the shed, prepared to beat the shit out of it. Of course, I couldn’t do that with the cage closed, and I wasn't about to open it. So I got the garden hose, prepared to drown the critter.

It didn’t drown. I hit it with the water and it screeched an awful snarly screech. Then it shriveled up like a raisin and fell into pieces. I may have screamed again.

But at least it was gone and my garbage was safe.

Hah!

I was fixing my supper when I heard the trash can lid hit the ground. “Damn,” I thought, “ there can’t be another one.”

But oh yeah, there was another one, or twelve or twenty. And they were pissed. It wasn’t just the trash they were after this time.

I went out yelling, intending to grab the hose and “raisin” the whole bunch of ‘em. It’s my belief that’s what they were waiting for. I wasn’t two steps out the door before they were after me. I know I screamed then.

I hightailed it back inside, but them sonuvabitches is quick. They got inside with me.

I couldn’t get to the bathroom, so I ended up here in the sink. I’ve got the dish sprayer, and I “raisined” a couple. I managed to reach a grill fork and stabbed another two or three, they bleed foul smelling, yellow yuck, but that doesn’t seem to kill ‘em. Just slows ‘em down a bit.

The water is what gets ‘em. They’ve backed off for a while. I’m not sure where they went, but I’ll be damned if I’m getting out of the sink.

Shit, I think I hear ‘em coming back. They sound kinda gleeful…

New Beginning

Mary politely refused invitations to parties.  Opting for a quiet night and light reading on the couch.

It was dark when the wet nose of John's dog nuzzled her awake, tail thumping expectantly.

"Really, Duke?" The tail thumped faster.

With a sigh Mary slipped into shoes and coat. 

Snow had fallen while she'd napped. Duke shuffled through the new fall, finally coming up with a frisbee, idle since John's death. 

Duke offered the old toy to her.

In the distance, a church bell tolled twelve.

She accepted the disk and threw it for the excited dog.

"Happy New Year, boy."

My take on the song.  The song is Same Old Lang Syne by Dan Fogelberg:

Beneath the Surface

 Jumping feet first into my first Trifextra Weekend Challenge



Upon digging through the shuffle of excuses for why not

Delving under the sludge of more important things to do

At the center lay the truth of inaction by procrastination

Fear of imperfection




The weekend challenge.  As you'll recall from your elementary science class days, the structure of the earth can be divided most simply into three sections: core, mantle, crust.  Here's a diagram.
Give us 33 words from it.  Interpret the prompt however you wish--literal, metaphorical, or somewhere in between

Image courtesy of Danilo Rizzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

.

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

12/14/12

The shadows of the previous day's events roll into the new morning. 
Tinting the everyday routine with random tears, as a country struggles with collective grief. 
Trying to find answers to the unanswerable.  Assigning blame to politicians, or groups, or God.
Yet the world moves on, the day continues. Errands call for completion.
In an effort to cope, a cloak of anger and outrage is thrown over empathy.
 
While in one small town the world stopped.  Left momentarily behind.

The echo of a small voice calling in the night for a glass of water, another story, one more kiss
goodnight.
Christmas trees standing vigil over presents, the carefully chosen and the snagged on a whim. 
Wrapped and tagged with love, never to be unwrapped.
Mommies lie in empty beds, clutching cloth, inhaling the scent of their hearts, already fading.
Daddies torn between crumbling in pain and standing strong for the family.
Siblings struggling with suddenly being one less.

Until the groan of the world restarting pulls them relentlessly into a different future.

Rock You Like a Hurricane

sharing a piece of my nanowrimo project.  just because.  and remember, it's nano, quantity-not quality.




Andrew was coming in hard and merciless. Anne Marie was swinging a hammer with the rest. Boarding up windows, ready to ride out the storm.

As the winds blew in, the sky darkened. She’d come here to investigate the stories of zombies. She’d seldom followed up on this type of report, most were crap. But this particular area seemed to have more than its share of urban legends about them as well as a run of mysterious and gruesome killings.

She cursed herself for not looking at long term forecasts for the area. Hurricane parties were not going to further her research. She pounded a final nail and scurried indoors to wait out the storm.

The low rent complex she had chosen was mostly empty. The hold out residents were those with the glassy eyes of drug users that had no where else to go. Most were camped out in the building’s narrow hall. Curled up in pitiful balls, enduring various states of jonesing. The mostly conscious eyed her warily as she passed, her steps disturbing the perpetual dust and other debris that ever lined the worn carpet.

None dared to bother her since she had physically removed the few that thought her rooms to be an easy target for robbery and other amusements by assault. Anne Marie never feared the criminal fringes of humanity. A few broken bones and other embarrassing injuries had them walking a wider path when they caught sight of her. After all, they were merely human. Of course, she rarely feared the inhuman either. They could handled, though she found killing them to be the easiest and obviously most permanent answer.

She let herself into her rooms. The boarded windows made the space seem close in the darkness. With no power, she resorted to candlelight. The lazy flickering gave her a feeling of calm that electric lighting never could. As the storm gained strength, she settled into a comfortable overstuffed chair with a pile of pages, some computer printed, others were copies of notes from the local police, along with many newspaper clippings, all covered with notes scribbled in her own hand.

She was intent on her work, when she became aware of a sudden lull. The eye, she thought. Soon the other wall would arrive with another round of screaming winds and pounding rain.

Just as she opened another can of soda, she heard the crash of the outer entry door. The heavy footsteps that followed were muffled only a small bit by her closed door. Her hearing was more acute than most people, she could sort out the sounds of shuffling that would be the residents winding themselves into tighter balls as heavy footsteps moved along the hallway. Boots, she decided, well made, heavy boots.

The ancient broadsword that traveled with her had made its way to her hand. She stood in practiced balance, ready to defend or strike. Which ever she deemed necessary.

“Annie! Annie, me love! I know you're here, I can smell ye!” the heavily accented voice, funneled by the narrow confines of the hall, seemed to fill her room.

With a sigh of annoyance, she relaxed her stance slightly. She knew the owner of that voice. Had hoped never to hear it again.

Anne Marie could feel the boot tread stop in front of her door, “come on sweetling, let an old friend in. It’s positively monstrous out there.”

She could refuse to answer, but it wouldn’t stop him, just make him more determined to get a reaction from her. Giving irritation to her voice, she answered, “Go away, Liam, I’m not in a mood to entertain you, and I’m far too busy to be bothered with killing you right now.” She gave a short snort of regret, “I should have killed you last time. I was evidently in a far too generous state.”

He chuckled, “you'd not be the first lass that wanted to do me in, m’dear. Its my wanderin’ eye always gets me in trouble with the ladies.”

“Then please, wander your eye elsewhere, there’s naught here to see.”

“Hah!. Slipped into the “auld” English a moment there.” The doorknob jiggled as he tested it, knowing it would be locked. “You're too tense, girl. All worried about fitting in. Have you adopted the local drawl as well?”

Anne Marie growled under her breath. Her ability with language and dialect had served her well. She could pass for a local almost anywhere in the world. Yet Liam could cause her to make mistakes. That made him dangerous, perhaps more dangerous than those she hunted.

She resigned herself to his presence and returned the blade to its worn leather sheath. “Soft as a babe’s breath that was.” Liam’s hearing was almost as good as her own. “ I’m glad you've changed your mind about killin’ me right now.”

“Right now, but I could reverse that decision easily if you annoy me much more.” She turned the flimsy lock and opened the door. The point of the dirk she held to replace the sword drew a single drop of blood from Liam’s neck as she blocked him from bursting into the room. “Not so fast, I’ll need an inventory of your knives first.”

Liam rolled is eyes dramatically, “Annie, I’m here as your friend…”

“Now, Liam. How many and where.”

“Fine lassie. There's the blade is me right toe, the buck knife, a switchblade in me left pocket and three of them throwing stars from the Japans in the right. A tension triggered blade on one arm and the other,” he grinned with pride, “the other is released and pointing at a target right below your pretty bosom.”

Anne Marie side stepped with practiced ease, her dirk taking an extra layer off his throat out of spite. “You are a fool, Liam. I will kill you one day.”

“But not today, Annie, not today.” He glanced quickly around the small space, then made himself comfortable on a small love seat across from her chair. “Sit down, girl! Relax.”

Anne Marie returned to her chair, gathering the papers and clippings she’d dropped when Liam made his noisy entry. “Ive never been good at small talk, Liam, what do you want? I would like to finish my research, when the storm has passed I have things I need to do.”

“Company, Annie. You told me long ago that immortality was over rated. I know now what you meant.” The smile he gave her now held a hint of sadness and regret. “You're the only one left has known me most my life.”

‘You made you own choice, I warned you.” Anne Marie had limited pity for him. “Why don’t you track some of your blood? Become the obnoxious well to do uncle. And leave me alone.”

“I just don’t have the stamina to track my bloodline like you did. I have to say though, I was intrigued when I found you had left Renewal and your little great great great…how many? Granddaughter.”

Liam eyed the papers, “that’s why I'm here to help you out, sweetling. I have info ye need to finish your task and get back to stalking your descendants”

“I. Work. Alone.” She said each word quietly, yet the force made her meaning clear.

“Aye, I know, the lone gunman. Er, swordsman…woman, whatever.” Liam wave a hand in dismissal. “I still have info. I know some things ye don’t. So. You can hear me out, and let me help, or I can take my knowledge elsewhere.”

The elsewhere caught Anne Marie’s attention. “What do you mean, elsewhere? Who else would believe, much less be interested?” He was hinting at another hunter. She hated dealing with other hunters. They were, generally, ill equipped, undereducated, and mostly, in the way.

“Oh, there’s others. Here. Drawn by the same stories probably caught your eye, lassie.” Liam knew he had her attention now. “Scary murders, no suspects. Fresh bodies disappearing from the local morgue…”

“Bodies disappearing?” Anne Marie hadn't come across any news of body snatching.

“Got ye now, haven’t I, lass.” He didn’t even attempt to hide his delight. “Aye, girlie, bodies gone missing overnight. And often the theft, if that's what it is, is followed by another unpleasant crime scene.”

He snatched the stack of papers from her hand and started to study them. “For someone that pokes fun at me accent, you oughtta start writin’ in that language you're speakin’ at the moment.” He could make no sense of the characters scrawled in the margins of the reports and clippings. The alphabet used had disappeared over a millennium ago.

Anne Marie smiled sweetly, “ there's a reason for that. Of course, if your info is legitimate, I might translate some of it for you.”