Her Necklace Now It began as a very small thing.
Junior and his dad disagreed on an item made in their silversmithing shop.
That shop was kept away from the family's houses, set up in an old outbuilding because of noise.
Silversmithing was always too noisy for the dozen homes on the family's half-section of wood and meadow land.
The lapidary equipment alone made a terrible sound.
Allie, Junior's wife, used that equipment to smooth rough turquoise and coral into stones ready for silverwork. She used a spinning grinder of damp and charcoal gray stone for her main work. When Allie put a stone against that, it sounded just like the machine it was. She used a smaller spinning buffer to polish stones.
One Saturday, human voices escalated in the little, old shop about who owned a particular design.
Even Allie, using loud lapidary equipment, heard Junior and his father argue. Naturally, curiosity won and she slowed her work, listening through a thin old wall of warped
Tornado Talk She'd never heard wind like it. The girl, Lilah, was from a place where the only season meant Santana winds blew, and they blew hard, but not as hard as this wind. The man she was with didn't wake up. He slept on while the day began.Tornado Talk3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
One of the six children they babysat, a little boy, came to their room.
He shook the man's foot to wake him.
Lilah was amazed to see the man she'd marry pull their blanket over his face to hide.
It was up to the Lilah to ask the little boy, "What's wrong, Jake?"
"The wind," Jake said. "Why Uncle hidin? I scared! Want Uncle ta save us!"
"Come here, Jake," said Lilah. "Are the other kids awake? Come here, I'll hold you."
"No, they sleepin 'n' I want Uncle! Willya wake him?"
"Sure, Jake," the girl said, pretending a calm she didn't feel.
"Wesley!" she said, nudging the man next to her. "Wes! What're you doing with the blanket over your head? Wake up! Jake's in our room. And the wind is--it's different than a
Mirage ReduxMirage Redux3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's the Summer Powwow, and I feel like a little kid let loose in a toy store.
Other women put silverwork, beaded belts and more in booths that circle the empty dance area.
Under canvas-rigged shade, chairs are saved for Indian elders.
My chair's in full sun, but I don't care.
I prepared for that with sunblock. It's hot and though I'm kind-of Cheyenne, it's a very small part. The outside of me is quite fair, though in the winter my hair is dark. I'd be sunburnt in seconds since today I wore a halter top and shorts.
The master of ceremonies is just like the M.C.s all powwows seem to have.
He tries the microphone.
"Testing!" he shouts. "One, two, three! Testing! Heya, everybody! Gonna be great day, early birds! We got four drums com
Billy's PterodactylsBilly was in what his mother called 'his dinosaur phase'. He'd been firmly ensconced in this phase for the past six months, ever since his Dad had taken him to see the Natural History Museum in Oxford. The first thing he'd seen on entering was the huge bones of the Tyrannosaurus Rex glaring down at him, and that was it; he'd been hooked ever since.Billy's Pterodactyls2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In the time since then his entire room had been re-decorated with a Jurassic theme. Dinosaurs were on the bedsheets, the curtains, the posters on the walls, and little plastic ones covered his floor to the point where it was dangerous to walk across it. Unless you were Billy, of course. No dinosaur would dare to harm Billy, who reigned supreme among them and controlled their every move. Billy was in his element and entirely at home within his dinosaur-infested room.
Every now and then the dinosaurs would venture outside of Billy's room, in an effort to invade and infest the rest of Billy's house. On one such occasion his mother inadvertently
PikeHey, you. Would you throw me a line?Pike3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I've been growing old down in this swimming hole ever since I saw my first tadpole. I keep getting fatter and what matters begins to change. I think I want to fully see those funny fractions that gleam in tiny ripples glimpsed while I wait under one dark rock first, then another. I know all the moss under these rocks and the toss of skipped pebbles. I know the sight of something to eat as a treat, but now I'm beat. I'd rather be someone else's feast.
Anybody up there? Throw me a line, would you?
A line I'll take by the hook without even much of a sinker. Just let me have one look. I hear your word-distortions laughed above me, about the oldest one never caught right here. I know you mean me. If you'd only throw the line now, it'll save me from so many years spent entirely wet. If you could, would you please give me time in full light for even a scant moment of a new life not met yet?
Diversionary Tactics "And would you care to buy a gram, sir? Great price on coke today," the girl smiled.Diversionary Tactics3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Lucas never saw that girl work here before.
He immediately said, "Are you kidding?!" and used his uppity Mercedes power to get away from that drive-through bank as quickly as possible. Man. That never happened to Lucas before. Was it the case of Old Forrester on the passenger seat?
No. It couldn't have been.
As it was, Lucas had more cocaine at his house than any one gram delivered in a pneumatic tube at some bank. He was returning from R-and-R at Yellowstone when he stopped for his bourbon and some cash. The Mercedes was dirty from his travels and he hadn't shaved for two weeks, but he still couldn't guess why that girl would think he was an idiot.
Lucas kept his coke in a steel suitcase, bags of it, even when he was gone. W
Another Take The human I live with calls me "Tommy Gun." Or "Kitty." Sometimes "Cat." Yeah "cat," but I'm really an alien. Though we got here first and are highly evolved, humans insist on calling us all these names. I think it's because they're unable to call us what we call each other. They can't hear us talk most of the time. We usually use what humans call "telepathy," except in extreme cases. We try other ways to talk to humans. Use "meow" umpteen ways and you'll see how hard it is.Another Take3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I like my human. She's a beautiful girl calls herself "Mimi" when she's on stage. Yeah "Mimi," and she's definitely human. She's a belly dancer and an excellent one. She can enchant a room full of old humans without even a drum, without even taking off any of her very many veils. She sort of undulates, like a wonderful snake might. But snakes I can eat. Mimi is way bigger than me, plus I want her to live. I won't kill her. She feeds me so I won't bring a dead sn
Fight in a Hospital They said she was too old to have a baby.Fight in a Hospital4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Doctors said she'd die if she had a second one.
Lettie thought different about that. Lettie thought different about a lot of things other folks said and thought.
Doctors said she'd die when she had her girl Jaycee ten years ago too, but Lettie was still very much alive.
Well, she almost died, but 'almost' didn't count with Lettie.
She did as she pleased and she had since a young age. That didn't do a world of wonder for her health, but she was happy with Jaycee. Her daughter was a good one, as smart and independent as her mom.
Now Lettie wanted a son because Jaycee wished for a brother.
Jaycee never mentioned a wish before. Lettie thought one wish was the least she could do for her girl.
The Black Bag The problem was simple, really. I was a little too drunk. Me and my buddy Jake though, we found it simple to walk with a stagger and laugh a little too loud, a simple problem. The day was pretty good, pretty drunk.The Black Bag3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The hours passed easy until Max came out of his pawnshop. Max never leaves his pawnshop. He looked so worried and strange I had to squint to be sure it was him. He got us interested, walking toward my buddy and me with trouble written all over his face. Trouble is something a man can relate to from time to time, somehow.
Max walked right up to us and put his hand on my shoulder, thowing me off balance for his remark.
"I need your help, boys," he said.
Jake laughed. "Hey, Max needs our help!"
I nodded and tried to look serious to hide the surprise that made me want to laugh too. I thought it could b
The Spider That Ate Cleveland Steve and Lucy lived in a suburb of Cleveland and liked it very much.The Spider That Ate Cleveland3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Steve liked sitting on the porch every Saturday evening, drinking beer and looking at his neighbors' houses, identical to his, dreaming about ways to make his house different.
Lucy liked spending weekday afternoons watching soap operas on TV, dreaming about ways to spend her afternoons like the people did on TV.
Steve liked going to work in Cleveland on weekdays, not so much for his job but for the drive, during which he dreamt about other places the freeway could take him.
Lucy liked a little house-cleaning and a lot of going-to-the-mall, where she dreamt about what she could buy with soap opera money.
But both were too content, and never changed a thing.
Occasionally they talked about one TV program that show
On the Northside of TimeOn the Northside of Time4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a good day for the dogs and a bad one for the rabbits. I heard the big black dog howl his chase call through most of the afternoon, sometimes near and sometimes far. His little white shadow yipped along behind him. There were long pauses between yips heard. That little dog had short legs and needed extra wind and effort just to keep up.
The air outside was cool and sharp. The dogs ran under the last autumn leaves I could spot out there, out past the meadow. Some of those old trees in the grove stayed green the whole winter long. Most never did. The hunt through the big grove must have been exciting for the dogs. Not for smaller and younger animals.
The dogs came back when the setting sun put sof
A Drink Further"Don't you dare."A Drink Further4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I grin, weighing the snowball in one hand, then the other. It's inconsistent and flaky the kind of freshly fallen snow that's little more than frozen mist and air packed loosely around a soggy liquid core. It'd probably break apart before it flew the few paces between Lisa and myself. But she doesn't know that.
"Don't I dare what?"
She gives me a look that touches on withering, but I know better. I've known Lisa for quite some time, and I doubt she's ever been capable of violence. Nevertheless, I drop the messy ball with a chuckle and wipe the remains on the sleeve of my jacket.
Another moonlit winter night in Neriem, a town nestled high in the mountains off the coast of Antioch. Snow falls in thick sheets here, coating the city in delicate white powder. It's thick stuff, enough to muffle the sound of our footsteps as we cross campus, yet falling lightly enough that it doesn't m
The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.The Man in the Coffee Shop3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.
Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.
Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hair and scream 'till my lungs burst. I scream for and at you. I ask how you could have left me here.
Sometimes I allow myself to believe that I will see you again. By chance we will run into each other in a Wal-Mart far away.
I go to the coffee shop on Tuesday afternoons. I order a small chai tea with milk.
Sometimes the man is working at th
Please Take Away My Coffee"Oh, unquestionably," Mathieu said, "unquestionably. She's beautiful." And for once his eyes lingered on something long enough to truly take it in before returning to the blue canvas-bound volume of Keats dangling idly from his left hand. "Not my type, though."Please Take Away My Coffee3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The three of them sat around the plaza, three green uniforms idle in the middle of the flow of Paris life. With drill over, they had grown bored of the barracks gone into town where they settled in to watch the lives of unfamiliar people with their unfamiliar patterns unfold in front of them. Marc, who wasn't listening to his friends any longer, was watching one in particular.
"Hell if you even know your type," said Lucky.
She was Marc's type. Up til now Marc hadn't even had a type, didn't know what it was. But just now, he knew he was looking at it. Slender hands and a waist that sloped and rounded out in the hips, blue ruffles and a high-waist skirt, hair like darkwood; black but catching strains of ma
The Clockmaker's DaughterShe was murdered.The Clockmaker's Daughter3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The doctors convened around the table around the young woman that they were to examine. There was not a single thing upon the woman's flawless body to suggest that such a thing had happened. She was perfect.
Don't know. She just was.
That's not evidence, Doctor.
I'm aware, Doctor.
They ran their hands along her body and tried to inspect for needle marks. Perhaps it was with the needle that had caused her death. No, there was nothing there to suggest such a death.
They opened her mouth with their plastic hands to see if there was any sign of poison. Her mouth might have been damaged from the chemicals. Yes, perhaps that was it.
The results are negative.
Yes, Doctor, negative.
They looked at the girl's body again. She seemed peaceful and very much alive. She looked like she was just sleeping. She was taking a nap, that was it. But the doctors were smarter than that and studied her further.
A Burglar Has an Idea The worst people hired him because he was the best burglar around. No one knew his given name, not even him. As a child, he'd grown and fed himself by stealing what he needed on the streets. He had no name. But since many people called him- "That one!" -the growing and adept burglar decided to call himself "Thone." He knew he needed at least a name, if not food, home, clothes -- and why not some kind of fame and fortune? Yes, he decided, he'd have both infamy and fortune. He was certain he was a clever, quiet, sneaky, and nice young man, fully deserving of both. Soon he had both.A Burglar Has an Idea4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Late one night, a very rich man hired Thone for a new job and asked him the usual questions. Thone was as silent with the rich as he was with the poor. For that matter, he was more silent with the rich. Thone never explained his work to anyone, and it was always the rich who hired him. Thone was the most expensive burglar ever known to other criminals.
This rich client, whose chins
eucalyptusthey tell me i am writing confessionaleucalyptus2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
poetry and i tell them, no, i am not,
i am writing my world.
i did not burrow in guilt's throat
and choose to spell out the softness,
no, i screamed out my soul and it was then
that i remembered how i used to pray.
i wanted to tell stories
but instead i sat and wrote:
about rain, and sorrow,
and the greek gods,
and pain, and the greek gods,
over and over, and dionysus, dionysus:
i plunged and dived dolphin-beaked.
i want you know
that death is a responsibility
and saltwater immersion
a fierce talent we cannot escape
so this is a confession for you:
i am not selfish
i am self only
and sometimes self is all i am
and you are not-self, you are nothing
and i am softly silent
and i am unashamed. i am condemned.
The Neighbors Strange things began to happen when the Garcias moved into the ramshackle house next door. Or, at least people were implying that they were the cause of all the odd phenomena. I mainly did what I was told and stayed clear of the couple's territory.The Neighbors4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Rural life, as I experienced it, had its advantages and disadvantages. The good part was that we didn't have the luxuries of mobile phones or cable television and this made life more exciting. Children weren't cooped up at home watching DVDs or playing video games; we were always outside, running amok under the sun.
As for the bad parts, well, we would never even say them out loud. There were just things in the countryside that we simply couldn't understand, like how my best friend's father once burned half of an old acacia tree accidentally and woke up the next day with half of his body searing with blisters, or how wandering little boys suddenly vanis
Thirteen Cycles of Dreams "That first 'night' I read myself to sleep, a normal thing to do here.Thirteen Cycles of Dreams4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Nothing really happens here anyway except a trip to the pantry and library.
"I used to go outside the spacecraft a lot, but not much anymore.
"Lost my nerve when my suit tore and Sally had go out there and rescue a big, old, been-here-over-a-year astronaut.
"I've been above Mars all this time, watching tiny dots of light that may or may not be sentient. It gets tiresome. Houston keeps saying, 'Just watch, Red. You copy? Observation only. No communication at this time. Copy, Red? Roger. Over and out.' I'm sick of watching and speculating about those lights, to tell you the truth.
"Instead I read an 'amazing' amount of ethbooks. That's what Sally says, but she's only been here a few months and thinks the view
Doing LaundryI know I have made a mistake as soon as I insert another quarter into the washing machine. Super cycle, the control panel blinks, oblivious to my loss. I sigh. I don't need a super cycle, although I do want a bag of chips, badly. My fingers hover over the washing options for a minute as I go over all of them in my mind. In the end, I press Colors.Doing Laundry3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The machine starts. I step away and peer into the window. The clothes start to move, tossed around by the paddles in the drum. The drum fills up with water.
There goes my fourth-last quarter.
Despite my growing hunger, I congratulate myself. Not bad for a first-timer. At least the clothes are being washed without any mishap. Little mounds of white powder are visible on the tiled floor, but as long as some of the detergent is in, I'm fine. Next time though, I remind myself, settle for regular cycle. I am not even sure what super cycle means, but it costs an extra quarter, so regular cycle would probably do just fine.
I rest my elbows on the to
Grandfather's BirdGrandfather had a pet bird. Just a small, yellow and white parakeet; he named it Georgie, after Grandmother. Every morning, he would wake up at 6 o'clock, make a pot of coffee, grab the newspaper, and feed the small bird a small pile of birdseed. And he would gently carry the birdcage, and place it on the table and talk to her as he drank his coffee and read the newspaper.Grandfather's Bird3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
"Gas prices are up again Georgie, geez, remember when we could pay 20¢ to fill up our car?"
And sometimes the bird almost chirped in response. Years and years went by, and Grandfather grew older, and he could no longer carry the bird off the shelf, but he would still feed and talk to her at 6 o'clock.
One morning, Grandfather found himself barely able to make it out of bed. He still made his way into the kitchen to feed his dear bird. His hand shook and some birdseed fell to the floor as he carefully moved into the tray into the cage. He slowly made his way to the table so that he could sit down.
Confession"You wanted to tell me something?" she asked, without looking at him. The beauty of the meadow was hypnotizing. The rainbow colored flowers glowed with a peaceful aura and the sunlight flitted in through the winding branches of trees. A soft breeze flew in and rustled the lush green leaves.Confession4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Yes, I did," he answered her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had found the captivating meadow, hoping to lure her in. He had been falling for her harder each day, but it was impossible to know if she felt the same. She was always the secretive one, she hardly ever showed emotions. She was so cold and shutdown.
The girl finally tore her gaze reluctantly away and looked at the nervous boy. Curiosity fluttered deep within her and she was anxious to know what he would say. She watched him with an intent look, her heart sinking as she thought of the possibilities. What if he told her he didn't want to spend time with her? What if he didn't want to be her friend anymore?
"Well? What d
GrimmIchi: Heliogabalus - 1Summary: Ichigo, Tribal Prince of the Northern Water Tribe, meets his match in Grimmjow, a Fire Nation Admiral. Like yin and yang, together they are whole. Yaoi.GrimmIchi: Heliogabalus - 12 years ago in Romance More Like This
Warnings: Crossover, yaoi, mature and sexual content, violence, minor character death. Also, this story will follow the original Avatar series from the end of season one to the very end. I'm only altering little things here and there to make the story work. The only representation of Bleach are Grimmjow and Ichigo, this is set completely in the Avatar world.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, Avatar: the Last Airbender, or any of their characters.
chapter one: starry night
"You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun." ~ Prince Zuko
Seventeen years ago, the eighty third anniversary of the Hundred Year War, which the Fire Lord Sozin began to fulfill his desire for power by laying siege to the rest of the world, a baby boy with ironically brazen orange hair was born to two Southern Water Tribe waterbend
A Butterfly Flapping Its WingsThe letter was clutched in strong fingers which, had they belonged to a lesser man, might have been trembling.A Butterfly Flapping Its Wings2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It wasn't happiness or elation that he felt. There was a vindication that scratched on the edges of his thoughts, but the only thing really resonating in his mind was, 'what now?' It was the first time in a long while since he had heard anything beside the scornful echoes of his father's words.
It was a dream.
Almost a decade had passed since they'd been said. He'd shyly expressed his fondness for art as a schoolboy, and his father had promptly crushed his meek hopes with an iron tongue. "Fool," he had said. "Dreamer, head in the clouds." He'd laughed then, coarse and cruel. "You'd never make it." And the next semester his star-gazer of a son had been enrolled into technical school.
It started with death.
Standing cold and numb as his father was buried, it was his mother that convinced him to apply that first time with her soft word