Friday February 12th, 2010

The exercise:

Kat insists that this week's Friday Four Line Prose be about: cookies.

And who am I to argue?

Also: the opening ceremonies were rather impressive tonight.


Emily slipped silently into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. She paused on her tiptoes and listened hard, her eyes scrunched up and her ears wide open.

Not hearing any movement from the floor above where her parents were sleeping, she allowed a wide smile to appear on her lips, her white teeth appearing in the darkness as though she were the Cheshire Cat.

The cookie jar was all hers.


Tristan said...

I really like the gradual development of that smile!!

Here´s mine:

After five years, I'd grown tired of his standard noncommital response to our life. He enjoyed absolving himself of responsibility, a Pilate at the basin, blaming me for any mishap or disappointment he might too loudly suffer. Until one day I turned my back and walked, not forcing my legs into a path but allowing them the freedom to decide their own. Who am I to argue when escape takes hold?

Greg said...

So shall I get Kat some "back massage" heels as a wedding gift then? (whistle innocently) Hope the back gets better quickly!

I like the Cheshire Cat grin too, definitely with Tristan on that. And I love Tristan's analogy with Pilate.


"My name's Cookie!"
"Mine too!"
The teacher looked down at her register and her face turned pale -- every student in her class this term was called Cookie.
"But I'm diabetic," she whispered....

Salynne Wilde said...

Long time no contribute :)
Loved the Cheshire Cat visual Marc! and the diabetic teacher made me laugh in a twilight zone type of way.

I'm a little melancholy today .....

Sitting with my friend in the chemo treatment room it's easy to see the plague of cancer doesn't discrimate.
Men and women, both old and young sit stoically with poisen flowing into their veins.
Every pale and sickly face registers the battle lines the enemy has etched but in their eyes I still see hope and determination.
"One tough cookie" aptly describes each and every one of them, only the cruel reality is that some will lose the fight and some of the cookies will eventually crumble.

Marc said...

Tristan - thanks :)

And I'll have to agree with Greg on the Pilate reference.

Greg - no, you shan't. But thanks sooo much for the generous offer.

It's sore today but hopefully the end is in sight.

I like that yours is both creepy and funny. You seem to have a talent for that :)

Salynne - good to see you again!

Great take on the prompt - not happy, but really well done :)

Monica Manning said...

I know I haven't been posting as often as I should, but trust me when I say I've been writing daily. I'm taking a writing class and I'm jumping head first into the deep end of my first book. I don't know how you do it Marc--a full-time job, writing and blogging daily--you're my hero!

* * *

Cookie Caper

Reaching behind the box of granola and rice puffs, she pulled her emergency stash of double fudge cookies from the back of the cupboard. Selecting two chocolate sandwiches from the bag, she cradled them in her hand as though they were priceless Faberge eggs.

Halfway to her bedroom, she spun around and ran back to the kitchen to snatch four more cookies from the bag. “Screw it,” she muttered into the darkness, “the diet starts tomorrow.”

Marc said...

Monica - that is exciting news about the book! Best of luck and I can't wait to see it at my local bookstore :)

And... I'm not quite sure how I do it either. I think it helps having a pretty slack job :P

Always a joy to see your writing when you have the time to share it and this was no different. I'd say more but I need to go eat some cookies.

clay said...

Just found this place; it's already serving as the kick in the seat I need.... Judging by the comments here, I am in capable and creative company.
I figured I would start with the first day my RSS aggregator picked up and try to catch up. Here goes-

Finally, the beast fell asleep, his blue fur cowlicking against the "CM" of his monogrammed pillow. I leaned back on the bars of his cage, sighing. With the eggs in the fridge, I could probably bake four dozen more, which would last maybe two more days at this rate.
Outside, that freakish giant yellow bird prattled on and on, the rattling of the keyring in his hand making me wonder yet again just who is the prisoner here...