Thursday March 1st, 2012

The exercise:

Let's see what we can do with: unfinished.

Very pleased to welcome March's arrival. There may have been a few flakes of snow drifting down from the clouds this morning, but there were few enough that I could ignore them.

Which, obviously, is exactly what I did.


You're lurking in the garage,
Watching me with headlight eyes,
Your engine heart not beating,
While I tell the same old lies.

"Money is real tight right now,
I just can't afford the parts.
Maybe in a month or two,
When the busy season starts."

"Time's not on my side these days,
There's so much for me to do.
One day I'll get you running,
That much I swear to you."

Now these hands are failing me,
Death's rapping at my door.
My time can't be up so soon,
I just need a little more.

The dust on your hide is thick,
I can barely see the paint.
So I'll free you from this cage,
We'll roam the roads as saints.


Greg said...

It sounds like the snow is all coming our way – we're apparently due snow and sleet over the weekend, possibly hanging around for the next ten days! I wonder if Winter's realised it's just dropped the ball this year and is going to make up for that now?
I like the poignancy in today's poem; it feels like lyrics somehow, as though there should be an acoustic guitar playing behind it, and a smokey, sultry voice singing it. Maybe.

Miss Snippet frowned as she looked down at the. Something about Jacques's homework was niggling at. Something she couldn't quite put her finger – or her red pen –. Something that she was sure should be obvious to.
She sighed, sipped from her glass of white wine, and picked up the next book from the. Perhaps marking – she checked the cover – Melissa's homework would jog her memory and point out what was.
Eighteen red ticks and one cross later and Miss Snippet gave Melissa a C- in a red circle at the bottom of the. All in all rather good for Melissa, but Miss Snippet believed in grading on a. And she liked her curves shallower than most other.
She picked up Jacques's homework again, and suddenly it was glaringly apparent what the problem. All of his sentences were.

Anonymous said...

marc, yes, a tad sad. last line wowed me!
greg, back to your usual with :)

He looked at her intensely, engaging her eyes. When she didn’t respond, her waved his hands in front of her face. Still, no response. He watched her walk out the door.
He tried the next one. He tapped her on the shoulder and she brushed her jacket’s shoulder pad as if there were bits of fluff there.
Then he touched her face, cupping his hand around her left cheek. She scratched in response to a vague, tingling itch.
He stood in front of her, right up close. She felt it as a cool breeze. Had someone turned the air con up?
She went to the mirror in the ladies room to touch up her makeup. He followed her every step. The lighting wasn’t good in here but it suited his purpose... it would be easier to see him in dim light...
“Ah!” she gasped audibly. “What the...?” 
’You can see me!’ he voiced in her head. She caught his telepathed message easily, as if it were a ham radio signal.
“Ye...yes,” she replied, too stunned to say more.
’I need you to do something for me. I can’t maintain contact for long so listen up - I need you to go see my wife at 150 Langley road, off Broadway, you know it?’ he checked.
She nodded a mute reply.
’Good. Tell her the key to the safe is under the floor board of the third step. Inside, she’ll find the bonds I never cashed in. They’ll cover all her expenses. Oh, and one more thing, tell her  my murderer lives in the house across the street at 149. My gun is what he used to kill me with, it has his prints on it. Tell her to pick it up wearing gloves and do me a favour - finish the bastard off with it. Make it look like suicide.’
“Okay, will do,” she replied, shakily.
Karmic justice, she reckoned.

Anonymous said...

greg, i meant "wit" :)

morganna said...

Marc -- very poignant. It reminds me of the song Rusty Old American Dream (sung by several different people over the years, apparently originally written & sung by David Wilcox

Greg -- very clever. I had to read it through twice to figure out what was wrong with every sentence.

Writebite -- very nice.
Notes for an unfinished poem:
I want to write a poem about a small boy -- his elusiveness, and how sweet it is when he lets himself approach me. Like a wild bunny, ready to bolt at the first movement. Sometimes he comes up to me, standing close, and he looks at me with such sweetness and trust, but if I move to stroke his hair or rub his back, he is gone.

Krystin Scott said...

@WB I wouldn't have corrected yourself... I read your comment and thought you were giving Greg a dose of Jacques new writing style..
The truth of the matter unknown to me, it made me laugh.

Cathryn Leigh said...

@Marc - love it

@Gerg - anoying unti lI got the hang of it, then I smiled. Brilliantly simple. *thumbs up*

@Write - Heh I wouldn't have corrected myself either it was a perfect play on Greg's.

@Morganna - kids can be like that can't they? Especially boy, they want to attention but don't want the 'sappiness' of it. he he


There are all this little projects
They hang about me here and there
Begging to be seen.

Some are in tha basement
Tucked away in plastic bags
hiding from the mice.

Some or on my hard drive
Characters trapped inside words
Hoping for a happy ending.

A few I have more visible
The projects on my mind
Somday I'll finish them.

If only I had time!

Iron Bess said...


Moonlight pooled in buckets, in bowls, and in puddles propagating her face in thousands of watery vessels changing Jazine’s mundane countryside to a magical fairyland. Silver glistened on Almar’s forehead turning his sweat into liquid mercury as she watched him watch her. An errant cloud skidded over Luna’s face for a brief second throwing the world into shadow before being swept from the sky by the sirocco. The iron stench of blood filled her nostrils, clung to her hands and dripped thick and viscous onto to the parched earth.

“You feed Erde lavishly tonight,” he stated, his rigid face all planes in the otherworldly light. “The cicadas tonight sing and interesting song tonight.”

Jazine dropped her gaze to the black fluid pooling on the ground beneath her hands, it glistened in the light, but did not show Luna’s face in its essence. The night wind, hot and dry, rattled the bone chimes and making her body itch as the sweat dried on her skin. She picked up the large blood stained skean and lifted it to her mouth then slowly licked the honed blade. Almar turned his impassive face to her, his black gaze piercing her as surely as a blade, fixing her to the spot. A hoarse grating noise worked it’s way up Jazine’s throat spilling fierce discordant noise into the air. I laugh now, she thought. A rictus grimace, coated in blood, scabbed over her face. “You need to listen to me carefully,” she said. “This dagger I hold is the key. I will use it to…

Krystin Scott said...

For the unfinished prompt, you get an unfinished work. This is the prologue to a story idea I had about a year ago... While I never wrote much more than a few pages of the story, I didn't think this piece was all that bad.

DWP Meet Lydian Sparks.

Nothing is more ominous than a blank page. All the warning signs were there but I chose to ignore them. It seemed innocent enough as I held it in my hands, just the beginnings of a story written in a small leather bound journal. I, like many of the Memory Keepers before me have used my time at the Magi-Scriptorium to decipher and absorb the stories of the ancients and learn the teachings they so painstakingly labored to set to paper. So it was not uncommon for me to be seen roaming the dark and dusty caverns in search of a volume penned in secrecy by an enlightened elder. What one should have found unusual was the over turned book sprawled out on the marble floor, its binding bent and cover torn. Who knew the simple act of encountering a half finished book would be the defining moment that would change my life forever?

Anonymous said...

“You missed a spot,” she said, looking over his shoulder.

He shook his head, ever so slightly.

“I suppose that it's a good thing you're keeping an eye out for me.”

He glanced back at her.

Yah see...the thing is. It's kind of hard for me to have missed a spot, or for that matter to have reached this point and perhaps had you point out that it was unfinished when it turns out that I haven't even started yet!

“Oh...” She returned. “My bad.”

Marc said...

Greg - ew, ten days of snow in March? That should be against the law.

Clever, clever take on the prompt. Took me a couple lines to get the hang of it :D

Writebite - neat little story. The bad guy in me wanted the woman to steal the bond money and make a run for the border. The good guy in me interfered and reminded me that would just lead to being haunted by an angry ghost for the rest of her life :P

Morganna - I will have to give that song a listen, thanks for pointing me in its direction!

Love the take on the prompt, and I'd love to read the poem whenever you get around to writing it.

Cathryn - great poem, really captures that feeling. I can relate, as I'm regularly haunted by unfinished stories.

Iron Bess - fantastic scene. Also: you're a big tease, ending it like that :P

Krystin - ooh, intriguing. Consider this a vote in favor of continuing it :)

GZ - ah, back seat cleaners. Miserable lot, all of them :P

Anonymous said...

ks and cl...ha!
cl...nice one, i particularly liked characters traooed inside words.
ks...left me hangIn' here...more?