Wednesday August 8th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the best.

The best what? I don't know, you tell me.

We harvested for both the restaurant and the bakery today, getting most everything that was requested of us. Took a long time to dig through the blackberries to find a reasonable amount, but I'm hoping by Friday they'll be a bit easier to find.

Also: more abundant, please.


He's at the top of his class, he seemingly can't be beat. On his arm the finest lass, practically radiating heat. Every time we pass, I can't help but think he cheats.

How else the perfect scores, the right answer endlessly at hand? Above us he soars, his feet never touching land. I could say much more, but his very being I can't stand.

I keep waiting for his fall, a scandal to bring him low. A tape recorded call, some long forgotten beau. But still he stands tall... say it isn't so.


Cathryn Leigh said...

Gah, now I have the rhythm of your prose/poem in my head and it’s messing with me as I try to write for this prompt... Okay deep breath, 1... 2... 3...

The Best

“You’re the best!” Ryan grinned up at her.
“Am I?” Sarah grinned back.
“Uh huh.” The little boy nodded. “You don’t make fun of me for wanting to learn to cook and fight.”
Lowering herself to his level Sarah looked about and leaned in to whisper, “Do you want to know why?”
Ryan nodded vigorously, but kept his voice quiet. “Yes, please!”
“Because it was my father who taught me to cook and taught me how to defend myself against my brothers.”
Eyes wide, Ryan stared at her in disbelief. “Noooo....”
She smiled at his round mouth and gently knuckled his cheek. “I swear by the Willow I’m telling the truth.” Chuckling she leaned in even further, whispering in his ears. “I’m not Arenian as everyone seems to think I am, but from another world all together. You can ask the Gods, they brought me here.”
Standing, Sarah gave Ryan a wink and placed her finger to her lips. Ryan covered his mouth with his hand and nodded before scampering off. Not that Sarah was worried that he’d say anything. Most people didn’t realize how observant and smart the boy was and took his words with a grain of salt.
“Grain of salt,” she whispered to herself as she went back to work. “Wonder if anyone knows that expression around here.”

A conversation that could have happened, might happen, in Phoenix Rising :}

Party Mom said...

Being the best meant nothing to Lysa. She had spent her years being bested at everything, by her eldest sister and younger brother. Second in everything, she knew not what it meant to be better than anyone. Tara was the prettiest, the sweetest, the best seamstress, the better cook, the better daughter and Peter he could outrun anyone of them, he was the funniest, the most mischievous, and the best rider. Oh Lysa was good at things, but when she found some small achievement it became quickly negated by her siblings who were ever so competitive for their parents’ unfaltering attentions, always leaving Lysa in the background. Eventually, in secret, she began to call herself Lysa the Unloved for in truth that was how she felt.

Marc said...

Cathryn - sorry for being so infectious :P

Ah, I think that scene would make an excellent addition to your story :)

Party Mom - very touching bit of prose, you had me really pulling for Lysa by the end there.