Monday August 5th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the outburst.

This really should have been the day we returned to Mejaran but I'm not really feeling up to it. So the plan is to do that on Wednesday, assuming nothing else goes haywire before then.

Picked a whole bunch of blackberries today. Didn't finish, but at least I got enough to cover the boxes for tomorrow. If we get everything else picked in a reasonable amount of time then we'll get the rest of the berries afterward.

Max had a pretty good day, aside from a bit of unusual sleepiness this morning. Once he got over that he was in rare form though.


The beach is quiet now; night has replaced the long gone sunbathers and swimmers. Had any remained the sand would be cool beneath their feet, the air soft and warm against their skin. They would find the silence quite peaceful, I think.

But no visitor lingered beyond sundown.

So there is no one to watch the waves brush against the shore. No nostrils to breathe in the refreshing scents of the ocean, now unchallenged by lotions and creams born in laboratories all across the globe.

And no one is around to hear the still echoing cries of children as they protest announcements that it is time to go home.


Anonymous said...

You've been on a comment-replying binge again too! I hope sitting and reading comments was relaxing for you, as it sounds like you were working pretty hard all day. And it sounds like Max is doing better too, which is good. I noted you said that you're thinking it might be an allergic reaction of some kind – I hope you find out what it's too quickly!
That's a lovely, forlorn kind of scene you've created there, with the lingering echoes of happiness drifting over the lonely sand. It's really contemplative :)

The outburst
They appeared in total silence, seemingly sliding out of the walls, from behind potted palms surely too narrow and spindly to hide them, and in some cases seeming to step out of thin air itself. They wore blue and steel-grey uniforms, mirrored visors on helmets moulded into animal heads, and black leather gloves and boots. They carried guns in their hands, had knives sheathed visibly at their belts and ankles, and some of them had grenades as well.
They were sleek, efficient and deadly. And every single gun was pointing at the four-year old girl who had been having a tantrum in the middle of the shopping mall.
Her cries died away into silence and she looked at the security force surrounding her. Tears streaked silently through the grime on her face, and though her lips quivered, she held back the sound.
When the silence had held for ten seconds the security team faded away as quickly and mysteriously as they'd arrived, and only then did the girl's mother dare run to her and clutch her in her arms.
"Excellent," said Charles Asciugimento, Head of Building Security. "I am now convinced that we can control outbursts."

morganna said...

Only having fun, Mommy
Upside down under the table
The meeting is too long, so I'm
Bouncing along
Uncaring of my noise
Raking my fingernails on the table
Them along -- how come you're annoyed?

g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

In all the hubbub on my end I'd completely forgotten Mejaran was coming up. But, something in the back of my head must've anticipated it, because it made me scribble something down during my layover last week. It's a little more suited to this prompt, though, so I'll share it once I dig the notebook out of my suitcase and type it up.

g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

Okay, it's longer than I thought, but here we go. It takes place several years prior to our other Mejaran shenanigans.
- - - - - - - - - - -
A knock interrupted Anton's oration.

"Divana," called Mirón from his study, "would you answer that, please?"

"Yes Papa," she chirruped. She skipped to the door, and tried not to look too startled when she pulled it open.
"Good afternoon, Principal Ikava," she said quietly with a curtsy.

"And to you, Divana." Principle Ikava showed himself in, knocking the snow off his boots. Divana glanced up as he passed and rose from her curtsy, doing her best not to wobble.
"Is your father at home?"

"Yes, sir, he is."

"Papa!" called Anton. He toddled across the room with his unsteady dignity. "Princip Eekva's here!"

"A fine herald." The Principal half-smiled sourly.

"Good Principal!" called Mirón as he emerged, followed closely by Anton. He warmly shook his counterpart's hand heartily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He offered Ikava a seat, then nodded to the children. "Go upstairs, play there."

Anton scampered up the stairs, and Divana made to follow, but Ikava said, "Oh, she can stay. She should, in fact, my business concerns her."

Divana looked to her father, who nodded. His face looked darker and a little sad. "Go on, Divana, play with your brother." She went up the stairs and ducked into her room at the top of the stairs, but did not close the door.

"Mirón, is that necessary?" implored Ikava.

"Principal, if you please, I will tell her what she needs to know, she is my daughter."

"That she is. And, since she is your daughter, I imagine you've given thought to her age."

I just had a birthday, Divana thought. She started at a small noise in the doorway as Anton pattered in. She made to shush him, but he nodded gravely, put a finger to his own lips, and joined her on the floor.

"What thought of her age?" asked Mirón. "She just turned eleven---"

"A good age," interjected Ikava, "a fine age, just growing into her youth." Something in the [dir] principal's voice made Divana squirm: he tried to sound like Papa when he praised her for something, but something about it didn't sound quite right.

"I don't quite follow, Principal."

Ikava sounded surprised. "Well, Kalo is nigh on twelve, and fine in his youth he is." Divana didn't much care for Kalo, and she had the sense he wasn't fond of her, either. And yet he seemed to spend a great deal of time around her, trying to make her late for her lessons, bothering her when she played with Varana, picking on Anton, all manner of things like that.

"Principal, what is your point?"

"Is it not plain, Mirón?"

"Principal, if you please---"

"Mirón, come, [name]---"

"/Principal/, if you please." He sounded tired all of a sudden.

Ikava sighed. "Very well, Principal Oleán. My point is that our negotiation is coming due."

Negotiation? Anton glanced at Divana, but she kept her gaze fixed on the floor as she listened.
"I beg your pardon?"

g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

"Surely you must agree, by all accounts Divana is well on her way to becoming a fine young lady, I daresay on point with Kalo's progress. I imagine she would be quite ready for the marriage in the spring."

Divana's eyes went wide, but she remained frozen. Mirón said nothing at first.
"Do not concern yourself," continued Ikava, "with her endowment, that has no bearing on the wedding. In any case I judge she will be quite ready within the year, next summer at the latest."

"Her 'endowment'?" Mirón hissed. Divana had never heard her father incredibly angry, or incredibly sad, but he now sounded both. There may have been tears in his voice. "I beg your pardon, but how /dare/ you speak of my daughter this way? Cassius the butcher speaks of his animals with far more dignity."

Ikava's voice chilled and pinched. "My apologies, Mirón---"

"Would you dare speak of my wife to me in such words? Of /your/ wife, bless her soul, or of any daughter you might have had to anyone?" His voice grew stronger, and its force frightened Divana even as she sat there. "She is a /child/, Principal! She is far too young, and you offend me to suggest that you think of her any differently. I was forced into this blunder, and I refuse to let you force me to compound it with another!"

"Again, my apologies. I should have given more warning."

"If you had, I still would have advised you to hold off further, for Kalo's sake."

"For Kalo?" The point in his voice sharpened. "What of him?"

"If you'll pardon me, he too is still young. He is still a boy, Principal Ikava, and it would be just as unfair to force him into such a commitment as marriage at such a young age. I was a good five years older than he is when Medea and I married, and part of me still questions if I was old enough."

The chair scraped a little suddenly. "Who are you that you've the audacity to say such things about my son?"

"Truthfully, a bit of the man who had the nerve to speak of my daughter in such base terms."

Divana could feel Anton tense next to her; even he could feel the anticipation thick in the room below.

"My son," spat Ikava, "will be ready when I think he is ready."

"As will my daughter."

"Perhaps you are not the best person to determine as much." He lowered his voice to such a hiss that Divana had to strain to hear: "I would even go so far as to suspect that you would put off our agreement until her flower has faded, only then would she be ready."

Divana gasped, though she wasn't sure why. "I think it best that you left, Principal," said Mirón. "Your coat is by the door."

MosesMalone said...

I didn’t even want to go to the party. My twin begged me to go, and I can only take so much sulking and begging from her. I regretted not saying, “NO” to her the entire time leading up to walking into the party. I just didn’t want to see Jordan. I don’t even understand why we broke up. He’s been texting me for a week begging me to take him back saying how much he loves me, but I don’t know why he broke up with me in the first place. I’m more pissed than upset because I am humiliated. How could he just dump me like that? So we get to the party, and he’s the 3rd person I see. Drunk. God, maybe I do know why we broke up. He’s such an asshole when he’s drunk. He sees me and wraps himself around me, rubbing the small of my back with one hand, lightly touching my side with the other hand, resting his mouth on my neck, and instinctively placing his hips against mine because years ago, I told him I loved that. Now, I feel like he’s invading my space, like he’s offending me, and abusing my personal thoughts. I feel angry that he knows this thing about me… this personal thing where I once loved this feeling. I hate it. I hate that we’ve been together since we were 11. ELEVEN. I hate that he wore my favorite shirt. I hate that he is so hot, and I hate that he knows it. I hate that he lifted my face to kiss me in front of everyone. I hate that I didn’t know how to say no. I never say no!! I felt so stupid! I hate him. Sonofabitch! So I stopped, and when he went back to kiss me again, I shyly turned my head. I thought I was discreet, but the look on his face... he was so hurt. I wasn’t sure though, and I just stared at him waiting. I wanted to know what he was thinking. That’s when it happened. He turned bright red, and he was so angry looking. This violent outburst just spewed from his fiery mouth. He started screaming at me calling me a bitch and stupid whore. I didn’t say anything. What do you say to that? My sister started pulling me away from him, and Terrence, John, and Adam were pulling Jordan outside. He screamed the whole time. Dear God. I never knew what was coming. Is it my fault? Why did he get behind the wheel?

Marc said...

Greg - time for another one, it seems.

Oh my. Yes, I should think that would silence the vast majority of those kinds of outbursts :P

Morganna - hah, that's a fun little acrostic :)

Also: thank you for your email. I owe you a reply and I haven't forgotten that.

g2 - hah, I love your portrayal of Anton :D

Fascinating little flashback, by the way. Very much enjoyed it.

Mo - oof, that final line packs a punch. Did not see that coming... nicely done.