The exercise:
Let us discuss: the odds.
More potting up of tomatoes today, along with some transplanting of broccoli out into the garden. Also there was some hauling ass out of said garden to hide/work in the greenhouse until a rather sudden and intense downpour passed over.
Good times.
Mine:
It finally happened after the fourth drink.
The evening had been heading toward the inevitable pretty much from the get-go but Tim fought it the whole way. He insisted on pointing out the obvious obstacles to success, the humiliation that awaited failure.
But we kept at him. Eddie came up with some particularly clever reassurances and confidence boosters. There was no way we were watching that opportunity pass from the sidelines. We had to send a man in to the fray.
8 comments:
Our very wet drought continues in the UK; I think we're slowly in danger of drowning in this drought. The greenhouse is proving its worth already then!
YouTube footage is always a reason for sending someone into a fight :) The language is rather nice in this piece, it's a pleasure to read aloud!
The odds
Malachi stared at the odds board, hunting down the list. He reached the bottom, and a slight panic gripped him. He started again at the top, forcing himself to read slowly.
Born to be glue at 3/1,
Three legs and lame at 5/1,
Touched like a blind child at 8/1.
He shook his head angrily, he knew it should be in there at 6/1, those were the odds that the bookmaker had offered him. He turned round, looking for the bookmaker to check his ticket, and with a depressing lack of surprise saw that the little, greasy-haired man had disappeared.
He walked up to the man at the Tote stand and asked him.
"Miss Piggy's ride?" said the man at the stand. "Lost in the last race mate, not running in this one!"
Marc -- I just saw your announcement on last Friday -- congratulations!
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He is odd, they say.
They say his eyes look different ways.
They say he always stares at his feet.
They say I shouldn't talk to him,
He is odd.
What they don't know is,
I am even odder.
the odds
the odds always live across the road from the evens.
the odds live on the high side, the evens on the low side.
the odds look down on the evens, literally and morally speaking,
I don't know why they can't all get along as equals,
it's odd, that is.
The Odds (and Evens)
Even Steven and Odd Todd a book written to teach kids about math.
Even Steven like his numbers even; two loves of bread Four pankcakes in the morning. He even wakes up at 8 am sharp.
Then along comes his cousin, Odd Todd, for a visit with his suitcases that have an odd number of side. Needles to say he prefers to wake up at 9 am and eats three of Even Steven's pancakes.
A very cure book full of odd and even numbers and steam coming out of Even Steven's ears as Odd Todd seems to be ruining his day, but in the end it turns out all right.
Not a bad book to read to my son while he waits for his sister to finish ballet. :}
Marc- Not a big fan of youtube, but I enjoyed your story all the same :)
It's a bit long-- and aimless-- again.
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“Where did you get that?” a girl in her mid to late twenties asked while reaching for the photograph in my hand.
I pulled my hand back and turned to face her. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pony-tail. Loose pieces trailed down her neck and over a multi-colored scarf and the straps of her white tank top. She wore dozens of bracelets and a pair of gloves that covered her hands, but not her fingers. A short black skirt covered torn leggings that were further hidden by the heavy military boots. I took a step back as she leaned in toward the photograph.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” Challenge and confusion filled my voice.
She leaned in again, reaching for the photograph. “Seriously, where did you get that?”
I stepped backward and pulled the picture out of her reach. Her appearance bothered me. I wanted to write her off as homeless or crazy which would allow me to ignore her. But I couldn’t. Somehow I felt I should know this young woman.
She dropped her hand to her side. I looked into her face. Her blue eyes were startlingly dark, much like the eyes of a newborn. She had high cheek bones, a small nose, and thin lips which she had tried to plump up with lipstick. Her make-up sat too heavily on her face. She would have been prettier without it. It took me a few seconds before I realized she was waiting for an answer.
“Why does it matter to you?” My voice had softened. I was no longer anxious to make her move on. It was odd. Usually I avoided women her age. I found them to be rude, senseless, entitled, naïve. Her first impression certainly left that impression, but there was something so familiar about her face that kept me drawn to her.
“It’s of someone I use to know well.” I waited for her to elaborate, my eyes constantly searching her face for an answer. I couldn’t find one. She pointed at the photograph and raised her eyebrows as if to ask me what I was waiting for. I moved my hand so the photo was between us. She looked down at it, her hand brushing the edge. I watched her expression change, soften.
When she looked back up, she was back to being the rebellious kid she first appeared to be. “I’ll give you $10 bucks for the picture.” She pulled some wrinkled ones from the pocket in her skirt and started smoothing them out.
I glanced down at the picture. It was of a girl about 10 years younger than the one standing in front of me on a swing. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was having a most pleasant dream. In the background was the blurry image of my best friend, Steve, pushing the child on the swing.
“Do we have a deal?” She snapped some bubble gum and held out the chaotic pile of money. Her eyes bored into me.
“Makayla?” She lowered her eyes and I knew without a doubt that it was her. “He died a month ago of cancer. He left me a box of photos to pass on to you kids. Johnny took most of them, but I pulled this out because your dad left a message for you on the back of it.” I handed her the photo and stood waiting for whatever would come next.
Janie was bouncing on the balls of her feet, overjoyed, and grinning from ear to ear. “Oh Sasha! I can’t believe I’ve run into you half way across the world! What are the odds of both of us being in Palermo for Christmas?”
Staring into her familiar face, Sasha tried to recall the name. But matching a name to the freckled face in front of her proved more difficult than one would expect.
“Who are you?” Sasha blurted out, her voice heavy with a thick Italian accent.
The smile fell from Janie’s face. “Oh come on Sasha, I haven’t changed that much in the last ten years, it’s me, Janie Kennedy, we roomed together at Brown.”
The words resonated in Sasha’s head, Brown, Janie Kennedy, roommate. Images flashed in her mind of a large stone building, young people were running up the stairs, backpacks slung over a shoulder, hurrying to reach their destination.
Sasha shook her head. “I’m sorry, Janie. But I don’t know you. I may have once, but that was a long time ago, another life, long forgotten.” Sasha sighed and turned to leave. “Ciao.” she called out over her shoulder.
Janie stood crest fallen and bewildered. She had watched Sasha walk down the cobbled path and out of sight before realizing this have may have been the only opportunity she would ever have to find out what had happened to her friend. Determined not to let it slip away she raced down the path after Sasha.
Greg - poor Malachi, the odds were not in his favor.
Morganna - thank you :)
It's great how much you convey about him in such a short space.
Writebite - perhaps the odds wish we could all get along as odds? :P
Cathryn - hah, that sounds like a book I wish I'd thought to write!
AnonyHeather - really enjoyed this scene and the back and forth between the two characters. Felt very authentic.
Krystin - ah, a worthy continuation from yesterday. More clues, leading to more questions, leading to... demands for more :)
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