Writer's Digest Writing Prompt

Taking part in a Writer's Digest Writing Prompt: From Song to Story-
Write a short story based on your favorite song, using the song's title as your story's title and the lyrics for your plot. (500 words or less) Check out my entry under Todaysrant (Posted 2008-04-18 3:42 PM (#172569 - in reply to #171976))

A Name For Me

Always the one with dirt under her fingers and bruises on her legs, looking at her, many would refer to her as a ‘tomboy’. Others, ones that knew her family, would say she is ‘Mike’s little sister’. A name of her own was the quest that drove her. Sweet and pretty still through the cuts and sweat, three decades to realize that no one will take her seriously with her sun-kissed hair, rosy cheeks and piercing blue eyes. “You are too pretty to play with the boys...too pretty to play rugby…too pretty...” Nip here, tuck there, conforming to a social level she overcame. Natural, at times, unkempt, these deterrents did not work.

What made men swoon for her also drove them away. Independent, determined, intimidating...adjectives she heard every time a relationship was being to crest. “But this is who I am. How can it be too much of a ‘good thing’?” Deflated and overwrought with sadness, a low that in turn stirred even more determination. This last rejection fueled the endless fire of her being. It was her moment of clarity, a name to be revealed at last...

The Boss

Dusk setting in, the last shimmer of daylight glistening through Laura’s wine glass. Half full, she raises the glass to take another toast to her liquid savior. Many nights, the wine was her comfort after Tim’s berating temperament. Ever since she dented his beloved Mustang; falling into his slavery with ever demand, “These dishes are filthy! Wash them again”; “You overcooked the steak. Can’t you do anything right?”

Thanks to Laura, this time Tim bit off more than he could chew. Laura was never good at the Heimlich maneuver, or so she claimed. After watching him grab at his neck, his eyes bloodshot and bulging out of their sockets. She giggles in twisted bemusement at the memory and now…now she is free.

With a sigh of relief, she gulped down the last few drops, grinning as she left the empty glass on the countertop. “Meow!” Rocket! Her dead husband’s devious feline. “Might as well get rid of him too,” she concluded to herself.

Laura stormed into the garage, her sharp butcher’s knife in hand. “ Meow”, came from under Tim’s precious hunk of steel. Kneeling down beside the metallic midnight black Mustang, “Rocket, get out of there you stupid cat!” The yellow eyes staring at Laura as she started to reach for him. Suddenly, the engine began its thunderous roar. Startled, she quickly pulled herself out from under the back bumper…her last vision being the red brake lights, the license plate reading “The Boss,” now engraved into her skull.

The Thickness of Armor

Dragging yourself, half-drunk and half-asleep, out of bed, slapping water on your face and heading over knowing that if you don’t, who knows when he will give you the opportunity to see him again.

Although you know the words are just words when he says he would call if he heads back-you have heard this before, you know he will not. A spark of hope does arrive at the thought of him telling you that you are supposedly a “good thing” and so he might actually try to come back because he wants to make sure to see you. But to no avail. Saturday night passes, as does Sunday-and nothing.

And that is why I have the armor!

F*eather

To scorn and to disdain-

Bring me not to your lowly-state!
Friendship is your illusion,
I, rise above your devious grip.

Into the depths of jealously!
The arms of a feminine, betrothed man,
Is your only fallacious comfort.

Cast away sweet angels!
Look not into the eyes of deceit,
Floating above the quicksand, which engulfs them.

Feel no pity for the one it feeds on!
Let it rejoice in its abrasive nature,
A certain end to follow.

Struggle not to your demise!
Your efforts are fruitless,
Consumed, till there is no trace of your existence.

Gone, below the surface,
Where no one can see,
Nor care to remember, your hideous face.

The Realization of Mortality

The scariest moment in life is the realization of mortality. It comes in an instant when everything seems fine. Just taking a shower and you see yourself slip and crack your head open. You are going about you daily chores when a scene flashes before your eyes and you see yourself falling down the stairs, paralyzing yourself with no one around to call for help. You are driving along and you feel this sickness in your stomach…a premonition that something bad is about to happen. You just stopped into a store to pick up a carton of milk and someone pulls out a gun…ice water courses through your veins…you are frozen; scared and frozen. You want to scream out; you want to do something to save the life you took for granted.

Helium Filled

A natural element rising up in the air,

Reaching towards that blue ceiling.

Contained within is desire

Ascending higher than before

…but wait.

Something holds my string.

Looking down,

I see myself.

Here I am...

There is this young girl,
Tough and unyielding,
Dirt on her hands, cuts on her knees,
Nothing phases her determination.

There is this young lady,
Giving and understanding,
Soft spoken with kind eyes,
Looking to receive an approval.

There is this young woman,
A bit shaken and hesitant,
Her spin tenses,
Uncertain where she is going.

There is this woman,
Broken and dazed,
Her hair splitting ends,
Willing to accept whatever gift is bestowed …

…here I am.

Untitled

In ancient times, Pharaohs spent their entire life, as short as it was, preparing for death. Preparing for the uncertain and inevitable yet to them, it was clear. There was no uncertainty. There was no question and no hesitation.

One morning I was reading the newspaper over a freshly brewed pot of vanilla hazelnut coffee, like every morning, when I read about a young girl who slept herself to death. The mother had just starting seeking help for her sleeping beauty when she went in one time to check on her daughter, she could no longer wake her. The young girl of 13 had been sleeping almost 22 hours a day for many years. Her mother, her accomplice, would wake her every now and then for some water or a quick bath. The lack of nutrition had caused her to slip into a coma.
This girl’s desire to sleep her life away had come true. Why? Did she know something we all didn’t? Did she know where she was going and absolute that it was better than her current situation?

The mother, now grievous and distraught, placed no blame on herself. Teary-eyed and mournful, she weeps for her poor daughter.

The hospital did all they could, giving her vitamin shots and glucose water, but it was no use. The brain was damaged; it was dead. She was now stuck between two worlds-the one pushing oxygen into her lungs and the other where her thoughts where. Desperately reaching out to the beyond, to the place where the Pharaohs go.

The Ringleader

Who should stand up for us?
Who should be our voice?

Who should take the blame for us?
Whom should be thrown to the wolves?

Should it be you, Sinister Man?
Or you, Old Lady?

Follow me, for I know the way!

The Accident

Scrutinizing the article,
It could have been me in that car.
It was a rainy night,
I would have been there.
I was going to go out but I felt compelled not to,
Do I have someone to thank for that?