Fourth of July

Hey, my next Short Story is being delayed for the holiday so check back tomorrow for it.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 23

Sorry for getting this out late, internet was down and I had to find an alternative spot to upload this.

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Joan stood up, ignoring her complaining knees and back from having to sit crouching for so long, and surveyed the small corner of the shop that she'd been working on for the last couple hours. The shelves were neat, the titles were clearly visible, and everything was in alphabetical order according to author, just like Mike had told her.

The labyrinth of shelves was getting to be more familiar to her now and Joan only made a couple of wrong turns before finding her way back to the front of the store. Mike flinched when he noticed the small flame on Joan's back, but said nothing. Perhaps it was Melanie's influence, or the fact that the fire didn't burn Joan's clothes anymore, either way Mike was getting better at hiding his discomfort about Joan's fire. Instead he pointed to another stack of boxed books.

“Not again,” Joan moaned as she moved inevitably toward the boxes.

Mike nodded, “Afraid so,” He said.

“Is it always like this?” Joan asked.

“Only when we're open,” Mike teased. He began as if to pat Joan on the back and then thought better of it, patting her on the top of her head instead, albeit awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Joan chuckled and lifted the first box from the stack. “And where do these need to go?”

“Remember that corner you worked in on your first day?” mike asked.

Joan nodded slowly. “The one crammed so full of books you had me using stacks of books for book shelves?”

“That's the one,” Mike said and nodded toward its general direction.

“And how are these suppose to fit?” She demanded.

“You'll see,” Mike prodded her, “Now get going.”

Joan carried the box just far enough into the shelves of books to be out of sight before stopping. She had to think, going through her mental map of the store, to see if she remembered where that particular back corner was. The store didn't seem to be shaped like a normal store. There were far too many back corners, far too many shelves to reasonably be able to fit into the shop, and far too few patrons in the store to justify the rate at which some sections were cleared out. In fact, now that Joan got to thinking about it, she rarely if ever came across shoppers while she worked.

Joan shook her head and started walking. She took the first right she came to, then her second left, another right, and then another. Dead end. Joan tried another path. The shelves were so high that she couldn't see over them to get any real sense of direction and the books did strange things to sounds such that Joan could never be certain where they were coming from.

Joan wandered around a bit more before she had to set the stack of books down and take a short break to rest her arms. She'd stopped in some unfamiliar section of the store, its shelves were nearly empty and judging from the abnormally thick dust on the shelves it looked like it had been a long time since anyone had been back here.

“Joan.”

Mike's voice sounded right behind her and she let out a little scream of surprise. The flame on her back flared and she couldn't help it as she burned a small hole in the back of her shirt

“Whoa!” Mike called out, backing away from her quickly. “Didn't mean to surprise you.”

Joan pulled her flame back under control and her shirt stopped burning immediately. They both wrinkled their noses at the smell of her burnt shirt and Mike waved his hand back and forth to try and clear the air of the wisps of smoke.

“Any way,” Mike said uncomfortably after giving up on clearing the air. “Glad you found your way here.”

Joan looked around in shock. “This is it?” Joan exclaimed before she could stop herself. “I mean,” She corrected quickly, “Yeah, I just couldn't believe how fast the books flew off the shelf.”

“Right,” Mike smiled and picked up the box so he could set it down on a sturdy shelf at waist level. “Any way, Melanie's going to be here in a few minutes and I thought it might do her some good to be able to talk with you for a while.”

“Why don't you want to talk to her?” Joan asked, relieved at not having to stock shelves for a while but confused by Mike's behavior.

“I do,” Mike said, not meeting her eyes, “But I'm not very good with these sorts of things and I don't want to make it harder for Mel than it has to be right now.”

“Okay,” Joan said and decided that she believed him. Guys were, after all, pretty bad when it came to emotions and understanding them.

“Take your first three lefts,” Mike called after Joan as she began working her way back through the maze.

Sure enough, three left turns later Joan found herself back at the front of the store. She sat down behind the counter and waited. She could hear Mike whistling to himself in the distance, though as always it sounded like it was coming from a completely different part of the store than where she now knew he was.

A few minutes passed before the door bell dinged and Joan looked up as Melanie walked in. She looked good, considering everything that had happened. Her eyes weren't bloodshot from crying and her clothes matched today. All the same, her usual smile and perky attitude were still missing.

“Hey,” Melanie said.

“How's it going?” Joan asked and immediately realizing that any number of greetings would have been better. Perhaps her judgment of men and their emotional competency had been too hasty.

“We're getting through it,” Melanie shrugged and joined Joan behind the counter. “Funeral's tomorrow.”

“What?” Joan asked, “Why so soon?”

Melanie shrugged again, something she'd been doing more often lately. “There's no real reason to wait.”

Melanie was right. There was no body to prepare for burial. In fact, there was no burial at all. All that they could do was hold a service and display some photographs.

“I'm sorry,” Joan said and pulled Melanie into a hug.

Melanie rested her head on Joan's shoulder for a time before pulling back. “Is Mike around?”

Joan pointed vaguely off toward the back of the store and Melanie nodded, her expression saddening.

“He loves you,” Joan found herself saying.

Melanie shrugged.

“He...” Joan paused, not sure what she should say.

Melanie looked back to her. “Why won't he talk to me?” She asked. “Why doesn't he want to see me?” Tears began to shine in her eyes.

“He...he said he wasn't very good with these things, and that he didn't want to make things worse.”

“So he ignores me? Pretends that I don't exist?” Melanie shouted and Joan got the distinct impression that Melanie's shout was more for Mike than for her.

“Is this a bad time?”

Both Melanie and Joan turned abruptly. Tom stood in the doorway. Melanie's shout had drowned out the door bell.

“No,” Joan said immediately. “I mean, it could be better,” she shot a glance at Melanie who was quickly wiping her eyes on her sleeve and doing a good job at making it look like she was fixing her hair. “Any way, what can we do for you?”

Tom entered the store properly and looked back and forth at the two young women. “I was actually looking for you, Joan.” He said at last.

“Well I never was very good at hide and seek,” Joan replied, surprised by her wit.

Tom didn't seem to catch it though and instead shifted his attention to Melanie. “I'm sorry,” He told her, “And,” He looked around the store, “Judging by the fact that Mike is no where to be found he's being his usual idiot self,” Tom leaned forward, resting an elbow on the counter, “Don't be too hard on him, just smack him a bit on the back of the head and tell him what he should be doing. He cares, he just doesn't know how to show it.”

Melanie nodded and skulked off to find Mike.

“And here I was about to tell Melanie about how all men are emotionally stunted and not to hold it against Mike for being born that way,” Joan said.

“We're a brilliant breed when we're not involved directly,” Tom answered, “The moment we get dragged into things directly, however, we become total morons.”

Joan laughed and Tom brightened a little.

“And speaking of morons,” Tom began and at the same time that grew very interested in looking at something the counter only he could see, “I was wondering if you'd care to join me this evening for dinner,” He paused, but still didn't look up at her, “Since all my other attempts so far have been unsuccessful,” Tom finally looked back up at her. “And I'm sorry for the short notice,” Tom began again, cutting Joan off right before she could begin to give her answer. “I was just in the area and thought I'd poke my head in and see if you were working and—

“You're just going to keep talking,” Joan interrupted him, “Aren't you?”

Joan laughed and Tom managed a slight chuckle.

“Yeah, probably,” He admitted. “Like I said, brilliant breed until we get ourselves involved.

“Well, before you get to rambling again,” Joan said, “I'd love to have dinner with you.”

Tom let out a sigh of relief.

“But,” Joan said, “I don't think tonight's a good night for it.”

Tom deflated.

“Melanie really needs—

“Go on the date!” Melanie called out from the labyrinthine shelves, sounding much more like her usual self than she had since her dad's death.

“Are you sure?” Joan called back.

“I've got Mike,” Melanie reassured her. A series of muffled giggles followed, along with, “no...stop it...stop it...” And finally a slap and a mild shout of pain that sounded like it came from Mike.

“Okay than,” Melanie said, “I get off at six, if you just want to meet me back here.”

“Sounds good,” Tom stated eagerly, his face flushing slightly. “Really good. Okay, I'll see you back here at six.”

Tom backed away from the counter slowly, nodding and muttering affirmatives and eventually bumped into the door.

“Right,” He said, “See you later.”

Joan burst into laughter the moment Tom was out of the store.

“Though you may want to change your shirt first,” Mike called from the back of the store. “If Tom sees the hole in the back he might never recover from his fit of stuttering.”

Another slap sounded and mike cried out again. Joan wasn't sure if Melanie had slapped him for the comment or something else but Joan's curiosity wasn't strong enough for her to go and find out.

 

POETRY: TIRED and DEATH

I'm not sure if this is an actual poetic form or not, but it sure is fun to write in, I think.

Tired

Movement slowing, thinking dulling, eyelids shutting

I sleep, I dream, I wake

Tired

Death,

Coming slowly, taking quickly, leaving quietly

As shadows fall away

Death

It's Been A While...And I've Had Some Time To Think

     Last night was my Masters Presentation (similar to a Thesis Defense). In that presentation, I discussed the feature film project that I've been developing over the last year. Once I was finished, the panel grilled me with questions about the project and from those questions I've gained a few insights into how to tell a story about a story...if that makes sense.

     The film is a heavy drama about a widower and his autistic daughter. And while there are many difficult struggles and sad moments, it is also balanced out with a fair amount of humor. That said, in the presentation, time is limited and I had to choose which pieces of information to cover. Unfortunately, the main points in the story are all downers and I failed to mention the humor that balances it all out. The members on the panel were great at pointing that out and showing me how better to tell a story about a story (since that's what a presentation is all about anyway).

     This got me thinking about all the times I, as a storyteller (not just a filmmaker), have found myself telling stories about stories. Some times I'm pitching a movie idea or a novel, other times I'm chatting with friends, and every once in a while I'm telling my story about a story to the wall just so I can hear it for myself. Even now, I'm writing a story about a story in this blog. And far too often, I'm beginning see, I leave things out in the telling that shouldn't be forgotten.

     Returning to my film, pancakes play an important role in the father-daughter relationship. However, in the presentation, I failed to stress it sufficiently so that when the moment came for the pancakes to have their big moment, it failed to impress the panel as much as I'd hoped. Now, there's a delicate balance between seeding the story about a story with information, and blatantly giving things away. Subtlety is an art form unto itself that a good story teller must master. Far too often, I'm finding, when I'm telling a story I find subtlety comes easily to me, but when I need to tell a story about a story, my subtlety fades.

     I believe this is a common fault in many story tellers. When we craft a story, we're focused, balancing drama with humor, planting seeds, and building tension in anticipation of the grand finale. But when we're telling stories about that story, we forget. Something in our minds believes that our listener knows what we know and so we only hit the main points, leaving out the little bits in between that makes our story great.

     While I am not yet a master at this form of story telling, since I've only come to recognize it since last night, I'll refrain from getting preachy about how to fix this problem. I offer only this simple advice, tell the story. That's the whole reason whoever we're telling our story to is listening to us, so give them what they want.

     I'm still learning and growing as a story teller, and while my presentation was not perfect, members of the panel still cried when I intended for them to cry, they laughed when I wanted them to laugh, and they asked the questions I wanted them to ask when I wanted them to ask them. We can, all of us story tellers, improve, but along the way don't forget to cherish your accomplishments and success'.

SHORT STORY: SCREAM FOR THE WHISPERER

It was almost eleven thirty at night when Melissa finished cleaning up at the diner and was able to start heading home; everyone else had already left. She grabbed her purse, put on her overcoat, and checked herself over one last time in the mirror. Her brown hair was disheveled and hung dead at her shoulders. Her tired, brown eyes reflected how she felt and her usually pleasant complexion was worn and bedraggled. This was the last time that she would ever agree to both opening and closing the diner on the same day.

She did what she could with her hair before saying, “Lights, off!” in a commanding voice.

The air around her shuddered and the lights shut off. Melissa left the building and turned facing toward the front doors.

“Admit no one except for the opener!” Again she used her commanding voice and again there was the shuddering in the surrounding air.

Though she was still very commanding, the waver in her voice betrayed the fatigue she felt. Melissa checked the doors briefly and then set off at a quick pace.

A block down from the diner the hairs on the back of her head stood on end and an odd pressure weighed itself against her back. She was being watched. All she needed to do was to call out and she could make the person show him or her self to her, but it was probably nothing to worry about. It wasn't such an unusual thing, even at this time of night and she continued walking. The watcher, though, did not lose sight of her and half way down the second block she couldn't ignore it any longer.

“Show your self!” Melissa commanded.

“no” a man whispered back.

Melissa stopped dead in her tracks, turning on the spot and seeing nothing but a dark street. If the man had used magic to keep himself hidden, he should have at least raised his voice. No one was powerful enough to simply whisper a command.

“What do you want?” Melissa asked, now filling with fear.

“a scream” the voice whispered back, his hot breath tickled her cheek.

Melissa gave a short cry, not intentionally, but because something had forced her to, as if the man did indeed have the power to create magic with his whispered answers.

“Who are you?” she asked, turning around to face her assailant, though again all she saw was empty darkness.

Melissa steadied her breathing, waiting for a response. None came.

“Show yourself!” She ordered the faceless voice.

Laughter.

Then, from a darkened alleyway before her, the shadows pulled away from the wall. Just as smoothly as they had blended into the wall, they blended back into the form of a tall man shrouded in a long cloak. His head was bowed and long, scraggly hair hid his face from Melissa's view. He drew closer. As he stepped, the black material of his cloak flowed back as though it wanted to melt back into the shadows and only the mans will kept them in place. With every step of his heavy boots on the pavement, Melissa's fear rose higher and higher.

He spread his arms out from his sides in a mock greeting; only now raising his head and revealing his face emaciated. He smiled and uneven, jagged teeth shone in the night. That was not, however, the worst; where his eyes should have been, there were two black orbs, distinct, yet matter-less, like a starless night sky.

Melissa turned to run, but the man whispered for her to stay and she was rooted to the ground. He walked right up to her face until there was barely half an inch between them. His demoniacal smile widened and he circled around behind her. His hand grasped the back of her neck and pulled her in closer.

“scream for the whisperer,” was his only response to her struggling, his hot breath playing on her ears, his face almost touching her cheek.

There was a shuddering in the air surrounding them and Melissa lost all control as she let out a blood curdling scream.

He sighed after a moment and said, “thank you my dear,” in a contented manner as he let go of her neck and pushed her forward and away from him. “now die”

IMMOLATION: Chapter 22

Samantha awoke to the usual stench of her own filth but the usual pain that accompanied consciousness was lessening; her wrists and ankles were losing their feeling. Tea Leaves had caught her trying to escape again he had been checking and tightening her bonds every few hours ever since. When she wasn't trying to escape, Samantha was either crying or being visited by Tea Leaves, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, and so she held her tears for when he was gone. At the moment, she was too tired to try to escape and too emotionally drained to cry so she sat and waited for Tea Leaves to arrive. Judging by the sunlight it was getting near his usual time anyway.

Sure enough, barely a few minutes passed before she heard Tea Leaves' footsteps approaching and she steeled her herself against her fear. The door opened.

“You're looking well, today,” Tea Leaves said as soon as he entered the room. As always, he didn't appear to find anything wrong with the situation.

“You can't keep me like this forever,” Samantha stated while Tea Leaves checked her bonds.

“You are, as always, and tragically, correct,” Tea Leaves replied, satisfied that Samantha was still held tight, “But I wouldn't think you'd be so eager for me to decide I couldn't hold you any longer,” He looked her in the eyes, his cold watery eyes not even flinching as he said, “Since I would have to kill you.”

“I told you,” Samantha begged, “I'll go into hiding, I'll disappear, the others will never know. I—

Tea Leaves held up his hand to silence her and Samantha fell quiet.

“They would find you and kill us both, as I've told you before.” Tea Leaves sighed, heavily, and his expression softened. “I'm sorry, my dear, but this is how it has to be.”

Samantha hung her head and looked down at her lap. She immediately looked away before her stomach could retch. She'd been in the chair for almost a week, not once had Tea Leaves let her out of it, no matter the reason.

“Could you please clean me off?” Samantha found herself muttering.

Tea Leaves was getting up to leave.

“I'm sorry?” He asked, “What was that, dear?”

“I asked if you would at least clean me off since you wont let me do it myself.” Samantha looked down at the mess she sat in, soaking and staining her pants. It was even beginning to surrounded the base of her chair.

Tea Leaves shook his head. “I'd have to undo you,” He said.

“Then pour some water on me!” Samantha screamed, momentarily losing control of herself as she thrashed around, rocking her chair back and forth to the point where she was in danger of tipping over.

The stench, the fear, everything she'd been forced to endure welled up inside of her until she couldn't hold it in any longer and she started to cry. Samantha screwed up her face as she tried to hold back the tears. She'd promised herself she wouldn't give Tea Leaves this satisfaction, but it was of no use. She'd never get free, never see her dad again, never get to apologize to him for what she's done.

“My dear,” Tea Leaves said, his voice no longer firm or commanding, “I really do not wish to harm you...And if I can manage it, I will set you free.”

Samantha looked up at Tea Leaves and was shocked to find he was crying too.

“Then why keep me like this?” Samantha asked.

Tea Leaves knelt back down and began to undo the tape on Samantha's feet.

“Because I don't think the others believe I killed you,” Tea Leaves said, “And if it comes to it, I may need...evidence.”

“If you'd told me I was in danger I would have believed you. I would have let you help me, make it look like you'd killed me instead of just kidnap me. I can still help you, if you'll let me.” Samantha hoped Tea Leaves believed her lies but with his face down, working on releasing her legs, she couldn't tell.

“There are no windows in the bathroom,” Tea Leaves began once he'd released Samantha's legs and began working on her arms, “The door will be locked from the outside. I'll wash your clothes while you bath and then have them ready for you when you're done.”

Tea Leaves met her gaze and some of his seriousness was back, though a few tears still ran down his face.

“I will try to find a way,” He said, “To set you free, but it will take time.”

Samantha nodded as the last of her bonds came free and she rubbed her numb hands together, trying to get some feeling back in them.

The bath was more wonderful than she could have imagined. As she sank down into the tub, feeling the warm water wash over her, she couldn't help but close her eyes and think of nothing for a time. The aches in her legs and back from having to sit for so long immediately began to fade. The raw skin around her wrists and ankles were soothed and the tape residue washed off easily after several minutes of soaking.

From time to time she heard Tea Leaves footsteps just outside the door and she made sure to splash around a bit so he knew she was still there and not trying to escape. But other than that, he left her alone and she cried out of relief.

“I have to get out of here,” Samantha said to herself. She'd been talking to herself a lot recently, if only to hear a friendly voice.

Tea Leaves hadn't been lying when he said there were no windows in the bathroom, or that the door would be locked from the outside. In fact, from what little of the apartment she'd seen as Tea Leaves lead her to the bathroom, most of the doors looked like they had locks on the outside of them. She wasn't sure what she'd find if she looked in those other rooms, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. Regardless, they probably wouldn't have windows she could escape though. If they had windows, they'd be barred like the one in her room.

“I'll have to find the front door,” She stated as Tea Leaves footsteps came by the door again. Samantha splashed again and he walked away.

“I'll get him to trust me,” She said, “Get him to stop locking me in, and then I'll get away.”

Samantha nodded her head to herself and began soaping up to properly clean herself. The movement and scrubbing still hurt her sores and stiff joints, but getting to clean herself was worth it.

“I'll go to Dad,” She muttered, feeling fresh hot tears run down her face, “I'll tell him everything.”

...tell him everything.”

Static crackled through the radio followed by some more splashing. Tea Leaves hung his head briefly, sighed, rubbed his face, and then opened the cupboard. The tea pot on the stove was already whistling. He grabbed a few little tins off the shelf and then moved the pot off the burner.

“Pinch of this,” He said as he added flakes of dried leaves to the mugs beside the pot, “Pinch of that, and...”

He opened another tin and added a single pinch of its contents to the mug on his left. He poured the hot water into the mugs and stirred.

“Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down.”

He dropped a cube of sugar into the mug on his left and then picked them both up. He whistled as he wound his way through the apartment, back toward the bathroom. As he drew closer her splashing became more deliberate.

Why do they always do that? He wondered.

When he reached the door he paused and then knocked.

“Draw the curtain,” He said loudly to make sure she heard him, “I'm coming in.”

He waited until he heard the clinking of the curtain rings being jostled before he unlocked the door.

“I'm sorry, my dear,” Tea Leaves whispered and then opened the door.

POETRY: 5 MORE LIMERICKS

There once was a girl named Beru

Who took everything said as quite true

So after a date said she sang like an ape

She formed a new band at the zoo

Quite often I set myself musing

On a creature I fear might abuse me

But when needing to think, nothing else can compete

When compared to this swordfish I'm using

There once was a duel fought out

Where the victor was clearly less stout

Ere' the fisherman died he rose up and cried

“Such a fierce blow from a trout”

A fine hardy yak from Tibet

Found its way down the hills to my step

With sweet glossy eyes, and looking so wise

It asked if I knew Johnny Depp

One bright sunny morning in May

A friend and I set out to play

Though others did stare at a sight so rare

As a child playing tag with a Grey

(Greys are the little aliens with the big heads)