He was furious, veins pounding in his temple. Every muscle in his body was taut. He was clenching his jaw tightly. Frozen in this aggressive stance, hand held at face level. Like a cobra, he was poised to strike at any moment. His eyes, the same deep hazel brown as mine, glared down at me, burning with a vengeance.
Oops, I reprimanded myself silently. I shouldn’t have let him get to this level. His fuse is short, especially with us undesirables around, but I could have avoided his rage… this time. Usually, I am smart, tip-toeing around the demon inside him whenever possible, but when he threatened my little brother, my protective instincts exploded.
I stood up quickly, jerking my young brother out of our father’s grasp, and I stood in front of him, his forever shield. Nothing and No one will get to him. My quick tongue initiated this conflict; my quick tongue needs to find a way out of it.
Following the format from last month, each scribbler will scribble a response to a shared prompt and will be publishing it as follows: Stacy will start, publishing on Wednesday; Julie will follow on Thursday; and finally, Alexis will tie up the mutual prompt on Friday of this week.
The prompt for this month, similar to last month’s, is:
Base a story off of any poem of the author’s choosing.
I waited for her outside the old building, the building that was known for being old and nothing more, named after people long since forgotten. I leaned against the steep, cracked stairs and read my statistics book, which if you’ve ever had statistics you know was uncomfortable and dull. I heard the door open and her laughter filled the air like music. I instantly smiled, an involuntary reaction, kind of like a moth flying toward the fire, knowing that it’s danger but not being able to stop its wings from taking it there.
And that’s Katrina Elizabeth George, my fire, my blindingly dangerous light.
I looked up from my book when I felt her standing in front of me. There she was, large brown eyes waiting expectantly.
“So,” she began. “Do we have a plan for this evening?”
I shook my head, “I guess we can just go out or something.”
“No, we always do that… Let’s not decide right away. We can walk down by the riverfront and go from there?” Continue reading →
It was her that’s making my life miserable. It was also her that’s making my life worth living. It’s funny how someone you love so much can Also be the person you currently can’t stand. I check my watch for the umpteenth time, watching that minute hand run on overdrive. -we are going to be LATE. How will I explain that to my boss? I need to make a good impression. This is my only shot
I feel like I’m guarding the door, pacing back and forth. The only thing I’m missing is a spear, or a musket, or whatever they use to guard doors these days. “Please hurry, Liza.” I hear clanking in the bathroom. A door slams. Then enters the most amazing woman I have ever seen. 5 years together and her appearance still takes my breath away.
Her face is etched with a scowl. She is still dressed in an old band tee that swallows her. “I’m not going, Tim. I’m done. I don’t feel like being in a crowd of strangers, discussing the weather and how I’m liking Manhattan do far. I can’t tolerate the fake today.”
I’m tense. “I’ve been waiting by this door for 20 minutes on you. Couldn’t you have told me you weren’t going sooner?”
Harold chanced a glimpse behind him. Bad move. His eyes filled with terror, surely taking in the sight of me – sweat dripping from my brow, feet pounding the pavement with the force of an Olympic sprinter, and a deadly stare that must be reminiscent of the way a cheetah locks on to a gazelle. He bolted. Funny how quickly even the feeblest of creatures will move when they know it is Death chasing after them.
It wasn’t his fault, his life having to end this way. Harold Smith was just a means to an end. A means to avoiding my end. He might not have realized it, but Harold’s life was precious to me. Death chases everyone. You’ve just got to be quicker than Death. Harold was fast, but not faster than me. I’d had a lot more practice outrunning Death.
The watch face that was fused to my wrist and central nervous system illuminated as I ran. Fifteen minutes. I was cutting it close this time. Tick tick tick – I could hear it counting down in my head.