Monday, July 16, 2012

Three words given to me. Make me a story. Fiction. You rate this entry.

                    



                     Three words asked of me to write about.

 

 

                 This was a result of someone pushing me where my mind is concerned. I told her give me just three words and I will close my eyes and give you an area, smell and sounds and give you a nicer dream.

             Laying with her naked in bed, she sitting up and smoking a cig, she told me three words: Rope, spaghetti and turtle.

             I gave her a tiny story she seemed happy with. This grew from that:

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              Annie awoke late afternoon on a stiffling, humid Saturday. Head throbbing from far too many whiskey sours and singing Shanya Twains tunes in her husbands bar with friends that lay wasted across her tan livingroom floor and dining room.

           Smelling bacon in the distance like a mirage to the parched, instinct guide her to the kitchen.

          Has snoring ever seemed so loud, she thought, placing slender palms to sides of her head.

          What in the name of god did i drink last night, greying longish brown locks falling over shoulders,

            Seeing his woman before him, never failing to get aroused by her pressence in front of him regardless of the decade plus they'd shared. Seeing her screwed up eyes and twisted face, asking her: " you got something against bacon?"

           Please, lower voice.... stupid, yes, but did you m-make coffee?

           Sitting on stool, puke not far from her throat, she eyes nearest wastebasket and its proximity

            Husband at counter, cutting veggies to make omlets, tosses carelesly from blades edge a shard of celery. It hits to floor softly.

              Peering out from under molding counters home, Tamara, seeing food for her children, weighs the odds. Sharp claws useless against tiles floors, both tail and neck extending, waiting to make her move.

         Man embraces woman cradling head.

         Scurrying out to grasp the shard of celery, reaching and biting hard for purchase, tiny eyes darting in all angles, heading back to home.

         Children fed as the only pond around here is in the basement of these humans.

        Hours later, hangover lesser and lesser pounding at temples, Annie hangs laundry on this hot Iowa day over flimsy clotheslines . Wearing sunglasses, more to elevate direct sunlight but more to kill last nights booze grip on her.

         Her husband, wearing tight sweat covered blue tank top sees her from a distance. Gazing fondly at Annies erect nipples, knowing them well, endlessly wishing to kiss them more and more, love and emotions undying, each day, week, month or year. He walks towards her with both fire in his eye as his groin engorged.

       Approaching her, knowing what he wants, she shuts him down flatly: Don’t even think about it, bucko! We got your family coming over here for dinner in no time and I have to cook. Tossing him a glance of possible later events if he helps her, she cocks her average body in ways inviting.

      Later, family arrives and children begin to play about.

       Laughter of children and adults intertwine harmoniously over subjects obscured by age and experience. Embraces whole heartedly felt, smiles shared, eyes meeting.

         Annie says loudly, proudly : I did say bring a dish. All I made was Spag and Meatballs. Hubby’s got the beer and booze ready. There are two changing tents CLEARLY marked Male and Female for changing for the pool.

       Chuckling, Annie states, At least wait til the kids sleep in tents before you people go nude in the pool. Be kind before you need to rewind…

       Her husband sister yells, not even having so much as a beer yet: “Where’s the music?!?!?!?!.

          Knowing his sisters whiny voice, he ’s hit’s the PLAY button: Milliseconds later, V V Brown’s Shark in the Water blares from JBL’s enveloping the massive deck, huge Jacuzzi and pool.

        “Can I do anything? “ Gwen, Annies sister, asked her. Opening plate glass patio doors, smells of garlic, butter and onions holding her nose.

        Hugging her sister a second time. Emotions higher, warmth rising, feeling more homeward with each passing second. Annie said: Thanks. You can watch the kids in the yard. Watch them around the tire-swing. I told him I worry about the rope…

      Sister nods, Men are assholes.

     Sisters embrace again. Tender moments exchanged.

      Albeit slightly so before fierce instability takes hold.

       Afternoon brightness romping quickly to lesser shades as strong yellow sunlight, like western gunfighters so eagerly ride horses, heading east to darkness.

 

       White skies, yellow sharp below, diving toward the terminator. Reaching reds, orange going into water off a lake as light blues grow to sharper/ darker to Royal blues finally ending in a black star filled night.



       Splashings in the pool, fragrances of BBQ’d ribs, steak and chicken, adult laughter from bad jokes spread. T’Pua: Heart and Soul thumps from the JBL’s. Family dancing on the deck, on the grounds, nude in the pool and hot-tub.

       This families children all accounted for, playing both video and board games in the AC’d family room.

         Annie, seeing her Seiko hit 930 pm on this summer, staggered to close the gates to the grounds.

       Bears and wolves were known to these lands.



        ‘Watch this, “ Annies husband said, tossing left-overs from the higher reaches of the deck to the left of the pool. Tossing head back, turning toward his heart of hearts, seeing his beautiful woman in full, though slightly in inebriated view: I love you, Annie!

        Swaying hips, tilting head, slowly moving toward, wearing a filmy tight fitting shift, Annie smiling walks to her man.

       People dancing on the deck, lit by Tikki’s flittering light, moving.

      Annie grabs her husband by the his hips, yanking him to hers.

       Smiling, firmly kissing him on the lips, sucking him into her.

       As he does her. Loving her more and more with each and every tightened muscle she spends on him.

         A childs cry shrieks killing all silence, cutting peace of this night like a chainsaw to a living rabbit.



      Audible SNAP! Is heard followed by a THUD as Akron tire whitewall and tiny child hit hard, sundried Earth.

       Dark hollow, no longer sleeping not protecting hers, Tamara awakens abruptly.

       Crying? Is this crying? I know this!

        She glances towards hers, sleeping deeply, soundly unbothered.

          Safe. Mine are.

           Leaving safe lands known, Tamara walks.

 

        “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” broken child cries as night walkers, eaters cover the areas behind Annies house.

        Twin lights strolling cautiously across the dark landscape , the eyes of night flesh eaters cornering, closing, homing in.

        “Fuck IT! IT All TASTES LIKE CHICKEN!” a wasted guy named Felix says, tossing all the Spag and meatballs out away to the far right.

          Slowly, painfully, watching wolves and bear go to the side, she grabs at the tired that gave up a child.

         Child sobbing, broken bones, tangled in mesh twinning’s.

          Tamara’s sharp teeth clamp on unpleasing flavored nylon rope.

            Pulling toward her lair, eyes looking at fierce creatures that would take them both out. Holding purpose, staying the course.

           Moving.

              Slowly.



         Much effort spent, close enough for humans to take from her.

           Annie reaches and take the child in her arms.

             Tamara cocks head, meets Annies eyes showing amazement.

           Drawing backward, ascending deck stairs, reaching her husbands desired embrace. Let’s leave the Snappers alone. Okay?

             Amazed, tears running down strong cheeks, : Anything you say, darling….

           The End: MWD07162012

 

 

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                             Like a song mentioned in this tale: VV Brown’s Shark in the Water.

 

                       This is my first total writing with nothing but three words to create from and complete in over twenty years.



                This is total fiction on my part and am thankful for the challenge.

              Thank you, Gretchen!

              Mark William Darus 07162012