joannebest











{October 31, 2013}   Smells Like Teen Spirit

arcade

Eddie cupped his hand around the cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth as he tried to light it for the third time.
He was on his last match so he had to make this one  count.
As the first blast of sulfuric smoke burned it’s way to his lungs he choked back a cough. He was 15 years old, smoking was cool, coughing was not.
He leaned back against the wooden planks covering the empty arcade, one foot planted firmly against the wall behind him as he stared at the full moon rising above the dark cold ocean. Brushing a hand through his shaggy blond hair he scanned the desolate boardwalk. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Fucking Luke,” he said to no-one.
It was Mischief Night and Luke should have been here 15 minutes ago. He said he had something planned for tonight. Eddie didn’t know what Luke was up to but he was pretty sure it had to be nothing good.
His eyes wandered the deserted boardwalk as he shivered in the cold night air wishing he’d wore something warmer than a denim jacket.
The beach was empty. Even the infamous Beach Patrol was nowhere to be seen.
A fine misty fog was beginning to gather at the water’s edge, the pungent odor of the sea filled the air and the surf continued it’s relentless pounding against the shore. These things were such a part of Eddie’s life that he didn’t even notice them anymore.
He turned up the collar of his jacket against the increasing wind and looked at his watch. I’ll give him another 5 minutes, he thought, then I’m outta here.
The moon was bright, at least when you could see it.
The sky was filled with clouds, the thin flat kind that seemed to come in bunches, gathering together to hide the light of the moon making the shadows shift and twist into unearthly forms. When he was a little kid Eddie used to make a game out of finding monster shapes in the shadows.
Right now, standing alone on the dark deserted boardwalk, that game didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
Hearing a loud crash from the southern end of the boardwalk Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin. His mouth twisted in chagrin as he watched the wind carry little bits of debris from the half empty garbage can it knocked over.
It was creepy being out here alone.
Every year it seemed like the summer people stayed longer and longer but now, at the end of October the place looked like a ghost town. Especially up here on the boardwalk with the rides closed down and the arcades boarded up for winter.
Eddie took one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it into the air. A gust of wind caught it sending tiny red sparks flying in every direction.
“Fuck,” he muttered, ” the hell with Luke, I’m outta here.”
He took one step forward and froze as he felt something softly brush the top of his head once, then once again. He just began to bolt when a blood curdling scream ripped through the night and a dark shape fell from above, knocking the wind out of Eddie as he hit the boards with a thump.
“What a pussy,” Luke cackled as he looked down at Eddie’s white-as-a-sheet face.
“You’re a fucking idiot Luke.” Eddie pushed Luke off of him and winced at the large splinter embedded in the palm of his hand. He yanked it out and blood gushed from the wound, glistening darkly in the moonlight.
“Blood’s cool,” sneered Luke.
“And you’re a dick,” Eddie said.
Luke responded with a loud belch and Eddie just rolled his eyes.
There weren’t too many kids his age living on the island year round but he was starting to think he’d be better off alone. Luke was definitely one wave shy of a shipwreck.
“Dude, c’mon, we’re breaking into the arcade.” He didn’t even bother to see if Eddie was following him, just walked toward the arcade certain Eddie would follow him.
Which he did, a fact he wasn’t too proud of but it was Mischief Night.
That’s when he saw what Luke had been dangling across his head before; lying on the boardwalk tied to some fishing wire was a small, decidedly dead mouse. He cringed in disgust at the wet squishy crunch that met his ears as Luke brought a heavy black-booted foot down on the poor mouse’s tiny skull.
“You’re fucked up dude,” Eddie said. He knew he should have just left but boredom was in the drivers seat so he sighed, shrugged his shoulders and followed Luke into the arcade.
Blue lights flickered through the tiny cracks of the boards barricading Lucky Lenny’s Arcade.
“Luke, man, this isn’t cool dude, the lights, somebody must be in there dude. Let’s split. It’s too fucking cold out here anyway.” Eddie tried reasoning but Luke was on a mission.
“Fuck that shit man, I spent some major bucks here this summer and didn’t win anything good. I’m going in, you coming or what? They owe me dude, I’m just getting what’s mine. Besides, it’s Mischief Night, don’t be such a pussy.”
Luke pulled something out of his pocket and fiddled with the locks then slipped through the door. Eddie followed him.
Once inside Luke went straight for the locked display cases where all the expensive prizes were kept and got busy on the locks.
The further inside he got, the more Eddie noticed the smell of something disgusting, like the smell of a dumpster or something.
Once he went camping and left a package of raw hamburger meat in a cooler. He forgot about it until he opened it up a few months later.
That’s what it smelled like in the arcade.
“Hey Luke, what the hell is that smell? Smells like something died in here man, lets split.”
Luke ignored him as he continued stuffing his pockets.
“I’m outta here man.”
When Eddie turned to leave he noticed the entire place was bathed in a wash of blue light. It seemed to be coming from the crystal ball behind the glass of Madame Zema’s Fortune Telling booth. He approached the wooden seeress warily, watching her wooden face waiting for her to move. She appeared lifeless, after all, she was only made of wood and paint.
Later on, Eddie would say that it wasn’t really a premonition, that somehow he just knew what would happen. He also knew that nobody would believe him.
Madame Zena’s lifeless marble eyes began to glimmer and shine, turning an ugly blood red-brown color. At the same time the still assembled carousel began a slow soundless spin.
Colored lights from the video games and pinball machines flashed on and off in a strobe effect but made no sound.
But it was the clown that was the worst. The clown standing in the corner looking like Ronald McDonald with a massive hangover began to emit a low throaty chuckle. It sounded evil, bringing to mind that scary clown in that Steven King movie and Eddie knew now where that awful smell was coming from.
Luke was so busy stuffing his pockets when he heard the evil chuckle he thought it was Eddie.
What happened next took hours and hours for Eddie to try and explain to those nice men in the white coats but it all happened in an instant.
Luke turned around, hands dripping with cheap arcade toys and silly prizes. Ronald McDonalds evil twin had moved closer to Luke and Eddie watched in horror as one wooden arm reached out and grabbed him by the neck, lifting Luke a few feet off the ground. He walked stiffly, toward Madame Zena, hand squeezing Luke’s neck leaving his face red, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. Madame Zena’s eyes spun faster and faster till they turned red, her eyes flashing fire then shot out a burst of fire that shot right through Luke’s black heart.
The clown released his hold and Luke’s charred body crumbled in a heap on the floor. His body made a lifeless thumping sound as it rolled against a video game.
The part of Eddie’s mind that was still intact watched passively as the clown split in two and a badly decomposing body slid out, landing on top of what used to be Luke.
All the games stopped flashing and the blue glow disappeared, but that awful smell was still there.
Eddie couldn’t say how long he stood there before the red lights started flashing outside but right before the police walked in Madame Zena made a clicking sound and a piece of paper spit out, floating through the air landing at Eddie’s feet.
A fortune.
He reached out a trembling hand and looked at it.
“Your future will be much like your present. Only longer.”
Eddie was still laughing as they placed the straight jacket around him.
clowwn

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momanddadmomandus

It’s usually the first time that’s the most difficult and life changing.
The first word uttered, the first step taken, the first day of school, the first date, the first sexual experience, you get the idea because we all have our own firsts.
Some firsts are harder than others, regardless of what that first is, and while I’ve already used over 50 words in an effort to avoid getting to my point, I can’t put it off any longer.
This is my year of firsts without my Mom.
In my defense, it’s only been 6 months since she was ripped out of my life without warning.
If you’ve followed my blog from the beginning you may already be aware that I lost my Mom the 19th day of April, 2013.
And that loss was the impetus behind this very blog.
Not to be flippant about such a serious life altering occasion but why is it said like that? “I lost my Mom” isn’t quite strong enough to express the devastation I still feel along with the fact that, no, we don’t “lose” people like they are a set of car keys we can’t find, car keys can be replaced (at which point we usually find them, after buying another set) but when we “lose” people, they can not be replaced.
Perhaps it would have been a little less shocking if the hospital didn’t call me at 9pm on the 18th of April to tell me she was fine and being moved to the local rehab for her broken shoulder only to get a phone call at 5am the following morning telling me she was gone. Lost. Dead.
Leaving it to me to call my Father and 2 brothers with the unbelievable news; the glue in our Family was gone.
Thus began my Year Of Firsts.
My first time having to “identify the body”, such cold clinical words to describe the last time I ever saw my Mother.
My first time having to “make arrangements”, more stupid words making it sound as if I was planning a party.
My first birthday without Mom, bittersweet, as I found the birthday card she’d already bought me, oddly enough, while she always gave me funny cards, this year she’d picked out a beautiful card from Mother to Daughter, comparing me to an angel. While it wasn’t signed, to this day I have it in a special place so I can see it every day.
The first time my Dad was alone for their Wedding Anniversary, which would have been 65 years married.
It isn’t always major events that count as “firsts”, sometimes it’s the little things you take for granted that can hit you out of nowhere and kick you in the gut, hard.
The first time in many many years Mom and I didn’t take our usual Autumn getaway to Cape May, and if I’m honest about it, I don’t know if I will ever be strong enough to go to Cape May again. Another first, I let my subscription to Exit Zero expire, a weekly newspaper I’ve been getting for over 10 years. It hurts too much to look at that magazine anymore and in fact I have a pile of unopened issues waiting to be read.
Today is Halloween, another first without Mom, who always without fail decorated the entire house for every Holiday imaginable.
My Dad still has some of the Easter decorations Mom put up right before she went into the hospital, I haven’t been able to talk him into letting me put them away yet.
Every year my Mom cooked a huge Thanksgiving feast, the entire Family gathered around the table and we were looking forward to getting back to our usual Thanksgiving Day Dinner since the year before was a no-go as the house Hurricane Irene destroyed wasn’t finished yet. This Thanksgiving we knew we had a lot to be Thankful for, but that was taken away with my Mom.
This year I will be cooking Thanksgiving Dinner here, my Dad will join us but both of my brothers turned down my invitation.
And Christmas? And New Years Eve? My Dad’s Birthday? My Mom’s Birthday, which we last celebrated in the hospital, 2 days before she died?
As I’ve been writing this, my phone rang and it was my Dad. He’s worried he’s going to lose the house. There is no way this will happen, he just worries about things, it’s always been a hobby of his but he’s in hyper-drive now because the tax assessor came to the house saying his taxes were to be increased by $2500.00 a year for the addition of a porch on the house. Problem with that is we had a porch before the house collapsed from the hurricane and all we did was replace what was there.
So I guess this is another first, I have to go to the tax office and argue on my Father’s behalf. He’s 87 years old and he’s beginning to develop Alzheimer’s according to his Doctor, so now I have to step up and take care of him without him knowing that I’m taking care of him. He is a proud man who refuses to accept parts of the aging process, so I must tread carefully.
This conversation I just had with Dad was a first, it was the first time I asked my Father to please trust me, to understand that I will never let anything happen to him and his house, and to recognize that he is the most important thing in my world, I have his back as I always have and I always will.
And for the first time in my life, my Dad agreed with me.

momdad

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/10/30/daily-prompt-beginning/



ghosthouse
“There’s a ghost up there.”
Carrie glanced at the little boy standing in front of her as she packed up the rest of her beach gear. According to her stomach, it was just about dinner time.
“Up there,” He pointed to the widow’s walk on top of the beach house she was staying at. “There’s a ghost up there.”
“There is?” She looked around the nearly empty beach looking to see if she could find whoever this little boy belonged to. She’d never been very comfortable around children, or adults for that matter. But she certainly couldn’t leave the kid alone on the beach.
“Yep. My Dad told me a lady ghost lives up there but she’s not the scary kind. Wanna see my shells?”
He shoved his little hand into the pocket of his bathing suit pulling out a small fist full of sand, rocks, and broken shells. A small sand crab slipped through the little boys fingers and scurried across the sand in search of safety.
He looked at his shattered treasure and wrinkled his brow in a very grownup manner then shrugged his little sunburned shoulders.
“They’re broken. I’ll go get some more, there’s a bunch of them over there.” As he ran off toward the jetties Carrie shook her head.
They were cute when they were five or six years old but eventually they grow up to be men, and as sure as the sun rises every morning, one day he’ll shatter some girl’s heart the same way he shattered those broken shells he’d held in his hand.
Carrie sighed, grabbed her beach bag and towel and began the short walk back to the house after first making sure the kid wasn’t alone. He was giggling as he walked hand in hand between his Parents and the obvious affection they displayed hit Carrie in the gut.
She ran the rest of the way to the old Victorian house on the beach.
~
In the Family for generations, the house looked as neglected as Carrie felt.
It used to be overrun with extended Family and friends all summer long and left empty for most of the winter. Over the years, as everyone grew up and moved away, the house sat vacant most of the time. Carrie was the only one who still cared about the house, and after another brutal breakup with yet another selfish bastard Carrie decided some time alone in Cape May was just what the Doctor ordered.
Luckily she could get her work done wherever she was as long as she had an internet connection, one thing she’d made sure this house was equipped with.
So here she was.
As Carrie got closer to the house she noticed something from the corner of her eye. Looking hard at the Widow’s Walk she could swear she saw someone pacing back and forth. When she got close enough though, there was no one there.
“Ghosts,” she muttered to herself. “That’s great, the Father teaches his boy to lie now and the kid will be a pro by the time he grows up, just like the rest of them.”
~
Carrie tossed and turned as she tried to sleep that night. The four poster bed was comfortable enough but she couldn’t turn her brain off. The curtains stirred softly swaying to the rhythm of the ocean breeze. The surf pounded hypnotically against the shore, the sound of an occasional gull squawking usually lulled her to sleep but tonight Carrie heard another sound, she could swear she heard the sound of a woman crying.
Slipping out of bed, Carrie’s bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor as she made her way to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. That usually helped when she couldn’t fall asleep, especially when she added a shot or two of Baileys Irish Crème.
She rinsed out the glass hoping it would work fast and made her way back upstairs, an unexpected yawn taking her by surprise.
As she walked by the door that led to the Widow’s Walk, Carrie heard the crying sound she heard earlier and thought of the little boy on the beach earlier with his tale of ghosts.
Shaking off the shiver passing through her body Carrie doubled back to the kitchen in search of the old key to the door. She hadn’t been up there since she was a kid but that damn crying sound was getting louder with each step she took.
Carrie came to a dead halt as she stepped outside onto the Widow’s Walk.
Standing at the far corner of was a woman staring out to sea, small sobs spilling from her sad mouth.
~
She was a beautiful vision, her face cameo perfect, her long auburn locks tossed about by the night breeze. Clad in an old fashioned white gown, it flowed about her body draping into a small pool at her feet.
She turned her body slightly, wide eyes locking onto Carrie’s. The pale skinned woman’s face mirrored emotions Carrie was all too familiar with, hopelessness, despair, hurt, and a deep sadness.
“Please help me M’Lady,” the ghostly figure whispered.
“Wh-what….who are you?” Carrie questioned softly.
“I am Lady Amanda Reed,” she said with a small curtsy. “I am in grave need of your assistance m’lady. Please Miss, I beg of you, please help me.”
The apparition broke off into a fit of weeping again, her sobbing becoming more intense by the second.
“What do you want? And what the hell are you doing in my house?” Carrie could have sworn she didn’t put that much alcohol in her warm milk and the goosebumps on her arms made her fairly sure this wasn’t a dream.
The woman, the Lady, continued to wail.
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, stop crying!” Carrie snapped.
It was bad enough having a conversation with a dream ghost but she was in no mood to listen to that infernal sobbing all night long.
“Forgive me M’Lady,” her sobs quieted as she spoke. “You must help me. My love awaits my signal. He is to come for me at the flash of my lantern.”
Lady Amanda sniffed back a few tears.
“Yeah right, that’s what they all say,” Carrie muttered.
“Tis true! My love promised to come for me at my signal,” she insisted.
“Well then where the hell is he?”
“I’ve yet to signal him,” Lady Amanda cried. “I’ve tried,” she looked confused. “I have tried countless times M’Lady but I can not seem to, hard as I try.”
Her delicate hand reached out for the lantern at her side and passed right through it.
“I do not understand… oh please help me,” she held her arms out toward Carrie pleadingly.
“Oh for Heaven’s sake!” Carrie grabbed the lantern and looked around for some matches.
Nothing.
Then she remembered the box of matches she’d hidden up here for those times she would sneak up here for a private cigarette. Bingo.
The matches were old and it took a few tries but finally Carrie was able to light the lantern. Anything to stop the annoying sobbing over some stupid lying man.
Lady Amanda let out a gasp. Carrie followed her gaze out to sea and saw a ship appear out of nowhere, sails billowing in the moonlit breeze.
“Tis him! He has come for me!” Lady Amanda gave a sigh of relief as Carrie’s jaw dropped.
The nearly transparent ship was hovering in the sea close to the shoreline.
Carrie watched silently as the shape of a man ran across the small stretch of beach toward her house. He climbed onto the trellis, scaled the roof and leaped over the railing landing softly next to his Lady.
He was as strikingly handsome as she was beautiful. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard.
“My sweet love,” he said, “at long last! Now we shall be together forever.”
The ghostly pair, tangled together in each others arms looked fondly at Carrie.
They began to shimmer and glow, slowly fading away from view.
“Thank you ever so much M’Lady,” Lady Amanda whispered fervently. “We will not forget your kindness. If we can ever offer you any assistance in return, come here to this very place and send us a signal with the lantern. We owe you M’Lady, and we will not forget what you have done for us.”
They were nearly gone, fading from view as the handsome man met Carrie’s eyes, “Do not give up hope sweet Miss, some of us do indeed keep our word.”
With a wink and a nod, they both disappeared.
Carrie looked around at the now empty Widow’s Walk. She looked down at the ocean and for just a second she could swear she saw a ship glide soundlessly through the moonlit sea.
Maybe there is hope after all, Carrie thought to herself.
Maybe it just takes time.
ghostraynhambest
http://neverendingstorydepository.wordpress.com/2013/10/27/weekly-prompt-sunday-october-27-2013/



{October 28, 2013}   Monday Night Blagh

writinggg
I’m in the middle of writing something new, almost finished actually, but…
Bet I’m not the only one who said those words today.
I am my own worst enemy, as someone named ‘they’ said. It’s all my own fault, I know this.
I intend to put myself on my list but I’m so busy taking care of OPP – that’s Other People’s Problems, not the fun kind of OPP, uh, what was I saying?
I’m babbling, that’s what I’m saying, babble.
That sometimes happens after spending the day driving my Dad to his doctor appointment, the one where they stick a needle in his eyeball.
I don’t look, but I am getting pretty good at crossword puzzles with all these doctoring hours, see, that’s what my Father does, he goes to doctors, like for something to do. And I get to drive him.
At least that’s my theory. I have a lot of evidence to back it up but suffice it to say my 87 year old Father walks a mile every morning and goes to the corner bar for a shot and a beer every day.
He’s a Veteran and was literally at Normandy on D-Day.
He’s healthier than I am.
But I know he’s lonely since my Mom’s gone. I know I am, but he lived with her every day for a few months shy of 65 years. Had three kids later than most in those days, and now he’s alone every day and night.
So I worry.
He won’t let anyone move in because he “doesn’t need or want any help”, but he does like me to sleep over and come visit, but he always has an excuse, like he cut out an article in the paper I had to see now.
If doctor appointments are his proud excuse, that’s fine with me.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s a pain in the ass and a son of a bitch, his words, not mine, but I always said how lucky I was that both my Parents were still alive, so now that my New Normal is without Mom, I’m going to continue to smile and say “Ok Dad” when he tells me to slow down because even though the number on the sign is the fastest I should go, it doesn’t mean I should go that fast, and I’m going to make believe it’s a good thing he’s telling me how to get around the town I lived in most of my life.
I’m not going to regret anything because it interferes with my writing time, or my ability to even check my email sometimes because other stuff has to get done in between the sometimes six calls a day from Dad, who would barely get on the phone when I’d call to wish him Happy Birthday before my Mom died.
mom and dad black and white
I am going to take what’s here right now and be happy for it.
I am going to try to take what’s here right now and be happy for it.
And tomorrow, I will finish that one-off ghost story I’m working on, as well as get to my emails and hey! Maybe I can even get to my actual comments and the fun stuff! {just go with it, I’m trying to be all positive and stuff because it’s really easy not to be}
Huh, I sure blah-ged a lot.
I didn’t say much but I believe there’s meaning behind the words, I’m just too wiped out from Daddy Dearest Day to figure out what exactly that meaning is.
Maybe it’s better that way.
Ok, sorry to rant, tomorrow, ghost story gets finished and other stuff too.
Wow, it’s like a blog or something. {sarcasm or something like that}
wrriting



{October 28, 2013}   Princess Of Nothing

saddprincess
two steps forward
and one step back, although,
it could be the other way around,
i have a tendency to mix things up,
sometimes i can fake my way through,
but you always manage to see right through me,
i’m not sure if that’s your talent or mine
i wear it well, or so I’ve been told,
but that was back when i believed those things,
when all my friends weren’t dead yet,
and i could reach as high as i wanted,
while rolling in the mud,
i was a princess once,
with a throne made of red velvet
and anything i wanted was mine,
i never asked for anything though
maybe i would have been better off if i did,
in retrospect, i should have taken all those hearts,
wrapped them in foil
and tossed them into the sea,
to sink deeper than i ever did
at least then i would have something to reach for,
assistance,
to pull me out of these depths
girlheart



this is awesome!

SERENDIPITY

What is Freshly Pressed? It is the opinion of editors hired by WordPress. It promises that some blogs are better than others, deserve special recognition and indicates that these people know what good is and have assigned themselves the task of giving out this recognition.

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Freshly Pressed gets dangled in front of bloggers not only as an award, but as the opportunity to gain a broader readership. They will promote you, put your material where everyone can easily see it. For those of us…

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{October 26, 2013}   Yours

sexcarr
when i think hard enough
close my eyes real tight,
i can picture you here
standing before me
commanding my attention without a word,
i could be coy and shy,
waiting for a sign,
or i could sit you down,
loosen the confines and set us both on fire,
inevitably, we wait, yet inevitably we’ll pounce,
drop and roll and start our own revolution,
all teeth and claws, marking territory
rubbing your scent on me till we can’t tell who is who,
and there’s never a disconnect, time be damned,
we juggle and don’t even make our own list
but when that wind blows my hair back,
when the scent is in the air, the hunt is on,
i can feel your fingers slither up the seam of my jeans,
my inner thighs tremble at the memory,
or that could have been a dream,
i feel the press of your leg against mine
sometimes wondering if i imagined your heat against me,
i close my eyes and remember the sound, the verbal,
the thought that you even think of me,
that is enough to make me slide,
but when i hear your voice,
those certain words in your certain order,
i am, in every sense of the word,
yours
his



{October 25, 2013}   I’ll Wait

wait
today your voice floated over the unseeable wires
through layers of clouds and all that cyber junk up there
it all gets tangled up sometimes,
meanings misconstrued
projected fears can drive the day over a cliff
but only if you let it,
so you count to 5 because 10 is too long
and hope the meaning beneath the meaning is heard
it isn’t always easy, hearing the unsaid,
connecting dots where none exist
doing it all with a smile, even though you can’t see it
i smile anyway
because i always hear the tinge of hope in your voice , they couldn’t take that from you
it’s there in your inflection, no doubt who is in charge,
and no doubt at all, i can wait forever.
As long as it takes.
waitt



musebuffy
AUTHORS NOTE: Catt and her Muse discuss some of the finer points of fashion…sorta…
“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed!” I mean to sound indignant but my voice just sounds kinda squeaky.
“Oh please chica, red desert boots and cargo pants?” She actually shudders.
“Hey you’re the one who put me in these stupid red clodhoppers in the first place, which, ok, I was barefoot in hot sand so thanks for that but come on, you could’ve gone with Doc Martins at least.”
She mumbles under her breath again, she does that a lot around me, something weird usually follows.
“Red Doc Martins I can deal with but these things,” I look down at my feet, “Holy shit, check out these kick ass boots!
Black biker boots covered my feet and my cargos were now comfortably tight leathers.
From the mirror she’s magic-ed in front of me I looked fashionably dressed for an Apocalypse, also, I was pleased to note, kinda hot.
“How’d you do that?” I really need to learn how to do that!
“Moi? Not me missy, you did it all by your lonesome… aren’t you just full of surprises…”
She’s really bad at hiding condescension. Probably because she doesn’t try. But she was dripping with it now and it had nothing to do with boots.
“C’mon, knock off the bitchery and stop being all mad at me,” I try my wide-eyed innocent look. It doesn’t work so I try again.
“You know this is just temporary-”
“Everything is temporary chica.” She sounds pissed but it doesn’t stop her from interrupting me.
“-and it was the only thing I could do at the time-”
“Time,” she sneers, “you know nothing about time. Nothing.” Her arms are folded and she gives me her back, won’t even look at me.
“Ahem,” I remain silent until she gives up and turns to face me. I attempt to give her the coldest stare I can muster but it bounces off her like a pink rubber ball thrown against a concrete wall.
“As I was saying-”
“You say nothing but words without meaning.”
“-if there was any other way I- hey! My words have meaning!”
Damn she’s getting under my skin and enjoying every minute of it, if the definition of “enjoying” is being a bitch. I have to remind myself not to engage the crazy supernatural being capable of rendering me dead. And I better start thinking happy thoughts before she pulls another disappearing act on me.
“You are thinking thoughts about me right now chica, I know that look on your face,” her voice is a mixture of anger, annoyance, and a tinge of affection. “Just because I can’t read your thoughts for now doesn’t mean I can’t read your intent.”
Wow. She is really pissed at me for bottling her, apparently Muses don’t like to be owned.
Shit. I didn’t think of it that way, being owned and not in a good way.
“Look,” I say with complete sincerity, “I promise you, as soon as this whole Apocalypse thing is over, which by the way, you really need to fill me in on what’s going on with that and what the fuck it has to do with me… but for real, I swear I’ll release you as soon as this is over. Pinky swear.”
And I really do mean it, I don’t want a Genie in a bottle, I want my Muse back.
She does that eyebrow raising thing she does so perfectly, her red stained lips parted in exasperation.
Pinky swear?” I can’t tell if she’s gonna laugh or scream. Possibly both.
“Pinky swear,” I answer as I reach my hand out to her, pinky first.
After staring at my hand for what seemed like hours she shrugs her shoulder and reaches her own hand to me.
“You,” she says as she hooks her pinky with mine, ” are a very strange human.”
She looks me over from head to toe and shakes her head.
“If you are indeed all human, I’m beginning to have my doubts about that.”
I decided it would be a lot easier if I just pretended I didn’t hear that.
to be continued…
museboots



{October 25, 2013}   Michelle’s Weekly Pet Challenge

catsDrusilla and Anyanka guarding dog food

catrugMr. Big with his super-duper sleep mask

catdruheadDrusilla trying to stay awake

catdruBox of Drusilla

catdrinkThirsty Dinka drinking from the sink

catdinkmagsDinka and Maggie hanging out

catchairMr. Big caught in the act of table-sitting

catcapeDrusilla wearing her superhero cape

catblumBlum (RIP)

catbig1Mr. Big under the covers

catandjJasper and Drusilla pre-diet

catbigMr. Big looks good in plaid

http://hopethehappyhugger.wordpress.com/2013/10/22/michelles-weekly-pet-challenge-round-up-2/



et cetera