For Fun Collection

Poem

                                   Charcoal Thunder

 

 

           Crimson lightning and charcoal thunder,

           on an upward cry, distorted.

           Useless shrouds tattered and ripping,

           like the will and certainties that hold them.

           Upon a bloody scourge,

           on a tortured plain,

           in an ocean's vast void of indifference,

           that glitters like dark frost,

           from the tears of the new moon that turned away,

           its mournful face,

           to another world, unknown.

           Nameless shrieking, carrying, fading,

           leaving its only equal, piercing presence,

           silence...

           Tapping, tapping. tapping,

           an unheard SOS,

           on the ivory bones and ebony eyes,

           that shudder, unmoving.

           as the ground starts cracking beneath them.

           Falling one and all,

           being as never was.      

           Stalking down another,

           with crimson fingers and charcoal faces.

           to die without purpose,

           on another tortured plain, again.

 

 

Flash Fiction

Dreams For Sale

“So tell me, what’s your fancy?”

“Flying dreams!? Always flying dreams… I mean FLYING dreams!” He stretches out his arms like wings, and all the vials on his person jangle and clank together.

“Of course, of course, we have a large variety. With wings. Without wings. Knowing how to fly flying machines, even surfboards.” He exclaims, tapping a shoulder, and continues wide-eyed, as if an idea had struck him.

“You could build, and fly your own flying machine! A hot air balloon, or how about this little fellow?” He plucks a brownish green one from a hidden breast pocket in his coat.

“This one makes you dream you’re an actual bird! Prices of course, vary on the details of your flight.” He commented placing the small vial back into place carefully, as if it were a secret treasure he hadn’t meant to show.

“But,” he added with a wink, patting the spot on the outside of his coat, where he had just placed the vial, “If you purchase two of our more elaborate flying dreams, I’ll throw this little guy in for free!”

“What say you to another type. How about a little romance, or mystery? Again, prices range on the details and with these,” he indicates the top shelf on his small cart. “the intensity.” He remarks with a you-know look, followed by a little cough, and moved on.

“Or how about a little darker dabble…say zombie invasion, or an end of the world dream. But these here,” he dances to the back of the open-cart, to a small rack, “are not just any run-of-the-mill end of the world! Some are from mad weather eruptions, or even the sun one day just blinks out! What would you do, I say? Find out! Of course, you could always go with a random dream,” he displays a cupboard on the carts back doors, full of the many varied colored vials, in all sizes.

“You just pick one, drink it, and away you go, to who knows! AND! I personally guarantee that they will linger well past waking, so you have a chance to interpret them as you like! Give one a shot, I promise you won’t regret it!”

 

Drama

Special

 

Stage: 2 Restaurant tables with candles and opening restaurant set up (folded napkin,menus and silverware) and 2 chairs for each. One table is behind the other but off to the right.

 

The Waiter : Jerry (age 35)

Two customers: Melanie and Don Tyler (ages 40 and 43)

Two nameless customers in the table behind the first.

 

[ Stage lights up on the front table only, with 2 well dressed people already sitting at their table holding menus trying to decide what to order]

 

Melanie: So what are you thinking about ordering dear?

Don: I think I am steering toward the filet tonight, with the stuffed shrimp, clam chowder, and parsley boiled potatoes.

Melanie: That sounds good, I can’t decide between the seafood spaghetti with garlic cream sauce or the mexican shrimp sauteed with lemon butter sauce and the Asparagus Hollandaise. Or maybe I will just get the special.

Don: Whatever you decide is fine with me.

Melanie (smiling): Thank you.

Jerry enters scene. Carrying new menus. Don and Melanie lower their menus.

Jerry: Good Evening, How are we both doing this tonight?

Melanie: Very well thank you!

Don: Celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary.

Melanie blushes but is happy her husband made the announcement instead of her.

Jerry: Wonderful! Would you like to see our champagne or wine selection to begin the night off right?!

Don: Sound like a good plan!

Jerry hands the wine menus to the pair.

Don: I will have the house Cabernet Sauvignon.

Jerry: (does not write it down) Excellent and for you my Dear.

Melanie: (taking longer to decide) I will have Jacques Lassaigne Le Cotet champagne.

Jerry:(again not writing it down) Wonderful! And have we decided on dinner?

Don: I’ll have the filet with the stuffed shrimp, clam chowder, and parsley boiled potatoes.

Melanie appears rushed, but hastily makes a decision after scanning the menu quickly.

Melanie: I will have Grilled Oysters with Fra Diavolo Sauce and the seasonal vegetables.

Jerry: Coming right up! (Jerry takes the menus and leaves momentarily)

Light dims on the Don and Melanie’s table and the table in the background lights up. Don and Melanie continues silently in unknown conversation. Jerry reappears at the new table.

Jerry: What can I get you this fine evening?

Male at the table: I will have the special. (Jerry pulls out a pad and writes it down)

Jerry: My personal favorite! And for you my dear?

Female at the table: I’ll have the same! (Jerry quickly adds her order and removes the menus from the table and leaves the scene. Light dims on back table and lights back up on Don and Melanie’s)

Don: (having overheard the other tables order) I wonder what the special is.

Melanie: Whatever it is, I am sure what you ordered will be just as good, dear.

Jerry comes back to the table with Don and Melanie’s orders covered.

Jerry: For you ma'am! Places Melanie's first. And for you sir! Enjoy! Jerry Departs.

Don and Melanie lift the lids of their meals.

Don: I didn’t order the swordfish!

Melanie: You didn’t? I’m sorry. Mine seems to be right.

Don looks at Melanie’s

Don: No you ordered the oysters!

Melanie: well that’s ok, I was thinking about the seafood spaghetti anyways.

(During this, Jerry is dropping off the other tables meals, both being swordfish, and leaves. Don notice what they received)

Don: The swordfish is the special.

Melanie: Well you did want to know what it was.

Don: But that didn’t mean I wanted to eat it!

Jerry returns.

Don: I didn’t order this!

Jerry: (looking puzzled) Are you sure, everyone orders the special.

Don: Well I didn’t. This is what they ordered. (Don indicates the other table)

Jerry: Of course they did, its what everyone orders.

Melanie: I didn’t order this!

Jerry: I’m so sorry, Dear. Would you like me to change that for you?

Don: But that’s what she ordered.

Melanie: No I didn’t. I ordered the special.

Jerry: My apologies. I will be right back with the correct order! (Jerry takes the meal and leaves again, Don tries to get his attention but fails as he is hurrying away)

Don: I didn’t order the special.

Melanie: I am sure it will be fine, Darling. I am looking forward to mine.

Don: But it’s not even what you ordered! (Melanie waves Don away in dismissal)

Jerry returns with Melanie’s order

Don: Where’s mine?!

Jerry (looking confused) I don’t understand Sir. That’s it right there isn’t it, the special?

Don: No I didn’t order the special.

Melanie: But everyone orders the special!

Don: THEY ORDERED THE SPECIAL!

Jerry and Melanie: THat's because EVERYONE orders the SPECIAL!

Jerry: Have you tried it sir?

Don: No. Because I didn’t order it.

Melanie: Don’t make such a fuss and just try it, Dear.

Don tosses up his hand in defeat and spears a lump of the swordfish, taking a bite like a child being ordered to eat vegetables.

Jerry and Melanie:Well!?

Don’s face softens, enjoying the flavor.

Jerry and Melanie: See! And that's why it everyone gets the special!

 

Flash Memoir

Backyard Graveyard

 

The children at stair related ages snuck behind tall weeds in the overgrown edges of the field in order to avoid any eyes behind dirty window panes from the old farmhouse from seeing their course.

    “They put them all back here, in that corner,” the middle stair girl indicates the corner in front of them, dodging the thorny vines along the edge they traversed. In winter the grass all a mat of browns and yellows, like a dead wig barely covering the earth.

    “What kind of bones are they? The tallest step girl stutters, somewhat shocked at the revelation of living so close to something like this, somewhat excited to see them first hand.

    “All kinds, cows, pigs, chickens, cats, even dogs…” As if on cue the sound of distant baying begins from hounds caught in an endless hunt, howling after unknown pray.

    “I hear them all the time.” The second step continues, “and what's weird…” she pauses for effect, “is none of the farmers on the other sides of these woods own dogs.” The tall dark girl hesitates the steady yet march like pace she once had to discover the truth of the tale, and looks incredulously at the girl telling.

    “It’s true, I swear, ask my Dad!” eyes roll back possibly as an act of disbelief or possibly as a front of fears. The shortest step attempting to keep up with the other two interrupts to aid her older sister, “We do! They bark all night long!” she pants. They all edge closer, the way clear and the view back hidden, beginning to make out the opaque mounds and deserted, twisted metal fragments of discarded farm machinery. The area littered with chopped scraps of unusable firewood, mostly branches of fallen trees. Like pimples protruding from the moss and decay of yard clippings and years of leaves that first lay upon other fields now brought here in heaps and hills. Some of the plastic mounds now only tattered wisps slightly quivering in the winter wind weather from composition of local scavengers undaunted by the plastic shrouds. Ivory teeth poking out of the forest leaf beds here and there picking clean and crumbling from full exposure. They neared one still painted in brown, the air still with miasma, areas under the surface spotted the shower curtain with trapped precipitation that randomly swarmed with black dots that had found their way into the death and now could not escape. The wind shifted and the slapping of the bare limbs overhead dropping debris all around us with rustles like footsteps among the leaves. The tarp seemed to raise as if the thing beneath had just taken a breath and the howling loudened in the over sensitive ears of the children. Wide eyed they looked at one another and dashed quickly away.