I was on my way to work one day when the tram was packed with people. There must have been some convention or something at the event center, the people were oddly dressed.
That’s alright though, I still had time to catch a cab. The driver was a little reckless and reminded me why I still took the tram every day, but I made it to work just on time.
I was set with a task that day, I remember it well. I had to go down into the archives to retrieve a customer’s records. The great grand child of the customer had shown up looking for some family history, and provided all the necessary documents to retrieve the deceased man’s belongings.
I was in the basement when I bumped into a young lady I had never seen before. I assumed she worked in the building as this was a restricted area requiring a passcode. She had the deepest blue eyes a man could ask for. I wanted to strike up a conversation, but I was at a loss for words. She quietly gathered the documents that she needed as I quietly gathered the documents that I needed.
To this day I still remember those eyes. Blue, like the ocean after a storm. Like the sky on a nice summers day. I wish I had had the courage, but all is lost now.
If I was a bird I’d fly all around the place and I’d visit places you can’t get to or places you need a passport. Though I don’t think birds really know anything about passports. I couldn’t even get a passport now, I wouldn’t have any time to go anywhere. I sit at this desk and stare at reports and correct errors and Jose brings me lunch, honestly I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun. That’s what I’d do. If I was a bird I’d go to a tall tree and bathe in the sun’s rays. I’d probably have to go to Brazil or something, get the really nice sun. The sun that makes your skin dark and warm. Maybe I won’t order food from the Chinese place today and just go to the food truck but then there will be a pile on my desk when I come back. No. I’ll just be a bird. I’ll go find out what it’s like to fly through the clouds.
Woo day 18!
A child no less than the age of six showed up on Mrs. Larsen’s front door. It couldn’t speak and was as filthy as a pig after a mud bath. She tried what sign language she knew, but still couldn’t communicate with the child.
She ushered the child into her home and offered it a cookie. It happily ate the cookie with good manners but sat and starred at the hospitipal lady.
“Do you want more to eat? How about a bath?” Mrs. Larsen said. The child perked it’s head. “Alright, that’s just what we’ll do.”
“So you’re a girl, look at those curls hiding under all that dirt!” Mrs. Larsen had finished bathing the child and was looking for something suitable for her to wear. She had a lot of clothing, as if she once had her own children. “How about this?”
She held up a lace trimmed ruffle bright pink dress. By any normal child’s standards they would think it ugly but the little girl had no choice. Mrs. Larsen dressed the girl and sent her off to play in the garden until she made arrangements for adoption.
A few hours later, the little girl came back from the garden just as dirty and filthy as she appeared that morning. Mrs. Larsen cleaned the girl again and found a pair of pajamas to put her in.
During the night, the little girl snuck into the garden again. When Mrs. Larsen awoke, she noticed the trail of dirt leading to the child’s bedroom. The little girl fast asleep, just as filthy as yesterday.
So Mrs. Larsen decided to see what was so important in the garden that the little girl had to dig up. And that’s when she saw it.
A dog’s skeleton being held by a child sized skeleton. And that’s when Mrs. Larsen realized, it was her own dead daughter.
Day 17 woo! Honestly this month has gone by quickly. Crazy how that works.
A ballerina, tall and graceful, stands on pointe in the corner of her studio. The stained wood floor has seen years of dancers but is kept smooth. Ballance bars and giant mirrors encircle the room.
Although she retired years ago, she puts on her tutu for once last rehearsal of her favorite dance to her favorite Bach tune. She takes a step to pirouette but falls.
Determined, she gets up again and perfects her pose looking at her reflection. Again she attempts her pirouette but falls. She tries over and over. A bruise has formed on her hip, but she persists.
She stands again this time closer to the mirror, looks deep into her eyes as if a coach would look at his players for a peptalk at halftime. As she turns to pirouette again, something within her clicks. This time she does not fall. But she keeps the spin going. Spinning all over the room. Over and over perfect pirouettes.
But she can not stop. She keeps the pirouette going for an hour until she collapes. A happy ballerina, tall and graceful, without breath laying on the studio floor.
Inktober day 16 and all is well! I haven’t been seeing as many artists doing their ink thing as much as I thought I would. So instead I’ll show you what my parents put together for the Halloween Parade the neighboring town puts on.
Every day a black cat passed by the local drug store. You could tell it was searching for food because even though its hair was dark as night you could see the ribs on the poor cat.
Superstition played a role heavy on this cat’s life. For when it begged for food the passerbys would avoid the cat at all costs.
Despite being lonely and hungry the cat still passed by the store in hopes a small child who didn’t know any better would feed it. One day there was a child who finally felt sorry for the poor Kitty.
He begged and begged and begged his father to take the black cat home and feed it. Once the father let into the boys wishes they bought some cat food and headed home, the cat purring all along the way.
Once at home the boy had a hard time trying to satisfy the cat. It would eat bowl after bowl and still meow so he’d fill it up again. He used up the whole bag before bed time and the cat still sat and meowed.
In the middle of the night the father couldn’t take the meows anymore so he prepared a bowl of cereal for the cat. However that wasn’t enough either. He gave the kitty all the left over food from the refrigerator and it still meowed.
Frustrated, the father sat down next to the cat thinking maybe if he played with it, it would finally be happy. At first he thought the cat took the bait, but after a bit of rough housing the cat meowed again. This time the cat took matters into it’s own hands and bit the father’s finger. The bite was so bad blood spewed out and the bone was exposed.
The little black cat drank all the blood it could and began to plump up. It stared chewing on the flesh from the finger. And kept going and going. Soon there was no trace of the little boy’s father, the cat had eaten him.
The next morning the little boy came into the kitchen hoping to find his father. Instead, all that was left was a very very fat black cat.
Beware the Ides of October, it’s Inktober day 15! We’re just about half way to NaNoWriMo you guys! Some of my stories have been good, some of them have been hard to work around the prompt. But we’re getting there.
Two astronauts standing in full gear just outside of their landrover heard a strange mysterious noise coming from the horizon of the moon. They were used to total silence with the exception of their own voices and the little cassette player they kept in the cockpit.
Their mission was pretty strict. They were to collect samples of everything they could, dirt and rocks any debris that was out there floating on the surface. They only had a day to do so and then it was straight back to Earth. This wasn’t their first trip, neither of them had heard a noise like this even on Earth.
The abandoned their station and walked towards the horizon. The noise grew louder and more precise. It was a melody, mysterious and gorgeous. The walked closer and closer and once they reached the crest of the crater they saw the origin of the noise. Two beautiful maidens sat on a rock humming their tune beckoning the two astronauts. They decended down into the crater and we’re never seen again.
Inktober day 14!
Waiting in a forest is a creature unknown to man. It has great antlers and broad shoulders. A face of a lion, and a tail envied by golden retrievers. It stand on all fours larger than a Volkswagen Beetle. Flames quietly spark from every pore, it glows red and orange and yellow and is a sight to be seen.
If man did see this beast they would call it fierce. The cowardly would run. The brave would attack, they would try and extinguish the flames, but to no avail.
The beast knows. It hides and waits. One day it will have a chance to roam free and light it’s fire upon the world.