“Mercury” by Team Tennant

Posted on August 20, 2013 by writer

Prompts:
An animal trainer
Cornfields
Doughnuts
“Don’t eat that!”
Spending $4
Owls

***

Mercury

By Team Tennant

“Aw, we should’ve gone to Safeway – this place really screws you over.”

“Keep it down,” Jonathan looked at his tall, smudgy image on a hanging TV as he walked onto the linoleum. “You can’t talk like that here – these people are politically correct as shit.”

Jonathan looked at a pyramid display of gluten-free cookies where a mom was working out a deal with her hungry-looking little boy.

“Poor kid,” said David. “I bet he could use some doughnuts about now.”

The brothers passed a large, rustic mural as they walked through the produce section – paced between the eggplants and cabbages with heads bent as if saving one last remembrance at an open-casket funeral. A vast, rustic mural scratched at the walls behind the “Fresh Earth,” section – long stretches of cornfields make mazes for little Midwestern children who, like most Midwestern children, have trouble finding their way out anyhow.

“How much corn are we going to need?”

“I don’t know. I figured just one each, right?” Jonathan said, “You’re the one who wanted corn in the first place.”

“Mom and Dad didn’t exactly leave us that much steak.”

“Whatever David. Just buy two and let’s get out of here.”

“Hold on, now,” said David with new life. “They have two for four dollars on corn – we’re making off like bandits!”

“I feel like that’s really not that great of a deal.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I mean the corn here is probably really organic and tastes better, but I know other places sell it for like fifty cents. I can’t picture spending $4.00 on corn.”

“What other places?”

“I don’t know off the top of my head,” replied Jonathan.

A new mother and son pair surveyed the vegetable section. She explained how beets are good for your blood in a loud whisper.

“Yeah, let’s just get two for four,” said Jonathan. “At least these ones aren’t supporting the whole food corruption thing.”

“What food corruption thing?”

“You know, like the monopolies and stuff. I don’t know, haven’t you seen those documentaries?”

“Why would I want to ruin all food?”

“It’s not ruining food if you’re just a little more informed.”

“Whatever Jon, I don’t want to see cows getting their throats slit and shit,” David grimaced.

The second mother and son vacated the vegetable section with brisk, liberal strides until they couldn’t hear obscenities. The Sojourn from the produce section to the registers seemed like a grueling proposition. David shuffled past a to-go lunch section. He got big eyes over the sushi.

“We should get lunch here sometime.”

“Are you eying the sushi?”

“Of course, man,” David felt a little cultured. “Sushi’s so good.”

“Don’t eat that, man.”

“Why?” asked David, a little angry.

“It’s probably irradiated, dude.”

“It’s what?”

“Irradiated,” said Jonathan, “from the nuclear waste in Japan.”

“Oh, please. That shit hasn’t harmed anything since that dock washed up.”

Jonathan spared David his potential mercury-tuna rant.

David picked up a variety pack of sushi in defiance.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Tuna has a ton of mercury in it.”

“Oh, please. Piss off.”

“I’m serious – it can poison you if you eat too much. It’s like eating an old thermometer.”

“Tuna is delicious.”

“Excuse me, are you two talking about mercury in tuna?”

A balding man approached the pair with gentle steps and leaned on a nearby cheese display. The man’s worn, turquoise fleece gave the man an air of credibility regarding marine life. The brothers couldn’t tell his age exactly, but if he had offspring, they likely would have been birthed after The Dukes of Hazard went into syndication, and before Michael Jordan tried baseball.

“Who are you?” inquired David.

“My name’s Sam. I used to be an animal trainer.”

“So you know about animals.”

“Well, tuna in particular,” he raised his salt and peppered eyebrows, “I used to train dolphins.”

The brothers smirked and passed off their collective, devilish countenance as sincere interest.

“So is it okay to eat tuna?”

“Well, I can’t imagine it would be that bad for you, but you could be harming dolphins.”

“How?”

“Did you know that oftentimes dolphins get stuck in tuna nets?”

“Seriously?” said David with as much sincerity as he could muster. “So do they put dolphins in tuna cans?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said a downtrodden Sam.

David put back the sushi lunch pack – said goodbye to the packet of wasabi and made his sad way toward the counter. The logo on Mr. Hoot’s Fruit Twisters only reminded him of the diminishing population of cloud-forest screech owls.

Jonathan approached the counter and grinned at the lady behind it. Her name tag said, “Susan.” Susan looked as though she was bred to work the register at a place like this. Somewhere in the leathery musk that was the 1970s lived a timid buck and a flowery mare by which the cosmos forged Susan.

“Go get the car and pull it up to the front, David.”

Jonathan tossed the keys underhand to David, and David slunk outside.

“That’ll be four dollars today. Did you find everything alright?”

Jonathan looked at the door and then at Susan.

“Oh, dang! I forgot one thing.”

Jonathan returned with rosy cheeks.

“Alright, so with the sushi, that will be twelve dollars.”

Filed under: 2013 Submissions, Out-of-Towners, Team | Tagged: Andrew Tennant, Colette Tennant, prizes, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

“Wherman’s K9 Academy” by Meredith Levinson

Posted on August 20, 2013 by writer

Prompts:
An animal trainer
Cornfields
Doughnuts
“Don’t eat that!”
Spending $4
Owls

***

Wherman’s K9 Academy

By Meredith Levinson

The demise of Mr. Andy Wherman’s K9 Academy began during Intermediate Puppy Class one Tuesday evening in July. The evening was cool and Mr. Wherman decided to hold class outside. They were focusing on resisting distractions, and what better place to practice that than the great outdoors?

The class participants starting arriving a little after 7, even though the class wasn’t until 7:30. Always punctual, the human counterparts took their studies at Mr. Wherman’s Academy very seriously. The application alone took months to process and those that made it onto the waitlist had been known to wait there sometimes upwards of a year. By the time the animals met their trainer for the first time, you could often tell by the fear in their quivering jelly-eyes that their owners had had a talking-to with them, and that they had better do well and graduate on time.

On this evening though the dogs and their owners were all smiles. After learning class was being held outside—what a nice change!– everybody made their way down to a well-groomed lawn inside a fenced pen. The dogs were free to run around and socialize, with the expectation of course that the owner pick up any “messes” their dog made. Many of the owners brought little baggies from home—the orange ones that the newspaper comes in. But if you wanted to splurge a little, you could spend $4 and buy a roll of custom-made doggie mess bags with Mr. Wherman’s face printed on them. These also sold on the internet and those who didn’t make it into the Academy could at least clean up their dog’s messes with the help of Mr. Wherman.

By the time it was 7:15, all seven human students and their dogs had arrived. Mr. Wherman’s assistant brought out the treats for the humans –doughnuts this evening–and arranged them stylishly on a glass table in the back. Small class sizes and human comforts were part of what made the business model for Mr. Wherman’s Academy great. The humans gravitated towards the doughnut table—they had earned their treat by means of the hundreds of dollars of tuition they paid to have the best-trained dogs in Iowa—and chatted about weekend plans, so-and-so’s son on the high school football team, and of course the travelling topiary exhibit that was coming to town. The temperature had cooled down to a comfortable 75 degrees—perfect t-shirt weather—and a few of the resident lightening bugs had come out, making Mr. Wherman’s last night as a successful animal trainer especially beautiful.

At 7:25, the man himself strode onto the thick grassy area. Mr. Wherman surveyed the activity of the dogs the people socializing. Yes, things were going according to plan. By week 4 it was important that at least some progress had been made, otherwise clients might lose faith in the program and then tell their friends and family. By week 4 it was important that puppies at the intermediate level be able to socialize independently without any major dog fights, and be able to respond to simple commands from a familiar human. In fact just before he came onto the lawn he’d been standing behind a pillar in a shadow listening for a dog-fight or one of the humans to exclaim “Don’t eat that!” when the doughnuts would surely tempt the dogs. But none of that had happened! Maybe he was a better dog trainer than even he expected. Either that, or this was an exceptional group of puppies. Regardless, Mr. Wherman was quite pleased with what he saw and believed that they were ready for the next unit: resisting distractions. He stepped out into the middle of the lawn on the dot of 7:30.

For the distraction lesson Mr. Wherman had each human command their puppy to sit and stay inside their assigned plastic hoop and then walk half way across the lawn. The key was to keep your dog completely still and have their eyes on the treat at all times. Once everyone had done this- and this took a bit of time—Mr. Wherman brought out his own neighborhood mailman, Chuck Wood, who had graciously volunteered to be this week’s distraction. It isn’t always true that dogs have an aversion to mailmen, that’s the stuff of movies, but Mr. Wherman found that this usually entertains his human students to no end, and so he struck a deal with Chuck to keep coming on week 4 of Intermediate Puppy class.

It was in the middle of Chuck’s great mailman distraction that disaster struck. He was pretending to go about his mail route, meandering across the yard, handing out “mail” to the human students (it was actually the Academy weekly newsletter) when suddenly, in one swift motion, something massive and feathered swooped in and snatched up little Tino, the Pomeranian. Was this part of the act? It took a moment for everyone to realize what had just happened. Suddenly there were seven plastic hoops and only six puppies. Everyone looked to the sky just in time to see the vague outline of a large bird flapping away over the cornfields into the darkness, Tino, barely visible within its grasp.

The rest of class was cancelled of course. Mrs. Steinhouser, Tino’s owner, was in hysterics, her pride and joy had disappeared-forever- during distractions class! Mr. Wherman began to sweat profusely, this was not what was supposed to happen at week 4. There was nothing at animal training school that could have prepared him for this. He said how deeply sorry he was to Mrs. Steinhouser, that something so awful should occur under his watch—but to Tino’s credit, in his last moments he was sitting completely still and had kept his eyes on the treat. Mr. Wherman even let Mrs. Steinhouser take all the doughnuts home with her. Even so, when he went home that night he had a sinking feeling that the legacy he had built for himself was now over.

Indeed it was. No one showed up for the next day’s classes, nor the following day’s classes either. They all later learned the culprit of Tino’s death: Two great horned owls had escaped from the Blank Park Zoo in Des Moines earlier that week, and were ravenous. That brought closure to Mrs. Steinhouser, but only a focus point for anger for Mr. Wherman. By the end of July, word had spread about Tino’s disappearance from Mr. Wherman’s Academy and enrollment was at an all-time low.

Frantic, Mr. Wherman called up his most faithful clients. No one wanted to take their dog to a school that was unsafe, where their beloved puppies could be snatched up from birds in the sky. Even his clients with great Danes, dogs far too heavy to be lifted by great horned owls, didn’t want to return (“who knows what’ll escape from the zoo next!” they told him). It was mid-August when Mr. Wherman knew he had to throw in the towel and call it quits. Because of an owl his whole booming business had died. Because of an Owl he had to change vocations at the age of 47. He decided to take his left over doggie mess bags with his face printed on them and join his friend Chuck wood in delivering mail.

Filed under: 2013 Submissions, Individual, Out-of-Towners | Tagged: Meredith Levinson, prizes, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

“A Chance Encounter” by Kellie Doherty

Posted on August 20, 2013 by writer

Prompts:
An animal trainer
Cornfields
Doughnuts
“Don’t eat that!”
Spending $4
Owls

***

A Chance Encounter

By Kellie Doherty

Isis fiddled with her bracelet, swirling it around and around. The metal bit into her wrist. A nervous habit. She hoped to overcome it as an adult and yet, she still swirled. Her apartment loomed around her. The white walls and a hardwood floor seemed to judge her. Everything seemed to judge her. Everything would for running away. Brown boxes full of her old life sat piled in the corner by the door. It hurt too much to look at them. A green wallet and pair of sneakers sat beside them. The rest of the apartment lay bare, lifeless. An ache thudded deep in her chest. She rubbed her arms, wishing she had more than a t-shirt to wear. She had already walked through the place – a single bedroom and bath down the short hallway, a small kitchen to her right – she stood in the living area, facing the only window in the entire place.

The San Francisco skyline seemed imposing, the building spires jutting into the sky and the harsh white lights blotting out the stars. Headlights flashed by from a passing car. She shielded her eyes from the glare, but the taillights, crimson in the darkness, held her gaze. Its fading light splashed on the pavement, drawing up instant memories. Blood on the road, spilling from a cracked skull, eyes slowly shutting. Pain lanced through her heart. She pressed her hands on the sill, steadying herself. Even in this chilly apartment her palms sweated. Did her father have time to break? Isis rubbed the back of her neck and forced the memories down. Shifting her weight, she sighed and closed the blinds.

“Ms. Ivori? Are you ready to sign?”

Isis Ivori jumped. She had almost forgotten the landlord. A red faced man in a bright yellow shirt and pants that barely covered his girth, he snacked too often on jerky. In her apartment, too. She smiled. She had thought of this as her apartment. Funny. How fast things could change. Too fast, almost. The smile slid off her lips. She turned to Tomas Henderson.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Tom handed her a clipboard of paper and a blue pen. She signed quickly, not wanting him to see her half-bitten nails. Too quickly, perhaps, for the ink smeared on her hand. It was always an issue when a southpaw like herself. She wiped the leftover ink on her jeans and gave him a smile. He didn’t know her well enough to know it wasn’t sincere. No one would know here.

“I guess that’s it then.” Tom mumbled through a mouthful of beef. He took the clipboard from her and strutted out the door. A bird, exactly like an ostrich actually, strutting like that. The door slammed heavily behind him.

“Yes,” Isis replied, “that’s it.”

Karla sat beside an empty container of ground-up earthworms, hands covered in the brown substance. Patrick, the bearded dragon, sat on her leg and munched on the last morsel of worm, he seemed content. She stroked his back, finger running over the dimpled skin, tracing the tan patterns. Patrick lifted his front leg and circled it, the common greeting for his species. He did it when he was happy, too.

“Good boy, Patrick.” Karla lifted the reptile from her leg and placed it in the tank. She flipped on the heat light. Patrick wandered over to the stone underneath it and flopped down. “That’s it, rest up for tomorrow. We have a show to put on.”

Karla feathered out the ferns in the corner of his tank over, providing some more hiding spots if necessary, then pinned the screen top in place. She lifted a tiny bottle of sanitizer from her vest pocket and squirted some into her palm, spreading it around with the other hand. Couldn’t be too careful. Another trainer had refilled Patrick’s water bowl and scooped the soiled areas clean. Truthfully Karla didn’t even need to be here, not this late at night. But she hadn’t been able to sleep and this placed always made her happy.

At night it was the best place to be, the San Francisco Zoo. Dragging her fingers across the chairs in the center, she looked at the all too familiar surroundings She loved it here, the darkened pathways winding around the mammal habitats, the quiet hooting from the bird cages. The usual noise of the city seemed muted in this place. Karla grabbed a plate of lettuce and, humming softly, moved deeper into the reptile habitat. Cages lined the walls here. The sweet scent, the soft glow from their heating lamps, even the heavy moist air seemed comforting.

Suzi’s tank was in the back, the only alligator lizard in the habitat, a species native to California. Karla walked over to her tank, tucked in the corner of the habitat, right next to the exit door. Suzi’s tank was darkened. Some assistant had probably forgotten to turn on the light. Laughing, she placed the lettuce on the fake green grass table islanding in the center of this room. Squeezing herself between the wall and the cage, Karla fumbled with the wires. Sure enough one of the plugs lay on the dirt floor. She plugged it back in. Light bloomed overhead. Karla tapped on the glass, peering inside. She spotted her friend instantly. Suzi hid under her branch, her bright yellow and green scales standing out against the brown flooring. Movement caught Karla’s eye, she stared past the double glass panes and gasped. A women clad in jeans and black coat reached for the lettuce. The woman’s shoulder length blond hair hid part of her face, but sky blue eyes stared intently at the food. The woman snatched a leaf and brought her hand to her mouth.

“Don’t eat that!” Karla yelped.

Isis jerked her hand back, the lettuce she grabbed falling to the floor. The reptile spoke to her? No. She narrowed her eyes. A black haired stranger stared at her from behind the tank, dark eyes widening. What the hell was the woman doing behind the glass? Isis glanced at the fallen lettuce. What the hell was she doing? Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten anything since she heard of her father’s death. Hadn’t wanted to. She synched her coat tighter, hoping to quell the noise. The woman came around the cage. A black zoo jacket with McField, Animal Trainer stitched in white covered her basic white shirt. The stranger wiped her hands on her dark pants.

“It’s just lettuce.” Isis picked up the greenery and held it out.

The woman plucked the lettuce from Isis’s fingers and placed it on the plate. “It’s laced with sedative. And vitamins to make Suzi’s scales shiny. It’s not meant for human consumption.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

The worker grabbed the entire pile of leaves and fiddled with the tank, dropping the lettuce into the space. Isis couldn’t help herself. Isis stared, she couldn’t help herself. The worker was very pretty, and her jeans practically warranted it. Scrubbing a hand over her face, Isis cursed herself. What was she doing? Her cheeks burned, and she folded her arms across her chest. She had no right to stare.

The worker closed the cage up, then faced Isis again. Lines creased the sides of her mouth as her frown deepened. “You’re not supposed to be here. The Zoo is closed. How’d you even get in?”

Isis scowled. Not her proudest moment, but she didn’t like the tone of the woman’s voice. Her own tone hardened. “I snuck in.”

The woman snatched the now empty plate. “Why?”

“Fifteen dollars is too much for entry. But I wanted to see the birds.”

The woman sighed, tucking the plate under her arm. “What’s your name?”

“Isis Ivori. What’s yours?”

“Karla McField, nice to meet you. Ivori, huh? The woman pulled out her phone and flipped it open. “Good, I can alert the authorities now.”

Isis stepped back, mouth falling open. Her stomach growled again, louder this time. The woman glanced down, eyeing the tightened belt.

Karla grimaced at the thinness of this woman’s waist. This Isis Ivori was obviously a recluse, judging from the way she shied away. Karla’s compassion built up over years of dealing with injured animals as a vet before her zoo years pried against her anger at finding this woman after hours. She did seem awfully hungry. Karla reached into her vest’s pocket and got out a crisp ten-dollar bill.

She pushed it to the woman. “Here.”

Isis stared at the money. She tentatively held out her hand.

Karla dropped the bills into it. “Buy some real food. I won’t call the cops this time. But if I ever catch you here again, Isis Ivori, you will be taken to jail.”

Isis jerked her head down and dashed away, her footsteps gradually getting softer as she ran.

Karla shook her head. “Am I crazy?”

No, she answered her own question. Just shocked to see another person here at night. Heat crept over her cheeks. And such a pretty one at that. Karla smiled. Down, girl, no need getting excited over some homeless woman. Besides her kindness had another side. She pushed against the exit door, bursting out into the fresh air. If she had called the cops, they’d wonder why she was here as well.

Isis awoke, her dream still wanting to pull her down. The giant hole inside the earth, the stone tablet, the tiny bouquet of lilies haunted her even here. She shook her head, stretching her arms to ease the building tension. The mattress seemed lumpier than at her home. Was that even possible? No, probably not, it was probably her who was out of sorts in this city.

Her actions of the previous night came back to her in a rush. The pretty zoo worker. The sad look creasing the worker’s face. The charity money she used to get a pathetic dinner that she hadn’t even touched. Of course she’d make that kind of impression.

But when the zoo worker, no when Karla stared at her with those bright gray eyes, Isis’s heart pounded much too erratically. She tried to shove her feelings down. No one really knew about her love for women. But that was because she hadn’t told them. She meant to, though. The ache started again, deep in her chest, shoving the air out of her lungs. She had always meant to tell her parents, always meant to discuss this aspect of her. But she never had the courage.

And now she never could.

The tightness in her chest squeezed. Her throat constricted. She swallowed the guilt down and got ready for the day.

Dressing in her best outfit – a simple pair of black slacks, an unadorned gray shirt she particularly liked today, and a pair of black heels – she locked her apartment and walked down a hallway, trailing her fingers on the smooth yellowed wallpaper. Tom had stopped by three times that night as she unpacked, once to check her water still worked, again to see if she had enough bedding for the night and a third to ask her out for dinner.

She refused, mainly because she needed to unpack, but also because he wasn’t her type. A small part of her she kept hidden from the world revolted against the man. No, he was far away from her type. She had gone out soon after. And met the zoo worker. The intensity of the woman’s gray eyes stayed with Isis. Her chest tightened. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes. She reached the end of the hallway and pushed the main door open, the chill autumn air chasing the pain away. For now, at least.

Isis passed by unfamiliar faces in this unfamiliar city, the spires dwarfing her small statue. She pulled her old black peacoat tighter across her stomach and kept her gaze to the sidewalk. It was easier that way. Reaching the building she needed, Isis went into a lawyer’s office, the only one in town that had given her a job. She slid behind the receptionist’s desk and counted the hours down until the end of day.

Karla clapped her hands. Patrick sauntered over to her, waving his foot around. The audience surrounding her red Showcase table cheered. A glass pane separated them and her. The protective column kept the audience members from touching her pets. One little boy smiled and tapped his finger hard on the glass, his eyes trained the lizard. Karla stared at the little boy and wagged her finger, putting on her sternest of faces. The boy backed away. Karla winked and the boy smiled again. It took very little to cheer the younger ones up. The adults though, she scanned the crowd, the adults watched passively thus far, hands on their children’s shoulders, waiting for the chance to pull them away. She tried hard to impress the older generation just as much as the younger. Her act hadn’t failed her yet.

“Patrick may be a lizard, but he’s a gentleman as well,” Karla said in a clear voice.

Karla reached under her table and brought out a tiny black top hat. She perched it atop Patrick’s head. Patrick slowly bobbed his head up and down, a sign of submission, causing the children to clap. One father raised his eyebrow, a smirk climbing up his face.

Karla continued her routine with practiced ease. “He does look very good, but he might just need a cane and briefcase too.”

She brought out a tiny cane and a matching black case, both handles coated with a sticky substance to allow Patrick for easier grabbing. She put the items next to her lizard and stroked his back. Pulling out her spray bottle, she misted the area around her pet, then misted him as well. It was their sign, that she would scare him in a few moments and to not worry. She didn’t like pushing him, but he always seemed to enjoy it. He inched closer to the toys, wrapping his claws around each item.

More adults zoned in. One mother even leaned closer.

Karla smiled. They would love this. She plucked her last item from under the table – a single bird feather. Dragging the feather across the table, she flicked it against Patrick’s tail. He spooked. Lifting onto his two hind legs, he ran a few steps, unintentionally clanking the cane on the table and swinging the briefcase in the process. For a second, he actually did look like a lizard businessman, late for a bus. The audience burst into cheers. He lowered onto all fours and his skin brightened to yellow. His happy color. Karla smile widened as the children gasped at the sudden change. She placed her hand gently by his side, stroking her thumb across the spins of his neck. He always was happiest after she spooked him. Somehow, he knew it was a game. She slid her hand under the belly, careful to curl her fingers underneath and support his bulk. His tail rested gently on her arm.

Once reassured he was comfortable, she raised her gaze. Bright blue eyes stared back. The woman from before. Isis Ivori. Still wearing her black jacket, still peering intently at her. Karla had been on the receiving end of a staring contest many times before, but, for the first time, it felt as if the other woman stared not just at her, but through her, too. Exposed, Karla dropped her gaze. The audience members clapped their hands and wandered away, the high-pitched bell ringing through the air, cutting conversations and viewings short. Karla started, like she always had this week. The new addition to her zoo would take some getting used to.

A tapping distracted her. She looked up. Isis moved closer to the pane, a ten dollar bill faceup on the glass. Isis face crinkled adorably as she smiled. Adorably? Karla shook her head, shaking that thought out of her mind. It had been a full two weeks since she’d seen the strange woman, and long since forgotten her money offering. Karla put Patrick back in his little carrying case – a gray box with holes punctured through it and bedding inside – and washed her hands in the tiny sink next to her table. She latched opened the column. Isis met her on this side, holding out the cash.

Shifting Patrick from one hand to the other, Karla took the money, trying to ignore the sudden heat in her fingers as they grazed Isis’s.

“Thanks,” Karla muttered.

“No.” Isis shook her head. “I wanted to thank you for giving it to me in the first place. It was my first night here and I didn’t really plan on getting dinner. You solved that for me.”

“You’re new?” Karla motioned for Isis to follow, leading the way down the path towards the reptile habitat. She felt surprisingly at east with this new girl. The woman looked no older than herself, twenty-five at most. Her black jacket fell open, revealing a purple shirt and what looked to be the same tattered jeans as before.

“Yes.” Isis blurted the word out quite loud. Karla raised an eyebrow.

Isis continued, her words mashing together. “I have an apartment by the Seward Street Slides. I work as a receptionist. I have money, really. You just caught me on a bad day. I had to move and didn’t plan it very well, that’s all.”

They reached the reptile habitat. Karla held the door. A blast of warm moist air washed over them. Karla breathed deep, but caught the grimace crossing Isis’s face. Did she not like it inside the reptile room? A crazy sense of chivalry pounded through Karla’s mind and, for more than a second, she wondered if they should sit outside instead. Then Isis walked into the habitat, pushing back her long hair. Karla caught a flash of something silver on Isis’s wrist. As if responding to her curiosity, Isis brought her hand up and twisted the bracelet around and around.

Karla slid past her. “What? Did some guy break your heart or something in your old town?”

“Yes, actually.” Isis stopped twirling the bracelet.

Shit. Karla pushed too far again. She cursed her stupidity. Why was she so damn curious about this woman? She tried backtracking. “Oh, I’m sorry–”

Isis interrupted her. “My dad died.”

Isis bit her tongue, the pain spiking through her mouth. But she had to or all the other crappy things in her life would come blubbering after. Why was she spilling her guts? In the middle of some hazy room surrounded by reptiles to some woman she only met once before. What the hell was she doing?

Isis tried to cover her slip. “I’m sorry, Karla, I didn’t mean to say that. I hardly know you.”

Karla let the lizard go back into its tank. “It’s okay.”

“No, I shouldn’t–”

Karla sat down on the padded chairs that ran through the middle of the reptile habitat. She patted the seat beside her. “It’s okay. You can talk to me if you’d like.”

Isis slumped into the chair. She leaned back, running a hand over her face. It all came back to her too fast. The rain, the slick roads, the terrible car accident and the terrible night her father died. Her chin trembled. Her dad died. She’d never see him again. She looked, unseeing, at the tanks glowing around her. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm them. It didn’t work. Shock ran through her once more and, even in the midst of all this, she put her head in her hands and cried. Much to her surprise, Karla rubbed her back.

“I ran away.” Sniffing, Isis tried to compose herself. She couldn’t breath very well. It came out in a rush, her story. “I ran away from home like a pathetic little girl. I left my mom. I just couldn’t stand it there anymore. There was this car accident, a horrible car accident, the car was completely wrecked and my dad…” Isis couldn’t finish. Her sobbing cut off her speech. She took a few steadying breaths. Her eyes trained on the dirt floor and the varying footprints embedded in it. “My father died. It was just a month ago. When I heard the news, I just couldn’t process it. So I ran away. It was stupid, I know, but I couldn’t take it. I never did it. I never could tell him that–”

Tears coursed hot rivers down her cheeks. She ran a hand over her face, tying to scrub the pain away. Her chest tightened. She hated that Karla’s hand still resting on her back felt so good. It made her cry all the harder. What the hell was she doing? Sobbing her life story to a woman she barely knew? Pathetic.

“Tell him what?” Karla asked.

Isis shook her head. She couldn’t tell some random woman. Not if she couldn’t even tell her own parents. It would be too pathetic. So she lied. “Tell him that I loved him.”

“He knew that,” Karla whispered. “Of course he knew that.”

Isis drew herself up, tightening her muscles to keep them from shaking, and swiped a hand over her eyes. She took a few more deep breaths. They didn’t help very much. “Yes, yes he did. I’m just being silly, crying all over the place.”

Karla reached over and touched Isis’s hand. Normally she would flinch away but, this time, Isis didn’t mind.

“It’s not silly. It’s not silly at all.” Karla squeezed her hand. “Hold on, wait here for a second, okay?”

Isis nodded and Karla darted out the door.

Karla couldn’t stop thinking of Isis as she ran through the now empty zoo. Poor girl. She skidded to a stop at the eatery – a quaint little wood cabin. She snuck inside, hinging the heavy door open so it wouldn’t squeak. It was a simple eatery, round tables on one end and an open kitchen on the other. She went around the counter and snuck her hand underneath, procuring a bottle and two shot glasses. Mike wouldn’t mind. But just in case she slapped four dollars onto the table then headed out. The stuff wasn’t even worth spending that much but at a time of need even this crap could taste okay. A father’s death warranted it anyway.

She arrived back at the reptile habitat and slipped inside. Isis looked no happier, fingers of one hand twisting through the bracelet of another. The chain snapped and the bracelet fell to the floor. Karla swooped down to pick it up before Isis could and handed it back to Isis. The simple chain with three silver charms – owls, all of them, all lined up in a row – rested lightly on her palm before Isis snatched it back.

She nodded to the bracelet. “What’s with the owls?”

At the question Isis seemed to perk up. She straightened in her chair and drew her finger across the charms. She even smiled a little. “They were my dad’s favorite creature, he always thought that liking owls automatically made him wise.”

Karla laughed. When she realized she shouldn’t, though, she stopped. “Sorry. That’s a nice way of thinking.”

“What’s that?” Isis pointed to the bottle Karla still grasped in her other hand.

Karla brought it around, the frosted glass displaying a single sweet treat. “This is doughnut vodka. Mike has some better stuff in the back, but he wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Isis merely stared. “Vodka made from doughnuts?”

Karla laughed. The woman seemed so shocked. What town was she from anyway? She opened the bottle and poured two glasses. “They can put almost anything into vodka nowadays. What little hick town did you grow up in?”

Isis took a sip and shuddered. “Cornfields. It’s in Arizona.”

Karla eyed Isis. If only the woman wasn’t so beautiful. Even in this harsh environment, her skin seemed to glow. “And you picked California because…”

“It was close enough to home but far enough away, too.” Isis took another sip. “This stuff tastes disgusting.”

Karla downed her shot and grimaced as the liquid burned down to her stomach. “Yeah, well it’s not really supposed to taste good.”

“Then why drink it at all?”

“Because it’s better than nothing.” Karla smirked and poured herself another shot. “So, what else didn’t you tell your dad?”

Isis downed her shot. It seemed to be a bright idea to make more time for herself, but the stuff burned so bad she ended up hacking into her hand instead. How did this stranger ask such good questions? Her entire body seemed to ache from holding in this truth. She kept it hidden for so long, her little secret. She couldn’t tell anyone now. But she had always meant to tell her parents someday, when the time was right. What the hell? This woman doesn’t know her from Jane anyway.

Isis blurted out the truth. “I never told him I’m a lesbian.”

Karla leaned back in her chair and downed her second shot. She nodded. “It can be hard to do.”

“How would you know?”

Karla smiled. “I’m one as well.”

Isis couldn’t believe it. The second person she really talks to in this big city is a like her? “What?”

Laughing, Karla put her glass down and rested her elbows on her knees, glancing over her shoulder. “You didn’t think there were many of us around? Or that you somehow where the only one did you?”

“No, it’s just… I didn’t think I’d…” Nothing smart came to mind so Isis halted her mumbling.

“You’re not alone, you know.” Karla leaned back once more and hooked her arm around the chair, fully turning to face Isis. “If you feel so strongly about it, you should do it. Tell your father’s grave if that’ll make you feel better. He probably already knew anyway. My whole family knew before I realized it myself.” She patted Isis’s leg. “You should go home and grieve with your mother. She probably needs you more than ever right now. After that, tell her what you wanted to tell your dad, let her know how you feel. It’ll be hard, terrifying actually, but you’ll get through it and come out stronger on the other side.”

Isis marveled at this woman sitting beside her, this stranger who seemed to know her so well and say the exact things she needed to hear. “You’re very wise.”

“And I don’t even have an owl bracelet.” Kayla smiled and nudged her on the shoulder, as if to say, go, go now! A small smile pulled at Isis’s lips. She nodded. Yes, she should go home. She placed her glass on the chair, squeezed Kayla’s hand between her own, and walked out the door.

Kayla could only smile. She went over to Patrick’s cage and thumbed the screen open, reaching inside. Her fingers curled around Patrick’s wide belly, stroking the soft skin underneath. He curled around her hand and waved his arm.

She petted his chin. “Sometimes all you need is a little push to reach your full potential, right, bud?”

Filed under: 2013 Submissions, 2013 Winners, Individual, Out-of-Towners | Tagged: Kellie Doherty, prizes, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

“Coaptation” by Giovanni Ortiz

Posted on August 20, 2013 by writer

Prompts:
An animal trainer
Cornfields
Doughnuts
“Don’t eat that!”
Spending $4
Owls

***

Coaptation

By Giovanni Ortiz

There was a downpour on the window I stared out of. The city doesn’t faze me and never will. The lights jumbling up as each drop of entropy fall onto the window. The shapes outside has no form, no actual definition. Red, gold, and green seems to be all over my window. There is a Shhhh! that seems unending. Like, thousands and millions of people are outside throwing rice at the window. But, it is something beautiful and less hateful; it’s rain. I loved the rain, out in Nebraska it smelled fresher and cleaner, something man couldn’t poison with smoke. I want to stop the taxi driver and stand out there, in the middle of the street, and take a shower looking at the stars. I want the rain to fall over me and wash the sweat, tears, and nervousness off. I want to start fresh and have the rest of the day’s worries paint its picture, whether it’s abstract or objective. I want to look at everyone’s face and give them meaning. On the other hand, I need to go home. I continue to let my red eyes watch the silent movie called NYC. I’m sure he didn’t mean to break every bone in my body with only words.

I don’t think anyone would believe I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him– actually a lot of people would. I did spend the beginning of my life with him. I witnessed his first kiss. He told me all about his first time with Jessica Ramano, sophomore year, the day after they’d done it. I told him about all of my firsts. We usually told each other secrets when either he or I were on our way back home– we were neighbors– making a stop on the side of the road. You know, when you’re on the road and there’s an open field, well there were a lot of them in Nebraska. So, we’d stop and leave our school bags in the passenger seat. Then, we would chase and lose each other in the cornfields. The scent of dried grass, a field, and corn danced beneath our noses. We yelled our names, shielding our eyes from the sun, until we’re found. Usually, we’d laugh as our butt hit the ground. Our lungs, lighter and lighter, made us feel higher and higher. Is it possible to get high off of laughter? (I found out that being “high” doesn’t feel like “being high”. It felt worse. Like, a deeper pressure that made me want to cry and laugh all at the same time.) We’d whisper small secrets to each other as the sun jumps over us and dips below the corn. I’d realize I had math homework I needed to finish. My mother had a rule about being out without much permission after the sun is set. He’d guide me through the corn and find the old, faded blue 1980 impala. He’d drive home because I wanted to be in control of the radio. We never shared similar tastes in music, he was into punk and I was into classic. I wish I knew that would be one of the signs that it wasn’t going to work out. I wished we found our middle ground at the beginning.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you pull over?” I say to the taxi driver. He glances back at me, a line of sweat just beneath his hairline, black hair drooping over his forehead sticking to the sides of his face. Jeez, he was sweaty. I feel the car take a detour and my body lurch to the right. Tonight, I need something strong, to keep me away from myself. He pulls over and I ask him to wait, my box of things in the trunk reassured him. I open the door and the sound of rice hitting the window sounds like a crowd cheering instead. Opening my umbrella, I wedge myself between the two cars the taxi double parked over to get to the sidewalk. The fluorescent lights gave the store a sterile feeling, as if it’s a hospital. It’s like a morgue for wine and liquor. A middle aged man looks up at me as I walk in the store, my boots making the annoying squishy sound you get when you walk on linoleum with wet shoes. He diverts his attention back to the book he was reading.

I walk to the back of the store; I don’t know whether or not I want whiskey, vodka or gin. I was probably staring at the assortment of bottles for about two minutes. The guy shouts behind me, “You okay back there?” His voice is raspy and somewhat friendly. I grab a bottle of Scotch and went to the counter. He asks for ID, I give him money and show my ID. Maybe I need two… I grab the bag of alcohol and thank him. On my way out, I open the umbrella and make a jog for the taxi. I’m sure the hems of my jeans are soaked. I thank the taxi driver and repeat the original address I’m headed to. Cradling the bottle on my lap, I take a gander outside the window as the people’s faces blur around me. There’s traffic and I’m grateful for that. I’m not an alcoholic, I promise. But, I need something to make me feel temporarily better. Understand?

We had our first cans of beer together. I didn’t like going to parties until college, so whenever there was a party we’d sit in his basement, watch a classic horror flick, eat stale doughnuts and drink a cold can of beer we spent four dollars on. Sometimes when Dale, a senior at the high school we went to, worked a shift at the local drug store he’d let us buy cans of beer. His long pale hair sometimes mixed in with his facial hair, the drugs made him age a lot quicker than he’d have wanted, and he always spoke in a sort of whisper saying something like “Don’t drink and drive, Juniors.” He reminded me of the stoners you’d see on television with a bag of drugs sitting in their back pocket at all times. I always told him what I thought of him, too. He always said we looked more like a couple than “a pair of pair of good friends”. Actually, everyone said it. I was always first to deny, he always had a girlfriend.

I could barely imagine myself sitting in his basement, the washing machine and dryer mending the laundry, as the opening credits of a movie played. The brown carpet floor tickling my toes and the old squeaky couch sitting in front of the new-but-old television we’d saved enough money for. I would always lean back on the arm of the couch, while he sat on the other end, and let my feet touch the side of his thigh. Helen Chandler’s scream acted as background as we’d debate whether or not Bela Lugosi was the best Dracula. I remember when he realized the argument was over and that I won, he stopped talking and ruffled his hands in his brown hair and watch the movie. His hair wasn’t exactly soft and fluffy, but thin and wild, as if he’s never combed it (Probably didn’t). It still is crazy looking, from time to time. I miss spending four dollars on beer, eating stale doughnuts and watching Frankenstein in your basement.

The taxi turns the corner to my apartment. It is small and cheap. Granted that it is Manhattan, not enough space for everyone to live and breathe in luxury. I tip the driver and thank him. He looks a lot like Freddie Mercury and smells what I imagine Russell Brand would smell like if he wasn’t famous. The taxi driver helps me inside by holding my umbrella. I grab my box of things, hold on to the Scotch and make my way up the stairs. We used to live together, mainly because we were best friends and that’s what best friends did. They’d moved to New York City together after leaving their small town in the mid-west. They’d eat breakfast together and helped each other find jobs. They’d give each other ten dollar bills and felt bad when their boyfriend or girlfriend broke up with them. Best friends are brothers and sisters that were lost in the war of parenthood, and dropped into two different families by fate. That’s exactly what we were. I had to get my own apartment as soon as we realized we both grew icicles on our shoulders. There was never a warm shoulder to give anymore. We gave it a try and it didn’t work. The one thing we promised each other wouldn’t happen happened. Nothing was ever the same.

It took me a whole month to find an apartment. The movers dropped everything off earlier this morning, that’s when I realized that this was actually happening. We both moved, I moved across the city and he moved on. He probably doesn’t even care anymore. So, I try not to care and move on.

My apartment is full of boxes, the bed is bare and set up in the only bedroom and the living room is bare. I search the boxes for sheets and glasses. I walk, practically crawl, to my bedroom and sit on the floor and lean my back on the base of my bed. My feet touch the wall. The walls were white and needs a new coat of paint. Maybe turquoise. That’s the luxury I have now, choosing my own wall colors. I place the glass on the floor and pour some Scotch. I down it in one gulp. The liquor burns my throat. It always burns on the first gulp. I pour some more. Henry, the dog I’ve had since I graduated college, pounces on my lap. I lazily drag my hand across his short fur.

“I don’t need him, I only need Henry. Right, boy?” I scratch behind his ear and make baby noises at him. He wags his tail and licks my face. I grab the glass and drink the glass in a second. Another burn, only a slight tingle. He settles on my lap and huffs. I continue on a gentle stroke and decide to drink straight from the bottle.

When I was ten, I wanted to be an animal trainer. I watched all the television shows on Discovery Kids and Animal Plant. I practically begged my mom for a dog or cat. But, she was terribly allergic. I got a turtle, instead. All my other fish didn’t last long. He had a puppy. It was a golden retriever. He named her Gold, very original. I tried teaching Gold how to sit and used phrases like “give me a paw, girl!” We practically shared her. I even fed her sometimes. I really appreciated him and his family, even as a ten year old. I got Henry because I missed the way Gold licked my face. I missed how her golden fur felt soft under my hands. I even missed walking her, stepping on dog poop and having to clean my flip flops off before walking in my house. When I went to college I no longer wanted to be an animal trainer. I wanted to be something mature and sophisticated. I wanted to be something my mother could brag about, “Oh. My daughter got into this college in New York City.” I gave up my dream just to be an adult. Now, I wish I was a kid again, more than ever.

I am halfway through the Scotch; it no longer burned my throat. Henry laid across my waist as my face was stuck to the hardwood floor of my tiny bedroom. I take another swig. My head is clouded with him, him, him. I want to scream, kick, and throw. But, I can’t scream, kick or throw. I’d disturb the neighbors. I want to lie down and cry. But, I refuse to lay down and cry for my own dignity. On Henry’s collar is a small owl charm he’d bought for the dog when I first brought him home from the animal shelter. It symbolized Henry’s job as being the watchdog. Plus, the ol’ puppy had a habit of being a night owl. Henry the Sad and Lonely became Henry the Happy and Brave. I became Happy and Swooning. He became Moody and Argumentative. It was like he didn’t like the relationship part of me after a year and a half. He hated me even more after we called it splits.

I take Henry’s collar off delicately, as if it were Queen Elizabeth’s crown. I hold it up in the dim light. I have everything that I’ve given to him. He has everything he has given to me– excluding the charm, it belongs to Henry. Does he look at the things and remembers when he gave them to me and how I reacted. I remember hugging and kissing him. Thanking him for giving the charm to me to put on Henry’s collar. He was less moody and argumentative, then. He was happy and swooning. He smiled too much and his messy hair was cut short. He began to grow it out. It became the messy and scruffy mess it was when he was just a sloppy teenage boy. He still smelled like cheap cologne and talked too fast. He was angry and blamed me for everything. I’m sure Henry was happy, too. He looked happy, his tail wagging fast as I kissed him full on the lips.

Henry began licking the empty glass. “Stop!” I hissed at Henry. His tail hung low and he went into a whimper as he laid his head on my leg. It was like turning off the engine to a chopper. It died to a silence. No more whooshing. I rubbed Henry’s head. I finished the bottle of Scotch.

We went to a French restaurant. He just got a big deal for a film and was excited and happy. He was the happiest he has ever been, I wanted to cry. He knew I wanted to cry. I’ve always been an emotional fool. This was the first time we’ve ever been to a French restaurant, another first of ours. He was holding my hand. I was wearing this expensive dress my mother gave me money for. He was wearing an expensive suit his mother gave him money for. There was some violinist playing in the back and waiters with fake French accents. The room held the conversation amongst the rich. I was joking about it all in whispers to him. He laughed. Jesus, he laughed a lot. I missed that about him. He hasn’t laughed in a long time.

We ordered something that came in small portions that made us want to eat pizza an hour later. It was almost like a dream. The chandeliers and the diamonds sitting in the middle of the table were almost dream-like. I made another joke about how I wanted to dance on the tables like a drunken fool and he laughed and dared me to. I’m not a dare devil. Neither of us are. He ordered a chocolate cake that had a name I couldn’t spell or pronounce properly– he’d made sure to make fun of me for it. I was getting ready to eat a big spoonful of the cake. He dramatically gets up, green eyes wide, and nearly yells, “Don’t eat that!” I drop the spoon on the clean white table cloth. He pulled something from the food and wipes it off with his napkin. He gets on one knee and very romantically proposes. Everyone was looking and cheering us on. I did the worst thing ever and said no. His world shattered. It lasted us a month before we officially broke up. I saw it coming. It felt as if it were too late. I already denied his proposal.

The bed got colder and colder. It was like sleeping next to a ghost that haunted you. The idea of marriage scared me. He didn’t want to accept that. I blame the fact that my parent’s marriage never worked out. What makes you think my marriage would work!

He shouted at me and nagged me at everything I did. You’ll never make a good wife if you cook like this. You’ll never make a good wife if you say no to a proposal. I couldn’t take it. Neither could he and I left. We left the relationship. I had to leave the apartment. Now I miss him and wish I said otherwise. Now I wish I was booking wedding venues and tasting cakes. I wish I loved him the way he loved me. It was all my fault, or were truly never meant to be?

I wake up to Henry licking my face and the poisonous sun shining through my window. The birds are chirping a somber song and my phone is beeping along with it. I have a headache. It feels as if my head was thrown around and hitting the ground like a basketball. Then, someone delicately twisted my head right back. I groan and pull the phone out of my pocket. It’s a voicemail. I dial 1 for speed dial and put the password in, it was the first five letters of my last name. The answering machine’s voice can’t talk any faster. His voice reminds me of honey, it sweetened up my days. All he said was, “I miss you, too.”

Those four words told me that there was a coaptation of our lives. We’ll never be over because we are best friends, and by fate we are together.

Filed under: 2013 Submissions, 2013 Winners, Out-of-Towners, Youth Category | Tagged: Giovanni Ortiz, prizes, Sledgehammer, writing contest, youth | Leave a comment »

“Rich and Poor” by The Rock’n Writers

Posted on August 20, 2013 by writer

Prompts:
An animal trainer
Cornfields
Doughnuts
“Don’t eat that!”
Spending $4
Owls

***

Rich and Poor

By: The Rock’n Writers

The clouds moved across the dark sky, and crows croaked on the powerlines. And Olivia walked down the black newly paved sidwalks of the city of New York.

She took a peak behind her to make sure no one had followed her from the orphanage when she exscaped. Then she went back to foucusing on the model dress in the front window of Turnialla’s Botique. She sunk her shoulders as she touched the frosty window with her hand. It was 180 dollars. She knew she was poor. She would never have enough money to buy the beautiful dress. But oh, how much she wanted that dress.

Olivia reaches into her torn and ripped pocket. She pulls out four dollars. Next door is Newyork’s Doughnuts. Her stumach grumbbles. She decides to go in and eat. Olivia goes in the doughnut shop and stands in line to wait for her turn.

“What do ya want?” The man behind the counter asks, as if he could care less. Olivia glances at a sign taped in the window that reads: Try our newest doughnut, The Sprinkle Smasher! She looks back at the employee,

“I’ll have The Sprinkle Smasher.”

“Don’t eat that!” Someone yelled behind her. Then added, “Someone got sick eating that yesterday!”

“Here, why don’t you get the… Magic Doughnut. It will give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You’re dreams will come true!” The employee cried.

“People! They sell you things just for money! Someone said, shaking their head. Olivia didn’t care as long as she ate something.

“Yes, fine! Here.” She gave him her whole four dollars and he gave her the doughnut. She sat down and couldn’t wait any longer. She closed her eyes and took a bite… and then doughnut changed her life forever…

She opened her eyes to the voices of people yelling: “Oh my gosh! -Olivia The Famous!” Follwed by, excited screams. A crowd was forming around her; buch of blinking eyes zooming in on her and click! Click! Click! Camras were clicking faster than a race hore’s heart.

“Come on now, stop diddle- dadling with your fans!” Whispers an old women in her now, booming ears.

“Fans?” She manages to squeak.

“Yes! We have to go now, your parents are waiting for you at the mansion. And I have to get home to cook for you, since the cooks are out on vacation, for a week. She smiles as they walk out and go into a black limousine with striking black leather seats. Olivia snuggles up in the heated-massaging-chairs and thinks, “Ah, this is life!” But then she notices a flat T.V. screen that comes down from the ceiling and the arms of the chairs have pockets filled with M&Ms and lots of other snacks, the seat belts are lined all the way up and all the way down with rubbies and dimonds and the black tinted windows shine with pleasure.

After two hours of driving, she finally got the guts to ask the old women the questions that had been haunting her. “Exuse me?” Olivia asks, politley. [Allways best to be polite if you want to talk something out of someone.] “Yes?” The old women repliys back, directley. “Um… what’s you’re name? And, how far out is this place?” She says, looking out the winow at cornfields; -they had been passing miles of them. “Well, Olivia! You better stop playing your memory games. You know who I am! I’m your Nanna! – your nannie. And we’ll be there soon.” Her um… Nannie turns away for the first time with a scowl on here face. “Mhmhmh… a nannie.” Olivia says to herself.

Finally, the limousine rolls to a stop and the driver shifts the gear to park. She trys the doors but they’re locked. The driver gets out f the car and opens the door in a very formal way. Olivia stumbles out of the car and lands on red carpet. Then the driver takes her hand and leads her to two big double doors the kind that are on he white house. She’s greated by a big “Hellllloooo!” by a women with dark red hair and blue eyes with perfect, fair skin. She smiles and her whole face lits uplike a chirtmas tree. “Come, come lets dine.” Her eyes twinkle as she says this, and Olivia woners, [ the angle part of me] “Who is this person? Who do they think I am?” Then, she supposes her devil part of here says: “Who cares? This is fun! -Enjoy it while it lasts! They glind into a dinning room with a 90 ft table awaits with plenty of food and candles as lights. A man, seated at the table, around the women’s age was readng a news paper with the headline, OUR CITY, QUEENS, IN THE FAMOUS CITY, NEWYORK NEEDS MORE MONEY! “I thought the cooks were out on vacation.” Says Nannie. “Uh, well, before they left, they decided to do some cooking.” The man answered Nannie. Then his eyes lit up and he ran over to hug Olivia, “Oh, sweetheart! Are you ready for diner? Sharie, why don’t you take Olivia upstairs to her room. Honey, clean yourself up for dinner and then we’ll see you here when you’re finished with that. Nannie took Olivia up to her room, as requested.

When she passed a mirror she sw a beautiful girl. “Is someone following me?” She wondered. She went ovr to the mirror. “Who’s there?!” she cried at the girl in the miror. Olivia crossed her arms and the girl in the mirror did too. “Stop copying me!” She yelled. She sun around. But no one was behind her. She turned in all directions. No one was in etheir. With lots of frustraition she sat down with a thump! Then she noticied her shoes. They were cowgirl boots with high hills. She stood up. They made her way taller. Back at the orphanage, before she had exscaped, the other orphanes would tease her about her regular short size. She allso relized she wasn’t wearing the black and white striped dress, or her stockings that had more than one thousand ripped spots. Nor her worn-out-too small sneakers. She looked in the mirror again. She WAS that girl in the mirror. She no longer had scratches, zits or the scares on her face that she had before. Her skin couldn’t be more like Snow White’s. Her lips a pearl rose. Her eyes were bluer than the sky when she had seen her eyes one thousand times green in chipped glasses at the orphanage. Her brown hair was in curls whitch bounced with every inch, no longer looking like a hair dresser had cut it at different angles. She know was a beautiful, rich girl. No longer plain and simple. For now she diddn’t notice the gold hearts chipped in the frame of the mirror, she noticed the little freckels on her nose she had never noticed before. She smiled at herself and the girl in the mirror smiled back. Then she skipped along into her dressing room with the dress on that she had wanted that was in Turnilla’s Botique’s front window.

Olivia came down to the dinning room where her “parents” waited with a fresh purple ballgown on.

“Oh, darling, you look exsquesant!” her “mother” gasped. Oliva giggled and grinned from ear to ear.

“Manners, sweety.” Her “mother” scowled.

“Oh, uh… Sorry… Thank you, mother.” Olivia curtsied but streetched the word ‘mother’ out far enough that it would explode.

Then she saw all the wonderful food! It would have been a feast for the whole country and there would still be more! From pasteries to barbiqued ribs, from muffins to casirolls, from garlic bread to buttered peanutbutter-chocolatechip-strawberry-blueberry-banana-cherry cream soda-bacon and egg pancakes. It didn’t matter if it was dinner, have some breakfeast and some lunch! There was tacos, pizza, macaroni, tuna sandwhitches, macaroons and lemon marine pie for dessert. There was more food tha anyone could write on a peaice of paper.

Every bite Olivia took became better and better and better. When she had finished and her stomach could not take it any longer, it looked like she hadn’t tuched a ting on her plate! The tablemen took away all the food and silverwaer.

“Olivia, sweetheart, why don’t you get ready for bed now?” her “father” sugegests and skatters nannie and Olivia off to her room once again.

When olivia was ready for bed, she snuggled up, all warm and cozy in her queen sized bed with a comfurture worth over 2000,025 dollars. Then her “parents’ come in and tuck her in, kissing her forehead. But then, her “father” pulls out a wrapped-up present with a fluffy green bow on top. The box was big enough to fit a horse in it.

“For me?!” Olivia gasped.

“For you.” Her “father” replied. She tore it open and out came a puppy! I’ll name you Spot!” Olivia cried with pear joy. Spot licked her face and the whole family giggled. The two “parents” kissed her and Spot gooodnight again then turned off the lights and shut the door tight.

Suddenly, Oliva felt someone watching her. She looked around the room, but it was too dark to see.

“Who-who-who’s there?!” She asked, shaking, but no voice came to answer. Olivia ran to turn on the lights. The lights stung her eyes for being in the dark too long.What she found was one-hundred stuffed owls starring at her.

“What?” she asked aloud. She ran to her “parents’” bedroom. She knocked once, twice.

“Come in!” she heard. She came in and asked,

“Whyis there a bunch of stuffed owls in my bedroom starring at me?’

“uh….. You know why, sweetheart. Have you forgotten? They’ve always been there. But I must must answer if you have to know: because you know how you’re dad loves to collect stuffed

owls because he’s an animal trainer and can train any animal in the world! And it’s just like how I’m a famous acttress! Now, you need to go to bed. It’s getting late. Would you like to sleep in our bed?” Her “mother” asked. Olivia shook her head. She went back to her heated floor and into her heated bed and went to sleep…… Dreaming of owls.

The morning woke up Olivia. She got rady for the big day and went down stairs to seee no one around. She went to the backyard and found her parents in the hottub with a wait-tress ready to take their order. There was a pool with a glistening waterfall and a whole field with a barn and three horses in the distance.

“Come on in! Go get you’re swim-suit on and jump in! oh and tell the waitress what you want!” they encouraged her. Nannie brought her her jewled swim-suit and Olivia quickly left to change.

No longer than a minute , olivia was playing in the pool, eating a chinomon roll.

After breakfeast, her “mother’ decided they should ride their horses.

“Oh! I’ve always wanted to ride a horse before!” Cried olivia. Her “mother” frowned,

“you’ve ridden horses before.”

“Oh, yes. Of course!” Olivia lied.

Olivia jumped up and down as she petted a horse named Lucy.

They rode on horses, talking and laughing together as they rode past mountains, plush hills, a forsest and cornfiels. The laughter and talking died down as they stopped at a cliff to look over the sunset. They watched till the sun went down, the day turned into night; the clouds were replaced with stars and the light grew darker. Then the family rode back to their mansion under the stars.

Then the family was up early to go shopping. After a good day started off with breakfeast, they head out to the most fanciest place in Queens, new York.

“Get a cart and pick out everything you want! Ready? Set…. Go!’ yelled her “mom.” Everyone ran and grabbed whatever they wanted or liked. They came together at the middle of the store. They bought their things and headed for the next store and did the same thing. They did this for the whole day until they were too tired to even walk. They went home and started looking at their things they had bought. Then, Olivia’s ‘mother” came into her room.

“Is this everything you wanted?” she asks, looking at Olivia. Olivia grins. She runs over to her “mom” and hugs her and says,

“Oh, this is everthing I wanted, mother!” And this time she didn’t streetch it……..

Olivia had beeen at this “new life” for about a week. But it was the same thing every day. Get up, breakfeast in the pool and hot tub. Then go ride horses, buy EVERYTHING you want, play, eat and sleeep. Being ritch was kind of getting boring. Every day she would get everything she wanted and play with the toys, pillows, clothes and stuffed animals for a day. Then it would be the next things she bought. Then it would go on and on and on. And she would never play with the “old” toys ever again. Finally, she went to go tell her mother this. When she had finished her mother poundered it for a minute. Then said, “Olivia?”

“Yes, mother?”

“You WILL do this every day! But, I will allow you to play outside for 30 minutes. AND this IS finall!”

“Yes, mother.” Her eyes were getting teary and she felt like she just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry like a baby. “Does mother not love me anymore?” she thought. “Maybe she just wants me to have fun and hinks that I don’t like going shopping and buying everything I want. Hmph.”

On the way to her room, she bumped into her father. “Oh! Sorry!” She says, looking concerned.

“watch where you’re going! And here is a new list of rules for you to follow!” He pushes a peaice of paper into her hands.

“I said I was sorry!” Olivia called after him. But he didn’t reply back. “Maybe father doesn’t love me anymore etheir.” She runs to her room, slams the door, locks it and falls to the floor and starts cry. Then, she looks up at the mirror on the sparkling, pink door with the beautiful girl in it and SMASHES it into one million peaices. “There! Now she’s ugly! Go get a different daughter! One that’s twice as beautiful as me!” She then sobbed and sobbed until she fell asleep on the brown, fuzzy carpet.

The next day wasn’t going so well. She didn’t get to eat breakfeast in the pool OR hot tube or even swim in them. She ate in her room. – She HAD to. Mother made her. Instead of riding horses, she had to feed and clean up their filthey, stinkey, ugly, smelly, disgusteing, poop. –Yuck. Then, instead of going shoping, she had to stay in her room and study all day! I guess her mother had lied. Plus, there were new rules. But, for now she was safe playing outside with her new friend, Lily. They had only just met each other on the sidewalk. Soon, it was time for lunch. Mother came out and told her: “Its time for.” Then stopped when she spotted Lily. “OLIVIA! Get away from that girl, NOW!”

“But Mother, she’s my friend!” Olivia snapped back at her.

“I don’t care if she’s your stupid friend, or your freaking sisiter! She’s black! And she’s poor! She doesn’t even have a mother, much less food. GET AWAY! Then she took Olivia’s arm and lead her away from Lily and just abandened her right there. And they were at the park.

“Lily doesn’t know the way home!” She protested.

“If she even has one.” Her mother growled back as they ate luch at their house. Sense the park had ‘cooties’ from blacks. Her mother had said.

“Why would you do something like that?” She asks.

“Because she’s black, your white. Your rich, she’s poor. Were rich so we get to do whatever we want.”

“What?!” Olivia says, with every screaming nerve she had.

“Yes, darling, its just the way things are.” Olivia shakes her head in disgust and her eyebrows narrowed with her eyes burning a glare. One word forms from her mouth, “MONSTER!”

Later, that night, they went to play bingo because Olivia wanted the golden tedy bear and that’s what you got if you won.

They all had sheets. Almost have a bingo… Someone next to her was saying. They haded even called one of Olivia’s numbers! She glances over her father’s shoulder, two more and he could get a bingo! And her mother’s… Olivia gaspes. “Bingo!” Her mother calls out. “Ya! We win!” says Olivia jumping nup and down on the balls of her feet. “We win! Whoo hoo!0. you guys loose! Loosers! We win! We’re winners! Ha, ha, ha!” Her father yells, punching the air with his fists. “Please sit down, Mr. And Mrs. Black. You will get your prize after everyone has left.” Says the man who had called out the numbers from the bingo bowl.

Then her father whispers in Olivia’s ear, “We cheated! When the guy sittting next to me wasn’t looking I swapped mother’s sheet with his sheet. But who cares? We won!”

“Father, that’s not fair! You must say you’re sorry at once!” Olivia starts to stand up on the bench and say, “Sorry!” But her father grabs her and says,

“No! You have to say you’re sorry to ME!”

“Sorry!” She shoots him in a snotty way.

“Hmph!” Her father says and turns away from her and pouts. Then the same guy who grabbed the bingo numbers out of the bingo bowl handed Olivia the goldden teddy bear.

Her heart felt cold. On the way out of the building, She was dragging behind when she through the golden teddy bear away into a silver trash can. And then she walked away from the miserable night.

Olivia was jumping down the flights of stairs then stopped when she saw her mother have a huge stack of money in her hand. “Where did you get that from?” She asked.

“Hmm? Oh! This! I took some money from the orphange for our family. Ha! Told them they weren’t doing a good job, so I had to take some of their money. Ha, ha! Thay fell into it! Here is some money. Don’t you think that’s fair?” Her mom says. Olivia’s jaw drops opens in surprise.

“No!!!” She screams. She pushes her mother down the stairs and walks down to her.

“I’ve had enough of this! You’re too evil to be a mother!” She yells. Her father walks up the stairs.

“And YOU!” She cries. He freezes, aware that something big is happening.

“Oh, sweetheart, darling.” He tries.

“NO! You’re all the opisite of what I want! Ritch is poor! Poor is ritch! And that’s the way it is! I’ve had enough!” She leaps out the door.

She runs and runs. “I want to go back to my old life! I have to go back to the doughnut shop!” She relizes. Finally, out of breath she stops. “She yells with all her strength left. Olivia glances at the street sign, “107, Hey! This is where the doughnut shop is!” She cries. She runs to the door of the shop, but then stops. “I forgot, mother all the shops in town! This isn’t a doughnut shop anymore! It’s a dress shop!” She relizes, in horror.

“Excuse me.” Someone tugs on her dress sleeve. Olivia looks down to find an orphan.

“Are looking for doughnuts?” The little girl asks. Then adds, “They still have them!”

“No, they don’t.” Olivia says, pretty sure of herself.

“Yes, there is. Follow me!” She says and takes Olivia’s hand and leads her to the back of the store. There is a moving guy loading boxes of doughnuts into his moving truck.

“Can I have a doughnut? The magic Doughnut?” olivia asks the man. He smiles and says,

‘Really, I’m not suppose to but… sure.” He gives her the doughnut as she reaches into her dress pocket and gives him the cash that her mother had given her. She closes her eyes… But before she takes a bite, she stops and looks into the little girl’s face who smiles a wide, toothy grinn. She looks back at the man and says,

“Actauly can I have the Chocolate Waffleler?”

“Here.” The man says, taking back the daughnut and giving her the other one. She hands the little girl the doughnut. The little girl smiles but gives back the doughnut to the man and takes the Magic Doughnut and gives it to Olivia.

“Here. You deserve it.” She says. Olivia can’t help it but hug her. She closes her eyes and takes a bite.

Olivia opens her eyes. And finds herself looking at the 180 dollar model dress in Turnilla’s Botique. She smiles, and the girl reflecting on the window smiles back.

The clouds move across the dark sky and crows croaked on the powerlines. And Olivia walked back to the orphange on the black, newly paved sidewalks of the city of New York.

The End

Filed under: 2013 Submissions, Portland, Uncategorized, Youth Category | Tagged: Coral Worley, Haven Worley, prizes, Sledgehammer, writing contest, youth | Leave a comment »

« Previous Page — Next Page »

Sledgehammer Writing Contest

Visit Indigo

Join Our Networks

Photo Gallery

“Mercury” by Team Tennant

Mercury

“Wherman’s K9 Academy” by Meredith Levinson

Wherman’s K9 Academy

“A Chance Encounter” by Kellie Doherty

A Chance Encounter

“Coaptation” by Giovanni Ortiz

Coaptation

“Rich and Poor” by The Rock’n Writers

Rich and Poor

Categories