“Don’t be so sure, Maximus.” The old fighter creaked into a more comfortable position on his bench.
“These are your people. They will boo and cry out when I slice your flesh.” Maximus drew out the ‘boo’, as if he already heard that throng. “But make no mistake: tomorrow, I root my own flower.”
“Maybe defile it with the blood of a virgin or two,” Adi suggested.
“Or two. I like that. You’re a cocksure old mosquito, squeaking in my ear.”
“In seven decades, I have been defeated only once, and she was a merciful creature.”
“You let her win so you could double your kingdom.”
“Were she still living, Batari would cut you down for such remarks.… Read the rest
He palmed her opal earrings as the doorbell rang “Mrs. Larks! Trick or Treat!” called a querulous voice.
“She doesn’t hear you,” Richard muttered.
He found a needle and an ink pen among Sophia’s things then went to the kitchen for ice. Wasn’t this how they did it in the old days?… Read the rest
He signaled the bartender, who asked “Another?” This man didn’t know Ray was dead any more than the misses in the corner.
“Relax. I’m taking a cab.” And that was true, he suddenly realized. Someone was clonking up the stairs in his house now.… Read the rest
Typically, I don’t include other people’s pictures on my blog. It gives me the copyright heebie-jeebies. But Trifecta swears it’s OK as long as we give a link back to www.poisonedplayground.com and credit Poisoned Playground. Also, the whole entry makes no sense whatsoever without the context of the image. I have also taken wild liberties with the prompt. They said “Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration. What happens next?” They did not say that the following 33 words all had to be in the story’s TEXT.… Read the rest
They spoke in their own languages, Matt’s English, Consuela’s Spanish, as they wound down the Pacific coast.
“I’m not going on some crazy-ass …”
“No estoy loco.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy. I said this… whatever we’re doing… it’s got to be nuts.”
“Then why won’t you tell me what it is?” He wished he spoke better Spanish or she better English. Throughout her son’s trial, they had communicated with a translator, a woman who whispered, “It’s not your fault. You did your best,” over Consuela’s sobs at the end.
But when, a week later, Consuela appeared at his office begging, “Vienes.… Read the rest
Sam read to me last night, each word precious and halting, a hard won battle of chosen sounds. I didn’t learn like this.… Read the rest
The class was working on the taqsim, with its gentle vertical motion. “I think I got this figure eight thing.” A woman at the end of the line herked her hips up and down.
“You’re getting there! I can tell you’ve been working on it. You’re all getting better. At the end of six weeks, you’re going to be amazing.”
Without meaning to, Tamikia let her thoughts wander away from belly dancing.… Read the rest
And this is the place
In the soul shaken darkness
Where I find my son
I went to my favorite writer’s conference last weekend. Killer Nashville was incredible, as always, and I came away with new insights, new friends, and a few things that I completely didn’t expect. I’m sure I’ll talk about those things at some point.
The day before that, I took Sam to one of the myriad of doctor’s appointments that dot his schedule and left so soul-shaken that I thought I wouldn’t be able to drive to Nashville.… Read the rest
She sashayed past my room an hour ago with a broom, and now she’s belting one out in the can while she scrubs the toilets. I do not want to hear about her good vibrations at this moment.… Read the rest