No Snow Angels On Christmas

Monday, July 15, 2013

CRACK

1a : a loud roll or peal

b : a sudden sharp noise

2: a sharp witty remark : quip

3a : a narrow break : fissure       

b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out

4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness

b : a broken tone of the voice c : crackpot

5: moment, instant

Her eyes had hardly opened before she leaped off the mattress and sprinted over to the corner of the house where their tree was kept. Pushing her greasy blonde locks out of her face, she squinted. Had Santa put them somewhere else? She sped off, hunting throughout the house, then returned, puzzled, to the spot she’d started out at. Then she heard the siren wailing outside.

Walking falteringly to the door, she leaned against the keyhole; she could hear Mama talking and crying. Shuffling towards the boarded-up window, she peeped through a crack in the wood; she’d always thought it looked like a dinosaur’s eye. Squinting and straining, she finally managed to make out something red on the sidewalk  – did that man spill Mama’s Kool-Aid? Is that why she’s crying? She peered out again and saw the man in black help lift something into a white car, it looked like a black bag. But Mama was pulling the bag back!

Tumbling down from the sofa, she ran out to the white car to help. She grabbed the man’s hand, trying to pull it off the bag. He was stealing their gifts! The man pushed her away; Mama’s crying harder now. She reached forward and bit his hand as hard as she could; the man’s hand came flying off the bag and raised it in the air as if to hit her, like Daddy sometimes did. Where’s Daddy? But the man only lifted her up and handed her to Mama. She reached out and touched Mama’s wet face, and counseled her earnestly not to cry: Daddy would bring back their Christmas gifts – he wouldn’t let that bad man get away with them.

That Christmas morning Mama wouldn’t make snow-angels with her.

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Breathing Vortices

Your Daily Theme for 5/28/2013
 
Opening Line
 
She sat at the window, nose pressed against the glass until it was numb with cold. She imagined her breath brought frost and her blinks brought rain. From inside her tiny room, she controlled every element of the world outside.
 
Use this as inspiration for a short story or poem.

 

She stared out into the window

Rapidly firing blinks

Like water bombing from a watergun

Or torrents from a thousand sinks

And breathed, through the glass,

Wilfully into the world outside

Creating a universe of Ethereal Beings

In the gloom and darkness to reside.

Faster, faster, first they walked, then ran,

Moshing in a great Wall of Death,

An uproar that even the Heavens noted

With jagged spotlights

Drawn into the maelstrom, coated

With a layer of the ground.

Spiraling out of control,

The vortex turned upon itself ‘round,

And vanished into the sky whole

With but a glimmer.

 

Link to my poem on Figment:

http://figment.com/books/647243-Breathing-Vortices