Trolls

Do you know where the trolls came from?

Most trolls are born in winter between December and March while the moon is smiling or sleeping.

You see, millions of years ago, before humans walked the Earth, the Northern Lights, named Aurora, danced each night. But the animals slept at night and did not get to see her beauty. This saddened her, and she became withered and grey.

But one night, the Moon smiled at her, and said to Aurora, "I am going to sleep tomorrow and you must keep the sky filled with light!"

"But for whom?" asked Aurora, "All the animals sleep and, if you sleep as well, no one will see my beauty!"

"Tut!" said the Moon, "All the more reason for you to shine even brighter!"

And so, that night, Aurora shown with all her might. She danced and flickered so much, that her sparks fell from the sky and landed on the Earth's rocks and stumps and grass and bushes... and the rocks and stumps and grass and bushes came to life.

They danced with Aurora and laughed and sang of her beauty and relished in her light. And when Aurora had finished her dance, the little lively trolls went to sleep, dreaming of the next night when they would awaken to dance and sing and make merry once again.

And that is where the trolls come from.

The Wight Who Lives Downstairs From Me

There is a Wight who lives downstairs from me. I believe he just moved in last week. You see, the walls in my apartment are thankfully thick and I rarely hear any noise outside my door. Perhaps, if I leave my window open, I can hear a dog barking, or a car door shutting, or some kids squealing in the afternoon, but nothing more than that. The usual neighborhood sounds.

It was a few days ago that I stepped out of my apartment at 11:34am to walk my dog, Jones. I heard a terrible screaming, not much unlike a rooster crow except louder and longer. I paused only a moment, but Jones thought nothing of it and we walked down the two flights of stairs to his favorite palm tree. When we returned after a stroll to the park, the screaming was still there.

Jones did not react, but I stood still a moment just listening. It was coming from the door below and one over from my apartment. I sat at the bottom of the stair and listened for a while, browsing facebook on my cellular phone. Quite suddenly, I had realized that the noise stopped. I gave it a moment of my full attention and slowly climbed the stairs, but the screaming did not continue. "Perhaps it was a very upset dog giving birth," I thought, and shut my door.

The next morning I had managed to awaken a bit earlier. I helped Jones with his harness and stepped out of my door at 8:50am. Again, the terrible screaming. This ruled out a laboring canine, as I am not an expert but I am quite sure a dog in labor would not have the energy to make such sounds after nearly 24 hours. Also, I determined a rooster in someone's apartment would be silly.

We went for our walk and came home. Other than the horrible noises coming from the apartment below and one over from mine, the day was as it is normally. That night, however, was a bit different.

Jones is a small dog, and thus can only hold his bladder for no more than four hours and fifty minutes. If left to his own devices for four hours and fifty one minutes, I am welcomed with a puddle near the front door. And so, on our nightly walk, which often occurs around 12:30 in the morning, I helped him into his harness and took him out the door.

There was no screaming then, but the lights on the second floor were flickering. I hurried Jones to the park. He did his business and I had forgotten all about the screams and the lights, my mind full of thoughts from the day I had had.

As we came around the corner to my building, I noticed a darkness up the stairs. I climbed them quietly and carefully, though Jones hopped up as per usual. As I came to the second floor, I let out a scream. There, at the end of the hall, was a tall, ghoulish figure.

Its skin was ashy white and skeletal, its eyes were a blue bright enough to see clearly from 30 feet away, and it wore black rags that seemed to float as if under water. The Wight looked at me a moment, nodded its head, opened its door, stepped into its apartment, and shut the door behind it. The bits of its cloak that would have been stuck in the door turned to smoke and dissipated before my eyes.

Frankly, there was nothing I could do short of stand there in shock and resolve to speak with the front office the moment they opened in the morning. I made absolutely sure my door was locked and went to bed fully clothed and covered head to toe in blankets. It was terribly hot.

The next morning I walked with Jones straight to the office, but they were closed. It was Thanksgiving. Fuming and frightened, I went back home and, as I climbed the stairs, I heard the screaming. Still, Jones did not care. I picked him up and made for the Wight's door.

As I got closer, I slowed down and stepped as carefully and quietly as I could.

I put my ear to the door.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door across the hall burst open. Jones barked at the stranger stepping out of her apartment. I was embarrassed and tried to shush my dog while simultaneously acting as if I had just happened to be walking by. The neighbor and I met eyes and I saw her gaze move to the door I stood before.

"Poor thing," she shook her head.

"Sorry?"

"Nightmares" She said so matter-of-factly I nearly laughed. "They're typically nocturnal, the Wights, but this one has been through a lot I think."

"Wights?" I said, shocked, looking back to the door.

She shushed me. I turned back to her, but she was already walking toward the stairs. Jones finally stopped barking when the door behind me opened.

There stood the same Wight in the darkness of its apartment, wrapped in its floating dark cloaks, its icy eyes looking dimly into mine. The coldness from inside felt like a punch in the face.

"Hello," I muttered timidly.

The Wight looked at my dog in my arms. Jones reached out to meet its outstretched hand, gave it a sniff, and let it scratch his head. It left a white chalk in his fur that smelled like salted caramel. I looked up into its eyes, but its gaze was to the floor. It blinked sleepily, gave a little nod, turned, and shut the door.

I brought Jones back up to my apartment and gave him a bath. Now he smells like salted caramel with vanilla. It gave me an idea. I pulled up my laptop from next to the bed and opened Google.

"what do wights eat?"

Google wasn't very helpful. The only thing I could find was babies and that wouldn't do. Unless... In my refrigerator was a brand new dozen eggs. It was barely 10:00 in the morning. I made a 6-egg cheese omelet, cut it in half, and put it on two plates. I walked determinedly downstairs and knocked on the door to the apartment below me and one over.

A moment passed and the door opened. It was 80 degrees outside, but the sudden burst of cold air caused me to tense so much I nearly dropped the plates. The Wight's wrinkled face seemed angry at first but its brow raised which prompted me to speak.

"I... I heard noises... Oh no, don't worry! You aren't bothering me at all. These apartments have very thick walls. Anyway.. um.. I know I get nightmares if I go to bed hungry so I thought maybe some eggs would help?"

I held one of the plates up.

"There's Monterey Jack cheese in it."

At that the Wight took the plate and stepped aside to let me in. He likes cheese as much as I do. I also found out that he's a fan of MST3K and board games. Before I left, he invited me to come back over on the weekend, although I'll have to remember a flashlight and a winter jacket..

Anyway, that's how I became friends with the Wight who lives downstairs.

Undying Hope

"I'm in love!" I said, as I looked bright eyed at the lovely gentleman on the other side of the fence. My friend replied with a simple, yet meaningful inquisitive noise.

"I mean, I don't quite know what love is, but I'm fairly certain it's something like this." My eyes followed the man as he walked slowly toward me, waiting to meet his eyes. As he drew closer, my heart fluttered and my breath quickened. I felt warm and hopeful and when he finally looked at me, I was overcome with joy. But he only met my gaze for a moment... and kept walking.

My friend laid back down, but I watched the gentleman as he walked away. He paused beyond my reach, said something, and the next gate was opened. I strained to see what was happening. I saw him kneel down. I saw him smile and heard his laugh. It filled me with such emotion I could not even comprehend. He stood again, and I stood tall, but he passed by without even noticing me. There was a puppy in his arms. Another puppy. I so wanted to be his.

"Everyone passes by the older dogs" her friend sighed, "You'll get used to it."

But she was wrong. It still hurts every time.

I Awoke And Saw Him

"They come" he said.

"They come?" I questioned.

He nodded solemnly and looked out the window into the dark. My eyes stayed on him.

"Where do they come from?" I asked in a hushed voice.

"Oh, all over." His nonchalant tone sent a shiver up my spine and I could feel it tingle on the outermost layer of my skin.

"What are they coming for?"

"For us." he said. I uncrossed my legs and climbed into his lap. He put his arm around me. I rested my head on his chest and looked down into the blankets. He continued looking out the window.

"What will they do to us?"

He gave me a squeeze.

Our silence filled the spaces in the room between the flickering of the candle on the desk.

We stayed like that in each others arms for what seemed like nearly an hour. Then his muscles tensed and I realized I could hear music in the distance. He was right. They were coming.

Creative Juices

The weather report didn't matter.  The temperature, humidity, and sunlight (or lack-there-of) was always the same in the Marans' basement.  The wood paneled walls were hidden in darkness except for the occasional splash of light from an unshaded lamp.  Even those bits were soiled with the stark shadows of whatever knick-knacks and half-filled soda bottles were strewn across the desks which lined much of the room.  

In a corner sat Brian, hunched over a drawing pad which lay flat on his desk.  The page before him was blank, but he stared at it, muttering to himself, reading under his breath.  In frustration, he threw down his pen and rubbed at his eyes as if he had been sitting in that uncomfortable, hot chair for hours.  Days, even.  In reality, he had only just sat down for a few minutes.

He turned sideways in his old chair, the wooden arm of it digging into his side.  His unkempt hair matched the shadows on the wall both in color and shape.  His glasses were equally dark and abnormal.  He stared through them across the large cave of a room to another desk.  Upon it sat several jars, bottles, beakers, and other clear containers.  Each was connected to the next with a straw or tube of some sort and liquid pooled in differing colors; blue, green, yellow, black, clear.  The liquids sat unmoving, unbubbling, unchanging.  

Brian pushed himself from his chair as if the effort itself drained him and he trudged across the room.  He slapped his hand on the desk and drug a lighter over the rough wood, only then curling his thumb to pick it up as it teetered on the edge.  In one quick movement, almost uncharacteristic of him, he snapped the cover off and flicked the lighter on.  The tiny flame danced from his fist and he reached out and held it under a mason jar of blue liquid.

Forever he stood there, the flame licking the glass, the shadows dancing on the wall, the light taunting his eyes, and the jar began to sweat but its contents had no reaction.  Brian lifted the lighter closer till the flame had no room to burn between its fuel and its foe, but still, nothing.  He stared into the flame until the spots overcame his sight and he could see it no more.  His eyes relaxed and snapped back, trying to focus on what had blinded him, but Brian didn't move.

Florescent light ruined the effect and a woman's voice came from far away.

"Brian?!  You better not be smoking down there!"

He answered her in his head, "I'm not, Mom!" but his lips didn't move and no sound came from him.

"Brian!"

Blinking, he threw down the lighter in anger.

"What?!  What Mom??"

By this time, she had come halfway down the stairs and was looking at him as if he had just pulled a gun on her.  

"What are you doing?"

Brian didn't turn from his desk.

"I'm writing!  Leave me alone!  Please!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry.  What do you want for lunch?"

"Nothing, Mom, I'm fine.  I'm not hungry.  Just.  Please, leave me alone for now."

"Well, let me know soon.  It'll take time to make it.  Don't wait till you're starving to come upstairs."

Her steps were soft and reverberating and the click the lightswitch made when she shut it off replayed in Brian's head over and over and over.  He felt as if he had been standing all day and decided to go sit back down in his chair.  Once there, he stared at the blank page of paper again.  Hours later, he let out a sigh.  

At some point, a plate had appeared on the desk next to him.  It had three halves of ham sandwiches on toast with a full slice of cheese on each.  He barely recalled eating it, but the roughness the toast left on the roof of his mouth and the crumbs on the plate gave away its history.  Brian turned to look at the liquid across the room.  Still as ever.

The light flicked back on again and the familiar footsteps came close.

"We're all ready to go.  Are you coming?"

Brian sighed again.  He lost count of the number of sighs which now hung in the still air around him, but he was certain it totaled more than the years that would last his life.  He pushed himself and his chair away from his desk with a harsh scrape against the concrete floor and stood.  Turning without looking at the juices, he climbed up the stair after his mother.

The light clicked off, but no one was there to hear its sound repeat over and over in their mind.  Heavy footsteps came from above as they walked and shuffled across the house.  Then a heavy door opened... and shut.  The slam of it made tiny ripples in the liquid.  A hundred circles grew within each other till they could grow no more, and then reversed and came back on each other.  Even after the vibration of the door had passed, the ripples kept on, growing bigger with each wave until the liquid began to bubble.  The bubbles grew larger, and more fierce until it pushed up into a straw and into the next soda bottle of green, turning it into a beautiful teal.  

The teal concoction began to bubble next.  It churned and danced and bounced and grew.  It grew so great that it flowed into the yellow liquid and the black.  They bubbled up and rose out of the jars and popped on the wall, leaving round ink stains which dripped and bled downwards leaving new symbols and signs and words and pictures.

The bubbles eventually filled the room in black and teal and purple and orange and every shade of blue and green until barely any liquid was left at all in the bottles and jars.  When Brian stepped down the color-wheel stairs what seemed like mere moments later, he scooped up his pen and drawing pad, sat cross-legged on the floor, and began to write.

The Apex

Epilogue

The trees were so tall and the snow fell so thickly, Jezzabel could not see their top branches.  Her muscles no longer ached, but the stiffness in her legs drained what little energy she had left.  She pulled her bearskin cloak tightly around her, crossing her thin arms across her ribs.  Her limbs felt oddly thick and she could not feel her joints when she dropped to her knees in a drift too heavy to climb. 

Upwards she peered again.  The cold breeze on her face seemed to go through her cheeks and behind her eyes.  She let out a quivering breath and would have cried had her tears not frozen to her eyelashes.  She had tried to climb alone, the results would have been better had she done it alone.  Now, though, the choice was only to accept assistance or die.

Death.  It was only a fortnight ago she had found herself so quick to consider it and she would have ended the world then and there but for a whisper in her head of another way.  No, she would climb and she would do so alone.  The tiniest glimmer of hope that the Apex could maybe give her what she sought kept her alive if only for a short while.  But, as she climbed, her hope grew stronger.  What began as a half starved hope of a determined girl became the determined hope of a girl half starved. 

A shadow approached from beyond the snow, its steps slow, rhythmic, and with purpose.  Jezzabel realized she was laying on her back.  She blinked up at the creature, her stiff eyelids failing to wet her frozen corneas.  Her lips twisted, though she wasn't sure if she was smiling at her fortune or grimacing at her defeat.  Meekly, she reached upwards and the head of the beast lowered down.  Her fingers curled around its antlers, hard, thin, velvety, and warm and was lifted into the air as if she weighed no more than a fallen leaf.  Grabbing hold of the thick blue-gray fur of the beast's shoulder with one hand, she was able to pull herself onto its back.  She let her cloak fall open and pressed her chest and cheek into its fur.  So warm, it was, that she felt the stiffness in her melt away and she suddenly felt foolish for accepting the beast's help.  Now, with just that moment of warmth, she felt she could complete her quest alone.  But it was too late, she had climbed onto the beast's back and would ride it for the remainder of her journey.

The gentle rocking of the beast's shoulders soon sent Jezzabel into a deep sleep.  She dreamed of a crow laughing as it flew about pecking at the head of an ogre as he clumsily swatted at it.  She was the crow and the ogre both.  When she awoke, she lifted herself up to peer between the beast's antlers  The snow had stopped, but the wind whipped the freshly fallen into a thick white mist about them.  There was a darkness a short distance ahead and it would seem they had come to a cave.  The beast took her into the darkness and, once past the snow which had blown inside the wide mouth, laid down. 

Jezzabel slid off the beast, pulling her cloak about her once more with one hand, still grasping its fur with the other, and looked into the darkness.  The beast shook its mighty head, which the girl took to mean she would have to let him go.  The moment she did, she felt the white coldness from behind rush back into her and she shivered, hurrying to tighten her cloak about her tiny body.  Disappointed and relieved, on the verge of tears, she sighed shakily and stepped forward into the dark warmth of the cave. 

The Apex was ahead of her.

Vision

Over the course of the next moments, a wave of excitement and energy swept over Ship and he felt he needed to move his legs.  He adjusted himself and reached a hand out to his side where a tall, dark object stood.  It was firm and rugged under his fingers.  He planted a foot downward into the green below him and wriggled at the touch of a few blades slipping between his toes.  Pushing himself up from his knee, and sliding his hand up the rough, tiny wall, Ship stood.

He gazed upwards again, watching the blue-white blinking in the green which waved and whispered to him.  Always keeping his hand upon the wall, he followed it.  Putting one foot carefully in front of the other, he stepped around until he found himself in the same place he was standing before.  Again, he circled it.  Again, faster this time.  Faster and faster until he broke out in a run.  Never letting his fingers lose touch of the rough wall for more than an instant, he leapt over the pieces of the wall which jutted out from the ground.  'Reee!' he called out.

Clumsily, he bounced to a halt and bent over with his hands on his slightly bend knees.  'Troo' he let out as he tried to catch his breath.  He looked up and patted the wall.  'Tree,' he said to it, and tree waved down at him in thanks.  Ship leaned up against it and looked out at his surroundings.  In the distance were blue-purple points with white tops, yellow and blue and green painted the bit below it. 

His stomach gave an awful lurch then.  Something he had not felt before.  He felt the need to put something in his mouth then... but what?  His eyes still slightly blurry to the colors ahead of him, Ship hesitated.  After another lurch, Ship pushed himself from the tree and stepped back out into the sun.  He began to walk.

As he walked, he named the things he saw, and his eyes became sharper and the colors stood out to him.  He passed through trees so thick they blotted out the blue above.  He walked past great golden tunnels without roofs in the ground with walls ten thousand feet high.  He jumped over streams and waded through rivers and swam across lakes.  He found some more trees with sweet smelling balls growing from them which he decided to suck on.  The sugar caked on his teeth and the juice flowed down his cheeks.

Continuing on, Ship passed a lake so large he could not see the other side.  He climbed rocks and peaked down dark caves.  He walked through valleys and rolled down hills.  So many colors and smells and sights he had never felt before... and Ship was happy.

Stepping between trees taller than he could see, Ship kicked at the needles under his feet and he heard a sound.  Ship froze and looked around.  He saw nothing, but then he heard it again.  A soft ruffle a few yards away.  He turned to look in the direction of the noise and he saw the world move.  As it moved, Ship was able to make out its shape... an odd box with long twigs beneath it.  From the box came a long, curved branch with a lump on the end.  The lump had two leaves of the same color on either side and two black spots and the pointed end was moving.  Ship stepped slightly closer to it, and it turned its two black spots to face him.  This wasn't a moving tree - it was another thing like him... but different.

Ship continued closer to it, and it stepped a few paces away from him.  He followed it, carefully stepping softly into the needles to make as little noise as possible and yet, with a twitch of its ears, it would match Ship's pace and step away.  Then, a crack, a giggle, and the deer was gone.  Ship, just as startled, forgot about the deer and ducked down behind a tree.  The sound he heard next was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

It sounded like the shadows he had known so well before being thrust into this other world.  It was higher pitched, and it hummed up and down and down and up.  Finding his courage, Ship leaned out from behind the tree and, as carefully as with the deer, stepped up behind another one slowly making his way toward the sound.  Then the sound stopped.  It was then he saw her.  Another living thing, more like himself, but shorter and different in stature with longer, black hair.  She wore aquamarine cloth which seemed to glow against the rusty needles around her.  She was looking around the forest, golden teardrops dangling from her ears.

'Hello?' she called out.

Ship, overwhelmed with excitement, stepped out from behind his tree.  The girl gasped as she turned to see him there.  He stood, frozen in place, unsure of what to say or do.  The woman turned to face him and reached out a hand.  Ship paused, but her smile calmed the bubbles inside him. 

'It's alright.  I will lead you.  Do not be afraid.'  Ship stepped up and took her hand, looking into her eyes. 

'Vision' he said to her, repeating the last sounds he thought he heard her sing.  His sight, even within the walls he had always known, had never been so clear.

Ship

A man sits.  He sees before him a wall.  He sees to his left, a wall.  He sees to his right, a wall.  Upon such a wall is a screen, which he may touch.  Upon the screen is an image.  What the image is, a man cannot say.  The image is a darker shade of grey from the wall, so a man knows it is there.  But the image changes.  It changes as routine which a man may or may not recognize. 

From his arms grow tubes.  Grey tubes with darker grey matter which flows in and out of him at all times.  There is no time here.  There are the walls and the shadows upon them.  In the distance, beyond his walls, a man can hear sounds.  They are muffled voices coming from the shadows.  He speaks to them in a language he made up.  In this man's mind, he has remembered the shadow's shapes and molded the shapes into new shapes.

This man has earned the attention of the voices.  They have become louder, closer, and yet the images remain the same.

All at once, the wall splits open.  The man can see nothing but bright, blinding white.  It hurts his eyes.  He cries out in pain.  'No!  No!' he says, 'Please!', but in his blindness he can only feel the tubes being torn from his flesh.  He can only feel weight under his arms lifting him.  He can only hear the shadows speak, but he cannot see them.  'First you must name yourself,' they say.  'Then you must name the world.  Then you must return, and name us.'

'Please, no!' the man cries out, unhearing.  'I don't want to go!  I'm not ready!'

Pain shoots from his knees as they hit the ground over and over.  He can hear rhythmic pounding on the ground beneath him.  The weight below his arms shoots through the rest of his body as he falls unceremoniously to the ground.

Blinded and weak, he curls up and cries.  He lays for a long time, his eyes shut tight, until he sees something.  A shadow.  A familiar shadow on the back of his eyelids.  'Oh!' he mutters under his breath in sudden comfort.  He reaches out to touch the shadow, as he often has, but finds an unknown sensation.  This shadow is not flat and smooth as the others.  It is in pieces, long, flat and thin.  They are bendable, and yet springy.  In a panic, the man also realizes he cannot see his arm.  It has also become a shadow.

His breath quicken, he opens his eyes just a tiny bit.  It is so bright, but not all the white he has seen before.  This is something new.  Blurred colors, amazing and beautiful, in shapes indistinguishable.  The man looks down towards the ground beneath him and grabs, with both hands, the slender green blades.  Crawling forward, tearing the soft blades with a satisfying *rip* each step, the man suddenly falls hand-first into something else.  It is like air, but thicker.  It falls and makes noise as he lifts his hand out of it and back in.  Watching the blurred vision of his hand, he listened to it *blip, blop, drip, drop* from his fingers back into itself. 

With a frightened, but excited and adventurous smile, he plunges his face into the substance and quickly finds he is unable to breathe.  In a sudden jerk, he rips his head upward and backward, choking and sputtering.  He wipes his face of the thing quickly as he can and blinks up at the blue and green shadows waving above him with a soft whisper. 

Exhausted and confused, the man sprawls out and stares and thinks.  He thinks a long time.  The bright light which hurt him so badly earlier is not so painful now, though his vision is too blurred to understand.  Remembering something and once again, feeling adventurous, he pushes himself up and leans over the edge of the green blades.  Looking down at the odd substance which stopped his breath, he saw a new shadow.  This one pinkish brown, with darker brown above it, two whitish spots in the middle and a gaping dark red hole which seemed to mimic his mouth movements. 

He reached out slowly, carefully, to touch this shadow, and it danced and *shlip-shlopped* about.  When he smiled, the dark hole became a white line.  He reached out and grabbed the shadow and lifted it to his eyes to get a closer look, but it seeped through his fingers.

'Ship..' he said to the dancing shadow below his hand.  *Ship, ship* the water replied. 

Perspectives of Hope

A writing exercise from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/

Use this inspiring image to write of hope today.



When it first happened, we made sure to keep track of the days. We still celebrated Christmas, Halloween, and especially our birthdays. Another year surviving, that was something to celebrate.

I can't remember how old I am now. I don't know what day of the week it is. Hell, I don't even know what season it's supposed to be. It's been dark and cold for so long. We've grown accustomed to it now. This is the norm; not having anything to look forward to. No family vacations, no summer barbecues, no crooked snow men and Christmas carols.

The only thing that keeps me going is my daughter, Ana. The hope she has inside her little heart is enough for both of us. The hope that her mother will come back in some form and restore happiness to our lives.

But until a miracle happens, I'll have to continue my 7 day work schedule, and Ana will have to get herself to school, and I'll have to keep trudging through a life in which circumstance has trapped me. 

I miss my wife. I loved the future that played in my head when she was here. I hate cancer.


Cynthia Smallwood
May 13th, 2009

In Moments Before Death

The Square

a writing exercise from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/
and how I feel right now...



I stood in the square alone. The other people passed by. Other people with their dreams, their fears, their memories. I felt so separated. I had dreams, and fears and memories, but they seemed surreal to me at that moment. I felt as if I was on the brim of waking from a long and confusing dream. All the tension left me. All the thoughts floated from my mind. Nothing was left but a grin on my face. I could do anything I wanted at that moment. I felt that I had wings. I could walk through walls. I could breathe under water. I could fly. I walked myself straight out of the square and saw the glow of light on the horizon. Too late for sunset, and too early for sunrise, I wondered only briefly what it was. I steadied my pace, my hands in my pockets, my smile just as large. I could smile like this forever, and forever I would. Suddenly, I stopped and looked up. The world spun and the lights became lines that swirled around me. The sky became darker. I could hear footsteps and voices, but they seemed far away. As far away as my cares. You could say I fell asleep, but for me, it was as if I had woken up.


Cynthia Smallwood
April 25th, 2009

The Mini Cooper

This one is for Zac, who gave me the prompt, and Holly, who told me that the grass isn't greener on the other side, it's just different grass.



Once upon a time there was a little mini cooper. Her name was Fae and she was a beautiful plum color with dark grey interior. She sat in the lot day after day with all the other cars, watching the road and longing for the day she, too, would be out there with a proud owner. She dreamt often about the amazing sights she would see. She dreamt of the gravel roads of a mountain pass, and the white sand of the beach in her tires, and the starry skies peeking between snowy trees. 

But weeks had passed, and then months, and no one had even so much as taken a look at her. Fae slowly became more and more depressed and her daydreams became much more simple. She began to hate the cars that drove by on the busy road next to the dealership. She had stopped playing and joking with the other cars at night. When a salesman put a sign in her windshield, Fae no longer cared that she could not see the cars passing by on the road any longer. She didn't want to see them.

When people did pull into the dealership, Fae simply sighed. No one could afford her sun roof and her cd player and those who could would leave the dealership with green cars, or smart cars. Fae was neither. Fae was just a little luxury mini cooper that everyone overlooked.

It was just another day when a beat-up grayed impala entered the lot. Its front left bumper had been badly damaged and one of its lights didn't work. It rattled and squealed as it turned in. A man stepped out of it with his wife and baby girl and went immediately to Fae. They talked to the salesman a bit, but Fae wasn't listening. She just sighed and stared.

But, wait, what was that? Her door opened! An excited person had sat inside her! Suddenly all of the dreams rushed through the little car as her engine was turned on. She felt new and alive! She loved the tickle of the baby in the backseat, and the thrill of her oil being checked.

The man stepped out and ran his hand over her hood which made Fae giggle with glee. Was this it? Was this her ticket out of this boring old dealership! The people exchanged paper! Oh, it was! FInally, Fae revved joyfully and danced her way out of the lot and onto the black paved road. It felt so wonderful to be out and about! The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Fae couldn't be more excited!

She wondered where they were headed to! Someplace exotic, she was sure of it. Oh, she couldn't wait to see the miles of cornfields and giant blue mountains and curvy roads she had dreamt of all her life!

But after only a ten minute ride, Fae found herself making one turn on a straight road. Around her were houses that looked exactly the same, except for different colors, and landscaping placed as a bad attempt for individuality. This is not what Fae had in mind at all!

After less than a mile, Fae turned into the slightly sloped driveway that would be her new home. She drove to the same buildings day after day within the same 15 miles on the same busy roads surrounded by the same ugly concrete buildings. Over time, her beautiful plum color became spotted with tree sap and bird droppings. Her interior was stained with raspberry ice and ketchup and a plethora of baby juices. Her floors were littered with dead leaves, old socks, and paper fast-food bags filled with rotting french fries.

Sinking into the pavement below her, she realized, she wasn't built to go over rugged roads or in sandy beaches. She was a mini cooper, and her home was with this family. As she sat night after night, she wondered about her old friends in the dealership lot. She dreamt about her days when she could daydream about her future, when she was hopeful that she would someday have the smooth pavement under her tires and an exciting road in front of her. But the pavement isn't any smoother outside the lot, it's just different pavement.


-Cynthia Smallwood
March 27th, 2009

One Sided...

a writing exercise from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/

The phone is ringing... answer it and tell the story with one side of the conversation.




Um... hello?

No, you've got the wrong number I think.

I have no idea to be honest...

No no, this is a telephone booth.

No - Y-yeah, American.. yeah...

Uh well, lots of grass and some sheep and uh...

-well, we were trying to get to a friend's place so we took a bus and they said this was their last stop...

Yeah, I know... I'm sorry, who is this?

Hello?

Oh Charlie! You ass!! When did you learn to do such a good accent?! Come get us!!!




I went back a few days later and wrote up the other side... Enjoy.


'Ello govna! Is this Scotland Yaad?

Well, where am I cawlin' then?

Is this your home telly?

You've got quite an accent, love! You arn't from 'ere are ye? You sound loik yer from America!

Well, if yer nawt Scotland Yaad and yer not on yer home telly, where in bloody blazes am I callin?

Blimey, love, yer in the middle of nowhere! How did you get there?

Oy, ya must nawt be thinkin' too kindly on good ol' England roit now, are ye? Wasn't very noice of him to drop you off loik that.

::laughs::

I'm sorry, Lil, I can't keep that up...

::laughing:: Alright alright, I'm at a pub right down the road. I tipped off the bus driver to drop you off a stop early. I'll see you in a few!

The Lights

This is a story I had written when I was taken out of regular gym classes in school because of my eyes. I am very near-sighted, which is caused by my eyes being more flat rather than round. This not only causes my terrible prescription, but also for my retina to stretch. My retinas - the film in the back of your eye were images are projected upside before going to your brain - are so stretched that they can tear or detach very easily especially if jarred too much...


Abigail was always afraid to fly. Now, at the age of eighteen, she was finally out on her own and ready to face the world. She knew her life would be hard on her for the next few years as she tried to get herself settled, so before her classes started, Abigail decided to take a leap. Ever since she was a child she had wanted to see the northern lights. She watched the National Geographic specials on the Aurora Borealis growing up and knew how they were formed and every myth and story that joined them. 
Now, Abigail took the torn handle on her black carry-on bag and moved down the blueish grey corridor towards the airplane. The walls of the corridor seemed to be plastic, like a blown up toy she may have seen her big brother playing with at a younger age. The inside of the plane looked like those in the movies. There were two thin rows of coupled seats against the windows and a thick row between two aisles. The seats were the same blueish grey as the corriddor, and they had the same plastic look to them. Abigail took the seat next to a window and slid her carry-on under her feet.
A tall man sat down next to her, grasping a piece of paper in his hand. He had greying black hair that looked like a giant caterpillar wrapped around his bald head. He wore a green pinstripe suit and he had a leather case with him. He looked over the piece of paper as if he had looked it over a million times. After making sure nothing on the paper had changed since he last read it, he slid it in his back pocket and looked over at Abigail. His eyes matched his suit and Abigail could see that he hadn't shaven recently. His thin pink lips curled into a polite smile as he nodded towards the young girl, and she smiled back. 
Abigail glanced out the window and watched the tube she had walked through shrink away towards the building. The doors closed and the stewardess stood before them and explained the safety procedures. She was very short and had very curly blond hair. Very blond hair. Nearly anyone could tell it was not her natural color, but she didn't seem to notice. When her speech had finished there was a long pause. Then the engines started up and the plane began to move.
After the plane had taken off and the stewardess announced that the passengers could move freely, Abigail got to feeling a little nervous. She pulled a sketch pad out of her carry-on and pulled a pencil from her pocket. Flipping past some already used pages, Abigail turned to a fresh white sheet. She put her pencil to the paper and sketched out an eye. The eye later became a sketch of a wolf. The man in the green watched as Abigail's sketch slowly turned into a whole Alaskan scene. The two talked as Abigail pulled out her colored pencils and began to give a glow to her drawing. The man seemed very interested in the school she was going to, as his own daughter was looking for a good school for an art major. Abigail explained that she had only visited the campus once, but it seemed very lovely there.
By the time Abigail's picture was fully colored, the stewardess announced that all the passengers should take their seats and fasten their safety belts. The landing was a smooth one and as Abigail packed away her pencils, she felt a rush of relief that the flight had gone alright. The young girl and the man in the green shook hands and said a polite farewell. Abigail once again walked through the corridor, although this one had lavender walls that looked more like carpets put on the wrong side of the room. 
As she stepped out into the building, Abigail saw the people there waiting to greet family members and old friends. She moved through the crowd and outside where pink taxi cabs were waiting to pick up their customers. Abigail ran through the cold air to the closest one and got in. She placed her black bag next to her and pulled on a pair of deep red leather gloves. The cab lurched downward as the driver sat inside. He wore a brown coat and a knitted yellow hat. He shut the door and the vehicle sped along through the winter wonderland.
The ride was a long one filled with snowy scenes and cozy little towns till it finally pulled up in front of a building which looked more like a home than an inn. Abigail paid the driver and went inside. The inside of the building looked much bigger than Abigail thought it would be. There was a fireplace surrounded by dull green armchairs and a wooden coffee table lay between them. The owner of the inn was a funny old woman who couldn't say a sentence without a punch line. She wore a dark blue skirt with a white blouse that matched almost perfectly with her hair.
The woman showed Abigail to her room and, with one last joke, shut the door. The room was much smaller than the common room. There was a twin size bed with sheets of the same dull green as the chairs by the fire. There was a small wooden armor with a mirror and a separate room containing a sink, toilet, and shower. Abigail set her bag on a small table in front of a window and looked outside to the trees and the stars. Tomorrow she would take a taxi back to the town and meet her guide after dinner. Abigail smiled proudly and got ready for bed.
* * *
"Are you Abigail Thorne?" a man asked. Below his coat, the man's body was well built, and he possessed some handsome features. He was just a bit too old for Abigail though, and she smiled excitedly and answered with a high pitched, "Yes!". "My name is Arthur Hunt," he shook her gloved hand, "I'll be your guide for the night." 
The two packed up their things into the back of a snow-covered truck and sped off into the wilderness. Abigail explained how she had waited her whole life to see the northern lights and she was so happy to see that the snow was beginning to lighten. After nearly two hours of driving through snowy valleys, the truck came to a small clearing complete with a naturally made cavern. Abigail began to unpack the truck as the man made certain the cave was not inhabited by any threatening creatures.
The wait was shorter than the drive when Abigail saw the first signs of Aurora Borealis beginning to form. Suddenly the dark sky was illuminated by a green glow. The lights danced over the sky and Abigail let out a little sigh as she stared in awe. Through the green and black, Abigail saw flashes of white and what had looked like fans spreading over the sky. Mr. Hunt advised her to stay inside the cave, but Abigail watched the lights until they disappeared into darkness.
* * *
Abigail muttered something softly under her breath as she awoke. Mr. Hunt asked her to hurry up as she had slept late into the morning. She opened her eyes, but she still saw only black. The young girl rubbed her eyes and opened them again, but only saw shadows moving in darkness. Abigail cried out, rubbing her eyes harder. Mr. Hunt asked what was wrong and when Abigail explained that she couldn't see, Mr. Hunt lead her to the truck and drove her straight to the hospital. 
Abigail was put under anestetics and brought into the emergency room for optical surgery. Hours later, Abigail awoke with patches over both her eyes. "Somehow, a small layer on the back of your eyes had torn," the doctor explained, "When this layer, called the retina, detatches, the person sees flashing lights, and the illusion of fans or curtains over his or her eyes." When the doctor asked Abigail if she had experienced any of these symptoms, the girl began to cry. The last thing young Abigail Thorne had ever seen was the white Alaskan snow and the dark, empty sky.

Cynthia Smallwood

Here is a picture of the Northern Lights:


Here is a picture of what one might see when their retina detaches: