Blog Directory ID: 428
Blog URL: http://noweepingallowed.blogspot.com/
Google Pagerank: 2
Blog Description: Willow Tree is the name, and ranting about my past WAS the game. This site quickly evolved into an outlet that also explores my life journey *and* helps me flex my writing muscles. Please drop by, have a seat, in the shade of my weep-free willow tree.
Blog Category: Development & Growth Blogs
Blog Owner: Willow Tree
Blog Added: June 21, 2007 09:02:16 AM
Audience Rating: Not Yet Rated
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neglected flashback?
Today's OneWord prompt: flashback- He sat there, stunned. The flashback had been too real, too close for comfort. Carefully lifting a shaking hand up to his face, he covered his eyes, taking in the darkness, forcing himself to relax.
Today's OneMinuteWriter prompt: if books could talk
- How come you don't hold me, study me, caress me like you used to? You're sitting at this desk all day, and we are right here, you see us every day, yet you rarely lift your gaze up to us, let alone touch us anymore.
3WW: splinter in a man's butt
3WW #CC
drinkfeeble
predict
= = =
"Yo. Old man. Hello?"
Adam continued to gaze into nothingness, eyes faraway, lips forming an almost-smile, seemingly oblivious to the uncouth visitor shouting in his ear.
"Shit. He's off in la-la land again."
Arlo shrugged out of his sopping wet travel cloak, letting it slide to the floor beside the ancient chair in which the feeble old man gently rocked himself to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. He then lowered himself gingerly to a stool beside the cold fireplace, and with great difficulty removed his boots. Eyeing his foster father as if daring him to scold him for the mess, Arlo upended one boot then the other, sloshing rainwater onto the floor.
"Come on, old man. I need you."
Arlo sighed. Every visit over the past year had been a lesson in the futility of trying to predict which Adam would be waiting for him.
"It's raining outside. I'm cold and wet. I'm going to start a fire, okay?"
No response.
Soon a warm fire was crackling in the fireplace.
"I sure am thirsty. Hey, you still got some of Alice's apple cider? That's a perfect drink for this weather. I'm going to need some dry clothes, too."
With Adam still not responding to his presence or questions, Arlo had to inspect just about every container and cupboard in the kitchen area before finally finding the cider; it was soon warming above the fire, sending the pleasant aroma of apple and spices into the air. However, Arlo had no luck locating the change of clothes he knew he had left behind during his previous visit: he made do with a thin tattered blanket he found on Adam's cot. He hung his dripping clothes and cloak as best he could by the fire to dry them.
"Don't mind the smell, old man. It's been a few weeks since I've had the luxury of taking these things off."
Finally, he helped himself to a mug of the warmed cider, letting out an appreciative grunt at the taste and temperature as he sat once again on the wooden stool, pulling clumsily at the blanket wrapped around him. Then came a loud yelp of pain: Arlo shot up, arms flailing wildly, cider spilling everywhere, mug tumbling to the floor.
"Well that's a waste of my best cider."
Arlo froze, then lowered himself to one knee, head bowed, eyes carefully studying the pools of cider slowly sinking into the floorboards.
Adam wiped a splash of cider off his forehead, and sucked at the amber liquid on his finger while he glared at the kneeling man. His gaze softened as he took in the gauntness of his nephew many-times-removed: life had been unkind even to him, it seemed.
"Let me guess: a splinter?"
Arlo nodded.
"Harrumph. You should know better by now. That stool is not for the bare-bottomed!"
= = =
(I really couldn't find a good way to end this: from the time Arlo lets out a yelp, I must have written and deleted five 'endings'/continuations that fell flat. Even this one sucks. But the more I try to force an ending, the worse it gets, so I'm leaving it as it is.)
a punny buffet
Today's OneWord prompt: none- none of the nuns were there.
very punny.
yeah well you congo long without one.
Today's OneMinuteWriter prompt: all-you-can-[something other than eat/food] buffet
- The library is the best all-you-can-read buffet in town. It's free. It's air-conditioned in the summer, heated in the winter. It has multiple levels, each with its own flavor of books for your consumption.
===
darn I'm out of practice, one minute flies by way too fast!!
Direction: a search for questions
"Stupid thing isn't working!""Here, let me see."
With a disgusted grunt, Vincent tossed it towards Ian. Fingernails glittered in the sunlight. Long fingers plucked the compass out of the air. Deep blue eyes studied the compass - instead of pointing North, the needle was swinging erratically, pointing to one direction, then another, then another, pausing a second or two between movements.
"If we had the luxury of time, I would record all the directions it points to: I'm sure a pattern will emerge."
"Bah. 'Doesn't work' is the pattern that will emerge."
"No Vincent, that's where you're mistaken. It does work. It's just answering questions different than ours."
"I thought these things only answered one question: 'Where is North?'"
"That's just a simple way of looking at it. If you'd paid attention to anything I've been trying to teach you over the past three months, you might have understood that often we find answers without knowing the question: my brethren and I have devoted our lives to the search of questions to match the answers of the world."
"Yeah, whatever. You don't need to teach me nothing. I'm your bodyguard is all. I shouldn't even be worrying about that compass. After all, you're the one who decides which direction we take every morning."
The two men eyed each other.
"Northeast"
Vincent nodded, peered up at the sky to orient himself with the early morning sun, and set off without another word.
Ian looked down: as soon as Vincent moved five paces away, the compass needle stopped its wild activity and pointed to just the one direction. Ian smiled. It was final proof: Vincent was a question. It was time to hand him over to the Determiners. This Seeker's job was done.
= = =
Prompted by Weekend Wordsmith prompt #161: Direction
3WW: a caustic conversation
3WW #CXCVIIgentlepraise
vulgar
= = =
"So. You're into touching people?"
"You make that sound so vulgar. How would you like it if you were to tell me you were going into the field of physical education and my response was 'So you're into sweaty young boys?'"
"That's not the same thing at all. As a PE teacher the only body contact we made was via hi-fives and slaps on the back. A massage therapist, on the other hand, does nothing BUT touch!"
"You don't get it, do you?"
"I suppose I don't. Enlighten me."
"Look. I don't expect you to praise my choice. But there's no need to belittle them. Or me."
"I was belittling nothing! I just asked if you were into touching people."
"Poor choice of words then: the way you used -- and said! -- 'into', it was like you were insinuating I got off on making physical contact with people. From there, it's not a great leap to other even less tasteful allusions."
"Insinuate. Allude. I think it's YOU who's reading between lines that aren't even there."
"And I think it's you who tends to do this all the time: you make nasty snide little comments, then proclaim innocence when called out, blaming others for not being able to take a joke, for being too serious, for -"
"Bah! We never talk UNLESS you have an issue with me, what I say, what I do. What does that say about you?"
"Look. Do you agree that your statement could be interpreted as judgmental, dismissive, contemptuous? Do you see how I could feel insulted by your words?"
"It doesn't MATTER how it can be interpreted. It's not how I meant it. It's not my fault if you decide to take offence at what I said."
"Of course not. It's never your fault."
"Damn straight!"
"How your son grew up such a gentle soul always amazes me. Here, you go mingle on that side of the room, and I'll go here. I think we've had enough of each other's company for the entire weekend, eh?"
"I'm fixing myself another martini."
"Of course you are. Enjoy number 7, or whatever number you're on by now."
3WW: good morning!
3WW #CXCVIacridbane
tepid
= = =
It's 5:30am, and I hear the high faluting programmable coffee maker kick on as I drag myself to the bathroom. Maybe this morning things will be different? I step into the shower and let out a yelp as cold water hits me, washing away last night's blood and grime.
Feeling slightly more human, I step out, drying myself off with minor success: the threadbare towel is on its last legs. Something else to put on that ever-growing shopping list.
I open the bathroom door, and stop in my tracks. The acrid odor of burnt coffee tickles my nose, and I try not to inhale too deeply.
Throwing on some clean clothes, I head for the kitchen, grabbing a mug and pouring myself a cup of - Oh great. No steam. I take a sip and grimace: it was tepid. I swear, this friggin' coffee maker is the bane of my existence!
I sigh, resigned, and add two new items to the shopping list.
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