The Healing

    Tears sprung up in Ann’s eyes as she looked out over the rocky cliffs.  Not even the years of being married had wiped away the memory that here, among the walls of granite, her younger sister had met her death.  She could still see Lizzy’s smiling face as she leapt from one stone to another, her hair flying in the wind, naively not realizing that every step brought her closer to the cliffs edge.  Ann bit her lip.  If only she had bothered to keep a closer eye on her, then she might be here today.  It had only been a slightly loose stone, but that one little jolt had flung Lizzy to the ground and then over the edge into oblivion. 

    “Momma, why you crying?” Pete’s voice broke in, his little pudgy hands clasped about her bigger one. 

    Ann flung her grief back into the little corner of her mind where she kept it.  She could not allow it to control her.  She had a son to love and to care for.  “I’m fine,” she tousled his dark brown hair.  “But it’s time to go now.”

    His face contorted from an angelic being to an angry bear.  “I wanna stay!” he howled.

    “No,” she said firmly, “It’s time to go.”  Pulling the wailing child behind her, she headed to where her husband had parked vehicle.  Her hands quickly buckled Pete in and closed the door.  Suddenly feeling tired she leaned against the car and looked back at the canyon, sorrow once again beginning to consume her.  “Why?” she whispered.  An arm wrapped itself around her shoulders.  She looked up into her husband’s face and tried to smile.

    “You gonna be okay?” he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead.

    She sighed deeply.  “I will be.  It is just so hard to let go,” tears formed in her eyes.

    “I know, baby, I know.”  He wrapped her in a deep warm hug.  After a moment of tender silence, he whispered, “We need to go.  Pete is getting impatient.”  As she buckled her seat belt she set her eyes resolutely on the road in front of her.  I can do this.  I can heal.   

A Cold Lesson To Learn

This is one of my practices at using better word choice and imagery. Anything I could have done better?

        Dusty, Alicia, Kelsey, and Katy tramped silently down a dark, desolate road. Scrawny, naked trees loomed over them on both sides, and flakes so fine that they could hardly see them had begun to fall out of the foreboding sky. The girls had decided to spend the day at the mall in a nearby town despite their parents warning about the coming weather. On the way home, Dusty apparently took the wrong turn, and they had ended up on this muddy, abandoned road. When the car broke down, the girls had decided to walk to the nearest house to use a phone because Alicia had run down the battery on their cell phone; but then it had begun to snow. The girls shivered. Only Kelsey had thought to bring a coat, and she had stupidly left it in the car. Suddenly, without warning, gigantic snowflakes erupted from the gloomy skies. It looked like heaven's pillow fight had gone haywire.

The sisters pressed onward, trying to focus on the rapidly disappearing road, but could barely even see each other. When they could see the road no longer, nor feel their limbs, they knew their fate had been sealed. They were certain they were paying for their foolishness. Just as they were about to succumb to hopelessness, a light appeared in the distance. As fast as their frozen limbs could carry them, they stumbled toward their beacon of hope. At last they collapsed upon a snow-covered porch, and gentle hands pulled them inside. The sisters looked into the faces of their saviors only to find their parents sternly but worriedly staring down at them. “Where have you been? We were so worried.” The girls guiltily examined their soggy shoes, and recounted the events of the day, knowing they would never make the same mistake again.

One April Night

This is not one of my best stories by any stretch but  I wanted some feed back on it. So please don't just say "Nice" but give me some real, honest feed back. Thanks!

One April Night

Corporal Pip reigned in his tall bay mare in front of the drive way that led up to the house’s veranda. The stars shining brightly above his head seemed dim compared to the light streaming out from the large bay windows. Strains of pleasant music wafted down towards him on the chill night air carrying with it the happy sound of laughter which was even more pleasant to the weary traveler.

“It looks like a jolly party don’t it, eh laddy?” a Scotchman passing by on a big farm horse asked.

“Yes indeed.” Corporal Pip agreed.

“I recon they be the only ones in this ‘ere neighborhood that’s got enough cheer to have a ball in celebration of the North a‘win’n this ‘ere war. They got a son gone to war but they still find a plenty to be happy about.” The man seemed a bit awed.

“They sent a son to war?” Corporal Pip asked.

“Sure, sure. Ah fine laddy Jimmy was too. They’s all fine children them Strakersons. Maltilda the oldest is vary talented at the organ. Jimmy was toller’ble in the ol banjo.” He paused and then went on reverently “I’ve heard tell though that that Carry the youngest of ‘em could wup ‘em all with her cheller playen. A beauty o’ a young woman she has become too. Grown so much the past five years I bet her brother wont know her when he gets back.”

“Really! Grown from a girl into a woman no doubt?”  Corporal Pip turned back to the window. “Tell me; is she any of the young ladies dancing now? I might just step in and ask for a dance of you say she’s so beautiful.”

The farmer chuckled. “Aye, she’s a rare beauty that lassie.  She is wearing a blue dress or I’ll be switched. She and Matilda alaus wear somat blue to remind them o’ the brother. There she be, the one to the right of the end dancing with the dark haired young man.”

“Sweet girl.” Corporal Pip said watching the young form gently swaying to and fro in time to the music.

“What be ya saying?” the farmer asked. “I’m a bit deaf in my ol ears so ya’ll have to speak kinder loud like.”

“Oh nothing.” Corporal Pip answered loudly. “And the parents, what do they think about their son?”

“Oh their right proud o’ the boy. The lady is always a read’n the newest letter to any company. I’ve heard a few myself. He says he’s doi’n wonderful like. Took part at Gettysburg he did. Poor laddy.” He went on affectionately “I just hope he is none the worse for all he has seen.”

“So am I, for his sisters… and family’s sake.”   Corporal Pip paused. “I did some fighting there. It was a hellish fight though and I am sure that very few soldiers came away without memories they would like to forget.”

“You’re a soldier then too laddy?” The man leaned forward in his saddle peering at Corporal Pip. “I can’t see well in this blackness and couldna’ see yer uniform.”

“Oh there is not much to see, no medals or anything. Just a few little holes made by a bullet nearly hitting home.”  Corporal Pip shifted in the saddle so the wind wasn’t blowing in his face and down his the collar of his buttoned up coat.

“Ah laddy, those are medals in themselves to be worn just as proudly. I would a’ liked to ha’ got me a blue uniform and ha’ a couple o’ holes in it but Uncle Sam wouldn’t ha’ taken one as leathery as me. I did alaus want to be a soldier.” He mused. “Step yer horse a bit nearer laddy and let me look at you uniform a bit more closely.”

“Oh it’s in my saddle bags. At present I thought that it would be safest there. You know there were some confederates that had come up here and were picking up homecoming soldiers.”   He looked away as he said the words.

“That’s a smart laddy. Well I must be off or else me wife will be ater me wi’ a broom for standing in the streets all night ‘flapp’n my tongue’ as she says. Farewell laddy and I hope the lassie Carry gives ya her perty little hand fer a dance er two.” And with a final wave of his hand he galloped off down the road toward his home. In a minute he was back. “I forgot to ask ye, what be your name laddy?”

“Well sir, in the army I was nicknamed Corporal Pip.”

“Well Corporal Pip, I wish ye a goodnight.” And he turned his horse’s head and trotted off down the road again.

Corporal Pip watched him go and then nudged his horse toward the large door. In answer to his knock the butler opened the door and an old servant took his coat and hat off and then led him down a long, thickly carpeted hall and showed him into the illuminated ball room. The light from the twinkling chandeliers almost blinded him after he had been out in the dark. A new dance was about ready to start as he made his way toward the young lady he had been informed was named Carry.

“May I have this dance?” he bowed politely from the waist down.

She gasped and then threw her arms around his neck sobbing, “Jimmy, Jimmy.”

                      

                                          The End

The Envelope

     Jennah’s green eyes narrowed as she looked out through the office door into the hallway.  Two men dressed in business suits stood there talking in low voices.  What in the world are they doing?  she thought, her curiosity peaked.  They shook hands then parted ways.  “Hmm,” Jennah looked down at the pile of papers on her desk.  She sometimes wondered if working as a financial advisor was truly worth it.  Maybe it would be easier to find a job somewhere else.  It would most likely improve her income.

    All the sudden, the phone on her desk rung.  “Hello,” she leaned back slightly in her chair and studied a crack in the wall.

    “Ms. Cole?  This is Steven Moore,” a deep voice on the other end said

    “Oh, yes, Mr. Moore.  How can I help you?” she rolled her eyes.  This man was an eccentric customer.  He always called to change his appointment to an hour later than originally planned, and whenever he came, he seemed to talk very little about financial things.  At least she got paid.  That was all she asked.

    “I would like to change my appointment from 4:00 to 5:00.  Can that be arranged?”

   Jennah sighed.  That would be right before closing time, just when she would want to be leaving.  “Yes, that would be fine.”

   “Thank you,” he hung up.

    “You don’t waste words,” she muttered.  Now she had a whole hour to spend doing nothing. 

    Minutes ticked by.  After attempting to do paperwork, she decided to clean out her drawers.  Ten till five a man in a rumpled button up shirt rushed in.  His face was covered with a sheen of sweat.  “I hope you don’t mind me coming early.”  He pulled a hankie out of his pocket and wiped off his face. 

    “No, Mr. Moore, not at all,” she leaned forward and gave him one of her charming smiles, “How may I help you?”

    He glanced hesitantly around then pulled a wrinkled envelope out of his pocket.  “If anything happens to me, they are going to down too,” he hissed, his eyes darting every which way.

    “Sir, I don’t know what you mea-”

    “Here,” he shoved it into her hand, “Take it.”

    He’s going off the deep end.  “What do you expect me to do with it?” she tried to make her voice sound soothing, hoping to calm him down.

    “You’ll know, I promise.”  He stood to his feet.  “I-I need to go.” 

    “Good to see you again,” she held out her hand.

    He shook it then left her office.  “How strange.”  Extremely curious she tore open the envelope and began to read.

    Hopefully the only reason you are reading this is because I am dead or have entrusted it to you.  Most people would not confess to doing what I have done, but because those who helped me are still out there and I want revenge, I am willing to confess.  Two years ago I, and two other men, worked together as spies for another government (one that I will not mention).  We sent them information and got well paid.  We were supposed to work together.  But when I stumbled onto a secret, I knew that I would get a lot of money for, I decided not to tell the other two about it.  Unfortunately, they found out.  Angry they decided to leak what I was doing to the government.  I didn’t get caught, and I got paid for the secret.  Because of that, those two men have been tracking me down for the last two years.  I think they are getting close, and there is nowhere else I can go.  I’m tired of running.  I am only writing this letter so they will go down too.  Enclosed is a picture of them.  Use it how you see fit.

     “Impossible!” Jennah gasped.  With shaking fingers she held up the photo.  “The two men outside my office!”  Suddenly, a gunshot sounded.  Her face blanched.  She lept to her feet and ran to the window.  There he lay, on the sidewalk, dead. 

The Quilt

So two of you have read this but I am posting it anyway because where I and writing am, there is The Quilt. Enjoy!

The Quilt

Private Jonas Camelot squinted at the bright rows of polished bayonets marching in front of him. His spiffy blue uniform with shiny brass buttons was still as new as if he had just come from the tailors. Jonas didn’t like that. For as long as he had been enlisted, he thought that he should have at least one hole made by a rebel bullet grazing his skin but there was  nothing of the sort.

 The men around him were restless. The officers, yelling at them not to break ranks or go plundering, didn’t seem to be heard. Men were leaving the division, running up to houses by the road, pounding down doors and taking anything of value.  They would have burned the houses had not the soft snow thoroughly soaked everything making it impossible.

  Jonas shivered as he watched two men charge up a little hill to a cabin and tear down the door. A woman’s scream echoed through the snow- covered valley and a moment later one of the men came out hauling a ratty quilt. Blankets were scarce and as Jonas watched the man rap the quilt around his shoulders he decided at the next house he would borrow a quilt. Borrow and not return of course. The houses down here belonged to rebel southerners; they didn’t deserve the quilts; they were sending sons, husbands, or grandsons to war against the Union. For all he was concerned they could freeze to death. 

 Seeing up ahead a small cabin, he broke ranks and floundered through the deepening snow to the strong oak door. When he hit the but of his rifle against the old lock the door flew open.   He stepped inside squinting this time because of the lack of light.

 The first time he scanned the room he saw no one and no blanket. As his eyes adjusted, however, he saw in the corner closest to the glowing embers a small rugged bedstead.  It was not the bedstead that he was looking at though; it was what adorned the bed. A quilt. But such a quilt he had never seen before; it was obviously a very strong and warm one that had been past down from generation to generation. He stepped forward, reverently feeling the green and yellow calico. A slight movement caught his eye and looking up he saw an old lady huddled under his quilt. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. He reached down and snatched the quilt off the small bed laughing with derision when she begged him not to take it. As he headed out the door, back into the  blinding light,  he heard her say something about a grandson in the army who would be heart broken when he came home and found the quilt gone and his grandma frozen to death. Jonas laughed again, how warm the beautiful quilt felt around his shoulders. He was doubly pleased when he thought how a rebel’s heart would be broken when he came home. It would serve him right for thinking he could beat Abe Lincoln’s Northern army. If he ever did come home.

 That night as Jonas lay curled up under the quilt listening to the soft sound of snow falling, he found himself watching the night sentinel as he went on his rounds around the camp. As he passed Jonas he stopped.  “I’m glad to see that you are warm.”  He paused and then went on. “That’s a beautiful quilt; it reminds me of my grandmother’s. Actually hers was one of the cabins we passed on the march in. I hope she’s warm tonight.”lives near here."t, it remindes me of my grandmotheruld keep her warm. quilt listening to the soft sound of snow falling, he fou

                                                          The End

The Ballad of Jungle Jane

This was my first and only attempt so far at writing a ballad. It's about 3 years old so it is definitely not my best piece of writing. Hope said I should post it, though, so here it is.

Jane was a girl that craved adventure.
Her longing made her heart sore.
If only she could go to Africa,
There forever she'd explore!

Then one morning Jane awoke to find
Her fondest dream had come true.
"Today is the best day!" she declared.
For in her home a jungle grew.

Jungle Jane, please be careful.
Oh, please be careful, I say.
Do be careful what you wish for, Dear,
Or you will be sorry someday.

Now that Jane, full of pleasure,
Began her exploration.
She wasn't scared of snakes or tigers.
(That is, in her imagination.)

Jane traveled to a river,
And crossed it carelessly.
There was something on the other side
That was waiting impatiently.

Jungle Jane, please be careful.
Oh, please be careful, I say.
Do be careful what you wish for, Dear,
Or you will be sorry someday.

What Jane didn't see
Was the Jaguar in the brush.
He leaped upon poor Jane,
And she was eaten in a rush.

Her parents never knew
What had happened to their Jane.
She had awoke one early morning,
And started acting quite insane.

My Dear Friends, please be careful.
Oh, please be careful, I say.
Do be careful what you wish for, Dears,
Or you may be sorry someday.

(Note: Just in case it wasn't clear, the whole episode was just a dream.)

The Rocker

     The rocker slowly creaked back and forth.  What a comforting sound.  It was a sound she had heard many times through her childhood.  Time and again, she and her siblings would race to see who would get to the chair first.  Often, they would end up lying on the porch, laughing because they had all tried to pile into the rocker at the same time.  Now she sat there, with no competition, reliving the times when they, as a family, would gather together and tell stories and drink lemonade.  Those days were gone.  Yet, the rocker still remained with memories wrapped up in its worn wood. 

    Slowly she got to her feet, brushing off her brown skirt, more from habit than from need.  As she walked across the porch, a tear slipped down her cheek.  Whether it was a tear of sadness or of joy, she could not tell.  They were gone, but she would soon join them.  Her worn body would not be able to carry her for very much longer.  She reached out with a shaky hand for the doorknob and twisted it, entering the house.  Silence reigned on the porch, then a gentle wind reached out and the rocker started creaking once again.

An Experiment of Readers’ Perspective and Present Tense

Well, I was told that since I was the administrator I had to post first. So here goes for the first post on L.A.R.K.!

Here is a story I wrote a while ago. And just for the record I don't recommend trying readers perspective, no gender and present tense all in the same story! This was hard to write!

An Experiment of Readers’ Perspective and Present Tense

Slowly you reach out a stealthy hand and slip the muffin up your sleeve. When the baker wheezes and turns around you have already moved to the other side of the shop and are innocently examining some half pence rolls.

“Wha’d’ya want!” his squinty pig like eyes glare out of a pudgy face as he props his hands on his filthy aproned hips.

“I just want to by a half pence roll if you please sir.” you cower timidly.

“Where’s your half pence kid! Common show me your brass!” Stepping forward he quickly catches you by one ear and twists it painfully.

You decide that maybe your muffin is enough and struggle to get free. He changes his grip to your grimy coat collar and when he does so you slip out of it and run.

“Stop you little beggar brat! You’ve stolen something I’m sure! Stop I say!” He tries to catch you but finds his belly too much in the way and you escape out the door. Taking to your heals you get out of there and are quickly lost in the London bustle of horse drawn carts and hurrying pedestrians. Looking around to make sure you are not being followed you let the muffin fall out of your sleeve and take large mouthfuls as you head to your own special dark smelly alley. You feel a hand laid lightly on your shoulder and you turn around protesting.

“I hain’t done noffin! Leeme go!”

The mans gentle eyes look at you in sadness from under well brushed hat. His black coat bears no policeman badge and he doesn’t look like any of the rich men you have pickpocketed so you calm down a little.

“I saw you steal that muffin back at the baker’s.” your heart starts pounding again. “Would you like to not have to do that? Would you like to have a roof over your head every night and food in your belly?”

“Oh yes very much sir!” you answer warily. “But they would tell me to go away before I got everything dirty!”

“No they wouldn’t. Not if you were willing to work and study hard. I know a man who would give you all of that if you were willing to try and be good.”

“Oh sir!” your small body quivers in excitement. “Am I ever? I’ll be real good I promise!”

“Well child, let me see what I can do for you. Come with me. We’ll have to take a cab to get there as it is a long ways away.” He pauses and seems to consider something. “First though I want you to do something for me. Take this three pence to the baker whose muffin you stole. Tell him what you did and give him the three pence to pay for it. I’ll be right there with you so don’t be afraid of what he might do. Will you do this for me child?”

Visions of food and a clean bed dance in front of your eyes and you swallow hard and nod your head.

The moment you enter the baker’s shop he jumps up and collars you.

“Please sir!” you whimper and look to the kind gentleman for courage. “I-I stole a muffin from you but I-,” you hold out the three pence, “This is to pay for it.”

“Humph!” He lets go of you and grabbing the three pence shoves you away.

The kind gentleman lays his hand over your shoulders and then gently leads you out and calls a cab.

After a long drive you finally arrive at a large white house.

“This is it. Do you like it?”

You are too delighted to do more than nod your head.

When the kind gentleman knocks on the door a maid answers it and without asking any questions takes you into a spotless waiting room. After a short wait a grey haired man enters.

With a heavy German accent he says, “I hope you will be very happy here. What is your name? Mine is George Muller.”

April 4, 2012