The City Packers

The shoes were the strange thing.  There were just so many of them.  Women’s pumps, men’s flats, little baby booties, glitzy stilettos and pennyloafers mixed haphazardly with old riding boots, steel-toed Timberlands and dainty ballerinas.  They piled high in the pristine City garbage bins, lay strewn through the elegantly cobbled streets and intersections, and were clumped lazily together in huddles and puddles on the neat squares of green grass spaced evenly along the roadsides.

As Norman walked among the wreckage, he noted how quiet the morning was.  No birds sung merrily to greet the dawn, only just now breaking over the perfectly symmetrical hill on the east side of town.  No music strained out through the tightly closed windows of early risers, no joggers were out experimenting with the feel of the air in their lungs.  It would be a cool day, with perhaps a 24% chance of rain.

Norman wondered if the City at large would ever really feel the missing presence of the Packers.  He guessed that by the time anyone looked out their windows, perhaps a little later today than they ever had before, the shoes would be gone.  Vanished.  Banished.

 ******************************

Norman laughed out loud.

“You’re joking!” he finally sputtered, sloshing his drink on the glassy, bruised and battered surface of the pub booth table.

“I ain’t,” Finley muttered defensively.  The man was small enough to start with, but he was practically burying his face into the table, hunched over and muddy cap pulled low over his eyes.

“The Mayor?  Actually meeting the Packers?  Himself?  Why, you tell me, would anybody believe that?  What purpose could that possibly serve?”

“He’s trying to oust ‘em.  He don’t want no low-lifes around the City.”

Norman considered this.  It did sound like something the Mayor would do.  But it was hard to argue with results, and in the 2 years and 4 months since Mr. Ron Goodman had become Mayor, the City had grown in prestige by leaps and bounds.

“Well, maybe it’s a good idea, then.  What did everyone say about the fountain the Square?  Now it’s always busy, and we’ve gotten traders from as far as Northland, with real crystal cups!  Never thought I’d see the day.”

Finley looked up sharply, then down again.  “No, never thought I would, neither.”

Norman reached over and slapped Finley’s shoulder.  “Cheer up now before you bring a storm cloud in here.  What’s so bad about the Packers leaving?  So they clean up the place when no one’s looking.  They’re dirty and probably diseased, vampiric and poor.  I left a hat once, my favorite hat, on a park bench on 3^rd Avenue.  Not two minutes later I came back for it – POOF!  Gone.”  Norman dusted off his hands dismissively before leaning closer to Finley.  “I could have used one fewer Packer that day.”

Finley slid out of the seat, hands deeply disappeared into his front pockets, shoulder hunched up to his ears.  “I just gives you the news.  It’s you decides what’s fit to print.”

  ******************************

Norman stumbled through the iron door, the hand extended to catch the supportive doorframe not quite connecting.  It was good to be outside again, breathing fresh clean air.  He took several appreciate gulps, then let out the last one slowly, clearing his head.

Finley followed him out a few paces behind, assured of his footing and his place.  He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, balancing on his small short spindly legs like a stork.

Norman gasped a final time, shocked again by all he had seen.  “I wouldn’t have thought air could feel so different.  It’s so thick down there, so gray.”

Finley didn’t move.

“And the things!  Why do they keep all of those things?!  Piles of it – mountains of it - higher than you can see!  What’s their purpose?  Why don’t they get rid of them?”

Finley shrugged.  “They fix some ‘n break some others, puttin’ pieces in parts of other things.  Some they sell in other cities, other towns.”

Norman looked up at the sky.  It was overcast, as it always was, but here and there bits of dark, star-streaked heaven was visible.  He felt calmer now.  He remembered how organized it was, even amidst the piles.  Clean countertops, brooms in well-swept corners, children running ragged in spotless, neatly darned clothing.  They hadn’t been overly friendly, but they hadn’t immediately disdained him, either.  Although he wished Finley had warned him that feather caps were not the polite thing to wear inside the Hill, where the Packers…well, lived.  Lived is what they did, and lived pretty well, although in a deep, dark town inside the Hill.

“They seemed…happy enough…down there.”

“It’s a home, see?  Nobody bothers ‘em much.  They can come ‘n go, ‘n have their children ‘n collect their things, ‘n spend the rest of their lives fixin’ and tweakin’.  Or could.”

Norman nodded.  Or could.

  ******************************

The sun peaked at last over the Hill where the Packers once lived, and Norman thought he could even make out the barest hint of the iron door, left open and hanging, abandoned, on the hillside before he heard the noise.

It began as a grumbling, rumbling, croak of a roar, gradually getting louder until a strange contraption turned a corner and came into Norman’s line of sight.  It was an ugly thing, a conglomeration of whirlybobs and metal tongs and wheels.  But that would change.  This was just a prototype, a first crank at the replacement.  The tongs came down and began picking up the shoes, the movement quick and fast, shoes disappearing into a vast shiny steel center.  It worked for a few minutes, and Norman watched it, curious what would happen.  The machine’s center was only the size of a large beer keg, and the shoes stretched on in every direction, large and small, work shoes and summer shoes, flats and wedges and boots, down every street of the City, he was certain.  It would take a lot of trips to the Hill before the work was done, and before too long the town, already sleepier than normal, would have to get up and begin the day.  How many of these machines were there?

As the machine piled shoes inside, its mechanical whirling grew louder.  Then, suddenly, a lid slid across the central vat, the machine stood up straight, and Normal heard sound like a vacuum before a small pop.  The lid opened, and a trail of smoke emerged.  Without a pause, the machine began placing shoes inside the cavity once more.

Norman watched it.  Behind it, occasionally, he could see similar contraptions on the other streets, picking up shoes and vaporizing them.  He had been right – the City citizens would never so much as trip on a single shoe this morning.  How did they know to stay inside, curtains drawn, windows closed?

“Ain’t it pretty?” Finley asked, behind him.  “A whole swarm of ‘em machines can clean the city, and get rid of the garbage for good.  None of it hidin’ inside a mountain.  Nice change.  No dirty, diseased people around, neither.”

“Yeah,” Norman responded.  They stood in silence, watching.

“Why shoes?” Norman asked.

Finley shrugged.  “Dunno.  Reckon they’re heavy, that many shoes.  But here,” he pulled a squashed gray rag out of his pocket and handed it to Norman.  “This is for you.”

As Finley slouched away, Norman looked at the thing in his hands.  It was a hat.  A hat he had lost on a park bench on 3^rd Avenue.

The Destiny of a Girl

This work is done by our very own Avery Anna with the assistance of Ashty. She hopes you enjoy!

It all happened so fast.  Before I knew it I was 50 feet under the ocean.  It was like some mystical weight was pulling me down.  

Down down down I went deep under the water.  My breath wouldn't last much longer but I did not have the strength to fight the mystical pull. 

Before I knew it I went through a magical force field around an underwater sea house. The strange sight of a human house almost distracted me from my suffocating state, but alas. My body could not handle it much longer and I passed out.

I awoke in the under water house. And to my surprise, I had a mermaid tale! I noticed the house was filled with water and I could breath in it! This was so fantastic!

I wiggle my new fin around to see how it worked. It was amazing! I was immediately pushed throughout the room. 

Then I saw something move. It was in the other room of the house. I maneuvered myself over to the other room. And I saw, sitting in a chair, another mermaid!

"Hello, young-ling." The mermaid spoke to me in my mind.

"Hello. You're a mermaid!"

"Yes, as are you."   

I looked at my tail. "How..."

"The sea brought you here and I turned you into a mermaid so that you would not suffocate."

"Oh thank you! But am I a mermaid forever?"

"No, you can change in to a human if you swim through the magic door on the west side of the house. It leads to the shore where once you reach it you have to wait 30 min to transform back into a human. The same goes for turning back into a mermaid. You have to fall back into the ocean where you did when you came here. It will take 30 min to transform."

"Sweet! I'm a mermaid!"

Days Long Past

It rains a lot.  That's why we attached a giant umbrella to the house.  And I have yet to attach my umbrella to my hat.  I am afraid that it will be too heavy for my head to hold up or that it will blow away.  And this way I can hold the umbrella over Henry every once in a while.  Henry is my friend.  He pulls the house.  Oh let me clarify, the house is on wheels, like a wagon.  And Henry pulls it.  Oh and get this Henry is a rhinoceros.  A rhinoceros!  I couldn't believe it when he came to us.  I'll admit, I was a bit afraid, seeing as he was taller than me, but he is really gentle.

Oh, forgive me.  I get sidetracked all of the time.  Where was I?  Oh yeah!  The Rain.  The wizard spends all of his time in the house since the Rain started.  I'm not quite sure what he does all day, but he doesn't like to be disturbed.  I have a very routine schedule of when I can bring meals to him and go in the house to sleep.  Any disturbance outside of the routine is strongly looked down upon.  When people find out about my situation (which seems to happen often because I'm so open) they ask if it bothers me or makes me angry.  I tell them no, because it doesn't. The wizard made me clothing that would withstand the weathering and sincerely apologized for the situation but said it had to be.  He is much different now than he was before.

Back before the Rain started, I remembered the wizard being a pleasant fellow.  Never harsh or rude to anyone that didn't understand him. But he was sad. Always sad. I'm not sure why he distanced himself so much from everyone once the Rain started.  Maybe someone hurt him...

The Rain? Oh! Well one day a witch from far off lands traveled here to the Kingdom of Ingary.  She was lovely and all who looked upon her wished for her to bless their lives with a spell.  She did what she could but nothing more.  She, like others, noticed our little house on wheels as we stopped in the town of The Folding Valley for supplies.  She was very intrigued and wanted to meet the wizard. This being before the Rains, he was more willing to talk to others and agreed to invite her in.  They talked for hours.  Then the witch left frustrated, saying she would never come to this town again and that it would be cursed.  Many people were upset and wanted to know what happened.  Not only had the demeanor of the witch changed toward the people but also that of the wizards.  He harshly told the people to leave him alone and that the curse was well deserved.  He then beckoned me to get the house moving along.  We left the town, never to return.

I hope one day we do return. It was such a lovely town with wild flowers everywhere and a river crisp and clean.  Now we only travel in The Waste.  Nothing out here.  But it is where Henry found us, stranded after Harold, our pony, couldn't keep going.  Such sad and hard times these are.  And it is my lot to pull this house at all times, except for night.  We used to stop more often but the wizard feels it is more important to keep moving.  Today we are headed to a small town on the outskirts of The Waste to stock up on supplies.  It's been almost two months, some how the wizard was able to make the food last that long. I am very excited to be going into town! Even if it isn't The Folding Valley or even Kingsbury! I hear that is the most beautiful city around.  It's where the king of Ingary lives.

"We are almost there Henry! Are you so excited?"
(Grunt)
"Of course you are!"

Out of the window the wizard said, "What's that? We are almost there?"
"Yes! About another half mile. "
"Ah, I see. Well...don't be too excited." The wizard said in his gruffly old voice.
He didn't mean it. That was actually his way of acknowledging my joy.  Even though he's not as cheerful as he used to be, he has shown me gratitude for my services to him through small acts and things he has said.

We made it! The Town on The Waste's Edge. That's actually what is was called. Not a lot here. The landscape was similar to that of The Waste.  The houses and the wall surrounding the town were made of wood. Very dull colors. But we get to see people! And in places like this you get to meet the most interesting sort of people!

First things first. I unhooked Henry from the house, leaving the house outside the walls.
Knock knock. "I'm going into town now and I'm taking Henry."
I heard the wizard reply, "Ok, be quick and don't talk to too many people."
"Alright!" And I was off with a smile.

After getting Henry under some cover to get dry, I was off to the markets. There weren't to many options but I was generous with the money the wizard gave me and the people really appreciated it.  While going from shop to shop, people were amazed at my waterproof clothes.  And more and more they were always amazed at what kind of creature I was. Oh! Did I not tell you! Silly me, I am an elf from the high mountain peaks of The Morning Sun mountain range.  I left my kin to go on an adventure and the wizard found me and ask for my assistance. And here I am.

I almost had everything I needed, when a saw an older fellow, maybe in his 70s, dressed in traveling clothes. Like I said, you always see interesting people here.  Before I had the change to meet him and ask what his story was he stopped me.
"Kind little fellow, are you the one that owns that house on wheels outside the walls." The older fellow said.
"Me? No! How silly! I am but a helper to the wizard who lives there."
"Wizard?"
"Oh you don't know! We have been gone for quite a long time. Yes a wizard lives in that house, and never leaves it.  He's about a decade or two older than you I'd say."
"Indeed. Why does he not leave the house?"
"That I am not sure.  I believe it has something to do with the Rain and when it started, but I could be wrong."
"No I do not think you are. Could you deliver something to the wizard for me with a message? I traveled all this way to see him, but since he will not leave his house I will ask for you assistance instead."
"Of course! What would you like me to deliver?"
The old man pulled out a bundle of leather and inside was a lone tulip of radiating beauty. I had never seen such a beautiful flower since the days in The Folding Valley.
"How beautiful! It reminds me of better days!"
"As it should, and the message is on this paper. Please guard it well. I believe it will be of help."
"Thank you kind sir. The wizard has not known a kind word for many years now."
"I know."
I was puzzled by this.  This man seems to know about the wizard when I thought he didn't.
Then the old man said, "Farewell little one, I am off to finally go back home."
"Good luck to you sir!"

While heading back I couldn't shake the thought of who this man was. I did have the note, which was not sealed and he did not say it was confidential.  I slipped the note out of my pocket and opened it. It read:

Although your heart may be lost, do not give up hope. She would not want you to.
~ Markl

Hm.  Who is she? And who is this older fellow?

I gathered the supplies, got Henry, and headed back to the house.  Once I returned I knocked on the door which was then opened.
I walked in and set everything on a small wooden table.
"I got all the supplies requested, sir." I began putting the supplies away in the few cupboards there were in the house.
"Good and how much did it cost?"
I reached in my pocket and held out my hand holding what currency was left over. I knew it wasn't as much as he was hoping.
He looked at it, and then took the money to keep in his money bag.
"Oh Grunthar, you have a good heart."
A wide smile crossed my face. "Thank you sir! Oh that reminds me! I meant a peculiar fellow who asked me to pass a message along to you along with this. I pulled out the tulip.  The wizards blue eyes widened, and if I am not wrong I believe I saw them water up as well. But I looked away quickly.
"And here is his note."
The wizard took the note and read it. Tears fell to the page and a wide smile ran across the wizards face.
"Oh dear Markl, I knew there was a reason you came to me so many years ago. And this is why." The wizard spoke out load.
"Sir who is Markl? If you don't mind me asking?" This was a risky question indeed, but I do feel it is needed.
A countenance of the wizard before the Rains appeared and the wizard smiled and said, "He was my first apprentice during a time much happier but not easier than these days.  You remind me of him.  He was there when I met her. We were a family."
"Sir, and who is 'she'?"
The wizard looked at me and said, "Through years of hiding my heart away for childish fancy, she was the one who found it and gave it back to me. And ever since then it always belonged to her."
After a few minutes of silence, to my surprise the wizard stood up with much energy and said, "Grunthar! this is it! This present has given me hope. Our next journey on this mission will be our last! And then it will be over."
"Our last? Nothing terrible is going to happen is it?" Fear ran through my spin.
"No, but we will bring the awful rain to an end and everything will finally be at peace."
I smiled. I believe him.

New Theme: Photo Inspiration

Ok everyone, so I didn't have any cool ideas for a theme, but I have been seeing some really interesting pictures around on Pinterest and I remember once in my English class in High School that my teacher passed around pictures and had us use that picture as inspiration for a story.  So, for the theme for this month, pick one of the pictures in this post and write a story about it!  Those are the only rules!  Have fun.

The Resistence

Cynthia looked up, opening her eyes slowly.  Across the chrome table she made eye contact with Jane, her sister-in-law.  Jane’s mouth turned up slightly in the right-hand corner.  Cynthia tried hard not to make a sound; she didn’t want to give herself away.  “This should be interesting,” she thought.  She was new to this, so she wasn’t exactly sure how it everything would down, but she knew one thing for sure, she wanted to win.  Of course, as an Imperial Spy, not only did Cynthia want to win, she HAD to win. The fate of the empire was depending solely upon Jane and herself.  She couldn’t let the empire down.

Cynthia’s heart beat just a little bit faster as, Joe, their team leader ordered everyone around the table to open their eyes. Ready or not, this game of serious consequences was about to begin.  As the team leader, Joe was the first to begin.  It was Joe’s job to select whom he believed the best candidates were to go on the first mission in an attempt to take down what the resistance believed to be an oppressive government.  It was Cynthia’s job to keep her true identity as a spy a secret and to infiltrate the resistance missions thereby causing them to fail.

Joe looked around the table at each team member.  “I think that Jane is a spy,” he announced.  Just look at the look on her face.  She’s not being honest.  Cynthia tried to remain unassuming.  Not only was it Cynthia’s job to take down resistance missions, she also had a responsibility to protect Jane as well.  “I agree,” Cynthia said,  “I think that Jane could be a spy as well. “  Tom, Cynthia’s father-in-law raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.   This early in the game, anything was possible.  It was still too soon to know.  “For this mission, I choose myself, because I KNOW I am not a spy and Cynthia,” Joe declared, “I think that Cynthia is innocent.  It was now time for every team member to cast their vote.  Each person around the table tossed down their voter cards.  It was a unanimous ‘yes’ to this mission. 

Cynthia now had a choice to make.  Does she do what is in her power to fail this mission or does she allow the resistance to complete it successfully, thereby keeping her true identity a secret.  Cynthia contemplated her options as Joe provided them with the details of the mission.  Cynthia and Joe were to sneak into the capital building, past multiple guards and break into the president’s office in an attempt to locate and steal the paperwork that would provide evidence of illegal trading practices.  Immediately Cynthia decided she would do all in her power to help this mission succeed.  By giving herself away now, she knew that it would be clear that she was a spy working against the resistance.  She couldn’t take that risk just yet… 

I don't think any of you have played this game before, so here's more info here: The Resistance.

So, my own critique of my story is that I am not altogether happy with it...I got bored and didn't want to delve too deeply into a mission, so this is just the opening of the story.  Any of your thoughts?

Welcome, welcome Krista!

Hi! I was really excited when I heard that Whitney wanted to add you to the writing blog and so I see that you now are part of this conglomorate creation and I wanted to make you feel welcome. (Also, to apologize for taking so long on getting you added. In the end because I'm such a slacker, I think it was someone else who got you on here). So I'm not entirely sure if Whitters explained how the system is working so far but what we have going on is that we each take turns picking a 'bi-monthly' theme. In all actuality, the themes have been spanning several months. I understand that all of us our pretty much really busy so I feel that as long as we all get a chance to submit our works for the current theme I feel that a bit longer to quite a bit longer is all good and dandy. Even if someone completes a project after the new theme is posted it would still be awesome to have it posted under the previous theme. So at some point, Whit will post a new theme, we will conconct creations, share our insights on eachothers and eventually get to a new theme. Please feel free to submit inspirational pictures under your submissions. Also, everyone is free to submit unrelated works for our eye's critical reviews. So...I think that might be it. I am excited to read your work and good luck!

p.s. I forgot one item. Everyone on this blog is an admin so that when it is someone's to choose the nex theme, that person can more conveniently update the theme and the theme picture. :)

The Story of Peter Grey Parker

He awoke from the restful numbness of his dreams. Determined to be a good boy for his mommy, he tidied up his room and made his bed. He did it well. As well as his fluffy haired, seven year old self could. It was a weekend and he was hungry. However, his family was sleeping and he did not want to wake them up. A minute passed as he waited, bored and lonely.  He got out a toy. It was a quiet toy because his family was still sleeping and he is such a good boy. Not just a quiet toy but a single toy. Peter remembered with jaded precision that his mommy wished he and his sister would play with just one toy at a time. So he played with a puzzle that he liked. It was made of hand-carved thick wood, painted in shaky sunshine yellow strokes and innocent blue fingerprints. One might wonder at the careful attentiveness and unusual care he gave the sturdy interlocking blocks of colored wood but it was easy to see that he treasured it and took it out often by the worn down condition of its container. In fact, so familiar was he with the puzzle that before much time passed, he managed to connect and disconnect its pieces several times.

Swiftly though, morning hunger crept up on him. The quiet boy treaded softly to the kitchen so as not to wake his family. Peter knew how to make toast and he knew how to make cereal. He could even pour the milk sometimes. What he did not know how to do was reach the toaster or the milk. They were all higher than he could reach.  He thought of dragging a chair over but was afraid to wake his parents and little sister. So he waited, waited and waited. After all, he is a good boy.

Eventually he heard someone stirring and his mom, in her bathrobe that was as vivid as a cloudy day, came to the kitchen. She saw him as if he just awoke,

“Peter, have you been up long?”

“No,” he lied though he did not know why.

“Are you hungry, would you like pancakes?” She heard his enthusiastic yes’s and started cooking. He sat himself at the table and watched her tie up her curly amber hair and hummed a song he did not know as she whisked and cooked. Soon, a warm aroma occupied the room. She tipped the pancakes unto his plate and glimpsed how, with artistic appeal, her stepson commemoratively decorated his breakfast. Peter had grabbed the blueberry, strawberry and maple syrups, made sloppy zigzags and lines, created eyes from bananas and teeth from walnuts. She was not sure if he just liked to play with his food before he ate it or if it was because he and his grandfather had ritually ate pancakes together each morning. Either way, he always ate them. Peter’s pancake art was devoured.

Her husband and young daughter just woke up as she poured more batter onto the pan. They ate with gusto and soon sister and brother went off to have an adventure. She tackled through the toys, pressed Peter to play some dashing knighted hero and herself the damsel in distress. Bedecking herself in princess garb and jewelry and he in gray armor; they fought pirates, dragons and prehistoric dinosaurs. It was a close call but after what seemed the battle of ages, Peter just barely managed to rescue the princess from these various life threatening dangers. Wary with his noble efforts he stumbled around the array of toys his sister insisted on getting out. With a quick glimpse of the room, he was struck with the realization that he forgot to clean up the room throughout the day. Gloom seemed to slither out from the numerous toys and clutched at him with their pessimistic shadows. Peter was at a loss. Methodically, he starts to tidy up until his sister notices and demands to leave the toys out. Wanting to be considered a good boy, he keeps cleaning anyway and a fight ensues. His mom enters the room, observing the mess and seeing the fight she scolds them both and tells them to,

“Clean up this mess,” then promises that they will all have lunch after.

So he cleans. His sister removes some jewelry that had gotten entangled and halfheartedly helps. Nearly finished, she runs off to her mommy while Peter puts the last few Lincoln logs and picture books away.

Lonely.

He gets out his puzzle again. As he puts it together he remembers his grandpa’s withered hands that carved the blocks. They always shook slightly until he grasped a sturdy block of wood and with unexpected grace carved. He created with what he coined as ‘magic’, unexpected creations, sea monsters, portraits and even puzzles. Painting them was a different process. To his papa’s dismay, instead of thoughtfully painting them to increase their market value, grandpa insisted on Peter’s help. He always did and he always helped. A week after the puzzle was completed his grandpa died. Peter was old enough to understand the concept of death but at the same time was not. As much as he loved his puzzle it was not enough.

He gazed about the room in despondency. His eyes alighted upon something colorful on the floor. It was sister’s necklace. A wooden circle painted in pink and dotted with two complementary colors, blue and yellow. He knew it was wrong. He knew he should not do it. He continued to stare at it. Like a watermelon, a pressure was swelling up inside of him, pushing itself into his limbs, reaching through his bloodstream to his pulsing heart. Without realizing that he had walked over to the necklace disentangled it and with a covert expertise, pocketed it. Once he felt its weight securely in his pocket the tension shed away as if it never existed. He no longer felt quite so lonely.

Yet, an immediate guilt followed his relief. He was trying so hard to be a good boy. He knew he must be extra good for the rest of the day. He had lunch and dinner with his family. He was especially careful to bring up his plate and keep the dinner cloth clean. He was unobtrusive during the bedtime movie and let his sister pick it out. At night, Peter changed into his pajamas and waited, clenching his necklace under the blankets. His mommy came to say goodnight, his papa came to read him and sister a story. They all went away. Peter waited, waited and waited. Through the darkness and guided by his nightlight, he crawled underneath his bed, pulled out a box and hurriedly stashed the necklace. It made a faint clunk when it hit the other objects hiding his secret. He tried so hard to be a good boy but after all, he was just a bad boy.

So I wanted to apologize, after writing it, I realized that there are hardly any elements of the game included. I at least could have named the sister Scarlet, the father Mr. Brody Parker and the step-mother Mrs. Something White Parker. I really feel like it's too late without creating a massive upheaval of what is already written so...It would have been a completely different story. Here's to the hope that I follow the next guidelines much better. As always, please judge the elements, style and perspective harshly and critically. Thanks!