Tag: humor

Wednesday Works: The Mirror

She had lived in the old house for as long as she could remember. Her parents had lived in it even longer, and so had their parents and so on and so forth. If she did the math right it was her great x7 grandfather who had built the house for his wife. She had died before it was finished, but he still built it exactly as she had wanted it.

Over the years, family members had added on and changed, but the one thing that remained unchanged was the foyer. The front door had been repainted too many times to count, one over the other, and each morning more multicolored paint chips fell onto the porch. The carpet had been torn up, tacked form, replaced with wood, back to carpet. The rugs needed to be replaced.

The one thing that didn’t change in the foyer was the furniture. A small table by the front door where the lot of the family placed their things when they came home. She still had the scar from where she had smacked into the corner of the table when she was 2 and a 1/2. She still placed her keys there when she came home.

A fancy China cabinet stood across from the front door, taking up space and showing off their fancy China from the civil war era. The China had long been a topic of discussion, from when it was new, to the last 50 years or so when they toppled over and no one could figure out how to open the cabinet and fix them without shattering them. They had simply stayed that way for years.

By far, her favorite was the ornate mirror that hung on the wall near the stairs. It had been there since the very beginning. All her ancestors had used it to catch their last looks before leaving the house.

She used it then to catch her last look before heading out on a date. He would be there any minute.

“You gonna go out looking like a painted up whore?” The reflection of her great great great grandfather’s ghost appeared in the mirror behind her.

In the next instant, her great great great grandmother appeared next to him in the reflection. “Give her a break, Clem,” she said with a reassuring hand on his ghostly shoulder. “That’s the style these days.”

“Thank you, Grammy Charlotte,” She said as the doorbell rang. “You all be good tonight and don’t let Louis argue too much about the china. Nothing can be done yet.”

Grammy Charlotte rolled her eyes. “That man and his damn china.”

Wednesday Works: With This Kiss…

“With this kiss, I die!”

They were six, performing a dumbed down version of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet for a room full of their parents. She was Juliet, and he in all of his front toothless glory was Romeo. They had practiced and practiced, but had never actually kissed in any of the practices. Mrs. Monroe has glossed over the fact when they had asked.

But now it was unavoidable.

“Miss Monroe,” Wally Siegelman called out off stage, breaking his character of Romeo and looking for the teacher. “Am I really supposed to kiss Rosie or can it be all pretend like?”

The audience of our parents broke out into a rumble of laughter. She laughed with them, even though Juliet was supposed to be in a death like sleep. Wally was and always would be a one of a kind.

He didn’t kiss her that performance or any of the others that followed. He just made it really convincing as he leaned forward just enough and blew a raspberry in her ear.

Every single night the audience laughed, and Shakespeare rolled in his grave.

Wednesday Works: Dear Writer’s Block

Dear Writer’s Block,

It’s not you, it’s me.

I’ve been so busy with everything that’s been going on, with long hours at work, too much homework on the weekends and a full social life that I haven’t been able to sit down and shoo you away with the keyboard.

Sure, you let me get a few words here and there so I can say I “write every day” but it’s never enough to leave me fulfilled and with a sense of accomplishment. It’s never enough to make me feel like I mean it when I say “I am a writer!”

Well, today that has to stop. I’ve spent too many days, weeks, months now trying to make something of the ideas in my head and then you step in and tell me to do anything but write.

You tell me: scroll Facebook (or any social media), it will make you feel great about your self esteem. Then I get distracted and don’t get words down.

You tell me: Play a few flash games for some inspiration, I’ll let you think about writing once you finish the level. And then I finish the level and don’t get words down.

You tell me: Don’t bother writing on your breaks and lunches from work, you’ll feel better about it when you get home. Then, when I get home, I don’t feel like writing, let alone doing anything else because I am so exhausted.

Writer’s Block, you keep making me these promises and then when I finally do sit down to write, to get words on the page and make a difference, you appear with the gentle whisper of “It’s not the right time.”

Respectfully, I thank you for protecting me during the times I wasn’t ready. I thank you for the times when I truly needed a distraction and needed your guidance enough to step away from a project. I thank you for the opportunities that arose when I couldn’t write.

But respectfully, we are done.

It’s time for me to write again and you’re not needed here.

-Bre

Wednesday Works: Caught Up in Research

Antique Firearms

The antique pistol let out a sad, soggy click, but would not fire. The main character looked down at the gun with a sigh.

“Not again!” She shouted in frustration. She smacked the butt of the gun with her soaking hands, hoping to dislodge some of the water. “Man, is the author going to be pissed.”

The villain dropped his aim. “Gun problems again, MC?”

“Yes!” She heaved a sigh. “Shouldn’t it be common sense that gunpowder doesn’t fire when it gets wet?”

The villain took a few water logged steps forward. “I’m sure I can help you with your soaking clothes instead.” He waggled his eyebrows.

The main character curled her face in disgust. “I’m sure we’re definitely not following the plot now, but—“

Space Swords

All around them the beach and the waves disappeared.

“What?” The main character asked, looking around as the scene disappeared. “Oh no! The author is messing with us again!” She looked down, instead of her pirate clothes, a space suit appeared instead. “I liked the pirate arc!”

The villain twirled his glowing light sword. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve always been partial to space myself. Less rules to get caught up in. Like—“ He paused. “What happens when you fire a laser off into space, where does it stop and how many alien species could there be?” He laughed his evil laugh. “Much less rules to get caught in up here.”

The main character groaned. “But what about the principle of a pirate romance?”

The villain waggled his eyebrows again. “There can definitely be piracy in space. I would love to plunder your—“

“ENOUGH!” The main character shouted. “You and I aren’t supposed to be romantic until the last third of the book. Keep it to yourself for now until after the duel and when we can frustrate the writer the most.”

The villain winked then. “Yes, my Goody Two Shoes. I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”

Wednesday Works: The Magic Of Trees and Strangers

After hiking the usual area for weeks and weeks, he found himself surprised when a new tree, fully grown just showed up.

Right in the middle of the path, a full grown tree had appeared, as if overnight. The leaves were full and bright and beautiful, flowing blossoms along the branches, huge apples, glossy and appetizing along the low hanging branches. He reached out and grabbed one, then promptly dropped it.

“EXCUSE YOU!” A voice seemed to come from within the tree. “Those apples are mine!”

He wondered if he was suffering from heat stroke. Trees didn’t talk.

“Hello?” He said, looking around. Someone was obviously playing a joke on him. “Is someone there?”

“I don’t know why I should even bother talking to you, Apple Stealer!” The same voice came from the tree. “I’m not sure what you can do for me!”

The tree definitely was talking. He was definitely suffering from heat stroke or something more serious.

“How are you talking right now?” He asked next. “Why is a tree talking to me?” Maybe he was simply dreaming.

The tree groaned. “I am not a tree!” It screeched. “Don’t you know a lady when you see one?”

He tried not to laugh, he really did. But the laugh came out anyway. “A lady?” He asked. “You’re a tree!”

She scoffed. “I wasn’t always a tree!” She said. “I was a lady yesterday!”

He almost couldn’t believe it.

“So what happened?”

The tree sighed and her leaves shuddered as if blown by a hard breeze. “I am never ever going on a night hike under the full moon again!” Her branches seemed to move like she was pointing a finger at him. “Never. Ever. Make a deal. With a good looking hiker.” Her branch struck him hard. “He will turn you into a tree with no way of returning!” Her leaves and branches shuddered once more then froze.

It wasn’t every day he met a woman in the form of a tree on the path. “Well how did you piss him off?” He asked. “That sounds like a faerie, and they only interfere like this when you piss them off.”

The tree groaned once more. “He asked me for my name,” she said next. “And I called him a creep and told him to leave me the hell alone.” She huffed and puffed. “Next thing I know, I’m a tree.”

He couldn’t help but laugh then. “Well, then you were asking for it.”

That only made the tree more furious, her leave shaking, her apples falling and rolling down the path.

“You are impossible!” She groaned at him. “How was I supposed to know?!”

He couldn’t stop laughing, but then he felt bad. “I suppose you wouldn’t.” He couldn’t help but wonder what she had looked like as a human.

She would probably just ignore him, like every other girl he had hoped would be remotely interested in him.

“Did he give you a riddle of how to reverse it?” He asked next. It was the least he could do to help her reverse it.

“No,” She said. “And if he did, I wasn’t paying attention once I was a tree.”

“Well,” he said, “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re a tree.”

At first she was offended.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you have nice apples, but I’m sure your face is just atrocious, like a total dog.”

Still, she was offended.

“And don’t get me started on your love handles.” He had a hunch, but he needed to make her laugh. “If your lower branches are any indication. Curvy tree there. Probably at least 250 if not more.” She was silent and he figured that was a bad thing. “You don’t have any human responsibilities anymore, no bills, no trashy Stacy stealing your man.”

The tree scoffed. “That bitch doesn’t deserve my man and if I could, I would chuck my apples so hard at her.”

He couldn’t stop laughing at her. Eventually, her rage quelled and she started laughing too. The more she laughed, the more her leaves shook, the more her apples fell down to the path, the more her laughter started to sound more human with every chuckle.

When the last leaf fell, in front of him stood a very human girl, her smile lighting up her whole face.

“Well,” he said as she stood before him. “Would you look at that? Not a dog at all.”

She moved her very human hands down her torso and then looked at her own human hands. “I’m me again!”

In the rush of excitement, she tackled him with a hug. Then she realized what she had done.

“Does this me have a name?” He asked next.

“Oh no!” She answered after that, the smile still on her face. “I’m not falling for that one again.”

Wednesday Works: Love of Language

His skin simulator felt too tight. It trapped him inside, too tight in some places, too large in others, heavy with use and age, but he would give anything to be there, waiting to learn their language. He had heard all about it, tried to learn on his own planet, but something was missing. There were so many applications that books and simulators could not teach him.

Definitely against the rules, and he most likely would face consequences when he returned. If the officials of his planet ever found him out, being among the less advanced lifeforms on Earth, the torture would be great. But he would risk it all, the uncomfortable skin simulator, the torture if he was found out, to learn their beautiful language.

“Tell me,” He said, trying the voice on for size. “What is the meaning of ‘Bless Your Little Heart’?”

Wednesday Works: A Cold Front in White

Ten years of friendship,

Three years of dating,

One year engaged,

It’s all lead to this:

 

My wedding day.

 

I should be ecstatic.

I’ve thought of this day since I was a child.

Six years old, playing with Barbie and her perfect specimen Ken.

Her dress was always perfect,

So is mine.

It’s the day of my dreams,

Everything is perfect.

 

A panic has set in.

 

From a few simple words,

Dripped from the mouth of a hungover bridesmaid.

“I’m glad I’m here at your first wedding.”

I try to calm myself,

She didn’t mean it that way.

But the more I think about it,

The more I:

 

Panic.

 

Most weddings end in divorce as it is.

Most couples spend thousands and thousands.

The flowers,

The cake,

The venue.

Only for it to all end in a piece of paper,

One that means the end to their love.

 

What if he and I are the same?

What if we’re just a statistic?

What if it’s all a lie?

A pretty lie we tell all of our friends and family

For one day,

And then nothing is the same after?

 

Do I dare take that risk,

Knowing it might end in

One year?

Three years?

Ten years?

 

Yes.

I do.

Day Three: Loot

He gasped when he broke into the cave of wonders. He had gotten past the Mother of All Evil and found her stash of loot.

After a moment of awe, he started under the Great Basin and then got lost in the treasure.

Her toddler was mysteriously quiet. That meant trouble. After a brief search, she found him covered head to toe in her maxi pads.