Here’s a flash of fiction I wrote awhile back. The prompt was something like, “you won the lottery, tell us what you do next.” I like the darker side of fiction so there’s your warning. I do hope you like it. xoxo,
“Good luck!” snickered the quick stop attendant before bagging my package of mini powdered doughnuts and ibuprofen. I grab my styrofoam cup of black coffee and head out the door into the cold December air taking in the smell of the alfalfa fields and the cow manure; the scent of daybreak in the central valley. If only it was that easy, I thought, to buy good fortune at the quick stop. Change the whole game with a $5.00 quick pick. A $5.00 dream. I dry mouth two ibuprofen with a grimace and hope the coffee and pain reliever will work some magic on the brutal effects of last night’s happy hour. The kind of happy hour that stretches far beyond an hour and only leads to regrets, splitting headaches, and if my timing is…
Pancho Rabbit and the Coyote, A Migrant’s Tale by Duncan Tonatiuh, Abrams Books 2013
I found this beautiful book that I can’t wait to share with you when you are older. It’s called Pancho Rabbit and the Coyote, A Migrant’s Tale. What a great way to share a bit of our family story with you. The illustrations are as brilliant as the writing. Your (Gram)Mita loves to tell stories in this tradition as well. Her favorites to share are spooky ghost stories. Not just a little scary either. She would tell tales that were so detailed and frightening I would clench my eyes shut in a futile attempt to blunt the vivid imagery. I will spare you that fear and instead share a more curious than scary story that your Mita once told me. I hope you like it. But first you must know that before your…
Here’s one I’m reposting from January of this year for Laura’s version of Throwback Thursday. Before we begin though just wanted to say thank you so much for taking the time to vote yesterday for your favorite pic. I found the feature to be pretty straight forward and easy to view results. In case you have been as curious as I am about how that poll button works. Also it looks like the first picture is in the lead. On with the post. Please do let me know what you think.
She makes eye contact with her reflection in the shiny toaster, inspects her teeth for lipstick and adjusts her cat eye frames. After securing a bobby pin in her beehive twist she smooths her hands over her homemade pencil skirt and notices her heartbeat quicken beneath her cardigan sweater set. The bell signaling the end of 1st period rings cuing a sea of students to pour out and snarl-up the echoing halls. She knows she is about to get a glimpse of him. But today will be different. He will notice her this time; she will stand out. After their first baking unit in class this morning she attentively packaged the chocolate chip cookies that earned her an A+, carefully separating each in a fold of wax paper so that they wouldn’t glom onto each other in a gooey mess. Because he is meticulous in appearance; and melted chocolate smeared on his letterman jacket is not how she wanted to be memorable. She loved that letterman’s jacket, the way the colors just worked with his blue jeans, blue eyes, and blue car. Always freshly shaven with a dimpled smirk. If you were lucky to get close enough you might notice the faint scent of pomade in his perfectly coiffed hair.
Here he comes…
“I…[stammer]…I…made you these” handing him the brown paper lunch sack filled with her best intentions, her sweet dreams, her heart, “we sit next to each other in 3rd period.”
He shot her a who-the-hell-are-you look while opening the bag to peer inside before spitting his venom, “why would I want a bag of crap from a dirty spic like you?” He threw the bag in her direction and laughed with his friends as her face turned crimson and she ran away. Crying hot painful tears of shame and embarrassment as her tender heart broke for the very first time in two.
The final installment (for now?) of notes from dear Boris. If you feel lost refer to last week’s post, Along Came A Spider.
An Epiphany and a Toast
“Boris was a friend to so many and touched a number of lives in a variety of ways. He was always willing to lend a hand.”
Why is everybody crying?
“Boris enjoyed an eclectic assortment of music making it difficult for us to choose something appropriate to honor him. We finally settled on the obvious choice Boris the Spider, The Who.”
Oh clever, what a snore! Relieved they didn’t choose that overdone Itsy Bitsy, unbelievable! Why didn’t they invite that wretched Miss Muffet as well!
“But perhaps best of all, Boris will be remembered for his remarkable sense of humor, he was ever witty and sharp, if you hoped to keep up with his charms and avoid the occasional sting your reply would have to be swift. Dear sweet Boris, to say you will be missed hardly touches the surface of this ocean of great sorrow left in your wake. Farewell fond friend!”
I’m a ghost spider now, is that it? Well it is early April perhaps this is all an elaborate joke. Get one over on old Boring Boris, isn’t that right?
Boris continued to cycle through the stages of grief and finally came to a place of acceptance and great joy in fact. A new chapter began that day. Although this reinvention of self was involuntary, Boris found it to be remarkably refreshing. He cut his hair, moved near the sea, joined a garage band, and he finally found the courage to fall in love. He had only one request of his bride-to-be of their wedding, no hot beverages of any kind. He couldn’t say why only that they didn’t agree with him. And that’s how they decided on an open bar.
And now if you would all raise your glasses in a toast to the adorable couple.
We left our 8 legged protagonist in a dark cupboard. He knew something was amiss. If you’re confused see yesterday’s post, The View From Here.
Blinded By The Light
Suddenly there was a sensation of movement, being transported through time and space then plunk a settling down of sorts on a cold counter top. A train whistle (?) sounding off confirms that all is not right with the world. And then…nothing. I’m not sure what happened, to say it plainly. I was in this dark place one minute and the next thing I remember is being shot out like a cannon ball, soaring through the air with grace, I can only hope. There was this beautiful bright light, no not the electric variety more of a glow, a feeling, I felt light, I was light. Now I seem to be invisible as does my web design. But I guess it doesn’t really matter because I’m not that interested in food anymore. I lost my appetite somewhere along the way. Wait, I recognize that song playing in the background…
Yes it is The Who! And, what’s this? Wow look there’s my mom and dad! And my uncle, niece and nephews. They don’t respond when I say hello, they don’t look at me at all. It’s as if they are staring right through me. Then my brother stands before everybody, looking uncharacteristically formal and somber before saying,
“Boris wasn’t a materialistic spider, he was more than satisfied with simple comforts; a cupboard to sleep in, a safe place to create his prized web designs…”
That’s an odd way to talk about me, as though I’m not even here. Could this be a dream, a joke maybe?