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 Posted: Fri May 04, 2012 6:44 pm
365 CHALLENGE:
DAY 011: GUARDIAN ANGELS
Well, all I could think of for this was angels--with hair illuminated by their pale, golden, halos that floated inches above their head; wings stark-white, fully extended, and soft as down. So I wrote about a dog.
A whimper rose from the old she-dog's throat as she watched her vomit again. When he was done retching up more of the fowled rabbit, she licked his cheek. It was salty from the sweat that beaded his face and the tears that trailed to his chin. He smiled lightly at the affectionate gesture, then straightened up. He pressed one arm against his pained stomach, his other arm stretched out to clutch a handful of her off-white hair.
He was hunched over slightly, to let his faithful friend lead him, and because it made his belly feel a bit better. His loyal companion guided him confidently through, never stopping to turn back or sniff the air to make sure it was the right way. The scent of home burned in her nose and she wouldn't let it slip away. Her boy had been stuck in the wilderness for two-and-a-half to three weeks, and she had traveled over twenty miles from their house to find him and bring him back. Although he had grown up hunting and camping, those experiences didn't teach him how to tell if he was being swindled behind his back.
The dog's pointed ears pricked forward, and another whine came out. She stopped, looked at her boy and then picked up her pace. Her boy groaned, sounding like he was going to heave again. She barked and let her tail wag, going a little faster. Her boy stumbled along, trying to keep the leftover contents of his stomach in, and keep his hopes down.
They soon broke out of the trees to land their weary gaze on a sight for sore eyes.
"We made it, Missy," her boy whispered, and she barked, looking back at him. "I don't how you did it, but you led us home." They hurried to the stone cottage's front door, and the man wasted no time in knocking on it. He felt a little better when the door opened and he face a short, graying woman with sharp blue eyes like his own. Relieved tears soon shone from them, and she enveloped her son in a hug.
"Oh, Ray," she mumbled into him. "How ever did you find your way back?" She pulled away and looked around his unusually thin body. "Did somebody bring you back?" Ray looked down to find his dog wasn't there. He held down vomit and turned to face the wide yard and tree line. Missy was sitting in a patch of lavender that was new to him.
"Ma, Missy did," he said, looking at his mother and stepping aside. He pointed over at the lavender. The woman's face wrinkled further than normal with confusion. When he glanced back over there, the dog was gone.
"Honey, Missy died a week after you disappeared. That's her grave there. Planted lavender over it to pretty it up." Shock overwhelmed him and he almost threw up up. He swallowed it down with a wince.
"But . . . Ma, she led me home. I would never have found the way back by myself." He clutched his stomach, then doubled over to puke a little ways from his mother. She rubbed his back as he threw up, coughed, then threw up more.
"I guess you found yourself a guardian angel," she stated softly, going between rubbing and patting his abnormally boney back.
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Posted: Fri May 04, 2012 6:45 pm
365 CHALLENGE:
DAY 012: DIFFERENT WAYS OF THINKING
Well, this is a pathetic excuse for a police/detective thing. xD
"This is a cold case! No arguments on it!" Dewey shouted in my face. I bit my lip, holding back a remark about the foulness of his breath. He looked at me over his rectangular glasses, clearly expecting me to say something lippy.
"Yes, sir," I mumbled, looking at the tiled floor. I wonder if when his wife came down she told him this flooring was hideous. I know I've told him several times that the walls were ugly, but my gaze never ventured down. I was too stubborn to. I could feel suspicion aimed at me while scrutinized my body language. I had my muscles loose, and my torso kind of slouched. Disappointed, but knew I wasn't going to get anywhere.
He sighed, then muttered something along the lines of "Get out of my office or I'll fire your . . ." I didn't hear the end of that, as I had already scurried out the door and shut it quickly, but quietly. I sucked in a deep breath and strode over to my partner, sitting on my desk and looking through the case files.
"He closed it," I muttered when I was close enough. "And get off of my desk." He looked up and rolled his hazel eyes, sliding his tush off slowly.
"You're not gonna quit it, are you?" he asked, having gone back to scanning the file. My head shook vigorously, even though he wasn't looking.
"So, did you find anything new?" He shook his head in response.
"She still lived with her parents in Dallas, she still was found dead in Houston, she still hung herself. Suicide and nothing more." But his voice betrayed him. He thought something was up, too. "She was depressed and taking pills for it. Had no boyfriend, plenty of enemies. Her closest friend was a razor." He sighed, softly.
"Did we swab the razor?" I demanded, an idea suddenly dawning on me.
"Never found it." Matt met my eyes and there was a connection. We had something.
"She could have just been depressed, but not suicidal . . ." I murmured, sort of nibbling on my thumb. It was my signature move, I guess. It looked like was just grabbing the left side of my face and pressing my right thumb against my lower lip. Matt stared as intently as I was thinking. "How long had she been missing before she turned up dead?"
"A week or so. But that isn't strange. Probably thinking over killing herself," he responded without batting an eye. He may have been one of the few who talked like that to me. Like he wasn't wrong about anything and I was about everything.
"The cuts were fairly recent. Maybe there were made after she disappeared?"
"Not so. Blood on the bathroom floor, where a box knife was missing the blade. She did it before," he said, plucking the picture of the blood and the knife from the folder. It was slim chance, and outrageous idea, but I couldn't stop believing my instinct for the first time in never.
"I think one of her parents might have done it." I winced after I said it. Matt narrowed his eyes.
"Did we bring the parents in for questioning?"
"Duh. But they pulled off the traumatized parent pretty well. Well, actually . . ." I thought back at it, kind of nibbling my thumb again and squinting at the ceiling. "The wife kept asking the dad things in whispers we couldn't hear." I just realized what I said. Wife. Not mom. "Wait; was the wife," there it was again, "the girl's mother?" Matt flipped through the file. His eyes flicked through each page of the parent's.
"Guy is a lawyer, girl is a model. Nothing about divorces." Another idea slammed me in the face.
"What if the dad had something going on with a past girlfriend? Something happened, and he ended up with the kid. His wife probably doesn't like her if the daughter isn't hers." Knowing that a guy you liked screwed around (literally) hurt pretty bad. I knew how it felt. The lady despises the daughter for a couple years, then takes care of her. Something scratched at the back of my brain. Yet, somehow that didn't seem right. The wife, sure, it fit, but the reason I thought of worked yet didn't click.
Matt stopped leaning against my desk, closed the folder, and shoved it under his arm. He picked up his jacket and tossed it over his broad shoulder. "Then let's go." I grinned at his words, picked up my own jacket, and then followed him out of the station.
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Posted: Fri May 04, 2012 8:06 pm
365 CHALLENGE:
DAY 013: CONSEQUENCE
Inspired by The Help. xD
"She's a lier and a thief. Why would anyone hire her ever again? So don't think about it." She laughed in pleasure after hanging up the phone, reaching for her cup of black coffee. "Stevie, you've outdone yourself again." She smiled as she took a sip of it. A smile like a cat's. There was a knock at the door. Her daughter, Beatrice, popped out from her room and sped to the living room. She braked so hard, she smacked into the couch, but a large grin was firmly glued to her face.
Stevie frowned. Beatrice was getting more wild and hard to control the older she got. Not the proper, young lady she wanted her to be.
"I got it, Mother!" she yelled, throwing open the door. And there was Marcus. Surprise. "Daddy!" Beatrice threw herself at her father, getting a return bear hug.
"How's my Bumble Bea, huh?" he laughed, spinning around with her, before giving her one last hug a setting her down. Stevie narrowed her chocolate eyes, taking in his muddy boots and dusty clothes. After he set her down, he ruffled her short, golden hair and stared into her light brown gaze. "How 'bout we go fishing down in the creek later?" he asked, which got a squeal and another bear hug.
Then Stevie's daughter whirled around, blew her a kiss, then darted back to her room.
"I'm tryin' to bring her up right. You takin' her to do everything with you ain't helping at all," Stevie stated, back stiff with anger.
"She don't wanna be brought up miserable, honey. I get a say in her life, too. She likes doin' stuff with me. Makes her happy," Marcus responded, walking over to the table and sitting down in front of his wife. A second cup of coffee awaited him. He took a gulp of it, then clenched his teeth.
"Did you fire our help again?" Stevie raised an eyebrow.
"Yesterday. Before she left for the day. Took some money," she explained, taking another sip of coffee.
"Dangit, Stevie! They're people too! You can't just, just . . ." Marcus searched for the right words. "can't just toss them around like one a Beatrice's dolls!" The wife widened her eyes. He had never defended them, much less yelled at her before. He set his cup on the table, trying to control his own anger. "I think it'd be good if you went to stay with your mama for a few days," he said once he got his breathing steady again. His voice was soft, almost pained.
"Marcus," Stevie looked confused, "Mama lives in California. How am I gonna get there?" Her throat constricted as he pulled out a train ticket from his pocket and placed it on the table.
"I know. I've been hearin' rumors, honey. From the black men I work with. Said some of their wives have been gettin' in trouble and can't find work. Said it was because of a Miss Stevie Fitting," he replied, pushing the ticket at her. She was choked up, not knowing what to say about her husband believing what them people say before talking to her about whether it was true or not. "Beatrice'll stay here with me."
"Fine. I'll go pack my things and leave." She shoved her chair back, and as she walked past her husband, he grabbed her hand.
"Honey, I'm not trying to kick you out, I just want you to realize what you're stirring up before something bad happens." She pulled away, slowly, then walked to their bedroom with tears burning in her dark eyes. Was he right? Was she stirring up something that might have some sort of consequence attached to it? She clenched her hands into fists.
She hoped he was really doing this out of love. But then she squeezed her eyes shut and imagined that pain in his voice. She didn't doubt for a minute he was doing this for other than he was worried for her.
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Posted: Sat May 05, 2012 11:59 am
365 CHALLENGE:
DAY 014: GRATITUDE
Woo. Almost done with week two's prompts. xDD And it's a poem. I need to stop doing this. xD
"Thank you," said the man,
with an oversized grin.
I rubbed my neck,
feeling sheepish.
All I did was give him a fan.
It was an old one, missing a pin,
and he gave my cheek a peck.
"Sorry if it smells like fish."
He just laughed; said his name was Cyan.
I chuckled nervously. "I'm Lynn."
"It's really for my cat, Spec,
I'm sure he won't mind the smell--ish."
He explained he traveled around in a van.
and the AC was done in.
"He has long fur, and is a bit of a roughneck.
But anyways, thanks once again, you granted my wish."
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