Writing Club!: 2010

Dialogue of a Mad Hatter

by Stella (Wilfinger) Rothe

You’re invited to a tea party!

Arrive on time, my dear

else the biscuits will be moldy

and the tea will disappear.

It’s not what you’re expecting, child,
be very well aware:
this is not an invitation
so much as it is a dare.

Ah, you’re here – delightful!
The party can begin!
Come forth - don’t look so scared, me lass,
Invite the madness in!

You’re looking very pretty
in your sky-blue cotton frock
and the lace is very proper
on your
clean
white
smock.

How breathtaking! How wonderful!
You’re such a lovely child.
You look at me through widened eyes
So frightened, yet beguiled.
I know I look alarming.
I know I’m not quite sane –
but what’s the fun of sanity?
Life’s just one big game!

Come now, don’t be so silly.

Is it my hair, my teeth, my hat?
I’d like to know what scares you so,
but draw close, let’s have a chat.

What’s brought you here to Wonderland?
Oh, what a curious tale!
But you must admit this tea party
In memory will prevail!

What’s that? You wish to leave now?
Oh, you’re no fun at all.
I was just about to describe to you
Wonderland’s locale.

Beware the Queen of Hearts, me lass,
hold tight onto your head;
you’ll play croquet until doomsday
so stay longer here, instead!

Ah well, it is no use to make you stay
if you must go,
but ere you leave there is one thing
you really aught to know:

In years to come
you will remember
what a jolly time you had
when everyone was innocent
and everything was mad.

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RED, THE LITTLE HOOD

by Cathy Plum

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Red. Red was a good kid, but in his neighborhood, he was known as Red, the Little Hood. His father disappeared before his second birthday, and his mother was a crack-head. Red had an older brother, Johnny, that he could barely remember; but Johnny ran away as soon as he could make enough money for a bus ride to anywhere.

When Red was seven, he decided he would sell drugs so he and his mom could eat. He made a good living, and he did well in school. By his thirteenth birthday, Red was right-hand man to the biggest drug dealer in the neighborhood, the Big Bad Wolf. His mom was so proud of him, mostly because he got her drugs for free.

Red was the “special delivery” man for the Big Bad Wolf. He delivered drugs to city council members, teachers, business men and women, and all the Wolf’s best clients. One day, the Wolf had an extra special job for Red.

“Deliver this package to the house just beyond the woods,” ordered the Big Bad Wolf. “It’s my Gramma's place. You know the house.”

“I will, sir,” said Red, and he left the Wolf’s pad.

“Don’t talk to anyone in the woods, Red,” yelled the Big Bad Wolf.

“I won’t, sir,” replied Red, as he skipped merrily down the sidewalk. When Red reached the trail at the base of the woods, he stopped and looked around for the po-po. Determining the coast was clear, Red continued on his journey to Gramma’s house.

About half way through the woods, he heard a noise coming from behind the tree. He only paused for a moment, and then hurriedly continued on his way. He heard the noise again, but this time it was much louder:

“Hey!” someone shouted. “Hey, kid!”

Red was curious. He replied, “Yea.”

“Pop over here, kid. I want to talk to you,” said the voice.

“I’m not supposed to talk to anyone in the woods. Who are you?” asked Red sternly. There was no reply.

“Come over this way. By the tree house,” the mystery voice said.

Red’s curiosity got the best of him, and he went toward the tree house. He went up the homemade stairs to the top of the tree. There sat a young man, in his mid-twenties. He looked familiar to Red. “Do I know you?” asked a curious Red.

“Yes, you do, Phillip,” said the young man.

“How do you know my real name?” asked Phillip, a.k.a. Red. “Nobody, except my mom, knows my real name – and I’m not sure if she really remembers anything anymore. She probably wouldn’t even notice if I never came home again; except for her precious drugs I bring to that shit-hole where we live.”

“I am your brother, Johnny,” said the young man. “I am sorry I had to leave when you were so small. I was scared. I had to get away from here. I always planned to come back for you. I’m a police officer now, and I can take you away from all this – forever. I have a plan.”

Phillip didn’t know what to say. He hugged his brother. Finally, someone to love and take care of him, he thought. “What’s the plan?”

“Make the delivery to the Big Bad Wolf’s Gramma. We’ll bust you, and you’ll be free from the Wolf,” said Johnny. “He’ll think you’ve disappeared into the system.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” asked Phillip

“I know it will,” replied Johnny.

“Won’t I get in trouble for delivering drugs for the Big Bad Wolf for all these years?” asked Phillip.

“No,” replied Johnny. “We know you had to do it to eat. I’ve made all the arrangements. I’ve been watching you, and waiting for you to come through the woods. I’m so glad I found you.”

“Me, too,” said a thankful Phillip. “I have never done any drugs; ever.”

“I know that, Phillip. You’re a good kid. I’m going to take you away from all of this. And, I’ve made arrangements for mom to get away from this neighborhood. We’re going to bust everybody at the same time,” said Johnny, “even the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Now, run along. I love you, Phillip,” said Johnny with a smile. “I’m right behind you.”

“I love you, Johnny,” said Phillip.

Phillip scoped out the area, and climbed down from the tree house. He kept checking behind him for Johnny, who was never more than a few steps away. When he reached Gramma’s house, he knocked.

“Red, is that you?” asked the Big Bad Wolf’s Gramma.

“Yes it is. I have a special delivery for you,” said the boy.

“Good! Come in, boy,” replied Gramma.

Phillip slowly turned the knob, and walked in. It was a one-room house, and Gramma was lying in her bed.

“What big eyes you have,” said Phillip.

“All the better to see you with,” said Gramma, “Where’s the package?”

As soon as young Phillip put the package in Gramma’s hands, twenty policemen stormed in! They threw Gramma on the ground and took her away.

Johnny carefully put the cuffs on Phillip, and took him outside to his squad car. Inside the vehicle, his brother removed the cuffs. “That’s it, Phillip. You’re free! Mom is on her way to a hospital, and we’re on our way to Chicago.”

“Thank you, Johnny. I have dreamed of this day. Finally, we are a family again.”

~ The moral of the story is: Working for the Big Bad Wolf never pays. ~

***

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The Parable of the Six Blind Men

and the Elephant (Updated)

by Clark Iverson

The ruler of a mythical country was given a gift from another ruler of a distant land. It was an animal that he had never seen before. He called his six blind advisors to help him understand what sort of animal it was. All six entered the room where the beast was kept, approaching it from different directions.

The first one walked into the elephant’s broad wall-like side and said, “There are definitely weapons of mass destruction here.”

The second one felt the elephant’s tree-like leg and proclaimed, “Yes, and they’re north, south, east, and west of Tikrit, somewhat.”

The third one felt the elephant’s fan-like ear and intoned seriously, “I’d hate to take a chance on a mushroom cloud over one of our cities,”

The fourth one felt the elephant’s rope-like tail and avowed, “The information in this dossier leaves no doubt.”

The fifth one felt the smooth, horn-like tusk and promised, “My country will help you with the invasion, but we need to appear to use the UN route so as to have legitimacy with the rest of the world.”

The last one accidentally grabbed the elephant’s trunk, upon which he was picked up and squeezed and shaken before being put down again. He ran away shrieking, “If we call the Geneva Conventions ‘quaint,’ then they magically won’t have the force of law anymore!”

Although they all could have reached conclusions based upon evidence, it would have set a bad precedent, for, you see, the blind advisors reached their lofty positions exactly by finding other things more important.

What a great distance humanity has traveled since the first time this story was told.

***

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It Sat in the Corner
by Jenna Fanson

It sat in the corner. Tattered. Dusty. Alone. It was beginning to feel like home. But not the kind of home anyone normal would appreciate. No, this place was special now. It was the only place that welcomed it, welcomed it with open arms in shades of blue.

A thin, curly, red strand hung loosely over its face, and the drawn on smile was no longer filled with color. The dark blue dots were dry with age and replaced with a deep ocean of loss and dust mites. The pretty green dress was ripped at the sleeves, and the white polka dots lingered on in the fabric. The shoes were untied and missing laces.

It wasn’t always this way. It was full of life and color and love. It was fixed when broken, found when lost, and always slept between the arms of a loving child. It even remembers the care and devotion put into its creation. The soft stitching, the perfect selection of colors and fabrics, and the smile at the end of every addition knowing someone else would soon be smiling, too. And that first look is the most precious thing that could be given in return. But such a look can only last so long.

After years of growing, changing, and forgetting, here it sat. Alone in the corner.

There was always the thought that perhaps it’s not too late. Perhaps there’s still a chance, a chance of remembering, a chance to be brought back into the light of love. And each day it watched her walk out of the room without looking back, without remembering. And so it sat, waiting in the corner, waiting in the dust.

The happiness it used to share with the child it loved so much was more than something magical; it was real in every sense. They were never without each other, and when they were, time stopped until all was returned to the way it was supposed to be. It was a love that could only be known and shared by them. But then something happened. Something changed.

Why? When? How?

It was never clear. And as it sat in the corner, all that it was left to do was wonder. Wonder why. Wonder when. Wonder how. Wonder if it was ever going to change. It wasn’t long before it fell from the arms of the child and was never picked up; forced into the darkness and out of the center of the light. Still it waited, hoping for its discovery. The hope of being found when lost and fixed when broken didn’t last. Hope had faded.

And now it felt there was no meaning to hoping anymore. It was a lost memory, forced into the darkness of uselessness and hopelessness. The dust and shadows became its only friends and it knew of nothing else.

Still it waited. Waited for the day that may be yet to come. The day it would be brought back into the light.

It sat in the corner, wearing a dim colored smile that faded with the forgotten years.

***

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Goldilocks

by Paula Marie Deubel

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GOLDI

Based on the original essay by Robert Southey, 1837

"The Story of the Three Bears”

by Nancy Washburn

Pop, Mom and Baby Bear’s porridge is too hot
They decide to go for a walk in the woods
Ten year old, Goldi, spots a cute yellow cottage
She knocks on the door, it’s open

She’s hungry, and enters the kitchen
Tasting porridge, one’s too hot
The second’s too cold, and the third bowl is perfect
She gulps it down

Goldi sits on the first chair, too big
Mom’s, too small, Baby’s chair is just right
She plops down, oops, it breaks to pieces
Goldi’s exhausted

She slowly climbs the stairs
Jumps on the first bed
One’s too hard, another too soft
Baby’s bed is so comfy, she falls asleep

Pop, Mom and Baby come back home
Pop growls, “Someone’s been eating my porridge”
Mom groans, “Someone’s been slurping in my porridge”
Baby cries, “My porridge is all gone”

They step into the living room
Pop yells, “Someone’s been sitting on my chair”
Mom mutters, “Someone’s been sitting on my chair”
Baby screams, “My chair is all broken”

Pop, Mom and Baby hoof it upstairs
Pop complains, “ Someone’s been sleeping in my bed”
Mom moans, “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed”
Baby whimpers, “She is sleeping in my bed”

Goldi wakes up and thanks them for the shelter
She begs their forgiveness
Goldi needs a family and a warm home
Pop, Mom and Baby are happy to adopt Goldi

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The Beginning

by Jenna Fanson

In the absence of the light of day, I walked down a stone courtyard. Darkness covered everything, though the night didn’t matter much with my night vision eyesight. There was a light mist in the air barely hovering over the grass and the moon was just peaking behind the clouds. I watched as the whole courtyard was bathed in its light. All was still except for the light breeze that brushed against my fur. I felt a slight chill crawling up my back and my fur rose just as I did.

The courtyard was surrounded by a black-gated fence, and beyond it were a forest and a large hill. Most of the plants that bordered the stone path I had been walking on were dead. It was interesting not hearing myself walk yet my hearing was very in tune with everything else around me. My footsteps were soft and padded, and my shadow trailed behind me as though it was watching me, waiting for me to take off and challenge it to a game of catch-me-if-you-can. But I wasn't in the mood for games. I had something more important on my mind.

To my right, there was a stone bench, and there, sitting rather gloomily, was a woman. She was young and very pretty. Her long brownish-gray hair that hung over her shoulders was barely disturbed by the wind. She sat, a bit hunched over; her hands were in her lap and her head down. I watched for her movement but she remained still. Being the definition of stealth, it wouldn't be very difficult for me to appear before her unnoticed. I decided to test my abilities and jumped to a nearby stone, and, from there,

I leapt towards the fence. My paws caught its edge like a magnet. I shifted my weight almost immediately and, with one paw in front of the other, my balance became flawlessly perfect.

The woman was now ahead of me and she still had not moved. The tips of her purple-gray dress were wet and dirt had taken residence on the soles of her shoes. As I crept closer, I could hear the faint sound of crying. My curiosity grew with every step. Who was this woman, and why was she crying? Was she the one who had called me to such a place?

She was only about two feet away from me now, and I could see the slow diamond like tears that took turns escaping from her eyes slide down the side of her pale face. I turned my head, a little distracted by what seemed to be a thin sheet of dust that enveloped her entire body.

My curiosity became unbearable. I sprang from the fence with such grace and agility and landed next to her lap. I sat there, my tail coiling itself around the legs of the bench, waiting for her to look at me, but she would not budge. On strict alert for any sign of movement, I placed my tiny black paw on her frail hand and very slowly and very gently retracted my claws.

If I would have blinked just once I may have missed it. She seemed to have finally noticed for she had moved her head only an inch to acknowledge my presence. I looked deep into her face; she did not smile. Her tears continued just as they had before and as each one poured from her eyes a reflection of a dark and gloomy past began to present itself. One of the tears had fallen on my head and almost immediately I shook it off as I did not like wetness, but something was already happening. A tiny pain burrowed its way into the back of my eyes and soon all I could see was her.

She was standing on a hilltop alone, looking out to the distance. Her arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the cold as the wind blew violently through her hair. Her head was held high as if waiting for someone. For what seemed like an eternity, she waited, but no one came. Then suddenly, the weight of rejection and heartbreak crashed over her. The man she had been waiting for, the man she thought loved her, the man she had expected to runaway with, had forgotten her.

Unable to hold herself up any longer, she collapsed to the cold, wet ground. Her glazed eyes swept across the sky as she drifted into a deep sleep that she could never wake from.

Then finally, my eyes came back into focus. She was still sitting there, tears coming down like rain. I perched myself up, both paws now covering her hands and looked up. From what I could tell, her eyes were a shade of dark blue with small streaks of gold around the edges of her pupils. I advanced my paw to her shoulder and began to lick the salty tears from her face. The warmth of my tongue against her cold wet skin made her shiver, but somehow she seemed grateful as she relished the new comfort that was washing over her. I then pulled my head to her ear and slowly whispered the words she had been waiting so long to hear. "Go and be at peace." At these words, she lifted her head to the night sky and spread her arms out beside her, welcoming the warmth of a new peace. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes while a faint smile began to spread across her face. And she was free.

As the sun began to peak over the hilltop where she had once stood, I sat on the bench alone. Where the girl had gone I did not know, but I could tell where ever she was she was finally at peace. I jumped down from the bench and turned my back to the rising red sun. It had been a long night for me and it soon became a chore to keep my eyelids in place. I decided to treat myself to a well-deserved catnap in a near by tree, and there, I would wait for my own sun to rise.

***

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Blue Hood

by Nancy Washburn

Blue Hood’s mother said, “Will you bring this box of hot chocolate chip cookies to your grandfather?” “Sure, Mom,” he replied. He was a smart, red haired, mischievous twelve year old, who enjoyed visiting his ailing grandfather who lived at the other end of town. Blue Hood’s favorite blue spring jacket had a hood, so his mother teased him with that name. He quickly grabbed it off the hook, and rushed outside. Carefully, he put the box of fresh homemade cookies in a warm towel, and laid it in the metal basket of his 10-speed Schwinn bike. He whistled while he rode through town.

He was almost there, when suddenly a dark haired teenage boy stood in front of Blue Hood with a knife, and made him quickly pull the hand brakes. Blue Hood recognized the mean gang member, Ace, who was wearing a red bandana on his forehead, and two gold studs piercing his ears. Ace had a reputation of not being too clever, so Blue Hood tried to compliment him saying, “Ace, what a cool bandana you have.” But the furious teenager grabbed onto the bike saying “Shut up! I want your bike and those cookies that I smell.” “No,” Blue Hood said nervously, “I have to deliver them to my sick grandfather.” He jerked the bike out of Ace’s hands, and hurriedly rode away.

Blue Hood was anxious to get to his grandfather’s cozy white bungalow near the woods. He knocked on the door and announced, “Grandfather, it’s me, Blue Hood.” “Bring yourself in, Sonny boy, it’s open.” His grandfather, Jake, was resting in bed, covered with a patch quilt. He smiled when Blue Hood came in with the cookies.

A loud noise surprised them as Ace burst into the bedroom, holding the knife. “I am going to tie both of you up, and eat those cookies right in front of you,” he smirked. “Then, I will take your bike and money.” But Ace didn’t have anything to tie them up with. Blue Hood said, “There’s some thick rope in the garage.” Ace took the bait, and left to get the rope.

Blue Hood grabbed the loaded rifle under the bed, and he knew how to use it. His grandfather had been clay target practicing with him for years. Grandfather Jake called the sheriff. They held Ace there, until Sheriff Dale arrived, with the sirens blaring. He immediately handcuffed Ace. Blue Hood gave them each a huge cookie, including stuffing one in Ace’s mouth. The chief pushed Ace into the car and raced off to jail. Grandfather was tired, but they talked about their adventurous day.

***

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Edna’s Modern-Day

High School Awakening

(Edna’s Character inspired from
Kate Chopin’s The Awakening)
by Jenifer DeBellis

Edna spun the dial on her locker’s combination pad. How could she get married to Larry without knowing what the world had to offer? He was as dry and lifeless as the Gobi Desert air!

“Hey angel,” Rodney said, leaning up against her locker.

Across the crowded hallway, with a dramatic roll of her eyes, Claire sneered at Julia, “Oh, she’s good. Only a pro could pull off that whole innocent act. Look at her blush; ingenious!”

“I heard she’s engaged,” Julia said with too much enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” Claire’s laugh was malicious, “and she claims to be a virgin!”

Julia snickered, “Come on; that’s sacrilegious! Isn’t she almost eighteen?”

Both girls watched Andy walk up to the other side of Edna and prop his arm against the lockers. He only left a few inches between their faces.

“How’s it goin’, baby girl?” His expression was confident.

Edna’s eyes livened at this course of flirtation. “I’m still deciding.”

Andy cradled her chin in his hand, “Mmmm, those eyes are gonna be the death of me.”

Every hair on her body responded to his touch. Her face flushed as she labored to keep her composure.

Andy only let go of her chin when he was sure the effects of his charm had set in. Without another word, he spun around and strutted away.

“What the…” Claire trailed off. “That ho’s goin’ down.”

Julia grabbed Claire’s arm. “Hold up. Pace yourself, killer.”

Rodney cleared his throat to regain Edna’s attention. “So, do you need anything?”

Mmm, he smelled amazing. She shook her head to clear her distracted thoughts. “I am having trouble with math,” her smile was sultry, “and rumor has it you’re the go-to man.” She tilted her head. “Something about being good with a calculator and your fingers…”

“Uh,” he chuckled, and brushing his lips against her ear, whispered, “See you later, angel.”

She inhaled one last time before letting him pull away; visions of crafty fingers stroking calculators ran through her mind. Larry or not, she would get to know those fingers!

As Rodney began to walk away, Julia came up from behind, and wrapped her arms around him. Disappointment registered upon his face when he turned and discovered who held him. He tried to pull away, but she pressed harder, and keeping him in her embrace she pushed him up against the lockers.

Julia began to passionately kiss Rodney. Several seconds passed before he regained his faculties. Confident in the success of her mission, she stepped back from him and shot Edna a sideways smirk.

Confusion now mixed with Edna’s new awakenings of physical desire. An oppressive shadow misted her soul’s moment of sunshine, and clouded the flames of her awakening. Her mind was fluctuating between longings for electric pulses and magical fingers. She fixed a new resolve within her heart: She would be electrified and calculated; soon, and often…

After Rodney slinked away, Edna turned to the two sets of eyes now boring into her. Didn’t they have a post to go scratch or something? She did not want to deal with them today. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow, or never?

“Having a good day?” Julia’s saccharine voice didn’t waver.

Edna grew faint assessing the details of this ocean of new sensations. Her expression was self absorbed and distant.

“Tss,” Claire murmured in a whispered tone, “Is she on something?”

Julia grabbed Edna’s wrist. “Dang, girl.” She twisted her hand to allow the light to work its magic on the intricate cuts in the monstrosity disguised as a ring. “Nice rock!”

“It’s from Tiffany’s,” replied Edna without enthusiasm.

“I heard Larry doesn’t do anything small,” smirked Claire. “You’d better keep an eye on him. I might have to help myself, if you know what I mean.”

Edna smiled and laughed to herself: If she only knew.

The blast of the second bell echoed into the hall, and the smell of salty popcorn filled the air.

***

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“It’s Greek to Me” Notes

by Ize Spielman

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I Stood Tall and Still

by Jenna Fanson

I stood tall and still, watching the wind carry off with the most precious of all things that mattered most to me. Their bright and warm colors danced with the wind as they drifted farther and farther away, leaving me naked and alone, forgotten. I knew of the freedom that they blissfully wished to taste, knew of its bitter sweetness, for the freedom of such a thing only lasts until the ground is finally reached and the view from before is no longer a luxury.

It seems so sad that every year I must watch and endure the leave of my life, and embrace the wrath of winter’s chill. The thought of losing the beauty of my life in a swirl of uncontrollable fate and watching it fall to the ground to lay in filthy piles amongst each other has become the sting of my very existence. They soon wither and die without the sun and my life force, and therefore, I am left alone.

It isn’t long before the depths of winter come to consume what little is left of me. Soon I am forced into an ancient slumber until the sun once again rises from the shroud of the winter clouds to bring forth the light of life; releasing all who remain dormant under the iced blanket of snow. It is a cycle that is unavoidable, unstoppable, and inevitable.

And so I enjoy what little time I have with my beloved compliments of color and beauty. The summer provides the warmth of the sun, and to bask in its light is the pleasure of all living things. However, not all things wonderful are meant to last. Autumn reigns over and soon our beauty is brought to its fullest only to have it swept away with the treacherous winds. Winter is lingering not far behind, waiting for its chance to once again rule greedily for the next several months.

I am not even a pond in this battle of the seasons. I am merely the board, watching as moves are made and wars are won and lost. There are no negotiations as winter always seems to win. Sometimes it is hard to even enjoy the most colorful of seasons knowing how much you’re losing in the end. The worst of knowing is helplessness that comes with it. Still I watch and endure.

I stood tall and still, watching the wind carry off with the most precious of things that mattered most to me.

***

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Phantasma by Elise Cygan

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The Scent of Love: A Watercolor Adaptation

from The Perfume: The Story of a Murderer

by Stella (Wilfinger) Rothe

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Bette Davis Eyes… They Say It All

A synopsis of the 1942 movie Now, Voyager

by Nancy Washburn

I know mom needs me. I do whatever she says. She is a domineering matriarch in the Boston community and knows everyone. She is Mrs. Vale, and she rules our household. I am just an old maid, a spinster. I know I’m not pretty or smart, and she is trying to pick out my husband for me. I should be grateful. I will probably end up marrying Elliott Livingston, a widow with two children. He has a good job, and he says he loves me. No one else would ever want me. I’m trapped.

I feel so unloved by my mother. She tells me that I am having a nervous breakdown. She keeps putting me in that sanitarium, in the country, to recuperate. Dr. Jaquith, the psychologist, is so nice to me. He knows my mother is strong and opinionated, so he lets me go for walks to relax. He says I should meet this shy, young girl down the hall and talk with her. She is only ten years old, and is depressed. Her name is Tina. She explains that no one loves her except her daddy, and can’t wait to see him again, when she gets released from the sanitarium. Tina thinks she is ugly and unwanted. We seem to understand each other. She hopes I will visit her again. A few days later, I was feeling better, so the doctor is releasing me to my mother.

Aunt Maggie came over, and asked me to escort her on a cruise to South America for a couple weeks. I said, “Yes, Aunt Maggie, and when we return, I’ll make mother happy and marry Clinton.”

~~~~~

The ship was lovely, and the dinners spectacular. We were having a good time. Last evening, I went out on the deck. A tall, dark haired gentleman came up to me, and we chatted for a long while. He commented on my mesmerizing blue-green eyes. He told me he was married, but not happy, and would never leave his wife. The reason was they have a young daughter with special needs, and he would always take care of her. His name was Jerry… and he smiled and said I looked like “Camille.” He wanted to call me that name, even though my real name is Charlotte. To my surprise, we seemed to be entranced with each other. He lit two cigarettes in his mouth, and presented one to me. He asked me to meet him later. I made excuses to Aunt Maggie about where I was on the ship, just to be with him. As the days flew by, I felt confident and in love for the first time. I dreaded going back home to Boston. We thought we would never see each other again. We sadly said our good by’s.

I wanted to be independent. My mother arranged for Elliott to visit, and propose to me. I accepted, for her sake. Then, Jerry sent me a bouquet of camellia’s to represent the name he called me. I was so happy, and I knew I wanted to be with him, not Elliott. Jerry gave me strength.

I decided to confront my mother. She was shocked, and fell down the stairs. I blamed myself. She threatened to take me out of her will. I didn’t care. The stress gave her a heart attack, and she suddenly died. I felt guilty, and I needed help. I was desperate. I drove myself back to the sanitarium to see Dr. Jaquith. He told me I could stay a few days. I heard Tina in the hallway. She was so excited to see me, and we hugged. I suggested we go for a walk together and eat ice cream. I wasn’t sure who her parents were, but I knew that Jerry felt trapped in his marriage. One day, she called her father on an outdoor phone. As she talked, I was amazed to find out that he was Jerry, whom I met on the cruise. So when he asked Tina who she was with, I whispered, “Tell him it’s Camille.” Now he knew who was watching his daughter. I asked the doctor if I could take her to my house for a visit. He said yes.

Jerry came to the city to visit Tina, and to discuss the situation. We argued. He said he would never leave his wife, but he didn’t want me to sacrifice my entire life for Tina. I told him that I loved Tina. He could see how well we got along. We finally decided to just see each other occasionally, when he visits Tina in Boston. Our love is powerful, and we both truly love Tina. He lit two cigarettes, and gently put one in my hand. The smoke spiraled upwards. We stood quietly by the moonlight coming in the window, and looked into each others eyes.

***

A Ray of Light

by Nancy Washburn

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An Altered State of Being

by Stella (Wilfinger) Rothe

There once was a sound like thunder: a reverberation of the hoof-beats of buffalo, the pounding of drums, the wild cries of a million voices. This sound was carried around the world by the wind. It was driven into the Earth’s core. The souls of flowers heard it, and they bent their ears to the breeze. The spirits inside trees heard it, and they swayed their branches in rhythm. Oceans heard it and swept their waters into roaring waves. There once was a deafening crash of life, with every atom and molecule colliding with inelegant verve. There were no rules, nor patterns to the madness. Life simply was, and not a living Being considered its frailty.

Frailty … thy name is Illness.

The thunder now is changed. It has been reduced to the thrumming of one delicate heart: a beat slow and fragile, poised between this world and the next. In this middle-world, this shadow-existence, there are miracles of the greatest proportions.

Like the curling-open of a flower’s petals, an eyelid flutters open; like a wild autumnal storm, a breath is taken without the help of machines; like Atlas balancing his globe, a shoulder is shrugged. Eyes stare out with Soul still inside. Those ears can still hear; that brain can still absorb worried words, loving words, words of hope, words of affection … words of pain. Ah, yes, there is life here, still, and where life dwells hope cannot be abandoned. Miracles.

It is as if your soul is hovering half in/half out of your body: perhaps wandering around while you sleep, possibly standing over my shoulder as I write this, perchance dancing to echoes of the thunder of days gone by. You are in an altered state of being. You’ve been there before; you’ve seen two worlds. How many worlds are there, dearest? More than this impermanent one? More than the promised ethereal one? More than the divided world where you exist now? Will you awaken with answers, or will you forget what you have experienced?

Will you wake up at all?

Half-awakened souls fly about us often, sweeping into the abode of dreams and visions, causing those chills that quiver down one’s spine, watching helplessly as tears flow from tired eyes. They are around us every moment of every day, not dead but traveling out of their bodies. Who among us is aware of their frailty?

Frailty … thy name is Coma.

Wake up,

Wake up …

`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`

~NOTE ~

Written January 7th, 6:00 a.m.,

while Tom Huey was in his altered state:

Tom passed away January 7th, 6:03 p.m.,

while my mother kissed his forehead.

An Altered Summer

by Stella (Wilfinger) Rothe

__________________________

Altered from the cover of Who Was William Shakespeare?

Original cover artist: John O’Brian

by Tetyana Borsuk

________________________

The Three Little Pigs

Playwright – Cathy Plum

The Characters ~
The Unseen Character:
             THE BIG MOTHER COMPANY, BM, who sent her piggies out into the cold to fend for themselves and to seek their fortunes in the worst economy ever … in the scariest place ever: metropolitan Detroit!

The Narrator & CEO of Big Bad Industries runs a tight and ethical ship, and she’s the reason for the company’s recent success.
               CLEO the CLEO
Three Desperate Applicants - recently laid-off from BM, applying for residential home builder positions. They are qualified; real needles in a haystack.
              CARRIE STRAW
              MEAGAN STICKS
              LAYLA BRICK

The Interviewer at Big Bad Industries - typical business executive, Big and Bad, and hungry like a wolf; willing to gobble up anyone on her way to the top.
             CATHY WOLF

The Setting

The one-act “playlet” takes place in 2009, in the offices of Big Bad Industries, a successful residential home building company just outside of Detroit, Michigan ~ USA.

The Prologue

Three houses, all alike in dignity

(In cold Detroit where we lay our scene),

From unemployed break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil acts unseen.

From forth the faithful loins of these three sows

A twist of fate will surely change their life;

Whose misadventured career choice woes

Doth with their speak bury the wolf due strife.

The fearful passage of their unpaid dues

And the continuance of their shrinking wage,

Which, but the piggies mend, our interview,

Is now the ten minutes’ traffic of our stage;

The which, if you with patient eyes attend,

What here shall see, is justice in the end.

Scene 1 – Act 1

The Narrator enters, in front of the stage, among the audience.
NARRATOR, CLEO: Good evening, I’m Cleo, the CEO of Big Bad Industries. This company has been in my family for three generations, and we’ve been building houses for over a hundred years. This is the story of the three little pigs – and the big bad wolf they blew down to get to the top.

The scene opens with the three applicants awaiting their interview, partaking in the usual banter, holding their resumes.

CARRIE STRAW: Since we got laid-off from BM, I’ve been really been piggin’ LAYLA BRICK: I feel like a REAL pig in a poke, sending my resume out into cyberspace.

CARRIE STRAW: The sun’ll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar!

MEAGAN STICKS: There’s got to be a job in this town … somewhere.

LAYLA BRICK: Yea, somewhere over the rainbow.

CARRIE STRAW: Why are you so negative, Miss Layla Brick? You’ve got more experience than us.

LAYLA BRICK: I really need this job … I really need this job.

MEAGAN STICKS: A friend of mine interviewed here … and she said they ate her alive!

All the applicants laugh, with snorting.

Enter Cathy Wolf.

CATHY WOLF: Good afternoon, ladies. Let’s get right to the task at hand. I’m Cathy Wolf, and I will be conducting the interview today. Just to let you know, it’s my call if you get hired – or not. So, let’s see who has the brownest nose of the applicants three, shall we?

(The applicants all look bewildered.)

CARRIE STRAW: Good afternoon, Ms. Wolf.

MEAGAN STICKS: Good afternoon.

LAYLA BRICK: Good afternoon to you, Ms. Wolf.

CATHY WOLF: First, tell me your name, and a little bit about your experience in constructing residential homes. Let’s start with you. Name?                                                                 (Pointing at Straw.)

CARRIE STRAW: My name is Carrie Straw. I like to build with LEGOS; been doin’ it since I was a kid. One time, my sister and I ...

CATHY WOLF: Okay, okay Straw. We get it. You?                                       (Pointing at Sticks.)

MEAGAN STICKS: My name is Meagan Sticks. I’m a tree-house builder. Rich people pay me to build elaborate tree-houses in their backyard. The economy has made it tough lately …

CATHY WOLF: Okay, Sticks. I hope those tree-houses can withstand the windy months. Next, little missy, – what’s your name? (Pointing to Brick.)

LAYLA BRICK: Uh, my name is Layla Brick. I just completed a residential project in Troy. We built 500 ranch homes in 6 months.

CATHY WOLF: Impressive, Brick. But you’ll have to better than that. Can you do better than that?

LAYLA BRICK: What? I’m not sure how to answer that.

CATHY WOLF: Okay, okay. Let’s get on to the real questions. Big Bad just got a huge contract to build 200 residential homes. What material would you use to construct those homes, and why? Let’s start with you.                                                                                                                (Pointing to Straw.)

CARRIE STRAW: Straw. There have been great advances in alternative materials …

CATHY WOLF: What? If I tried hard enough, I could blow your house in! (Laughing and blowing at the audience.)

CATHY WOLF: How about you Sticks? What’s your story?

MEAGAN STICKS: I prefer a house of sticks. Bundles of fragrant furze work well.

CATHY WOLF: What? A house of sticks! You guys are killing me! (Blowing at the audience.)

CATHY WOLF: Brick, I know a residential project of 200 homes may be small bricks compared to what you’re used to building, but humor me.

LAYLA BRICK: Brick. Nothing beats the 3-bedroom brick ranch.

(Wolf is obviously intimidated.)

CATHY WOLF: Okay then. The final question. Don’t mess it up. This is your last chance to make a good impression on me, and to show me how smart you really are.

(The applicants are aggravated; and Wolf starts yelling.)

CATHY WOLF: To work at Big Bad, you have to be BIG and BAD! Can you be bad, STRAW?

CARRIE STRAW: I guess I could, if that’s what the job requires.

CATHY WOLF: Do you have what it takes, STICKS? Can you be BIG and BAD? Come on!

MEAGAN STICKS: To be honest, I’m not sure I want to be big and bad. To be honest, I don’t think I want this job.

(In the background, the audience sees Cleo, CEO of the company, listening to Wolf’s inappropriate, and illegal,l line of questioning.)

CATHY WOLF: One pig down! I mean applicant. How about you, BRICK? Do you have what it takes to work at Big Bad Industries? Can a woman like you be BIG and BAD, Brick?

LAYLA BRICK: Being a woman has nothing to do with it.

CATHY WOLF: Ooohh, a feisty lady. How old are you, Brick? Do you have any runts at home?

LAYLA BRICK: I don’t think that’s really relevant.

CATHY WOLF: It’s relevant, Brick, if you want the job.

(Wolf is huffing, and puffing, almost ready to burst.)

(Brick rises from her chair, and confronts Wolf.)

LAYLA BRICK: Your line of questioning is inappropriate – and illegal! You can huff and puff all you want, Wolf. You’re going to boil in this one.

Enter Cleo, the CEO. Wolf and Brick look up, surprised.

CATHY WOLF: Oh, Cleo. Good afternoon. Ladies, this is Cleo, CEO here at Big Bad. Uh, I was just interviewing some prospects for the available positions.

CLEO the CEO: Wolf, I’ve been listening to the questions you were asking these applicants. Miss Brick was correct in saying that your inquiries were extremely inappropriate, and illegal. You have embarrassed Big Bad Industries for the last time. You’re fired.

CATHY WOLF: Fired? Fired? I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow this whole company in!

(Wolf stomps off into the wings. Straw, Sticks, and Brick are

smiling big shit-eating grins, like only the piggies can do.)

Cleo turns toward the applicants.

CLEO the CEO: And ladies, I do believe those positions have been filled – if you’re still interested ... welcome to Big Bad Industries!

(Shaking the hands of the new hires; all exit)

The Epilogue

A glooming peace this afternoon with it brings,

The Wolf for sorrow will not show its head.

Go hence and have more talk of these weird things,

Three shall be hired, and one punishèd.

For never was a story of less woe,

Than this of the three pigs and one wolf to go!

***

___________________________

And the winner isn’t…

Direct and indirect quotes taken from Shakespeare's

The Merchant of Venice

by Jenifer DeBellis

Sympathize with Antonio? Methinks I shan’t.

He’s the picture of virtue, selfless and noble,

but “such a wont-wit sadness makes of” him a fool,

and his ulterior motives make him seem cruel.

Then there’s Bassanio, financially a wreck,

whose opening line is, “a lady richly left.”

Shall empathy be his? Will I soften my heart?

How can I see past the black chain upon his neck?

Sympathize with Salarino? Methinks I won’t.

The pep-talking friend, who speaks in poetic form,

may portray words of wisdom, the biblical norm, but

lacks the backbone to steer a friend straight in the storm.

When looking at the dreamer, schemer, and beamer:

Solanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano,

can I will my heart’s breaking for Mr. Nostalgia,

the puffed up baboon, or the charismatic foe?

Sympathize with the father? Methinks I will not.

This immortalized villain of great proportions,

putting restriction on his daughter’s destiny,

while reducing her hand in this vile lottery.

Sweet Nerissa, an encourager of sorts; how far

will she go with her “acquaintance” with these lords?

That she could know them so well, and profess it so,

makes me wonder to what levels she would resort.

Sympathize with parade of fine men? Methinks not.

The Neapolitan Prince, in love with his colt;

the County Palatine, who frowns through his doubt;

or Le Bon, the “every man in no man” revolt.

Not to leave out the English baron, a proper

man’s picture, or the Scottish coward’s idle threats,

nor the Saxon sober wretch and drunken beast.

How could I empathize an ounce without regrets?

Sympathize with Shylock? Methinks I never could.

His heart is as hollow as dry-rotted driftwood.

Or rebellious Jessica, who robs her father blind,

and becomes the torchbearer, leading mankind.

Now enters the Moroccan prince, a gamblin’ man,

he’ll roll the dice but will not earn his victory,

nor will Arragon, who’s not as clever as can be.

Neither have left good impressions upon me.

Sympathize with the circus act? Methinks I can’t.

The clown, with his speaking in circles of riddles,

or Gobbo, who lost it o’er the last pass of hurdles;

the two don’t impress me, not even a little.

Here at the impasse, sits Portia in her distress;

she’s obedient and patient with her life’s mess.

Her wit did have me charmed upon the first act’s pass,

but in a second turned as dry as desert grass.

So here it is, my sympathy’s as cold as ice –

and I’m now “stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

***

______________________

________________________________________

Inspired by the letters from Julius Caesar

by Jenifer DeBellis

________________________

Writing Club!

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Some Links!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Celebrating C.S. Lewis

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

October: Rejection Letter of the Month!

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

CREATIVE EXPRESSIONS READING EVENT

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Resources

Sunday, October 3, 2010

October 2010 Newsletter

Macomb Community College's Poetry Festival

Monday, September 27, 2010

Shared Link: BAC Street Journal Submissions

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

May Newsletter

Thursday, April 29, 2010

An Afternoon of Creative Reading

Friday, March 26, 2010

National Poetry Day Poetry Party

Sunday, March 7, 2010

03/07/10 Newsletter

Friday, February 26, 2010

February 26, 2010 Newsletter

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Writing Club 2/20/10 Newsletter

Monday, January 25, 2010

Going to Print...The Altered 'Alf Book

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Coming Soon: The Altered 'Alf Book

AWARDS for the WRITING CLUB

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