Thursday, June 30, 2011

F3-Cycle 37-Be Happy!

~Flash Fiction Friday prompt this week was to write a story that embodied happiness with a positive ending in less than 1000 words~

I Am If You Are
               The wait is excruciating. All he wants is to hear the double chime of the doorbell. Such promise the doorbell holds. It possesses the element of surprise like nothing else, in both that a young boy such as he never knows when it may sing its glorious song, or what the melody brings.
                Sometimes an unexpected visitor waits behind the door, anticipating the best way to keep the door from being shut in their face when they attempt to sell something to his Mom, or other times it’s a relative who “has got to be disgusted” by their messy house or who “should have called.” The best times, though, are when one of his friends comes to the door with their Mom or Dad. Then he and his friend can go play until the grown-ups are done talking, which usually takes a long time.
                Every once in a while, the doorbell won’t announce a person’s presence, but that of a package, like it will today. Today he is waiting for his package. His Mom told him it would come today, but his excitement started turning into wariness when the mail came without a brown bundle. He knows now that he must be waiting for the big brown truck, which is the best out of them all.
 The red, white, and blue truck, on the other hand, is usually no good. The most exciting thing it ever brings is birthday cards. No, usually the envelopes that come from that truck make Mom and Dad sigh and go off to talk about something important. The blue, orange, and white truck isn’t much to bother about either. Sometimes it will bring pictures to his Mom, or boring papers that his parents pour over for days at a time, but other than that, it doesn’t offer much.
It’s the brown truck that’s worth the most. The brown truck means that something good is in store. When the brown truck comes, the man always leaves a fun present. That’s the one that brings clothes to his Mom, books to his sister, and occasionally something special for him. Today is one of the days where the big brown truck will come lumbering down the street slowly, to drop off a big tan box just for him. Or so his Mom says. He’s been waiting so long, he’s not even sure anymore.
“Be good,” She says, “only good boys get packages.”
He’s been trying real hard to behave, but it’s so hard. All he wants is his package, and he knows that if he had it, he’d be able to be good, but now, every minute just gets harder. He doesn’t want to play quietly in his bedroom or watch another TV show. All he wants is his package.
Thinking, he goes and sits in the living room, staring at the front door, willing it to ring. When it doesn’t, his sister asks him to draw a picture, and his Mom wants to snuggle. This is crazy, he thinks. All this fuss when he needs to be waiting for his package. Nothing else is good enough right now.
Defeated, he wanders around the house with no real purpose. Maybe, he thinks, if he does something extra special, his package will hurry up. He runs to his room, inspired, and makes his bed perfectly. He stretches his quilt smooth, using his whole body to spread it out to eliminate the wrinkles his Mom doesn’t like. Excited, he runs back out to his Mom as soon as he finishes.
“Mommy, I made my bed, will my package come now?”
“I don’t know honey, you can go check.”
Yes! He thought. He’s been so good; it simply has to be here now. He goes out the front door and looks all around the front porch, scours the driveway, and even takes another look in the mailbox just to be sure the package man didn’t get confused. No package. He sighs, and deflated, walks back inside.
“No,” he tells his Mom. “It’s not here yet.”
Figuring he better try again, he picks up all of his toys from the living room with the help of his sister. He does a lot of the supervising while she does the majority of the manual labor. He has important waiting to do, anyway. Once they are done, he asks if his package has come.
“Not yet.” She said. “We’ll hear it when it does.”
He goes back into his bedroom. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. He can’t wait to tear open his package and see what is inside. He smiles just thinking about the sheer joy of it. His sister will surely be sad she doesn’t have a package of her own. She will just have to play with his toy with him.
             The door chimes when he’s in the middle of organizing his stuffed puppies. The butterflies in his stomach go insane as he dashes out to the front door. That’s when he sees the man walking back to the big brown truck. He loves that truck, and he watches as it pulls away, feeling his longing for it drifting away and being replaced with the new desire to open the perfect square package it left behind.
Finally, he thinks, the wait is over. He carries his package inside, chattering away to his Mom and his sister, excited beyond belief. Happiness engulfs him as his Mom brings out the scissors and begins to cut open the tape. Taking over, he rips open the rest and opens the flaps of the box. A huge grin lights up his face when he sees what is inside.
Finally, his Mom and sister think, the wait is over. The look on his face fills them with joy and his excitement over his new toy that he has been begging for endlessly for the past month leaves them elated. They couldn’t be happier. They love that big brown truck.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

F3-Cycle 36-In a Blender

~The prompt for this week, my first time, was to write a story with two buddies, Dean and Jerry, where Dean is the "straight suave guy" and Jerry is the "bungling buddy," in less than 1000 words. Hope you like it!~

Partners in Crime
They both heard it at the exact same time. The pitter patter of those tiny little feet dancing along the edge of the fence was undeniable. It was time for the hunt. While Dean trotted out of the patio rather gracefully, Jerry sprinted behind him, ears flying and legs akimbo. He tripped in the doorway and thrashed on his belly for a second, sliding up next to Dean, panting hard.
 “Alright, Jerry, you just sit here and watch, and I’ll show you how it’s done.” Dean stopped them a few yards away from the target. “It takes an immense amount of talent and skill to be successful. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t learn to control yourself.” Dean asserted his dominance over Jerry for a second longer before getting down to business.
Dean lowered his belly to the ground, slithering slowly along the dead grass, his paws barely making a sound.
“Yeah! Go get him, Dean! You show him who is boss!” Jerry’s barking was incessant.
“Jerry!” Dean growled. “You’re ruining everything. You’ll scare him away prematurely if you don’t shut up, and then what will our people think?”
“Sorry, Dean, you’re right.” Jerry laid down, his tail now still, and his face lain on top of his paws. He just got so excited sometimes, he couldn’t help it.
The squirrel was now watching them both closely, acorn in hand, as still as a statue. Carefully, Dean resumed his process, inching closer and closer, his eyes glued on the prize. He knew he would win it; he was the master of this game. Jerry was learning from the best.
Jerry perked up once Dean was all the way up against the fence, sitting up tall and openly staring down the squirrel. Every time the creature moved, Dean moved with it, and the bigger dog on the other side of the fence made Dean the more attractive opponent. The squirrel was trapped.
“Jerry!” Dean called softly. “Come here and spot me on the right, I don’t want him getting away.” Jerry sauntered over happily, his tongue flopping out of his mouth.
“I’m here, captain!”
“Here’s the plan: I want you to jump on the fence and scare him this way, hopefully he’ll fall, and then I’ll catch him.”
“You better be fast! Remember the last one that got away because you were too--" Dean cut him off with a sharp growl and put his snout on top of Jerry’s, daring him to say more. “Sorry, boss” Jerry said quietly. “Let’s go ahead with the plan now.”
“Alright, on my count.” Jerry watched, excited, for Dean’s tail to wag three times.
Once given the signal, Jerry leaped up and barked his most menacing bark at the petrified squirrel. Coming alive, the squirrel leaped to the side, but missed the edge of the fence and tumbled down on top of the grass, now at Dean’s mercy.
“I got him!” Dean leaped over to the squirrel and chased him as fast as he could. Dean’s back fur stuck up as he tried to intimidate the squirrel, backing it into a corner. Desperate for escape, the squirrel dashed from side to side and then back again, so quick it was a blur, but Dean expertly anticipated its every move.
Jerry sat not far away, cheering on Dean, barking encouragement as loud he could as he watched Dean volley with the animal, hoping for his partner’s success.
The squirrel made the mistake of trying to climb back up the fence, and on its first falter, Dean jumped up and pushed him down with both of his paws, and then crouched down, eye level with the exhausted squirrel. The squirrel used the rest of what little energy it possessed to try to climb back up again, now its only possible escape, but failed. The last thing it remembered was Dean’s teeth encasing its body for several chews until the squirrel hung limp from his smiling mouth.
“Yeah!” Jerry leaped up on his hind legs and cheered! “Wooo! Go Dean! You got him!”
“Let’s go.” Dean said out the side of his mouth, and with Dean leading the way, they ran their victory lap back to the patio door.
One of their owners was sitting at the patio table, watching them come in. Placing the squirrel at her feet, Dean and Jerry sat panting vigorously and beaming with pride, waiting for their owner to see the great gift they had presented to her. When she saw, their owner screamed because she was so overwhelmed with happiness.
She yelled praises at them for a long time, pointing to the squirrel and then their faces with great excitement. They had never seen her this happy. She opened the sliding glass door, and shoved them inside, leading them to their cages, thanking them loudly all the way. She was so grateful; she even gave them both congratulatory pats on the noses before locking them up and going back to examine her present with great enthusiasm.
“We did well, Jer. Thanks for your help.” Dean took a long drink of water and lay down, exhausted, in his crate.
“Oh, you’re welcome, Dean! I’m just glad we made our owner so happy!” He was panting wildly and finally threw himself down on the floor, his belly flopping over to the side. “I had so much fun, and you were awesome! We should do it again as soon as we have the chance!”
“Of course we will.” Dean agreed.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

That'll be $1.29 and a little piece of your dignity, please.

Every time I hear a new (or old) song that I even remotely enjoy, I suddenly have to have it. I have to own it, to be able to listen to it whenever I want to. Now, I listen to my music, and it is worth it, most of the time, but I have a serious iTunes addiction. This would not even be a problem if I were like most people in this world who just rip their music for free off the internet. Me, though, I pay for every song, and then I pay for that indiscretion both financially and emotionally.
 $1.29, or $.99, if you’re buying a song no one sees much worth for anymore, doesn’t seem like much. That’s the kicker. It seems like so little that you click the button without even thinking, and then because it was so easy (click!) you do it again. Before you know it, you’re $15 poorer than you were 5 minutes ago, or, in all actuality, $15 poorer than you were 2 weeks ago, because on top of it all, iTunes feels the need to delay your transaction for an eternity before they make you pay. Not only do they have all the new shiny music readily available for your every craving and desire for instant gratification, but iTunes also possesses the element of surprise. Whenever my bank account randomly drops a sizable amount, I know that about three eons ago, I must have been buying too much music.
Every time I go on a binge, I tell myself I will never do it again. I have tried fasting from iTunes, I’ve tried switching to the curiously free podcasts, I’ve tried just listening to old music I bought and never paid much attention to, but nothing works. It’s a problem, and I’m slowly losing all respect for myself. Buying music temporarily makes me feel better, and I'm in the same vicious circle as all addicts. I seek comfort in the thing that ultimately causes me a great (or the greatest) deal of discomfort.