July’s prompt word. Have at it, folks! 😁
“Keep it stable, son, you got this,” a voice yelled over the sound of the loader.
“Steady as she goes, Orin,” the tugboat captain growled to his first mate. “Straight as an arrow into the slip.”
“One foot in front of the other,” one friend said to another, watching the activity at the docks below. “We’ll get through this somehow, together.”
“Don’t rock the boat, baby. (Rock the boat) Don’t rock the boat, baby…,” played softly on the car radio where the two friends sat.
“We got this,” the friend continued. “The trick is to move slowly, stay balanced, and plan our moves carefully.”
“Yeah, yeah, Derek, I get it,” the other man responded. “No sudden moves, no drawing attention to ourselves, no standing out…”
“Exactly!,” Derek agreed. “Look, Mark, I know it’s tough, but it’s better for everyone in the end.”
“But is it, Derek?,” Mark had to ask. “Do you really believe this swill you’re selling?!”
Mark’s tone took on a mocking quality. “One day at a time, Bro. Keep it simple, stupid. Slow and steady wins the race… every time!” Exasperated, Mark snapped. “Doesn’t seem like much of a race to me, man!”
“Due diligence, Mark,” Derek answered calmly. “It’s about integrity. We do our duty. We maintain the status quo. We stay safe, and protect our own… That’s how we survive.”
“But then nothing ever changes, Derek! Can’t you see that?! Day in and day out, always the same! Monotony in a nutshell, dude!… Or a vice grip,” he added under his breath.
“Order over chaos, Mark. That is the goal here. We only achieve that through stable, steady progress. Radical changes serve no one well…”
“But change is exactly what we need!,” Mark vented. “How long are we supposed to play this game? When do we get our chance to be free?!”
“Who knows?,” Derek whispered. “But freedom comes at a cost, and its price is simply too high today… Maybe tomorrow will be better.”
*** *** ***
Mark sat up suddenly, shaking, gulping in the hot summer air. A hand reached for him…
“You okay,?” Derek asked, his voice a welcome comfort in the darkness.
Shaking his head to clear the last of the sleep induced cobwebs from his brain, Mark lay back down to snuggle with his partner. “Yeah, I’m good. Just another nightmare is all.”
“Don’t let it get to you, baby,” Derek said calmly, pulling him close. “We’ll get through this somehow. Together.”
Mark steadied his breathing as he settled in more comfortably next to Derek. “Yeah, I know. We got this.”
Outside the sounds of the harbor played on, a common refrain in the predawn hours…
“Keep it stable, son… You got this…”
Anyone else feel up to the challenge of writing a short story/poem from the second person point of view? That would be narrating the story to “you,” as my blessed grammar teachers are helping me understand… I’m including the link to rawgod’s example story because I couldn’t reblog it for some reason.
TRIGGER WARNING: the subject matter involves rape, so if this triggers you, please do not follow this link…
Please post links to your stories in the comments section, so we can all appreciate your efforts! 😁
Ever wonder where your limits are, just how much you can take?
Standing on the precipice, prepared to take the leap?
How many obstacles can you overcome?
How many sorrows can you shoulder?
How many more tears are left in you to cry?
How much more pain can you, yourself, endure?
Are there limits to what we do?
Or must we carry on, as we always have
making something out of nothing
because we simply can’t surrender?
*** *** ***
Standing on the brink myself
wishing I could jump.
But something keeps my feet planted
after the rest of me has given up.
It isn’t noble, selfless, vain or brave;
just ignorant, habitual and desperate.
If only I knew how…
to leave it all behind…
to go and test my limits
on another training ground…
Caught up in my own drama
a single person play
a solo performance
on a tiny little stage…
Writing, and rewriting, the dialogue
rearranging the scenes
so very little to work with
so very much to change…
Missing out on what’s around me
as I toil at my craft
convinced if I can get it “write”
the rest will fall in place…
Delusion, like fantasy, the dreamer’s media
those foundational mis-sumptions
guaranteed to lead one astray…
Yet here I am, complaining again
how nothing turns out “right”
when caught up in my own drama
directing the soul actor of my play…
It was a dark place full of shadows and regret. Dim lights created enough illumination to navigate the space, but not to illuminate life. The brightest spotlights reflected off the bottles and mirrors behind the polished bar, creating an oasis of beauty, an illusion of hope. Just one more drink should do it…
Two men, nondescript in the dimness, sat at that oasis, each seeking comfort of their own. The bartender approached the one on his left, whose glass was nearly empty. “Ready for another, Mac?”
“Mac” picked up his glass and studied it for a moment. “Hmm…,” he thought aloud. “No. No, barkeep, I think I’ll switch it up. Bring me a Corona instead!”
“A Corona?,” asked the bartender. “Since when do you drink that crap?”
“Since right now,” the unnamed regular “Mac” responded. “I’ve been seeing these ads on tv. Every time something ‘good’ happens, ‘a Corona gets its lime.’ I need something good to happen to me. Maybe this will help.”
“Suit yourself, Mac,” the bartender smiled. “I’m all for supporting positive change!”
“Hey, I’ve seen those ads, too,” the other unnamed regular added, not so completely isolated as he had at first appeared. “Kind of like the idea that every time a bell rings…”
“… an angel gets their wings!,” all three chorused together.
The other regular rose from his bar stool and stumbled down to sit next to “Mac.” “I think I want to try one of them Coronas, too,” he said to the bartender. “I could sure use some ‘good’ in my life.”
“First round is on the house,” the bartender announced. “We can’t usually give this stuff away, and if it helps you gentlemen out, that would be a good thing in itself!”
The second man smiled crookedly. “Looks like my luck is changing already,” he slurred happily. Turning toward his new drinking buddy, he tried to start a conversation with Mac.
“So… what brings you here on this sunny afternoon?,” he asked sloppily.
Chuckling softly, Mac responded with questions of his own. “Oh, is it sunny outside today? Is it afternoon already?”
“Ummm,” the other drunk replied. “According to my phone it is, indeed, both. Weather app says the sun is shining, and the clock says 3:15,” he explained, quite seriously. “And they must call it a ‘smart’ phone for some reason…,” he added.
Mac laughed. “LOL!!,” he said, enjoying his own humor. “At least one of us knows what’s what!”
His demeanor darkened a bit… “My wife left this morning. Says she isn’t coming back.”
“Ohhh, dude, sorry!,” his companion commiserated. “I remember that day myself. Said she’d had enough of my drinking, and just walked right out…”. He was quiet for a moment, lost in that memory. “Y’know, I don’t think she ever looked back,” he added sadly.
Mac studied his drinking buddy for a long breath. “Yeah… don’t think mine will either. How do you get used to being alone?”
“Ahhh, that!,” the other drunk answered with a sad chuckle. “Not so hard to do when you focus on the positive: completely guilt free drinking!,” he explained, raising his bottle in a drunken salute.
“Completely?,” Mac asked. “You don’t seem completely free at all…,” he added wisely, being just a tad less drunk than his companion.
“Yeah… well close enough for me,” the other man snapped testily.
Silence ensued as each man sipped his beer and settled in his misery… After a while, Mac took up the conversation again.
“Have you ever been to AA?,” he asked the other drunk.
“You mean the auto club?,” his buddy responded, confusion clouding his expression. “Is that even a real place? I kinda thought that was just a phone number to call when you got stranded in your car…”
“No, no, no,” laughed Mac. “I’m talking about the meetings you go to when you want to stop drinking. They meet all over town, mostly in churches. A bunch of ex-drunks helping current drunks to get sober.”
The unnamed one looked at Mac astonished. “Why would any self-respecting drunk do that?!,” he asked sincerely.
“Umm… maybe because most drunks aren’t self-respecting at all,” he answered honestly. “I went,” he added. “A few times. It was kinda cool, actually…”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Mac’s new friend disagreed. “Nope. Can’t even imagine how a bunch of Bible totin’ ex-drunks trying to change me could be cool. Not in this Universe or any other!”
Laughing outright, Mac responded. “Nah, man, they’re not like that at all! Once you get past the ‘program’ crap, they’re all really kinda like us. They tell great stories. Relatable, you know?”
“Hey, I think there might be one tonight, just down the street. We could go check it out, and you’ll see what I mean.”
His companion turned a bewildered gaze his way. “But we’re drunk, Dude! Isn’t that kinda against the rules?”
“Not really, man,” Mac responded seriously. “So long as we’re not disr… distrupt… disrup… As long as we just sit and listen, they won’t throw us out.”
The other drunk tipped his bottle to stare into its light amber depths. “This stuff looks like piss,” he commented. “Kinda tastes like it, too!” Turning to face Mac he added. “Why not? I could use a good story, and maybe a laugh or two.”
Mac slapped him on the shoulders like an old friend. “Let’s go then! We should leave now, though, since I’m just drunk enough to make finding this meeting difficult!”
Stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, both men covered their eyes against the sudden brightness. Leaning into one another for support, they stumbled blindly down the sidewalk. The other drunk turned toward Mac and spoke sincerely. “Hey, Dude, I don’t even know your real name!”
Laughing, Mac responded, “just call me Corona today.”
His companion smiled. “Cool! Then I can be Lime! ‘Cause, you know, every time sumthin’ good happens…”
“… a Corona gets its Lime!,” they chorused together as they stumbled into the street.
They never even saw the bus that hit them, or felt the pain of bones breaking…
And across the street at a little gift shop, two chimes began ringing in the chaos that ensued. Two distinctively different tones, unheard behind the shouting and the sobbing and the sirens…
My contribution for this month’s #BlogBattles. 😁
Here we go again… 😁
June 2019 Blog Battle
Our word this month is:
You can start writing at any time, but make sure you post your story by the 30th of the month to have your story shared here and on social media.
Once you’ve posted your story to your blog, put a link to it in the comments section, and we’ll add your story to the Battle Stories Line-up post.
Make sure to check back and read some of the stories of your fellow battlers. Leave comments to encourage these writers, and share each other’s stories!
The Prompt Word will be given the First Tuesday of Every Month.
Post your story by the 30th of the Same Month.
- 1000 words max (give or take a few)
- fictional tale (or true if you really want)
- Any genre that fits within PG-13 (or less) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
View original post 110 more words