It's a Conspiracy!

My most recent Flash Fiction entry:

#ThursThreads - www.siobhanmuir.blogspot.com 

I was given a prompt to use the line “They take this seriously” in the piece, and a limit of 250 words.  This is also a snippet of "Under the Granite Lies", which is one of my paranormal works in progress. I was glad to be able to incorprate the prompt line. 

               Right before we got to the door I grabbed his arm.  “Aaron, I just, well…please remember that I never wanted you to have to know the things that you are about to find out."

             “Whatever I find out, I promise it won’t change the way I feel about you, Lauren,” he said. 

I clasped his hand as we walked through the house and down the hall toward the basement steps where the meeting room was.  “I can’t believe I’m walking through Camp David,” he murmured as we passed framed photos of past Presidents on the wall.

I knocked on the door, waited for it to buzz, and then pushed it open.  The room was empty, so we slid into two chairs in the back row.    

A few moments later, the door on the other side of the room opened and Dad came in. 

Aaron stood and saluted him, “Mr. President.”

“Please, it’s just Gerald here.”  He shook Aaron’s hand and patted his shoulder.

I imagined all the things Aaron might be thinking.  I was sure his mind was whirling with every possible scenario except the right one.    

The door opened again, and Victor came in, carrying a cardboard box.  He was followed by two guards, one whom we had seen earlier on the path to the garden.  They looked human enough, unless one was to accidently touch their icy cold skin.  

Victor wore a Coca-Cola logo t-shit.

“They take this seriously?” Aaron whispered.

“Oh yes.  Very.”  I assured him.

(photo of Camp David in winter, taken from Wikipedia.)

 

Desert Rain

In honor of the rain that Las Vegas has finally received, here is a poem I wrote in 2004 about redemption (from what? from anything.):

Ghost of a Chance

The desolate desert land mimics the way I feel now.
Dry, emotionless, empty.
No life.
I stand alone in the deafening silence, the grainy sands blowing around me.
Taunting me.
I have never felt so empty.

Then...
Above the orange mesas, a speckling of white clouds swarm like vultures.
Somewhere in the distance, a crow calls.
The clouds grow, billowing from white to gray to black.
I am afraid of what they bring.
There is nowhere for me to hide.
A loud crack of thunder rumbles in the distance.
I wince, not knowing what to expect.
I shield my heart with my hands as if to keep it from danger.
A sound rushes toward me, a soft vibration.
I stand strong, holding my ground, there is nothing else I can do but wait.
The rain falls at my feet and I slowly lift my face to it.
It feels cool and refreshing in this arid air, enveloping me in the sweet smell of newness.
I feel the rain on my skin, in my hands, and through my soul.
My heart opens to accept this gift of nature's redemption,
And every piece of my being feels refreshed and vibrant.

Even Old Dogs...

My most recent Flash Fiction entry:

#ThursThreads - www.siobhanmuir.blogspot.com 

I was given a prompt to use the line “She was pregnant” in the piece, and a limit of 250 words.  This is what I came up with (249 words):

Cassie bent over to pick up the deposit her old, black Schnauzer, Jake, had left on the sidewalk.  She let out a small murmur of disgust when she felt the heat reach her fingertips through the thin plastic. 

Jake perked his ears as if he were noticing something interesting behind her. 

“Cassie?” 

She whirled around, doggie bag dangling in hand to see Thomas Shea’s magnificence striding toward her in even step with his miniature Yorkie, Jezebel, who had belonged to his late mother.    

“Hi Tom,” Cassie managed after swallowing hard. 

The dogs greeted each other affectionately, and Jake immediately set to sniffing Jezebel’s backside.

“Jake, stop it,” Cassie urged him away, not wanting a repeat performance of the mounting demonstration that he had somehow managed the last time she was lost in conversation with Thomas.  “It’s ok; I think he’s too old for anything to work anymore.”  

“Well, Cassie, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.  It appears that you and I are going to be spending some time together soon.”

“Oh?” She inquired.

“It seems, well, the vet told me she was pregnant.”  He nodded down at Jezebel who seemed to be smiling, if dogs could smile.

Cassie stared at him wide eyed.  “I don’t understand.  How could this have happened?  Jake was only on her for a minute!”

“Do you need me to give you a personal demonstration?”  He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling.  “Apparently you can, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks.”

I got positive feedback from the contest host in the form of a comment: 

“Bwahahahaha! I love it, Kay! :D”  -  Siobhan Muir

And, that made my day!  ;-)

Connection

A friend recently shared his philosophy about Facebook with me, and I have to admit that I think he is on to something.

It’s all about “connection”.

Of course it is, right?  It’s amazing to find that old girl (or boy) friend and see how fat they’ve gotten, or how successful they are.  Isn’t it?  Doesn’t it feel good to reconnect with your first boss, your first employee, or your high school gym teacher?  It’s great right?  You send a few sentences, you catch up, and you make well-meaning promises to meet over a drink to discuss more. 

Does it happen? No.  Likely the only thing that will happen is that you will run across their name a few times a year when Facebook randomly decides that it’s time to poke them or write on their wall.  Then you will remember your excited agreement to meet up and discuss life, only those plans are now six months old.  Or more.  

My friend believes that maybe some people just aren’t meant to connect again, and that the mystical connection fairy of Facebook has somehow thrown a wrench into the cosmic "way of things." (I’m paraphrasing here.)   

Perhaps he is right.  

So what now?  Do I disconnect?