Month: March 2021

The Little Trooper

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Linda G Hill’s  prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is Run.

(Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.)

When I was about seven years old  I belonged to this group called The Bluebirds. I think they had something to do with the Girl Scouts or something. Anyway, I wanted to join because they did crafts and went on field trips and you got to earn badges.

My parents  probably had their doubts about me and other kids in that kind of activity  because in dog training language I was not what you would call ‘socialized’  but they let me join up and once a week I went to meetings and indeed we did get to do crafts and nature projects and as I sucked at every single thing we did.

I failed at macaroni art, I failed at sandwich making, I failed at group activities like singing because I could not remember the words. Plus, I couldn’t sing.  It was pretty bad and the worse thing was I knew I was hopeless at everything we did,  but I really did think I’d get it together and one of my ‘tasks’ would be stellar.

My troop leader did recognize my enthusiasm so she helped me fix some of the train wrecks I was supposed to work on and I got my little badges. I taped them to my wall because I didn’t realized we were supposed to sew them on our vests.

I was quite the little Trooper.

In case you are wondering, no I wasn’t accepted into this my troop and the only friend I had in there was a girl whose brother who went to jail for stealing cars.

Her Dad used to get drunk and drove around on the school playground on his dirt bike ( sometimes during school hours ) and her Mom used to get into fist fights at the bar in town on Fridays.

Every single Friday.

But at least her art projects didn’t look like accidents and she could carry a tune. Plus if anyone gave her a hard time she’d egg your house or steal your toys and leave them in the middle of the road for cars to run over.

Yeah. We actually still are friends- anyway-

I was a creep. I was the one and only Bluebird Troop creep. To bad they didn’t give out badges for that one because I’d have nailed that baby.

So one day I’m walking behind some of the girls in my troop and one turns around and looks at me. I honestly thought they were going tell me to catch up and I’d walk with them.

Instead this girl says, ” Hey. It was your turn to bring treats. ”

I stood there and then I said, ” I forgot. ”

” Well go home and tell your Mom you need to bring treats. It’s your turn! Go on! Shoo! Run! Go home and get the treats, it’s your turn. ” then she leaned down, picked up a rock and threw it at me- she was a good shot. It’ got me right above the eye and it made my ears ring.

They turned around and walked up the block and I turned around and I wanted  to run, but my ears were ringing and I was a little dizzy. Besides. I wasn’t sure where to run too. Home? Where there were no treats to bring to my Troop? Was that even an option?

When I got home I sort of wandered into our house and my Dad was sitting on the couch watching TV.

By then my eye was black and my hair was it’s usual messy tangled mess. My face was probably dirty too. In other words I looked the same as always.  Finally I told him. ” I want to quit Bluebirds. ”

”  I don’t know why you wanted to join in the first place. ”

Like I said, I wanted to run but I didn’t because I had no where to run too.

 

 

The Study

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RDP Wednesday: Dangerous

Artist: David Ospina

My study is full of bright sunshine

the cool air smells like apples and freshly cut grass

my desk is a happy jumble of books by Dickens, wind up toys with metal keys

my laptop and just enough room for a snack, my cat

important things like that.

 

My guitar stands in the corner

my curtains are never closed, the door is always opened

my favorite chair as Goldilocks would say, feels just right

there’s a floor lamp near the heater that hasn’t been plugged in for years,

I just like the  dancing elephants stenciled  unevenly on the soft gray shade.

 

My study is a friendly place

I have pictures of cats and dogs and butterfly yo-yo’s

hanging on my light green  walls

I even have a bulletin board that I turned into a dart board

and I have an old Nintendo system so I can play Donkey Kong when I’m bored.

 

But when I sit down

and I start to work, the  door slams shut

the dogs on the walls grow jagged fangs, my desk turns into a maze littered with

broken bits of reality and from the hall I can hear my family say:

 

” Shhh, she’s writing. You know how she gets when she is writing.”

If Your Name Was Mara Petgrave

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For Fandango’s Flashback Friday  I have chosen a story I wrote in 2008

It’s called:

If Your Name Was Mara Petgrave

With a name like Mara Petgrave nothing you can ever do or say will ever shock or scare people. No one will ever expect you to wear anything else besides black and if every one of your six husbands died shortly after you were married and you walked into a big inheritance every single time-

No one would notice.

If your name was Mara Petgrave and you lived down the street from a family in Fall River Massachusets and one of the two sisters  just happened to mention, down her long and snobby nose,   that with your dark looks and dark eyes you could be mistaken for one of those Sideshow women that danced with snakes,  you might be moved by their quip about the snakes to take up an Ax and dish out about 81 whacks and you may have gone for 40 more on top that.

Because  if you had name like Mara Petgrave you might think that the chance to watch someone else dance at the end of a rope for what you had done was funny.

With a name like Mara Petgrave no one would ask why it was that you never seemed to age and why they never saw you laugh or cough or sneeze.

Or blink.

If your name was Mara Petgrave you could work with the dead in a Funeral Home and no one would ask why it was that on your first day of work you stood over a very messy corpse and then looked up and said, ” so, where’s a good place to grab some lunch? ”

If your name was Mara Petgrave you might get bored with doing all these dark deeds and not once…. even for a minute get any sort of recognition for being the most Macabre Danseur in the field.

All because of that name of yours.

So if your name was Mara Petgrave you might change your name to say

….Anita Marie Moscoso

I’m Just Playing With Your Brain, Bob

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These are fun and sassy short 15 second horror Challenge clips, ( except for the first one which I just happen to love, so I’m posting it ).

If you’d like to share your thoughts on them ( especially the third one ) I hope you will jot it down in the comment section.

Anita Marie.

When horror fiction meet reality:

This caused a buzz because on the surface it looks like a cut  ( or axed ) and dried horror story. But the question is, who was the real monster here?