Wishes by Featured Author: JM Paquette

At our meetings, we often do 5-minute exercises using 3-5 words to create a short-short story. Sometimes, those stories are continuous from exercise to exercise. Here’s one of those from JM PAQUETTE!

• Graham cracker

•Bookmark       

• Limp

            I looked down at my hands, then back up at the djinni. “Are you sure?” I asked it. 

The creature nodded sagely, gesturing to my hands, “You must choose your reward for freeing me,” it repeated. 

            “What about my three wishes?” I asked. 

            “Wishes?” it repeated, clearly confused. 

            “Yeah,” I pointed at the newly shined lamp sitting on the counter in front of me. “That’s the deal with a djinni. I  rub the lamp; I get the wishes. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with either of these.”
            I looked down at my hands: my right held what appeared to be an ancient bookmark, the material glorious against my skin, and lovely with scroll work, but still just a scrap of fabric. 

My left land held a stack of three perfectly shaped graham crackers, the bottom now feeling a bit  limp as it absorbed the sweat from my palm.

            “I offer you wondrous treasures,” the djinni explained. “So great that you cannot have both. You must decide which you will have.”

            “Crackers and a place to mark my page?” I asked. “I don’t know what kind of world you’re from, but I can get crackers from my cabinet right now, three different varieties, and I have bookmarks stashed in every book I own.”

            “They are not merely food and markers,” it snapped, looking annoyed. “Clearly, the old tales have faded during my time away.” A ghostly hand gestured to the bookmark. “That marks the page of any book you wish to read in the world.”

            “Like any book?”

            The djinni nodded. “Is there a book in the world or the history of the world you’d like to read? Think of it, and that so-called scrap of material will bring it to you for as long as you wish.” I held it more carefully in my hand after that. 

            “And these?” I looked at the crackers. 

“The finest food to be found in the world,” the djinni declared. “Think of it, and it shall be yours.”

• Post-it             

• Sulphur           

• Stolen

            I took a sip of my tea, the liquid tasty and satisfying, but there was a moment where I wondered if it would be better if I had chosen the crackers and had the best food in the world. Then again, considering the loopholes I had discovered, it probably wouldn’t apply to drinks anyway–just food. And then I’d have great food and disappointing-in-comparison drinks.

            No, I had made the right choice with the book mark. 

            I stared at the book on the table before me, the slight smell of sulphur wafting from the pages. I wondered where it had been stored to smell like this. I didn’t think the Pearl poet would have been making deals with demons, but I could never be sure. I frowned before touching it. I was fairly sure that the Lost Tales of the Pearl poet hadn’t been hidden away in some museum archive, but I did not want a repeat of the last fiasco when I’d been happily reading the First Shakespeare Folio to be interrupted by a news story about a theft at the British Museum. Luckily, no one thought to search the house of a simple barista in Chicago for the stolen manuscript, but if they had, I didn’t know how I would explain how the book got here. 

            I looked at the post-it note stuck the wall above the table, reached out, and put a check mark next to the Pearl poet. Eventually, I’d work my way through all of the pre-Christian Dark Ages and move on to the Middle Ages. 

            All that French, though, I thought. Good thing the bookmark lets me understand the book, no matter the language it was written in. I was having fun with the Old English names in Pearl, no doubt butchering the pronunciation enough to make Tolkien roll over in his grave. One of these names would conjure a demon if I wasn’t careful.

Waiting for Dinner – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Myth
• Glitter
• Leather

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

LISA BARRY:

Deirdre walked into the club like she owned the place. She went most places like that so it wasn’t exactly a change for her. She strode up to the bar and met the eyes of the man serving drinks.

“Jameson, straight,” she told him. He nodded and served her drink before getting back to the patron he had ignored before her. Taking a sip, she let the firey drink trickle down her throat in satisfaction.

She leaned back on the bar letting her long coat fall to the side to show off her perfectly shaped, leather wrapped body. There was glitter perfectly placed under her eyes and down her throat. Tomorrow she might change it up. Maybe hit a square dancing bar or maybe, a tinder date.

But tonight, supposedly just a myth, she waited for her dinner to seek her out.

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ANNE CARGILE:

“While I appreciate spending time with my bestie, if you really hadn’t wanted attention, maybe you could have laid off the leather,” Jas remarked.

Cynthia stretched, her boobs straining against the tight purple and black corset and then winked at her friend.  “I can’t help it.  A girls gotta have a little something, something to feel good about.  Why should the glitter and polish just be for work?”

“You know,” Cynthia commented, “it’s a myth that succubus can only have sex for food.  Take me, I’m no sex vamp.  Can’t even remember the last time I got down and dirty with someone.  True, it’s been harder since the social distancing thing took over, but at least I learned how to feed a sip at a time instead of gorging.”

Several men at the bar had turned to watch when Cynthia’s body had gone taut against the restraints of her outfit and Jas just sighed.  It was no use.  Cyn was going to sin.

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DALIA LANCE:

“You have to be effin kidding me?” Sandra looked down at the small box in front of her.  It was a leather bodysuit, a unicorn horn headband and four mason jars of pink and silver glitter.

“This is nuts. What is even supposed to be happening?” her voice filled with regret. When Tammy had asked her to take on one of her gigs tonight so she could go to a concert she assumed it was just a shift at the club.

Shrugging Tammy picked up the body suit “You’re like a magical creature. You’re a myth come to life.”

“No what I am is weirdo’s fairytale” Sandra was liking this idea less and less. “So, what is it I am supposed to do exactly?” a sigh escaped her lips as she took the leather from Tammy’s hands.

“You simply prance around and throw glitter on him” Tammy said trying her best to make it sound not so bad.

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JM PAQUETTE:

The vampire stared at her, sexy face now disappointed and bordering on frustration. “Did you seriously just ask me why I don’t glisten in the sun?” He glanced down at his pale, but certainly not shiny skin. “Does this look like glitter to you?” He scowled. “Next you will want to know where my leather pants are, right?” He rubbed his hands against frayed blue jeans. “Do you have any idea how hot leather is? I am not Jim Morrison, okay? Leather pants only work for rock stars whose groupies don’t care what they smell like!” He shook his head, years of frustrated disgust pouring out of him. “If you’d read an actual book for once instead of all of these damned romance novels, you might actually learn something true!” He picked up a paperback with a dark, leather-clad hero on the cover and tossed it across the room.

‘Do…do you mean that there are actual books with true stories about vampires in them?” she asked, hesitant but curious despite herself.

He gave her a look as if she were a simpleton. “Have you ever heard of myths?” he snapped. “Where do you think all those old stories come from?” He snatched her phone from where it sat on the edge of her nightstand and started swiping angrily.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up, but not daring to take the phone from him.

“I’m ordering you a copy of some Edith Hamilton, for starters, “ he snapped. “What’s your CVC code?”

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JACKLYNE BARD:

The little girl was covered in glitter, and her boots were made of fine leather, though they were very worn out. Her shirt was pink and had Myth written in bold letters on the front and back. The cat watched her skip around to the gate of the garden. Something was not right. The boy shifted a little but didn’t change his position. His face grew very pale when he finally caught sight of the girl. “Myth.” He breathed in horror and pointed his gun straight at her chest. The cat heard another noise from beyond the wall. Three more guys were walking in their direction.

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Bearing Witness – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Lamp
• Cold
• Convertible

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

JM PAQUETTE:

Jerry sneezed again, and Mara looked over at him, “Do you want me to put the top up?”

He shook his head no, wiping his face with a handkerchief, and she gave him a longer look. There were a few things she had learned about her traveling companion in the last 24 hours since she had found him wandering along the highway, like his unnerving tendency to stare at her when she was trying to sleep instead of watching the road, but she hadn’t thought he was the type for allergies. Then again, they had left the desert behind now, the convertible driving up into forested areas with ancient trees bearing witness to their journey.

Mara wasn’t sure how much farther Jerry would want to go with her. She considered stopping at a motel, imagining the scene as she grabbed a snack: Jerry wasn’t bad looking, if a little travel stained. His face was scruffy, his skin weathered from a life outside, though she wondered what he might actually look like under civilized light somewhere, a lamp to shine some UV lights and reveal his flaws. Other than the occasional cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, Mara was fairly sure this relationship was going to last another night.

He sneezed again, and she gave him another look.

Maybe she was wrong, after all. If he was going to sneeze his way through Tennessee, Mara decided, she might have to eat him sooner.

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JACKLYNE BARD:

The cat suddenly felt really cold, the boy was so still one might mistake him for a statue. It was twilight and the street lamp flickered on. There was the sound of the neighbor’s convertible revving to life in the silence. Still the boy waited. Finally, there was a faint scuffing sound like boots on the pavement. The cat looked to the source of the sound which was coming from the other side of the wall. This was an odd little girl skipping down the road. This was out of place since the plague. So much so, it made the hair on the cat’s back stand on end.

LISA BARRY:

Laura stood by the lamp post and watched the traffic wain. Devon should have arrived by now. She pulled her pink designer sweater closer. It was one of those convertible styles, she currently had the smooth silky side on the inside and wished it was the soft fuzzy side instead. The temperature was dropping quickly, getting to be downright cold.

She pulled the phone from her pocket and looked at it again. No incoming calls, no texts. She had already left two messages and sent four texts. She gave up and clicked on the uber app. Her driver would arrive in thirteen minutes.

When Marcus arrived to pick up his fair, the only thing waiting on the sidewalk was some fancy pink thing that he probably couldn’t even trade for a cold dinner.

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ANNE CARGILE:

Jasmine looked at her friend and gave her a wry smile.  “That was cold my friend.”

Cynthia sniffed.  She didn’t really care.  She wasn’t on the market and had zero interest in dealing with another human in her life in that way. Besides tonight was her night off. She reached over and adjusted the lamp next to their table.  Whoever had designed the lighting at this restaurant should be shot she thought.

Jasmine shook her head.  “You know the guys we meet out here are potentially convertible to clients.  It wouldn’t do you any harm to be a little nicer.  He thought you were hot.”

“I am hot,” Cynthia said disparagingly.  “That’s why I get paid the big bucks, but sometimes a girl just wants some time off, and I’d rather visit with you, enjoy several of these margaritas, and have to call an Uber.”

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ERIKA LANCE:

It was cold in the Convertible as it drove down the highway. The wind was stinging and the only light she had was the from the radio. The sky was dark with very few stars. She tried to remember how she got here. It was late when she finally had called it a night at the office. That was a familiar situation. She found herself being the last one to turn off her desk lamp. The overhead lights would shut off soon after most people left the office as they were triggered by the motion of someone moving. Typing into spreadsheets apparently didn’t cause much motion. She closed her eyes as her head throbbed again. She had to focus, or she would not have a chance to make it out of this. She assessed what she knew. Her hands and legs were bound and then bound together. There was a gag in her mouth to stop her from screaming. She was placed on her stomach and was able to move her head, but not enough to see who was driving. The song playing on the radio was a country song, it had changed a few times and they hadn’t passed a streetlight in the time she had been awake.

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Everyone’s Dead – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Radio
• Shotgun
• Steinway

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

JM PAQUETTE:

“Why are we in here again?” Sheila whisper-shouted at Randy as they raced back through what had once been the sales area to duck behind a counter. “This was a bad plan!”

“I told you!” Randy whisper-shouted back as they hid, still hearing the inevitable shuffle of pursuit coming behind them. “We need a radio!”

She glared at him. “For what? You want to listen to some music? They would hear it and come running,” she argued, sliding her head around the side to see if anything had breached the front doors yet.

“Not that kind of radio,” he growled, “a radio to talk to people.” He was rifling through their backpack now, clearly searching for something to use as a weapon.

“You don’t even know if there are any people out there,” she grunted in response, turning to scan underneath the counter. “Everyone’s dead.”

“What are you doing?” he squealed as the sounds of entry made their way passed the door and into the room and she continued to shuffle things around in the cubbies.

“I’m looking for a shotgun!” she told him. “This place must have had something in case it got robbed!”
Randy stopped his rifling to stare at her. “Rob them? This place sells pianos. You think people pay in cash for that? Just hand someone $15,000 in a stack?”
“Well, someone could steal something!”

“How? You think  you’re running out of here with a Steinway on your back?”

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JACKLYNE BARD:

Something was amiss in the garden, there was a young boy with a shotgun, listening to the radio. He had a shirt that said “Steinway” with a picture of a piano. He was pulling up weeds and tending to the garden as though it were his own. The cat watched fearfully from her distant perch on the garden wall. He sang along to whatever song was being played on his radio. Every now and then he would look up fearfully, as though someone was watching him. A clattering sound in a nearby house caused the boy to bolt from his task and hide behind the patio furniture, gun drawn and ready.

LISA BARRY:

The soft strains of a radio could barely be heard down the long hallway. Amelee walked slowly yet purposely toward it. Her heart skipping a beat before returning to normal was the only sign of her apprehension.

Just before she rounded the corner, the radio sound vanished and a soft song started to play in the unmistakable sound of a Steinway. Amelee entered the room with her shotgun raised.

The woman sat on the bench, her wrinkled fingers moving over the keys like magic. The gray hair piled on her head was unkempt though her clothing was immaculate and matched the time period from whence the woman was born.

“You’re early, dear,” the woman said.

Amelee pulled the trigger.

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ANNE CARGILE:

“Something tells me you’ll be fine,” Ginger said dryly.

There was a loud bang and both cats whirled, ears flattened and hissed at the sounds.  Ginger recovered first and bounded through the garden. Lily wasn’t far behind her, and soon they were joined by several other cats.  In a smooth flow of feline intention, they came upon a rather shocking sight.  A human boy was sitting on a porch, a shotgun across his lap, drinking from a jug. Even from across the yard Ginger could smell the fire water the child was imbibing.  She hissed low to her compatriots, warning them of the potential danger.  A radio sat on a table and was playing what sounded like piano music.  Ginger tilted her head. The boy was moving back and forth in time to the sounds, then abruptly stopped.  He lifted the gun and fired at the bushes opposite Ginger and her pack.

“You won’t get my grandma’s Steinway you beast!” he shouted. A loud growl was the only response.

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The Plague – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Cat
• Garden
• Plague

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

ANNE CARGILE:

The plague hit and Ginger wasn’t sure what to make of it.  She walked through the rose garden, stopping now and then to examine some of the finer specimens of the Royal collection that had been planted last spring.  They were doing nicely, having rooted well and their buds were just beginning to open.  There were no signs of pests, and Ginger was pleased to see that. Coming to the end of the path she met up with Lily. Lily oversaw the koi pond and was coming back from her morning check.

“So, what do you think?” Lily asked Ginger nervously. Ginger was the head cat on the property and all the felines looked to her for guidance.

“I think they brought it upon themselves,” Ginger replied indifferently. She began to clean her paw delicately reaching her tongue in between each claw, purposefully extending each one to show how sharp they were.

“But what are we going to do?” Lily whined. “We won’t be able to get our treats, and the food bowls will go empty soon.”

Ginger yawned and then looked pointedly at Lily’s heavy gut.

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JACKLYNE BARD:

The cat wandered her way through the garden, completely uninterrupted. A lot had happened since the plague. She remembered the time before, when the mean old lady at the other end of the garden would yell and throw things at her for being in here. The cat had consulted her owner who told her that it was perfectly fine for her to be there as long as she didn’t knock anything over. Her owner had died during the plague, and the cat sorely missed her. But she was still careful not to knock anything over when she walked through the garden. The mean old lady had died first though, so the cat had some nice quiet time with her owner before she passed as well.

LISA BARRY:

I watched the cat outside the sliding glass door. He was rolling on his back in the garden with the most relaxed look on his furry face. It was annoying really, when I thought about it. They just did their thing, had nine lives to spare and relied on no one for their wellbeing.

I snorted and then regretted it. The pain in my chest and stomach was almost more than I could handle. I had thought it was the plague until a certain someone showed up to correct my thinking. I was too tired and too much in pain to turn and look at the man sitting on my couch and waiting for me to die.

The pain showed me that it was most certainly not a dream. The bleeding bite marks on my hand agreed with that intelligent sleuthing. My throbbing neck and the taste of pennies in my mouth would have been the final clue.

I glanced out the door again and found the cat sitting right in front of me. His face was pressed again the glass, his pupils were full. He licked his lips and winked right before I died.

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JM PAQUETTE:

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Mark said, pushing aside the curtain to get a closer view through the old glass window pane, “but there seem to be a lot of cats in your garden right now.”

Lady Cottonly gave him a prim glance down the length of her nose, and Mark replied with a rakish grin. “Whatever are you suggesting, Mr. Darwin?” the old dame asked, voice a study in manners.

“Nothing untoward at all, madam,” he said formally, his words not matching the look he knew was still on his face. He was not surprised that he was discussing cats or gardens with the duchess, but putting the two together made him feel like he’d just asked her what color her panties were.

“It’s just the plague,” the Lady offered, sniffing delicately.

“I’m sorry?” he inquired, not sure what to make of her reply.

“Oh, you know–the plague,” she said again, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Like locusts and frogs plague?” he asked, curious now.

“Oh dear!” she said, excited, “I hope not! Why? Have the cats been joined by such creatures?”

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Your Hair is Like Fire – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Stumble 

• Lime 

• Fire 

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

DALIA LANCE:

As he stumbled closer, she noticed he had something in his teeth or his teeth were … green?  

 

Oh god she thought. Shayna had the same thought but hers was out loud. As he pulled up to high-top table leaning on it for support, he slurred the words “Your hair is on fire.” as a lime fell out of his mouth.  

 

“What?” Tabitha asked him as her hair was not on fire. 

 

“You hair…” belch “is like a fire” belch again “in my eyes”. 

 

“Wow Romeo” Shayna began “You really know how to make a girl all tingly.” 

 

The man looked at her and then back to Tabitha and then back again. They both could tell his eyes were trying to focus. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could he slid off the table to the ground. 

 

“Your hair is like fire” Shayna said to Tabitha teasing as she flipped her off. 

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LISA BARRY:

Just when Rory thought his life forfeit the dragon sneezed and then Rory was falling. He couldn’t tell you how but he had somehow managed to be tossed to the groves. As he fell, branches full of ripe limes wracked him at every turn. He landed with a thud on the ground.

The pain wrenched through him but seemed to fade a bit and he was shocked to find that nothing seemed to be broken though he felt a cut on his foot and his temple dripping his rich green blood. Panicking, he stumbled to his feet and moved away from the noise of the pubs destruction. The screams and fire was nothing compared to what the villagers would do to him if they found out his heritage.

The Fae were hated and feared above all other creatures in this sector. That was the very reason Rory had made it his home. The Fae were not known for their patience and kind ways and not a single one that he knew was interested in Rory breathing on the same plane.

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JM PAQUETTE:

“There, before my helpless sight, I see him stumbling, like a man in fire or lime,” the teacher recited the poem, and Bridget elbowed her classmate, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

“This is why I hate poetry,” she groaned. “What the hell is that? How do you stumble in fire or lime?” She leaned away, her face annoyed.

The teacher looked at them and paused in her recitation. “Do you have a comment, Miss O’Neil?” she asked, a finger pushing her horn-rimmed glasses up her long nose. “Something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Bridget shuffled uncomfortably in her chair, but then squared her shoulders. “Actually, yes. I do have a comment for the class.” She paused, clearly steeling herself for some big revelation. “Why can’t they just use normal words?”

The teacher tilted her head, face curious. “‘Normal words?’” she repeated. “What about these words are not normal?”

“Well, that fire or lime bit,” Bridget tried, latching on to the last thing she remembered. She hadn’t actually read the poem before class like they were supposed to, but she did have good recall of the teacher’s voice saying the words. There was a brief moment where she prayed that the next lines weren’t something really obvious, like fire or lime green fog. Then she’d feel like more of an idiot than she normally did when reading poetry.

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ALANNA J. RUBIN

Faron ran through the dark woods as quickly as he could – the branches tearing at his clothes that were already tattered and covered in dirt, his muscled arms and legs sliced by thorns. The roots that lined the ground made it almost impossible not to stumble, but he had to keep going – he had to get to the fire. He looked down at the lime green stone he clutched in his hand, the one he had stolen. The one he had promised to return to her, no matter the cost – even if it cost him his life. In the distance, the trees began to open as if they were beckoning him in deeper.

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Safe Word – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Plethora
• Stine
• Alcohol

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

JM PAQUETTE:

Seth considered the stein on the bar in front of him, watching the wooden edges warp from the crisp clarity of reality to the blurred edges of drunkenness. He tries to remember just how much alcohol he had consumed, and found that he couldn’t even remember when he had arrived at the bar, and, he realized, trying to look around, seeing black spots, and refocusing on the blurry-non-blurry mug, that he didn’t even know what bar he was in.

“‘Sappening,” he managed to say, but he wasn’t sure to whom. The word was long and syrupy, his perception twisted, and he reached out to touch the bar. His fingers met something smooth and silky, not at all what his eyes told him to expect to be underneath the mug, and he knew that it meant something, that he should be concerned about something. Again, he focused on the there-not there mug, and tried to think about lifting it to his lips. Had he drank from it? Had he even touched it? Could he touch it?

He reached it again, but still that strange warm silkiness beneath his questing fingers, though it looked like he was touching the edge of the bar. It was a familiar bar, brown wood, like every other inn he’d even gotten drunk in.

Drunk. His brain seized on the word. He’d had a lot to drink then. How much to drink?

“Plethora,” he breathed, the word escaping his mouth, but he wasn’t sure where it had come from. He didn’t think one could have a plethora of drinks, that alcohol wasn’t measured that way, and he saw the liquid as a huge lake before him, cool and clear.

“Really, pet?” a silky voice said as the mug vanished into surrounding darkness. “I didn’t expect the safe word yet.”

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LISA BARRY:

Rory cleaned what he thought was the twentieth stine that night. Looking around the packed pub, he didn’t think the dish washer job was going to slow down any time soon. Now that the dragon was slayed and rotting at the top of the hill, there was a plethora of alcohol being consumed. The ripe bodies of warriors filled the tables, and spilled out of the double doors. Ruckus laughter and bawdy jokes wafted into the nearby forest.

After years of being destroyed, the small town was finally rid of their nemesis. It had taken the band of fighters months to locate the beast, and they had lost many men in taking it down but at last, there would be peace. Rory smiled as yet another tray of stines was piled next to him.

He hurried, happy to help them revel in their victory. He had lost a cousin to the beast only last week. A terrible noise cracked above their heads as part of the roof was ripped off and a terrible roar echoed in the night. Rory felt himself wrenched from the pub and pulled into the sky.

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DALIA LANCE:

“I do not think you would say a “plethora” of drunks.”  Shayna said looking at the soccer team almost falling over themselves at the other side of the bar. 

 

“Well what would you call them? A gaggle of drunks?” Tabitha asked her taking a sip from her chocolate martini. 

 

“Maybe a herd?” Shayna said as she watched one of the loudest players pick up a beer stein shaped like a boot. As he tipped it back declaring “Dos Boot” all the beer splashed down his face. Instead of being upset the whole group cheered. 

 

“It is amazing what alcohol will do to a pack of drunks?” Tabitha said realizing she had made eye contact with one of the pack, and he was making his way over to their table. 

 

“Oh God” Shayna said realizing what has happened “I told you not to engage”.  

 

Tabitha downed the rest of her drink readying herself. 

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ALANNA J. RUBIN

Manny walked into the saloon, it had seen better days based on the plethora of bullet holes in the wood that made up the bar, but he was use to being in dangerous places. He walked over to the bartender, his spurs making an intimidating sound with every step. For a small town, the bar was fairly well stocked and there was more than one type of alcohol to choose from. “What will it be?” Asked the bartender.

“Whiskey,” Manny replied, he knew it was an unexciting choice, but reliable. “I’m looking for a man. His name is Eric Stein.”

“Never heard of him,” the bartender answered nervously.

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Valid Paranoia – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Bubble
• Pleasure
• Paranoid

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

DESIREE MATLOCK:

My first few weeks staying here, I had convinced myself I was on a much needed break from life, a perfect vacation. I lived in a bubble of margaritas, swimming in the pool, and making time with Enrique from Portugal.

But yesterday, the pleasure of swimming was interrupted by the oddest fleeting moment of something strange, a texture against my foot. When I dipped my feet below the seven foot mark in the deep end of the pool, I would have sworn there wasn’t any water there. I put in earplugs and decided to dive a bit deeper. I’d never, in all of my time staying in this cabana, tried to. As I reached the bottom of the pool, I found a pocket of air, in a perfect cube shape.

I realized with a thud that all my paranoia was valid. I’d been leery of why I’d received these tickets, had hounded Jack to tell me more, had tried to reason with the strange behavior of the flight attendants on my way here. But, I was obviously in a simulation.

As I sat cross-legged inside the air cube on the bottom of the pool, I tried to calm my breathing, and I planned my revenge.

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LISA BARRY:

Bubbles floated from the faery’s mouth as she danced across the stage. Meri had always loved the holiday show at the palace. The dancing, the food, the glitter and happiness.

It was the one time of year that the royals settled in with the people, together, on the ground level and enjoyed the revelries. There were a select few chosen, someone different every year, to serve the staggering quantity of food that had been prepared earlier in the day.

Meri had been chosen this year since she was newly introduced as a lady of the world. She didn’t care though, the time was her favorite and it gave her pleasure to serve her friends, family and just other people from her village. There was no call for paranoia, no concern or fear of being taken advantage of. It was the one time that death was the justice.

So together with the rest, she would laugh and sing and smile. But she would be very, very certain not to meet the eyes of one certain royal who had made his preferences clear much to her horror.

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ANNE CARGILE:

The bubbles were supposed to be fun, but Cindy didn’t think they were working for Andy the way they were supposed to.  At least, by the look on her boyfriend’s face, pleasure was not in the wheelhouse of what he was experiencing.

Cindy was in her own bubble next to him. The bubbles were clear, with a slight iridescence to them that made them look like something out of a fairy tale. They were also surprisingly springy to the touch, and Cindy found herself poking at the film that surrounded her.  it was quite temperate and comfy as it conformed to surround her body, and she and Andy had been told they could merge them, and  ‘share’ pleasure with each other, or they could maintain autonomy Another look at Andy’s face, and maybe this hadn’t been the best idea for a second date.  Cindy didn’t think she was being paranoid but she didn’t think there would be a third.

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ERIKA LANCE:

“You’re kidding me right?” bursting his bubble immediately.  

She knew he was trying to do something nice, but this was in fact disgusting. Trying new things, spicing them up so to speak was intended to bring more pleasure to the evening. Instead she was sure this smell would be in her hair and clothes.  

Matt looked at her with sad eyes. She could tell when he then scanned around, he was trying to figure out what he should do but paranoid he would make the wrong choice.  

She took in a deep breath and immediately regretted it as she began coughing. When she finally stopped Matt had thrown away his weird popcorn experiment and she walked up to him putting her arms around him and simply said “Why don’t we order Pizza?” 

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JM PAQUETTE:

“I hate to sound paranoid, darling, but is this really necessary?” Arlene gestured to the plastic bucket setup on top of a wheeled dolly, the entire area under and around it a muddy sludge of sad looking bubbles and wilted summer grass. “Do you expect to have to leave in a hurry?”

Her partner for the afternoon gave her a look that she supposed she would understand if she had known him more than a few hours, but at the moment, she just studied his face. Handsome, of course, and the rest of him pleasant enough should she decide she wanted that kind of pleasure later that night, but for the moment, he was just nice enough, just friendly enough for the people in the park to find him approachable and trustworthy. And they did find him so, apparently, judging by the amount of crumpled dollars shoved in the metal can set up a few feet away from what she had deemed the danger zone of soapy water.

He was a skilled bubble maker, too, wielding two sticks and four strings with ease, a slow moving choreographed dance that resulted in long tubes of bubbles that had the children leaping with joy, eager fingers happy to pop the smaller bubbles that slid away from the larger ones on top. Some of the large bubbles were so impressive, so impossible, that the children  just stood there gaping, hands held back, eager popping fingers forgotten as they marveled at the creations.

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ALANNA J. RUBIN

Garret smoothed out his pinstripe suit as he took to the stage. He always felt a little paranoid at the beginning every performance, he felt certain that his props would be missing or not function properly. However, the pleasure he got from performing was always worth the initial anxiety. Before the curtains rose, he took a deep breath and adjusted his top hat, tonight was going to be his ultimate performance, he was going to make the largest bubble sculpture the world had ever seen. Garret pulled the wand out of the special solution of soap he had developed over the years and he felt the blood rush from his face. This was not his wand. Then he heard a mysterious deep laugh echo from above.

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A Bit Out of Hand – an ISG Writing Exercise

These words were chosen:

• Tea
• Popcorn
• Plum

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy! 🙂

FEATURED AUTHOR

ALANNA J. RUBIN

Sarah picked up the tea pot and poured herself a cup of Earl Grey, her favorite, and sat down on the swing of her porch. It was a chilly night, so she pulled the plum colored fuzzy blanket across her lap. She had already brought out a bowl of popcorn and was ready to settle in for a while and relax from her crazy day. She thought back on it and frowned. Things got a bit out of hand, she was only going to cast a small spell to help get her paperwork done, but she had sneezed in the middle of the incantation and well, all the papers in the vicinity spontaneously went up in flame.

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LISA BARRY:

When Jon poured the tea that afternoon, Ellie noticed the strangest tug in her belly. Frowning, she spooned tea into her cup and watched him through her eye lashes as he spoke jovially to her brother Thomas about the upcoming match of some sport or another that boys tend to get into.

Ellie took a bite of plum biscuit and made a face before she remembered present company. She looked up and met Jon’s eyes. He winked at her then, her toes curled and her heart skipped. When he looked away to continue the popcorn string they were all making for the holiday ball, Ellie frowned once more.

What in the devil was going on? She felt this ridiculous draw to sit near him, to serve him biscuits or drag him outside for a walk. Elli glanced at her brother, Thomas and found him scowling at her. Her eyes went wide and he quickly looked between her and his friend.

Ellie’s mouth rounded as she sighed in realization.

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ANNE CARGILE:

“I really hate popcorn,” Marie said.  The toothpick she was using wasn’t working and only served to wedge the small hard shell farther up into her gum.

Sam snickered from the couch.  “Well, if you weren’t such a pig about it.”

“Watch it buster,” Marie warned. “Ow!” Marie had stabbed a little too hard and could taste the blood as it coated her tongue.  She took a sip of the iced tea that had been left on the counter to wash out the coppery flavor.  She gargled a little and then spit it into the sink.  Ugh, It was pretty bad she thought.

Sam walked up behind her and leaned over to look in the sink.  “Really got it bad, huh?”

“Be a plum and get me some floss, would you dear?” She asked.

Sam sighed.  “Fine.  But I get another hour on your lap when you’re done.”

“You poor kitten, never getting any love,” Marie consoled.  Sam got the feeling her sympathy wasn’t terribly sincere and hissed in annoyance.

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ERIKA LANCE:

“What the hell is that smell?” Violet asked covering her nose with the arm of her sweatshirt. She walked into the kitchen to see Matt pouring some sort of steamy sticky substance over popcorn.   

 

The smell grew worse the closer that she got to it. She clicked the fan on over the stove and then opened the small window letting in the frosty winter air.  

 

“So… What is it?” She said sounding just as annoyed as she felt. 

 

“Well” Matt started. The look on his face indicated he knew this was not already going to go well. “Remember how you wanted to try new things?” He asked and she nodded slowly. “Remember that you thought we could spice up movie night?” He waited for her to nod again but Violet simply tilted her head to the side. “Well… You love tea…” He breathed in deep “And plum tea to be exact” she felt her stomach begin to twist…. So, I made Plum Tea flavored popcorn… 

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DESIREE MATLOCK:

I was trying to find words to properly impart to my class the importance to American History of the Boston Tea Party when Principal Itiegha walked in and said that school was canceled for the day. Apparently, the government was down. Since going fully digital, it often did so. But we’d never gotten a snow day out of it. All the kids scanned themselves out, and started to get ready to wait in the pick-up room. Mr. Iteigha sent texts to all the kids to instead gather outside in the baseball field to watch history being made, but I was trying to get his attention, still rather miffed at having my lecture interrupted.

As the kids gathered, I tried talking to him about what a perfect opportunity it was to show a good American History movie, and that we had plenty of popcorn for a movie day, but he silenced me with an idle wave, his eyes never moving from the eastern sky.

Mr. Iteigha put his hand to his mouth as I joined him, along with many of the kids, in staring east. A bright pillar of light shot upward like a doric column from an oddly luminescent plum-colored cloud forming far on the horizon. I’d never seen anything like it.

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JM PAQUETTE:

Samantha considered the food on the table for a long moment, then turned to face the fairy in the kitchen. “Um, are you serving tea and popcorn?” At Martin’s eager expression, she tried to school her face, but he was too fast for her, flitting into the dining room and staring at her nervously.

“I was, yes, but should I not?” He glanced at the table, heavily laden with steaming teacups, the delicate china perched on small saucers that were filled with popcorn, the puffs surrounding each cup in a sea of white and yellow. Looking closer, she saw that the rim of each cup had a piece of sliced fruit wedged into it.

“Uh…” she began, trying to identify the fruit. “Are those plums?”
Martin’s normally pale face began to redden, a deep line of crimson working its way up from the collar of his white shirt. “Yes, plums and tea and corn are the cornerstones of civilized conversation,” he insisted, voice faltering as he saw her face, “but not so much in this realm, I gather.”

“It’s definitely going to spark some conversation,” she admitted, reaching for a cup and lifting it. The smell of herbal tea and fresh plums wafted–and it honestly wasn’t a bad combination.

The buttery popcorn sliding off the saucer and trailing on the table and surrounding floor, however, was another matter.

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Vampire Book Group – an ISG Writing Exercise

These words were chosen:

• Cookie
• Practical
• Silver

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy! 🙂

FEATURED AUTHOR

DESIREE MATLOCK:

I brought a tray of cookies out to the living room, but there wasn’t any room on the coffee table beside the dozens of other goodies we had already brought out. I’d overdone it maybe, because I’d made it past silver and ceramic trays into the silly plastic kinds from the bottom of the cabinet.

Jess stopped me before I tipped something off the low table, “I think it might be more practical to bring in a folding table in from the garage and set it up against the wall. This Vampire Book Group probably won’t eat all of this, and they might need the space for their books or notes or whatever.”

“Sure, although this doesn’t even seem adequate for twenty people.”

“Oh, it’s more than adequate,” Jess said. I didn’t understand, but believed her. She’d asked me to host, something up with her apartment after all. She’d thanked me repeatedly for inviting them, but I was happy to help.

After we brought the table back, and I’d rearranged all the food, I asked Jess what book they were reviewing in the Book Club.

“Eat Pray Love,” she answered, helping me rearrange the tea tray.

“That’s not a Vampire book,” I said, confused.

Jess’ eyes seemed to be glowing somewhat as she turned to me, smiled oddly and responded, “No… it’s not.”

LISA BARRY:

Marni looked at the silver frosting on the cookie and wondered how the color was gotten. Did they put actual silver in the frosting? Wasn’t silver bad for the body? It was certainly bad for her body. Being a fairly new werewolf, Marni stayed as far from silver as she could. But would the cookie’s frosting have the same effect?

Roydan, her maker, was buying the bakery clean out of croissants. Apparently, the rival pack they were visiting had a fondness of the baked good and since they were trying to work out a truce, bring them seemed like a game booster.

Being a lawyer in her precious life, Marni was brought along as the practical and mostly law abiding XXX. She actually enjoyed it and hoped that they would come to an agreement that would get her a feather in her cap.

She preferred arbitrating too her courtroom law days and despite the pain of the change, this new life suited her well.

The smell of death brought her head down from the clouds and she glanced furtively around the bakery. Roydan had straightened she noticed but it was a new and different smell of death.

Roydan whispered for her ears only, “Vampire.”

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JM PAQUETTE:

Cookie considered the silver dress, which was more practical than the gold strings that were somehow supposed to cover key parts of her body. Still, she thought, holding the thin tube of silver mesh and lace out in front of her, the silver didn’t seem to do much more.

She cursed, knowing that even she called for another dress, the alien servant would just bring her something more outlandish, insisting that covering skin was rude, that the more material she wore, the more offended her hosts would be.

She glared at the metal band around her wrist, knowing that she still had hours to go before the machine teleported her back. She was going to give the Home Office so much crap for this when she got back.

Why did she have to end up in the stripper alien world? This place was clearly meant for Brittany; she stripped regularly and for fun, like on stage. She would know exactly what to do with those strings.

It’s because my name is Cookie, she fumed, dragging the silver “dress” over her head and struggling to make it fit properly. Everyone just assumed things.

She thought of her mother’s love for chocolate chips and baking and sighed. The world was a lot simpler back then, back before teleporting and galaxy hopping and Home Offices that judged people by birth names instead of previous professions or even current hobbies.

She took in her appearance in the mirror.

Not bad, she allowed. If she had to do this, at least she looked good by Home Office standards.

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ANNE CARGILE:

The coven sat around the table, waiting in eager anticipation for the return of their beloved, and long-lost member. The table was laid as if for high tea, and each witch (or warlock) sat with barely suppressed glee at the array of treats, cookies, and scones before them.

The food wasn’t just for indulgence, but also had a practical purpose. It was awfully difficult to get angry at a fellow witch (or warlock) when delightful blends of flour, animal fat, and sugar spun into deliriously decadent concoctions were melting on the tongue.

A witch with silver in her hair shifted a bit as the silence stretched out. The aromas of tea and cakes continued to create salivating mouths. A warlock gently wiped his mouth with a napkin. The clock chimed the hour, witching hour of course and all heads turned as one to the doorway as a small blue dragon flew in and settled on the mahogany chair at the end of the table.

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