Mystery Man

 

 

 

Harry left the theater disgusted.  Never in his whole 11-years of life had he been more heated.  He stomped out the doors, grabbed his bike and rode off.

What a waste, he thought to himself.  All that time!  All that money…gone!  Mystery Man, what a stupid name for a movie.  Harry angrily pedaled his bike down the asphalt in the July heat, thinking about this grand mistake he just made. 

Harry recalled six months prior when the announcement was made.  His family's Sunday dinner, ham and mashed potatoes as usual, included one bit of conversation by Harry's father mentioning he had seen an advertisement for a new movie coming out this summer.  It was called Mystery Man and was predicted to be one of the year's best.  That title had produced a spike in Harry's interest.  Mystery Man sounded exactly like the type of movie Harry loved.  He idolized Lon Chaney and had already seen The Hunchback of Notre Dame and The Phantom of the Opera.  This upcoming movie, at least according to the title, should achieve parity with these other amazing films.

Sweat started to accumulate under his shirt but he didn't care.  In his mind, the quicker he eliminated any trace of the distaste and loathing of this wretched film from his body the better.  He visualized it oozing out of his pores as he rode the seven blocks home.

Harry veered right and stopped at a stop sign before crossing a busy intersection.  He looked down at the corner and remembered having a lemonade sale every weekend for a month at that very spot.  That business venture had earned him enough money to view the so-called smash hit of the summer.  Boy, I wish I could get the money back, he thought.

Glancing back toward the theater, Harry sent out an 11-year old curse to the person responsible for giving one of the worst movies ever that most deceptive title.  What intelligent individual would make a movie about dancing (Ugh!) and singing (Eww!) and, god forbid, kissing (Gross!) and then give it the awesome name of Mystery Man?  It should have been called Barf Man for all Harry was concerned.  At least then he would have known what he was in for.

Harry arrived home a few short minutes later. He was hot but not quite as livid.  Harry had had time to think and that, along with the 102 degree heat, had melted almost all of the girders in Harry's house of anger.  He strode inside a wiser man.  Anger had been replaced by wisdom.  Never again would he work so hard just to throw away his time and money.  He would be smart and invest his money wisely.  His next venture was already in sight.  He calculated how many lemonade-stand weekends it would take.  Without a doubt he knew that by the end of the summer he would be the proud owner of a brand new pogo stick!

 

Word Count: 493

 

 

These weekly short stories have been a lot of fun.  I've had people ask how they can participate, so for those interested, the easiest way is to click the link for one of the blog hostesses below (I follow Carrie) to get the directions and the inLinkz link to submit your story.



A reminder and rundown of the blog hop rules:

1) Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story

2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.

3) You have until Tuesday to link up your post.

4) Link up with your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Tena or Leanne) when you’re done via the inLinkz linky below.

5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

The Words -

1. Ham
2. Spike
3. Parity
4. Girders
5. Sale

 

The Third Window

 

This has been a lot of fun.  I've submitted two stories so far and have had a blast letting the imagination go crazy.  Anyone can join in. Just let your writing juices flow.  As recap, here are the rules -

1) Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story

2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.
3) You have until next Tuesday to link up your post.
4) Link up with your blog at Carrie's site (HERE) via the inLinkz link.
5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

And here's the fun part! Here is the photo for this week -

And here are the five words -

Cork

Violin

Seesaw

Toilet Paper

Composer

 

 

The Third Window

 

"Do you see that window, Richard?  The only one lit up there on top?  That light is always on.  It's also the reason this old building is haunted."

 

 Richard's 8-year old eyes widened as he looked up at his older brother and asked, "Really, Luke? Is this building really haunted?"

 

Luke replied, "It is. Haven't you heard the story about the three brothers?"

 

"No," Richard said in a nervous voice.  "What three brothers?

 

Luke replied gravely, "It's a true story every kid around here needs to know.  Now, sit down, put a cork in it, and I'll tell you."

 

Richard sat down and stared up at his 11-year old brother just as the sun set behind the trees.

 

"About fifty years ago, this building used to be part of an amusement park which was owned by three brothers.  One brother was a composer, one played the violin and the third played guitar.  Their park was very popular, especially with kids.  There was a merry-go-round, a giant seesaw, a Ferris wheel, you name it.  Loads of fun.  Then one day, a devastating fire burned everything to the ground…everything except this building.

 

"After the fire, the three brothers changed.  Instead of the usual music and laughing, they became angry because what had once made them happy was gone.  They especially became angry toward little kids, VERY angry."

 

Richard experienced a slight chill at these words.  He retrieved some toilet paper and wiped his nose.  "What happened to the three brothers?  Are they still alive?"

 

In a firm tone, Luke continued.  "Ten years after the fire, all three brothers mysteriously died.  The really strange thing, though, were the lights in the windows.  Instead of just the one, there used to be three windows lit up, one on either side.  Three lit windows for three dead brothers.  No one could tell where the light came from but they were all lit up, just like that one.

 

"Two years ago, three boys were playing right in this very spot.  They heard a low moan come from inside the building and stopped playing.  They all looked up at the windows, heard a Click…like a light switch…and the window on the right went dark!  Poof!  Those boys were never seen again."

 

"What?" Richard muttered.

 

Luke went on, "Just last year, a mom, dad and their two kids were camping nearby.  The two kids, a boy and girl, came wandering over here to play just after sunset.  They also heard a moaning voice come from inside.  They looked up, heard a Click…and the window on the left went out.  Poof!  Despite an intense search those two were never seen again either."

 

Richard turned, stared at the lighted window and whispered, "Is that really a true story?"

 

"Yyyyyeesssssssss," a voice moaned from within the building.

 

"Luke, what was that?" Richard asked.

 

The older brother stepped backward, and with a mix of denial and terror on his face, looked up at the light coming from the third window…

 

…Click!...

Word Count: 499

Ian Remembered

Writer Wednesday Blog Hop

A reminder and rundown of the blog hop rules:

1) Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story

2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.

3) You have until next Tuesday to link up your post.

4) Link up with your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Tena or Leanne) when you’re done via the inLinkz linky below.

5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

Okay... this week's photo and words are:

guy

repertoire

restaurant

blade

trifle

Ian Remembered

 

Ian gasped for breath as he trudged through the murky swamp. He knew he didn't have much longer. The blade that had stabbed his side had done its job...almost perfectly. The imperfection of the wound gave him time enough to reach his destination. He had to make it. He had to witness...what was it? Oh yes, the rocket. Ian's loss of blood made remembering even the most recent memories a grueling task.  He did, however, have no trouble remembering how he wound up in the final, and yet most fulfilling, adventure of his life.

Ian remembered a non-descript restaurant, purchasing the stolen uniform from the stranger and impersonating a member of the State Guard. He remembered accessing a computer at the launch site and changing the launch codes.  He remembered successfully switching the DNA samples before they were loaded onto the rocket.  He remembered barely escaping with his life as a guard tried to stop him at the exit.  Ian was able to neutralize the guy but not before being stabbed with a knife.  He remembered running, stumbling, hearing sirens blare in the distance.  It did not matter now.  The launch cycle had begun.  They would find him but he did not care.  Nothing would stop the rocket from leaving this planet, the rocket containing his family's DNA.

Ian remembered feeling it was unfair that only the wealthy would have a place on the new world.  What made a person, born into wealth, more deserving and important than he, the son of a hard working, middle-class employee?  Why should they, the ones rich enough to purchase passage, be the only ones to use their DNA for human growth to populate the newly discovered planet?  He was just as worthy as any of them.  He was not a trifle in the pool of human existence.  He was a survivor and, through his actions, had assured his family's preservation.

Ian remembered hearing the news just as everyone else did.  He remembered hearing the scientists and understood that his home world would soon be destroyed.  He remembered the discovery of this inhabitable planet, the key to keeping his bloodline alive.  Ian remembered he had done some things along the way that were not only illegal, but reprehensible.  But to Ian, these means justified the end.  He would live, and die, knowing he did right.

Ian stumbled as walking became more difficult.  He was disoriented, becoming confused.  He remembered hearing voices behind him, chasing him through the swampy field.   As Ian staggered past a palm tree he fell into the grass.  Had he made it?  He could barely lift his head to glance across the bay.  As his eyes cleared the blades of grass he witnessed the blast of the rocket as it shot into the heavens.  Ian laid his head down, smiling, as he remembered the repertoire of emotions that brought him here, excitement, anticipation, loathing, anger, desperation, and ultimately, love.  Ian gazed at the sky…and remembered no more.

Word Count: 498

Synergy

Thanks to my friend Scott (Hygge Man) who put me up to this, here is my attempt at the Snapshot Prompt.  Here are the rules:

 

1) Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story

2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.
3) You have until next Tuesday to link up your post.
4) Link up with your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Tena or Leanne) when you’re done via the inLinkz linky below.
5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

And here are the five words -

Train

Tsunami

Tower

Snake

Carpet

 

Synergy

 

Sniff!  Sniff!

"Martha, is that you?  What's wrong?"

"Oh…Jim, I didn't think anyone would hear me.  I'm sorry."

"Well, I did hear you and it sounded like you were 'sniffing.'  That means you either have a cold or you've been crying.  I sincerely doubt you have a cold since concrete pillars have no noses.  Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Oh, I just hate it when things get this way.  I mean, just look at me!  You can see my seams and everything."

"Martha, you look just fine to me.  You need to keep in mind that you're not a young 50-year old pillar anymore.  You and I have been around for much longer than that."

"I know, but we used to look as strong as we felt.  We used to stand tall, continually defying the river, the way it would snake around us, always trying to push us down.  We have stood in this river for countless years doing what we do, and now it's taking a toll on us…I mean on me.  Sniff!"

"Martha, you are still strong.  You hold up this bridge with the strength and beauty  equaled by none.  You provide safe passage for each train that crosses overhead.  Why, I'd even bet you could stand tall during the worst tsunami.  Don't let a little thing like a seam showing bring you down."

"I don't know, Jim.  Can't you see the lines on my face…the cracks in my once-lovely skin?  You've always been a tower of strength to me and to this bridge, but I can feel it.  I'm getting old.  It's not a pleasant thought, at least not to me."

"Hmm…at times like this, Martha, I always recollect what old Iron Hand used to say (Ahem!):

                If waters push and grind and pull,

                If the sun turns your beauty dull,

                If cracks and lines appear on thee,

                Worry not 'cause you're still beautiful to me.

"Oh, Jim, you're such a romantic.  Old Iron Hand never said such a thing, but I appreciate it.  Your poetry always makes me feel better.  What would I do without you?"

"Well, without me this bridge would probably fall and that would be the end of the story, now, wouldn't it?  All those trains carrying coal, grain, milk, carpet, lumber, and whatever else they can stack on those things, would get all wet because they'd fall smack into this river.  However, the two of us together can hold up this bridge for years and years.  Our combined strength is much more than double our individual might.  So, despite how you think you look, I think you're beautiful because you give me the strength to stand."

"Jim, I'm very glad you're here with me"

"So am I, Martha.  So am I."

Word Count: 460

Why blog?

I've alway wondered, "What's the big deal about blogging?" Why do people do it and why do people "follow" people that do it? This is coming from a guy who is usually quiet and introverted and with not much to say, unless it's a subject I'm passionate about. So maybe that's what this is all about...finding a subject that piques my passions. So, that's my quest with this blogging business. I'm going to see if I can find something on which to talk and hopefully make it interesting to read. Then who knows? Maybe blogging will become that next thing to inspire my passions. We'll see....