Forty-Fifth Paradox Writing » drabble

Post Card

Hostess — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 06:17:27 +0000

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

I hope you are doing well. I’ve been really busy with my new friends. They took me to Silver Falls last week, and yesterday they took me up to the Governor’s office while he was away. My friends said that Mr. Governor would be honored if I sat in his office chair. And so I did! My friends took pictures, and they helped me paper clip it to the back of this letter.

I miss you a lot, and I promise to come home someday, but I wanna see more of the world before I stand in your front lawn and watch cars go by.

Love,

Your Garden Gnome Ithamar

Soverign Flies: A Manifesto

Hostess — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 06:51:04 +0000

We will bzz through your ears and before your eyes. We will haunt your kitchens and race across your light fixtures. We will bzz past your notebook computers and over your morning coffee. We will not leave. We will never die as long as there’s food to eat. When you think we are gone, we will return.

Teddy goes to the doctor

Hostess — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 06:10:18 +0000

The operating room was nestled in a corner of a bedroom. Teddy was brought in by the only operating staff, the surgeon. This surgeon doubled as a chauffeur, a coach, a nurse, a chef, a chaperon, and of course, a surgeon. She laid Teddy on the tiny operating table, next to a sewing machine. Pulling out her implements, a pair of sewing scissors, a needle, and a spool of green thread, the surgeon got to work.

It was a routine surgery, but it still required utmost patience in preparation. The surgeon wired the thread through the needle in the sewing machine, and inserted the spool at the top. She checked to make sure the machine was plugged in, and switched on the built-in light. Pressing her foot on the peddle, she moved Teddy’s broken arm underneath the needle.

The machine growled to life, and the needle went up and down and up and down until Teddy had sixteen stitches. Fortunately, Teddy wouldn’t need any physical therapy, but his best friend Kyle would have to be careful with his right arm. It wouldn’t take much to ruin the sixteen stitches in green fur.

Food for Thought

Hostess — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 06:02:07 +0000

What do they keep in those back rooms downtown? Those rooms always seem bigger than necessary, and mostly empty. Perhaps the owners of the coffee shop live there, but they insist on hiding the furniture upstairs. Or maybe, at night, they drag in the comfy couches from the shop decor, and sleep on them (as well as the lamps.) That’s why they serve coffee you know. It takes nearly all night for them to move the furniture; they hardly get any sleep.

I found a bike in one, with empty stalls. The stalls may or may not have had curtains. What does a coffee shop need dressing rooms for? If you whisper the password with your order, will they give you a costume to try on? Is it frappuchino? No place seems to serve them, and Starbucks doesn’t have back rooms.

Journal of a Band Geek: Day 2 Knowing the Drill

Hostess — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 06:08:23 +0000

Today in band camp I met the returning band members. Some I recognized from middle school, but here they act different. Remember that suck-up oboe player who was awkward around everyone? Now she plays saxophone and is the star sophomore section leader. I’ve already heard rumors that she’s in line to be drum major next year. Two years after that and she’ll be on a full-ride at some prestigious university, majoring in music education. Gag me with a spoon!

Of course we never talk. I can’t march backwards to save my life, let alone memorize a bunch of random coordinates on drill sheets. (What do I look like, a TomTom?) This sets me at the bottom of the totem pole. The only other people in band who get less respect are the other flute players in my section, and of course, the guys in color guard.

Nobody’s real sure about the color guard guys. Most years, there’s never more than two. Any guy who joins color guard instantaneously loses his man card. What straight guy would dance with purple flags with girly choreography in those gay costumes? At least, we all hope they’re gay. It would just be…gag worthy on those practices in the hot sun, with girls more than comfortable cooling off in as little coverage as they’re allowed.

Journal of a Band Geek Day I: ‘Fun’deblock

Hostess — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 07:18:49 +0000

Okay, maybe ‘fun’ isn’t the right word. My legs are still sore and my skin is still burnt redder than a lobster. Actually, it’s not that bad, not as bad as Mike’s. He actually has blisters, yes, you heard me, blisters, on his shoulders. He put on sunscreen too. Unfortunately, they don’t make sunscreen strong enough for people like us. No sunscreen is made strong enough for long practices in the sun. I think the shiny (so far) instruments make it worse. They’re like the reflectors valley girls used to tan, before they all got skin cancer.

Anyway, we started out by learning how to turn. Toe-heel-toe-heel. It actually seems pretty simple, simple enough to get your hopes up. Then they get everyone one in your section in a line, and they march, yes, march to mark off the distance between each freshman. Then they teach you how to march to the beat, and no matter how many times you try, you can’t seem to get it right. Unless of course, your one of the lucky kids that went to the other middle school. There they at least teach you how to march in a parade. By the end of a hot-stinky-two-mile-long death march, you’d definitely know how to step on beat.

I’d whine more, but I have to get up bright and freakin’ early for my second day of band camp. Someone please shoot me.

Hey you, move.

Hostess — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 06:03:20 +0000

Get out of my way. In fact, you should get out my way quick. I really can’t stand you.

I can’t stand your blue eyes, blue as the water in the pool you lifeguard every day. I especially can’t stand the shape of your legs, but I’d hate them even if you let yourself go. So don’t.

I want you to quit. I want you to leave without giving your notice. You’re possibly the worst person I’ve ever worked with. But if you do quit, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you quit your next job so our boss could hire you back. I’d miss you.

Seriously though, move. I’ve have work to do.

A Salem Resident’s Reaction to Sunlight

Hostess — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 05:43:16 +0000

The two of them stared directly overhead, with the backs of their heads tipped back. One had blonde hair that shined brilliantly as the wind tickled its ends. His friend had crew-cut hair as brown as the mud beneath their shoes.

“Whoa, what’s that in the sky?” The blonde asked the other, his mouth stretching as if he planned to drink the light in.

“I can’t see; it’s burning my eyes!” The brunette winced, ducking his head as he blinked repeatedly.

“But, man, does it feel good on my skin.” Stretching out his arms, closing the blonde his eyes with a sigh.

The brunette turned and looked at him. “Dude, are you high?”

“But look at all that blue stuff around it. It’s so cool!” He didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey…where’s the rain?” A third voice chimed in as she trotted over to meet them. Her eyes rose in the same direction from beneath red bangs. “What’s that yellow thing in the sky?”

Loss

Hostess — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 05:19:26 +0000

I used to wonder what it would be like to lose her,

now I know.

It’s like all the tissue in my chest

has been surgically removed,

all that’s left is air.

It’s like she’ll come home and fix dinner

any day now,

and we’re making funeral arrangements for someone else’s mother.

It’s like the past 21 years together have happened in an

moment too small to hold how much I’ll miss her,

how much I miss her now.

Things You Don’t Say to an Officer

Hostess — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 05:28:14 +0000

He had an apologetic tone to his voice as he leaned toward the driver’s side window.

(I didn’t afford him the dignity of the view in my eyes.

I hid them behind my sunglasses:

my only weapons stashed in that car.)

“I believe you officer when

you say tailgating is the number one cause

of accidents in this area,

but trains and driving too

slowly are the number one causes of being

late to class.”

The green in the grass laughed.