Mirror

Her head, like equal halves joined by mirrored opposites, told her manner. One of her eyes, the left one, scoped the room confidently while the socket holding the right one drooped every so slight. A keen observer, a counselor of all sorts of cognition, would recognize the skewed parallels in her features; each nuance, each shifting of expression; the imbalance.

With pupils clouded by years of blindness, Orlando could, by miracle, capture such modes – the sounds of her shifting steps, the cycles of her breathing; how certain vowels were slurred. Orlando knew that her outlet was the creative, a pianists, a writer of romantic poems, a dancer, and that her struggles were in her decisions. The same choices that drove her life of solitude up to that point.

(Orlando was, of course, aware that he, being of imperfect flesh, carried his own shades of betrayal.)

Foolish self-loathing never took root in his chest, it never had a chance to cast its shadow over the clarity of his world. In that period of his life, where the love of a woman was not yet felt, expressed or slaved over, his heart would cripple him like the disease that blinded his eyes.

[ Writing Sketches ]

Snippets

In death I was alive. An essence enveloped by a light of love. I felt as a babe in the caring, protective bosom of its mother. It was love eternal. A divine warmth carried me, in gentle, invisible arms, into a fantastic scene: before my eyes the roaring rage of the sun, fixed in the blackness of space, appeared in waves of orange-red flames. Above me a choir of sweet angelic voices seductively called for me to retire to my celestial home. In a distance, an assemblage of familiar faces with fine white garments were stationed at the end of curved path. They summoned me with outstretched arms toward a broad, towering threshold; its massive gates opened. On either end, two majestic pillars of exquisite gold, reached high into the eternal obscurity of the universe.

Adorned in pristine bell skirts and white floral headbands, the ballerinas assembled behind a massive…

View original post 1,960 more words

Mad Dash

Mad Dash

My pace was brisk and steady and my eyes darted uncontrollably in all directions. My right arm ticked as if held down and given electric shocks. (I heard of a neighboring fellow who actually bled to death when an old, brittle mouth guard was positioned incorrectly in his mouth.)

After being stretched out on a gurney, anchored down by boorish hands, my mind would let go of the brutality in free flowing imagery. Gently I surrendered- transfixed by the divinity of a white, domed light above me; expelling the impact of the jolts that scorched my flesh. I drowned into its brilliance- the soft caresses that refreshed my eyes; the sense of flexed fingers combing my hair as by a lover in my arms.

But I knew, even in the highs of illusion, that I was dead: my carcass left bony and my brain butchered. That was the hysteria I had escaped that summer morning, if only momentarily.

In the desolation of my cell, mute, with the orderlies devouring their rations, I managed to loosen some of the belts that held my body in bondage, until I was able to stand. The ankle chains were easily removed and so were the ventilation vents.

Scaling the outside gate was an endevour- to climb it at my delicate age was a difficult task. Once I was over the razor sharp wire I pressed on with bleeding knees and elbows, into the brush that separated me from the claws of a grim asylum and into, so I imagined, the normalcy of a busy city where anyone could lose themselves in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

As I left the spacious void of the plain I entered the darkness of a dry forest. I barely could take another step due to a sudden spell of fear and disorientation that overtook me. I attempted to lean onto one of the heaven-high trees but collapsed instead. Everything was spinning. Sweat began to drop from my forehead. At that instance my thoughts became cluttered, unhinged from the phantoms. I knew that soon the voices would take over with their whispering suggestions and soothing pleads; from the same invisible demons and majestic angels that snared me all my years.

I slowly stood to face the tall soldiers of bark. Slender leftlets and ruffled leaves lay unperturbed beneath my dirty, bare feet. I moved ever so slowly forward-my body, a stone weight; my brain, a storm of chaos. In this vista I saw a path of pebbles that snaked across the darkness of the brush in distorted double vision, askewed and unbalanced. I followed the way with a wry grin smeared across my face like a smudge.

(incomplete idea/snippet)

 

 

 

+

Bugs!

Yes I wrote down yet another creative snippet. This time the snippet was for the online prompt from Writer’s Digest magazine.

PROMPT: You wake up one morning and find yourself inside a Looney Tunes cartoon with a burning desire to hunt down a certain Bugs Bunny, no matter the cost. What happens next?
_

Bugs!

My eyes bulged, my skin crawled, my tongue drooled and my feet shook. My reality had dematerialized- transported into a cartoon madness where the knee high crowd cheered at the antics of a furry, long-eared rodent that had dropped a heavy ACME block on the head of a pudgy doofus with a shotgun in hand. Or was it instead a facade of a hellish Serling episode where everything goes astray in the end?

My head was a hurricane. It was in an unreal world! An Oz where Alice fell down the rabbit hole only to reappear holding a half eaten carrot between its fingers like Groucho Marks. Bugs? That sly wabbit with a trickster’s smirk and a cagey twinkle in its eye. No matter how fast it would run, I had to snatch it because my gut was now screaming for meat, rabbit chow.

But that stinky vermin read my head and knew, somehow, that I was aiming to catch it and eat it barbecue style. I reached left and it flashed right. I took a step forward and it swirl behind and flicked my ear. I hid behind a tree only to watch it walked up to me (bolt) and give me two slaps per cheek before it dived into his hole on the ground.

I even shoved a handful of TNT sticks down its escape hatch, sparked each one, turned around and covered my ears. Bang! To my painful surprise, the smarty pants had dropped the explosive down the back of my floppy pants and left me a smoldered heap of coals. I turned tomato red and steam blew out both my nostrils and ear vents. I tried everything but nothing worked. In the end I chased Bugs up and down the grassy slops. That darn wabbit, I yelped. (Fudd)

[end]

_

These are some reviews from pro writers:

Good job, Carlos! This was an excellent story, and you described your character’s thoughts and emotions really well. Keep up the good work!
– Katia Snow

I enjoyed this piece of work. I think you did a good job mixing in details/imagery with action.
-Aura Lord

This is very clever, Carlos. It reads with the flow of a Tex Avery cartoon, not giving the reader (me) a chance to stop and think. I like it!
-Jim Smith

This reads like a very tight, almost minimalist interpretation of a Bugs cartoon. Well done.
-John Reap

A concise descriptive story that sailed along at high speed. Wow, enjoyed this.
– anonymous

I love this!
-Scott Wein

_

The Invasion of Gelna

Arious was quickly becoming a desert planet. Water, the resource by which its inhabitants survived, was depleting.

(Because of the lack of water in Arious, the moist, gill-bodied skins of its kind was failing to secrete the mucus essential for respiratory cells to function in their lungs)

Countless had died throughout the eons, and without the bountiful living water of Gelna- an oceanic planet overseen by a royal committee of elders and guarded by mind benders (beings with an inborn ability to harness the unconscious state and turn mental visions into powerful weapons), extinction was certain.

Melvik, the last of the mind benders, stood atop the tallest peak of Gelna. His adversary Xathros, the chief prophet of planet Arious, along with his fighters, emerged from the ocean depths to face Melvik on the apex of a cliff. Melvik and Xathros’ regimen awaited the setting of the third moon in the western horizon. Once the night shrouded the landscape, the onset of war was to begin.

Melvik’s mind began to drift into a deep, dreamlike trance just before the invaders positioned themselves in battle formation. In Melvik’s unconsciousness, a vision of a sword materialized. The sword was engulfed in white fire. From its point thunderclaps echoed across the sky. It was the power of the mind bender, and it meant victory for Gelna.

When darkness fell, Xathros’ men advanced. As the battlefront drew ever closer to the mind bender, a malevolence took root in the minds of the storming army- a force that evoked the might of a myriad of ruthless warriors. Intensifying as they forward their attack, the battle zone soon became silent of war cries and hailed commands. Bewildered, the legion’s front line staggered to their knees near to where Melvik rested in suspended animation just above the rock. Then, in one broad, graceful motion, Melvik’s weapon of fire slaughtered hundreds of Xathros’ entranced men. To the chief prophet, the mind bender appeared feeble after the killing, yet Melvik remained strong due to the all-powerful sword he occupied- a specter in the eyes of Xathro and the remainder of his fighters- a sword with no material substance; real only in the sanctuary of Melvin’s visions.

Once the sunrise shone over the peaks did an endless waste land become visible to Melvik and Xathros. At a close distance, both combatants eyed each other with a measure of esteem. Moments passed when the wind heralded the presence of Gelna’s royal class upon the peaks of battle. A class of human-like immortals, beings adorned in precious gems and attired in pure white gowns, drifted in air atop the rock surface between the two fighters. Due to the gallant struggle between the foes, the sovereign royalty of Gelna declared an alliance between the two worlds.

The inhabitants of Arious would be granted a generous amount of life saving water at the end of every solar orbit. In turn, Melvik was to be reunited with his fellow mind benders in resurrected vitality. Peace between the races was forever established, and both planets continued in harmonious balance forever.

END…almost, it’s a snippet still. 😉

 

[ Writing Sketches ]

In death I was alive. An essence enveloped by a light of love. I felt as a babe in the caring, protective bosom of its mother. It was love eternal. A divine warmth carried me, in gentle, invisible arms, into a fantastic scene: before my eyes the roaring rage of the sun, fixed in the blackness of space, appeared in waves of orange-red flames. Above me a choir of sweet angelic voices seductively called for me to retire to my celestial home. In a distance, an assemblage of familiar faces with fine white garments were stationed at the end of curved path. They summoned me with outstretched arms toward a broad, towering threshold; its massive gates opened. On either end, two majestic pillars of exquisite gold, reached high into the eternal obscurity of the universe.

Adorned in pristine bell skirts and white floral headbands, the ballerinas assembled behind a massive stage curtain, lowered. Two stood coolly, veering their eyes off-stage. Around them an assemblage of angelic dancers mingled in anticipation – bent torsos, loose shoulders, and hair parted straight. It was grace at-the-ready. A reflective prima ballerina stood tall at the forefront of her class; her every step, flow of motion and posture unfolding in thought. With her initial pose set, the giant curtain began to rise to an ovation of theatergoers.

The tree monkeys giggled at their own antics. The first primate, in a dark blue t-shirt and shorts, covered his eyes, bored. Next to him sat two hysterical chimps bursting at the seams. The middle one of the bunch, the red shirted one, tried to contain himself but could not mask his cheery eyes. His face aglow. The third one, with elbows on bent knees, was defeated by his own hilarity. It was hard for the threesome, minus one, to keep straight faces. This shameless riot was caused, not by their infectious laughter, but by the poor soul behind the camera – a diminutive man speaking a choppy talk and maintaining an appealing grin; never keeping his bobble head steady – the mocked tourist with scrunched-up eyes.

How many people do you know who live on a dead end street? I sometimes wonder if the person who coined that phrase, “Dead End Street” actually lived on a dead end street. Our house, if you could see it through all the trees, rested on such a block. Visiting a dead end street would be like visiting the deceased at a cemetery. For those unaware, such houses cast their own entity, like a foul stench. Some days I feel my house alive as if the walls were collapsing upon themselves or moving inward on me like a vice. Sometimes I would feel that I was born to die in that dreadful place. It was drab and gloomy, and it stunk of mildew in the mornings.

It was a dump. The house I lived in was a dump. Normal folks never live in a dump. Normal folks have gardens in their back yards, friendly neighbors, and fine plate settings. Normal folks have brightly colored walls, a pool in their back yard and an embroidered framed cloth with the words, “Home Sweet Home” near a sunlit window. But oh no, nothing like that in my dump. In my dump not a single picture frame hung on the walls. Not one lousy frame! “Dump Bitter Dump” would be the words defining that house.

Now If a solicitor would come calling, our listless Fred – our brave mutt – would hardly bring alarm to such a daring cretin. Fred would simply amble up to the fence, give you a long, lazy look-over, before retreating back into the shadows… (incomplete)

copyright – 2013

–