Pick your own topic 1-23-22

 

The Vast Expanses

By: Ryanne Leavitt

Larry kicked the ball past Sharon and it rolled into a crevice in the cliff behind her.  As she followed the ball in, she realized it opened into a small cave and had a passageway that went further into the rock formation. Of course, the soccer ball rolled through the cave and was just disappearing as Sharon neared the center of the cave.  She hollered out to Larry that it she had to chase it a bit farther.  Without much thought, she pursued after it.  The tunnel was just a few inches taller that Sharon, half as wide, and gently sloped downward.  The ball rolled around turns and ever downward.  The rock walls seemed to be closing in on Sharon, causing her to stop and slow her pace.  

The light from the sun had long been shut out from all the winding,  and with out her cell phone’s flashlight, she would have been plunged into full darkness. As soon as that thought came to her, the phone alerted her that she had a mere 5% of her battery left.  If Sharon would have been thinking clearly, she might have given up on the ball, but something more than the ball was drawing her on.  She thought she could hear voices, ones beside the echoing calls from Larry at the entrance.  Sharon thought she heard laughter and music.  She had to know who was having a party and why she wasn’t invited.

As Sharon walked on,  her phone finally gave out, and for a brief moment she was enveloped in the blackness.  Then just up a head, there was a faint twinkling glow.  The flickering blue, orange, red, green, yellow, pink and purple lights beckoned her forward. Sharon went on, as if in a trance, and with that, all thought of Larry, their picnic and the soccer ball were erased from her mind.  She rounded a corner and a massive cavern opened up before her.  It was filled with music that made Sharon giddy.  Along the walls, she could see majestic looking buildings and from them came the most beautiful people she had ever beheld.  There was a faint shimmering around each of them and each  aura was individual and marvelous to take in.  There was one, a tall handsome young man, who could have been her age, came forward and grasped her hand with a solid, yet gentle grip and began pulling her toward what must have been their town square.  She happily went with him, gazing up at him.  Yet as they got closer to their intended destination, a gorgeous fountain, Sharon began to feel  a prickle of fear at the base of her neck.  Her mind screamed at her that something wasn’t right!  She tried to pull away, but that boys grip tightened like a vise.  Sharon’s anxiety grew as the others in the great expanse began to crowd in on her.  

Their once beautiful faces took on a menacing quality that caused an involuntary scream of terror to bubble up and out of Sharon’s throat. She dug in her heels and wiggled and squirmed, trying to free herself from his strong hold.  The beings began singing a new song.  IT was rich and glorious. this song bore into Sharon’s heart, it caused her to forget why she was struggling so.  Joy filled her and she started to want to be in here with her new friends forever.  

From somewhere behind her, Sharon heard a sound that was trying to disrupt the song. It was sharp in contrast to the melody all around her. All she wanted was for that noise to stop disturbing her. The persistent sound broke a crack in the wall of music and she heard Larry calling toward her, begging her to hear him.  The fog that clouded her mind dispersed enough for Sharon to once again see the malice behind those beautiful eyes.  She yanked against her captor, who had thought she was truly and fully under his spell, and this time she was able to break away.

She pushed through the gaggle of beings, now seeing their true form, their sharp teeth and talon like fingernails.  More than once a reaching hand got hold enough to leave a gouging wound, but Saron kept running toward Larry’s voice, like a sailor in a raging storm  follows the beacon from a lighthouse. 

When she finally reached him, he shoved an earbud in one ear and whispered in the other, “just focus on the music coming through the buds.  The songs of those people were poisoning your mind, they were controlling you.  Now, run!  Don’t look back, just keep going until you are out.”  With that, he put the other ear bud in her left ear, put his phone in her hand and gave her a gentle push.  

Finally realizing the danger she had been in, Sharon ran and didn’t look back, not until she could see the sunlight splashing in through the crevice she had entered hours ago.  She turned to thank Larry for being her hero, to find he wasn’t there!  Larry wasn’t there and it was her fault.  She had even so concerned with getting away, she hadn’t thought beyond her own self. 

Consumed with guilt for leaving him in the hands of those beings, she ran on to the beach that had been full hours ago.  Sharon was desperate to find help, but all she found was that the tide had rolled in, consuming most of the beach and had cut off her path to her car and any outside help. Her backpack that had been close to the cliff, was still there, so she gabbed it and went back into the cave.  For what must have been an hour or so, Sharon sat huddled in the corner, crying, and feeling helpless.  

Then, in the back of her mind she reprimanded herself for being such a coward.  For running away and not making sure her dear Larry was right behind her.  

With that thought in mind, she cranked the music and plunged back down the tunnel.  Running at full speed, led by the light of Larry’s phone, she made it to the Cavern, but it was devoid of life.  In fact, it looked like any ordinary cave.  There were no dwellings, no beautiful glowing people, just so bioluminescent algae, some stalactites and stalagmites and a sandy floor.  It was as though they all had vanished, or worse, all in her imagination.  

Sharon sat there, in the center of the cave, with the phone light off, hoping the dark would bring them back and bring back Larry.  For hours she was there alone with her tears and thoughts and fears. Then slowly she got to her feet and started walking the perimeter of the vast grotto. There had to be more, she thought as she began at the shaft she came down.  When Sharon had made it just past half way around, she found a small opening.  It couldn’t have been more that three feet tall and two feet wide.  

Determined to find and save Larry, she got down on her hands and knees and started crawling forward. After several twist and turns, the opening began to expand and she was able to once again walk.  Sharon noticed she was starting to go upward.  The bioluminescent plants thinned out and she turned back on the phone’s light.  With the broadening of the tunnel Sharon felt it safe to pick up her speed and began to run.  She ran around corner after corner, and then, a small shaft of light showed up ahead.  She sprinted toward it, and ran out into the light of the full moon.

In front of Sharon’s eyes was a sheltered cove with the ocean gently lapping at the sandy beach, the moonlight sparkled on the water in the same way those beings had sparkled in the cave.  she saw a dark form at waters edge and slowly approached it.  Could it be Larry, had she finally found her dear friend?

Sharon knelt beside the body and carefully turned him over, hoping to see Larry peacefully resting; what she saw when she looked into the eyes of the man on the ground was the beautiful creature that had hours ago pulled her forward.  His chest gently rose and fell to the rhythm of the ocean.  His eyes slowly opened, and as she looked into them, it was like looking into the vast expanse of the universe.

There were these two chairs….

By: Colleen Holmquist

I knew I would be in trouble the moment the idea was conceived.  But it was brilliant and I had to do it—tonight under the cover of darkness after Cary went back to work for the second half of his split shift.  I anxiously waited for him to leave trying hard to be nonchalant.  Anders didn’t know it yet but he was going to play a significant role in my plan.

But let me back up a little.  Cary is a scavenger—a dumpster diver at times.  Lots of perfectly good things get discarded or left behind at the airport.  Several nice scarves adorn my neck that found their way to me via this route.  The best vacuum cleaner I’ve ever owned was rescued from the garbage.  

Our library is burgeoning…

But then there are the other things like a luggage dolly that was being discarded.  All the kids have had precarious rides on it and sometimes it substitutes for a moving dolly—again rather precariously but it has been useful.  

We made raised bed gardens with pallets he brought home.  

But then there are the other things: like all the zipper pulls that fell off of suitcases and littered the floor of the “pit” that he pocketed to get them out of the way and then emptied into various empty mixed nut containers from Costco.  I used to tell him he should go on the Tonight Show with his “collection.”  I bet we have 20 lbs of those things hanging around.

Sometimes he finds brass padlocks to recycle.  We have enough neck pillows for the whole family to take a trip. The toy supply occasionally gets new items.  Does anyone need an Apple iPen?  We never run out of chargers for iPhones or iPads.

But office chairs?? There is only so much room inside the house.  We already had three or four and then one day, Cary brought home two more chairs.  I relegated them to the front porch and there they sat for a couple of years.  I got annoyed every time I happened to walk out on the porch. I mulled the situation over and began to plot about how I could make them disappear.

Voile!  The corner!  Its like a give away spot.  Everyone puts stuff they don’t want on the corner and it disappears usually instantaneously.  We’d put several bikes out there and they were gone by the next day.  We even picked up a nice dresser from the corner and some functional exercise equipment which we eventually returned to the corner for someone else’s enjoyment.

I knew we had to take them out in the dark after he was gone so he wouldn’t see us.  Then I was hoping he wouldn’t notice them when he came home and then…someone just had to come along and take them before he got up.  That was the sticky part.  I knew I’d be in trouble if he saw them out there.  I was counting on him not to go on the porch for awhile and not notice their absence.

Anders and I pushed the chairs out in the dark.  In the morning when I left for work they were still there and I had my fingers crossed that my devious plan would work.  As I approached out corner when I came home, I noticed that the chairs were gone.  Yea!  

And then I turned in the driveway and there they were—again.  My heart sank, great! How am I going to get out of this? I prepared for a mild tongue lashing, frantically searched my brain for an explanation and entered the house with trepidation. 

I walked inside and Cary excitedly exclaimed, “Look at these chairs I found on the corner!’’

(Not the Very Next Day)

by Cary Holmquist,

23 January 2022

When I was growing up, my grandmother had a Siamese cat that was trained to perform a few of tricks by my mother’s younger sister.  This cat was a classic Siamese—smokey white body and very dark brown—almost black—tail, feet, ears and face and nose, very blue eyes that seemed crossed some of the time and a loud meow.  She was a good mouser and so my grandmother tolerated her well after my aunt graduated high school and left home and the cat behind.   Of course, the cat’s name was Siam.

Siam could sit up and beg for butter off of a spoon and she could open screen doors on her own, as I recall.  She also twirled around a bit as a dance before licking the butter off the spoon.  Even as an older cat, she was playful and would chase around butterfly-wing folded paper pulled by a string for as long as the puller was willing to race around with it.  And that was a great occupation for kids who were looking for any excuse to run around. 

At our house, we rarely lacked for a pet cat or dog.  We lived less than 30 miles from Great Falls on a dairy farm and so it was very common for people to drive out to the country and surreptitiously dump off their no-longer-wanted dogs and cats, who would then wander into our farmyards looking for food and shelter.  As kids, it was just a given that “we could keep him.” The idea of buying a dog or a cat was never a consideration because new ones were showing up like rain—which is where we thought that old saying came from.

Somehow or other, my father brought home a Siamese kitten from the dog pound—which is what we called animal shelters back then.  I am not sure what motivated him to do this, though it probably had something to do with a few of his children whining about wanting a kitten since we strangely had not had any kittens in a few years.  This kitten was also a classic Siamese and so her name was instantly Siam.  

Unlike our aunt, my siblings and I were not good at training this cat to do anything.  Somehow she learned to be a so-so mouser and she meowed at almost a bellow volume.  She liked to cuddle and licked a person’s neck—presumably for the salt in a person’s sweat.  

Her mousing-hunting abilities were ambitious also and we would see her crouched poised at gopher holes, waiting for the nuisance “ground squirrels” to poke up and get nabbed.  We were sure she managed to catch a few, even though they were almost as big as she was.

One winter, this cat was left outside for most of a night that was far below zero temperature and the tips of her ears, being thin to begin with as cats’ ears are, were frost-bitten and fell off like skin peeling from a sunburn.   However, the tips did not grow back and one ear in particular was shorter than the other.  

For most of the winters, we had to leave the taps in our house dripping, in order to keep the water flowing just enough to keep the water lines from freezing.  Siam took advantage of this and learned to lean over the corner of the bathtub and lick the water dripping from that faucet.  That was about her only trick, if you could call it that.

Cats have a talent for finding heat sources and so curl up in sunshiny windows, in front of forced-air heater vents and when outdoors, they find that recently parked cars have warm engine compartments.  So it was that one early spring day, we figure that Siam found a car in our yard and crawled up above the car’s wheel-well and when the car left, so did she.  

We did not miss her immediately, because she was often gone, poking around for mice or gopher holes or bird nests.  So we did not consider her missing for a few days.  Then after a week, we knew she was gone, possibly road kill, though we had not seen any dead animals on the gravel lane that ran by our house.   We often called for her to come to the house, “Heeee-re, kitty-kitty-kitty!” but she did not appear.  I mourned her loss as she had been my frequent petting companion—she really preferred a warm lap or elbow crook or even draped across shoulders around my neck.  

Well later that summer, I was out doing some kind of yard work for my mother, when I heard a cat yowling and looked down the gravel driveway at this stumbling Siamese cat who was weaving along toward me.  It was Siam, shortened ears attesting to her identity and not just some stray that had been dumped off by towns people.  She was nearly wasted away and scruffy, who had found her way home.   It had been months and so she had evidently been taken many miles away, but was determined to return.   

Like the kids’ song, “the cat came back,” but unlike the kids’ song, it was not the very next day.  We never knew how far she had come or what her adventures could have been and we had never expected to see her again, but, indeed, the cat came back.  

Cara and the Heart-shaped door

Chapter 2

Kellen and Maeve

By: Carrie Keiser

Five year old twins, Kellen and Maeve, were always getting into trouble and causing their older sister , Cara, grief. Today was her birthday and she was supposed to be watching the twins while their parents ran to town for birthday supplies.  Cara was busy sketching on the porch while they played nearby.  As soon as Maeve noticed that Cara was not watching, she pulled on Kellen’s sleeve and headed off to the fields. The farm was such a fun place to grow up so many places and things to explore.  

As the twins snuck away, they caught a glimpse of something or someone running just in front of them.  Being curious children they took off after it.  It was just a flash of green and brown that entered the cow shed. Kellen reached the door and quickly opened it. Searching the half light for the green blur. Maeve plowed into him and they fell into the shed in a jumble of arms and legs, rolling across the floor laughing. Untangling they stood and saw the strangest sight, a small man and woman standing in the corner of the cow shed near a shimmering light.  

The tiny couple beckoned to them and stepped into the shimmer.  Maeve took a tentative step towards the corner it was like the shimmer was calling to her. Kellen grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Maybe we should go get Cara?” He whispered to Maeve. They both stared at the shimmering corner and out of it stepped the small woman, she looked very like a leprechaun: dark green dress over lighter green leggings, and a pair of soft brown boots. Her curly red hair fell halfway down her back  in perfect ringlets. Kellen and Maeve looked at each other and then walked in unison towards her almost as if being pulled by an invisible rope.

In the next instant the twins were standing in a rolling hillside, an unfamiliar forest in the distance.  The leprechaun was joined by another, the man they had briefly seen before the couple and disappeared into the shimmer. He too had red hair peaking out from his hat. HE was similarly dressed in shades of green with brown boots. They looked very much at home in these surroundings.

Maeve glanced at Kellen and saw that somehow his clothing had changed, he was no longer wearing tan shorts and a blue t-shirt, but was dressed in light green pants and tunic with dark brown boots! She looked at her own clothes just as Kellen yelled, “he what happed to our clothes?” Maeve was dressed in the same color green as Kellen only she was wearing leggings and dress and boots that matched Kellen’s.  

Their guides strode away without a word and headed towards the forest. The twins grabbed hands and called, “Hey wait for us!” They set off at a run to catch them giggling.

Maeve thought she heard Cara calling for them to stop, but the pull to see who these people were and where they were going was too great to cause her to turn back and look for her sister. Kellen it seemed was also too excited about what lay ahead to worry about what was behind them.  

Shortly they reached the forest and ground felt soft and spongy under their feet. The leprechaun couple stopped at a fallen log that was the perfect height to sit and rest. 

The small man spoke first, “I’m sure you have questions, Maeve and Kellen….”

THis was the first time they had spoken and the twins were shocked, the voice was that of their da! Kellen closed his eyes and tugged on his sister’s hand. Maeve was also in shock, she stumbled back when Kellen pulled her hand.  They stared at the couple in front of them, squinting trying to see their parents and not leprechauns. The woman spoke up, “Maeve, it’s alright! Open your eyes you are young, but it is time you were introduced to our world.” It was her mother’s voice of that there was no doubt.  

In the distance could be heard Cara she sounded not far away: “Maeve! Kellen! IS that you?”

“Come children!  We need to move, Your sister has much to learn and we must lead her into the forest.” Their leprechaun mother told them. 

Looking at each other the twins followed them. What else could they do it appeared that they were the children of leprechauns and had a whole new world to explore.

Story Slingers

January 23, 2022

Myrna Flynn

The Old Homestead

The twin sisters that this story is about do not want their birth year revealed, to that, I will say that they were born on March 17th in the mid part of the last century. Until they were 18, they lived in a house built several miles out of Mettleton, a town named by their great great grandfather, Miles Mettleton, when he and his family arrived there in 1879, as homesteaders in Washington Territory.

He was what used to be called "a man of all trades". He was very good at all of them. Soon others came to the town. He offered his talents and directed them how to build houses. If they had need of furniture, he also instructed them in how to build tables, chairs and beds, etc. He was paid well for his work and instructions. There were several families that did not want to do any of the building themselves. He and his sons built those homes. Most of the that felt that way came with their own furnishings.

He soon was feeling crowded but he did not want to move to far away that it would be difficult to continue to go to town and conduct his businesses.

Some of his sons and grandsons homesteaded more land and became farmers, foresters, ranchers and dairymen. The sons still helped their dad when their help was needed.

But to get back to the twins, their parents named them Mary Jane and Mary Jo. Mary Jane was the "eldest" since she was born first. Naturally, they were called Jane and Jo. Luckily they were fraternal and not identical twins.

They were happy living out in the country when they were little but when they reached their teen years, they became restless and wanted to see the outside world. John and Mercy, their parents, hated to see them go, but they had been "free-spirited" types when they were young. The only thing they asked was that Jane and Jo would attend a college or learn a trade.

With the money that had been set aside for them, they headed out on their own. Jo was the scholarly type and Jane was the curious one. Each decided to go it alone.They divided the money. Jane headed for California and Jo went to Boston.

Jo studied hard and accepted by Harvard. She became a lawyer and later a Supreme Court Justice. Jane developed a talent that she did not realize she had. She became an Internationally known actress.

When they had retired, they found themselves yearning to return to the old homestead that from which they had fled in their youth. Even though they had kept in touch with each other and with their parents through media channels, they wanted personal contact with their roots. Their parents were in their 90's and would not be around much longer.

They scheduled their flights so they could meet at the airport in Spokane and drive to Mettelton together. When they arrived, they were amazed to find the house, built all those years ago in extremely good condition.

Their parents were still able to care for themselves and met them at the door with unexpectedly strong hugs and also in unexpectedly good health.

(The end of the stories still pending, since everyone is still alive.)

STORY SLINGERS

prompt...... Writers choice

01/23/22

THEN AND NOW

Daren Flynn

With pen in hand I write.

In school it was no fun,

But now it is a delight.

History to me was a bore.

When the class ended I cheered

But sports caused me to rejoice.

For me baseball set the pace

And along with football and basketball

Gave reason for my happy face.

So life was good and carefree

But choices brought responsibility to me

When I got married you see.

I'd thought live was good then

But it became much better because

Of my wife and my children.

So I've put away the past 

Knowing the future and family are

What count and will last.

Maja Holmquist

CRWR 312

09/01/2020

Las Vegas is one of those cities that no longer resembles its namesake. “The meadows” isn’t an apt moniker for the hot maze of roads, walls, and windows that keep expanding through the valley. No, Las Vegas has outgrown its first name, like a lumbering freshman who rises in the ranks because of his size and prowess on the football field. They rename him “Boulder” or “Tree Trunk” or “Barricade.” No, “the meadows” doesn’t fit anymore. Vegas, Sin City, is the Entertainment Capital of the World! Las Vegas is big britches.

A city of over 650,000 people, known all over the world for one single 4.2-mile stretch. On the surrounding inclines, from the hillside boulevards of Hollywood to Burkholder, the glitter of the lower and yet most prominent boulevard draws the eye. One could sell their Omaha, Nebraskan soul at a rate of $262 to jet-speed the way to that fabulous fluorescent gate, the highway to hell paved with plastic chips and cards of several varieties. Like hitting one of those pulsing chromatic-colored boost arrows for an accelerated fall off the edge of Rainbow Road in Mario Kart. Either way it’s a spinning, star-filled ride down, down, down. Then a blink back into existence and! Start again, taxied back by the lurid lights of the Strip.

In one part of the city, plastic bags float from behind the walls of shared apartment dumpsters. The dry wind drives one onto the green daggers of yucca leaves that shoot out of red rock beds littered with wrappers and single-use water bottles. The bag, like its fellows, splays there until the many punctures rip into streamers.  If anything useful had been in the bag, it was loaded into a metal shopping cart and hauled around until, one day, the shopping cart stands scalding hot and empty in the standing green and brown water of the Flamingo Wash, tributary to Lake Mead.

Still further east against Sunrise Mountain, a white, pristine building stands on Temple View Drive. A sacred site, this temple serves as an active reminder of some of the original settlers of the desert city. They dusted their feet off in the West looking to escape the ideas Las Vegas eventually embodied. It’s said that the Strip is clearly visible from this temple but that the opposite isn’t true.

It’s also said that it’s possible to ski the foam on Lake Mead, then the powder on Charleston Peak and, if you but roll down your window, have your hair blow-dried in the warm air on the car ride between.

Summer heat is trapped in the paved walls, paved roads, and paved gardens and let out when the sun goes down, like a parent pulling in breath all day and expelling it slowly once the toddler’s head hits his pillow. Or like garlic, done stewing in a stomach and now seeping out of a body for hours afterwards, almost visible. Night in the concrete desert doesn’t cool down.

Rock gardens pay for themselves by conserving water. Any green, respirating organisms without appendages that poke and prod are pulled up, buried under gray, red, white rocks, colors to match the stucco houses. Dirt filters into the rocks, filters into the stucco ridges. Occasionally the wind pries the grains out of their hidey holes and whips them together into a well-baked storm.

There’s a monsoon season in Las Vegas. One midmorning fat drops of water fall in gray sheets. Bike lanes become raft lanes. Wheeled vehicles high-center on barriers or float two tires onto a sidewalk. The inflated stone M&Ms that usually marshal the lanes with their yellow and white coating turn to smooth, dirt-water urchins clinging to the road. But the tide goes out quickly, rivulets of water confined to the dip between road and sidewalk. The urchins dry up, cars bump over them before swerving back into their lane, and the bike lanes are left empty as ever.

Las Vegas is in a valley. Bald, gray and black mountains shape the horizon. In the winter, white accumulates to complete the grayscale theme and Nevada’s namesake is tantalizingly visible. In the spring, the wind blows surprisingly cold. In the summer heat falls from above the way it would if the sky was a huge doorless oven tilted toward the ground. The streets, the houses, the walls are claylike, different shades of gray, off-white, and sepia, baked in that open-sky kiln.

In some places chicken wire peeks out from the cracked stucco of the houses. White Styrofoam beads packed hard together fill in the structure behind hexagonal wire. Apartment buildings are everywhere. Gated, ungated. Entrance codes might be written in the dust on top of the metal box housing the hot button pin pad. Dodgy weekly and monthly motels pop up along the roads closer to Las Vegas Boulevard. The descriptions suggest these house as much crime as anything.  Blue splotches dot aerial views, marking the personal and shared pools that rule out the need for visits to the unchlorinated water of Lake Mead.

On the outskirts of the city just after the last major habitation before Boulder City, scrubby plants and dry dirt cover the landscape. The fences there on the edges of Henderson keep horses, goats, and chickens in and coyotes out. It still doesn’t resemble a meadow. Huge custom houses are popping up right about there. High ceilings, curving staircases. No stucco. The Strip could almost be simply a crowd of lights, except that they’re raised above every other light in the city.