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Scheherazade in Blue Jeans
freelance alchemist
Tell me a story. 
4th-Aug-2008 03:27 pm
Typewriter - tell me about it
Tell me a story.
Comments 
4th-Aug-2008 07:36 pm (UTC) - The Little Girl and the Old Man [Part one - there is more if you like]
Once there was a little girl who was special. She was special on the inside, and that is what is most important. For when you are special on the inside it affects what you do. And sadly, its’ what you do, not what you are, that effects what others think about you.

As a baby, she did not cry very much, but when she did cry, it was obviously for a very important reason. And she did not cry just to be crying. She cried at you, because it was obvious to her that something was wrong and someone needed to do something.

Her parents, who loved her very much, didn’t think that she was that special. The way she cried was noted, but that was about it. Nothing really happened that was worth remembering, but that was about to change.

This family lived near a forest, and in that forest there were the usual assortment of wild creatures and creepy crawly bugs. But in this particular forest, the largest of the creepy crawly bugs were scorpions. They are among the worst of all bugs, for they pinch with their claws and sting with their stingers and generally are not very nice. All the families around the forest knew to keep the rooms clean and well swept. No scorpion, not even a little one, could hide in a well-kept room. But the scorpions still kept trying to get in.

One day, this little girl was sleeping in her crib. It was an old crib that many little babies had used, and used it very hard. There was one bar of the crib that was loose. She was still a tiny little girl and a loose bar normally wouldn’t have mattered for such a tiny baby.

All of a sudden, a big scorpion appeared at the window. It tapped on the glass looking for a opening, and it found one. Shifting and squeezing, it began to force his way through the crack. Scritch! Scritch! Scritch went its hard shell against the glass and then, with a quiet thud it was in the room.

Without anyone knowing, especially the scorpion, the little girl opened one eye.

The scorpion began to move quietly across the floor. But the little girl saw the big creepy crawly moving across the floor. It was moving toward her! You’d think that she would begin to cry, but she didn’t. Slowly, she reached for that loose bar and began to squeeze it every so slightly and ever so strongly. The scorpion moved to the foot of the crib and our little girl rolled over to far side of the crib away from the scorpion and next to the loose bar.

The scorpion did not notice the movement; in fact he thought that the little girl was still sleeping, but in fact she was wide-awake! Scorpions are not very nice, but they are not very smart either. For as soon as the creepy crawly reached the top of the crib, our little girl jumped up and ripped the bar free. And with that bar in hand she beat that scorpion. Whack! Whack! Whack! She beat it until she could beat no more. When her Mommy and Daddy came in to check on the cause of all that Whacking, they found a decidedly dead creepy crawly and an exhausted little girl holding a stick with a lot of scorpion ick on the end.

Now this was worth talking about. Her Daddy told the men of the village, and her Mommy told the ladies at the town well and the people at the market. Her Daddy told the men that he worked with and the Mommy told the women she ate with. Soon, everybody knew about the obviously special little girl and the Tale of the Scorpion.

Especially one particular little old man.
4th-Aug-2008 07:50 pm (UTC) - Re: The Little Girl and the Old Man [Part one - there is more if you like]
I would like more!
4th-Aug-2008 07:42 pm (UTC)
Once upon a time, there was a suitcase. It had been found in a thrift store and it was red, hard plastic and covered with devil girl stickers.
The top right hand pocket, if you reached your hand to the right had ticket stubs, bobby pins and a silver sparkle lip gloss that had become only a dry stick of glitter. If you reached left, you found yourself stretching further and further down not believing that you could fit a hand, an arm, a shoulder and then proverbially ass over teakettle,yourself spinning further into darkness as the light receded.
If you fell--and you would--you'd see her sitting there the one who plucked the suitcase from the Hadassah thrift shop on Commonwealth Avenue, paid money and applied stickers. She sits there meditative, silent the angel of spaces between in torn stockings and a Bauhaus tee-shirt, hair perpetually with roots. Time moves slower for her.

She opens her eyes, all three of them. Things change in the darkness. You know without knowing that she can hear everything, that she had a temp job and two or three paychecks that never made it, that she could really come back but prefers the infinite silence.

Deep down, she always wanted to be a nun, but this is better.

She reaches out a hand, pulls you close and kisses you and her lips are still waxy with black lipstick. Some things never change. Perhaps they pray to her at the Pit and she knows your deepest secret and suddenly...
she gives it to you and you are stepping off a bus in another city where night is falling and everything sounds alive.
It all makes sense and you walk off into something new, idly wondering if you could use an extra eye and that horns or a tail sounds like an upgrade, a reasonable thing.

If the suitcase could, it would grin.
4th-Aug-2008 07:56 pm (UTC)
Ooooh.

I like. :)
4th-Aug-2008 07:55 pm (UTC)
Would a filk count?
4th-Aug-2008 07:55 pm (UTC)
Sure!
4th-Aug-2008 07:57 pm (UTC)
One time I was trying to pack for Worldcon and spent the entire day online trying to figure out how to use Publisher to make custom label bands for hand knit socks. Then I gave up and said "Screw it" and wrote out some crappy cards to stick in the bags with the socks. Then I came over here to tell you about it. Also I found a place with free wifi near the convention center, and made some plans, and ripped more cds to my computer so my iPod will be happy and full of music for me, and also realized that inputting individual song info for compilations that someone has made *cough*Slipjig*cough* is a pain in the ASS in iTunes, but once I got that sorted I was much happier. 90's music, oh yeah.

I am not a story writer.
4th-Aug-2008 08:07 pm (UTC)
Oooh! You selling socks?

And it doesn't need to be fiction. I seek distraction. Because it is Almost Vegas Time.
4th-Aug-2008 08:03 pm (UTC)
Did I ever show you my story "Going Somewhere"?
4th-Aug-2008 08:06 pm (UTC)
I dooon't know.
(Deleted comment)
4th-Aug-2008 08:12 pm (UTC) - Don't think you ever read this :)
The heat has sapped my mind and i can't even get to the MSPCA
to look for a new pussycat so this is an old entry of mine.
Most are still accidentally privatized.
(Got my Notebook working again intermittently)

Date: 2006-01-03 10:48
Subject: Penguin Solstice Tails By Rowancat
Security: Public
Mood: groggy

(typed in haste 1/3/2006 following a colourful lucid dream)

Once upon a time, all penguins lived at the North Pole
(which was very warm back then)
and were not black and white at all but had very bright
fluorescent multicoloured feathers.

During their mating flights they filled the arctic skies in
countless numbers.
This accounts for past sightings of the Aurea Borealis
now feebly maintained by colourful Puffins a plenty.


Then during the Ice Ages they all decided to fly South
for the Winter.

But while traveling through the Tropics the hot Sun
caused them moult their colourful flight feathers
and they had to walk and swim the rest of the way
to Antarctica (they took flying south rather literally)

Penguins being highly adaptable, some of their fallen flocks
re-evolved into the mythic brightly coloured birds we now
associate with tropical lands. The Phoenix of China is one such
as is the Quetzalcoatl of tropical America.

The remaining penguins flocks who had reached Antarctica,
now reduced to their plain black undercoats
to soak up sun, evolved bright white chests to confuse
the penguin eating giant Antarctic Squids
(From below they Came...urf)
who only ever saw them as part of the blinding overhead sky.


Groups of these penguins have been slowly working their way back north
to their ancient homeland
by foot...err, flipper and are actually now in the USA where
their limited shape shifting abilities which they acquired over
the ages allow them to mingle with
unsuspecting humans who pass them on the street and mingle
with them daily.

Not all penguins are harmless or benevolent, some evil, though rather stupid
but well connected clans have infiltrated positions of power
(this may account for our present head of state, very little else could)

(And legend has it that at one time they infiltrated a coastal fishing village
in Massachusetts (Innsmouth) attempting an ill advised breeding program with humans)

But as Lovecraft once wrote:
"By their wet fishy odour you shall know them"


Rowancat, working towards a new Penguin Mythos
for the New Millennium

"Embrace your inner penguin"
4th-Aug-2008 08:16 pm (UTC)
I had some, but I lost them.
Sometimes they sail right on into my brain and stay for a bit like it's market day, but if I fail to sketch things or write them down to tether them...off they go in the night with my dreams, and all I can remember are shapes of things.

Well, the fictional stories.

The real ones are there, just hiding as soon as someone says, legibly, "Tell me a story." They're shy, with some extrovert tendencies; they'll show off if they think they're not actually on stage.
4th-Aug-2008 08:25 pm (UTC) - adoption, part one and two
Part one
Carolyn’s Story

One cold, snowy December Friday while mommy was reading a book in front of the fire and daddy was working upstairs the phone rang. The man on the other end of the phone said “Are you paper ready?” Mommy said “Who are you and what would you like to know if I am paper ready for?”

The man said he worked in an Emergency room and that a woman had given birth to a baby girl and she wanted mommy and daddy to be this little girls parents. Were we interested in parenting this little girl? We said “Yes!” The man said that we could pick you up on Monday.

We didn’t tell anyone except uncle Jim, who helped up put up our Christmas tree.
Monday came and Mommy and Daddy went to pick you up. While we were waiting to pick you up, Aunt Gini and Uncle Ferret called. Mommy and Daddy had completely forgotten they were supposed to meet them at the movies. Mommy said “Go watch the movie, have a coffee, but whatever you do don’t leave the east side!”

Finally, we got to meet you. You were the most beautiful thing we had ever seen with lots of straight black, black hair and pale, pale skin. Daddy pick you up and cuddled you. Because it was winter we dressed you in lots of warm clothing and took you home. When we got home Aunt Gini, Uncle Ferret and Uncle Jim all got to hold and love you and that, Carolyn, is how we became a 3-person family.


Part two
Rebecca’s Story
One hot, sticky June Friday mommy and daddy were trying to buy a car when the phone rang. It was Amy, mommy and daddy’s social worker. She said that a little baby girl had been born six days ago and her birth-mom wanted us to be her parents.

Mommy and Daddy just looked at each other – then got up to leave the place to buy a car – because they said YES! to Amy. They told the man with the car they had to go, Right Now, because they were going to be come parents to a little girl. (Mommy never did buy that car.)

Mommy and Daddy had to wait all weekend to pick you up. They didn’t tell anyone because they were so scared you weren’t going to be their little girl (they didn’t even tell big sister Carolyn). That Monday, Mommy and Daddy had to act like it was any other Monday. Carolyn went to preschool and Mommy and Daddy waited to see if they could come and pick you up. Finally, Mommy and Daddy got the call to come and pick you in a town 4 hours away.

Mommy called Aunt Gini, Uncle Ferret and Uncle Jim and said “I need you to do something for me and don’t ask any questions. I need you all to pick Carolyn up at school, feed her dinner, put her to bed and wait for us to come home.” They all said ok.

We went to where you were waiting and meet you for the first time. You were the most beautiful thing we had ever seen -- all big black curls, big blue eyes and the biggest yawn ever. We put you in your car seat and started driving home. When we got home we woke Carolyn to meet her little sister. Everyone got to hold you, Rebecca and that’s how we became a 4-person family.

4th-Aug-2008 08:32 pm (UTC)
The littlest pig grunted happily as she daintily picked her way through the mud. Her new boots kept her pretty hooves clean and dry. It was not fear of mud that had kept her from joining her brothers and sisters in their play, but a curse from the wicked pig fairy, who had declared that if she were to step in mud with bare hoof, she would be turned into a princess. And who would ever want to be a princess, when they could be a pig?
4th-Aug-2008 08:37 pm (UTC)
I already did! Our Lady of Crows.
4th-Aug-2008 09:38 pm (UTC) - A dialogue... (please forgive the formatting)
She stared at the figure in her doorway for a few moments. Finally, she found her voice.
"Dad..."
"It's nice to know you'll still call me that." He was smiling roguishly at her. "Can I come in?"
"Yes, of course." Shaking herself physically out of her reverie she stood aside and gestured him into the room. He took a seat near the door without removing his coat.
"I realize this violates our agreement, but I needed to talk to you," he started and for the first time she noticed he was nervous. "I hope you don't mind."
Her surprise over seeing him was morphing into gratitude, "Of course not. It is good to see you, Old Friend. What is going on? Something pretty big I imagine."
Trevor studied her face, trying to gauge how she would take the news. "Elle,...Elle, I'm leaving the Church."
"...What?" These were the last words she was expecting.
"I'm leaving the Church." He repeated, more solidly this time.
She was flabbergasted. She got up, moved around the room and then sat down again. This enveloped so many things. What if's started flying through her brain.
"Did I just enter the Twilight Zone?" Staring at her Oldest Friend and Surrogate Father, wondering what on Earth could have shattered his Faith.
He let out a cheerless laugh. "Sometimes I feel like I have. In the five years since you left, my daughter is no longer interested in taking over. My granddaughter has become an initiated Goddess-worshiper and wants nothing to do with the Church. And Raven...well, Raven..."
"Raven was never really a Satanist to begin with..." She finished for him. Indeed, she had known long before Raven himself that his heart was not really with his Foster Father's Church.
Trevor nodded. "He finally got up the courage to tell me and now that I'm retired from active duty, I see no reason to stay. If my wife had lived, I'm sure things would be very different. But she didn't and I am not the same man I was 35 years ago. For the sake of my family, it's time for me to bow out completely."
"You are a changed man. When I met you 21 years ago you would never have dreamed of putting family over Church." Looking at her old friend with new eyes. She was now very pleased she had greeted him with the old nickname of "Dad".
He snorted, "I blame you and Raven's influence on me." But he smiled to take the edge off the comment.
He stood up suddenly,"I want you back in our lives, Elle. We all miss you and without the complications of the ACS around, I would like to think we could renew old ties--"She opened her mouth, he waved her off staring at her very intensely. "Don't answer me now. Think about it. I'm still a Satanist, I doubt that part of me will ever completely change and some of the things that you couldn't live with 5 years ago aren't going to change. But I would like to try. We all would. Raven and Trin especially still talk about you frequently. So, think about it, ok?"
A little taken aback by this sudden decree, all she could do was nod. He gave her that roguish smile again. "Raven's cell number hasn't changed. Give him a call in a few days."
Again she nodded, and he left. She followed him to the door and leaned against it after it had closed. So many possibilities... slowly, she allowed herself to smile.
4th-Aug-2008 10:27 pm (UTC)
When my grandfather was in the navy (Surgeon in WWII), he used to know a man named Wade. Now, Wade wasn't much of a drinker, so every single evening, when the sailors would get their rum ration, he would deposit it into a flask he'd managed to smuggle aboard the ship. Now, pulling his flask out and pouring the shot into it wouldn't do since someone might see him, so instead he'd wear a pair of gumboots with the flask tucked inside.
So this goes on for about a year, and the flask is pretty much full, but he's still sneaking it into the mess hall every single night. At least until one of the officers sees him pour the rum into his boot. So the officer goes to ask him what he thinks he's doing, and to this, Wade replies "Well Sir, my grandma used to tell me about a ghost named Rumfoot, who would take all the drunk sailors and toss them overboard, unless you put rum in your boot. See, if you've got rum in your boot, the drunk fool just thinks he's run int himself and keeps going."
Not one to break some crazy sailor tradition (or so he thinks), the officer takes this answer and starts to walk away. Now Wade thinks he's clear and starts to walk away, and trips over his own gumboot. As fhe falls over, all of his years worth of rum starts to leak out of the boot, much like a big alcoholic bloodstain.

He was locked in the brig for a few days, and the officer (Having a bit of a humourous streak to him) called Wade "Sailor Rumfoot" for the rest of his time onboard.
4th-Aug-2008 11:12 pm (UTC) - what I'm working on now...
i’d like to set you savage, set you burned down to your very wick. I’d like to set you free. I see you drive past every night after seven in your twice dented Honda and I am nothing but a storage unit night watchman sitting smoking outside work underneath the one oh one but ah, I’d love to set you free.
I think how tired you look, and you’re really stuck on that Best of the Eighties CD that you’ve been playing nonstop. Does it remind you of some glory days back in high school? Take on Me and all that nonsense. Can’t you look around and see that the century has turned like a slot machine and we’re both on the other side of the big double 00 looking oh so sad for the change? Nothing good happens in the early years. Ever hear of the grand party of 1904? Hell no, and there’s a reason for that. We’re generation boring, sweetpea.
I know I have menthol breath and maybe you’re not into goatees and my belly might press up a tiny bit against that compact car of yours when I leaned in to say hello, but I promise I’d be a good fun. Your friends might not think much of me but your mom would recognize me as the kind of lifers who worked at gas stations for twenty years…and oh, just forget about it all, won’t you? I’m hopeless over you and you’re hopelessly out of reach.
So you take the light on Franklin and you’re gone in a slight haze of tail lights and exhaust. I finish my cigarette and head back inside to the stale office where the phone never rings all that much past seven anyway.
I am the guardian of all things forgotten.

(Deleted comment)
5th-Aug-2008 12:34 am (UTC)
Stands this son of Stephen,
strong before us, Asgar.
Kept as Thyngman, Ketil,
Coldwood's oak did train him.
Met with death, these many
men before did tremble.
Comrades, Ketil, Asgar,
came then, turning war-tide.

Asgar appeased Æsir.
Eager Ketil strengthened.
Blade and board he wedded.
Born to gorge on corpse-beer. [blood of corpses]
Found by knight-oak Northern
Now will Alex train him
Brought to place of binding.
Bloodweft makes them kinsmen. [see note]
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