Words for Wednesday: The Recession and the Future

It's been a while since I've done a Words for Wednesday, but this week's words inspired me, and also I can not often resist a rhyming challenge.

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week there were two lists; I chose the rhyming one:

trepidation

stagnation

depreciation

domination

acclimatization

corroboration 

Here is my effort:

The Recession and the Future

The GFC caused wide stagnation

Unemployment, depreciation

The end of the US domination

Of economic occupation

Now things are getting better, slowly

So they say, though here in lowly

Mortal world it doesn’t seem so

Money’s tight and jobs are more so

We read the news with trepidation

Stories lend corroboration

To fears and predeterminations

Nothing seems in moderation

Is it a question of familiarisation?

What’s the secret of acclimatization

To economic deprivation

And social want and dislocation?

We hope for better, kinder days

A future mapped in better ways

We wait and wonder what will follow

When today becomes tomorrow.

Words for Wednesday: The Good Shot

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week the prompt words were:

marksman

stellar

blindsided

indelible

crazed

imbecile

Here is my story:


The Good Shot

Austin was new to shooting, but his marksmanship was improving by the day. Yesterday his performance was stellar; he had stunned his team mates with his accuracy and ruthless cunning. Approaching stealthily, he had blindsided local legend Danny Frank with a shot to the heart that felled him, wide-eyed and silent, in front of shocked on-lookers.

The impression Austin left was indelible. He went home exhausted and triumphant, the power of the weapon and his unexpected skill making him feel slightly crazed, almost dizzy.  But there was still plenty of work to be done. Only an imbecile would relax now, when there was so little time to practice and improve. The Grand National Paint-Ball Championship was less than a week away.

* * * 

So silly - but this was fun anyway.  Thanks for the words, Delores!

Words for Wednesday: Riddles

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week we have the option of playing a description game, using a second list of words.

I've decided to do this with riddles.  Can you guess what this week's words are? 
(I'll put the answers in the Comments)


1. 

A safer place you will not find

To hide small secret things inside

But if it has a hole don't doubt

Your precious things will all fall out

   What is it?



2. 

I used to use this item's light

To help me read my books at night

But now I lie in the dark in bed

And read books on my phone instead

 What is it?



3. 

Write upon me what you will

To remember one who you miss still

May the words upon my face

Provide some comfort in their place

What is it?



4. 

This may hang upon a wall

It may be big or may be small

What it shows is not quite me

But is the only version I can see

What is it?



5. 

From Latin for 'a room' this comes

A thing not blind, but deaf and dumb

Catch an image, store it well

To keep, to print, upload or sell

What is it?




6.

Hold this item in your hand

You won't believe it's made from sand

Do not drop it, or you'll regret:

It will break and you'll get wet

What is it?

Words for Wednesday: Memories of the Sea

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

Last week's words were:

crunch

foam

blister

riptide

fencing

blast

Memories of the Sea

In the lounge room above the wide couch was Holly's favourite painting, a beach scene. It was a wild beach, obviously windy, with pampas grass bending over on the dunes and gulls wheeling in the sky. A rolling wave crashed on some unseen rock, sending spray high into the air. Swirling foam lapped the sand.

Holly could imagine standing on that beach - the blast of salt air on cheeks, the crunch of broken shells in sand underfoot.  She imagined it so much, she had real memories of being there. Sometimes she walked with a dog, who barked at the spray and the gulls and ran in and out of the water. Sometimes she carried a stick for him. She called him back when he went in to swim, as the riptide was dangerous. Usually though, she was alone. She wore rolled up jeans and an old jumper, and her hair was long and untied. She passed through the crooked, broken palings of long-rotted fencing that marked the start of the public beach, down the small dunes past the grass and onto the rough sand. She walked, or she stood watching the sea and the gulls, arms wrapped around herself tightly. 

It was always late afternoon on that beach. It was always cool, and the sky clouded pink with the beginnings of a beautiful sunset. But Holly never saw the sunset. There was nowhere to go if it got dark while she was there, after all; that part didn't really exist. She didn't know if she was visiting (and if so, did she have a car?) or if she lived nearby and had walked. If she had walked, she had to get back home before evening. (Why?) Occasionally, she gave herself physical memories too: the itch of the pampas grass on her ankles, the sting of hair whipping her face, the beginnings of a blister in a sneakered foot.

Back in the lounge room the cries of the gulls began to fade and Holly pulled her hair into a pony tail. Her ankle was itchy and she scratched it with the toenail of her other foot. 

Words for Wednesday: Winter

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

I've only ever spent two winters in snow, once in Boston as a child (magical) and once in Fussen in Germany in my twenties (first couple of days magical, thereafter just a long, cold winter). So I have limited to zero experience living with snow and ice.  I've had a go at describing it here, hopefully it's not too laughably wrong. 

This week's words were:

incarcerate

phlegm

damp

groan

knife

blessing

Winter

The winter was like an incarceration, trapped in the house and everywhere you looked out the window was white. It was not silent. There was the wind and there were snapping twigs and icicles and sometimes the groaning and creaking of ice on the roof.

Inside the house the heater was on all the time, and the air grew thick. Our breath hung in the rooms, stale and close. There was constant illness, the rattle of phlegm in damp chests.

Spring sliced through all this like a knife. The sun was not warm but the season had turned and the gleaming wet of melting ice was like a blessing.

Words for Wednesday: a Christmas story

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week's words are:

surprise

aromatic

elfin

toboggan

steep

dashing

It appears that the festive season is upon us.  So, let's begin.

* * *

Marcie opened her eyes to the distant, pleasant sounds of her parents getting breakfast in the kitchen and the aromatic scent of fruit toast.  She remembered it was only two days till Christmas and smiled to herself.  Christmas Eve Eve, she thought, the family phrase immediately bringing back memories of other Christmas Eve Eves where she had thought the same words.

Marcie padded down the steep wooden stairs to the loungeroom. She glanced only a minute at the little Elf on the Shelf her dad had set up on the mantlepiece, just long enough to confirm he hadn't moved during the night. He sat motionless against the wall, his creepy smile and unnaturally rosy cheeks bright in the morning sun. Marcie shivered and hurried round the corner to the kitchen. 

"Dad," she said. Her parents were buttering toast, clearing the dishwasher and chatting. They turned when she came in. 

"Hey! Good morning." Her dad handed her some toast. Her mum smiled over her coffee.

"Dad, the elf didn't move last night."

"Well," said Dad, "I guess he had a rest last night." His face was a little tired-looking. Marcie knew he and Mum had stayed up quite late last night, as their neighbors had visited for drinks. "But I'm sure he'll get up to some tricks again tonight!" 

"I don't want him to," said Marcie. She sat and started on some toast.  "Can you actually put him away, Dad?"

Her father raised his eyebrows. "What? But he's part of the family now! And he only gets to come out at Christmas!"

"I don't really like him," said Marcie. She'd lowered her voice a little to say this, as if to make sure no one else could hear.

Her mum smiled. "I'm not crazy about him either," she said. "Gordon, let's call it a day on the elf. Maybe he can come out again next year."

Dad shrugged. "Okay," he said. " I'll pack him away today."

That day was fun. Mum took Marcie out for some last-minute shopping, and the shops were all beautiful and sparkly with Christmas. People were rushed but seemed happy and there was festivity and goodwill in the air. Marcie and her mum stopped at a cafe and had hot chocolate. The cafe looked out on a park with grassy slopes at one end. Some kids had made a toboggan out of a big piece of cardboard and were sliding down the slopes squealing and yelling with glee.

When Marcie and Mum got home, the elf was gone. Mum checked the hall cupboard, opened a red box, and said "Yep, there he is." She put the box back on the top shelf, closed the door and smiled at Marcie. "All gone!" she said. 

Marcie felt immediate relief.

That night she helped Mum wrap the last presents they'd bought and put them under the tree. Dad made her laugh by pretending to jump up on the mantelpiece to take the place of the elf. She was allowed to stay up a bit late, and they all watched The Polar Express on TV. 

When Marcie went to bed she felt warm and relaxed, and it wasn't long before she was asleep.

She heard the sounds sometime late in the night. 

At first she didn't know what had woken her, and then she heard it. It was a slow tapping sound, like something on wood. Tap...tap...tap. Marcie lay very still and told herself she was dreaming, or that she had imagined it. Tap...tap...tap.  Her heart thumping, Marcie listened again. It was a branch outside, she thought, or ...what did Mum say about strange noises? It was the house settling.   

Tap...tap...tap.  Like something on wood. Something.... on the wooden stairs.  Tap...tap...tap.  It was louder, she was sure it was. It was closer.  Marcie drew the blankets up to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Go away, she thought, go away, go away, go away....

After awhile she opened her eyes. The sound had stopped. She waited. There was nothing.  Still scared but exhausted from her fear, Marcie at last fell back asleep.

In the morning Marcie's room was golden with sunshine. Marcie woke up and for a moment she had no memory of the sounds during the night. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. The garden was bright and cheery, with birds tweeting and the sun shining on everything. She could hear a lawn mower next door and her parents moving around downstairs in the kitchen.

She remembered the sounds from the middle of the night. The fear seeped back into her; the sunny morning did not dispel it.  Marcie sat up slowly. Her bed faced the bedroom door. Outside was the landing that gave onto the wooden staircase that led down to the loungeroom.

Marcie got a horrible shock but it was not really a surprise. Sitting on the floor just inside her doorway was the elf. Its head with the cherry-red cheeks and knowing smile was turned slightly to face her, and its bright blue eyes were staring straight at her.

* * *

Merry Christmas!

Photo: InspiredinDesMoines/Flickr

Words for Wednesday: a true Friday story

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week's words are:

insignificant

crimson

mottled

track

border

spinning

This week I have a TRUE story. This is what happened to me tonight:

The car's problems seemed insignificant at first. I knew there was a problem with the radiator, and had felt the car's performance weaken. But I couldn't find the time or the cash to get it repaired just yet, so I kept it topped up with water and coolant and hoped for a few weeks' reprieve.

However, tonight coming home on the freeway, even I could not ignore the plumes of smoke that poured out from under the hood. I got off the freeway and pulled over. I used the maps app on my phone to track my exact location, and called for roadside assistance.

It was a ninety minute wait for the RACV. That was OK. It was a Friday night after all, and my car was my own damn fault. 

Fortunately I had a book with me. I buy books on Kindle these days, but I had treated myself the previous week to an actual paper book - and I had to admit it had been a joy reading it. It is nice to hold a physical book in your hands, and reading from paper is, after all, the easiest way to read. 

When the RACV guy arrived, he pointed out the evidence of my neglect: there was a hole in the radiator and rust around the battery, and I had been driving it hot for too long. I flushed crimson as he frowned over the engine. 

He arranged a tow truck and I got back in my car to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The sun went down. It turned cold. It started to rain. 

I put on my jacket, swallowed the bit of water in my drink bottle, and picked up my phone. I couldn't do much because my battery was low, and I knew I should save it. But still, I scrolled through Twitter, played a move in Words With Friends, and read a couple of blogs. I read Under The Porch Light's Words for Wednesday story about a woman waiting for a tow truck, while I waited for the tow truck.

I checked the time. It had been more than an hour. I rang the RACV, just to check if the tow truck had been ordered. It had.  

My phone battery was now very low. I texted my mother (who was minding my kids) and let her know not to be concerned if I didn't text or call again, because my phone was about to go dead.

I pulled out my book again and re-read the first chapter, trying to deconstruct how the author had set up the story and how he had started the action. It was a very good book.

The rain continued. Through the car window it made mottled shadows on the page of my book. Oh thank goodness, I thought. I finally found a use for "mottled" for Words for Wednesday!

My phone battery died. Forlornly I watched the little round symbol spinning to death on the screen, and then I was all alone.

It's very disconcerting to be without a phone these days. I was sitting alone in an empty carpark on a dark, cold rainy night, with no one I knew knowing where I was and no way to contact anyone.  My mind wandered a little to various scenarios. What if my interior car light attracted thugs or rapists or outlaw bikie gangs? What if I had to walk to a payphone? Was there even such a thing anymore? What if I missed the tow truck while I was walking to a payphone? What if I disappeared, never to be found again?

I sat there tottering on the border of panic for a minute, then reminded myself (a) I was not in dire straits, just waiting for a tow truck, (b) I was probably five minutes walk from Chadstone shopping centre, and (c) in the olden days of my youth I had been quite capable of surviving a couple of hours without access to a phone.

I turned on the radio and listened to the news. People in the Philippines are being battered by Typhoon Haiyan right now. I was just a woman with a #firstworldproblem, sitting in a broken down car created by her own laziness, waiting for a tow truck which would eventually come.

And it did. Eventually.

notarim/flickr creative commons

Words for Wednesday: A Halloween Poem

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week I used Delores' second prompt:

She couldn't think.  Her mind was full of pumpkin mush.

Here is my story:


Halloween came darkly, and the moon was very big 
Anna donned her costume, and tucked her hair into her wig.

The cries of children - 'Trick or Treat!' - floated through the night
Excited voices, running steps, squeals of sweet delight.

Anna stood inside her door, wishing she was there
But Anna had no little friends; those children didn't care.

Her mother let her dress up, and stand beside the door
To hand out treats to other kids, while wanting so much more.

To walk the streets with just one friend - that's all she wanted: one!
To share some secrets, laugh at jokes, and have some childhood fun.

The kids at school were not her friends; they barely spoke her name
And when they did they frowned or laughed - and Anna burned with shame.

They all thought she was quiet and odd, and so she was, she guessed
She spent most of her time alone, apart from all the rest.

Anna peeped outside the window set beside the door
The moon gleamed large and silvery... then seemed to glow some more.

Anna frowned and closed her eyes, then opened them again
The moon was even brighter, and it pulsed a little then.

There came a whoosh, like a sigh, that rippled on the breeze - 
'A wishhh' it whispered gently, as it rustled through the trees.

Anna squeezed her eyes shut tight; a tear fell down her cheek
'A friend,' she whispered softly, her wish fervent, her voice meek.

The moon glowed even brighter. Then it shrank to normal size
Anna blinked away her tears, and slowly wiped her eyes.

The doorbell rang. 

She opened up; it was some kids from school.
'Trick or treat!' they yelled with glee, and took candy from her bowl.

She closed the door. But when she did, the doorbell rang again
And this time when she opened up, there was just one child there.

The boy seemed roughly Anna's age, but they had never met
He smiled and held out his hand. He hadn't spoken yet.

He seemed a different kind of boy; he had a solemn gaze
And somehow he was bathed all in a gentle, milky haze.

'You need a friend,' he said to her. 'And these days, I do too.
I'm far from my old home and friends. They can't see me like you do.'

He took her hand and squeezed it. 'You are kind,' he said
'I think that that is all I need, to call you my good friend.'

Although it should have made her blush, she found she couldn't think
Her mind was full of pumpkin mush; all she could do was blink.

Anna's mother called to her. 'Close the door!' she barked
'What are you doing standing there, staring at the dark!'

Anna didn't feel afraid. The boy was by her side.
She closed the door and smiled, as she led him safe inside.