Wandering Thoughtstream

Gigi: The Glass Girl

NOTE: The beginning of the adventures of Gigi, a girl, made of glass.

She was a glass child, or so we were later told. She lived in other people's hotel rooms because of her condition and never bothered anyone. Which was why we were all surprised when the hotel manager announced that she'd broken one of their new computers. I knew fairly well that she couldn't have. You see when you're made of glass, there really isn't a whole lot you can do. What you can do, you do-er-do and then you do your best to stay out of everyone else's way. I learned this the hard way, by bumping into her when she'd just exited a patron's room. We collided mid-way and she flung a fragile hand towards me and screamed catch me! I grabbed her hand and jerked her back to balance to discover that my hand hurt and she was crying profusely. The reason? I had crushed her hand-as a result, the glass shards had shredded the poor defense of my human skin. Her name was Gigi, I learned that after watching a scolding between her and the kitchen mum that kept an eye on the little thing. Gigi could do very few things because of her condition and when she did do them there was always someone to watch over her and be sure that she was doing everything right. I don't know if it bothered her or not, but I often had the impression at times that Gigi was laughing at us crazed humans. It was as if she were an alien child viewing us all from an other-world perspective and didn't deign to include us in her delightful world. Her eyes could reflect the serenity of a soul when she tilted her head back and drifted off into a daydream. There is something haunting though, about watching a figure in which you can see through and see your reflection staring back.

An Unnamed Blurb

NOTE: This is a piece of the story of an investigative reporter, telling about a frustrating afternoon. It is freestyle and fiction.

It was an unbearably miserable day and I should’ve seen it coming, but I hadn’t prepared myself for the inevitable question. My stomach had even growled in warning, but I hadn’t paid any attention to it.  

After a hard day of investigative reporting, the most important thing was getting home in one piece and taking a nice long bath. Something with lavender maybe, or rosemary, to help me relax and forget what I did for a living. 

Then Leon asked me to dinner. Point-blank, in front of the chief editor, my best friend and half the woman staff on the newspaper.

I couldn’t rightly just say no. I didn’t have the energy!

We sat in traffic for an hour and waited forty-five minutes for the ‘best table’. The meal itself wasn’t half what I’d hoped for and dear Leon spent the entire time pestering me with questions...about my family.

He doesn’t know a tenth of me, or a hundredth, I hate talking about my family and I told him as much when we finally arrived at my apartment.

He started apologizing, the idiot that he is and I mustered the energy to slam the door in his face. It’s reporters like him that give investigative reporting a bad name.

I hit the play button on the answering machine, tossing my jacket on the sofa and kicking off the shoes as far as I can.

That feels much better. I listen as the messages play, one from my folks, asking if I’ve gotten over my head cold and took my medicine, one from my aunt to let me know she’s put a box of cookies in the mail and a grumpy tirade from Chief to tell me I’ve been reassigned to a solo project.

Everything in my world is hunky-dory. Now if I can just find some bubble bath...

 

Hobbyist

NOTE: Here's an opening paragraph I'm revising for a new novel project.

I broke my lucky pencil this morning. Just when I had three more sentences to finish the short story I’d been working on for Mrs. Knottobon. I don’t know how a lady gets a name like that or why she thinks everyone has to write the same amount of stuff every week.

Not all writers are alike, nobody is the same, naturally we’ll all have different views and ideas, right?

Wrong. At least according to her, I’m still trying and barely making the cap every week, for the minimum amount of required writing. I’m seventeen for crying out loud! I have a life.

And even if I don’t, it’s nice to think and write about it.

I don’t even know how I got roped into the whole class. We’re all supposed to have a novel done by the end of it, we submit two short stories every week, one poem and one essay.

Every single week. She says doing this will separate the hobbyists from the writers. I don’t know what she’s talking about.

 

Lady Phantom Prolouge

NOTE: This was an opening for Lady Phantom, but it didn't quite capture her the way I wanted.

Officer Todd Williams hurried towards the squad car parked at the curb. Yanking open the door, he hurriedly fastened the seat belt, ignoring that he’d closed the door, harder than usual.

His partner, Officer Jason Kennan, was silent for all of five seconds. “Trouble at home?” The car shifted into gear, as they pulled away from the curb, lights flashing.

Todd scowled, more like war at home. “You try convincing your youngest daughter that she is throwing her life away!” He took a deep, practiced breath, pushing all home thoughts to a corner of his mind. “Never mind that-what do we have?”

“One officer down, second one not responding, we’re the closest unit, suspect is armed. I don’t know what for or what about. Joan said something about illegal goods I think, can barely make her out.”

Todd nodded, absorbing the information, and sending up a quick prayer. Father, please give us your protection and watch out for Caitlin. I can’t stand to see her throwing away everything you’ve given her.

Jason slowed as they neared a side road. “It’s somewhere down here. Look for Unit 242, and a lime-green pickup-Chevrolet.”

A prickling sensation started at his fingertips, working its way up to his shoulder blades. Todd shrugged it off, the shadowy trees seeming eerie as Jason pulled off onto the shoulder, slowing as they approached Unit 242.

All the doors were open, no sign of either officer engine still running, lights on, siren quiet. The image imprinted itself on Todd’s mind along with a nagging feeling of something amiss. “Jason?”

Jason had already exited the squad car, weapon at the ready, large flashlight in hand. “I’ve already radioed for back up. We’d better hurry.”

Todd followed cautiously, approaching the abandoned squad car. A quick check showed that nearly everything was intact, save for the missing officers. Turning off the lights, and engine, Todd was about to get up from the driver’s seat as a flash, then a glint caught his eye. It registered in his mind before he could get the words out of his mouth.

“Get dow-!” The shot was fired and Jason grabbed his shoulder, stumbling back behind the car for protection.

“For I am with you always.”  The promise echoed in his mind as he reached for his gun.

It sure doesn’t feel like it. The thought only served for him to second-guess himself. The glint flashed again, the siren’s reflection off the barrel of the pistol. Todd smiled grimly. “Gotcha!” He muttered,

NOTE: A prolouge for a teenage boy about to discover there's more to life than he knows and knowing it can help him save more than he's dreamed of.

He was just another teenager, sitting on the curb of the bus-stop, twirling a keychain with what he said was the only way to get home. Home, I later learned was a soup kitchen. Because of his odd hours and ways the owners had finally just given him a key to come and go as he pleased. Which in fact, he did and could often be seen twirling the chain round and round.

"I can't really help it." He muttered one time when an old dodger scolded him for being a waste of life and of absolutely no help to himself or anyone else. "Not really my fault" He'd added after the gentleman had left.

Then he'd sighed and leaned back against the iron pole that held up one half of the shelter. I remembered him very well, you see he always carried my groceries for me. Never matter what kind of weather or what. Always.

I suppose it was his quiet way of lending a hand and heart, as he'd come in for a few minutes, help me unpack, move some of the heavy things to lower shelves and whatnot. I love him like my own son.

NOTE: A story about a soon to be millionaire girl...from pennies.

She was running down the sidewalk, the leather square in hand, a steaming coffee cup in the other she skidded into the hallway.

Throwing apologies over shoulder she continued on and slipping and sliding her way awkwardly around the room, rushing to the destination known only to her. “Watch it there, princess!” A smiling man called after her, throwing an apologetic smile at the hotel guests. “I’m sorry, she must have just gotten something in her head.”

I guessed him to be the girl’s father when he crossed the room to speak to the rich lady that had just entered the foyer. “And why should I?” The woman protested loudly.

The man frowned. “You’re her mother. I’ve kept my half of each and every one of your crazy bargains. You just want the child as a celebrity icon, but you aren’t willing to even give a penny to her name!”

“A penny?” The woman shrieked. “That is more than enough out of you! I’m leaving her millions. It’s pennies you’ll have.”

 

The Shannon Story was a picture in my head I had but couldn't quite seem to capture. This little blurb here, was enough to clear the picture out to make room for some new ideas. I'm not sure if I did get the heart of the issue, but it's close enough.

Let me know what you think here : The Shannon Story

~Sara~

NOTE: This is a really rough-cut, unrevised draft, with some potential. Story circles around "Shannon" A girl who's going to date the new kid that her mother doesn't want her to.

“Good grief Mom!” Shannon rolled her eyes. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

     “It could very well be the end of your life!” Her mother shot back. “You know absolutely nothing of-”

     “I know a lot more than you think I do because you never found the perfect moment to tell me!” Shannon swiveled the vanity chair away from her bedroom doorway. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She applied another coat of dark lipstick.

     “And I’m making a last attempt at trying. Shannon, are you even listening to me? Don’t you respect yourself enough to-”

     “I respect myself more than you do!” Shannon glared at her. “So just leave my respect out of it.”

     “If you’re not going to listen to me then maybe I don’t have to listen to you either!”

     “You never listened to dad. Figures, I’d say.” Shannon dotted her cheeks with blush. “Brad is a decent guy.”

     “You don’t know that for sure.” Her mother tried again. “You can’t know for certain that-”

     “Yeah I can.” Shannon stood, grabbing her purse. “I can mom. I know exactly what to look for.” She brushed past and headed down stairs.

 

The Three-way Relationship, was actually a short piece on three characters of different ages, backgrounds, with decidedly different voices. It was mainly an excercise to improve my dialouge, I managed to add some cute twists though. Let me know what you think here . Three-Way Relationship

~Sara~

“My name is Valerie Thorndop and I’m ten years old.” Valerie recited her name into the microphone, stepping off the stage to the sound of applause.

“Thank you, Val, we really appreciate you sharing such wonderful talents with us tonight.” Monica smiled, looking down at the speech card in her hand. “Ladies and gentle men, I present to you, our last contestant-”

“Jarrick Corsoon, I’m twenty-two and boy, do I have what you’ve been waiting to hear!.” Jarrick entered the stage and helped himself to Monica’s microphone. “Thanks for the intro beautiful.” He turned to the audience. “They say to save the best for last and if it’s any help, I’ve certainly been saved for last!”

Monica frowned, moving away backstage. His part would be over in a matter of minutes.

BACKSTAGE:

“What kind of stunt was that?” Monica snapped, snatching the cordless mike from Jarrick’s surprised hand. “I need for you to quit making a mockery out of a very organized and well-planned production with your impromptu entertainment! I’ve had enough of your careless attitude and ‘easy-going’ personality. If you think you can just waltz on stage and-”

“Whoa! Take it easy, lady. Chill. Good grief. I just thought I’d save you the trouble of all that extra talking, besides, the crowd loved it.” Jarrick yawned.

“That ‘crowd’ was a group of parents with every couple thinking their child is better than the rest of them parading on the stage. This is a talent show Jarrick! Not a jerk show!”

“Is Jarrick a jerk?” Valerie cut in, quiet. “Is that why you’re always fighting?”

Jarrick flashed a winning smile. “We’re not fighting kiddo, just practicing our, uh...”

“Verbal debate skills.” Monica filled in, she smiled coolly, brushing past. “Valerie, you will be needed in five minutes before you reappear on stage, if you’ll both excuse me, I need to be going.” She stalked off in a flurry of twitching hair and clicking heels.

“Jarri, I thought you said you were going to be nicer to Miss M!” Valerie pouted. “I don’t want you to be kicked out. You’re the nicest adopted brother I’ve ever had.”

“And I’ll try to keep it that way, kiddo.” Jarrick winked. “Nice job up there today.”

“I’m not a kid!” Valerie ducked away from the pat on the head. “Didja really think so?”

“Think so? I know so! You should’ve seen yourself up there, you were great!” Jarrick grinned. “Now get going before they send someone to find you.”

“But I was good, right?” Valerie started walking backwards. “Really, really good?”

“The best yet!” Jarrick assured her. “Now scat!”

Valerie spun on her heel, trotting off towards the make-up rooms.

Jarrick sighed, watching her go. “I’m sorry Aunt Monica.” He muttered.

The curtains behind him rustled and Monica stepped into view. “You should be. And I won’t have you raising her hopes for nothing. Valerie’s worked real hard for this and I don’t want you to set her up for anything.”

“I was just talking to her.” Jarrick scowled. “I’m not supposed to talk to anyone, now?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk period and then we wouldn’t be going over this so many times.”

“Going over what?”

“This.” Monica leveled her gaze. “I absolutely cannot let this go on any longer.”

“I’ve heard that before-”

“And you’re going to hear it again. You’ll hear it as long as it takes to-”

“Get stuck in my head. I know.” The scowl deepened. “Aunty, I have a small head.”

Monica’s eyes flashed. “And you have an extremely loud and large mouth!” For the second time, she stalked off, leaving him in her wake.

He sighed. “Great. That went well.” He turned to head off to his own room when he saw a figure skipping towards him. Valerie.

He stifled a groan. “Hey Val, whatcha doin’? Did they paint you up already?”

Valerie giggled. “Don’t be so silly. It’s not paint. It’s make-up! Real make-up.” She twirled. “How do I look?”

“Umm,” Jarrick pretended to think aloud. “Hmmm, pretty? Nah. Beautiful. Nope...uh, I don’t know Val.”

She stopped spinning to look at him, hands on hips. “Jarrick, you meanie!”

“All right, all right! You look gorgeous!” Jarrick held up his hands. “Happy?”

Valerie sniffed. “For now. I have to go on stage just now.” She closed her eyes. “There’s so many people out there. Didja see?”

“Yeah. Lots of people.” Jarrick sighed. “Lots and lots of people, and I just made a complete mess in front of them.”

“What are you talking about?” Valerie frowned.
     Jarrick forced a smile. “Believe me, Val, when I say you really don’t wanna know about it. C’mon, let’s head for the side stages, we can watch the others from there.”

“Where’d Miss M, go?” Valerie slipped her hand in his, pulling towards the stage. “I wanted to show her my new look.”

Jarrick shrugged. “I dunno, probably looking for more ways to cook my goose.”

Valerie sniffed again. “Something smells funny, J.”

Jarrick frowned. He sniffed and coughed. “Weird.” He muttered. “Monica!”

“Smoke!” Valerie exclaimed as a telltale billow of gray sprang from the corner of the room. “J, get somebody!”

This piece was another excercise where I was 'supposed' to expand the paragraph into a few pages. The most I could come up with was this. It's kind of, well....you be the judge. I've titled it appropriately. Let me know what you think here: The Rich Heiress

~Sara~

Audrey would’ve enjoyed seeing some of her old haunts, like Peabody High School for instance. Sometimes she just needed to see things, to remember them for what they were.

She guessed herself to be the only one needing that, thanks to stubborn Samuel and his agenda, they spent the morning on the twelfth floor of an office building.

In a room without windows, as bland as the identity she’d been assigned, talking with weasel-eyed lawyers who could best handle their case.

If she’d ever been invisible, it was now and for once she wished she could speak up and tell them that money wasn’t that important anymore.

It wasn’t important if it took away the things that meant the most, replacing them with cheap trinkets and a lying husband. “If this is my lot in life, I’ll gladly sell it on ebay.” She muttered, plucking at a spot of blue lint.

She was seeing spots. Strange dancing spots. Maybe things would make more sense if the world was spotted and her suit speckled. A strangled laugh escaped. She’d spent too much time indoors.

“Something wrong, honey?” Samuel asked, stepping forward in the same breath to ask the lawyer another question.

Audrey dropped back a few paces, enough to let them get ahead. She couldn’t exactly get lost, the walls were all color coded. She just needed to remember her rainbow.

That thought brought another laugh, this time, choked. The sound that came out, drew the stares of the three men as they grouped, waiting for the elevator.

By the time they’d said goodbye and managed to make it to the parking garage, it was already noon. Audrey didn’t say a word as she slumped in her seat. Samuel was already chattering on how hard it was to find a good lawyer and how lucky they were to have gotten one for such a good price.

Audrey wondered if it was possible they’d hired an actual weasel. Not that her opinion mattered anymore, never mind that the whole fuss was over her money.

Clean, decent money her mother had left to her. Complete with private instructions not to ever let her husband get his hands on it.

Now that he knew she’d inherited it, he was trying to convince her that his hands needed to be in it. And now she was discovering what other things his hands had picked up. Horrible, terrible, dark things that made her heart freeze to stone.

They were running. Running from the sort of characters she’d turned up her nose at. Blood-thirsty, cutthroat crime lords all desperate for payback from ‘good ol’ sammyboy’.

For lunch, it was salad and low-carb dressing at an expensive restaurant. So expensive that she ordered a diet coke just for the fun of it and ended up tipping five dollars when she spilled it on the robot waiter.

Samuel spent the entire meal scheming with a conservative activist he’d included in the date. Mainly because the organization was underwriting most of the court costs, causing more of a headache than she ever wanted.

By the time everything was all wrapped up and back to normal, it was very late. The afternoon was spent trailing after Samuel. And the lawyer and his assistant on a never-ending visiting circuit with people who might be called as witnesses.

At one point, Audrey did see the high school-for all of ten seconds. “Who would’ve ever thought?” She muttered, dragging her feet as she continued down the hall. “Why doesn’t someone write a manual for the rich heiress?”