guinnessman
Yuck...sometimes the stories just come to me with ease, other times I need to dig deep to think of something creative. Given the time constraints, "maestro" will be one that stays buried. Sorry...
He stared at the recipe, "OK, I have all the ingredients, I think..." Even though he followed the recipe to the letter, his pie never quite tasted like his mother's pie. "I miss her," he said to no one in particular.
He was almost like a robot the way he worked so efficiently; he always made sure it was a quick, clean kill. No sense in letting them suffer any more than they already have, he thought. And so it would be for his next contract, the local vicar.
I've picked up the acoustic guitar - literally - when I was younger. Strummed a few chords and put it down. Other friends picked it up and held it and made beautiful music. I teased them then, I envy them now. It's never too late to learn, but I think I'd be hard-pressed to train my fingers to dance the way theirs do now.
I love whiskey and must digress from my current approach. The term whiskey always brings this Theodore Roethke's "My Papa's Waltz" to mind - and it still confuses me after al these years:
My Papa's Waltz
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
John wasn't used to such luxurious accommodations; in fact, he was a little taken aback by it all after having spent the last ten years of his life in a six by ten cell. "And os it begins," he thought as he looked down upon Manhattan. "Time to get back to work."
"Integrity? Ha! That's a laugh!" he snarled. "What do you know about integrity?"
He was determined to never let it happen again. The bitter feeling of having everyone pointing and laughing at him - again. "This end's now!" he thought as he slowly reached into his backpack and pulled out the silencer.
"What are you doing with that?" The group of boys asked.
He attached the silencer to the his gun and showed them.
Two people lock eyes from across a crowded room, instantly connected. He worked up the courage to walk over to her and introduce himself. "What have I got to lose?" he thought.
"Will I have enough strength?" the man thought as he stared at his dying wife laying on the hospital bed. This wasn't how he pictured his life to be and now it changed in an instant when the gunshot rang out. "How can I carry on without her?"
writing since 2011 · 17 entries · 15 days shown up
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