Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Ten Days of Madness~ Day The Eighth

As always, Tina's words are in blue, mine in black.

"First," demanded the ghostly dog, "Answer me this:

"I am the tiniest bomb, ticking 1200 beats
before dropping the weight of a penny
on some unsuspecting intruder
to my territory.  

Who am I?"

Those words were already nothing more than ghostly echos as the Labrador vanished back into thin air. 

"A Widdo!" cried Glancelot. "Just wah I needed! A widdo!" 

 Glancelot sat down gloomily on the edge of his bathtub until the servant finally arrived with the bath salts. As the door opened, a tiny object shot through opening, knocking the servant aside. 

"A bird!" said Glancelot. "The tiniest bird!" 

     The bird alighted upon his windowsill.

     "The answer to the widdo," cried Glancelot. "But wah doeth it mean? And be off with you!" The servant bowed out.

     Glancelot turned to the space where the Labrador had been and stared thoughtfully at it, as though it held the answers he sought.

     "A bird," he said again. "Ith thith the message from my dear Muvvah?"

     And it hit him. The key to the curse was held in this riddle. Birds... what was it the Labrador has said before cursing him? Something about food, a world of food...

     "But wah doeth food have to do with birds?" he wailed.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Ten Days of Madness~Day The Sixth

Due to Internet troubles, this installment is slightly late, but I assure you it is no less riveting! Tina's words are in blue, mine in black.

    Glancelot gazed dejected into the mirror the next morning.
     "Wediquwas!" he blubbered. The inside of his mouth looked no different than anyone else's except for a small splinter of bone that was wedged between his back molars. He picked at it, trying desperately to get it out.
     Useless. Not only was the previous night's party a terrible disaster in which he was brutally laughed at, his own servants were sneering at him behind closed doors. His own dear Gwen was no doubt spreading the rumor among her close maids. 
     "Enoufwpt!" cried Glancelot. "Thith thall not go on for anover moment!"

     "I must find a way to bweak thith dwead cuwse!" he continued meditatively.
     The very faint sound of stifled giggles burst from outside his chamber door. He glared severely at the door, wishing intensely to throw some verbal abuse at the unseen mocker. Glancelot turned again toward the mirror, probing at the splinter of bone with his tongue.

     "Ow, Muvvah!" he wailed desparingly (but softly), "if onwy your spiwit would guide me again!"

     "You could say please," said a familiar bass voice.

     "You!" shouted Glancelot.

     The ghostly dog nodded.

     "Perhapth," Glancelot continued, remembering his manners, "you have a message fwom my Muvvah that will help me?"

     "I might."

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Ten Days of Madness: Day The Fourth

Ten days of Madness continues! Presented are parts three and four, with Tina's words in blue and mine in black.
     “Is this what your mother would have?!” demanded the ghostly dog. “Here you sit with a world of food to explore, yet what do you do? You refuse to eat anything but PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWHICHES!” I’m not sure how much of this Glancelot was retaining. The utter shock and surprise of have one’s meal interrupted by an ethereal Labrador robbed him of any faculty of recollection.

     “How many times did your mother try to convince you that there is more out there than this peasant’s snack? On your mother’s grave, a curse to you- a Putty Tongue curse!” 

     Glancelot's shock gave way to sheer panic as a most inexplicable sensation overtook him. His mouth suddenly became filled with a substance which was by no means familiar: something like an eel and something like raw pie crust and altogether a hideous feeling indeed. Glancelot gasped, the full weight of this sepulchral visitor's words hitting him... Putty... Tongue... Curse. No taste! No speech! No taste!!

     "My mother?" he choked incoherently. "She sent you here to curse me? How could she do this?"

     “Were I you,” barked the Labrador, “I’d worry less about my mother’s sense of humor and more about how to break the curse.”

Monday, November 21, 2011

Ten Days of Madness~ Day The Second

Parts One and Two! Tina's words are in black, mine in blue.

    Sir Glancelot sat at round table with a plethora of admirers, a goblet of wine, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into four triangles. (That’s the way that Glancelot liked his sandwiches. He detested having his sandwich cut into squares. His mother had cut them that way when he was young and he had never forgiven her for it.)
Glancelot had just selected the second triangle from the top (clockwise) and was taking his first, long expected bite when the unthinkable happened. Instead of sinking his glistening pearls into that delectable treat, Glancelot found himself crunching hard bone."
     Glancelot was appalled. "Why," he demanded, "is there a bone in my sandwich?"
     He didn't expect anyone to reply. People were generally too afraid to talk to him when he was angry. So he was shocked when he heard a gloomy bass voice say, "That would be mine."
     More surprising than the voice was the fact that it came from thin air. But no, Glancelot realized when he looked closer, not thin air. It was little more than a slight, gaseous discoloration at first, but the longer he stared at it, the more solid it became. And at last it assumed definite, if rather smoky, form. It was a wraithlike beast. A ghostly dog.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Ten Days of Madness

     My friend Tina and I decided recently that our blogs' respective awesomeness would be markedly increased by a collaboration of some sort. What, we asked ourselves, would be the correct method of undertaking such a task? And we (it was Tina, actually) hit upon it in this fashion: we would write a story together. One of us would write a hundred words and pass it off to the other, who would then write the next hundred words. This madness would continue for ten days, upon the conclusion of which one unfortunate author must devise a fitting conclusion, and we would have a complete story! I am that unfortunate author.

     We have two different themes, which we shall weave together. Tina's is knights, and she has temporarily outfitted her blog accordingly. Mine is ghosts, because ghosts are awesome, but my blog is the same right now as it has been because I'm super lazy. I might fix it up later, but I highly doubt this. I have been lazy for nineteen years. 

     So, without further ado, I present to you the first hundred words of what promises to be an entertaining and possibly uplifting piece about ghosts, knights, and who knows what nonsense we'll come up with. This is just coming off the tops of our heads. And you'll want to read this because we are just that awesome.

   Tina wrote them, and you may read them here.
   Oh yeah. This is gonna be good.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Mr. Walrus, Said the Carpenter, My Brain Begins To Perk

        The time has come (this writer said) to talk of other things. Of hymns and psalms and worship songs, of cabbages and kings! But mostly hymns.

     Hymns are, in many places, a Very Big Deal. Many (I would say most, but I don’t necessarily have the statistics or anything to back that up) churches view them as a very basic and important part of Sunday worship. Here’s the thing, though. They’re not.

     Hymns are not everything they are cracked up to be. I don’t like them, nor do I have to. Hymns are viewed as superior somehow, to “modern” praise songs, and they are exalted to the point where they are almost worshipped themselves. They may as well be part of the Bible, the way these people carry on. But the way I see it, hymns are really no different from a lot of other music, except that they are really old. But tradition is a powerful force, and it counts (more often than it should) as its own reason for being. We therefore incorporate them into our worship times, in a big way. And because I am not over-fond of hymns for their own sake, I’ve decided to


I wandered in a graveyard
In the silence, in the dark
And read the names
Inscripted on
Each stone that bore a mark

I read their dates of birth
And I read too their dates of death
Those solemn lines
That told the tale
Of stopped heart; stolen breath.

Sometimes I could not read the dates
On some, the names were gone
An empty stone
A nameless ghost
A life forgotten long

A person once, that danced and laughed
And sang and ate and slept
Has now become
A silent thing
A memory never kept

I never saw their faces
I never knew their names
But still these empty
Silent stones
Inspire curious pain

Perhaps one day, my headstone too
Will crumble down or fade
My face will vanish
Just the same
As theirs were snatched away

I'll never know their names at all
And they will not know mine
We'll, all of us
Be only ghosts
From once upon a time

~ © Andrea Grace

I went to South Carolina with the family I work for (who I love), and the history there was just awesome. I wrote this after walking in a cemetary near where we stayed. Also, I decided that I believe in ghosts. Wholeheartedly.