The Day I was the Parent

The Day I Was the Parent

The day I was the parent still gives me a heady rush

“I could do better” ‘s what I thought, Mom sneezed, then gave a huff

“I don’t wanna cook!” she fussed, throwing down the loaf of bread

Her lower lip began to quiver, her eyes were turning red

“Mom,” I scolded harshly, not willing to appease her

“You have to cook. How will we eat? Please pull yourself together!”

But Mother threw a tantrum then, with kicking, crying, screaming

I didn’t know quite what to do. Just what was Mother scheming?

Father came home grumpy too, threw his keys down to the floor

I ordered him to pick them up, but he stomped out, slammed the door

Dinner still not cooked I tried as best as I was able

To warm some soup and place three bowls upon our dining table

“What is it?” Mom demanded. “Eww, I’m not eating this!”

She took a big sip anyway than spat it in the dish  

“Come back here now!” I yelled to her; that sneer invoked my wrath

But Mother hid all night from me, didn’t even take her bath

My father too, refused to eat, bathe, or pick up keys

But just when I could take no more, there came a low, faint sneeze

“That’s it! You two are grounded for a year –No, make it two!”

“Excuse me?” Mom poked out her head. “I hope I didn’t hear you!”

Copyright 2011 Laurie E. Still

The Day We All Sang What We Spoke

The Day We All Sang What We Spoke

The day we all sang what we spoke was interesting and new

I hummed to school, when I arrived, the rest were humming too

The teacher burst into a song while handing back our work

I stared amazed at what she thought a grade of C was worth

She sang the revolution next, first Washington then Adams

It made our history come alive, patriotic as an anthem

Science was a lively tune, then art, and then mathematics

All put to rounds, or clever chants by musical fanatics

It didn’t stop there though, no, lunch was much the same

Along the line of steaming food, the servers scooped and sang

My friends made up their own songs, to ask about my day

Or wonder if the rain would stop in time for them to play

  

They harmonized the chorus too, it seemed like no big deal

I found myself very impressed; this fad had great appeal

                                                                                           

Even on the bus back home, the students sang their lines

The drivers too in cars we passed, all giving it a try

The foreman and his quartet crew, with power tools in hand

The mailman and our neighbor Sue, a duet on the lawn

I ran inside the house singing my own dramatic score

My mom and dad just stared at me, then Mom said, “Close the door.”

Copyright 2011, Laurie E. Still

My Baby's Flute

A nursery rhyme I wrote for a contest a while back. No, I didn't win anything.

My Baby’s Flute

High note

Low note

A twittering teasing tune

My baby played a wooden flute

Whittled upon the moon

Whenever the moon was shining

We came to hear her play

A lovely song

A lonely song

A lullaby

A lay

All the stars would gather

All the crickets too

Forest critters

Eyes a-glitter

Creeping into view

My baby played a sad song

While wolves around her howled

Then a ditty

Short and pretty

Saw bobcats strut and yowl

Frogs croaked deep with sonnets

Mice with love songs squeaked

Baby kept pace

With infinite grace

Even as barn owls screeched

But before very long

Baby'd played the last song

A ballad her own hand had penned

The stars whispered warning

Soon it’d be morning

Our concert must come to an end

Night creatures flee

So do Baby and me

We know now is the time to scoot

But tomorrow night’s new

This time you should come too!

To hear Baby play songs on her flute

Copyright 2011, Laurie E. Still

See What I See, Hear What I Hear

This was another short piece of fiction for my creative writing class. In addition to the bit below, there is rewritten version of events in journal format from the revisions portion of class. It adds more to the story but is written in the uncensored vernacular and not for sensitive eyes. If you choose to read it anyway, you may click on the "Read more under here" link at the bottom of the post.

See What I See, Hear What I Hear

I was dead.  There was no other explanation.  All the same, I opened my eyes and sat up.   My eyes wouldn’t focus, or maybe they finally did, but the images they registered seemed meaningless at first; colorless, lifeless mounds of ash, heaped together, sculpted into things familiar.  Bricks of ash, stacked on top of one another, formed buildings on either side of me, and beneath me, the ash had been packed into the hardness of pavement. 

I could really use a drink right now. 

Ignoring my thirst, I found my feet.  Walking was automatic, cost nothing.  It took several steps before I registered what really drove me, and then the alley seemed to go on and on forever.  The pressure that urged me on, that bid me “Run!  Hide!” rose steadily behind me, and I sensed the ensuing heat and light would be my destruction.   I spotted an entrance to the city’s sewer system I dove for it, fumbling awkwardly with grate until panic fueled unnatural strength and I ripped it from the ground.  The pressure faded behind me, balked by the darkness that enveloped me.

I sat there in the cold, wet darkness, marveling that it was neither cold, nor very dark.  Everything had taken on the dull, grey pallor of ash, even the water that flowed beneath my feet.   It was liquid ash.

God, I could really use that drink right now. 

I shook my head to clear the urge and started moving again.  I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but sensed I would know it when I saw it.  I rounded the corner and stopped.  There, ahead of me in the tunnel, shining as bright as if it were lit from within, was a rat the size of a house cat.  It lifted its rat-shaped head and sniffed the air, but deciding there was nothing there, it went back to rooting through the solid tangle that had caught its attention. 

Fascinated by the rat’s glow and the thought of whatever must have caused it, I didn’t notice at first how my thirst had intensified.  But it caught up to me soon enough and I was soon frantically looking around for something that would sate it.  Desperate, for a moment I even considered the liquid ash, but it repulsed me.  It was dead.

Thud thump, thud thump, thud thump.   The sound drew my eyes back towards the only thing in this place that wasn’t dead.  Liquid poured through the creature with each beat, liquid life that my throat ached for with such intensity that I was hurtling towards it before I’d made the conscious decision.  The rat, hearing the noise of my splashing, turned and scampered down the tunnel, but I was faster and snatched it up.  Hair, skin, and a thin layer of flesh weren’t in my way long, and as the liquid I craved so badly pumped into my burning throat, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, the first breath I’d taken all this time. 

Copyright 2011, Laurie E. Still

Trip to the Backyard

This is another older piece of writing, a non-fiction project for my creative writing class earlier this year. It was written in April I think, when Midori was only about 2-3 months old.

Trip to the Backyard

I’d waited all winter for it to be warm enough. Grinning over at the baby in my arms, I stepped into the yard.  The light breeze made her squint and I thought for a minute she was going to fuss, but she didn’t.  Picking my way across dog droppings in the yard (I made a mental note to remind the hubby to pick these up), I reached the swing set.  “See?  This is your swing set, Midori.  It is blue,” I said, and then because that seemed anticlimactic somehow (I'd pointed out that much from the upstairs window), I added, “and made of metal." Clank, clank, clank, I proved with my knuckles across the hollow steel.  When we reached the first terrace, I squatted on the steps so she could see the light peach-colored flowers, quivering in the breeze.  To my delight, a bee buzzed up, and since we’d already been discussing bees and their noises from books like Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree and Mr. Brown Can Moo, I enjoyed this chance to point out a real-life example in the brief moment it hovered in her vision.  The tree was next, where I pointed to buds that would soon be leaves.  Its bark felt rough against my skin but there were no sharp edges, so I held her hand out to feel the same.  She pulled it back, fighting my tug, and I sensed that she just wanted to look, not get involved.  Ignoring this, I squatted amid the gently-swaying daffodils. positioning her so that her face nearly touched one.  “This is a daffodil,” I informed her.  “It is yellow.  It smells nice.”  She struggled to track its movement with her eyes, blinked often, and squirmed, finally growing frustrated.  Safely nestled in my arms once more, we examined Daddy’s grill; the orange, clay chimney, the black, messy innards.  The clay had absorbed the afternoon sunlight and I risked her irritation again to place her hand against its heated surface.  Sunlight broke through the clouds warming the grill once more and making her tiny fingers glow white.  “Time to get you inside, little girl,” I said, remembering she didn’t have any sunscreen on.  My baby girl, content with this decision, took it as an opportunity to learn what the living room contained instead.

The Day the World Shrank

The Day the World Shrank

The day the world shrank is one I’m glad to put behind me

I yawned and stretched; when I looked down, my house was teeny tiny

I didn’t move at all at first, afraid of what I’d crush

I slowly stood, avoiding trees, there really was no rush

Tiptoeing tightrope down the street, I tried to leave the city

Behind me towering buildings loomed, sun-sparkling and so pretty

I knew now just how King Kong felt, when faced with those bright toys

How easy they would be to climb, escape from all the noise

Toy cars and tiny parks, miniature ponds and trails

Just like a living doll house world, transformed by witches’ spells

A power line then tripped me up, the jolt restored my senses

I picked myself up gingerly, wincing at smashed fences

I hopped over the train tracks, then leapt over a field

But as I waded through the lake, I suddenly felt a chill

The shiver made me cringe inside my oversized fur coat

But as I raised my head once more I saw the distant boat.

No longer was I walking tall, knee-deep in that cold water

Luckily I was pulled aboard by the boat’s own lookout spotter

They got me warm, they got me home, I’d learned from my near-drown

No longer will I wade through lakes. Next time I’ll go around 

Copyright 2011, Laurie E. Still

The Day I Got Trapped Inside a Bubble

The second installment of my would-be children stories. This one turned out much more rhymey than the last, hopefully not obnoxiously so. Oh, to be an illustrator as well as writer! Seems you can't even submit children books these days without the illustrations ready to go. Meh. I'll still get all these stories written at least, then see where I can go from there.

The Day I Got Trapped Inside a Bubble

The day I got trapped inside a bubble was at a party for my friend.

We were blowing bubbles, I blew too hard, and the backdraft sucked me in.

I floated up, up, up so high. The sky was all I saw.

But with a gust I spun around and saw the rising wall!

The house was made of bricks you see, all roasting in the sun

My little bubble, made of soap, was fragile as they come

I leaned hard to the left, hoping I could steer it

And drifted downward towards the porch. I came so very near it!

But just as I was going touch, another soft breeze found me

It aimed me skyward once again, then towards a rustling oak tree

I leaned with all my might this time, but the tree loomed ever thick

The leaves closed in, I held my breath, I didn’t want to look

Just a tiny peak revealed a swirl of tangled branches

Jagged bark and pointed leaves, all trying to leave scratches

A parting in the leaves at last, the light grew ever brilliant

I broke free with a whoosh of air, glad soap was so resilient

I steered my thin craft towards the yard, giddy with relief.

My friends still played on unawares, shouting, running free

I came to rest there in grass, a pop that no one saw

I straightened, glad I had survived, and ran to join them all

Copyright 2011, Laurie E. Montgomery