The Princess and the Golden Swing

I had a weird fever dream this morning about a princess, well lots of princesses really. All of them were in competition to win the hearts of princes through this medieval gameshow that included princess-style sports, a talent competition, and a beauty/popularity contest. I wasn't me, I was an angsty princess with black hair and green eyes.The only thing that was familiar was the length of the hair. I didn't want to marry a prince or be in the game show, but I had to be. I had already lost two rounds because I put forward no effort whatsoever.

The next competition involved swinging on a golden swing while music played. In order to make it interesting, the princess would swing out a four-story window over the heads of the crowd. I was having trouble getting ready and children from the crowd were chasing me and pulling my hair. Finally I got away from them and decided to just pull my hair back and forget about it. I got on the swing and my accompanist told me that she had lost the sheet music for my song. So I decided to sing the song. This was a weird feeling, because I was singing in a voice that wasn't mine (princess was a raspy alto), singing a words I didn't know to a tune I had never heard before. Worst of all, some of it was in French and I don't understand any French outside of "oui" and "bouregeois," both of which were not in the song. But, I was really enjoying it and the audience loved it and I won the competition.

Okay, enough froo-froo girliness. I am going to go watch my Bodyworlds Anatomy for Beginners: A Live Autopsy and eat ice cream.

Possibly the Last Short Story for Awhile

Something strange happened this month: I missed my 12 Short Stories deadline. There have been many things changing in my life, and I’ve realized that there are a few things I will need to put less energy into. That doesn’t mean I won’t write anymore, but that I may write less, or may just focus on longer pieces. That being said, I did write something, it just didn’t meet the word count. So here is one more story. It’s not a story about politics, it’s a story about human nature and human feelings. ——— The war is over, or at least that is what they say. But how do you stop such a thing once it is started? Charles sighed when I asked him, “You act as if you don’t understand politics.” “I don’t,” I scratched a sliver of paint off the window with a razor, “I’m not even sure we should be doing this.” “They said we could remove the blackout paint,” Charles swiped an even curl of latex to the ground. It fell among the budding roses, an artificial petal. “But there are still soldiers ove

Decay, Swine, and Beauty

We are staying at an estate that is like a beautiful woman with tangled hair. Neglect is slowly wearing away at her, and you know that in ten years she will no longer be beautiful. But right now, her unkemptness makes her eyes seem wild, and she is ablaze with a vibrancy no clipped hedge ever had. And there is a pig. I'm hoping to have a little more time to write while we're here. The kids have attended one day of school this month thanks to the snow, and they had some fierce cabin fever. I've been inching along with my mystery, but I really want to get sidetracked and write a little office romance for kicks.

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s

Refracted Neurons

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