daily dime: the day hell broke loose at sicard hollow.

i heard the sound

but i couldn’t define it.

i saw the sight

but i couldn’t describe it.

i felt the feeling

but i couldn’t defeat it

i tasted the sky

and here i lay dying. 

**title / poem inspired by Maylene and the Sons of Disaster**

support the daily dime…http://dailydime.ning.com/

really. no shooting.

so evidently, i’m a TOTAL slacker.  i know, i know, i can hear you gasp in shock.  steph?  slacker?  Never.   just like i’m never sarcastic. 

i still really want to participate in the daily dime, but have been reluctant to jump back in b/c i’ve felt really drained lately and don’t think i can manage much to write…let alone commit to writing something every day.  so…i’m going to be a rebel and make my own rules (the boys can vote me off the island if they want…but really, they’re nice boys and i’m sure they’ll put up with my crap). 

i am going to submit to the daily dime as much as i possibly can.  it might be every day.  it might be once a week.  heck.  it could even be twice a day if i was in the mood.  but i promise it will never be less that one submission a week.

please, as always, support the boys as they continue to write, write, write, and put me to shame.  (c; 

Gabe = http://typinghurts.blogspot.com/

Todd = http://initialdraft.blogspot.com/

Cuyler = http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com/

Steve = http://tactilecontact.blogspot.com/

Arthur = http://phantomsandshadows.blogspot.com/ 

daily dime: .fin.

Her hands rested lightly on the ivory keys. They felt good.  Smooth.  Cool.  Familiar.  

Now, if only she could manage to remember the joy that the sound used to induce.  If she could only forget that day. 

She willed herself to move. She pressed lightly with one finger.  Not really pushing the key, but rather just letting the weight of her finger bring it down.  The quiet tone sounded sad.  Lonely.  It must feel right at home, she mused.  Looking down at her hands, she willed them to keep moving.  She took in a breath and began to move the rest of her fingers. 

Her hands glided…no…floated across the black and white keys as the memory of the song began to fill her.  She closed her eyes and was transported back to her mother’s parlor… 

Sun was flooding through the large window, illuminating the small room.  The gold lettering on the binding of the books that lined the walls were shining and the room held a glow that seemed more beautiful that this world was capable of. 

There was a slender girl sitting at the piano, playing feverishly a song that was her everest.  Her brow was furrowed and her black hair swayed as she attacked the mind of Bethoveen.  Bright blue eyes flashed indignantly, knowing she would get the better of him this time. 

Here it was…the measure that she had yet to master…and there it went… 

The furrow on the brow and the indignation in the eyes turned into a smirk and a twinkle of pride.  She began to breathe more evenly and her hands started to feel like they weren’t attached to her arms and her arms were no longer attached to her shoulders and her shoulders were flying.  The piano ceased to be her instrument and she was singing the song with every part of her body… 

…her hands stopped abruptly.  Just short of the end of the piece. 

Forgetting wasn’t so easy.

===================================================================== You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the sixth: .rouen.

The room is sparse, cold and gray. 

This is strange… 

The girl sitting on the bed is slight and pale, but there is something in her eyes that makes one think that she was once more than the shell she now appears to be. 

…I expected today to feel different. 

Clothed in a simple white sheath, her pale skin seems that much paler.  She reaches up with a small, strong hand and runs her fingers through her almond colored locks.  It has grown since she’s been in this place and is now softly sweeping her small shoulders.   

Calm.  Is it actually possible to feel calm on a day such as this? 

Standing in one swift motion, she moves fluidly to the small window that was only just above her head.  In that quick movement, it’s almost easy to see how she managed the battlefield. 

Just one glimpse of the sky…Father, let me have just one look… 

Her prayer is answered as the dark clouds break slightly, revealing a small sliver of cobalt sky.  She takes a moment and tries to let the color soak into her memory before she turns back to the room that has been her home for much too long. 

I’m glad to be rid of you.  I never thought I’d hate anything as much as death, but I was wrong.  This prison…this prison is killing me slowly. 

She sits back down on the bed and sighs heavily.  Closing her eyes she begins to pray.  She prays for her parents.  For her friends.  For the men who fought beside her.  For the men who died along side her.  For her life.  For her country.  For her king.   

“Joan?”  Her prayer is interrupted by his low, firm voice. 

“It’s time.” ====================================================================== You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the fifth: ..lost..

This hurts.

My fingers are bleeding.

My mind is numb.

I’ve given too much.

I don’t know what’s mine anymore.

who knew writing was so hard?

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You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the fourth: .vidrio.

A small stream of sweat made it’s way slowly, irritatingly, down his spine.  He shifted his leather jerkin hoping the light wool shirt he wore beneath it would soak up the sweat.  Dark auburn hair was bound tightly at the nape of his neck by a stretch of fine leather and fell in a complex, five-strand braid to the small of his back.  The breeze coming at him from across the valley whipped the dark cloak hanging from his broad shoulders.

He took a deep breath filling his lungs with the clean air and his nose with the sweet, fresh scents that belonged to the world above ground.  Being above ground made his kin nervous and once they were accosted by the stark daylight and the expansive cobalt sky, all they could think about was going back into the Mountain.         

Turning from the valley below that stretched far beyond the range of his dark green eyes, he fixed his gaze on his home.  Shale Mountain was part of the range that the Men had christened Verre Lure or The Glass Range.  He liked to believe that they were given the name due to the jagged line they tore into the horizon and for the multitude of colors that were reflected by the sun on it’s peaks, but he knew the reason was far more complex than the aesthetic. 

It was the reason his family and the other Havad had always lived under the constant shadow of threat.  “Glass” the Men called it when they very well knew it was stones.  Precious stones.  Some of the Men had even nick-named the range the “diamond-hills”.   

He was very unlike any Havad in that he frequently loved to come out of the mountain and look over the peaceful valley.  It was a patchwork of a half a hundred shades of green and brown and gold, and each sunrise and sunset brought a new spectrum of colors to flood the valley.  Thinking again of the journey he must take, Javel turned away from the Mountain and let his gaze soak up the vision of land before him.  He closed his eyes and let the soft breeze cover his entire body.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at himself.  He took in his stature, his small hands, small feet, small torso, short legs and short arms.  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  We are small he thought but we are greater men. 

Javel heard Milal calling his name from the entry of the Mountain and knew it was time to return home.  Home.  Why was it the Shale never felt like home?  His family, his friends and even those he wouldn’t consider a friend all preferred the immense under-ground cities tied together in a network of tunnels beneath the Glass range.  They felt freedom in the ground and suffocation above it, when all he felt was a weight.  Suffocation in the ground and elation whenever he could get even just a glimpse of the sky.

His mother always said that Elshin had carved him from a special stone.  She said it was his destiny to be the voice of the Havad to the world.  But she died in his eighth spring and no one else understood his anxiety.

Milal called his name again, hastily this time “Javel!” his nervousness was apparent, “Stop staring at the sky boy, and get back into the Mountain.  The sky is resilient, I am positive it will still be here on the morrow.”

Javel smiled again.  Yes.  That was a guarantee, the sky was always there.

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You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the sunday short: .gullible.

“tuna?”

“yeah.  tuna.”

in the brownies?!?”

“yeah.  in the brownies.”

“but….why?”

“cuz’ it’s good.”

“well, is it just the juice, or is it the tuna too?  like, actual chunks of meat?”

“no.  it’s all the tuna.  it’s just blended.  obviously.”

“but, why?”

“it keeps them moist and it brings out the flavor of the chocolate.”

“yeah, but…..tuna??!!?”

“don’t worry….it’s dolphin safe.”

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You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the second: .mityana.

okay…so, as Gabe pointed out, the time-stamp on my blog is wonky.  I posted my blog yesterday just before 8pm.  Go figure.  Today I’m cutting it close with a post at 12:30am.

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His hand rests softly on my knee.  A connection.  Small but necessary.

I can hear his quiet voice amidst the other noises in the room.  Children talking.  Laughing.  Melissa is telling a story.  He’s singing in a language my ears can’t understand, but my heart knows it well. 

His singing is soon drowned out by the other children in the room.  I can’t understand them either, but I understand their smiles and I know their laughter.  The feeling in the room soaks into my being and I can’t help but smile and laugh with them.

Helen is reciting a story to her cousin.  She is very animated as her small hands flutter about and her face mimics a wide array of emotion in exaggerated form.

Arthur is sitting near me and he’s talking to Melissa.  He is responding to something in her story.  I listen, but I don’t listen.  He is speaking English, but I’m not putting the words together.  I just listen to the sound of his voice.  Soft, low and strong.  Such a change from the first day we met.  He had spoken so softly that I couldn’t hear what he was saying and his words always sounded unsure.

After he got the know us and was more comfortable around us, his demeanor began to relax.  His voice remained soft and quiet, but a confidence started to seep into the insecurity until it was gone.

I knew I would miss his voice.   His easy spirit.

My heart grew heavy as I looked around the room filled with beautiful faces.  I tried to burn their images into my memory.  I tried to store this moment in a place I could never forget.  Then I started to divide my heart. 

A little for Helen.  A little for Rose.  A little for Timo.  A little for Jonathan.  A little for Arthur.  A little for Patrik.  A little for Eva.  A little for big Rose.  A litte for Ephriam.

My reverie was broken when I felt something warm and wet on my arm.  I looked down to see Jonathan crying.  He was looking at me with his dark eyes and was speaking to me in a pleading voice.  I couldn’t understand what he was saying, so I looked to Arthur for support.

He leaned in, put his arm around Jonathan and began to speak softly to him.  After they had spoken for a few moments, Arthur looked to me and said “He’s sad that you’re leaving.”

I managed a small smile before wrapping Jonathan in my arms.  I held him and we cried together for what seemed both like an eternity and an instant.  He pulled away from me and looked into my eyes.

Placing a small, rough hand on my cheek, he whispered “Don’t go.”

Two small words and my heart was broken.  My heart was healed.  My heart was heavy.  My heart floated away.

My heart felt complete.

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You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com