Jelly Beans

The prompt for this week comes from recent happenings in my house.  I will spare you all the details of my three year old potty training (you're welcome), but it did lead to the thought, "I'm handing out jelly beans like crack/cocaine ..."

Then my overactive imagination took over, my brain flooded with different scenarios where that line might make sense, and I can't help myself.

Prompt: "I'm handing out jelly beans like crack ..."

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My response:

We waited until dusk to sneak closer to the camp.  Unfortunately, we came from side where they'd dug latrines.  The reek of human waste mixed with the sharp, sweet smell of the factory on the other side of the tent town and made my stomach roil.  The forest we followed thinned and opened up into what used to be crop fields.  In the distance, surrounded by twelve foot chain link fence topped with barbed wire and looking more like a prison that what it was, stood the Jelly Belly Factory.  Between us and the factory was a large, military clump of tents and vehicles.  Guards stood near the entrance road and in intervals around the rest of the camp.

Blake cursed.  I could see his eyes focusing on the automatic rifles and bulging muscles of the security.

"We knew we wouldn't be able to just waltz in, you know," I reminded him.  My eyes were glued to the camp itself.  I waited, watching, my heart bouncing off both sides of my ribs.  Then I heard it - the sound of children laughing.  Three boys kicked a ball between two of the nearer tents.  A little girl in a dusty, pink dress toddled after them, a doll dangling from her fist.

I tapped Blake.  He ignored me at first, counting the guards, then looked down at me, annoyed.  His hair hadn't been cut in ages, and it hung down around his face.  He had delicate features - wide eyes, a fine, straight nose and high cheekbones.  Before, the kids at school used to make fun of him.  They'd say we were really identical twins - he was too pretty to be my brother.  Then the Twilight books came out, and McKenzie declared he looked like Edward.  Then the girls were lining up to go out with him.  But those days seem so long ago, now, crouching at the edge of civilization ... well, hopefully at the edge.

Blake's eyes followed my pointing finger.  He saw the kids, and sucked in a sharp breath.  "Do you think?"

I didn't answer.  He knew what I was thinking.

One hundred percent contagion.  Twelve hour incubation.  Twenty-four to forty-eight hours until either full recover or death.  Seven point eight percent survival.  When we read the numbers on the internet, they seemed so scary.  Illness swept across the continent at an alarming rate.  People tried to flee ahead of it, and only succeeded in carrying the virus, always one step ahead of the containment barricades.  In less than two months, it was over.  Either you were one of the seven point eight percent, or you weren't around to care anymore.  We thought the worst was over.  Then we saw first hand what happened to a civilization that lost ninety-two point two percent of its population.  It wasn't pretty.

First we joined the group forming in Liberty, Missouri.  I don't remember the last three days we spent there.  Blake carried me out, bruised, bloody, and mentally broken.  He found a car, and we made it all the way to Reno, NV before someone else stopped us.  They didn't come after me, but they worked us like slaves.  Again, we ran.  Blake started going by himself, approaching smaller groups of travelers along our way, and they pointed us here, to the old Jelly Belly factory on the outskirts of Fairfield, California.  If the rumors were right, the guy in charge had a conscience, of sorts, and we'd be treated fairly.

I heard a twig snap behind me.  I flipped around, finding myself nose to nose with one of those automatics.  Ready or not, we were about to find out just what kind of people we'd found.

They didn't kill us on the spot, so that was something.  They even let me walk on my own, once they'd stripped us of our weapons and supplies, binding our wrists with zip ties and urging us forward with grunts.  Passing through camp was probably meant to be a walk of shame, but I was so distracted by the women and children who paused to watch us.  They stopped in the middle of wonderfully mundane activities like making dinner, sewing clothes, and drawing in the dirt.  It reminded me of life before.

We passed through the fence and into the building.  I heard the voice coming from the door at the end of the hallway that stood open.

"I can't guarantee delivery over one hundred miles.  Past that is too much risk.  You come in to pick up your stuff, or you go without."  A pause, and I wonder if they can hear our footsteps coming.  "No, you don't get a discount for coming in, my prices are set."  Another pause.  We're almost at the door.  "I'm glad you came around to my way of seeing things, then.  Yes, sir, we'll have it ready.  Nice doing business with you."

Now I could see in.  The thin man wore a suit that would have been too small for me, and that was really saying something, considering how small I'd gotten since regular meals ceased.  His hair was thin and combed over on top, and I couldn't help but stare.  I'd only seen comb-overs on sitcoms.  It was hard to believe anyone would actually have one.  He reached forward, setting a phone down on the desk in front of him and turning to a man in a white shirt and slacks standing in front of the desk.

The other man laughed.  "Brent, you sure have a way with people."

Brent's booming chuckle filled the room.  "Who'da thunk it, hey Josh?  Three months ago, I was glad to be a shift lead.  Now, thanks to seven point eight percent, I'm selling jelly beans like crack.  The end of the world hits us, and we Americans still gotta have our candy!"

I shivered.  Fair, family man?  Or candy drug lord?

The water flowed ...

I'm keeping it simple today.  The prompt is: Finally, it burst, and the water flowed ...

Enjoy!

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My response:

They were all over pinterest.  My friends were blogging about the ones they made.  My own children ogled the pictures, practically drooling, bouncing on the balls of their feet and begging me to make one for them.

A water blob.

My husband gave me a blank stare when I told him what I planned to do.  "A what?!"

I have to admit, it did sound like a horror movie from the 1950s.  But I was going to try anyway.  It was supposed to be easy!

It was not supposed to bust before I'd even finished filling it.

I'd done what the directions told me to.  I bought thick painter's plastic.  I folded it in half and ironed around the open edges, sealing the two layers together.  I left a little hole open to insert the hose.  And I dumped a whole bottle of blue food coloring into the thing, to make it look pretty.

None of the other mothers complained about the edges of the blob getting weak and cracking along the seam where they'd ironed it.  They didn't have problems with the plastic stretching thin and springing leaks after their children walked on it with their shoes on (and yes, I did tell them to get off, but sometimes they insist on learning by first-hand experience).

Finally, it burst, and the water flowed out of the plastic blob and onto the grass.  And the kids ... well, they had a blast.  You'd have thought it was supposed to break and spill out from the giggles and jubilation from my crew. 

Pinterest fail.

Mommy win.

I think we'll do this again next week. 

Put your phone down!

In honor of my good friend, who is a high school teacher, I'm going to use a line from her life for our prompt this week.

Prompt:  "Put your phone down and look at the sky!  It's a beautiful day!"

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My response:

I didn't have to look up from my phone to slide open the door of the mini van.  It was the same one we'd had since I was four, and I was a better driver than Mom anyway.  She only made me sit in the back because I ticked her off this morning when I said I didn't want to go to a stupid family reunion.  Then she threatened to take my phone away.

Oh well.  At least if I wasn't driving, I could Snapchat all the way there ... when I wasn't picking up toys off the floor and handing them back to Bryce, my four year old step brother and total pain in the rear. 

After two hours, my legs were cramped.  I closed my eyes for a minute as I stepped out of the van.  The soft, stinging relief of moisture coated my eyes, and I paused.  Mom said it was because I stared at my screen too long without blinking.  I'm pretty sure it's from sitting in a cramped space with Doug's stinky, old-man cologne for too long.  That stuff is rancid.  I don't know why anyone would choose to smell like that.

"What a beautiful day!" Mom said, shutting the door behind her.  "Smell that country air!"

I breathed in, then choked.  "Ew!  Mom!  Cow Manure!!!"

I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the cows standing in their own excrement on the other side of the road.  Instagram.  "My own, personal hell.  Pray for me."

"Put your phone down and look at the sky!  It's a beautiful day!"

I sighed.  Looked up.  On our side of the road, past the parking lot, was a wide, sparkling lake.  I lifted my phone and snapped another picture.

Grab another book!

Do you ever stop a little back from the car in the lane next to you when you come to an intersection, just so you can keep singing at the top of your lungs like a crazy person and not feel like some one's going to look over and see you?

Um, right.  I would never do that either.  Ever.  

So, after a comment that last week's prompt was a little broad, I'm going to go for specific this week.  Grab the nearest book.  Open to page 14 (because that's my lucky number).  Now find the fourth sentence (hopefully the author isn't too long winded, and there is a fourth sentence.)

That is your prompt for the week.

Remember to share your line with your comment, so we know where you're coming from.  Enjoy!

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My response:

I grabbed CRUCIBLE OF GOLD by Naomi Novik.  It's the seventh in her Temeraire series, and while I thought the last book was a little dragging, what I've read of this one is fantastic.

My line:  "I am sorry, sir, but I will not be the Governments' butcher again."

Great line, right?  Now for my response:

The throbbing in my head and a ray of dazzling sunshine brought me back to consciousness.  My right arm was numb from lying on it, but when I tried to move, I realized why.  The manacles were still there, cutting into the flesh of both my wrists.  My left eye wouldn't open, and straw stuck to my right cheek when I tried to lift it from stone floor of the jail cell.

A long, desperate moan filled the air.  It wasn't until the guard standing just outside the door chuckled that I realized the sound came from me.

The merciful sleep had fled, and I knew there was no quick way back.  I tried to sit up.  They'd stripped me of my boots, my vest, my belt, and my shirt before my lashes last night. My brown pants hung loose around my hips, the fine fabric ruined with blood and other bodily fluids.  It took me nearly ten minutes to maneuver into a sitting position.  Then I shut my eyes and concentrated on my blood still pulsing in my veins.  Still alive.

Someone must have notified Prime Regent Kant that I was awake.  It wasn't long before he came, an escort of six men and the jailer with him.  In spite of my pain, I laughed.  "Are you so afraid of me, sir?"

"I was always smarter than you, Breggan, if not stronger."  Kant snapped a rolled up strip of leather into his palm.  "But you're not stupid, either.  You know what I'm here for.  Now that you've seen just how expendable you really are, have you made your choice?"

I closed my eyes and let my head rock back and forth.  "My choice.  Yes, and an angel's blessed choice it is, sir!  I am sorry, sir, but I will not be the Governments' butcher again."

"You think that what we've done to you is bad."  Kant leaned in towards the bars of my cell, his voice dropping.  "But what if we did nothing to you?  In fact, what if we put you up somewhere nice ... say, in Theran's Hall?"

I shut my mouth, and a new flash of pain seared through my jaw from where some of my teeth had come loose last night.  I managed to swallow down the manic laughter that shook my gut and wrenched my bruised muscles.  What would be more fitting?  To throw the government's attack dog into the very jail with the criminals he'd tracked?  There wasn't a man in Theran's Hall who didn't hate me, who hadn't lost a brother, a blood friend, a father to my brand of justice.

Why did I have to grow a conscience?  Just because the owner of the inn had been a woman instead of a man?  Or because her green eyes flashed in the moonlight?  Or because I believed her pathetic tale of how she'd been framed?

"Do with me what you will.  I will not be your dog anymore."  With what strength I had left, I spat at Kant, noting with satisfaction that I hit the breast pocket of his wool coat.

Kant roared.  "Take him away!"

The cell doors clanged open and all six men came in, heaving my aching body off the floor and down the hall.

Kant's voice echoed in the hall behind me as they dragged me to my doom.

Summer!

Our local school district lets out this week.  My kindergartner is "graduating" on Wednesday, and my second grader's last day is Thursday.  I can't wait, and I say that without the smallest bit of sarcasm.  I love the lazy days of summer! 

Even if I am getting up early to go running with my friends, it's still later than when we have to get our kids up and ready for school.  I love letting the kids sleep in each morning.  They're rested and happier during the day.  I love taking them swimming and riding bikes and doing all the fun things you get to do in the summer.  I even have a few moments when I feel sorry for my husband, that he's not a stay-at-home dad, because it can be so much fun to be a stay-at-home mom!

Our prompt for this week is simply: Summer!

I hope you're having a happy start to your summer.

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My response:

It was dark and shady in the woods behind Jessica's house.  Light filtered through the leaves of the trees in that whimsical, otherworldly way, and the brook babbled as it hurried by.  Leaves littered the forest floor, but they were too damp to crunch underfoot - they just disintegrated into the mud.  It smelled of mold and water.  As adults, we start to think water doesn't have a smell, but animals and children know different.

It was dangerous back there, or at least, the way I remember it, it was dangerous.  The water was swift, tearing little sticks out of our hands.  A piece of rope hung off a branch of an oak, just on our side of the water.  If you got a running start, and if you didn't let go for the pain of the rope splintering into your palms, you could reach the other side.  This had to be done one by one, of course, and that meant that no babies, by age or by nerves, could join us on our grand adventures.  We could almost imagine, as we took that leap of faith and tested our bodies, that we stepped into a new world.

After that first step, it didn't matter much which side of the water we were one.  We crossed on fallen logs, on old two by fours left over from the construction of our neighborhood, even across tall rocks in one of the more narrow spots.  We discovered berries and bear tracks, defended ourselves from wolves one day and fought off mountain lions the next.

We couldn't see the road from the forest, so it was hard to tell when the street lights turned on and we were expected home.  Still, we seemed to know when we reached the large hay bale that it was time to turn around.  Maybe the bale was proof of civilization, and it broke through our imaginings and snapped us back to the world.  Maybe there was still a little bit of fear in each of us that we were trespassing where we weren't wanted.  Either way, we always turned around at the hay bale.

I've been back to some of the places I lived growing up.  Each time, I've wondered at how small everything actually is, compared to the way I remember it.  I haven't been back to the old neighborhood with the forest.  Now I wonder if there is actually a forest, or is it just a stand of trees?  How wide was that creek, actually?  If we'd fallen in, would we have been swept downriver to our deaths, as we imagined, or would we have simply been wet through, sitting on the mud while water swirled around us?

I may never go back.  I don't know if I want to.  The way I remember it is so grand ...too magical ... to ruin with reality.

Diner

Here's another picture prompt for this week.  I'm going with something whimsical and fun.

Enjoy!

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     "What are you doing?" I asked as Tiffany turned into the parking lot of the diner.  We were supposed to be on our way to the movies, not to the run-down throwback to the fifties that wasn't even cool enough to be retro.
     "They have the best milkshakes!" Tiffany replied,  tugging at the scarf in her hair and peering into the rear view mirror.
     "What's wrong, Claire?"  Kayla piped up from the back seat.  "We all know you've got a thing for Ryan."
     Tittering laughter filled the car, and I sank down in my seat as my cheeks flushed.  Sure, everyone knew I had a "thing" for Ryan.  By now he knew it, too, and yet, he never so much as looked my way.  It was beyond humiliating.  I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen.  Tiffany parked and turned her old civic off.
     Three of the four doors popped open.  Tiffany climbed out, then bent over and stuck her head back in the car.  "Coming?"
     "I think I'll just sit this one out."  I flipped through a couple pictures on Instagram, not really looking at any of them.
     "You do realize I parked right in front of the window, don't you."
     Of course she did.  And I would rather die than think about Ryan wondering why I was in the car.  He'd think I was a freak.  I slipped my phone into my pocket and followed the rest of the girls in.
     It took me ten nanoseconds to make sure Ryan wasn't in front just now.  His mom owned the diner, and he pretty much got to choose where he wanted to work.  Still, there was a window to the back, and I knew from experience it was easier to see out than to see in.  For all I knew he was watching me walk in and sit down next to Tiffany.  I felt the pins of hyper-awareness prickling the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet.  Was I smiling too wide?  Was I walking funny?  Did I laugh too loud?  I probably did all of those things as we ordered and drank our milkshakes - Did he think I was stereotypical for ordering chocolate?  Or did he suspect I ordered it because I happen to know it's his favorite, and I'm stalking him, and it's creepy?  Or does he somehow know it's my favorite, too, like he's been paying as much attention to me as I do to him?
    Ryan still hadn't made an appearance, but Kayla was shaking her head at me.  All I wanted to do was to pay for our milkshakes and get out of there as fast as humanly possible.  Being in the same building as Ryan made me neurotic. 
   Finally, Tiffany finished off her own shake with a long, loud slurp, and stood up.  She dropped a five dollar bill on the table, and each of the rest of us followed suit.  My heart started to slow down.  I was almost home free.  I hadn't heard a word anyone had said for the last fifteen minutes, and I'm sure I'd looked like an idiot, sitting at the table and grinning, but now it was over.  Tiffany was lingering, so I pushed ahead of her and led the way to the door.
     I grabbed the handle, but before I could pull, the door swung in.
     "Sorry I'm late, Mom, I had to ..."
     Every muscle in my body froze, as if every individual cell had been skewered by an acupuncture needle simultaneously.  My lungs ached for air, but my diaphragm refused to cooperate.  Little dark spots swam in front of my eyes as my head started to swim.
     Ryan stopped only inches away from me, his voice trailing off as his eyes met mine.
     It's amazing how much of him I could take in in such a short amount of time.  He wore a pair of stonewashed, belted skinny jeans over a pair of red converse.  His grey and blue plaid, button-up shirt hung loose around the waist, but puckered slightly over his biceps and shoulders.  He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that I knew he actually needed to see, not just for looks.  And ... he smelled like the chemistry lab and Altoids.
     I shivered.
     "Claire."  My name fell from his lips as his eyes widened. 
     Is he surprised to see me?  Do I make him uncomfortable?  Heaven knows that could be it, with everyone talking about how I'm crushing on him ... 
     He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, then lifted his eyes, glancing around the diner, as if to see if anyone was watching.  He pressed his lips together. 
     I forced myself to remember to breathe, shifting my weight to keep my knees from giving out on me.
     Then he looked back at me ... and smiled.
     Tiffany swooped between us, grabbing me by my forearm.  "Hi Ryan!  We're just on our way out!  See you later!"
     Ryan reached up, holding the door open for us, and Tiff ducked under his arm, pulling me with her.  Kayla and the other girls followed.  Tiffany practically ran to her car, giggling under her breath and wiggling her eyebrows at me.
     Had Ryan just smiled ... at me?   I couldn't help myself.  I had to look back.
     Ryan stood in the doorway, still holding the door although we were all back in the car.  We were far enough away now that I couldn't be sure, but I felt the thrill of eye contact again.  Just before he turned away, he lifted his chin in that way guys do.
     And I wondered if we might stop by again after the movie for another shake.

Shatter Me

***Updated: Apparently the picture is of a violin pool, NOT a guitar pool.  Really ruins my response at the end, but I have to admit it's true.  :-)***

Before I get down to business this week, I want to mention one of the books I've read lately : SHATTER ME, by Tahereh Mafi.  I've read books written in first person, present tense before, but this was less a first person narrative and more a first person stream of consciousness - and in a good way.  I'm pretty sure she broke all of the grammar rules, using fragments, repetition, and even lines that have been crossed out ... all to AMAZING effect.  What the reader gets is a raw, emotional journey, living right in her mind.  You know those thoughts you ought not to have ... but you think them anyway, because you're human?  They're there.  You know that panicky feeling when your mind shuts down except for one thing?  It's in there.  I'll definitely be picking up the rest of her books.

Ok, and because I need something to get my mind off that (or I'll end up with another copy-cat post, like last week, when I was drunk on Jennifer Nielsen's THE SHADOW THRONE), let's do another picture prompt this week.  Here it is:

That's right.  It's a guitar pool.  Have fun!

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My response:

I hitched up my cargo pants and straightened the tag hanging from the lanyard around my neck.  It was a far cry from the dark outfits I usually wear, but on an estate like this one, black wouldn't protect me.  Pretending I was supposed to be there would.

The front doors were wide open, the caterer and his crew moving in and out as they brought in the food for the party tonight.  The early morning sunlight left me as exposed as if I were naked, considering how I usually operated, but the payout should be worth it, this time.  One of the guys in the catering crew leered at me, looking me up and down.  I shot him my best drop-dead look and tucked my bucket of cleaning supplies under my arm.

Ray-Ban's wife stood in the wide, marble-columned entry.  I recognized her platinum blond hair and surgeon sculpted face from TMZ.  She glanced at my tag and frowned.  "You girls forgot to scrub the soaking tub in the master.  If you screw up again, I'll find a new service!" she snapped with a flourish of her bikini coverup.

I nodded humbly and moved quickly upstairs.  Finding out which cleaning company they employed had been easy - they always park their vans in full view of the road.  A kindergartener could download their logo and copy/paste it to a card.  Child's play.

It should have been harder for me to figure out when I could come and go at will, but with Twitter these days, it was as easy as being a fan.  The only hard part of my job was sifting through hours of audio/video footage, looking for something useful.  Like how Ray-Ban took 24 million out of the bank yesterday so he could present his wife with divorce papers today and keep his money away from her.  Apparently he hadn't been smart enough to get a pre-nup, and California's a community property state.

I peered around the door to the master bedroom.  Ray-Ban stood in front of the dresser, piling chain upon enormous chain around his neck.  How this wannabe ever made a dime with his faux rap and poser style, I never would understand, but it worked in my favor.  He looked up.  I let my badge hang down through the gap in the door.

"Oh, you prob-ly wan in 'ere."  He snapped up a pristine Cardinal's ball cap from the bed post and pulled it on as he walked past me.

It was almost too easy.  I closed the door behind me, locking it quietly.  I crossed the room to the custom made cabinet - the one that looked like a dresser, but only had three working drawers.  The middle three hid a safe.  I pulled the false top off my bucket of cleaning supplies, pulled out my tools, and got to work.

I was almost done when I heard shouting outside.  I couldn't resist peeking out the window.  The first thing I saw was the pool.  Ray-Ban actually had a guitar-shaped pool.  I rolled my eyes.  Just putting a guitar in your back yard didn't mean you could play one.  The screaming continued.  I dropped my gaze down.  Ray-Ban stood next to a man in a lawyer suit, and his wife was turning red.  Apparently he felt the need to clear out his wife before the party tonight, so he'd be free to find a new one.

I closed the safe and secured the dummy top back over my supplies.  Well, Ray Ban's wife wasn't the only one who'd end up with less than they expected.  I even swiped a cupcake from the caterers on my way out.