| Squid Blog Day-to-Day with Squiddy |  |
| Squid Blog Day-to-Day with Squiddy | |
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "polish". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Polish- Squiddy Geiger - July 27, 2012
Harry carefully removed the dirt and dust from his shoes in preparation for the polish. Everything had to be just right. Get every speck of dust off, every iota of dirt. It was the first step in a process that would leave them gleaming perfectly.
Kill. That's what he had to do. He worked slowly and carefully, thinking as he went. To Kill. To deprive of life, to cause the death of. He spat on the cloth to remove a particularly troublesome bit of spot.
Plan. He always had a plan. His left shoe was clean, ready for the next step. He turned to the other shoe, examining it intently before starting work. The plan had to be perfect, leave nothing to chance. Just as he had left nothing to chance in the past, nor would he in the future. He removed the laces of the right shoe.
Execution. A funny word, that applied both to the act, and the process. He swore as he spotted some damage that could be hidden by polish; he'd still know it was there. That would rankle, he hated imperfection.
Escape. Get away cleanly, perhaps the most important part of the plan. if he buggered up the execution, he could still get away to safety, out of reach of extradition. He applied a thin layer of polish to each shoe, careful to fill the damaged area uniformly, to hide it.
Debriefing. He'd go over the events afterwards, analyzing what had happened. He might be alone, but he'd still debrief himself as thoroughly as any superior might debrief a subordinate. He buffed the shoes vigorously, careful to reach every spot, giving the shoes a uniform, high gloss shine. He inspected them carefully as he finished, touching up carefully here and there.
Perfect. He got up and placed them by the door, where they would be ready for his mission tomorrow. Nothing was left ever left to chance.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "bereft". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Bereft- Squiddy Geiger - July 26, 2012
"It was the bereft of times, it was the worst of times. The bereft things in life are free. A Bereft History of Time." Joe put down the pen, and sighed, then laughed sourly. The jokes were wearing thin; they weren't pushing back the despair quite so well anymore.
He'd tried, he really had. Years of writing, pouring his soul into the work, creating grand symphonies of imagination. Designing worlds, filling them with all manner of wondrous beings, and for what?
He picked up an envelope and pulled the letter out. He had not expected this, after months of rewrites working with his editor. "We regret to inform you that the project has been canceled. We feel your work is just not unique enough to sell."
Not unique enough? Sure there were similarities to any number of other works, but you couldn't find any book out there written in the past few years, in the Fantasy genre, that didn't bear some resemblance to other works!
The words had left him shaken, unable to think. He had drunk his entire liquor cabinet whilst watching bad television reruns on the oldies channels. Not that he remembered any of them. When he'd run out of booze, he'd continued to wallow. It felt good in a shitty kind of way, so he kept at it.
He returned to the page he'd been filling, nearly full of bastardized sayings. He started writing. "Mother knows bereft. Father knows bereft. Bereft friends. Bereft man. Some things are bereft left unsaid."
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "Torn". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Torn- Squiddy Geiger - July 25, 2012
As he sits in his house
Wondering what he has done
To be torn from his life
And left so completely
Alone and depressed
Hoping he might
Still have a chance to
Recover his dignity
Rebuild his career
Win back his family
Wishing forgiveness
Of friends and coworkers
His lonely vigil at the
Window a taste,
Perhaps how his
Future will unfold
Bottle to lips as he
Salutes the future
Bleak but it is his
to own
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "home". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Home- Squiddy Geiger - July 17, 2012
Where do you go at the end of the day?
When work has been done, you've had your say.
Where do you go to escape the rat race?
When your need to hide, or perhaps to save face.
You go where it is safe and familiar and good
You go where your mind can relax, as it should
You sit with a beer, or some mellow substance
Your mind lets go, escaping from circumstance
Here is the place full of welcome interaction
Here people fill you with loving satisfaction
Here you find fulfillment and joyful pleasure
Here are the good times without measure
Filled with the happiness that makes you return
Filled with the playfulness of jokes out of turn
Filled with the knowledge that you'll meet no harm
Filled with the happy shouts that greet you: "Norm!"
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "Confrontation". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Confrontation- Squiddy Geiger - July 17, 2012
Of course it was my plan
to spoil, nay ruin your evening
I simply wanted to help you see
The points you had been missing
Your point of view is all messed up
Your argument doesn't hold water
If you think this is the way to debate
Then a think, you'll need another
Philosophically your point was made
Without a thought for logic
It was almost as if you had
Used your notes from another topic
Your sentences were flowing
Your word choice, quite divine
Too bad there was no substance
Though your reputation was on the line
My turn to speak? at last I stood
I addressed the hall o'erflowing
And told them all what a fraud you were
And LOOK! Your underwear was showing!
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "twist". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Twist - Squiddy Geiger - July 16, 2012
Like it or not, Paul was here, and reluctantly standing in line for lottery tickets. Sure the jackpot was huge, but that didn't increase his chances of winning, just the depth of his disappointment when he didn't win. He ordered the tickets, and added the Extra.
He folded the tickets and placed them carefully in his wallet as he headed out the door. In another two hours, they'd be able to rip them up and start fretting about another week. In the meantime, he wanted a cold on, so he stopped in at Chelsea's on Eleventh. Marty saw him come in, and started pulling a pint, placing it in front of him as he sat down. Paul nodded his thanks, and watched the sports scores on the television above the bar. Neither said anything.
A few minutes later, his steak sandwich arrived, brought to him by Marissa, from the restaurant side. He nodded, she nodded back. Again, no words. After all these years, there was no need; Paul knew what he liked, and he stuck with it. As he'd told Zander, change is only good if you don't like what you have. He didn't need much, and he had all he needed. Zander, however, felt the need for more, which is why he picked up the tickets.
Three beer and a steak sandwich later, Marty switched over to the live lotto draw. Everyone in the room got out their tickets. Paul got his out, and carefully watched as first one, then two, then three numbers were drawn, and matched his numbers. Wow, ten bucks! Wait, a fourth? Fifty to a hundred bucks, maybe. When the fifth was drawn, he put his beer down. When the sixth was drawn, he stood up. When the seventh number on his ticket was drawn, he sighed.
Damn, now he'd have to go traveling. There was no way Zander would be happy to stay home now. Stupid random draws.
He downed his fourth beer and headed home.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "triskadekaphobia" (irrational fear of the number 13). This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Triskadekaphobia - Squiddy Geiger - July 15, 2012
"No! I'm not leaving my room and you can't make me!" The door slammed to make her point, and Darryl sighed and shook his head. It was the same on the 13th day of every month. He'd try to get her to go to school and she'd throw a fit, and he'd call her in as sick. If the school was aware of the pattern, he hadn't heard anything yet. Thank god it wasn't a Friday, or she'd be cowering in her closet.
He went back downstairs to make his lunch, sighing, wishing to Heaven that he could fix whatever had broken in his daughter. It had started two years before, in Grade 8. She hadn't come down for breakfast and when he'd investigated, she was bundled in bed, quivering with fear. He'd tried to get her out of bed, but it hadn't been possible. The farthest she'd stray from the safety of her room was into the bathroom; when done, she'd dart back to her sanctuary.
As he did every 13th, he longed for Mary's help in dealing with their child. Of course, he wished she could help with many aspects of raising Lana. She'd died when Lana was nine and it had been especially difficult the first two years, but had been better, much better, until this started. He was at a loss to know who to talk to about her. Maybe he'd talk to Dr. Fein on Monday.
He went to work, and then to his second job, getting home just before 11:30pm. He went upstairs to check on Lana, and found her sitting on the bed, surrounded by her stuffed animals, arrayed in protective formation around her, facing outwards. He smiled at her, kissed her forehead, and then sat to discuss things with her.
They talked about his day; work had been pretty good at first job, he'd had a commendation from a customer, so he was in a good mood for the rest of the day, even at job number two, which was boring as hell. If they didn't need the money so much, he'd quit; saving for Lana's University Fund was important to him.
Her day had been uneventful, other than being scared of everything that moved, every sound, every flash of light outside. He reassured her as best he could, and shortly after midnight, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. He turned off the light and slowly closed the door. Peace returned, for another month.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "accident". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Accident - Squiddy Geiger - July 13, 2012
He kept seeing her, everywhere he went
She was there at the supermarket
Again at the vet.
He saw her again the next night
as she exited the cinema
Still eating popcorn.
A week later he saw her in the park with friends
Walking their motley collection of dogs
Plastic bags in hand.
Several more times that week, their paths crossed
As they moved around the city
Living their lives.
One month after his first sighting of her
His car was sideswiped and pushed
Into a parked car.
The owner of the parked car arrived to
Survey the damage: it was her
At last, she had a name.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "glasses". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Glasses - Squiddy Geiger - July 13, 2012
Joe put on his glasses and opened his book, searching for the place he'd left off. His eyes blurred, then focused, but not quite right. He read, but couldn't place any of the stuff. He was sure he'd finished the chapter, but the last few paragraphs looked different. He checked the front of the book. Yes, right book.
His eyes blurred again, feeling focused but different, like a new pair of glasses, distinct but somehow wrong. He took his glasses off, and got the normally blurry world of his uncorrected vision. He put the glasses - an pair he'd owned for about two years - on again, and the sensation continued.
He tried reading again, but the story made no sense; he'd been reading about ranchers on the Canadian prairies, and this book was prattling on about the End being close. How the hell that fit in with the novel, he couldn't see.
"Phaedra, honey! Did you switch books on me?" he called to his wife in the other room. She came in to see what he wanted.
"I didn't touch your book, dear," she replied. "Let me see that." She read a bit, and shook her head. "This is right, I read it last week and it looks the same now. You're at the part where Bill is rounding up strays after the blizzard." She gave the book back and went into the other room again.
"What? Ok, fine," he said and started reading, but it was still the same weird stuff. He kept reading though, compelled by something. When the book addressed him by name, he dropped it. He picked it up again, and look at it.
<
Joe growled, and put the book down again. He went into the bathroom, a bit shaken, and splashed water on his face. He looked at his glasses, that didn't seem to feel right. There were some smudges on them, so he rinsed them and dried them, and went back to the living room.
He picked up the book again, and started reading, happily discovering that Bill was, indeed, rounding up stray cattle after the blizzard. He shook off the incident as a daydream and kept reading. He was deep in the next chapter, and didn't notice as he and the rest of the world blinked into nothingness.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "slither". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Slither - Squiddy Geiger - July 11, 2012
Sinuous, silent and sleek
It glides through the blades
Without apparent effort
Sliding, it appears then it fades
Its muscles expand and contract
As it powers itself through and around
Sometimes it is high up above
Often it is close to the ground
Mysterious and frightening
Star of legends, rarely good
Villain of ancient myths
Maligned and misunderstood
It slithers, cold blooded
Its motives often suspect
Of course it can represent danger
But not if you pay it respect
Sinuous, silent and sleek
It slithers forward through the grass
Pay attention, you foolish intruder
Or get bitten hard on the ass
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "chosen". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Chosen - Squiddy Geiger - July 10, 2012
Sam paused by the window, looking out briefly. Still no sign of anyone. He continued his pacing, willing it to be over. Why couldn't they decide already? No answer was forthcoming from his agitated brain.
It had been a week since the announcement that they'd narrowed the field to five names, and Larissa was on it. He didn't now if he could bear to have her go, but he couldn't bear to see the disappointed look if she wasn't Chosen.
He heard a sound from outside, hurried to the window, and sighed. It was just Hatfield arriving home across the street. His pacing continued. He wondered what was going through her head upstairs. He was agitated and it wasn't even his fate on the line.
The doorbell rang. Somehow in his agitation he'd missed another car arriving outside. He reached for the doorknob, paused, reached for it again, and paused again. He heard footsteps on the stairs as his daughter descended, and still he hesitated.
"Daddy! Open the door!" Larissa ordered. He glanced at her, then reached for the knob again, and turned it to greet the two people outside.
"Hello, Mr. Davis, Miss Davis," the tall gray haired man said. "I'm Irving Leach, and this," indicating his shorter, redheaded companion, "is Martin Wilson. We're here to give you the results of the Choosing." After a pause, he added. "May we come in?"
"Oh, of course, of course, gentlemen. Come in, please, have a seat." He gestured to the sitting area to the left. "May I get you anything?" he added as they sat.
"No, thank you, Mr. Davis," Wilson said. "We won't be here long." He pulled out an envelope, and passed it to Leach. "We're only here long enough to give you the results, then we must be on our way. You understand, I'm sure."
Sam looked from one to the other slowly, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do." He did, really. They had no desire to stick around in a home where much needed to be discussed, and affairs settled. "Please, don't keep us in suspense."
Leach nodded. "Very well, then," and unsealed the envelope. "Before I read this, you understand that I don't know if your daughter has been Chosen or not. We are chosen at random to deliver the news to the Finalists, and we don't know until we read this." Sam and Larissa nodded. He continued. "Very well, let me see here. Ah yes, Miss Davis. It would appear that you have indeed been Chosen! Congratulations!"
Leach and Wilson got up to shake hands. It was done. In a week's time, the Chosen would be left for the Dragon. It was an honour. A fitting sacrifice. And Sam would be rich.
He wept.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "control". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Control - Squiddy Geiger - July 09, 2012
Watch the clock, gauge the time,
Wonder if you'll survive till then
Work like crazy, get things done
Troop outside to smoke at ten?
No, not today for I have quit
I found the strength at last
I took control over my habit
What's this? my resolve, ebbing fast!
I sit up straight, in a cold sweat
Wondering what I'm going to do
My body shaking, covers wet
And realize none of it is true
For you see, my dear friends
It was one of those very odd dreams
I'm not quitting, the dream ends
I've never smoked, by any means
Well, ok, sure, I've smoked, it's true
But not the evil known as tobacco
And that's all I'll say, nothing more
Else the feds might show up at my door
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "joyous". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Joyous - Squiddy Geiger - July 04, 2012
"Walter? Walter!" the voice interrupted his reverie.
"What?! Yeah, ok, I'm here. What?" he asked, startled and a bit confused.
"Where were you, just now?" Don asked. "You weren't paying attention, that's not like you."
Walter just shook his head, it wasn't time. When Don pressed, he finally answered. "I got some good news, but I can't share it yet, ok?" When Don insisted, he added, "I told you, you'll have to wait. If you don't, I'm telling Irene about Vegas."
Don blanched. "You wouldn't!" then quickly added. "You would. Ok, ok, it's obviously something big and something important, but come on, threatening me with Vegas isn't fair!"
"No, but Irene sure would like to know," Walter laughed.
"No she wouldn't, she'd rather not know I went gambling in Nevada when I was supposed to be at a conference in Dallas," Don countered. "And besides, it's probably something obvious, like you guys are expecting or something." He saw the look on Walter's face. "Oh man, Walt. That's it?" When Walter nodded, he whooped. "That's wonderful news! Fantastic! Congratulations!"
"Shh! Keep it down, dammit!" Walt held a finger up to his lips. "Be quiet! We have not told our parents yet, and Brenda hasn't told Irene yet, so you absolutely cannot tell anyone. Especially your wife. She wants to tell her parents and my parents first, then you and Irene."
"Ok, ok, I won't tell anyone." At Walter's look, he added, "not even Irene. I promise! That's all you had to say, you idjit. This did not merit Vegas threats! That's for something like, if you were having an affair and I found out and threatened to tell, you would counter with Vegas."
They heard footsteps on the stairs, and waited for Brenda to come to the basement where they'd been shooting pool. She came in, a small, pretty woman in her late thirties. "Hey gorgeous, how are ya?" Don asked. His smile was wide. This was not unusual for him, but there was something different.
"What are you grinning about Don?" she asked.
"Don't I always grin when you come in the room, my secret crush?" he laughed. It was a running gag, since high school, when the four of them had gone on their first double date in Grade 11.
She looked from Don to Walter and back, suspiciously. Don was grinning, too. "What on Earth is going on- oh, Walter! You told him! You stupid jerk!"
"I didn't!" he protested. "He guessed!"
"I did!" Don confessed. "Come on, Brenda, this is huge news. You've been waiting to have this news all these years, do you really think he'd be able to keep it a secret from me or from Irene?" He walked over to her and hugged her, kissing her cheek. "You should call Irene now. Your parents can wait, Irene can't."
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "dance". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Dance- Squiddy Geiger - July 02, 2012
What came over me I did not know,
It hit me, I was surprised
I wasn't looking, just standing here
When I saw her I was mesmerized
It started like any chance meeting
She appeared, I talked to her
We talked briefly, or so it seemed
Until she departed several hours later
I thought of her so frequently
Over the next few weeks, a month or more
Then she reappeared and we picked up
Like she'd never gone out the door
I took her out to explore, to dance
We talked all night, what subject? any!
We felt the spark, and then again
We enjoy each other's company
The Dance goes on, we complement
Each other, like two halves of a whole
We don't really know where we're going
But we're enjoying the journey with no goal
The days and nights with each other
As we dance, as we grow together
Could last us a thousand nights
Or they could last us forever.