We’ll Call This 300

This time, Greg doesn’t go to the Wordpile.  He knows what they’ll say.

Instead, it’s through the cave, into the mines.  The walls glitter, rich veins of story, just under the diamond-hard surface.  His memories of the mines aren’t always fond – the things that seep here, the blood and tears, have a way of washing back over you.  There are the things you thought you lost.

But this is where he’s vowed to stay.  This is where he’ll toil till the bones show through.  Because underneath that rock and soot, maybe there’s something beautiful to find.

He gets to work.

Slight Inaccuracies

“Yeah, I’ve heard the songs,” says the Goat, oblivious to the summit winds.  “I get it.  You tell your story somehow, right?

“Thing is, he’s got it wrong.  He’s some tragic hero, betrayed by a friend turned scoundrel?  Nah.  I’m not daring him to get back up.  I just think he’s got the right to climb again.”

He scratches himself with his horns.  “The truth? I didn’t even mean to push him.  Pure accident.  But you get a moose to listen.  For that matter, what was a moose doing on a mountain to begin with?

“The analogy doesn’t really hold.”

Oh, I See How It Is

Something is rumblng through the fridge, clawing at the cold cuts drawer.  Greg flicks on the kitchen light, and Max hisses, his arms filled with food.

“So, what, you’re just gonna come in here and snipe my stuff?” says Greg.

“And insult you.  You spineless wretch.”

Greg leans on the doorframe.  “I get it.  You don’t want to settle this on the Word Challenge court.  That’s cool. You can hang out here, until you find your balls.”

Silence.

“I was also going to do some mudslinging.”

“I’m going back to bed.”

“I brought actual mud.”

“Clean up when you’re done.”

Knock ‘Em Down, Knock ‘Em All Down

“I am king now,” says 15, his voice a knot of bass, “Lane is mine.”

“Hey now,” says 12.  “There’s room for all of us.  More than one hand in the game.”

“Don’t matter how many hands,” 6 babbles, “’cause I’m always ready you just gotta get me on the wax right get me down there I’ll kncok ’em down knock ’em all down just give me a chance you can whip me down there.”

10 just sits there, knowing.  He’s been there the longest.  He doesn’t need to debate.  Any minute now, he might get picked up.  And he is ready to strike.

Mood: Introspective

All I’ve ever wanted to do is be with my friends, kiss someone I love, and tell stories.  It is a sign of the madness of the universe that those three things seem so difficult to do.

There are, I suppose, great complexities underlying all of our desires.  An urge, a yearning, a tracing of the route in the head, and a kind of despair that maybe we won’t be able to go back.  But the truth is, I don’t want much.  I’m not asking for the secrets of the world.

Friends.  Love.  Stories.  And I can’t pay the cost.

Crackle

His breath comes in ragged gasps now, like the air’s being pulled through a tattered wet cloth.  The muscles in his legs scream.  There is a drum beating in his head, and beneath it: the slow crackle of the stones under the car’s tires.

It rolls effortlessly behind, matching his speed, just far enough that when he stops for air (precious air) it takes a long moment for it to creep, idling, to his knees, so that he has to run again.  The windshield is ablaze in sunlight.

He wonders what will happen when he has to stop for good.

Swagga Like, Um

Can’t no one match his swagga.  Boy comes correck.  He stands on the corner like issa brand new day.

“What the fuck are you doing?” says Tom.

“Fuck it look like I’m doin’, bitch,” says Hugh.

“You look like you’re being a fucking idiot.”

“Man, you bess step up off my corner, ni-”

“WHOA.  Hey.  Listen.  You need to stop this shit immediately.”

“Ain’t no shit here, muhfuckah.”

Tom walks up to Hugh and flicks his ear.  “Ah!” Hugh winces.  “What the hell, man?”

“I had to snap you out of it.”

“Snap nothin’, this here’s -”

“YOUR NAME IS HUGH.”

Let’s Get Ready To Sal-saaaa! Redux

Ding goes the bell, and the knives get moving, dicing onion, tomatoes, peppers.  Pans hit elements, and the temperature in the room ticks up a notch.  This isn’t Vincent’s first time in Culinaseum, but Nacho Night’s always something special.

“Cora’s got a serious hard on for habanero,” he whispers to Jason.

“It’s cute.  Look at the way her brow furrows.”

There is a quiet, broiling intensity in the room, and a smell that can only be described as Mexican.  Vincent’s mouth starts to water.

“Sometimes I wish we could just eat dips.”

“I do,” says Jason.  “It’s fucking wonderful, man.”

Let’s Get Ready To Sal-saaaa!

Ding goes the bell, and the combatants hit the floor in a swirl of red fabrics.  This is Vanessa’s first time at the Dance Ring; everything looks different than it does on TV.

“This is unreal,” she tells Rikka.

“Wait for the main event.”

Salvador slams a hip outward and the crowd goes absolutely insane.  She can feel the rhythm in her bones.  The closest rows are on their feet, yowling for murder.

“Wish I’d listened to my mom.  Taken dancing lessons.”

“You kidding me?  They woulda broke you in threes.”

A cross-step. Blood blooms on the challenger’s face.

Small Comforts

“This is as far as I can take you,” the Storm King had told them.  “From here, the storms are wild.”

He was not wrong.

The darkness came in waves, huge crashing walls of sound and water, what light there was bright and violent.  Becca’s tears were whipped into the fury, raindrops now, stolen by the storm.

“Child,” said the Sky Whale.  “You will be safe with me.”

It guided her to a crook under its fin, a shelter from the terrible night.  Becca curled up, shivering, listening to the muted chaos and the ancient rumble of her friend’s heart.