Love and some verses

d-eciophobia: μυστήριον

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 15:57:55 -0400

d-eciophobia:

μυστήριον

creese: “Green and Violet Budgies” by Michael Creese

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 14:49:39 -0400

creese:

“Green and Violet Budgies” by Michael Creese

creese: Michael Creese “Big Sur California” (2010)

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 14:46:20 -0400

creese:

Michael Creese “Big Sur California” (2010)

detox to retox: iwasterrified: Ultimate Writing Resource Listvolari:...

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 01:59:19 -0400

detox to retox: iwasterrified: Ultimate Writing Resource Listvolari:...:

iwasterrified:

Ultimate Writing Resource List

volari:

the-fandoms-are-cool:

a massively extended version of ruthlesscalculus’ post

General Tips

Joss Whedon’s Top 10 Writing Tips

Getting Out of Your Comfort Zone

34 Writing Tips that will make you a Better…

The Tenant

Sun, 17 Feb 2013 21:57:00 -0500

    Loretta O’Malley was not a lonely woman. She reminded herself of this every morning, when the first beam of sunlight peeked through her window and kissed the sleep from her eyes. On this particular summer day, she rested a few minutes before rising from bed and making her way to the kitchen. As she carefully sliced a grapefruit in half, she inwardly rejoiced at the singularity of her actions. She sprinkled the dark pink fruit with a few pinches of sugar, poured herself a glass of orange juice and slipped out the glass doors onto the back deck.
    Sinking into the cushioned lounge chair, Loretta did not think about sharing this moment with another being. Instead, she dug into the flushed center of her grapefruit and relished in the simplicity of its preparation. She delighted in the fact that she had only herself to take into consideration. Long gone were the days when she spent the entirety of the morning rousing the household. As the sun began to make its way past the horizon, Loretta reminded herself to savor each moment of its beauty. For most of her life, her mornings had been devoted to others and a sunrise was not a luxury she could afford.
    Loretta finished her grapefruit with a satisfied smile, and downed her orange juice in one gulp. The sun had risen much higher in the sky when she scurried down the rickety staircase and made her way across the cool green grass. Nimble fingers sought the rusting latch, deftly avoiding the frayed splinters of wooden gate that separated her lawn from the overgrown path leading to the beach. Swinging the gate wide, Loretta strode down the narrow path briskly. Her hips swung as she hastened forward, a cotton towel hanging loosely over her shoulder. Loretta did not falter as the soft earth gave way to stony pebbles, nor did she flinch when a cold wave broke on her bare feet. Tossing her towel up behind her on the warm sand, she took a deep breath and plunged headfirst into the sea.
    She swam to the pale red buoy that bobbed a good distance from the shore, alternating her strokes as was her custom. The appearance of a distant figure on the beach led Loretta to abandon her usual routine and hasten back to the shore. Her eyes narrowed as she waded out of the water and onto the beach. A young man sauntered towards her, a sheepish smile on his face.

“You’re early.” Loretta remarked.

“I was hoping to do some sight seeing after I get settled in.” he said simply, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts.

“There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow,” Loretta said briskly, motioning for the young man to follow her, “Let’s head up to the house and I’ll show you around.”

He followed her obediently up the winding path, and around the side of the house to an inset door. Loretta flipped the doormat over, and retrieved a set of keys which she turned promptly in the lock.

“All yours,” she swung the door wide and tossed the keyring at him. He caught it deftly with one hand and a boyish grin.

She led him through the three room apartment quickly, pointing out his bedroom, the bathroom and a modest but comfortable living room.

“I’ll let you get settled in,” she turned and headed for the stairs, “Lunch is at noon”

Loretta headed back out the door and up into her own house. Any other day she would wash way the remnants of her swim in a few deft minutes, but on this particular day she found herself lingering in the warm shower.

At the behest of her daughter, she had agreed to board the young man for the summer in exchange for help around the house. He was the son of a family friend, and she briefly recalled his presence at a few of her granddaughters’ birthday parties. She was not entirely thrilled with the prospect, and at first had been adamantly opposed to the idea. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when she nearly fell off a ladder trying to clean the gutter that she admitted that a bit of help wouldn’t be amiss.

As the warm water washed the salt from her hair, she considered the young man. She wondered how he would react to the remoteness of his new residence, there weren’t many others his age nearby. It certainly would be strange to have another person in such close quarters, she had been living alone for nearly forty years now. Loretta was quite fond of her solitude and found herself hoping that he did not infringe upon her too much.

A frigid gush of water startled her out of meditation and she reluctantly turned the shower off. A few minutes later, she was bustling around the kitchen and preparing lunch. Much to her chagrin, she had agreed to provide meals for the boy. She sighed as she examined the contents of the refrigerator.

Her brow furrowed as she pulled four slices of bread from the bag instead of the usual two. She had forgotten what it was like to be responsible for another person. Her annoyance grew as she popped the first two slices into the toaster and waited impatiently.

Loretta’s mind drifted. She did not hear the faint knock at the door, or the pop of the toaster as it propelled the toast upwards. Loretta slipped into the memory like a trance, the blue paint on the walls morphing into flowered yellow wallpaper, the gleaming oak cabinets dissolving into harsh linoleum counters. It was 1983 and she was bent over the stove, the spatula poised to flip a pancake.

She heard the patter of feet as her children chased each other down the halls, squealing with mirth. She flipped the egg easily and pulled a container of milk from the refrigerator. She sighed at the heavy footsteps of her husband staggering down the hallway, undoubtedly still drunk from the night before. She could smell the liquor on his breath as he stumbled into the kitchen. He wore the same clothes from last night, and his thick fists clenched a suitcase.

She gaped at him. His words were slurred when he told her that he was leaving her - this time for good. Then the tears welled in her eyes, and left her throat burning. White hot anger surged through her body, a string of curses rising in her mouth. She couldn’t be sure if it was the unattended pan that caught flame that choked down her words, but she was silent as he walked out without looking back.

Loretta O’Malley found herself startled out of her daydream by a loud knock. The young man stood in the doorway, grinning wildly at her.

She ushered him inside, and set him down at the table.

“Hope you like turkey,” she said and placed a sandwich and glass of milk down in front of him. Taking a seat across from him, her lips tugged upwards despite herself. It had been a long time since her grandchildren had sat in those chairs, and an even longer time since her own children had sat there.

“Thank you,” he cleared his throat, “For everything Loretta,”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said dryly, “I still haven’t told you what is expected of you - there are a lot of things around here that need fixing.”

Loretta spent most of the afternoon showing the boy around, explaining where she kept things and how to use certain tools that were a bit old fashioned. The boy proved to be a quick learner and a good listener. But as it turned out, there wasn’t a great deal of things that need to be done that very day.

“I suppose there isn’t much more to be done today,” she said with reluctance, “You are free to do whatever you please for the rest of the day”

He thanked her fervently, and his eyes gleamed with childish excitement. She wasn’t sure why she felt a pang when he told her not to expect him for dinner.

When Loretta sat down at the table a few hours later, she felt uncertain, for the first time in many years. The bleakness of the empty chair stared back at her. She chewed slowly and without her usual vigor. It was tasteless. The sky was a blend of colors swirling and melding together into a beautiful sunset. Loretta O’Malley did not remind herself to savor the quiet mix. Instead she turned on the radio and turned to face the blank blue wall.

untitled

Mon, 28 Jan 2013 17:15:24 -0500

I think I’ve gone over the details of that summer in my head a million times. It’s like trying to remember a dream, I can grasp parts of it but it just keeps fading away. Every so often, a little memory triggers another and I fall back into it like a trance

Read More

Prologue

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 00:29:00 -0500

Dying of grief. An expression I had always correlated with pity - three simple words that I had perhaps taken too lightly. I did not perceive it as substantial, rather a feeble excuse for women who were either too lazy or too weak to move on. Love was an asset, a luxury even - but it never was a necessity. Air was a necessity, one needed air to breathe; but love? Love was never an essential to being. And so these women with their broken hearts were buried within the confines of my mind. Only to be sporadically surveyed with distaste and spite. Society pitied them, and I shunned them.

Perhaps I was too critical of those wimpy, simpering women. Too quick in my assumptions that they were vacant, spineless women who had not the courage to speak up for themselves. It had always been clear in my mind that these women were the most destitute of character. Incapable of independence, of self will. I had resigned to never be reduced to depending on a man. I was young and headstrong and bold. I would not be like Them, so meek and immersed in self pity. I would not wallow in my own misery. No man would have the power to defeat me.

Despite my disdain, I had to recognize the possibility that this wretchedness might not completely be the fault of these women. Perhaps it was something of their character, of their weak disposition that had doomed them to such a fate. I deemed myself safe.

How dreadfully wrong I was

Lavendar

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 00:15:19 -0500

There is a musty smell emanating from the book, an odor mingled with the faintest hint of lavendar. The scent belongs to meticulous flipping of pages that are both crisp and white. It belongs to each and every book nestled in droves in the bookstore on the outskirts of the seaside village. But the faint scent belongs especially to the worn romance novel, long ago rebound from usage. It belongs to the hollow oak along the brook where it was frequently re-read.

But most of all it belonged to Blaine. Was it not she who had flipped through the pages endlessly, each time devouring the fairytale with renewed wonder? Was it not she who had mended the tear, willingly enduring hours of careful stitches. Was it not she who had only departed with the book for a few hours since her ninth birthday? One thing was for sure, if Blaine had one shred of consistency in her life, it was the presence of that book.

The clear tinkling of bells and the creak of the heavy door invaded the comfortable silence. Blaine sat up abruptly, setting down her book and attempted to appear attentive. She was genuinely surprised, it was rather early for customers. Only a few minutes shy of eight. Her dark blue eyes flickered across the room lazily, her gaze resting on the two dark shadows who had slipped over the threshold.

painting part 6

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 19:44:02 -0500

August 2nd

Bare fingers sought the milky white stone that rested in the hollow of her collarbone. It was difficult not to become distracted by the cool exterior. She lifted her gaze, glancing up through her dark eyelashes at the crisp sky. She smiled to herself, carmine red and beige sienna for the dark pink sky and a contrasting goldenrod for the glowing sun. Her hands found their way from the necklace to her satchel, and she rifled through the clutter of papers, retrieving her new oil paints. She bit her lip, her slender arm extending as she deliberately splattered the thin paint onto the bare canvas. The perforated surface was darkened with shadow, and she swiveled around, her face crinkling into a broad smile.

“Lia,” his polite greeting was resonating with genuine pleasure.

She smiled cheekily up at him, “Missed me already?”

“Barely, you’re rather boring to be honest,” a smile was fighting to spread across his face.

“Which explains why you seek me out after merely an hour of separation,” she winked at him, slowly gathering up her paints and packing up her canvas.

“I got a letter from my mum,” his voice is serious now, “I have to go home earlier then expected,”

“When are you leaving,” her eyes are pleading

“Tomorrow morning,” he subconsciously ran his hands through his tousled hair, frowning.

She is silent for a few minutes, thinking about the news.

“Well what are we waiting for?” her eyes are sparkling with mischief, “Time is wasting”

painting part 5

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 19:36:00 -0500

July 23^nd

Michael Sullivan was frustrated, mostly with himself. He figured it wouldn’t be very hard to find his unusual friend in the small village, so he hadn’t bothered to suggest a place to meet. It had all seemed very logical to him, how could he not bump into her? But now, after scouring several shops, the crowded market and asking countless strangers if they had seen her, it seemed rather idiotic on his part. It wasn’t like he was so desperate to see her personally, it was just that he had absolutely nothing else to do. This morning the elder woman from the apartment above his had scolded him for making such a ruckus. He rolled his eyes at thought of her brandishing her frying pan at him and insisting he get out of her sight. He supposed the painters were in, but then blanched at the thought. He slipped up and down the crowded docks, only to find it empty of Liadan. He sighed before making his way to the playground, stopping only to help an older man retrieve the contents of the basket he accidentally dropped. There was a tidal wave of children at the newer playground, and only a scarce few at the old fashioned playground that they had gone to the night before. But there was no Liadan.

He was practically ready to give up as he stumbled down a dusty trail lined with large oaks, when he heard her husky voice calling his name. He skidded to a stop, turning around to find that she was nowhere in sight.

“Look up silly,” her laughter floated down from a thick tree on his left.

He grinned as she tucked a notebook into her satchel and swung lithely down the branches, jumping from the lowest one to land easily on her feet.

“Want to go on an adventure?” her eyes were beaming, and her hair shimmering in the sunlight.

Her bare feet were scalded by the hot sand, but she welcomed the perpetual warmth. It was a relief after the cool exterior of moss, and the ice cold water that numbed her feet. After the familiar trip down the worn shady trail, and his silence as they carefully crossed the creek, she had come to a decision. He was definitely worthy of the cave. The entire journey up until the trail opened up into sandy beach, he had remained silent, devoid of complaint. She thought back to her childhood friend Mara who had whined about practically everything, squealing in fear of crossing the river, and grumbling at the scattered rocks on the path. It had been years since she had even thought of taking someone to the cave, and even then she had always decided by the end of the trip that they did not deserve the beauty of her secret recluse. This will be different, she decided as the pair walked down the beach, lulled by the steady crash of the waves.

Her dark blue eyes scanned the looming cliffs, searching for the hidden entrance. She tugged on his arm when she finally spotted it, and motioned for him to follow her. Her slender arms extended outwards when she reached the base of the cliff, blindly grasping vines. Then she pulled back the ivy covering the bare rock, fumbling at first, before sighing impatiently and moving slightly to the left. Her hands clenched in triumph when she finally uncovered the black hole; large enough for a person to crawl through if they crouched. She glanced over her shoulder, and her lips tugged into a smile at his bewildered face.

Without saying a word, she dropped into a crouch and disappeared into the hollowed archway. A few moments later she heard his wary footsteps following her up the slight slant. Her hands fumbled in her satchel until she found a match and a candle. A bright light emanated from the candlestick and illuminated the dark tunnel, casting ghastly shadows. The passageway cut from the cliff wound up and around, and she smiled at the thought that her friend had no idea what was in store for him. It seemed like moments before the winding passage finally opened up, but she was sure it seemed like eternity for Michael. Her eyes danced at the sound of the awed gasp from behind her. She could hardly be surprised; her own reaction to the tranquil beauty was rather similar.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, finally finding his voice. His muffled reply echoed through the hollowed cave, fading into a whisper. He was sure he had never seen anything quite as beautiful in his entire life. The tunnel in itself was astounding, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the cave. The stone walls were embedded with crystals, stalactites that seemed as if they were composed of light grew from the ceiling, and their counterparts sprung up from the edges of the floor. Everything around him sparkled and glistened like the sun, and the silence was not hollow but rather full of presence. If it could even be possible, the view was even more breathtaking than the magic of the cave. At the other side of the cave, the walls were cut ruggedly in the shape of an archway and as he stepped closer he could see the foaming waves of the sea. The sky was a dark pink in contrast with the bluish green water, the sand hundreds of feet beneath them.

“Be careful around the edge,” she blushed impishly, “I nearly fell once,”

“How did you find this place,” he took a few feet from the edge, for his own self preservation as much as because she told him too.

“My dad showed me it; he found it when he was just a boy,”

He nodded, carefully catching her eye. Her dark blue eyes were guarded but thoughtful, and he wondered briefly if she would tell him more. He could tell she was weighing the options, perhaps sifting through what ought to be left out. He could not help but be curious, the gleam in her eye suggested that there was much more to this story then she intended to let on. She did not disappoint him though, instead continuing as if she had never paused.

“He found it when he was six or so, he always tells me he imagined himself to be Tom Sawyer” she laughed, sitting down cross legged on the floor, “He used to bring my mum here,”

He sat down also, waiting for a sign that she wanted to change subject. But he wasn’t picking up any discomfort, just mild indifference.

“I can’t remember why you never came along with us, for all the summers we spent here,”

His smile disappeared into a grimace.

“I suppose your mum,” she withdrew her lost gaze from his visage and stared out at sea, “We were so close Michael,” Her voice was hoarse, but her eyes sparkled, “What happened to us, I don’t even know you anymore,”

“I’ve changed a lot Lia - we were only kids,” his voice was raspy from lack of use, or maybe worrying about saying the wrong thing.

“It’s strange when I think about it” she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, “You left with barely a week warning, and barely an explanation,”

“That was a long time ago,” he shifted nervously, the question spilling out, “Did you hate me?”

“I could never hate you,” a smile spreads across her face, “I wasn’t exactly pleased with you, but wasn’t as if you wanted to leave,”

“I’m sorry I didn’t write,”

“I got over it,” she wrung her hands nervously, “But it was hard you know, losing my best friend,”

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” his voice was tense, “I was very selfish, I didn’t want to remember you; it was easier to forget”

painting part 4

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 19:31:00 -0500

July 22^nd, 1941

Her slender fingers trailed across the woven canvas, mentally comparing the textures. She paused and turned halfway, her eyes resting on a canvas she had missed before. It leaned on its side, against the dark wooden chest filled with an assortment of paintbrushes. She carefully slid the canvas towards her, sizing it up and finally deciding that it was just right. Her creamy white eyelet skirt swirled in the wind as she made her way to the next table, her steps light and eager. The quietest smile whispered across her face as she drank in the sight of the huge display of paints. Every color one could imagine was there amongst the tiny silver tubes and dark wooden pallets. A larger selection than usual she noted, as her hands snaked around a set of blue-greens.

After nearly an hour of self indulgence she slipped through the open market, her purchases tucked neatly into her satchel. A withering old woman, her skin dark from exposure to the sun, and wrinkles deeply resembling a dried up grape, beckoned her over to her stall. Over the heads of the crowd she could barely make out the decrepit sign that declared that the stall sold fruits. There was hardly anyone nearby as she escaped the thickening crowd and reached the battered stall. The woman made a friendly gesture, perhaps an attempt at a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

Liadan smiled uncertainly at the old woman, before glancing down at the assortment of fruits. Her eyes were met with a vibrant orange gold, the citric fruit was glistening, sunlight reflecting off the mist most likely sprayed for preservation. She had not ventured into the market for actual food, rather for a few small trinkets and her paints, but now she couldn’t resist.

“How many would you like?” croaked the old woman, her eyes resting undeterred on Liadan’s face.

She could barely take her eyes off the inviting fruits, and hardly heard herself answering with a request for six. She hastily snapped open her satchel, scrounging through it only to drop a few coins into the waiting hand scarred with age. Her thin wrist reached out, her fingers closing around the woven basket that held the oranges. Her dark hair fell into her face as she mumbled a quiet thank you and turned to leave.

“Wait,” the sheer force in the command caused her to pause on her heel, slowly dragging her eyes to the old woman. She had not expected such a blunt demand, in fact she had marked the withering old woman down as rather feeble.

“Were you born on the summer solstice?’

“How did you know that?” she was puzzled, and confusion was written clearly across her face. There was a strange glint in the woman’s eyes, and suddenly she did not seem to be as old as she had first thought. Her complexion no longer seemed wrinkled, and her eyes glimmered with youth.

“This was meant for you,” a silver trinket was pressed into the palm of her hand, the cool surface tickling her sweaty palms. Her open palm swiveled up and into her line of sight for further inspection. It was a small silver charm that hung loosely from a thin chain. Embedded in the oval shaped charm, was a silvery gem, moonstone if she was not mistaken. Her hand clenched protectively around it, and she glanced up to thank the aging woman, only to realize she had vanished. The entire stall was bare, empty of the inviting fruit, devoid of even the simple sign declaring what was being sold. Deserted - as if the woman had never even been there. Liadan blinked her eyes rapidly, but to no avail. Her nimble fingers reached for the chain of the necklace, hesitating before draping it around her neck and fastening the clasp.

Liadan was still thinking of the mysterious woman as she stepped carefully on the slate stepping stones leading up to the cottage. Her hand closed firmly around the door handle, pushing open the pale blue door to slip inside. She still couldn’t fathom how the woman had disappeared so quickly as she set the fruits on the wooden table in the kitchen. It couldn’t make sense, unless she had imagined it. Which was possible, but not very probable - considering the necklace. She sighed, her bare feet padding through the silent house until she reached the hollowed archway. She leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the sight of her father bent over a painting, basked in sunlight from the open windows that devoured every inch of wall in the room. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, a grin spilling across his boyish face.

“I brought home some fruit from the market, I left them on the table,” she paused, stepping forward until she could see the large portrait over his square shoulders, “Indigo blue,”

He raised his eyes at her.

“It will help define the chin area, it’s still looking a little bit flat,” she clarified.

He nodded before swiveling around in his chair to face her, “Did you finish the painting of Eliza yet?”

“Not even close, that girl is a difficult subject,” she smiled frowned at the thought, “I barely have a rough outline, I just wish she would sit still”

“If you think she squirms, wait until you see Clarice,” he motioned towards the painting. She scrutinized the depiction of the slim girl, from her fair hair to her unblemished skin. The likeness was striking, but then her father was a master of his trade, he could come up with a masterpiece despite any amount of resistance from the subject. He had even managed to capture the innocence and naivety of the young girl, curiosity was practically bursting from her clear green eyes.

“That doesn’t make that much of a difference to you,” she said decidedly, “For you it’s just a trivial nuisance,”

“If you say so,” he grinned cheekily, “Did you have any plans for the evening?”

“Not in particular”

“I was thinking about going out for dinner, maybe the Mer Terrasse or that new place up along the harbor,” he wrapped his paintbrushes back up, “I already asked Annie and she said yes, what do you think?”

“I was actually thinking about showing my friend the cliffs and maybe the cave if I decide he’s worthy,” she smirked before continuing, “Besides, I think you and Annie need to enjoy some alone time,”

“Could you stop trying to set us up?” he scoffed, “Who is this friend?”

“It’s a bit of a surprise,”

“I suppose if you prefer his company to ours,” he feigned hurt, grabbing at his heart, “You know that Annie won’t leave you alone if you don’t invite him over for dinner one night before he leaves,”

“I know,” she smiled broadly, “But there is no way I’m allowing her to cook,”

He laughed heartily until the amusement finally escaped his expression, “There is some leftover pasta in the fridge, or if you’d prefer to eat out I left some money on the counter,”

“Thanks,” she paused, “Don’t come home too early…”

“Don’t stay out too late,” he called back after her retreating form.

painting part 3

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 19:24:00 -0500

July 21^st, 1941 Noon

“Good day to you too Miss Eliza,”

“It was a pleasure to see you again Mr. Baker”

“Yes I will be sure to pass on the message to Annie”

“Don’t forget to tell Caroline that I say hello”

“I’m sure my father would love to do a portrait of your daughter Mrs. Seymour,”

The rosy cheeked woman smiled in gratitude and Liadan gave a small wave before slipping through the thickening crowd. She could feel the weight of the masses crushing her, and the heat of the sun beating down on her back and soaking into the dark blue shirt that hung loosely around her form. Her feet marched of their own accord as she led Michael through the crowded streets, occasionally pointing out shops or stopping to introduce him to various villagers. The odd pair continued in comfortable silence, besides her quiet introductions to the important places in town. At first it seemed as if they had bumped into nearly everyone she knew, but she had a sneaking suspicion that these insignificant conversations had something to do with the strange boy she was towing around with her. It seemed as they had finally escaped from the clutches of the multitude of people intent to bother her today.

“I always thought you were shy,” he suddenly broke the silence, his intense gaze focusing on her downcast eyes.

“I’m not twelve anymore,” her calculating gaze swept upwards and rested on his face as if testing his reaction.

He raised his eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

“You left six years ago, without an explanation or a goodbye” the smile on her face dissipated into a serious expression, “Did you everything to stay the same?”

“That’s not what I thought,” he defended himself, a sad smile on his face, “I only meant..”

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrow at him.

“I rather like it,” he shifted his weight nervously, “You being more talkative I mean,”

“Bloody hell, I haven’t been on swings since I was a kid,” he said breathlessly as he soared upwards, “I had forgotten how much fun they were,”

She only laughed, throwing her head back and grinning as the wind whipped through her hair. Her slender legs were slanted upwards, cutting through the air, and her hands held fast to the rusting chains. On her other side she could barely make out Michael, grinning madly as he swung much higher then her. The deserted old playground at the end of the street had always been one of her favorite places to go. After they put the new park in, this one had simply ceased to be used. The creaking and groaning of the old fashioned metal swing sets, and the splintering wood on the see saws had never diverted her from the playground like it had to countless others. At the very least it peaked her curiosity and compelled her to seek out the rickety slides and dusty sand.

“Dare me to jump?” she hollered, bracing herself for the impact.

“If you’re not too scared,” he grinned before throwing his body forward, slipping off the swing and landing in a crumpled hysterical heap on the sand.

“No fair,” she howled as she descended a moment later, landing next to him with a thud.

“Life’s not fair” His frame shook with laughter as he rolled over onto his side and grinned at her disgruntled expression. She stuck out her tongue childishly and playfully punched him on the arm. He let out an exaggerated cry, and pretended to nurse his injured arm.

“You are still a baby,” she rolled her eyes and twisted over onto her back. He shrugged nonchalantly before following suit, shivering slightly from the tickle of overgrown grass on the back of his exposed neck.

She smiled as a warm wind tickled her feet and rustled through the trees. The silence was comforting, but not true silence. It was the silence of two bodies breathing in deeply the scent of summer, the chirps of birds in the distance and the barely audible whispering of the wind. Her delicate eyelids began to droop of their own accord, and faintly she could hear the breathing of her friend becoming more rhythmic. She couldn’t help but drift off to sleep. The world was falling away until her stomach grumbled loudly, and her eyelids fluttered open in anxiety.

“What time is it?” she demanded, bolting upright, a guilty expression stealing across her face when she realized that he had fallen asleep. After a few moments he opened his eyes groggily, his strong frame pulling himself upright before glancing down at his watch.

“Half past seven,” he looked surprised, “How long were we asleep for?”

“Bugger it all,” on impulse she immediately brought her tanned hand upwards and anxiously chewed on her stubby nails, “I was supposed to be home ages ago to help Annie cook dinner,”

Michael opened his mouth, perhaps to ask what she was talking about but she couldn’t help but babble on.

“She is absolutely wretched at cooking, hell I wouldn’t be surprised if I find the cottage burned to the ground when I get home,”

She used her arms to pull herself upwards, extending her hand to Michael to help him up. He grabbed it gratefully, patting the back of his trousers to swat off the moss and leaves.

“I’m really sorry but I probably should get going,” a genuine smile tugged across her face, her eyes alight and eager, “I really had a nice time with you today,”

“Me too,” his warm honey eyes focused on her dark blue gaze, “Would you mind terribly if I tagged along again tomorrow?”

“Not in the slightest,” she turned around, glancing back once to give a small wave.

Her walk was sprightly, her slender legs striding confidently across the wet grass, her tanned shoulders peeked out from the folds of her top. He grinned at her retreating form, at her ruffled hair, and at her bare feet lounging across the cool grass.

Avoiding her seemed rather silly to him now.

painting part 2

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 18:59:00 -0500

July 20^th, 1942

“Miss Liadan, how are ye on such a fine mornin’?” a genial smile softened the creases of his weathered forehead.

Her slender legs slipped over the stool gracefully as she hoisted herself onto the smooth cushion. A real old fashioned ice cream parlor, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Her dark pink lips curved into a smile, the chipping blue walls and faded photographs nestled in worn wooden frames made her feel like she had stepped out of a time machine. There were photographs splayed across the walls, some dating as far back as the early twenties. Her favorite one was situated directly behind the counter, above the peeling sign that indicated prices and flavors. It was a simple picture. A little girl sitting on the very stool she now sat upon, her light curls pulled into braids and her small fist wrapped around an ice cream cone. The trademark smile of a girl under six, her two front teeth missing from the toothy smile and her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Hello Charlie,” she greeted him with a small smile, before tearing her eyes from the dated photograph, “could I have two scoops of coffee in a waffle cone,”

“Of course Miss Liadan,” he nodded, his eyes trained downwards as he scooped her ice cream, “How is yer dad? Has he made any inclinations towar’s admittin’ his feelin’s fer our Annie? I reckon he will come to his senses before the year is out,”

“He hasn’t been one bit different around her since I got home,” she sighed before jamming her hand into her satchel and retrieving a few dollars, “Those two are so blind. It could be ages before they realize they’re crazy for each other. I get the feeling that Annie might have an inkling but she certainly isn’t one to make the first move,”

The older man let out a hearty laugh, his frame shaking and his eyes glistening with mirth as he handed the ice cream cone to her.

“Those two are the most stubborn pair I’ve ever met. But then they were always stubborn, even as kids. And thick as thieves those two, I reckon I can’t even recall ever seein’ them apart.

“Hopefully they quit being so pigheaded and get a move on. It’s rather agonizing to be around them all the time without wanting to throttle the both of them.”

The tinkle of bells filtered through the lofty parlour, mixing with the creak of a door whose hinges clearly were in desperate need of replacement. She turned sideways casually, glancing at the new customers - two sandy blonde boys who were tugging on the arm of a disheveled woman, most likely their mother, and a small toddler balanced on the hip of the haggard woman. She turned her attention back to the old man.

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic Lia,” he grinned and she rolled her eyes, muttering something about hopeless old cadgers.

The beleaguered mother had reached the counter, her two boys already having hopped onto the only two empty seats, continuing to stare greedily at the ice cream buckets.

This was her cue to leave.

She swung her legs around and slipped out of the high stool, waving merrily at the wizened old man. Her gaze focused on the smiling girl in the picture frame for a few seconds before she tore away and turned from the counter. She crossed the room in seconds, and pushed the light wooden door open wide and stepped outside. The bright sunlight temporarily blinded her, and she brought a hand instinctively to shade her sensitive eyes as she took another step forward.

Perhaps walking into a crowded street with temporarily impaired vision wasn’t the best idea. A wry grin spread across her face as she took in her surroundings.

She was sprawled across the cobble stone sidewalk, her satchel ripped open and her sketches strewn everywhere. Her assailant had not fared much better though, and she fought to keep the satisfied grin from spreading across her face but found she was failing. She bit her lip – bringing other people to the ground with her own clumsiness really shouldn’t be funny. She glanced up to apologize to the poor fellow when her features twisted with shock and she let out a choked laugh.

Of all people she could have knocked over – it had to be Michael Sullivan. She smiled as relief surged through her and left even her toes a little tingly. She had been prepared for some insults and her own dull apology that would undoubtedly reek of dishonesty. Perhaps even a few rude accusations if the person happened to be in a bad mood. Instead she found herself chuckling, a grin spread across her face and her nose wrinkled in amusement.

“Fancy seeing you here,” his gentle tone brought her out of her reverie, and even ceased her mindless laughter for a few seconds.

“Hullo Michael,” and then giggling had found her again, “Sorry about knocking you over, wasn’t quite paying attention to where I was walking,”

“That’s alright, could have happened to anyone,” he was staring at her, his features crumpling into something akin to concern, “Are you quite alright?”

She shook her head vigorously, motioning for him to give her a minute to compose herself. She found that suddenly, her bitten down nails were much more interesting then her predicament, and if she concentrated very hard on the hangnail on her index finger then her hysterics would settle. After a few minutes of awkward silence as she struggled with her laughter, she took a deep breath in.

“Sorry about that,” she said matter-of-factly, ignoring his baffled expression, “I wasn’t laughing at you, by the way.”

“I know,” he grinned crookedly, before asking rather anxiously, “Have you got any plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I have a rather busy schedule you see,” she pretended to contemplate, “But I suppose I could fit you in. Would twenty minutes suffice? I think I could spare you,”

“You know that we are still on the ground,” he grinned, handing her the satchel and hoisting himself up. He extended his hand, she took it and he pulled her to her feet.

“I don’t quite know my way around, so I was hoping you could show me. I mean, if you don’t have anything better to do,”

“Don’t be silly Sullivan, I was only joking about having a life,”

the most beautiful smile you ever saw

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 15:29:51 -0400

to be continued

painting

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 15:05:00 -0400

July 19^th, 1942

Gentle brushstrokes danced across the surface of the once white canvas, smearing the haze of blues into greens and depicting a miniature of the salty sea. Slender tanned fingers grasped the worn wooden brush, embedding layer upon layer of colors. The fine bristles caressed the canvas and created the illusion of depth. Inspiration had been evading her for quite some time, but now in the golden sunlight of dusk the painter had found her way home. Her freckled hand relaxed against the faded stick, embellished with paint splatters, as she made her strokes longer and more deliberate.

A cool breeze picked up, ruffling her long dark hair and tickling her bare feet. A tide of goose bumps broke out on her bare shoulders as she shivered involuntarily. In the distance, the quiet sound of footsteps shuffling down the wood planks of the dock created a comforting rhythm. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she bent closer, her grip tightened on the small brush and her dark blue eyes examined the painting. Detail had always been her least favorite aspect of painting, but it would be unforgivable to disregard it. Her slender torso pulled back, her neck craning as she inspected her work. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, she had mucked up the shading on the sails of the small white boat. A little touch of a cool gray would –

“Liadan?” Disbelief was evident in the familiar voice. Her head snapped up, her slender arm withdrew from her easel and her calculating gaze swept upwards towards the silhouette. The setting sun was illuminated behind his shadowed features, enveloping him in mists of golden sunlight. He stepped out of the shadows, and the light gave life to his features. His warm honey eyes danced in delight, his crooked smile marred only by the crease of barely visible dimples. In barely half a second she had connected the polite demeanor with the boy she had known since birth.

“Michael!” She could barely contain her pleasure, it emanated from her soft voice as a smile crept across her face.

“How are you?” he asked politely, but unable to keep the curiosity from creeping into his tone, “I haven’t seen you in nearly six years.. didn’t know you and your family still spent your summers here”

“I don’t,” she paused and set her paintbrush down, “My dad wanted to spend some time with me. I’m only here for a few weeks, maybe less.”

He nodded in understanding and she continued, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying with my aunt for a couple weeks,” he was silent for a few moments as if lost in thought, “I can’t believe I bumped into you like this, how’s everything back home?”

“As dull as ever” she smiled sadly, “How long are you going to be staying?”

“Depends how long my aunt can put up with me,”

“Why didn’t you write,” her voice was quiet and deliberate.

“It wasn’t anything personal, I suppose I just forgot” his features flushed and he shifted his weight nervously, “Did you paint that? It’s brilliant.”

He motioned towards the broad canvas, sincerity radiating from him. She nodded, her quiet smile growing bigger as she mumbled thanks. She swung her legs off the bench, and turned so she was directly facing him.

“How’s your mum and dad?”

“They’re alright,” he avoided her eyes, “How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing well; he’ll be thrilled to see you again,” she frowned, her brow knit in confusion, “I thought you hated your aunt,”

“She isn’t exactly my favorite person,”

“Why are you…” she trailed off, her eyes softening, “Is your mum sick again?”

“She hasn’t relapsed for two years,” his eyes were burning with intensity, “Fawning over my brother I suppose, and anything seemed better; even a few weeks with Aunt Edna,”

He let out a hearty chuckle, and contrary to her expectations there was no hollow echo to it. His features were not etched with anger, nor his eyes hardened with jealousy. She scrutinized his gentle countenance; he did not even appear to be distressed by his mother’s favoritism. She glanced upwards, her dark blue eyes meeting his warm honey, and a smile began to crinkle across his face. She was aware that she had been staring but she couldn’t seem to look away. A moment later the spell was broken and he glanced down at his watch, a frown marring his visage.

“I have to go – I’m expected for dinner,” his features expressed that he was truly sorry to go and he asked earnestly if she would be there tomorrow. She grinned and assured him that she would be there. Her calculating gaze studied his loping gait as he walked away. He turned back once, his eyes immediately catching hers, his mouth curving into a small smile and then he was gone.

She realized moments later that the lack of sunlight would hinder her painting abilities. She sighed as she folded up her easel, shoving her paints and brushes into the leather satchel at her waist and tucking her canvas under her arm. Humming merrily, she tread softly down the dusty dirt road leading up to her cottage where her father awaited her. She couldn’t help but think this was the happiest she had been in quite some time.