I decided to join in the fun over at r.e.h.'s place. He's come up with this great game where he gives us pictures that represent different aspects of a story, then we write the story. He explains it a lot better than I do, and you can find the rules here.
So, here we go!


One Little Leaf

Samuel should have been working on his homework, but he was having a familiar daydream instead. He was running through the wet sand, his feet slapping against the receding wave as it tried to drag him into the ocean with it. The sky was as wide as the ocean he was running next to and all of his worries were gone. He had never even been to the beach, but he just knew that if he was there, running on the sand, he could forget about the cramped two bedroom apartment he and his sister, Abigail, lived in with their mother or the bully, Frank, who stops him on his way to school to pick on him just for the hell of it or the hours he waits for his mom to get home from her job.

He knew she hated her job. She only took it to support him and Abigail after their father left. She was so tired when she got home that he didn’t want to bother her with helping him with his homework or talking to her about Frank. Samuel knew that if they could just go to the beach, his mother would forget all her worries, too. Maybe she could relax and smile again. It had been so long since she had smiled.

The thoughts of his mom brought Samuel back to real time. He finished the last of his multiplication tables then went to the bedroom he shared with his little sister. It had an invisible line drawn down the middle by the separation of girl’s stuff and boy’s stuff. Abigail’s side was pink with Dora the Explorer and baby dolls around, while his side was darker with Transformers and race cars. He reached under his bed and took out the box of treasured objects. He ignored the ribbons for science fairs, the pictures of his mom and dad, the birthday cards from some grandmother he never met, and picked up the small, hardback book about sea shells that his mom had given to him for his birthday. It was the first birthday without his dad, so she had made it a big party to try to make up for it. They had been at the park for his party, and in a puddle of water there had been a leaf. There weren’t many trees in this park—it was mostly sand and gravel around a swing set and a jungle gym—so he guessed that’s why it caught his attention. It was a very pretty golden color and a lovely shape with no tears or nicks in it. He had carefully picked it up and dried it off with a napkin before putting it in his book about shells.

Now he sat on his bed, opened the book, and held the leaf tenderly in his hand. He thought about the birthday without his dad and the promise about going to the beach some day that his mom made when she gave him the book. She talked about how he and his sister would jump and run in the sand. And he remembered the far away look in his mother’s eyes and that she was smiling.

Halloween Hangover

Another Halloween is but a memory. A memory and a tummy ache from way too many Smarties. Those little powdery, sugary candy disks are just irresistible--it's the only time of year I get them. I tried to out-psyche myself and bought some dark chocolate M&Ms so that I wouldn't steal from the treat bowl, but I'm weak.

We had lots of trick-or-treaters this year, many more than last year. I actually ran out of candy. I had to save one more package of Smarties before they were all gone. The youngest was about 3 or 4, I'd guess. I'm not very good at guessing, but he looked about the same age as my friend's 3 year old, so I'm going with that. He was a dinosaur and having a blast. That's such a cute age. They get more excited with each house they go to when the realize what is going on. He jumped off my front porch and marched down the sidewalk saying, "Trick or Treat!"

We had the usual ages of 5 to 10, and they were everything from princesses to witches to super heros to Thomas the Tank Engine. But what was really cool were their bags! No pillow cases for these guys--their bags matched their costumes. That must have cost a pretty penny. And some of the bags were these cool quilted figures, so you put the candy in a witch's head or something like that. I was most impressed.

One of these little beggars came as the Grim Reaper. In the lowest voice he could muster he said, "Trick or Treat." I had a flashback to the Halloween party my folks had when I was a little kid, when someone came as the Grim Reaper. It scared the pee out of me--almost literally. That costume has given me the shivers ever since, even when it's on a 10-year-old.

Of course, we got the older kids, too. They were the ones with the pillow cases. We had a group of 12 to 13 year olds. I love that age. This is probably their last big night at costumes and trick-or-treating for the fun of Halloween. Next year, they'll be too cool, so they'll just walk around in packs, wearing all black, and wanting candy even though they aren't wearing costumes. We had a group like that come to the door, too. I told them they were my scariest group yet.

In that group of 13-year-olds, one of them was wearing a King from Burger King mask and I told him that was really scary. He pulled his mask up and said, "Really?" He seemed quite pleased. I said, "Yeah. Haven't you seen those commercials? They're disturbing." Well, they do scare me. They are so disturbing, I couldn't even find one on YouTube to show you what I mean. But you can go here to get an idea.

By 8:30, we blew the candles out of the jack-o-lanterns and turned out the lights. It's always a little sad for me. I love seeing all the kids in their costumes and hearing them say thank you and even a "Happy Halloween" every now and then. Of course, I'm also worried that now it is dark around my house and those black-clad teenagers that I was a smart-ass to might come back and smash my pumpkins.

Not only is today the end of Halloween, it is the beginning of November and National Novel Writing Month, which I did sign up for. I have a folder on my desktop ready for my 50,000 words, I have a place in the house that I think will be ideal for writing, I have the story in mind, and I have a pot of coffee brewing. I've thought about it a lot and I've come to one conclusion.

I am out of my fricken' mind.

But I'm going to try it anyway.