Week 13 - Daydreaming

I have this certain proclivity of biting my nails when I am thinking. I only ever realize that my nails and cuticles are worn down to the nub until after my brain stops chugging along like a locomotive barreling towards a cliff. And this happens all the time. I daydream while at work. I daydream while at play. I daydream while I eat. I daydream in the bathroom especially (it is known as the thinking room for a reason). I am always dreaming.

Mindlessness is not my forte. In fact it is impossible. While at work, I don't just do, I think about what I am doing. I think about how I am doing it. Can I do this better? Could I be doing something else? Should I be doing something else? Do I want to spend the rest of my life doing this here, or do I want more than this?

Many people I have worked with barely think beyond the day thy woke up in. Only a few think a year ahead. Fewer still think decades beyond their current place in time. Most of the people I have worked with about sleeping with as many girls or boys they can instead of finding that one girl or boy that can give them what they are really looking for. They think about how they don't get paid enough, griping and complaining, instead of working to get a raise or plotting how they can get a better job.

Many of the people I have worked with think about how to get back at people who have wronged them instead of thinking of ways to help others and forgetting the past, allowing the control that hate has on their lives to break away. A few who think far ahead think of going to school, choosing a profession that with gross them a pretty penny, instead of choosing a profession that might fulfill them; “Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life.”

I confess that I have thought some of these same things, but I mostly think of who I want to be when I am old. How do I want to be remembered when I am gone. In the history of the world, few people are written about. Even fewer are truly remembered; taught about in school; history channel specials made about them. Will I be one of those people? Likely not. But living a life striving to be better certainly has other benefits. A life mostly free of conflict. Many friends and few enemies. A great memory for your posterity. A reward in eternity from a happy God.

I am a daydreamer, there is no way around it. Does it make me better than those around me who think of fickle and fleeting desires? Certainly not. But it does mean I am in serious need of a manicure.

Prompt 57 - Summer Vacation

Waking up at 10am with bedhead and in desperate need of a shower that last nights skateboard excursion helped bring about due to the hours of skating across town, tearing up the streets and having the time of our lives free to do as we please, go where we please; and do it all free of homework, tests, and often, fortunately or unfortunately, all without parental supervision to let us know that it was all quite dangerous and potentially adverse to our health; bumping into drunks and the homeless unaware if they were sane and realizing all too often they they were not as they asked to climb onto one of our boards and glide down the street just as one would expect a drunk to do, almost killing themselves while we stood nervously and laughed about leaving the house at 11pm to skate after eating so late; most likely pizza and a bottle of soda; imperfect fuel for a perfect day going out into the woods and playing guns, building forts; grass stains and mud on our faces, letting our imaginations not only run wild, but giving them a form and structure as we assembled our battlegrounds in the forests and fought tirelessly to take the next hill and explore uncharted territory, occasionally stumbling onto private property, or city property; all very exciting and dangerous to a bunch of stupid kids spending their summer day inviting friends over to play video games; cereal and milk in unending supply; TV's and consoles scattered throughout the house along with pillows and blankets, tangled wires and sore muscles, shouts of laughter filling every room, every space a memory and every person a story of a day waking up at 10am with bedhead and in desperate need of a shower.

Prompt 59 - Bathroom Humor

Have you ever pooped your pants? This isn't a joke. Really! Have you ever dropped a deuce in your knickers? You probably won't admit it, but I bet you have. All of us have likely, at one point or another, soiled our drawers. And I'm not talking about when you were in diapers. I'm talking about grown men and women doing what only babies and the incontinent do. You might have had a little to much Tabasco on that taco. Or maybe a roller coaster ride that went up and down a little to fast for your bowels to bear. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't pretty. But you don't have to live in the shadows any longer like some gravy thief. Today we exorcise some demons.

I'm sorry. Is this to gross and immature for your refined, one percenter tastes? Do I offend you and your penchant for sophisticated oratory and traditional literature? Well deal with it. Your distaste for the subject is a clear sign that you yourself have, in fact, pooped in your pants and you would care to forget the incident. You are far too transparent.

A friend of mine seemed to be almost proud of his number two tragedy as he iterated it to me one day, a huge grin on his face. He told he had been in a local pizza place eating with some friends. They were doing a little crop dusting on the people sitting around them when things went terribly awry. On his final attempt, he tried to fart and felt a little extra something sneak out. He didn't get up, however. He was afraid that whatever had happened, it might “happen” right down his leg if he stood up. So he just sat there until he was certain it was safe to abscond, his friends laughing the whole time.

It reminds me of a famous pant soiling episode that was unfortunately brought to America's attention when famous weatherman and Today Show anchor, Al Roker, confessed to his own diarrhea debacle. On live TV, Roker said that on a visit to the White House, he was walking down a hallway alone and felt that he had to fart. Now at this point I was thinking “terrorism!” Al said that he let one loose and accidentally pulled the brownies out of the oven before they were done. (My words, not his). He said that he ran to the nearest bathroom and unloaded the irreparably damaged underwear into the White House waist basket. Can you imagine the surprise the cleaning lady got the next day! He went commando for the remainder of his presidential visit. Al, however, has a “condition.” What was my excuse?

I was at school and in class. My stomach suddenly began to churn like an Amish butter maker. I tried to wait and just let it subside but sometimes the trash has to go out before the bag is full if you know what I mean. I asked to go to the bathroom and shimmied out the door and down the hallway with my butt clenched like a coke head at a drug bust. I made it to the bathroom and slammed the stall door and prayed that no one else would walk in. Like our friend Al, I had a clean up on aisle two. I did the best I could to repair the sail but this ship was going to have to stay away from the shoals if you know what I mean. It has happened a few times since but has been in the comfort of my own home, where a fresh pair of underpants is a dryer sheet away and there is no fear of a rickety stall door separating you from a very embarrassing nickname. My excuse? Crohns. It's the best explanation I can muster.

We have all done it. It's like slipping on ice. It's funny when it happens to some grandma, but when its your nana, not so much. But we don't have to be ashamed anymore that we may have fed the fish once or twice in a movie theater or a church service. It's OK. Al Roker said so. So don't be afraid to share your elimination expositions. Exorcise those demons and be free of the shame. Let that flag wave high. Just make sure it is cleaned first.

Prompt 61A - 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover

1. Dump them
2. Lose them
3. Tell them they stink and hand them a stick of deodorant
4. Jump out of a highrise window
5. Throw them out of a highrise window
6. Badmouth their momma
7. Go on a TV show and tell the world about their secrets
8. Go on a TV show and fail to say “I love you.”
9. Go on a TV show and embarrass yourself to the point that the episode becomes a viral Youtube video
10. Kick their pet dog
11. Yell “heads up” and toss them a kitchen knife
12. Wet the bed a few times
13. Steal their car and go on a high speed chase with police
14. Get caught on a Ballpark Kiss Cam and don't kiss them
15. Buy them a hotdog for their birthday (unless its an adorable inside joke)
16. Tear the head off their favorite stuffed animal in a touchdown dance
17. Find out that your boyfriend has stuffed animals
18. Play a practical joke on them by peeing on their toothbrush
19. Smack their butt in front of your church
20. Fart in church
21. Carelessly drop a Christmas candle and accidentally ignite the church
22. Crash the children's Christmas program by running on stage in a spandex onesie
23. Start your own church dedicated to them and create little clay statues with their face on it surrounded on a shrine in your living room by an assortment of demonic looking candles
24. Tell them you're gay
25. Crash their car into a sardine factory
26. Forget your anniversary (If they are female)
27. Forget their birthday (If they are female)
28. Forget the Superbowl (If they are male)
29. Tell them you are moving to china to work with children and then accidentally see them at the supermarket after you didn't go
30. Tell them your favorite movie is Birth of a Nation
31. Tell them you thought Schindler's List was a riot
32. Tell them your favorite President is Bush (if they are liberal)
33. Tell them your favorite President is Obama (if they are conservative)
34. When she asks you if she looks fat in a particular garment just say “Do you...!?”
35. Smoke crack
36. Drink bleach
37. Wash their favorite color shirt with the whites in bleach
38. Blow up the house by incorrectly wiring the water heater
39. Tie them to the bed and steal their credit card
40. Take dancing classes and enjoy the dance with the teacher a little too much
41. Suggest they get implants
42. Turn off the TV right when their favorite show has reached the climactic finale and tell them that too much TV is bad for your health
43. Buy them a weight loss DVD
44. Convert to Scientology
45. Enter a convent
46. Convert to Judaism and botch the circumcision
47. Duck tape their eyebrows and rip it off
48. Tell them you're a Lakers fan
49. Tell them you're a Yankees fan
50. Don't compromise; don't communicate; don't give them your time, your energy, or your attention; and for goodness sake, make sure you only TELL them you love them, not SHOW them you love them.

Week 12 - Outburst

Where do you get off? Who do you think you are? I'm not an idiot. I know when I being talked down to. You take most of what I say and throw it in the garbage like a moldy sandwich! Excuse me Zeus! Why don't you inscribe your forked tongue proclamations on a scroll and shoot them down on a lightning bolt from Mount Olympus?! I could probably do most of this myself. And likely far better than you ever could! Do I look like an infant that needs my diaper changed? The hubris you must have to think that your decrees are without fault, when the evidence of their unrivaled stupidity is right before your eyes! Is your name Ronnie Milsap!? Could you for just, one , moment, have the humility to admit your fault? No! My suggestions to you are the equivalent of a fart. You know it has to happen but you hate the smell. Well light a Yankee Candle pal cause there is more where this came from!

What a sorry excuse for a human being you are. If I had to choose between you and a steaming pile of cat feces, I'd go grab a pooper scooper. What goes through your mind anyways? That this whole thing would fall apart if occasionally I lent a hand? Well it's already falling apart and I have barely pulled my hand out of my pocket to scratch my butt! If it was raining and Noah was outside building an ark holding God's blueprints right in his hands, you would probably run out and tell him he's doing it wrong. Unfortunately for you, the boat you have made is so full of holes from the contradictory statements you have made that you would sink faster to the bottom than a “rat” in an Irish mob. There is literally no end to the asinine things that spill out of your fat mouth. I'll tell you one thing, If I could say what's on my mind mind I'd...

“Sorry about that,” says my coworker. “It was a stupid thing to say. Do you forgive me?”

Crap. What a jerk am I?

“Yes.”

Prompt 55 - In the Hands of the Blacksmith

The blacksmith compresses the billows and the dim coals of the forge come to life. He puts on his gloves and cloak. His tools are right where he left them. Unmoved, they sit neatly right next to the anvil. The blacksmith retrieves a bent metal shaft from a neighboring scrap shelf. The metal parts and pieces look rusty and old. They are misshapen and broken, unusable in their current state. The blacksmith doesn't see them as old or broken, however. He sees potential.

The blacksmith nestles the old metal rod under the hot charcoal. The fire burns brightly. It is almost hypnotizing as it shifts and flickers, heating the metal rod burrowed inside its heart. The fire purifies. It make the metal soft, malleable, moldable, changeable. The blacksmith carefully pulls the red hot metal rod from the furnace and goes to work.

Striking the iron over and over he begins to shape the once hard and rigid alloy. The hammer pummels the rod over and over. The blacksmith wipes his soot covered brow and slides the rod back into the fire. He does this over and over, compressing the billows; heating the furnace, molding the iron. He forces his will upon the metal rod, a specific purpose in mind.

Like a conductor, he crafts the rod according to his own vision. His anvil, his hammer, his tongs, his forge; all his instruments. Like the metal rod here and now, these tool had already bent. They had already been shaped and molded by the blacksmith. Once resistant and cold, the fire had made them pliable and weak. But the blacksmith folded them over and over, strengthening them again. Now stronger. Now they were merely an extension of the blacksmiths creativity. Once on the scrap shelf, now with a purpose.

The newly fashioned metal, red hot from the burning coals is plunged into a vat of cooled water. A billowy plume of steam pours out, clouding the air, as the water bubbles and hisses. The steel hardens, its final shape solidified. Shaped by the blacksmith, its purpose sealed. A tool. The blacksmith smiles and sets his newest creation down on the table. Down next to his anvil, his hammer, his tongs, his forge. Once on the scrap shelf, now in the hands of the blacksmith.

Prompt 54 - I Thought, I Said

I thought, “I want to accompany you so bad. You have no idea.”

I said, “I'm busy a I can't can't cancel. But if you would like to do something later...”

I thought, “I would love that huge piece of chocolate cake.”

I said, “No thanks. I'm full.”

I thought, “This is stupid.”

I said, “I'm in!”

I thought, “I'm never going to do that ever again. I swear.”

I said, “Just one more time...”

I thought, “That may be the ugliest thing I have ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on.”

I said, “It's beautiful!”

I thought, “Gimme, Gimme, Gimme!”

I said, “Oh no. Please. You seriously didn't have to.”

I thought, “I really don't want to talk right now. I just want to go home and sit and drool and eat.”

I said, “Yes? What was it you wanted to ask me?”

I thought, “What if something terrible happens. If it does, I have no idea what to do.”

I said, “Nothing is going to happen. Even in the small chance that it does, I've got this...”

I thought, “Right now, there is nowhere else I would rather be.”

I said, “Right now, there is nowhere else I would rather be.”

http://onemillionfootnotes.blogspot.com/

3479: He thought “,” and He Said “.”

Prompt 52 - Sign For Sale

http://maine.craigslist.org/bar/4177436867.html

A single posting on a private sale website. An orange sign leaned up against a white shed. Its face worn and weathered. “Stihl chainsaws, sales and service.” Three hundred bucks and it's yours. Years of service, good and bad, waiting to be sold off. How long had its old, flimsy hooks hung on? They very likely held far past their prime. But you can't hold forever; the sign taken down and put up for sale. The end.

Or maybe its a new beginning? Where will the sign be swept off to? A hosing down and some soap wiping away the grit and grime? Some new hooks and a nice new post? Maybe even decades more of vitality. The opportunity hangs out there, a click away. One page view from a fresh start.

And what will take it's place? The rickety post on which it once hung, empty. What will fill the void. Maybe the sign will be sold and the post torn down, never to return. Or maybe the post will get a fresh coat of paint and a new sign will be hung on its metal frame. A different sign. One without mossy stains on its facade and it's glossy finish completely faded from the driving rain and wind. The old one had held on valiantly , but sometimes it's just time for something new.

Week 11 - View From the Top

The climb begins with a dream. The trail is pregnant with expectation and mystery, yet varying little in its complexity or difficulty. What is more, a friend is by your side, in case trouble should arise. Signs along the well worn path warn of coming adversity.

You can see it up ahead as you begin to feel your blood flowing in your arms and legs. The dirt and gravel turn into stone and roots and you pay close attention to your footsteps as you walk so as not to trip. The full of the rock face reveals itself before you through the trees. You approach it and stop.

One foot, one hand; you climb slowly. Your arms and legs begin to pulse with blood and sweat now drip from your face. As the ground grows farther and farther away, the danger grows closer and closer. Potential energy. Halfway there.

There are no safety harnesses. No rock picks. No clamps. No ropes. No clips. No gloves. Not even a good foothold. Your brow drips. Your muscles tremble Your hands chafe. Your foot slips.

For a moment you feel weightless. Then Atlas; the weight of the world to bear. Fear takes control of your movements as you instinctively reach out for anything to avert whatever happens next. There is nothing there.

Suddenly a hand greets yours; gently seizing on to you. You hold tightly and look up at the light above. Your friend's face quickly turns from fear to joy as they pull you up. You both laugh as you collapse at the top. They say that that is what friends are for.

You wipe your forehead, you take a drink, and you stand at the zenith. The wind cools your face. It carries your thoughts with it into the sky. Staring into the distant horizon you see a mountain; ever so slightly taller than the one on which you now stand. You dream.

Prompt 46 - Gunfight

I squeezed through an alleyway between two abandoned buildings. Me and some friends were in the midst of a gunfight. Not a real gunfight, but a play one. We did this from time to time. I reached the end of the alley and peered out into the snowy street. The coast was clear. I scooted across the roadway and ducked behind a truck. Just then, a man from the other team lept from a nearby doorway and fired several rounds at me. These were not fake rounds, however. I laid there, bleeding, staring up at the the snow falling softly down from the sky and melting as it touched my face. My temperature dropped as I quickly began to fade into darkness.

Back to the beginning.

I chose my weapon and rushed into a dilapidated shed. I was careful. I slowly made my way out of the shed across an open street. The ground crunched beneath my feet as I walked; the snow freshly fallen on the gravel roadway. I pressed against the building and slid along its brick wall towards a iron gate. I heard a commotion beyond and peered around ever so slightly to see if I could catch a glimpse at the situation before I decided to charge in. Just then, a bullet struck me in the head. My limp torso slumped over and landed in the snow with a crunch. My blood dripped out, turning the white powder crimson red.

Back to the beginning.

I was determined. There was absolutely no way my team was going to loose this match. I sprinted over to a doorway and made my way inside out of the storm. Shaking off the snow I crept down the hallway and stopped jut behind a stack of wooden crates with some foreign language stenciled on its side. Hearing the boots of several members of the other team racing through the building, I retrieved a grenade from my belt. I pulled the pin and held on tight. I lurched from behind the wooden crates and raised the grenade, fully expecting to see a small crowd of the enemy taken completely by surprise. What I saw instead was a rifle pointed directly at my face and a single bullet exiting the muzzle.  My grenade fell to the floor.

Game over.

Prompt 47 - Animalistic

After a long day, I came home one evening pining for a chance to just sit down. I slapped together a leftover turkey sandwich and wolfed it down as quickly as I had prepared it. I poured a cup of coffee and finally collapsed into my easy chair. It was one of those nights where you don't feel like doing one single thing. You just want to watch a movie and become a vegetable. There seemed to be nothing on TV on this particular evening, (the football game was earlier in the day), so I did what I rarely do; channel surf. I clicked and clicked until I stumbled upon a program showcasing animals in their natural habitat.

The narrator ushered me through the details: A group of ravenous primates engaged in some kind of animalistic ritual. On a certain date and time these beasts all congregate in a single location and wait. They wait for some time. Days even. They wait s long as they have to in order to be first. Then, when the leader gives the OK, they rush in for the kill.

I watched as the animals stampeded one another merely to get to the prize. Males as well as females, all vying for their chance at victory. The ones in charge had all they could handle just to keep the frenzied gathering in check. In doing so, they were almost crushed themselves. There was no respect, no love, no sympathy. Just visceral aggression. It was a grotesque display as older were trampled by the younger. They had no regard for one another, but seemed to be the embodiment of pure selfishness.

The narrator explained that, in fact, an older one had died during the bedlam. They played the amazing footage back to me in slow motion. And sure enough, you could see as one older one was kicked to the ground and trampled underfoot. But what startled me the most is that these animals didn't even notice. It was as if they had tunnel vision. They could not see the chaos they were engaged in until it was all over and one of their own was lying dead.

The narrator made some quick commentary and then moved on. Something about the first day sales numbers. Despite the carnage that was wrought in select locations across the nation, stores had apparently done quite well. I sipped my coffee which was now getting cold and vowed never to attend a Black Friday sale.

Prompt 44 - Awake

I awoke in a hallway. My older half sister, my little brother and my niece all together. We had gone to the fair and had decided, while I was sleeping, to enter the scariest looking haunted house I had ever laid eyes on. Here we were though, walking through the creepy halls, waiting for the scare to jump out and frighten us right out of our shoes.

I became truly frightened, however, as we passed what looked like a tiny nursery with pink walls and filled with small kids and a singular caretaker holding a baby and teetering in a wooden rocking chair. The goosebumps all over me bubbled up. I tried to tell my siblings that this was a bad, bad idea. That we should not have gone on this ride. But they didn't even seem to acknowledge my appeals. We turned a corner to our right and entered a larger, dark room which had three circular crawl tunnels on its far wall. We stopped and discussed which tunnel to take. Screams reverberated through the pitch black passageways and I became as petrified as a Triassic forest.

I begged my sister and brother and niece not to enter the tunnels but to back out of the haunted house and go on another ride. They didn't listen, however. They didn't even look at me and dove, head first, into the tunnels, crawling into the darkness. I was left standing in that empty room, all alone. Suddenly I heard a terrifying noise and I didn't waist any time. I ran back down the hall.

I then heard large, lumbering footsteps behind me. The hall seemed to grow longer as I ran back toward the entrance. As I realized that I might not escape, I swung through door of the nursery and hid behind the doorway. I found all of this to be truly terrifying as just like my siblings, none of these children or their attendant even looked at me. It was as if I were not even there.

Then suddenly, through small slit at the hinge of the door, my eye captured a giant shape passing by and leaning through the pink door. It seemed to me like a giant minotaur, but I was not about to take the necessary steps to make that a certainty. I stayed there behind the creaking door, watching the beast with a single opened eye through the narrow crack. It's massive lungs quickly breathed out of its nose causing me to flinch ever so slightly. My heart pounded like the Tell Tale Heart, working so hard at giving my position away. I sat for what seemed like an eternity, curled up in the fetal position. The giant beast then leaned back out of the pink doorway and stomped away back towards hell. Immediately I jumped up an ran towards the exit.

I ran right to my mom and dad who were seated at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

“Why are you crying,” my mom asked she hugged me close.

“I had a dream,” I said, the terror of being chased down that dark hallway as my siblings were being devoured still lingering strong in my mind.

“Your first nightmare,” my dad said as my parents sat me down at the table with a hearty bowl of cereal.

I was simply glad to be awake.

Week 10 - Camping

When your drowning, you don't really think. You struggle and slash violently to reach the surface, not realizing that the thing that has hold of your foot could be merely brushed away with the casual tug of your fingers. But no. You aren't thinking. You are strangled by it. Suffocating. The 'thing' suddenly becomes the embodiment of fear. A starved creature from the deep, feasting on your foot. Then maybe your legs. Then perhaps once you have inhaled enough water to flood your lungs, sending you drifting not just into the current of the dark lake, but into eternity, the creature might carve into your bones.

In a matter of seconds, all these thoughts and more flash before you like the sunlight through the waves above you. Can anyone hear you battling against death itself? Where is your family? Where is anyone who could save you? Are they distracted, cooking hot dogs over the fire? Surely someone is on their way to pull you up out of the water like Peter amidst the raging storm.

Your chest tightens as you fight to not inhale. The one thing your body wants to do becomes the one most terrifying thing you could do. Your head becomes dizzy and light as your legs kick and churn. Maybe this is it, you think. You feel the greasy tentacles of mortality wound around your foot, dragging you down to the depths, and you push up towards the light one last time.

Breaking free you pull at the water and reach air. A gasp escapes out of your mouth and you crawl to the shallow of the shoreline. Your family is sitting around the fire, talking and eating. Your brother not but a few feet away in the water. You realize that in all your slashing and fighting, you didn't even make a peep. Not even a ripple on the surface of the water. And the beast that had come so close to devouring your waterlogged corpse was nothing but a simple grass weed. A small fish burrow had caused you to slip and get tangled up for just a mere moment. Coughing and hacking you hear the voice of your father saying to you from the comfort of dry land, “are you OK?”

“Yeah.”

Week 9 - The Concert

Sitting nervously on the torn seats of a Volkswagen Beetle, I rode shotgun with my music teacher to the University of Maine. The tiny windshield wipers of his puttering jalopy fought furiously to keep the glass clear from the pouring rain. An eyeball bobble-head bounced around on the dashboard as I prepared mentally for the Maine Allstate coral performance. In the meantime, my music teacher and I made small talk about the things that unite us all; like politics and religion.

-----------

“I don't fit in here,” I thought as we waited in line at the University campus to enter the large auditorium classroom to begin the rehearsals. There were hundreds of kids from all over Maine, many of which were fantastic singers. Yet I, a sports loving, drum playing, video game addicted nerd who hung out with geeks and skateboarders, felt as if I was dropped on an alien planet. There were almost no boys that shared my common interests as far as I could tell. Let us just say that most of these girls could not have found a date here if they had tried. The boys were a little flamboyant and I felt somewhat at ease with this realization. After all, all these girls and yet so few who were interested? Great odds for me though. I avoided the distraction and focused on singing.

-----------

I stood there amongst the tenors as the coral director walked on stage to the applause of the crowd assembled in the Main Hall. My family were among them, seated towards stage right. The director tapped that little plastic magicians wand on the music stand and the concert began. Three hundred of us all putting to practice what we had learned, working our way through the songs with expert precision. I marveled at how amazing we sounded. Accompanied by nothing other than a piano, and due to the masterful tutelage of the coral director, we sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Seemingly without effort, our voices rose up and down, filling the hall with emotion in total synchronicity. The hall filled with uproarious applause.

Prompt 39 - Snow Fight

A billowy coat and stay puffed marshmallow man pants. A pair of goofy looking boots and some mittens knitted by my grandmother. A scarf that wont stay wrapped around my neck for long and a look out the window. We run out the door and through the freshly fallen snow; deep and blinding. "To the fort" we yell as we charge like mounted Mongol raiders sacking a village.

Up the embankment and over the hump. Teams are divvied up and bedlam ensues. Snow flies from every direction. Ducking behind a car. Hiding behind a snow bank. Diving into a snow tunnel. My palms became cold from squashing the wet snow into a ball over and over. I throw snow at this one and that one, leaping over embankments piled high from the snow plow. The snow banks are convex and hard on the front and piled high with perfect snowball snow on the backside. The blue hue that blanketed everything reminds me of the abominable snow man from the Rudolph movie.

Running, jumping, diving. Our energy limitless. Forming attack squads we patrol around the buildings searching for a person to ambush. Snow forts stacked and carved like ice sculptures. Buckets of water poured over the top to solidify the edifice. The structures a marvel of ingenuity. Our battles legendary. Caesar who?

One can only resist the relentless, piercing cold for so long, however. We saunter indoors, caked in snow and ice. It's stuck in my goofy looking boots. It has hardened my hand knit mittens. It has soaked my stay puffed jacket and pants. I stomp my feet over and over in the hallway, detaching every last nugget of ice from my loins. A cup of hot coco stirred up by my mom awaits. A warm heater. A change of dry, warm, yellow pajamas with Spiderman on them. The spoils of victory.

Prompt 42 - I Am A Jesus Freak

1. I am a Jesus freak (That means like I kind of like Him)
2. I am a coffee snob
3. I shop at Walmart for almost everything
4. I like living in a quaint neighborhood.
5. I like Boston sports.
6. I consider myself to be somewhat of a man’s man
7. I cried at the end of Gladiator and Toy Story
8. Plus most any other movie that has emotional climaxes
9. I am creative
10. I enjoy listen to and playing music
11. I am pleased to report that I am a news junkie
12. I hate tomatoes but love ketchup
13. I love the sound of baseball cards in bike spokes
14. If I were trapped on a desert island and could only choose one type of food it would be potatoes
15. I prefer blue jeans over khakis
16. I like computers
17. I sometimes shout at things I see on TV though I know that no one can hear me
18. I own a suit of chain mail
19. I have never gone hunting but desperately want to see if I can do it
20. I am afraid of heights
21. I am afraid of bugs crawling across my face
22. I am afraid of ax murderers in the dark
23. I prefer soft serve (because of the price)
24. I am creative
25. I like photography and graphic design
26. I cannot seem to keep my apartment clean
27. I like the cold over the heat because you can only take so many articles of clothing off before you are charged with indecent exposure
28. I once fell out of a tree and landed directly on my head

Prompt 41 - Crash

The sun is setting. Perfect light for photography. The grass and trees along the roadway on Cadillac are still without a wind to move them. The road twists and winds. Fall leaves cover that mountainside. My favorite season to photograph. I park my car at an overlook and cross the road. Climbing the lichen covered stones that have sat there for millenia, I spot a perfect shot. Kneeling down I frame my shot and, snap, take it.

I race up a hill and storm the lair of the dragon. He launches into the air and sweeps around behind me. I turn just in time to plant a blow into his neck. Reeling, he breaths a wave of fire at my raised shield. I hack and slice until his lumbering body falls permanently to earth. Running towards him I climb onto his back. He tries to throw me off but to no avail. I land the killing stroke and absorb his essence. One more for the trophy hall I have erected.

A new logo for a new Church mission. I search for inspiration and collect ideas. I sit down and start to craft and shape them in Photoshop. I work and toil rejecting and accepting different ideas. Then I stumble on one that sends my mind racing. Creativity pours in and I assemble them into the finished product. The triumph of a job well done and the satisfaction of knowing you have contributed to a worthy cause are my payment. It is worth it.

My computer runs slower than it ever has before. I run anti virus. Nothing. I uninstall programs. Nothing. Suddenly I get an error message in blazing red, flashing onto my screen. It is a hard drive error. Then, nothing.

Prompt 36 - My Street

I walk out of my apartment and cross the street to retrieve the mail. Pulling the mail from the box I sift through looking for anything but junk. Down the street I hear children laughing and playing. I stop for a moment and take it all in. The leaves are still green but the air has a chill that only comes after Labor Day. A big wheel rolls into the empty street. Then another. Chasing each other across the street and then onto the lawn, their imaginations have them on a dirt track in front of thousands, ripping and tearing towards the finish line.  They ride across the grass, chased by their little friends.

A cat saunters around home up the street. She sees me out of the corner of her eye and stops. She slowly makes her way to me but keeps her distance. She has no collar and appears unkempt. I bend down and slide my hand forward. She remains suspicious and stays put. I make a few “cht cht cht” sounds to help entice her to make a new friend. She stares and then turns, walking away.

The street is quiet as it always is (save for the laughter of the kids). The wind quietly shifts the trees as the sound of a mower can be heard afar off. I make my way back to the house. A car swings around the corner and drives down the street. They give a small wave of the hand and turning into their driveway. I walk back indoors, leaving the door ajar so to hear the wind in the trees.

Prompt 37 - Down in the Boondocks

The night was saturating. Haphazardly guided by the disembodied voice of a woman presumably from Great Britain, we weaved around each corner, trusting that we would be led out. The darkness seemed to close in on us from every side. The two dimmed beams of my headlights striking vainly into the blackness. Droplets of rain on the windshield obscured my view. I leaned in, peering through the crude swiping of the windshield wipers. The kind English woman reassured us with every passing directive that we were not lost. Turn left. Turn right.

The dense, midnight forest fed into the fear. We passed by an occasional home; windows dark, porch light off. Reminiscent of a canoe ride down white water. Deep in the Western Maine woods we searched for something familiar. Twisting and turning, blindly following directions from a computer hundreds of miles above our heads, whirling around the planet at thousands of miles and hour. No gas station. No convenience store. Not even a semblance of a downtown. There was only trees and rain and darkened houses.

The wind whipped and whirled, whistling as it squeezed into the crack and crevasses of my car. I half jokingly hollered and complained; arguing that a paper map would be far superior at this point of time. Cracking jokes about never making out alive and postulating how it would all end.

Then suddenly, a right turn and we came face to face with civilization. A popular summer lake front, complete with lakeside restaurants, motorboat rentals, and hotels. Most of all, streetlights. The night took a step back as we drove lazily down the long boulevard that seemed to come out of nowhere. The fear was swept away on the winds and the frustration washed away with the rain. Homeward bound and out of the boondocks.