Līgo Haībun Challenge

It's been almost a month since I wrote anything about Marci, and even longer since I've touched on any of her co-characters.  In all honesty, I have no idea where - if anywhere - this is heading.  This week's prompt is a picture of a forest, which could be just about anywhere.

ARRIVAL

The club was quiet that night, but Marci wasn’t bored.  She stayed until closing time, nursing a glass of pinot noir and her own private thoughts.  When she left, instead of getting in her car and driving home, she set off into the woods behind the parking lot. Just a whim, she told herself, though it felt purposeful.

She thought about the time when she was young and had wandered on her own into the other realm, and wondered why she had never tried to do it again.

Until now. 

The woods grew deeper around her and, though the night was warm, goose bumps rose on her bare arms.  She looked up through the dense branches as a whisp of cloud passed over the full moon.

She was then drawn to a shimmering glow behind a large oak tree.  When she stepped around the tree the world flipped and she found herself at the edge of a clearing, standing in several inches of fresh snow as the rising sun filtered through the trees.

A satyr emerged from the trees, and she knew somehow it was the one from the picture in Uncle Albert's desk.

"Finally." he said to her. "We were wondering when you were going to come."

 ~ : ~

lured by memory
across to another realm
meeting destiny

 ~ : ~

217 words

~ : ~ : ~

Līgo Haībun Challenge

 Marci's Thread

VisDare 6: Emerging

I've been away from VisDare and Marci's story for a while.  It was a combination of life getting in the way, other distractions, and perhaps a soupçon of negligence.   I had at least three different not-wholly-satisfactory ideas on what to do with this picture, and finally chose this route.  My first draft weighed in at exactly 150 words, so that is what you get.

Picture Source

Marci found the gilt-framed painting behind Great Uncle Albert's desk - another curious artifact.  The family resemblence was obvious, and she speculated that it might be her grandmother, as a young woman.  That would place it in the mid fifty's, though the hairstlye, dress and oil lantern were not of that era.

She hung it in her bedroom, and soon it became a familiar feature, easily overlooked.  At times, though, Marci thought she noticed a slight change in position or expression. But that seemed too weird, and how can you be sure about these things?

A few months later, when the full moon streamed through Marci's window at midnight, she woke to find the woman striding out of the picture frame.  She placed the lantern on a side table, sat on the edge of Marci's bed and stroked her hair.

"There is much I need to tell you," she said. 

~ : ~ : ~

As a hiaku


Mystery woman
Product of moonbeams and dreams
What is your message

 ~ : ~ : ~

Marci's Thread 

~ : ~ : ~

VisDare 6

Five Sentence Fiction - Inspire

I'm very late to this one.  Well, sometimes life aint easy.  But there are still over 13 hours left - so  .  .  .

INSPIRE

When she woke from the dream, Marci felt drawn to her easel.

Usually she would carefully strategize and then sketch out a drawing; this time the paints almost seemed to spontaneously fly to the canvas, as if the brush were guiding her hand.

Eventually, it dawned on her that he hadn't yet had breakfast, so she set the brush down and stepped back for a moment.

Yes - the likeness was almost perfect; she had captured the dreamy beauty of that long oval face, though her eyes weren't quite the exact shade of green.

Now - to get the angle just right on her wing  .  .  .

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Reduced to a haiku

Image from a dream
Brought to life on a canvas
With green eyes and wings 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Marci's Thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Midnight

A prompt with so many possibilities  .  .  .

It took me back a couple of decades to Marci's childhood, where I discovered this event.   The challenge was to tell of it in five only moderately run-on sentences.

MIDNIGHT

Like many 10-year-old girls, Marci believed in Fairies; and unlike most she had good reason to - so midnight at mid-summer seemed like the best time to go find one.

She sneaked out of the house and ran the five blocks to the little neighborhood park - the perfect place at the perfect time - and just then a connection to their world opened, and she stepped across.

Soon she came across a real fairy, the size of a grown woman with a wing-span at least twice her height, awesome and terrible in her austere beauty, who was not at all happy to see her.

She spoke strange words in her melodious voice, rippling like the fast water in a shallow brook*, but somehow Marci understood their meaning: "Go home child, you were not invited here - and you are not yet ready."

When Marci woke the next morning she thought it might just have been a dream, but years later she discovered it was all true.

 Picture source

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku 

In search of fairies
A little girl at midnight
Is she just dreaming?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* It sounded more or less like this:  Mene kotiin lapsi, sinun ei kutsuttu tänne - ja et ole vielä valmis.


Marci's thread

Friday Fictioneers

Just discovered Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, via comments at KZ's place.

This week's prompt is the photo shown below, Copyright – Lora Mitchell.

This entry [at exactly 100 words] has to do with Marci, so I suppose the genre is fantasy.

 Photo Copyright Lora Mitchell

 Kaasu Räjähdys*

He took her to a place he loved.

They sat watching for a while as the bubbles rose like clockwork from the bog beyond the river, expanded dramatically in the open air, floated overhead, then exploded, roaring into mutlicolored flaming spheres.

Marci turned to the shape-shifter and said, "Back in my world we have fireworks and geysers.  And swamp gas, I guess, but nothing like this.  It’s like an amazing combination of all three."

He nodded.  "We call them lohikäärme peräaukko kaasu.*"

"That's so beautiful and exotic sounding," she said, starting to feel romantic.  "What does it mean?"

"Dragon farts."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* For the exotic language, I went to Google translate, and after a little exploration, I chose Finnish, only because it looks and sounds just the way Marci described it.  Don't take this literally.  The shape shifter is most definitely not a Finn.  The title means "Gas Explosion."

Marci's Thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Vision

Here are four separate FSF entries [all at no extra charge] on the prompt VISION, for the four main characters in what is either a developing story or a semi-coherent jumble of intertwined vignettes.

 SLUMBER [76 words]

After dinner, Marci was drawn again to the roll top desk.

Almost absently, she opened it and slipped into the heavy oak chair.

Suddenly sleepy, she laid her head on her arms, close to the cubby holes holding some of Uncle Albert's weird artifacts.

She missed the old man, and welcomed the connection the old desk offered.

Soon she drifted off, and in her strange dreams saw life-like visions of [what she thought were] imaginary creatures.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

HOMECOMING [76 words]

When Cheryl arrived home, she checked herself in the rear-view mirror and was disappointed in what she saw: sunken eyes, no make up, hair in a disarray of droops and tangles.

What would Gil think when saw what a mess she was?

But he greeted her with a kiss, and told her she was beautiful.

She ran her fingers through her hair, saying, "That's sweet, I'm a sight."

"No, darling," he replied, "You are a vision."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

REVELATION  [79 words]

“Yes,” Rob cautiously admits when the bottle of wine was drained and he again stands with Marci gazing on her painting, “I’ve seen visions like this.”

Marci turns him toward her.

"That must hurt!" she says, lightly brushing over the mark on his cheek with her fingers, then her lips.

Then she draws back, eyes wide, as if shocked, and smiles knowingly.

"Rob," she says, leading him into the bedroom, “there are things we need to tell each other.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

DEAD RECKONING [89 words]

Gil tries to act normal, but isn’t sure how to navigate his marriage, now that he’s an adulterer.

Is he overcompensating, being too attentive, not attentive enough; how does he act when he isn’t acting?

That night when they make love, Cheryl seems uncharacteristically different in some undefinable way, almost as if she were desperate. 

He really does love Cheryl, but Marci has an allure that quickly became addictive.

He’s sailed into rocky shoals without a chart or even as much as an astrolabe to guide his muddled vision.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

See also here.

Cheryl's Thread

Gil's Thread

Marci's Thread

Rob's Thread

100 WCGU #68

This week's prompt is a sentence fragment: ….they worked when I put them away….

Here, in exactly 100 words, is a follow up to Uncle Albert's Desk.

I wanted to explore the desk further, but had no unused words.

Weird Cubby Holes

Marci decided that such a bulky piece of furniture needed to do more than just take up space.  The cubby holes behind the roll top were perfect for storing her transistor radio, tape player, and the watch Rob gave her.

Later, she replaced the batteries in the radio and tape player, but neither ever ran again.  She took the watch to a repair shop and paid more than the original purchase price for a new mechanism.  But afterward it always ran unpredictably either fast or slow.

“It’s weird,” she told her friend Amy, “they worked when I put them away.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a Haiku 

Why did that old desk

Cast aberrations on those

Mechanical things?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a six word story

What

Secrets does

That desk hold?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Marci's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Time

For reasons that should become abundantly clear quite soon, I am especially delighted that on today, of all days, our prompt is TIME.

TIME OUT

Marci met The Time Shifter at a small, out of the way club where he played magical jazz piano for tips he didn't need and drinks that seemed to sustain him.

He also worked real magic and, for a while, she thought he might be a god.

At midnight, after he finished off a set of odd-metered Brubeck tunes* with The Unsquare Dance - and she finished off her third glass of Pinot Noir - he walked a long way with her through shadow to a place where time slips along a different stream and the gibbous sun hung just past its zenith. 

They made love there on the soft grass by a waterfall under the sheltering boughs of a weirwood tree, slept entwined, then, as the russet sun stained the late afternoon sky magenta, made love again.

When they walked back into the club, only nine minutes had elapsed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a haiku

Time flies when you make

Love, but if the time is right,

Takes no time at all.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a six word story

Love

At times

Can be timeless

 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* Dave Brubeck passed on yesterday.  He would have been 92 today.  He was a pioneer in taking jazz to times and places never before explored with tunes like TAKE FIVE, BLUE RONDO ALA TURK, and the simple but not simplistic UNSQUARE DANCE.

My brief paean to Dave Brubeck can be found here.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

This vignette, another part of Marci's back story, occurs several years before Marci and Gil reunite - in fact, before they even met for the first time.

Marci's thread

100WCGU -- GREY

Following a link in the side bar at shadetheraven, I discovered the 100 word challenge for grown ups at Julia's place.   Julia gives a prompt word, and we accept the challenge with a story of no more than 100 words that is suitable for a PG certificate.  I think what follows qualifies.  If you're visiting from 100WCGU, welcome.  This vignette, from Gil's PoV in exactly 100 words, is part of a developing story, with segments written in response to 4 different flash fiction memes.  The immediate prequel is found here.  Gil's and Marci's threads can be accessed from links at the end of this post or in the right hand frame.

 Source

GREY DAWN

Marci is tall and thin, with a dusky oval face framed by straight dark hair hanging just past her shoulders.

She is reasonably attractive, though not one to turn many heads.

But in the early dawn grey, as she lays with one long leg draped over Gil's thighs and one tiny breast pressed tight against his chest, she is as beautiful as a Greek goddess.

Gil’s joy darkens to grey as he thinks about Cheryl.

Marci, as if reading his mind says,  “Don’t worry.  I don’t want to take you from your wife  -- just borrow you when she’s away.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

 Reduced to a haiku

 In the early grey
dawn, guilt and regret - but he
Can take some comfort

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

I was amazed to find the perfect picture for this entry. Sometimes you're just lucky.

Gil's thread

Marci's thread

Flash Fiction Exercise -- Uncle Albert's Desk

For good or for ill, I've discovered a new flash fiction meme - or at least an exercise, since this might be a one-off.   Following Lillie's FSF links, I visited Laura McHale Holland, and found her flash fiction challenge.  She writes an opening sentence, and this is the prompt for a fiction element of 500 words or less.  My initial reaction to the prompt was that there wasn't much I could do with it, but then something creative kicked in and I'm very pleased with the result -- most especially so, since it illuminates a bit of Marci's back-story that I was totally unaware of.  I love it when things like that happen.  In this vignette, Marci is a recent college graduate, ready to set the course for her life.

Here it is in 347 words.

UNCLE ALBERT'S DESK

She knew right away the stamps were no good — no good for mailing anyway.  They were, if anything, Marci thought, even stranger than the other weird artifacts in the oversized roll-top desk that crazy old great-uncle Albert had bequeathed to her.  He had disposed of most of the detritus of his picaresque life before his final illness laid him low.  But either he never got around to the contents of this desk, or they were things he simply couldn’t bear to part with. 

There was the quill he used as a writing pen, that he claimed was a hippogriff feather, and a vicious-looking, foot-long bony spike he said was a manticore's sting.  Marci unrolled the tattered scrap of what looked like starched silk, but felt like a rubbery membrane.  Uncle Albert claimed it was a torn remnant of a fairie's wing. The only time Marci had ever seen him break down in tears was when he told her that story.

With a sigh, she rerolled what was left of the wing and returned to the strip of stamps.  Each was the size of a playing card, and as she touched each one, its picture seemed to come to life for a brief instant.  The sad-eyed fairy fluttered her wings and hid her face in her hands.  The threatening-looking unicorn aggressively stomped a fore-hoof.  The lascivious faun satyr, strutting in full tumescence, winked and thrust himself at her.

Suddenly aroused, Marci shuddered and, blushing, put the stamps away and closed the desk.  Here in uncle Albert's study was not the place to explore those kinds of ideas.  Before Rob moved off to Lansing, she'd have him and his friends move the desk to her apartment.

There she could explore the many oddities of this old desk, and ponder the things she found there at her leisure.  Most specially those stamps.  Maybe that shy fairy had a sad tale to share.  Maybe the faun satyr could teach her about pleasure in ways she hadn't yet imagined.  And maybe that unicorn could transport her to adventures in a strange new world.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku

Desk full of relics:

Dust of a life, portal to

Some strange adventure

Marci's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Joy

This is the Joyous moment I've been waiting for.   Continuing from here.

Source

THE JOY OF  .  .  .

Gil empties his wine glass of the last joyous ruby sip, then reaches past Marci to place it on the counter.

Then he puts his other hand on the counter, enclosing her in his arms.

She puts her arms around his neck.

He slips his hands under her blouse; gripping her slim, taut waist.

Her smile is knowing as she takes his hand and leads him toward her bedroom, pausing to whisper in his ear, "Just as I remembered - not so unpredictable, after all."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku

Alex Comfort laid

It all out for us in his

Book, "The Joy Of Sex"

12/06 Update: Inspired by Laura McHale Holland's entry.

From somewhere without
Or better still, within — joy
Is where you find it.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

 

UPDATE:  Next installment is available here.

Gil's thread

Marci's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - FEAST

This scene was vaguely taking form, but this week's prompt helped to put some flesh on the bones.   This developing story involves four characters, but so far never more than two at a time.  Each character's thread can be accessed from the links in the right hand frame.

Somehow, I almost missed the prompt, and thought we were skipping a week.  I hadn't known of Lillie's illness, and wondered what was going on.  I wish her the best, and am very thankful for the inspiration she provides.

THE BIRTHDAY FEAST

For her 32nd birthday Rob treated Marci to a special dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town.

He wasn't always around, but when he was he always made it special.

And when he wasn't, Gil would sometimes fill in for him, and that - in its own way - was special, too.

But neither of them knew - in fact nobody on this earth knew - that Marci was worth close to 5 million, that she was a mother, and - though this was only her 32nd birthday - that the total chronology of her life spanned almost 36 years.

Marci knew from Rob's reaction to her painting that he had also had some other-wordly experience; and as she gazed at him over her grilled salmon and the iced bottle of Chardonnay, she wondered if maybe - just maybe - he could be the one she would share these secrets with.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Reduced to a haiku

The birthday lady

And her escort, both with dark

Secrets - can they share?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Update:  Phil Hall's entry reminded me of a demented sonnet I wrote a few years back.  It doesn't relate to the Marci story, but it can be construed to relate to the theme.  plus, if I counted correctly, it contains exactly five sentences.

PASSIONATE PRETENSE

Her throat, no longer perfect, but still white,
Invokes the crimson from the sunset glow,
As she awaits the dark - to taste, to know
Carnality incarnate in the night.

       The sun's suffusion stains her skin to pink
       With its last russet bloom, as if she were
       A blushing maiden, innocent and pure,
       On satin sheets where white and scarlet link.

What has her throat to do with being white?
Like thorn and petals torn they two entwine,
But not as lovers do -- instead, to dine
In sweet engagement of an ancient rite.

Her white throat is a passionate pretense
That now, twice pierced, belies her innocence.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Marci's Thread

Marci's Thread

This post contains the story fragments in which Marci is the PoV character.  They are presented in story order, not posting order.  Links to the original posts are provided.  There you will find the prompts, and quite often some other elaboration on the story fragment.

Marci is the pivot for this story, but as of 11/15/12 BUSINESS was the first entry from her PoV.

Five Sentence Fiction - Business

Today's prompt is BUSINESS, which gives me an opportunity to explore a bit of Marci's back story.

See "Unraveling the Threads" in the right hand frame if you want to keep up with these characters.

BUSINESS

Marci was a sophomore majoring in art when she met H. Bradley Tallemond, benefactor of the school and patron of the arts, at a student exhibition.

After 30 years of marriage to the former high fashion model he called "The Ice Queen", Brad was more than ready for a woman one third his age, and at 19 Marci was a prime and compliant target: their courtship was quick - she was in his bed that same night.

He loaned her $10,000 to devote to an IPO he couldn't legally touch, and within 6 months she had not only paid back the loan but was $137,000 richer.

Her part of the bargain was that he could have her whenever he wanted in any way that he wanted, and for the next few years he called on her two or three times a month, meanwhile guiding her investment decisions in up and down markets.

By the time he died in a mysterious boating accident when she was 26, Marci already owned her own gallery and was well on her way to her second million.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a Haiku

 Sex is a form of
Art, a passionate story,

And monkey business.


Or Two

 The art of business,
The business of art; plus, he
Gave her a hot tip

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

UPDATE: Here is a bonus, at no extra charge, inspired by Sania's entry and, in a way, by mine, above.

BUSINESS II

It's a service provided to meet a need.

Customers travel, sometimes great distances, and plunk down their cold, hard (so to speak) cash.

Sounds like capitalism to me.

So explain to me why it is illegal.

After all, is this not the worlds oldest business?

Five Sentence Fiction - Character

This week's prompt made me stop and think.  I've been jumping on Thursdays the last few weeks with a story in my pocket, in hopes that the prompt would fit - and have been pretty lucky.  Of course, with 2 1/2 story lines in progress, I do have some options.

This time, I had a vignette taking form in the dark reaches of my fevered brain, but just now got it set down in print.  I also have two other candidates that fit the prompt in not quite the same way, so this choice was difficult.  Ultimately, it came down to this, because I think the story fits the prompt in a layered fashion, it's freshest in my mind, and I really wanted to stay with Rob a while longer.  Let me know if you think it works.

CHARACTER

I haven't seen Marci in over a month, but when she greets me at the door with a warm kiss and a cold glass of Chardonnay I know it's going to be a good night.

Then, in her living room, I see the picture over her couch, and yes, I also see that it is where that enigmatic half-memory came from - I had seen it unfinished, in her studio several months earlier.

Her use of light and shadow is masterful*, the scene and setting excitingly familiar: those are indeed tiny glowing winged female creatures, and the diaphanous wings and the haunting beauty of that other-worldly face are evocative of, but not quite identical to the one I know so well.

Marci is rightfully very proud of her handiwork; she leans against me and asks, "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes," I tell her, slipping my arm around her narrow waist, "I like it very much, indeed."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reduced to a Haiku

Fairy in the frame
So like the one I lust for:
My lady friend's art

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

* I have in my mind an image of this picture that is at once both vague and vivid.  It is in a style very reminiscent of the late Frank Kelly Frease.

Source

  Source

Source

Five Sentence Fiction

Originally, I had no intention of writing a serial story, and now I have two of them going.  Each has character named Marci, since I was simply going to use that as a stock character name from central casting.   This has since become confusing, even for me.  I haven't yet discovered if they are the same Marci. [UPDATE: Yes I have, and yes, they are.]  One story line is real world based and the other is a weird fairie tale; but I'm not sure that pre-empts anything.

On to this week's installment.  I wrote this a while back, since Gil and Marci were bugging me. OK - it's a bit of a stretch on the prompt, perhaps, but I still think it fits, in a way.

The [real world] story of Gil and Marci continues.

Part 1   Devotion

Part 2  Detour

POTIONS

Image Source

One evening when Gil's wife is out of town on business, he runs into Marci in the wine section of the market near her apartment. 

She gestures toward a bottle of imported Chardonnay, saying, "My boyfriend Rob is quite fond of this." 

But she reaches for a bottle of Gil's favorite Pinot Noir and looks at him in a way he understands very well. 

Gil suppresses a nervous laugh and blurts out, "I get kind of unpredictable when I drink that." 

"I know," Marci says, as she slips the bottle into her basket and heads for the checkout line.


Update: This is the first time Marci has appeared on stage, and I'm getting to know her better.  Now I believe it is the same Marci in both story lines.  Her back-story is starting to take form, too.  She's not an evil person, by any means, but she rejects conventional ideas of morality, and very much lives in the moment.  'Nuff said, for now.

Five Sentence Fiction

DEVOTION

It was an awkward moment when Gil ran into Marci at the pharmacy on a cold December evening.

Their last night together - what had it been, four years, five maybe - had not ended well.

But she seemed genuinely happy to see him; and, damn, she looked good.

She looked so inviting, even eager, as she invited him to her apartment to catch up, "for old time's sake."

Gil took off his gloves, looked pointedly at the ring finger of his left hand, sighed wistfully, and said, "Thanks, but I need to get home."


Link to FSF Central

Five Sentence Fiction

Just what I needed - a new meme.  Well, I will try it out once, anyway.

AWKWARD

Late in his senior year, Bob's high school buddies took him to a place where women traded love for cash.

"But," he protested, I have a girlfriend, Marci."
 
"Marci is an amateur; find out what a pro can do," they said.
 
Bob climbed the back steps, resolute in his new purpose.
 
Then he made eye contact with the man coming down the steps, Marci's father.  


Here is a link to The FSF Control Center.