pixietastic: (Default)
The Ritual of first night

The bridge is a tangle of vines and broken boards swaying across the expanse,
with outstretched gnarled knuckles bracing weight precariously on ancient rites.
He grasps the fraying knotted threads that tether this world to the others.
The rhythmic sway of crumbling faith, fated, balanced, though serene,
planning/planting, every delicate moment, while shrouded in obscurity.

Blind terror glows, fickle and fleeing; embers flickering in the wind.
Liquid in glass swirls lazily in glass, cloaked carelessly in Bordeaux sin.
Laughter slicing sharply through the last shards of daylight,
the tap dancing of tongues; enmeshed.
Momentary wanderlust; wonder-lost, eclipsing ellipsis hanging in the air.

They resist.
pixietastic: (Default)
Johnny kicked nervously at the sandy grit on the edge of sidewalk, blowing into his hands and rubbing them together, he stared at his feet. March was a miserable time of year this far north, all dirt and melting snow. Everything looked grey and bleak. The park was situated down by the river, well treed and poorly lit just like Sam had said it would be. It wasn't cold enough anymore for real jackets, nah this was try not to shiver in a sweater weather, if you shivered they'd know you weren't made of tough enough stuff.

Sam was supposed to have been there an hour ago. The backpack was heavy, but he wouldn't dare put it down, as Sam had said, "that's when they getcha. When you're weak kid, that's the moment they strike." Sam was never very forthcoming with information, he preferred to speak in riddles, never giving much info about who "they" were, but apparently you had to watch your back in this business. Johnny wasn't even sure what the business was really, everything shrouded in innuendo and suggestion, but he knew enough to know he wanted in.

The familiar neon orange sneakers were the first clue Johnny had that Sam had strolled up beside him. He raised his gaze up slightly to see the bright red hair and freckled face of the guy he'd come to meet.

"D'ya bring the goods?" Sam slurred slightly.

"Yeah," Johnny replied shrugging the backpack off one shoulder, "see", he unzipped the bag just enough for Sam to peer in.

"Nice going, kid, ya done alright here," Sam grinned slyly, reaching over and relieving Johnny of his burden.

"Uh, thanks Sam, hey listen, you're gonna pay me for that right?" Johnny asked glancing around the deserted park.

"Heh," Sam grunted with a grin, "lesson one kid, lesson one." And without another word Sam turned his neon orange sneakers around slung the bag over one shoulder and whistled off down the walkway toward the center of town, leaving a cold and confused Johnny to scramble after him.
pixietastic: (Default)
You see a lot of weird stuff as a barber, people tell you their secrets, they confess their sins. Like a priest or a bartender or any other type of amateur therapy job, barbers hear and see some weird stuff, after 45 years in the business Jake had figured he'd seen and heard just about everything, that is until he met the stranger from down south.

Jake's barber shop had been on the corner of 142nd Street and Morrow Ave for as long as anyone could remember, it was one of the oldest shops in town and just about everyone knew crabby old Jake Simmons who owned the place.

It was a sunny Wednesday in the fall of '98, the south wind blew through the tiny northern Ontario town bringing with it the first round of tumbling maple, elm and oak leaves in varying shades of gold, rust and chocolate. Jake was grumbling to himself sweeping the scattering debris off the steps leading up to his shop, muttering under his breath that his no-good nephew had missed some spots on the candy-apple red trim he'd repainted over the summer. Jake was so preoccupied with his busy-work he barely noticed the heavy set stranger's approach.

"Howdy," the man drawled with a glaringly American accent, "y'all open today?" He asked.

"Yes, I am, you here for a trim?" Jake replied taking stock of the man in front of him. The stranger was younger than Jake by a wide margin, probably not much over 40, he had the palest blue-grey eyes lined with large round eye-glasses, baring a striking contrast to his darker hair that looked about 2 weeks late for a trim.

"Yes sir," the younger man replied, "the name's Pete Crow, I'm a trucker from down south, just passing through but seems this little town was just to pretty to not stop by a take a look around."

"Well Mr. Crow, I'm Jake and this here's my shop" said the barber, "come on in and have a seat and we'll get you trimmed up and on your way."

"Thank you kindly sir," Pete replied.

"Mr. Crow I'll need you to take off your spectacles and we'll get started," Jake set to wiping the sterile solution off of his combs and scissors, and draping a cape around his clients neck, when he was all set he looked up at the man from down south to find his glasses still firmly perched on his face. "Your glasses, Mr. Crow, they'll need to come off," Jake repeated, trying not to sound annoyed with the stranger.

"I'm sorry sir but I can't do that, you'll have to cut around them," Pete replied.

"I beg your pardon Mr. Crow but in all my years as a barber I have never cut around a set of eye glasses, you'll need to take them off so I can give you a proper cut," the barber replied, his frustration now barely contained.

"Again Mr. Simmons I'll have to respectfully decline to take them off," Pete retorted, calm as the moment he'd walked up to the shop.

"Sir, I insist, this is bordering on absurd, I simply cannot in good faith charge you for a proper hair cut with your glasses on your face! May I ask you why you can't take them off?" The barber argued trying desperately to remain as polite as possible.

"Well Sir, I suppose I may as well just show you," replied the truck driver reaching up and pulling at the temples of his spectacles.

Well they say Jake turned an unholy shade of red that day when he saw those glasses come off the face of that stranger along with the poor mans prosthetic ear in one swift movement revealing the natural facial feature to be completely lacking.

"You see Mr. Simmons, I was born without my left ear, I hear just fine out of the right and they've given me these great glasses to even me out, but honestly Sir, you can just cut around them, I promise you it'll be easier that way."

Jake blinked wildly, trying desperately to hide his embarrassment, failing miserably of course, and quick as Mr. Crow had put his glasses back in their place, Jake was trimming and apologizing for his prior insistence.

Mr. Crow for his part, just chuckled, paid his bill and was on his way, but they say Jake was never quite the same around customers with glasses after that.

This is my entry for week 14 at LJ Idol, topic: Confessions From The Chair. This story is based on a true story I heard from a local barber when I was a very small child, whether or not any such thing ever took place however, I couldn't actually say.
pixietastic: (Default)
TW: sexual assault, domestic violence.

Read more... )
pixietastic: (Default)
Nolan fidgeted nervously rubbing the penny between his thumb and index finger. His four year old patience always wore thin by this point in the morning. It wasn't his fault really, or at least that's what Grandma always said, boys will be boys and boys like to run and play, not sit and listen to momma play piano all day. It felt like all day anyway, at least to Nolan.

Momma didn't play as much anymore, so he knew he should be a good boy, sit properly and listen nicely. He mustered up the last of his patience putting the penny carefully into his pocket and sitting up straight. Most days now Momma just slept and went to see Doctor Gallagher. Nolan didn't like the doctor, even though he always had a teddy bear in his office for him to play with and a sucker for him if he'd sat quietly when Momma had to bring him along to appointments. The office always smelled like those horrible mints Grandma liked, Nolan had tried one once and told her it tasted like burning.

His mother slowed her rendition of Moonlight Sonata, even at four Nolan could recognize the notes she missed, her focus was gone. Grandma must have noticed it too because in an instant she was at her daughters side, "Lori that's enough for today why don't you go lay down," said Grandma, her hands grasped firmly on Lori's shoulders as if she were trying to hold the younger woman together.

"I told Nolan I'd take him to the park," Momma replied flatly, Nolan knew the tone all too well, she felt bad, and he never wanted her to feel bad, he wanted her to be happy like she used to be.

"It's ok Momma, Grandma can play in the yard with me," he choked out the words trying not to cry, only babies cried and he was a big boy now, he could count to 100 and jump off of the second branch of their apple tree, he'd had lots of practice climbing that tree.

"Right," Grandma retorted guiding her daughter out of the living room and off to the room she rested in, that room smelled like the doctors office and Nolan seldom went in, even with an invitation from his mother he preferred to stay out in the hallway to talk to her, all the pills and creams and potions that sat on the side tables made him nervous, the room was always dark and somehow seemed colder than the rest of the house.

Nolan tried to shake the image of the dark resting room out of his head as he wandered out into the yard. The hot July sun beat down on the lush green grass, he listened carefully to a small flock of sparrows splashing in the neighbors bird bath chirping and fluttering into the gnarled old apple tree, curved and bent leaving lots of opportunity for climbing. He hesitated at the base of the tree, Grandma tended to worry if he got up too high, especially if he was out by himself and got caught. The path out to the back shed was an old cement walkway cracked and crumbling in places, pieces of it pushed aside by the beginning of an anthill.

The ants loved the cracks in the cement poking their funny little heads up looking for food. Nolan hated the cracks especially in that sidewalk, he used to run up and down, jumping over the cracks, singing to himself not really paying much attention, that was before Momma got sick.

He'd tried explaining it to Margo who lived next door that you couldn't step there anymore, "in fact," he'd said, "just stay off the sidewalk, walk on the grass," he'd told her.

Margo was terrible at following rules, and she'd happily pranced across the sidewalk, cracks and all, while Nolan shrieked at her to stop, "you don't understand!" he'd screamed, "you'll make her worse! It will be my fault, stop it Margo!" but Margo had just stood there right on the biggest crack of them all looking at him with a strange and confused look on her face, and so, Nolan had pushed her into the grass, he hadn't seen the small stick and of course she landed on it scraping her knee. Margo hadn't been over to play since, sometimes though she'd call through the fence in her singsong voice "don't step on a crack or you'll break your momma's back," just to taunt him.

"Are you watching the ants?" Grandma asked. Nolan wasn't sure when she'd come outside but there she stood staring at the cracks in the cement right along with him.

"Do you think it's my fault Momma keeps getting sicker?" he asked tears streaming down his face.

"Oh heavens child no, it's not your fault that your mother is sick, why would you think that?" she replied hugging his shoulders the same way she had his mothers moments before.

"I was thinking about Margo and how she stepped on the cracks and how I didn't stop her and maybe that's why Momma's back is so broken," he whimpered, as the summer sun baked the tears onto his skin.

"No sweetie, that old rhyme has nothing to do with why your mother is sick," Grandma offered reassuringly, "now come on, lets go in and get some lunch."

Nolan looked up at her, but he couldn't make out the expression on her face, he couldn't be sure she wasn't just trying to get him to stop crying, be a big boy again. He took a slow deep breath and steadied himself on his feet, grabbing grandma's hand firmly he walked the path back into the house, watching intently as they both avoided every crack in the pavement.
pixietastic: (Default)
Cheddar strained to push himself into his 26th push up just as Provolone walked into the room, as his friend waited nervously by the chewed out hole in the wall, leaning gently against a set of old, frayed copper wires,

"97..." Cheddar grunted full of bravado, "98... ugh 99..." his arms began to buckle under the his weight as he strained into his 30th push up, "well he panted, that'll do for today."

"You are remarkable," Provolone stated as Cheddar scurried up from his place on the floor.

"Oh thanks P-man I didn't see you come in," Cheddar lied.

"Are you ready for the big raid tonight? I hear everyone's coming, even Slice and Whiz from down street. I hear Mozza and Parm are even gonna bring the kids this time. I haven't seen the little Curds since back in the Bothwell days. Old man Wally isn't even gonna know what happened to his poor kitchen when we're through with it..." Provolone trailed off.

"Yeah it's bound to be a good one," Cheddar panted, still trying to regain his composure.

"I can't believe I'm going on an actual kitchen raid with the legendary Cheddar Mousekewitz. I mean you're the guy who does arm curls with those snappy traps, you don't stick to the sticky paper, and you damn well dance to that terrible whining noise thing plugged into the wall, you're a legend man!!"

"Thanks man, ya know just doing my best out there, speaking of, we probably should get on it, hunh? I mean the sun has set, the house is quiet I think it's feedin' time!".

Provolone nodded, tucking his tail back just like Cheddar had taught him and scurried across the floor towards the pantry, as Cheddar crept along silently behind. Sniffing frantically at the air, crackers, oats, seeds and something else, something that smelled like...like cheese maybe...but not exactly...some other substance... "The cheese," squeaked Cheddar, "stay away from it." The rest of the clan nodded creeping along behind them sticking close to the walls trying not to make too much noise.

Provolone grabbed for a stray piece of straw that had shed from a broom in the corner of the room, tentatively he pushed the bristle into the crevice that would lead him into the pantry, and with a slight sideways jiggle he managed to push the bait off the trap on the other side. A sickening snap rang out momentarily deafening the micey, flooding them with adrenaline as the two leaders pushed their respective ways into their feasts. They gorged themselves digging near-silently through boxes, buckets and sacks, the small seeds and grains filling their bellies till they'd nearly doubled in size, the quiet nibbling of their friends and family filling them with the warm glow of victory.

Cheddar sighed contentedly as Provolone cleaned his whiskers, "I can't believe how easy it was," mumbled Provolone into his front paws, gently cleaning his ears.

"This was a good run alright," replied Cheddar, "almost too easy."

No sooner had the over fed mouse uttered his half doubting statement of victory than a sharp yowling sound erupted from across the kitchen over by the mouse hole. In a frenzied blur the mice scattered dashing every way imaginable as the two glowing green eyes of old man Wally's least favourite barn cat, came pouncing into view slashing giant claws of terror in every direction.

The Mousekewitz clan narrowly managed to escape with their lives, darting back into crevices and crannies even a champion mouser couldn't manage, to await their next raid on old man Wally's kitchen.



Thanks for reading my week 5 entry for LJ Idol, clearly old man Wally needs to "Build A Better Mousetrap".
pixietastic: (Default)
Our story begins with our heroine bravely stocking the shelves at the local Valu-Mart, on the midnight till 8am shift. Her neon purple and black dreadlocks pulled back into a bun that somewhat resembles a moldy blueberry bagel, her septum piercing wiggles as she sighs dramatically hoisting package after package of Valu-brand toilet paper over her shoulders, trying desperately not to catch her 00 gauge neon orange silicone plugs as she goes along. The distant patter of a cold March rain echoes through the mostly empty store.

"Becca," Kurt, the night shift supervisor calls from aisle two, "I can hear your frowny face from here, remember, turn that frown upside down and keep a hap-hap-happy face on in front of our loyal Valu-Mart customers."

"Got it," she replies, plastering crimson lips into a distorted grin, intentionally pale skin contrasting her jet-black eyeliner and long fake lashes obscuring eyes that glimmer an excellent tone of aquamarine.

"I mean it Becca, there's no "I" in team, and we need to make sure we're all on the same page!" Kurt carries on his usual stream of cliches, hurrying over to her aisle. "Presentation is important here Becca, we don't just stack the packages, we display them."

Our heroine rolls her eyes, sighing deeply, "I know Kurt, you can scurry along back to the office now, I can handle stocking the TP."

"Bathroom tissue, sweetie, and don't forget I'm assigning you a brand new buddy today, Ms. Lilly will be here shortly, make sure you get her in the spirit of the Valu-Mart team and remember--"

"I know, make sure she doesn't get lost on the north stairs up to the break room," Becca finishes for him.

"Right, because we all know how that works, such high turn over in this place!" Kurt says, pushing his square framed black plastic glasses back up to where they should have been sitting on his face, his hair immaculately spiked with it's frosted tips glistening under the glow of the fluorescent lights. He flutters away, returning moments later with a small blonde girl in ratty sneakers, "now you two play nice, Becca, why don't you take her to the break room and find her a nice little uniform ok? Ok then."

"Hi, I'm Lilly!" Squeaks the blonde.

"Great," Becca replies replicating her best fake smile, "this is going to be peachy keen. Come on lets get you up to the second floor."

The pair walk silently towards the forbidden north stairs, "you'll have to watch your step back here, one of the stairs isn't safe to step on, in fact it's kind of, not there, well not exactly missing so much as, well there's a kraken, it's the third one from the top, so just step over it ok? I'm not supposed to take newbies up here but the only other staircase is out the front door on the side of the building and there's no way I'm going out there in this rain," Becca states rather flatly as she climbs the stairs.

"A crack? In the stairs? Like one's missing? Or like there's a crack in one of the steps or what?" Lilly asks confused.

Becca turns around, "no, like a kraken, a giant cephalopod, that lives in another dimension who's only access point to our reality is under this missing step in this staircase and if you stand on it the sea monster will raise one terrifying tentacle drag you down into the depths of its watery dimension and sell your soul to Cthulhu, God do I have to explain everything?"

Lilly, blinks a few times, then starts laughing, "look I get it, I'm new, I'm blond what-ever, but I'm not stupid ok," she pushes past Becca in one brisk movement, jogging straight up the creaking old staircase, "so where's this crack? Cause I don't see anyth--" and like something out of a bad science fiction story, an enormous glowing tentacle wraps itself around her leg dragging her down in a shower of spurting green water. The poor girl hasn't even a chance to utter one last horrified scream.

Becca sighs, "Kurt," she yells, "we've lost another one. I swear to god I warned her but she just wouldn't listen. Do you want me to claim she didn't show up? God we've gotta do something about that thing, this one didn't even get into uniform. I'm getting sick of all this paper work."

Kurt pokes his head around the corner "Becca, I've told you, there's no "I" in team, now I'll get to the paper work if you handle mopping up the floors, darn thing brought half his ocean with him this time! Gosh golly, what a mess!"

Becca rolls her eyes again heading for the broom closet for the standard mop and pail, "whatever, Kurt, I'm taking tomorrow off, I have like, stuff I wanna do, like reading or something, you still need to hire someone else, like I can't be here all the time just cause you have trouble finding decent staff."

"Oh alrighty then," Kurt replies sounding somewhat defeated, "it's just good help is hard to find."


This was my feverdream of an entry for week 2 of The Real LJ Idol, topic: The Missing Stair. Voting this way. Thanks for reading.
pixietastic: (Default)
Earle sits in his tattered old lawn chair, you know the kind, with those maybe-plastic, maybe-cloth woven straps on a cheap metal frame, the kind that your pudgy aunt Martha fell through last summer at the family reunion? Yeah one of those pieces of shit. Every day Earle sits on that chair on the left side of his wrap around porch on the corner of Middleton Street and Sassbury Bay without fail, every day at noon, rain or shine, summer or winter Earle sits out there and sips his old mason jar of home brewed beer. In the summer months he'll strike up a conversation with lady Gwendolyn the friendly older lady next door while she pulls up the dandelions in her flower beds, making more room for her lilies and creeping violets.

Earle aint exactly friendly, sure he likes old lady Gewn alright, probably because she stays out of his way, doesn't even complain when his grass is overgrown and full of weeds making her garden ripe for their seeds to spread, nah lady Gewn's just plain nice, but Earle, he's a real bastard when he wants to be. His kids are grown now, the wife left some 20 years back took the kids and they never came around after that, left Earle with a big old basset hound and his beers, the basset hound sat out there with him every day after she left, never took his sleepy eyes off the old man sippin his brew.

That dog died some years back, I was about 11 or 12 at the time, it wasn't long after that, that my momma started sending me down to mow the lawn and shovel the snow for the old man. She said it would "build ya some character" to deal with the old coot. At first I was just plain afraid of him, the grumpy bastard drinking his beer sneering at the neighbors.

"Boy," he'd yell at me, "y'aint got the gumption in ya ta cut that grass right, kids these days are too damn lazy for push-mowers."
"Sorry Sir," I'd mumble looking at the laces in my sneakers.
"That's Captain Sir, to you kid. Aint got no respect for us vets ya damn kids don't, Imma get up off this porch and whip ya good if ya missed a spot." He shouted.

Never did get to whip me good, and I think my momma knew he wasn't really able to beat the piss out of me like he'd holler about. Old man with a cane and a bum leg, sitting on his military pension just drinking his beer and hatin the world. But my momma, being a good neighbor, a good church goin lady wasn't about to let old Earle "fall to shambles" as she called it, so over I went being the oldest and only boy in our house to help with repairs and keep up with the old shack.

As I got older, he'd tell me stories, some of em I just hoped to God he made up, gruesome stories where peoples limbs were hangin on only by the threads on their clothes, stuff like that, others he claimed were funny but I guess I was "too young and too dumb" as he called it to get em really.

He'd holler at me with his slow scrambled drawl after one too many beers, while I nailed another new board on his front porch "the enemy only attacks at two times" he'd say, "when they're ready an when you aint."

My 14 year old self never seemed to get much outta that line, but it stayed in the back of my mind anyway, every time he'd say it and then tell me I had shit for brains.

These days he's tamer, still tellin bloody combat stories and bad jokes, just the other week, he got into his fourth beer and started in.

"There was this group o new soldiers standin in line on base. The Drill Sargent shouted "All right! All ya idiots fall out."
Well all but one o dem soldiers walks off, so the Drill Sargent walks right over till he was eye-to-eye with that one remaining private, and then he raises just one eyebrow. And that soldier he says, "Sure was a lot of 'em, huh, sir?" ya get it kid?" Earle grinned, "ah Jayus Chripes kid how'd ya ever get anywhere with yer fancy pants schoolin if ya didn't even get that joke?"

"Sorry Captain Sir, guess I'da been that one poor bastard standin there after all the smart ones had gone," I replied.

Old Earle broke out in an ear to ear grin, "yer alright boy," he said, "even if I aint need no help around here. Yer momma taught ya good, you'll do alright."

"Thank you Captain Sir," I replied.

"Ah, kid, ya can just call me Earle, I think after all this time, ya done earned it."

I still go back there every Sunday after church, did all through my schooling to become a "fancy pants mechanic" as he called it, make sure old Earle's holding up alright, guess momma did teach me right. And some days, I just sit there and watch him drink his beers, talking about the war, and bitchin bout the weather, sittin on that frayed old lawn chair hatin the world.



This weeks topic was: "Jayus" Definition for those unaware: "From Indonesian, meaning a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.”

Thanks for reading voting is this way. :)
pixietastic: (rainbow legs)
She cradled the orb in her arms, nurturing it as her own, it wasn't hers of course, just some shiny she'd picked up along the way while he'd been sleeping, he was always sleeping. Its' colors were a deep piercing blue with swirling white and a spattering of browns and greens. This would be her new toy, something to play with while he slept.

She'd been waiting for him to stop sleeping for what could be have been eternity, she was sure he'd come out of it some time, after all he'd gone into the sleeping state, logic stood to reason he'd come out of it, and then, then he would be hers and they would make something new, maybe he'd even help her with her new play thing.

The first thing she did was make another orb, a bright ball of fire, one to keep her smaller orb warm, then she sent her small toy sailing around it looping lazily at just the right speed, yes this is a good start she thought to herself, but there was a problem, only one side of the orb was being kept warm by the glowing ball, she'd need to make the orb spin, then it would all get some warmth and some light. The spinning worked perfectly, and the orb began to slosh, giant pools began to melt and the green and brown bits became more solid looking less frozen in their places, they began to move and shudder.

She cocked her head to the side peering deep into the orb, it was growing things. The ones that took their life from the fire orb she called plants, the ones that ate the plants she called animals, and the more they spun around the fire orb the more and more of them their seemed to be. This was great fun, watching them grow and change, looking closer then further back. She liked her new toy, it had kept her busy for quite awhile already and there was still much more she could do with it. She began to whip up breath to cover the landscape, change the shape of the surface, scatter all the small pieces and throw them around, then tears swollen from the water and dropped back to the surface.

And all the while he slept, in his chair, his long grey beard trailing lazily through the cosmos, he wasn't as new as she was, needed the rest, he'd always been that way, but the sleeps grew longer it seemed and she wondered how he got anything done.

In the before; before the sleeping he'd helped her to make orbs and grow things, patiently cultivating and changing the landscape, one orb they'd made had grown sentient developed so many ways of destroying it's self, he'd been so concerned with the orb, they'd nicknamed it Terra, their sentient daughter, and though she'd tried to nurture it, and he'd tried to wait it out Terra had gotten much stronger than they'd hoped.

She'd tried breaths, and floods, and fires to calm her, the critters on Terra had named them "acts of god" and yet they referred to her as "Mother Nature" perhaps it was them combined that was God? She wasn't sure, the Terrans were strange critters, naming and destroying and capturing as much as they could that got in their path.

Before the sleeping, he'd put Terra in a box, sealed her up in his beard, frozen and still. It had drained him so completely, the rhythmic pulsing in his chest had slowed, his heart giving it's last to protect Terra. She'd wept as he slept at first, waited, as patiently as she could for him to wake, but patience was never her strong gift, no she was the doer, the grower, the changer, the Mother of Nature, to his Father of Time, and waiting didn't come easily to her. Slowly she'd begun to collect orbs again, though he wasn't helping her to make them now, now they appeared as if from some other force than time, they bounded into their cosmos, and she grew them and nurtured them and waited while he slept.

This is 1/2 of my entries for week 8 lj idol exhibit B; choose your own adventure topics of 4, this pieces was written on the topic "The Heart Of Time". concrit always welcome.
pixietastic: (me2011)
The ringmaster approaches the podium, stage left stands a quiet unobservant young boy with cokebottle glasses sliding down his nose, he tugs impatiently on a long yellow rope causing the curtain behind the ring master to bounce ever so slightly, "knock it off Johnny, no one's paying attention to you standing there fidgeting with the curtain," a strange motherly-voice whispers from somewhere off scene.

"Ladies And Gentlemen," the Ring Master begins, in a booming overly theatrical voice that carries into the depths of LiveJournal "the LJ Idol Circus is proud to introduce to you tonight, for your reading pleasure, all the way from her userinfo page, created in the wonderland of Cincinnati, by a Spanish teacher, mother and wife, the one, the only, [livejournal.com profile] adoptedwriter".

The crowd cheers clapping with the enthusiasm of days of built up anxiety and anticipation, finally this show is getting started, finally the spotlights will circle the room in a dizzying hurricane landing on the superstars of the circus. Who will be on the flying trapeze this round? Which one of the talents among us will fly, and nearly fall, grasping the bar at that very last second? Who will tame the lion, put their necks into his powerful jaws and hold there for just a second too long? Which of the contestants, will it be who's juggling act comes crashing down around their feet, the helpless moment of feeling the part of the sad clown?

Will it be [livejournal.com profile] adoptedwriter who emerges victorious with the "Best Show Ever!" this time around?

Stay tuned, find out, the LJ Idol Circus is about to begin.



Disclaimer:
I do not know now, nor have I ever gotten to know [livejournal.com profile] adoptedwriter any personal information provided was obtained by looking at her user info page, she has not proof-read or evaluated my words in any way shape or form. It was not my intention to offend and I hope she is not too disappointed with my attempt at this intro. I am not officially affiliated with anyone or anything except the circus that is my family fantastic. Thanks for reading, and enjoy the fish, or something.



this is my entry for LJ Idol Exibit B, week 0. Topic: Introducing someone else.

Profile

pixietastic: (Default)
pixietastic

April 2017

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23 242526272829
30      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 21st, 2017 07:37 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios