Rocks in My Head rattling around like ball bearings!!

A Case of Rocks in my head!!

Have you ever done something so dumb, so stupid you actually wonder whether you had rocks in your head, and who put them there? On the odd occasion, I have this terrible habit of pulling some dumb pranks, or worst still you imagine some crazy idea that the world is against you, when in fact that is not what is happening.  You mis-read a situation, over hear part of a conversation and the rocks in your head start to rattle around like ball bearings in a stainless steel dish. An incessant din like the clatter of a pneumatic drill demanding the attention you don’t want to give it. If you are the sort of person who wears their feelings on their cuffs, well the rocks tend to rattle a little more close to the surface.

This time the rocks were rocking, like majorly, a prank that seemed harmless and fun wasn’t, it hurt some people I love, and at that moment I just so wanted the ground open up and swallow me. I probably deserved it really. So this is a personal confession, and an apology.

On the same day I experienced a huge amount of grace. Friends who were instrumental in calming the rocks in my head, bringing about some peace to the imaginations that are most times wrong in the first place, and planted by the devil so that you start second-guessing yourself.

Anyway publically, to those people I hurt and probably made you very angry huge sorryness. (and I know there’s know such word, well there should be!) I’m grateful for grace so undeserved. For you your gift is on it’s way just a token but nevertheless with huge love and appreciation of you for the person you are.

Grace so undeserved,

Friends too precious to name or to loose,

Friends you can never repay,

Wells up in a thankfulness and praise.

Week 4 Group forum, Craft writing 4(b) Cutting the thread.

Me / She

It was a bright sunny day on the lake, and I squinted over my left shoulder there it was, Mount Te Hara standing watch over all there was.  The top of Mount Te Hara was shrouded in wispy clouds as I gave the command to cast off. With the yacht now released from her ropes she glided up the channel, fringed by craft on my port and starboard, it was like a mini ticket parade of boats and  people, as Alhumbra cut a gentle path against a 3 knot current. To the stern, my way was marked. Checking over my shoulder, a sense of ultimate satisfaction bubbled up; "Yes, it’s a pretty sight on a perfect day, I never tire at reviewing the mark a vessel leaves behind her". I whispered.

Angelian was only twelve when the Alhumbra slid past the last marker buoys. The familiar port and starboard lights were always a welcome sight coming into harbour after a days sailing. The same lone seagull peered down at Angelian, unflustered hogging the port light. Angelian wondered if it was the same solitude bird; or was it a different bird, and they went on a roster like the one they had at her Church; “They all look the same to me,” she said. She swiftly passed the buoys and broke free from the confines of the harbour, the euphoria overtook her, a sense of freedom, she could feel her senses being heightened, as she prepared to hoist the sails.

The harbour master looked on bemused at this brazened young girl heading into open waters. The weather was fine, a gentle breeze of 15 knots briskly caressed his skin as he contemplated the fact that there were no adults on board. He had seen younger sailors though, age has no bearing on these things, experience does, she’ll be fine he thought, and made a mental note.

It was now 7 O’clock and Angelian had sailed most of the day. It had been the perfect day, the sort of conditions that only come once in a while. For one thing there was a constant breeze, the gentle rhythmic lapping of sparkling deep blue waters kept her company along with the odd seagull looking for a tit bit. The warmth of the sun accompanied Angelian the whole way around the Island and back. A smile creased her pretty young face as she basked in a glow of  satisfaction, solitude and tranquillity. It was then that it just burst out of her, it came welling up uncontrollably, shouting at the top of her lungs she cried “PERFECT, PERFECT” !! 

But perfect doesn’t stay perfect for ever. On the journey home as dusk fell, foreboding dark menacing clouds began to form from the North east. The air grew colder, the water turned a murky black, so black in fact Angelian imagined the dungeons of Davy Jones Locker coming to claim her as their own.  The thought of it horrified her. In the pit of her stomach she could feel the anxiety rising, next would be fear she thought, clawing at her, sapping her energy and common sense. In her young mind, she was not equipped for this. “How could a young 12 year old be equipped for such an event?” she said to the wind, and with each passing moment, her imagination began to get the better of her.  

Follow on building a second Character. Delimma

Delimma cont... Building in another character.

Steph continued to glance out the window of the stardust café. The wind had whisked up a pile of dry leaves funneling them into a twister, scooting them down the pavement like a scared foxy.  He put his Mocha down and pulled up his collar. The café was warm but the sight of the leaves and biting wind made him feel cold and alone.

He was still fiddling with his mobile, still undecided. He wondered if anyone had noticed the smiles between them, the looks, the touching.  The text messaging had reached an all time high and he was sure Jock would have noticed, after all they were the best of mates and had been partners for over 10 years. These days it was less work, and hours of talking, copious coffee shops and finding every opportunity to be on the job with Chevron.  Steph’s stomach was sick with guilt; his face wore the lines of tension. He was deep in reflection, undecided when the door flung open and in walked Jock.

“Top of the morning to ya Steph” and he turned to the pretty blonde bomb shell behind the counter “and I’ll have me usual thanks darling”. She smiled and obliged, she knew them well and felt safe with them there. “I’ve been looking all over for you” said Jock, “and where’s Chevron she’s not far behind ya most days”.

Steph was not in the mood he knew where Jock was coming to and the last thing he wanted was to discuss his personal life with a mad Irishmen and an ugly one at that. All those street fights had left there mark!  Besides he knew Jock would read him like a book, like an arrow hitting it’s mark he did not need Jocks ramblings or Judgment. What did he know anyway his own marriage barely lasted 5 years. Steph took another sip of his luke warm Mocha and tried to divert the conversation away from what was to come.  “So we going hunting this year Jock” said Steph.  Jock just looked at him his expression said it all. Steph quickly launched in before he had a chance to speak, “look Jock just leave it alone all right,  I don’t wanna talk about it. Steph expected a torrent of advice and judgment but instead he saw a sympathetic friend who some how understood. “I tell ya what” said Jock “what say I just listen; we can all see what’s going on Steph its all around the precinct and its only a matter of time and Alex’s will get to hear, and I love her like me own Steph”.

Just then the pretty young waitress brought over Jocks long black, placed it down in front of Jock.  Steph said, “sweetheart you better give me one of those we’ll be here for a while”.

A dilemma .. 1st excercise in building a character and short story.

 

1(d): A dilemma

Craig Millington

 

The early morning phone calls were always an unwelcome interruption, the long hours only served to erode what was already a strained relationship.  Stev and Alex’s had meet eighteen years ago at New York University, a whirlwind romance, she had never been in any long-term relationship but they were in love and that is all that mattered.

Stev had worked it out, “god he’d been mulling it over in his head long enough.  Establishing a home the long hours, being on call, the forensic criminal work it just wears you down how can anyone have a normal relationship after looking at the crap I have to look at every day, its just dam depressing?” he thought to himself.  It was 2.00am in the morning the chill of a New York Autumn bit hard. With a distinct New York accent, Stev turned to Jock.  “Gees Jock how comes I gotta look at your ugly mug every time we come to one of these cases.”  Jock just laughed he was Irish, as sharp as a tack big and burly with a shot of red hair.  “Its simple Stev we just love to look at each others ugly mugs, its a lot better den what ya gotta look at down dhere” pointing to the familiar NYPD canvas that covered a corpse. A young policemen lifts the corner  of the canvas and gags. “Its OK Son, you’ll get used to it” said Stev, wondering when exactly does hardness incrust the heart of a person.

Stev drew close to the body the sight was grotesque, beaten beyond recognition, brains, fractured bones and hair plastered over the cold grey sidewalk, the smell of spilt blood, metallic dark and dank.  Stev was accustomed to most sights but this was nauseating. A quietly spoken voice drew his attention from the body of the half-naked corpse lying in the middle of the sidewalk, to the hourglass figure of Chevron.  Chevron was dark tall stunningly beautiful and was on placement learning the ropes of forensics in the field.

 

That was the first time they meet, Stev 42 Chevron 22. Since then they had subsequently worked on various crime scenes together. From the start, there was an attraction at first physical, then emotionally and definitely intellectually.  Stev wondered if it was mutual, it seemed to be he thought.  He still loved Alex’s, if they could just work it out. Talking came hard on these long New York autumn days and nights. Maybe they had given up trying, like the dead leaves drifting down the gutters outside the café where Stev was having his customary Mocha. In his left hand was his cell phone in the other a scorching hot Mocha. Bringing the Mocha to his lips, he sipped and wondered whether he should make the call or not.

Tormented by the unknown, “I gotta know” he thought. "Besides he always knew, that’s what forensics is all about, to know to discover. This place of not knowing is strange he thought”, his mind screamed “its bloody annoying”. The pit of his stomach had been in knots for weeks. He knew if he made the call, it could spell the end for him and Alex’s.  He still loved her, he loved Chevron the desire to be around her grew with every minute, the randomness the total inconsistency not to mention the age difference gnawed away driving him at times to distraction.  He took another gulp of his Mocha, caressing the keys to his mobile phone.  “Was it appropriate?”, his moral compass was spinning out of control the desire to have her incessant.  

To be lucky enough to love two women was both a curse and a blessing he’d decided as he watched another Autumn leaf float on past. Taking another sip of his Mocha, he flipped his phone repeatedly.

Craft writing 3(d) Showing not telling by using detail.

A Token of Love

It was a gift, a token of his love and affection.  It was a perfect fit. Jed didn’t even need to measure it up for size, he could see her petite hand in his minds eye as he stood at the counter. “That one there will be perfect” he said. “Are you sure it will fit?” the attendant said. His reply was instant,  “Oh it will fit, I just know it will, it’s perfect”.  Sterling silver, two dolphins joined in the middle, clasped together to make a perfect circle, never ending. Inscribed on the inside were the words, “Come what may” taken from “Moulin Rouge”. It was a hot late summer day when Jed gave her the prized token of his love. She placed it on her third right finger. His instincts were right it was a perfect fit. Jasmine’s face beamed, it said it all. The sparkle in her eyes, the deep appreciation and extravagant love mingled with joyful tears and the long embrace that followed was all that Jed needed. It spoke of their tender love and naive affection. The band of silver never left her finger, accept for the saddest of days while she was gardening, Jasmine thought the exquisite single diamond had been lost forever. 

When love dies

Every time Jasmine looked at the never-ending circle of sterling silver, solitary tucked away on her mantle piece, it reminded her of nothing but pain and hurt.  She resented all that it stood for, the broken promises, the endless lies, and the promise of love that was never to be.  In a moment of rage, she wished she could do a Bilbo Baggins and toss it into the bowels of the earth where it would burn up, never to be seen again. Its power to bring pain extinguished, its hold gone for good. Once it brought tears of joy, now all it brought was tears and memories of betrayal. Every time she saw it the words echoed repeatedly in her head; “god how many times had Jed said those words, I love you”, but he didn’t. She hated the gift with a passion, and every time she tried to bury it in the most illusive of places; those forgotten places where all safe things should go, never to be seen again but it was not long and the bloody thing would show up like a bad penny. God she wanted it out of her life she was over it.  

By Craig millington