Brokaw's Grocery Emporium

Last week for Wordsday Thursday, I did a writing exercise where my sister gave me a first and a last sentence and I filled in the middle! I had a really fun time doing it so this week I requested another two sentences. I don't know if this is nearly as fun to read as it is to write, but if you do read it and enjoy it, I'd love some reader-sentence submissions!

This week's sentences:

First: "Bob took a step and experienced an undeniably one-of-a-kind sensation."

Last: "Trips to the grocery store were never boring again."
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Bob took a step and experienced an undeniably one-of-a-kind sensation. A wafting, enticing, unidentified scent hit him just as soon as he entered Brokaw's Grocery Emporium, a rather decrepit looking establishment located down on the shadier end of Parakeet Lane. Bob had never been there before, but had been trying to make himself go for weeks. Every few days, he left his secure-feeling apartment, shoved his hands deep in his pockets and headed through the February gloom towards the fabled store. But every single time, Bob had faltered right outside. Distracted by the homeless men, grubby hands out-held for cash, a little daunted by the soulless looking employees on break, taking deep drags of their cigarettes. The duct-taped shattered windows gave him pause, as did the missing-person posters that wallpapered the out-of-order phone booths outside. The whole ambiance of the business was one of shadiness and body odor.

But today Bob had made himself push the front door open, did his best to give off the impression he was not scared for his life. Because if you listened to the gossip on the streets, and Bob did, the word was this was THE PLACE for cheap, quality foodstuffs. And after that first smell, he was convinced.

Deep in the recesses of the building, an electric doorbell chimed. Behind the front counter sat a paunchy, middle aged woman with carrot-red hair, reading a ladies magazine. Without even looking up, she squawked, "Welcome to Brokaw's" in the same tone most people would say, "I have to get a colonoscopy." Bob nodded curtly, doing his best impression of a casual, carefree shopper.

Attempting to avoid eye contact, he started down the aisles. He was surprised to see the linoleum floor, though well worn, had been recently scrubbed, and the expiration dates on the cans he inspected were well into the future. As he headed towards the back of the building, that intoxicating scent grew stronger.

Bob rounded the corner. A long, deli counter stretched ahead of him, manned by two burly men in yellowing aprons. They were in deep conversation about the upcoming Super Bowl, but one of the men saw Bob, nudged his coworker in the ribs and indicated him with a deep nod. Bob was sure he imagined it, but he thought he saw the man smirk a little.

"How can we help ya?" grumbled one of the deli workers. Nervously, Bob realized this was no longer a conversation he could avoid. He puffed out his chest a little and sauntered over to the counter. The heavenly aroma increased, and he realized that whatever the smell was, it was right in front of him. He leaned towards the glass and looked at all the meats displayed.

With more authority than he really felt, he demanded, "What's that meat there?" The two deli workers glanced at each other, smiled a little, and one leaned forward.
"Well, son, it's February," said the deli worker, as though it should be obvious. "That there is Groundhog meat."
"It's a specialty," added the other man.
Horrified, Bob gasped a little, before he caught himself. Be cool, be cool, he coached himself. "Ahh," he told the men, "I love Groundhog. So, so... delicious." He nodded to himself.
The deli workers looked at each other like Christmas had come early. They looked at each other, laughed, and spread their arms wide. "Wow!" said one to Bob. "It's so unusual to meet a connoisseur." The other man guffawed.
The first man continued, "Hey, if you like Groundhog, you should try this one!" He indicated one of the darker meats.
"Oh yeah?" said Bob, casually. "What's that one?"
"Roadkill!" the deli workers said together.
Truly repulsed, Bob recoiled a little. Then the two men started laughing hysterically. I've made a grave error. Bob thought to himself, I've been had. He blushed furiously, trying to think of a cool way to cover himself. But then he started to laugh too. Maybe Bob had not sold the "carefree shopper" as well as he had thought.
"It's okay, kid," chortled one of the men. "You're not the first!"
"Or the last," added the other. "Just a little deli humor."
Bob nodded, smiling, abashed. "So what are those meats?"
"Well, son, that one there is called turkey, and that darker one is something called pastrami." They started chuckling again.
As casually as he could, Bob said, "I'll take some of both."

After that, Bob became a regular Brokaw's Grocery Emporium customer. The two deli workers never forgot him, and never forgot to tease him. Trips to the grocery store were never boring again.
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It's kind of late and I don't know if this story is gonna be just bizarre, but I had fun writing it!

Like I said, I'd love sentences for next time!

Sarah

A Creative Writing Experiment!

The other day, my great-Uncle John came into the store and described a writing exercise where the first and last sentences are given, and the writer has to fill in the rest. Well, tonight I had no idea what to do for a blog and my sister suggested this! These are her sentences:

First: "I walked into the kitchen and found the dishwasher foaming around the edges."

Last: "I never saw that movie again."

Suffice it to say, she's not taking it easy on me! Haha! So I haven't posted a fiction blog in a while and I might be rusty, but bear with me!

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I walked into the kitchen and found the dishwasher foaming around the edges. Panicked, I gave an un-ladylike squeal and lunged for the roll of paper towels I had sitting on the counter, throwing the remote control I was holding down next to the sink. My cat Mose, perched next to the paper towels, eyed me with barely-concealed annoyance.
"What do I do??" I demanded of no one in particular, as I was alone in the house, save for Mose. I started seizing fist-fulls of the paper towels and jammed them into the crack between the dishwasher and cabinets. I had more pressing problems to worry about, but a somewhat detached portion of my brain puzzled why the foam was a sickly green color.
I started jamming my fingers at buttons at random, until the machine gave an unhealthy lurching noise and croaked to a halt. I sank to the floor in relief, the dirty hems of my jeans soaking up some of the dishwasher juice that had leaked onto the kitchen tile. Panic subsiding, my heartbeat slowed and I felt a little embarrassed by my hysteria and was glad that only Mose had witnessed my frenzy.
"Sorry," I muttered to the handsome, orange feline.
In response he stood, stretched his back and made his way over to the sink. He took one look at the TV remote and batted it to the floor with a single swipe of his paw. It hit the tile hard, and batteries rolled in every direction.
"Ass!" I hissed, annoyed, and lunged to collect the batteries before they rolled into the new lake on my kitchen floor. Unconcerned, Mose hopped off the counter with an impressive thud and headed to the litter box for some alone time.
Shaking my head furiously, I rose off the floor and grabbed my dingy mop, cleaning up the mess. Sweeping from one side to the other, I found myself wondering, Why did I even come in here in the first place?
Then I remembered: the movie! Of course! My sister had lent me a movie over the weekend and was now on her way to my house to collect it. But where was it? I couldn't find it anywhere. As if on cue, my doorbell rang.
Having finished his "business", Mose came running from the litter box, over to the door, and I had to grab the back of the couch to steady myself after tripping over him. Feeling rather peeved at him, I wrenched my door open and used my foot to nudge him aside.
"Hi, hi," I greeted my sister, and stood aside for her to enter.
"Hey," she replied, grinning, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Hey, Mose." She came into the house and set her keys on the table next to the front door.
"He's on my shit list," I announced savagely.
My sister gave a look of mock outrage and bent to rub his ears. "How could you be mad at him? Look at this face!" She scooped him up in her arms and held him up. He gave a rather smug look and I rolled my eyes.
"Sorry, I know you came for the movie!" I told her. "But I really don't know what happened to it! I've been looking all over."
My sister sat Mose down on the table and shrugged good-naturedly. "I'll help you look!" She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. "So where were you--" here she was interrupted by a loud clatter. We both looked over to see Mose had batted her keys right off the table. She and I looked at each other, sharing a look that simply said, cats.
Somehow, though, it reminded me of my dishwasher. As my sister and I looked through my DVD collection, I told her about the mishap. "So you have no idea what caused it?" she asked, moving a pile of DVD cases.
"No idea--" I started to say, but then stopped. I watched as Mose hopped up on the couch and used his paw to bat my sister's jacket off. My stomach twisted. "Oh, god." I muttered.
"What, what?" my sister asked as I jogged over to my kitchen. She stood and followed me.
The kitchen was as I had left it, soggy paper towels littering the floor, stained with the odd green color. I took a deep breath and pulled the door of the washer open. I yanked the top row out, and low and behold, there was a melted, mangled DVD box, dripping green-stained water all over my dishes. Most of the DVD box was that green color, and the soapy water and washed it everywhere.
My sister let out a little gasp, and then started to giggle. It all came back to me- doing dishes that morning, leaving the DVD on the counter while I ran to the store for soap. Leaving it on Mose's counter. The little shit must have batted it right in, and I hadn't noticed.
I took the DVD out, handed it to my sister, and sighed.

It took a good hour cleaning out my now-green dishwasher, and I had a long conversation with Mose, and invested in a water squirt bottle. From then on any time he batted something off a counter or a couch, he got squirted. I had to buy my sister another copy of the DVD, and even though it was a good movie, every time I thought of it, I thought of Mose and the dishwasher.
I never saw that movie again.

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Haha, that was pretty fun! Might have to get back into fiction a little more, though I admit some of the characters in my story were based on real people and real cats. Thanks Emmy!

Sarah

Wartime Interrogations

You guys are probably getting tired of me changing my mind! First, I had my regular blog, then I decided to try my hand at fiction and decided to rewrite Disney classics. Well, you know what? I changed my mind again! Sorry, but Disney's tough competition. No matter how good my fiction writing is, it's not gonna beat the original versions! Readers will always be comparing my versions to the real ones... it's just human nature.

I wanted to find a Pocahontas meme to insert here, and this was my favorite...

So! Keeping on the fiction theme, I'm gonna start writing short stories. As I've said before, I want to be a fiction writer, and I actually have some pretty decent ideas, I'm just not ready to give them to the world yet. So I'm gonna do short stories and see how it goes.

I had kind of a long day today, so I'm actually publishing a short science-fiction story I wrote in high school, circa 2008, that I thought was pretty good... or at least interesting.

As always, I value your feedback!

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The war was in it’s final stages, and every maneuver had to be executed flawlessly. A single mistake could end all hope of victory. But, unexpectedly, a stroke of luck had been granted to them- one of the enemy’s higher-ups had suddenly been captured. Normally, they took no prisoners; every living creature bearing the mark of the enemy was slaughtered. Men, yes of course, but they weren't about to underestimate a woman’s love or a child’s determination.

But they weren't about to kill this enemy. He alone possessed secrets that could be used to win the war in an instant. He wouldn't have been chosen for his position if he couldn't keep secrets, but they had ways of making even a mute man talk.

He was brought into the interrogation room, a small, cold cell with no windows, harsh lights, wires running all around, and soundproof walls. He sat in his chair tall and proud, like a wall made of pride and honor and every brave man that had fallen for his side in battle.

As they waited for the chief interrogator to arrive, they began to hook him up to the machines, wires circling him, clamped near his brain. The door opened and the chief interrogator entered. The technicians rose, nodded curtly and exited the room. The chief sat down by the control board and said briefly, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

He hit and button, and a wave of energy surged through the prisoner’s brain, collecting memories and emotions, and then sending them to the computer.

The computer screen instantly flooded with names and images and feelings from the captive’s
mind. The interrogator studied the information for several minutes and then turned to the prisoner.

"We have now scanned and copied information from your brain. These machines are made to take this information, mutate it, and feed it back into your brain as a hallucination. You have information we need. Give it to us willingly, and we won’t have to use the machines.”

The prisoner just maintained his cold, stony gaze, but with just a bit of fiery determination festering behind his eyes.

“Very well, then,” said the interrogator, and hit a series of buttons.

Instantly, the prisoner’s mind was filled with horrible, gruesome images. He saw his 6 year old daughter beaten and mutilated, his wife shot in the head, his parents festering in the bottom of a ditch, his home burning to the ground.

Suddenly, the images stopped, gone from his brain. He looked quickly around the room, becoming aware of the sweat on his brow, and screams still hanging from his lips.

“Ready for some more?” the interrogator asked, his face polluted with mock concern and sympathy.

Half an hour later, the interrogator emerged from the room, smiling. The technicians approached and peered behind him into the room. There was a man in there, but it wasn't the same one. This one was broken and defeated. His head hung low and he was crying.

The interrogator said, “He broke. Go get the information and then finish him off.”

The technicians all went in except for one. She lingered for a moment by the interrogator as if debating with herself. Finally, she asked him, “Sir, why is it that you don’t just extract the information from his brain? The hallucinations really aren't necessary.”

He smiled strangely for a moment. He put his hand on her shoulder and said quietly, “Where’s the fun in that?”

And walked away.

Pocahontas 2

Continued from last Wordsday Thursday!

Catch up with last week here: Pocahontas Part One

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"Close your eyes," she prompts. I do. We are sitting cross-legged on the ground next to her small fire. The dying embers provide a gentle heat on the bare skin of my arms, legs, and face. My idle hands find their way to a scab on my ankle and I pick at it absent-mindedly.

"Now," she instructs, "Think about your dream. In your mind, what stands out most?"

I screw my eyes shut tighter and let my head fall back. What do I see? What do I remember? Running. Always running. The day beginning. I am always running into a lightening sky; a rising sun. But why? Of course...

"The face," I answer. "It's a man's face. But I don't know him. He is strange looking. He looks older than me... definitely not a boy any longer. He is strong, but I feel I must save him." I open my eyes. "Why, Grandmother Willow? Why would I have to save him? How? I mean, look at me." I do not mean this literally- she cannot see anymore. But she knows what I mean. I am small and scrawny.

She chuckles quietly. "You can save him, Pocahontas, because you are so much stronger than you think you are." I am unconvinced, and she can sense it. "Pocahontas, what is more powerful: the rain or the wind?"

I sigh. "The rain, I guess. We need it to water our crops, and fill our rivers."

"But Pocahontas," she says, "Can't the wind make the rain go where it chooses?" I have no argument. "And with wind, my dear girl," she tells me fondly, "you can't see it. You feel it." She puts her hand gently on my cheek, then stands, brushing herself off. She heads away from the fire, facing the river. Her silvery mane of hair is blown gently around by the breeze, as though proving her point.

"And change is in the wind, I fear," she says quietly, almost to herself. I scramble up off the ground to join her.

"What do you mean, Grandmother?" I inquire. It is obvious things are changing: it is harvest time, and now the leaves of the trees begin to change color. We are on the cusp of fall. But I sense she is speaking of something else. "Is it the spirits?" I ask softly.

My grandmother is one of the few who communicates with the spirits- it is an honor, a rarity. We grow up respecting the spirits, and we are taught they are everywhere. In the rocks and trees and water. In the sky and in the ground and everywhere in between. I have heard many people in my village whispering to one another that I might someday have the gift, but I doubt it.

"Yes, child, the spirits. They tell me something is coming. With the autumn breezes comes something else. Something we have never seen before. Whether it will be good changes or bad, I cannot tell. But I know the transition will be difficult." I can tell she is worried, and that troubles me.

I reach over and hold one of her hands in both of mine. We are together, and together we will face anything.

Something skitters across our feet. Meeko. "Hungry again, you little pest?" Grandmother Willow laughs. "It is comforting to know some things will never change."

She smiles, and I smile back.
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Till next time!

Sarah

Sarah's Pocahontas, Part 1

For a few years now I've had a blog, http://jesusbeanlaiho.blogspot.com/, where I basically shared thoughts and experiences from my life. I enjoy it very much! But eventually as a writer, I want to write fiction. So I've started this new blog to do just that! To start with, I plan to write my own versions of classic Disney tales and see how it progresses. It goes without saying that I did not come up with the characters on my own! This is basically fan fiction- just a writing exercise to help me practice. If you like what you read, please comment and share! I need your help! And if you hate what I write, please tell me how I've failed, to help me improve.

I'm starting off with one of my favorite Disney stories... Pocahontas! I intend for this to be kind of a work-in-progress- not a full story in each blog, just sort of chipping away at it as I switch from story to story.

Thank you for reading!
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As soon as I wake, I feel the heat. The air is heavy on my skin, weighted with the hot, wet feel of late summer. My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim light. Outside my hut, I hear the village has already risen without me. Children shout, and their parents answer. I see the blanket that hangs in my doorway stir in the breeze. I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to hold on to the dream.

I was running, running. My lungs ached with exertion, drawing shaky breaths. I could hear the slap of my bare feet on the heavily worn path. Trees flashed by, their skinny, knobby branches all pointing the same direction: forward. I was running faster, almost flying. In my mind I saw a face, a strange face. Pale, like the moon, with hair like fire. The face was linked with danger, with blood. I must save this face. I--

I feel a tickling sensation on my bare arm. I open one eye to see my raccoon, Meeko, sitting on the ground besides me, his nose in the crook of my arm, looking-- no doubt-- for food. He is always hungry. I give him a playful nudge, and he chirps at me. I sit up, stretching. The dream begins to trickle away, like usual. But I know it will come back. It always does.

When I draw back the woven blanket hanging in my doorway, I see the village teeming with life. People are fixing and eating breakfast, getting ready for a day of work. It is getting near to harvest time, and everyone is busy. The air smells of smoke and food, and suddenly I am hungry too. I head over to my family's fire, and sit next to several of my half-sisters. One of them is heavy with child and the others crowd around her, brushing her long black hair and braiding it neatly, and preparing her food. She sits there, still. Serene. She has always been beautiful, but the pregnancy has made her glowing and content.

My sisters smile when they see me, and hand me a plate of food. Before I take a bite, I hand a bit of it to the ever-present Meeko, who dashes off to devour it. I am about to take my first bite when I feel a slap on the back of my head. Alarmed, I crane my head from side to side, and see only the retreating shape of my oldest half-brother. I decide to repay the favor later. Now, I am busy.

Breakfast is fresh-caught fish and cornbread. As I eat, I listen to my sisters and enjoy the shade here under the big trees. The day will soon be sweltering, and I am glad it is not my day to work in the sunny fields. I spot my friend, Nakoma, and wave to her. She grins and waves back, then turns back to her family. I feel a sharp stab of pain in my heart when I see her talking to her father. I have not seen my father in months. He is our chief, and is always busy. He has been gone making peace with some of our neighboring tribes, and I miss him terribly.

After finishing my breakfast, I stand to help clean up. I see a shape flash in my peripheral vision and turn my head. I see Kocoum walking towards the river, solemnly. Kocoum does everything solemnly. He was once one of my closest friends, but when our tribe went to battle with another, everything changed. Kocoum saw both of his parents slain, and has not smiled since. All the village elders comment on his strength and bravery, but every time I see his serious face, I hear in my head his wailing cries of loss.

Something about his solemn face reminds me of my dream. I am troubled. I decide what I will do today. After cleaning up, I run back to my hut and collect my traveling bag. I sling it around my neck and whistle for Meeko. He dashes out from a nearby bush, cheeks full of something. I head towards my canoe on the river's edge. One of my sisters, the nosiest, calls after me, "Where are you off to, Pocahontas?" I have no problem telling anyone where I am going, but her prying annoys me. I pretend not to hear her.

I push off from the bank, and skillfully paddle my way upstream. Meeko chirps at me and I playfully splash water at him. He shakes off the water and eyes me resentfully. I laugh. It is not a far journey, and we are at our destination quickly. I hop out of the boat and pull it onto the shore. Here everything is much quieter, chirps from birds replacing arguing voices, and there is only one lone campfire. I spot her standing on a hill, eyes cast out across the valleys, seeing everything and nothing at once. She is blind, but notices more than anyone I've ever met. She hears my approaching and smiles. "Is that my Pocahontas?"
I grin. "Hello, Grandmother Willow."
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To be continued!!

Sarah