Saturday, December 1, 2007

Help Wanted

My loyal and talented authors,

I need help managing this site. I read every single piece and think about which to select for the feature, as well as looking for a variety of interesting/evocative/whimsical images as prompts. However, you can see that I've slowed in my fervor as I become busy with other pursuits.

I'm looking for a co-editor for the site who would be willing to trade weeks with me. That way we don't have so much down time between publications. Any takers?

Much love and respect,
The Management

~Convent by kfad~

My convent. My place of peace, reflection, harmony, commune with God. Maybe I never had the calling. Maybe mother was right and I was running away. Always just running away.

I don't think I can be happy here anymore. Doing Gods work is tiring, and unrewarding. They all just want more. More food, better shelter, more drugs. There is no contentment with them. I had thought that I was spreading my joy of the lord with them. Turns out they just want the joy of the flesh. And they are willing to use the lord to find it.

More and more my convent feels like my prison.

~Turkey by Dragon~

"You're going to screw it up," said Sister.

"You're going to screw it up," said Brother. "You don't have the slightest idea how to use that baster. Give it to me."

"The hell I will." Sister squirted him in the eye with hot turkey juice, but brother ducked. Sister put the bird back in the oven.

"Why are we even bothering with this?" asked Baby. "Mom and Dad are gone. We never got along without them. Thanksgiving as a family is stupid."

"Just make the fucking pie," said Brother, peeling potatoes.

They bickered for five hours in the empty old kitchen. They told each other over and over how much they hated each other, how they were glad they'd never have to spend another moment in such miserable company now that they didn't have Mom and Dad to please.

The turkey came out perfect.

~Sex Appeal by K's Mumbo Jumbo~

"Sometimes, when I look at you, I think I am trying to touch the sun, catch the sun and hold it with my bare hands." she said, and then she bit her bottom lip, in that way she though was coy. Really, it was just kind of sad.
He knew what she thought of him, and that was what got him off. That she equated him with a star, and that she would melt from the slightest look from him. He knew he could get her to do anything and she wouldn't bat an eye. Sex appeal that could disolve morals and ethics.

~React by Cynthia~

My neighbors think I'm crazy. I'm not, I just like dancing on rooftops.

In the morning I get the kids off to school, making sure everything is in their backpacks. My husband goes to the office. I drink my second cup of coffee in silence. I then clean a room for that day. Each room is assigned a certain day, it doesn't vary. After the room is cleaned top to bottom, I take a short nap.

When the alarm sounds, I take my outdated CD player and an assortment of CDs to the roof. I plug the player into the building's electricity, turn up the volume, and move. I'll dance to anything. Nothing is planned in advance. I listen, feel, and react.

When my neighbors scream to knock it off, I know it's time to go back to my apartment. I'm back in time to prepare the after school snacks and to start dinner. I welcome my family back to a clean, happy home.

~Approval by Comrade Kevin~ ~Movie Star by Dragon~

My daughter has lived her life on a cultural divide. The very pious Muslim family to which I was born objects to Western forms of dress, as viewed here in this snapshot. Upon our yearly visit back to Saudi Arabia, Arianna must cover herself foot to toe in black muslin and most certainly never walk around in public without a burka covering her head.

My detractors and supporters alike denote me as a strong woman. Being subservient and ground underfoot, talking only to my husband when engaged in public conversation, never speaking directly to those around me, and always deferring to his will at all occasions was an indignity I was never willing to indulge. My long-lamenting father characterized me as wickedly willful at a young age.

So it was that I married an American citizen who brought me back. He was, at least to the comfort of my family, Arab and Muslim, and though his devotion to Allah had lapsed, he was good to put up suitable pretenses when he met my family. My father, no doubt relieved, approved of him.

~~~Two very different takes on the same image~~~

Krista knew better than to go inside Mr. Allison's house without telling her mom, but Mr. Allison was such a nice old man. He walked his two poodles around the block every morning and gave Krista Lifesavers from his windbreaker pocket.

She knew better, but he was so nice, and he let her play with the dogs, and he brought her presents: dolls to keep in his living room for when she came to visit, and makeup, which her mother wouldn't let her wear.

Mr. Allison had a big trunk full of fancy clothes and pretty ribbons for dress up, and he had a camera. They played such fun games: fashion model, movie star...