Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Hearts and Humor – A Michael Smith Column

January 31, 2007

Read HTML version online: http://archives.zinester.com/86758/120292.html


Hello and Happy Saturday to my wonderful family of readers. Zinester

seems to have part of their problems corrected. Hopefully you'll

actually get this. AOL members may not.


    Last week I mentioned the Writers Weekly 24-Hour Short Story

Contest. I received the topic and required word length last Saturday

at 1 PM and had to have my entry in by Sunday at 1 PM.


    I came up with a dark and spooky one. For those not interested in
   
this type of story, please pass on today's post. This is not an

inspirational story.


    For the animal lovers, I have a link for you to enjoy. I also
   
uploaded a couple of videos to my Youtube Account.

    A tail of amazing love between two birds:
    http://www.juliusbergh.com/cocky/
   
    To view two animal videos on my Youtube, go to:
    http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=mtsmith87
   
    Ginny also has some new crafts, pictures and greeting cards
   
on her site. You can view them at http://www.ginginsgoodies.esty.com

I almost forgot. A friend sent me this link about a young girl

with the most amazing painting ability. You just have to

see this:

http://dynamic.cnn.com/apps/tp/video/bestoftv/2006/12/14/beck.akiane.child.prodigy.cnn/video.ws.asx?NGUserID=aa570a1-6893-1166214706-3&adDEmas=R00%26hi%26cox.net%2673%26usa%262673101%2637%26-%26-%26-%26


   Now for today's stories. I would love to have comments on this.
  
Do you think I created a good story from the subject I was given?

Send your response to my new email address: msmith4@nj.rr.com

   
    This was the subject I had to work with:


It always happened when the room was too quiet. Random phrases were

once again racing in and out of her mind. Black forest, red velvet,

white wine, blue cheese, hash browns... Her hands tightened into

fists and she furiously shook her head, trying to dispel the

obsessive thoughts that assailed her daily.


    She wiped her hands across her apron as she turned to the pot
   
that was now boiling over. When she was putting the hot pan in the

sink, she noticed a movement in the reflection of the window. She

turned quickly, but her guests were still sitting motionless, right

where she'd left them...


WORD COUNT Stories for today's topic must not exceed 1200 words.

(Your story's title is *not* included in the word count. We used

MSWord's word count function to determine the final word count in

submission.)


Here's what I wrote:


                 Black Forest Cake, Anyone?


    Elizabeth sat at the desk in her room. A coloring book lay
   
open in front of her. The picture of a horse standing under a tree

was half finished. Angry voices filtered through the heating vent.


    "What do you do all day?" her father screamed at her mother.
   
"This place is a mess."


    "John, I had to go shopping." she replied.


    "Shopping? That's bull! You probably sat on your fat butt and
   
watched those stupid daytime soaps! You're wasting your time!"


    Elizabeth curled up with her dolls on her bed. She looked at
   
her one-eyed Raggedy-Anne. "Why does he have to fight with Mommy

all the time?" Raggedy-Anne's one eye stared blankly back at her.

"Make them stop! Please make them stop!"


    The voices grew louder. Her mother stomped down the hall to
   
the master suite. "Leave me alone!" she yelled and slammed the door

so hard the pictures on Elizabeth's wall rattled.


    Elizabeth cried. Tears streamed down her face. Raggedly Anne
   
stared vacantly at her. Elizabeth heard her father stomp by. "Don't

you dare walk away from me" He banged on the door to the master

suite. "Open up!"


    "Go away!" came her mother's muffled reply.


    "Open this damn door or I'll kick it off it's damn hinges."


    "I'm not opening anything until you calm down."


    "Damn it! I said open this door!"


    Elizabeth buried her head under her pillow, but the sounds of
   
her father kicking at the door could still be heard. She grabbed

Raggedy Anne, "I wish it would just stop."


    The door gave way to the force of his kick. Wood splintered. The
   
door flew open. The doorknob punched a hole in the opposite wall.

Her mother screamed.


    "Please stop!" Elizabeth clutched her doll.


    "Now I'm going to teach you a lesson - as if that were even
   
possible." her father yelled. "Lock me out - I don't think so?"


    Elizabeth put her hands over her ears, but the sound of something
   
heavy falling to the floor filtered through anyway. She heard her

mother scream and then silence. Elizabeth grew curious. "Did they

stop fighting, Anne?" she asked her doll. She walked to her door

with her right thumb in her mouth, Anne dangling from her left hand.

The tears on her cheeks reflected the light from the hall. Elizabeth

peeked toward her parent's room. The door hung from one hinge. In

the middle was a hole caused by the force of her father's kicks.


    She heard her mother, "John?" There was a pause. "John, are
   
you OK?" Elizabeth crept closer. Her mother kneeled over her dad.

"John? John, get up! Are you OK? I'm sorry I locked you out. Please

forgive me? John, just get up! John..."


    Elizabeth watched them carry her daddy down the hall. A man
   
walked by. He had one hand on her mother's shoulder and held her

hands with the other.  "Mrs. Jacobs, I'm sorry. We did everything

we could. We think your husband may have had an aneurysm. Did he

complain of headaches?"


    "No." her mother sobbed and allowed the man to comfort her.


    "We'll know more after we do an autopsy." he said.


     Their life changed. Without her father's income, they were
    
forced to move into a smaller house. Elizabeth spent more-and-more

time alone or with sitters, as her mother worked odd jobs to

support them. During the day she cleaned houses. Several nights a

week and on weekends, she worked for a caterer. She did well and

was requested to work more often, allowing her to quit her cleaning

jobs.


    She started her own catering business. Her careful attention
   
to details earned her respect in the industry. She received contracts

to cater weddings, political and company functions. Her business

grew. She hired help, but insisted on baking her own cakes. She

was the master.


    Her success meant Elizabeth was neglected. When she was home,
   
she was tired and moody. She expected her young daughter to live

up to the standards her clients expected of her. To avoid spankings,

Elizabeth stayed away from her.


    Elizabeth withdrew into her fantasy world. Her dolls were her
   
only friends. In her room, they sat around a pretend dining table

or on blankets on the floor. She placed plastic dishes in front of

them and pretended to be just like her mom.


            **************************


    The Black Forest cake sat on the kitchen counter. The freshly-

spread, dark icing glistened in the sunlight streaming in the window.

Elizabeth's mom, who never allowed her to eat cake, was in the

shower preparing for a catering job at their church hall.


    Elizabeth listened. She heard the water running. She took her
   
finger and dipped it into the icing, careful to stay close to the

bottom of the cake, where her mother wouldn't notice. The sugary

taste was intoxicating.


    The water stopped. Elizabeth rushed to her room to play with her
   
dolls. The door to her room burst open. Her mother glared. "You

touched the cake, didn't you!"


    "No, Mom." Elizabeth lied weakly. She clutched Anne. "Honest, mom.
   
I didn't touch it."


    "Come with me young lady!" She grabbed Elizabeth by the ear,

dragged her to the bathroom and lifted her to the mirror. "So you

didn't touch my cake? Look! Look in the mirror!" Elizabeth looked.

Her mouth was surrounded with the stains of dark icing.


    Elizabeth's mother voice turned cold and unnaturally calm. "You
   
lied to me."


    Elizabeth shook her head, "No."


    "I think you did. You know what the punishment is for little
   
girls who lie and touch their mother's cake?"
 
 
    "No."
 
 
    Elizabeth's mom dragged her back to her room. She pulled up her
   
little red skirt and spanked. Her anger got control of her. Elizabeth

screamed. Her bottom turned blood red.


    Her mother tossed her to the bed and slammed the door on her
   
way out. "You ever touch my cakes again, you'll get worse." Elizabeth

clutched Raggedy-Anne and sobbed against her tattered dress.


            **************************


    It always happened when the room was too quiet. Random phrases
   
were once again racing in and out of her mind. Black forest, red

velvet, white wine, blue cheese, hash browns... The words of her

mother preparing for another function. Her hands tightened into

fists and she furiously shook her head, trying to dispel the

obsessive voice of her mother that assailed her daily.


    She wiped her hands across her apron and noticed a movement in
   
the reflection of the window. She turned quickly, but her guests sat

motionless, right where she'd left them. "Black forest cake anyone?"


    Raggedy-Anne slumped in her high chair. Bolinda, a Cabbage-Patch
   
doll, leaned over her plate. Ruffles, a stuffed doggie, sat with his

paws on the table. His pink tongue dangled loosely from the side of

his mouth, anxious for dinner.


    Raggedy-Anne's eye, now alive, followed Elizabeth as she served
   
her guests.


    Upstairs, Elizabeth's mom lay on the floor of the master suite.
   
Dried blood formed a streak from her mouth and down one cheek. Blood

pooled in both ears and one eye bulged grotesquely from its socket.


    Raggedy-Anne's normally-straight mouth grinned. The one eye
   
glowed an eerie red. No one would hurt Elizabeth again.



Michael T. Smith

Send your comments to msmith4@nj.rr.com

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Now for comments on my last post:

Lesly, I hope I reached my goal in the story.

Sunday
21st January
 
Dear Michael
 
Thank you so much for your story "I could fly away".  I love stories

and enjoy reading anything that is written from the heart.  Please

keep writing.  Hope you managed to create a real sinister story for

the Writers Weekly Competition.  I look forward to reading it in the

future. We have recently moved from South Africa to the UK and my

children loved their first real snow (February 2006).  I have only

seen real snow once before, in 1981 when there was a freak snow storm

in Johannesburg on the 10th September.   This was well into our

spring and the city was brought to standstill.   My young pupils

produced amazing creative writing pieces after building their

first snowmen and your story reminded me this so many years later.

  Memories are such treasures.

Yours sincerely

Lesley
Loughborough, UK