5.27.11 shatter - a drabble of 100 words

[nostalgia: from the Greek words nostos which means “homecoming” and algos which means “pain”]

When I remember the autumn sky filled with stars, the beach with the waves sparkling in the sun right before they crash on the shore, the silent snows, the soggy springtime earth; when I recall the faces that I love, those close enough to hug and those who reside now only in my heart, the dear faces so changed and yet still the same; I feel an painful twist in my belly. It makes sense now, that aching to go back.

[that’s why it’s called nostalgia]

5.26.11 wisp - a drabble of 100 words

The gentle beauty of a well-kept garden, rimmed round with rocks dug up from the yard. The stately kindness of old homes, built in the days of my great-great-grandparents. The gentle spring breeze, ripe with hints of summer, tickling my hair, heavy with lilac scent. The echo of birds chattering merrily as they bustle from treetop to treetop. The smile of a neighbor sitting on his porch as I walk past. The soothing sound of water trickling in a front yard fountain. You can keep your marble halls, your diamond palaces, your glittering gold. I have springtime in New England.

5.25.11 delight - a drabble of 100 words

The fireworks split the sky, painting the black with greens and yellows and blues and reds. The booms and crashes that went along with the colors scared the little kids in front, who sat crying in their mothers’ laps. The 1812 Overture rang out from tinny speakers along the Charles, unless you were close to the Hatch Shell and could actually hear the Pops. Flags were waving, hearts swelling with patriotic enthusiasm.

Chocolate ice cream was plastered all over my little girl’s face as she sang the National Anthem. “Land of the free! Home of the brave and ice cream!”

5.24.11 whisper - a drabble of 100 words

The wrinkle-lines of your face are as dear to me now as they ever were. The laugh-lines are so much deeper than the frown-lines. Remember, love, when we said “I do” and then we did? We changed our little world. Your strength made me strong and your love made me beautiful.

Let’s go on holding hands, for as long as we can, love. Your gentle snores the soundtrack of my nights. Your precious old blue eyes the first thing I see in the morning. Just remember, love, til death do us part. Then, and only then, shall I say goodbye.

5.23.11 gloss - a drabble of 100 words

Why do they do it?? I’m sure they do it to protect themselves. Honestly, I’m not blaming them. Well, I am a little bit. I’m sure they are just trying to keep the little kiddies out. You know, the ones who would look and instead of seeing “POISON!! DO NOT EAT THIS!!” like they should, they see “I’M YUMMY CANDY!! STUFF ME IN YOUR MOUTH!!” But, let’s face it, when you’re sick, you’re weaker than your average Gerber baby become toddler.

Which brings me to my original point. Why on earth do they make Nyquil caplets so hard to open?

5.22.11 gush - a drabble of 100 words

what happens when the words just aren’t there and the emotions are all bottled up and they want to come out but the words just aren’t there? and Anger and Sorrow and Happy and Joy are all fighting each other for control of your mind. then Reason steps in and tries to overrule them all. there’s the battle inside and the words just aren’t there. the clanging and clamor and the words still aren’t there. and then all of a sudden, you open your mouth and the words that weren’t there just start flooding out.

and then you can’t stop.

5.21.11 Cloudy Skies and Sunshine - a drabble of 100 words

I wonder if the elephants on the Serengeti feel the same way I do when the sun shines. Do they feel their hearts lift at the sight of the sunrise? Do they feel the pleasure of another day completed when the sun sets?

And what about when it rains? Do they like it when it pours? Does it make them go scurrying for cover? [I bet you didn’t think elephants could scurry.] Would they become sad if it rained for days? Did Noah’s elephants suffer from rain-based depression?

One thing is for sure. Snow is not an issue for them.

5.20.11 flit - a drabble of 100 words

The sun beat down in warm streams on the field. The cricket and summer bugs were chirping their songs to the skies. The grass was tall and green. The air smelled like simple happiness.

A mother sat on the picnic blanket, soaking in the sunshine, drinking leftover lemonade, watching her children play in the field around her. Suddenly, her five-year-old daughter came running toward her. “Mommy! Mommy! Look what I got! I catchded it!”

She opened her cupped hands. An orange butterfly rested there. But the little girl’s hands were covered with butterfly dust and the butterfly had stopped moving.

5.19.11 cull - a drabble of 100 words

I think they might have been laughing at him. They were a bunch of teenagers. He was a teenager too but there was something different about him. His face didn’t look like theirs. He talked different than they did. They didn’t do anything to him. They just pointed. Some of the girls giggled. Some of the boys crossed their eyes and walked funny. The boy didn’t seem to mind but he looked a little confused. Then he walked away. I saw him around the corner, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

I wish I had done something.

5.18.11 crestfallen - a drabble of 100 words

I’m slogging away on the treadmill, sweat dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. I’m begging for a song to blare through my ear buds that will make me forget that I still have two miles to go before I can stop running. Then the girl on the treadmill in front of me, who had been running like a gazelle moments before, steps off the belt and just stands there, both feet planted while the belt keeps moving.

You know you don’t get credit for those miles that you’re not running, right?

Good thing grace doesn’t work that way.

5.17.11 wane - a drabble of 100 words

I didn’t notice when it happened. I never notice.

When I get there, the sun is shining. Everyone is happy. It might be a little hot. I might be a little sweaty because we had to walk a mile from the parking garage. The vendors in their yellow shirts are hawking their wares but I’m riveted on the white uniforms in front of me.

Then suddenly, I realize the sun has set and the lights are illuminating the field. They shine bright against the night sky. The breeze is summer evening cool and it’s almost time to sing Sweet Caroline.

5.16.11 fen - a drabble of 100 words

The scent of hot dogs and sausages wafts through the air. There are people everywhere. You stand in line, order your food. It’s ridiculously expensive but you don’t care. The strains of the National Anthem breeze past your ear. You make your way around the crowded concourse, looking for a sign to point you toward your seat. There! You fumble your ticket out of your pocket, just barely avoiding spilling ice cream all over. Up a gently sloping ramp. Then, you see it.

The green grass. The baseball diamond. And, just like always, your heart does a little happy dance.

5.15.11 dusk - a drabble of 100 words

The road was muddy, his footsteps marked with blood. He had walked a great distance. He once was young and now he was old. Still, he kept walking. In front of him, the sun had nearly set. Streaks of orange shot through the sky as darkness chased behind.

His back was hunched, his shoulders stooped. But his head was erect and his eyes kept their clear gaze on the horizon. Finally, he saw it. The towers of the Great City, gleaming gold in the dying sunlight. A smile flitted across his face. The end was near. Home was in view.

5.14.11 Blank Pages - a drabble of 100 words

What if something had been different? What if his father had been more loving? What if his mother hadn’t spoiled him?

Look at him. A little baby, cooing at the sunshine and butterflies. A little boy, scraping his knee during a game of tag. Look at the clean upper lip. In forty years or so, it will be home to a small square black mustache. Look at the strong young arms. In forty years or so, the right one will stretch out straight in front of screaming multitudes.

But his mother doesn’t know that as she kisses her baby goodnight.

5.13.11 tremulous - a drabble of 100 words

Primitive Man invented the wheel, discovered fire, and got us started. The Egyptians, with their irrigation canals, and the Romans, with their running water and indoor plumbing, continued it. There was a slight hiccup in the aptly named Dark Ages. But then the printing press came about and the rest, as they say, is history. Brilliant people applied themselves to innovation and invention. Now, the limit of the imagination is the only thing restraining our discoveries.

So we sit in front of our screens for hours, losing touch with who we really are. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our future.

5.12.11 cascade - a drabble of 100 words

“Look out, Captain! It’s a huge waterfall!”

The boat careened wildly toward the precipice. The water leaped over the cliff, heedless of the sharp rocks at the bottom. The river dragged the boat along in its mad flight, despite the desperate workings of its captain and crew.

“Captain, we’re not going to make it!”

The young mother looked outside her kitchen window, absently stirring her chocolate chip cookies. At the edge of the yard, she could see her little son playing with the garden hose, piles of small stones, and a plastic ship. Behind her, the pasta pot boiled over.

5.11.11 giggle - a drabble of 100 words

She didn’t know what she did. She didn’t know what it was that made it happen. The little baby sitting in the high chair in front of her was covered in bananas and rice cereal. (That combination takes approximately three washings to take out all the sticky.) She could see his two little teeth, white nubs poking out of pink baby gums. His mouth was open wide. His chubby belly was shaking. His blue eyes twinkled and sparkled with the joke only an eighteen-month-old would understand.

She closed her eyes and let the sound of baby laughter wash over her.

5.10.11 scintillate - a drabble of 100 words

My muse is feeling rather ragged recently. She’s quite enjoying all the work she’s had lately. It’s been a little bit of a stretch for her. There are a few dirty coffee cups in the sink that have gathered over the past few days. But she’s been keeping up quite nicely.

Today was tough, though. She woke up tired and just couldn’t wipe the sleep from her eyes. The coffee, all seven cups of it, didn’t help. The nap was a little bit of relief. But let’s face it, she’s sleep-deprived. Maybe she should try getting to bed on time.

5.8.11 resplendent - a drabble of 100 words

She sat, chewing the end of her pen cap, racking her brain for the right words to say. She kept bringing the pen down to the paper, just barely touching it, about to start writing, when the cliché sensor in her head would start clanging. “You can’t write that in your Mother’s Day card! That is Hallmark schmaltz!”

She sighed. “I think all the clichés must be true,” she muttered to no one.

Down went the pen once more but this time it kept writing.

Dear Mom,

Thank you for everything. For the sacrifices and the prayers.

I love you.

5.9.11 fey - a drabble of 100 words

The clouds were dark over my head. Not literal clouds. Eeyore clouds that hovered in my brain and my heart. Clouds that made the day seem ugly and smelly and gross. I first noticed them in the morning but I decided to ignore them. They refused to be ignored. They just stayed and stayed and stayed. In fact, they got bigger and darker and scarier. My shoulders stooped and my insides started to shrivel.

Then you smiled at me and told me that it was ok. You gave me a hug and suddenly rays of sunshine broke through the clouds.

5.7.11 Thoughts in Black and White - a drabble of 100 words

Sometimes, I write words with an ink pen to see the contrast of the black against the white. To know that the page will never be white again, that the words there that were banging around in my brain have magically jumped from me to the outside world.

Sometimes the words rhyme and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes, the words make you laugh and sometimes they make you cry. Sometimes, the words are in my diary so that when I’m old, I can see the yellowed once-white pages covered with faded black memories.

Sometimes, the words are just a grocery list.

5.6.11 twilight - a drabble of 100 words

It’s the moment when you realize that the sun has set and the lights have come on. It’s the crack of the bat, the arc of the ball, the way you rise to your feet without even realizing it, waiting to see where the ball lands. It’s the way you sink back into your seat when the opposing center fielder leaps and catches the ball, robbing your batter of his hit. It’s the way your arms automatically fly up in the air and the shout of jubilation rips from your throat when the ball lands in the stands.

It’s baseball.

5.5.11 glisten - a drabble of 100 words

The rain was on and off all day, like a bipolar light switch that just couldn’t make up its mind. One moment it was sunny. The next moment, you’d better have your polka-dotted umbrella handy because the skies opened up.

But in the magical in between moment, the rain and the sunshine met and shook hands like old English gentlemen about to smoke their pipes. When that happened, I started looking for the rainbow.

I craned my neck this way and that, peering through the sunny rain. Up, up, up I looked. And then there were not one but two.

5.4.11 effervescent - a drabble of 100 words

Don’t bother remembering her hair color because it changes every six weeks or so. But I can tell you you’ll certainly remember her eyes and her smile. Her eyes sparkle because she loves. Her smile shines because He loves her and she knows it. If you look at her wrists, you’ll see permanent ink telling about His love.

I can guarantee that when you go to her house, you’ll hear good music and learn about New England, especially New England sports. They say she really likes the Boston Red Sox.

I can’t believe you thought the Bee Lady was boring.

5.3.11 flutter - a drabble of 100 words

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, I’m Karen, the ultrasound tech who will be doing your ultrasound with you today."

"Alright, Mrs. Henderson. What’s that?"

"Oh. Ok, Lisa. Lisa, I’m gonna have you lay on your back here. I’m going to turn the lights down a little bit."

"Now I’m going to squirt this cold stuff on your belly. I know, it’s a little chilly. I apologize."

"I’m going to put the probe right on top of your belly and maneuver it around."

"There we go. Look at the screen. That little flicker in the chest, right here."

"That’s the heartbeat.”

5.2.11 twinkle - a drabble of 100 words

He was 88 years old. The wispy white hair on top of his head didn’t come close to covering his baldness. The age spots on his hands were markedly brown. He had to use a walker to get around.

There he was, laying in the hospital bed. There I stood next to him, counting out his pills. He took the little white pill cup and the small Styrofoam cup full of water and peered at me, blue eyes full of laughter.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No,” I responded, grinning.

“If I were 60 years younger, would you marry me?”

5.1.11 sparkle - a drabble of 100 words

She looked at her ring finger on her left hand. There was nothing on it. But his hand was holding it. She looked back up into his eyes. Suddenly, she felt something cool slip onto her finger and he was speaking. It took a moment to register his words. Her heart started to beat faster, all the way to her throat, and her eyes started to tear up. “Marry me?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling so big her face felt in danger of breaking, and threw her arms around his neck.

There, on her left hand, was a distinct sparkle.

DrabDayMoMay

So, I've challenged myself in the month of May to write a drabble (a short piece of exactly 100 words) every day. I'm currently blogging, along with some other friends, at drabdaymomay.blogspot.com. However, I've decided I'm also going to post them here. Continuity of writing and such.