Oct 06 2008
Word Shot – 6 October, 2008
The response to last week’s first-ever Word Shot exceeded my expectations. Thank you all for participating. I hope even more of you will participate in this week’s new Word Shot exercise-competition. Here’s the photo:
Ready to give it a shot? Good! If you’re new to this, here’s how:
Write something that relates to the photograph (a word, a phrase, a paragraph, even a full story) and include it in a comment to this blog post. You can even submit comments regarding the Word Shots others have submitted. I’ll moderate these comments and screen out any comments that are not positive, instructive or helpful, so don’t worry about attracting mean criticisms. I will select one Word Shot entry as a winner and announce it in the following week’s Word Shot post. The winner will receive all three of my e-manuals.
Here’s the Winning Entry for Last Week’s Word Shot….
I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into when I said I would choose a weekly “winner” for the Word Shot exercise-competitions. Last week’s first-ever Word Shot has attracted 17 participants so far and their entries were all, in my humble opinion, winners. If you read them, I think you’ll agree. (Again, thank you all for participating!) But I have chosen a winner from the many winners. Congratulations Rick! Here it is:
Helen crested the hill with her daughter Cristina in tow. Together they had traveled quite a distance. Helen was unsure of just how far they had gone. She held in her hand a tattered postcard with a picture of a place called “Hollywood”. It was this very card that had sent her on a search for the sparkling lights and beauty that were portrayed. She looked down at the weathered paper. Helen had no idea how long it had lay in the dirty street before she picked it up and took it home. She remembered the exact moment that she decided to travel to this place and find a new life.
Helen looked at her surroundings, her mouth agape. She looked down at the postcard again. Where were the lights? And the people? All that stood before her was a barren, dusty landscape and a large smoke stack billowing filth into the air.
She had heard stories of the beauty that could be found here. The people were so friendly and welcoming. There would be work for her to earn money to take care of little Cristina. She had been so excited about the prospect of having a real future once she arrived there. Now, all there was in her view was a scene so familiar; so much like the one she had fled.
Helen dropped to her knees and began sobbing. Her tears fell to the ground and wet the worn edges of the postcard which had come to rest in the dirt. She had never felt disappointment like this. It overcame her. She thought of Cristina and her future. All those miles and all the pain, not to mention the danger to her life and the life of her daughter, were so far in the past. She couldn’t go back now. She had come too far and endured too much. Somehow she would find a way to make it work. This served to strengthen her resolve; it allowed her to push past the pain and move forward.
Helen arose, brushed herself off, grabbed Cristina by the hand, and began the long journey down the hill. “This is where life begins”, she told herself.
Good work Rick. If you get around to writing “the rest of the story” let us know. And please send me your e-mail address so I can send you your booty: my three e-manuals.
My husband… the winning ‘author’
*beam* 
Although I was overjoyed at his winning the word shot contest this week, I had to also give him a few fake stomach punches while exclaiming, “You, suck, you suck, you suck… I want to be the writer!” 
Congrats, babe! You are the best!
Infertility is a rough road. The tests, the temperature taking, the ‘timing it’ just right had taken its toll on the once optimistic, happy couple.
He didn’t touch her like…well..he didn’t touch her at all anymore, now that she thought about it.
He was out a lot. And he came home smelling like mixes of other men’s colognes. Not alcohol. Not women’s perfumes. No stripper dust. Just other men’s colognes. and he always brushed his teeth as soon as he got home.
It ended though. It ended that one night. That night he flat-out refused to make love to her.
That night she knew that the reason he refused sex was not because he was tired, or not in the mood, or some other stupid reason….
She had to work up the courage, gathering the string of words in her mind and placing them carefully.
“You know….Michael….I love you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then will you tell me what you’re doing every night before you come home? And why you smell like Men’s cologne? and why you wash out your mouth like it’s diseased?”
He was silent. Then a large sigh came from him. She just sat there. And waited. and waited. Finally he opened his mouth to lie…she knew it was a lie. He wouldn’t tell the truth.
“I’ve been out drinking with the guys. a lot. sorry.” He moved to put the pillow he had snatched as a shield of sorts and smooth it back into its spot on the bed when she reached over and hit him–A quick slap across the face.
“Don’t you lie to me! You’ve been to gay bars. alleyways! somewhere with other men! I know it! Your face smells like male crotch and you try to scrub the smell off constantly!” Her face softened and she sat down on the opposite side of the bed.
“Is is something I’ve done?” she wondered aloud. “Did I do something awful to deserve this? Am I a bad person? I did what I was told. I got married to a good, stable man. I work hard.”
He face was pained, but he tried to comfort her. He reached for her arm and she slapped him away.
“I’m not sharing a bed with you anymore.” she announced. Then she picked up her pillow, and slept in the guest bedroom that night.
It was such a silly argument. Why was he so unreasonable? Now, she just wanted to make up and get some sleep. Why did he always pout like a ten year old deprived of a toy?
Eric had to have his way . This was important to him. Why could she not see that? Women were so unreasonable. Well she could just whistle for her supper as far as he was concerned. She was depriving him of his masculinity. Literally cutting him off at the knees. Stupid woman. The guys would all be laughing at him by the weekend. Everyone would know that his bragging was nothing more than hot air. He wouldn’t be able to show his face. All because of her.
To hell with it. He was not going to let his wife emasculate him. Tomorrow, on the way home from work, he would stop and buy that grill. The grill of all grills. The coup de gras of outdoor cooking equipment. She could just get over it. You would have thought five hundred bucks was the national debt the way she re-acted.
Smiling he reached over and turned off the light.
“I never would have suspected that Jack was a ‘thread-count’ man. How will I face the girls in the office, when I tell them I lost him because of nubby sheets?”
She could hear him over her shoulder, shifting on the sheets with uncertainty. It wasn’t his fault, she should let him know that. But the words remained in her mind, with all her silent doubts and naive dreams. They surged to her tongue, hoping to escape. But her fear wrangled them back, as it always did. He is a good man. She couldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t. He didn’t deserve it. The only thing that escaped this time were a few clever tears. She gently rubbed them away. He probably wouldn’t notice them anyway.
ED affects you both.
Go on. You can talk about it. You’ve been through tougher things before.
Feeling, words, joy, all had disappeared, replaced by the numbing whiteness of their empty life.
How? When? She knew not, and no longer even cared. She hoped only for a day when colour would return to her life once more.
Gloria! That was completely brilliant! LOL!!!
My entry for WORD SHOT exercise-competition-6 octo.’08
‘SILENT CONVESSATION’
“Give me back my golden moments!”
“Give me back my golden time!”
“Then let’s negotiate!”
“Turn to me!”
“No I don’t want to show my frustration!”
“That’s not frustration but madness!”
“Don’t give such a cheap name!”
“Then what’s that?”
“Its my freeze explosion that can burst anytime!”
“It was you who ignored me!”
“It was you who misstook me!”
“What if, if I would have cared you?”
“What if, if I would have understood you?”
“You are simply a neutrn!”
“You stole my words!”
“Nothing can move you!”
“Than let a collision may occure!”
“It can turn into a blackhole!”
“True,here moments are heavier!”
“Nothing will remain then!”
“Still exepting?”
“Tell me what will remain?”
“Only TIME and WIND!”
“Then do call me loudly in form of TIME!”
“You return my reply in the form of WHIRLWIND!”
“But what about now?”
“Give a hot look to melt the iceberg!”
“After you!”
“After yoy!”
“………..!”
“….”
?
?
-RAJEN MEHTA
Her tears had finally stopped. His had never begun.
Was that the problem?
He stole a glance in the mirror. She was cradling her head in her hands, eyes toward the floor. If she saw anything outward, there was no indication. Just a slow blink. A sigh. Another blink. He looked away again. It felt cruel but it was easier.
A warm breeze moved the curtain around. It was silent outside. He couldn’t see the clock and he didn’t want to move. There was nothing to distract them, nothing but the dull ache.
She sighed again and he opened his mouth as if to speak. He felt her tense against the bed and he exhaled, saying nothing.
And what could he say? It was easier when there was physical pain, he could hold her hand. When there was blood, he could say soothing words. When there were tears he hugged her shoulders. Now there was nothing. She stiffened and rejected his last touch, as they drove home. He felt a stab of guilt; she seemed to be blaming him.
Once home, he found that all of his words seemed to be vacant platitudes. He’d always borne silence awkwardly, but what can you say about nothing? He lifted his arm to touch her again, but stopped short. He let his arm hand there for a moment, suspended. Carefully, he let it drop.
He wondered if he was feeling it at all. He tried to think about how he felt, but he found himself ticking down a list of things to do when he got back to the office, a list of banalities. Jolted, he looked at her again, but she was frozen, barely blinking, barely breathing.
He chaffed. The pajamas were the final insult. A stupid idea. A reach for elusive comfort on the black morning.
Leaning back, he heard a trash truck moving down the street and wondered what they’d done with it. With him.
He’d always assumed it was a boy. Their first. His first. And he wondered where he was now and what they had done with him. He should have asked.
The trash truck moved closer. Do they throw them away? He sat up; the unasked question was just behind his lips when he felt the tears begin.
i hope this comment will still be accepted, it’s long overdue ^^; ja’s is so cool! all the emotions and subtle details… awesome
here’s mine:
She sat on the edge of a king-size bed in her pajamas, her rouged cheeks nestled in the palms of her hands. Her eyes, downcast, were fixed on the floor beside her unseen feet; her lips, parted slightly, mouthed a silent cry of protest. Her worried face dominated the tableau; behind her, blurred and distant, a man in similar pajamas clutched a pillow with averted eyes. They occupied an entire page in the chic magazine.
Opposite the page, the article’s title read, “Is Sexual Dysfunction Affecting Your Relationship?”