A Psalm

Jesus hear my prayer

My heart is shattered, broken

I need you, oh how I need you

Fill me with your love.

 

Jesus hear my prayer

Deliver me from my sorrow

Take these tears of mine

Replace them with hope.

 

Jesus hear my prayer

In my darkest hour

I cannot bear this alone

My heart hurts so.

 

Jesus hear my prayer.

Only you can save me

I pour my heart out to you

Your holy arms I seek.

 

Jesus hear my prayer

Hear my plea

Take this broken soul

Wash it clean.

 

Jesus hear my prayer.

Three Junes-Master Class 2013 #7

Hello ! I am so excited to be taking over for Eric. Those are some big shoes to fill, so I hope I do him worthy.  There is so much talent in here!! Now, before we get to today’s assignment, I have some announcements to make.

Last week, our assignment was Lev Grossman’s “The Magicians” chosen by Shannon. The instructions were to add this line: He felt like a safe cracker who – partly by luck – had sussed out the first digit in a lengthy, arduous combination somewhere in the middle of your story. There was missing homework this week, but for those who completed it, it was a fine turn-out of creativity.

We had a short piece from t with a surprise ending that knocked me out of my seat.

Eric Storch came through with an incredible story that blew the universe away.

Shannon’s continued tale filled with magic left us intrigued and craving for more.

Renee’s creepy tale of slices of stones had me looking over my shoulder.

But, there’s always one that grabs you just a little bit more. This week, Steph was at the head of the class with Isn’t That What It’s Always About. She weaves a tale of an alcoholic teacher and a student with a secret to tell with precision and such descriptions as to bring you immediately into the story from the very first word.

This week, to keep things interesting, I asked Steph to choose the first line from the fifth chapter of any book of her choosing. She chose Three Junes by Julia Glass. The first line of the fifth chapter is as follows:

“Clever how the cosmos can, in a single portent, be ingratiating yet sadistic.”

Use this line to start your stories. Please be sure to include the sentence in quotation marks.

You have until 6pm, Monday, February 25, 2013 to turn your assignment in.

Linky is open and ready to accept your assignments. Please use the hashtag #MCprompt when you tweet.

And GO!

 

The Chair

Today I’m five. My grandfather says five is a lucky number, but I’m not sure I believe him. The first four were nothing special, just your run of the mill state mandated executions. In fact, the gurney in the room next door gets more business than I do, what with lethal injection considered “humane.” I don’t know about that either. Those who find their way into my seat and get strapped in generally seem remorseful. I don’t know what pain they go through, though I feel them quiver within the boundaries I provide. A rush of heat overwhelms the air, and when it’s finished, the last of their spirit disappearing from above, the metal cups always feel warm when they brush against my wood.

It’s the memories that get me every time. I am privy to the last thoughts and delicate flashes of life revealed in those final moments. If I had lips to spill the secrets with, I’d swear to at least one man’s innocence.

It was the year I turned three, and his name was Zion Jeffries. His girth was wide, his body cramming in between my seat and arms as he sat down. Listening to the walls chatter around me, I knew that his crime against humanity was great. Convicted of the kidnapping, rape, and murder of three very young sisters and their mother, the attacks were especially brutal, earning him death by electrocution. He was the first to sit in my chair without a choice.

He was also the first to be innocent.

As his last fleeting memories disappeared with his brain function, there was no recollection of his crime. There were short memories of his time spent in jail, time spent with his family, and the last day on his job as a car mechanic. A woman entered the shop with three tow-headed little girls following her.

“Excuse me?” she said. He looked her direction.

“How can I help you?” he said, his voice filled with pleasantries.

“My car…” She looked down as if embarrassed. “…it’s broken down about a block away. Please? You were the first shop I come to. I don’t have any money.”

Zion followed the woman and her girls down the block to where an old Buick sat, half on the road, half off. Smoke black as pitch escaped in billowy clouds from the creases of the rusty hood. He popped it open and leaped back as flames reached their long fingers out to embrace the oxygen.

“Get back! Get the children as far away as you can. Run! If the fire reaches the gas, it will explode!” Zion cautioned the woman.

She pushed the girls ahead of her and they ran back towards the shop. Zion followed, his curses airborne on the wind behind him. When they reached the shop, he left instructions for his assistant, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, and took off towards the old Buick again.

“I’ll be back shortly!” Zion shouted in passing. He paused at the door. “There’s coffee and some bottled water in the fridge. If you need to call someone, there’s a phone in my office.”

Zion returned to the shop to find his assistant, the woman, the girls, and his personal truck gone. After listening to his assistant’s song and voicemail for the umpteenth time, he drove the company tow truck, hitched up the Buick, and towed it back to the garage.

The next morning, Zion awoke to find his truck in his driveway, the tow truck gone, and the police swarming the property. As the cuffs clicked around his wrists, he took in the drawn faces of his family. All three of his boys openly wept. He could tell by the set of his wife’s jaw that she was attempting to hold it together. That was the last time he would see his boys. His wife became a distant memory, as well, as the evidence began to pile up against him. The tears shed now were his own.

Even then, on the chair, tears spilled behind the mask. It was the first time the soul wasn’t at rest. It was the first time I felt I was more than just a piece of wood formed into a chair. It was the first time I felt what I could only describe as remorse. It penetrated every fiber of my existence.

With four came relief. This one was guilty and the horror of his memories eliminated whatever remorse still remained.

Now, today I’m five. My grandfather says five is a lucky number, but I’m not convinced. Three gave me heartache. Four gave me horror. What luck could five possibly bring?

I guess I’ll know in a few minutes.
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This week’s Master Class used the opening line from Emma Donoghue’s “Room“: Today I’m five. This is my response.

I welcome and appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts in a comment.

Thanks for stopping in!

Destiny Calling

The great revelations of my adult life began with the shouts of a lost soul in my neighborhood breakfast joint. It was my first day working at my very first job. I was eighteen, I’d just graduated, and the summer was mine. The girl came in shouting with tears making clean tracks down her panic-stricken face, her hair the color of filth and slick with natural oil. Her clothes hung in tattered shreds about her too skinny body. The shoes on her feet didn’t match, but they were surprisingly whole. Incoherent words tumbled from her mouth yet not one person moved closer to understand her. Disgusted frowns creased faces angry from the intrusion and I moved to the girl’s side.

“Breathe!” I said, grabbing her grimy hands with my own. “I can’t understand you unless you calm down.” The depth of her blue eyes swept me away. After a little clean up, she would be stunning. Her response was to turn away from me. She urgently pulled on my hand as if she wanted me to follow. I looked back at my boss, who was watching the exchange with interest. He nodded.

“Go ahead, Joey. Get her out of here.”

She was gone in a flash. I ran out the door to see her bent on the sidewalk.  A pair of black clad legs stuck out beyond her and I quickened my pace. A priest lay on the ground, a pool of blood flooding the sidewalk beneath him. The girl looked up at me again.

“Please help him.” She said.

The man groaned in response. I fell to my knees on the other side of him. I had no idea what to do. Memories of doctor shows filled my brain and I pressed fingers against his neck, hoping for some kind of rhythm. It was hard to find, but it was there. I whipped my cellphone out and dialed for help. The girl smiled openly at me in gratitude. Her perfect teeth made me wonder what happened to her. She looked young, no more than sixteen or seventeen. Her eyes left mine as she busied herself in comforting the man on the ground. She took his hand in both of hers and began rocking, her lips moving without sound.

By the time I realized she was praying, the ambulance had arrived. I saw the panic on her face heighten as the paramedics pushed her aside. Within moments, they had his vitals done and had him strapped to a gurney. The girl ran up to them as they loaded him on, but they pushed her back again. I read the disgust on their faces and realized they weren’t going to let her go with them. I didn’t think this was fair, but what could I do? My boss wouldn’t let me leave. Besides, I didn’t have a car anyway. She looked so lost though it bothered me. I gave her change and directions to the hospital and went back to work.

My boss approached me as I reentered the restaurant.

“What happened?”

“Looks like that priest from across the street got shot. The girl was all upset about it. The ambulance refused to let her ride along.” I kept my statements short and simple. I had a feeling that the boss wasn’t the sympathetic type.

“I don’t blame them. Who knows how many germs she is leaving behind just by stepping into a place? We will have to bleach this place thoroughly tonight. You up to work late?”

I nodded in response. His words left me silent. What could I say? Somehow, life had turned against this girl, but I didn’t share his disdain. Something about her just wouldn’t let me forget her.

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s closing time, Joey. Why don’t you take the trash out so we can lock up and get this place scrubbed?” the boss said.

I obliged. I could smell the sand from the beach nearby and wanted a moment to myself. I gathered the trash and hauled it over my shoulder. I lifted the dumpster lid but before I could toss it in, movement from inside the bin caught my eye. It was the girl from earlier. Horrified to see her laying in the trash, I took a closer look. Blood crusted on her forehead and blended in streaks with the dirt. Though her eyes remained closed, her arms moved slowly, and sound came from her throat. I left her long enough to grab the foot stool from the restaurant and reached in to help her.

“Hey,” I said softly. Her eyes fluttered open. “Hey, are you okay?”

She just stared.

“What happened to you? You were supposed to go to the hospital!”

She continued staring until the faintest hint of recognition hit her. She groaned in response, and, using her arms to pull herself up, grabbed onto me. “Father?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not the Father. I’m Joey.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes darkened. “Father?”

“No, I’m Joey. The Father is in the hospital.”

Her eyes now blazing pits of coal, she gripped me tighter. “Father!”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you go?” I looked her over again. Her forehead was still bleeding. I touched her head gently and she winced. She said nothing, only put a palm to her temple in response. When she noticed she was in the dumpster, she tried to rise, and I helped her. Her footing was weak, so I sat down beside her.

“Hurts,” she said, releasing me. She closed her eyes again as her fingertips touched the side of her head.

“It’s bleeding. Come inside and I’ll clean you up a bit,” I answered. I didn’t care if my boss would like it or not. I had a whole night of scrubbing ahead of me already. What harm would it do to bring her in now?

She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her, so I helped her inside. I set her down on a corner booth and slid the table out. I removed the tablecloth, folded it, and placed it under her head. Her eyes stayed open but I could tell she was having difficulty focusing. Whoever had done this to her had meant business.
I looked her full in the face, even capturing it between my hands to ensure she understood me. “I’m going to fetch a towel and a bucket of water. Stay here and don’t try to sit up, got it?” Her eyes scanned the area around me, never quite meeting my eyes, but she nodded once I released her.

I moved as quickly as I could, looking over my shoulder more often than I would have liked for my boss. My gut said he wouldn’t be pleased but I was so deep in now that I couldn’t back out even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. This just felt right. It was as if destiny had taken a knife and carved it out as a meant to be moment. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know how. I just knew, all the way down to my toes, that this moment would decide the rest of my life. I decided to embrace it.

I spotted my boss coming out of his office. It was now or never time.

“Mr. Jones?” I cleared my throat. Even though I knew I was doing the right thing, I was nervous. He said nothing but his single raised eyebrow told me he’d heard me. “Mr. Jones, sir, um…I’m not going to be able to stay. An emergency came up that I have to take care of. I hope you understand.”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I tended to the girl’s wound as best as I could, ignoring my boss’s looming presence behind me. I ignored the blood that had begun to pool on the floor. I ignored the stain her wound left on the bench she was resting on. I ignored everything except her, finally shifting my attention away long enough to call an ambulance.

As the lights flashed red and blue against the walls of the restaurant and they placed the girl on a gurney, my boss took me aside.

“Joey, I hope you know what you’re doing. I could fire you for this.” His voice was soft, but I detected a hint of ice behind them.

“Then fire me, sir. I have to do this. I don’t know why, but I have this feeling my life is about to begin.”

This week’s Master Class starting line came from Peter Straub’s A Dark Matter: “The great revelations of my adult life began with the shouts of a lost soul in my neighborhood breakfast joint.

I welcome honest feedback. Won’t you please share your thoughts in a comment?

Thanks for stopping in!

On Books and Writing

My friend, Eric, wrote about books and reading over at Sinistral Scribblings today. I opened my email and Writer’s Digest is promoting a book called  How to Brainstorm and Develop Awesome Story Ideas. I laughed.  Ideas are never a shortage around here!

Then, I got to wondering.  I have no books on the writing craft on my shelves, though I do have a few punctuation and grammar sites bookmarked. I subscribe to a wonderful blog about writing, Writability, that holds lots of useful tips, and I am surrounded by writerly friends willing to bleed all over my stories. I am learning.

I am. I catch myself going “Oh! Scratch the –ing. Make it –ed instead” or various other things that my friends have taught me through editing.

So, now I question you (Discussion time!):

Do you have writing books on your shelves? Have you read them? Would you buy them again?

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Please take a moment to read my short story “Gloria” here and leave me a review!

Thanks for stopping in!