Thursday, September 9, 2010

One Minute Writer Six Minute Story

Anyone want fun writing exercises? Try out One Minute Writer or Six Minute Story . They are just as they say they are, write what you will in a one minute or six minute time constraint, both with prompts.

One Minute Writings:


Was discussing 11:11 today. I figure the Illuminati might favor 1/1/11 to attack. Seeing as they like it. Was noted to me though that they also like 33. So 11/11/11 is also a possibility. Next year should be really fun.


I remember when a little girl, a tad older, a tad taller than me, grabbed tightly onto my panda. She tried ripping it from my hands. I held on and screeched. Dad came up behind me as I sobbed. I clung to Dad, still had my bear. Her pigtails bounced when he mom slapped her. I smiled.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Weird Dream

In my dream I was standing in an attic, looking out the attic window to see a large stretch of sand poured over grass. I see Thomas Edison next to me and he is quite proud of his accomplisment. He has ten bears covered in sand and then electrocuted to death. The bears hit the sand and there is a ripple of light over it.

I begin talking to someone else, a man whom I don't recognize and can't remember the face of, almost as if nothing had just happened. I feel split at this point as if the sleeping me is horrified by what happened to the bears, but the dream me is like "whatever."

Edison begins talking but we ignore him. I don't remember what I was talking to this man about.

Out of the corner of my eye I see ten elephants arranged on the sand. I think nothing of it except that they're cute.

"The sand will absorb all of it. It becomes harmless to us," Edison says.

I still ignore him.

The elephants are covered in sand until they resemble concrete statues, then they are electrocuted as well. They suffer a lot and scream as they hit the ground. The sand ripples with waves of light but Edison is right, the electricity stops at the sand and does not touch the grass.


Oookay. Weirded out so I found a dream symbol site to try and make heads and tails of this.


Attic--Is the intellect, repressed thoughts and connection to higher self. The spirituality.

Grass--The part of yourself that you can always rely on. A natural protection.

Sand--Shift in perspective and a change in attitude.

Thomas Edison (Inventor)--Symbolizes personal achievments. An attempt at elevating personal consciousness.

Window--Looking out the window represents the outlook on life. Your point of view and awareness and the need to mull over a desicion.

10--Corresponds to closure and great strength. Also represents the ten commandments.

Bears--independance, death and renewal and resurrection. A period of introspection and thinking, one might have things they need to "lay bare".

Electrocution--indicates your current course of actions will lead to disaster. It represents fear and the consequences of your actions. One needs to pay attention to their own surroundings.

Man--denotes the aggressive, competitive, rational side of oneself. --a/n UM EXCUSE ME?

Elephants--a need to be more patient and understanding. Maybe a need to let go of the past (memory held on for too long). Also a symbol of power, strength and intellect.

Also a symbol of the Republican Party.

Torture--*note: the Elephants suffered the bears showed no signs of feeling pain* suggests one is punishing oneself for their own bad habits by projecting it onto another symbol in the dream. It can also symbolize revenge fantasies. Consider the symbol being tortured.


Okay! Let's take a look shall we?

I'm in the attic, so therefore in a room with my "rational side" (man) and my "creative accomplisments side" (Edison). My "rational side" is distracting me with conversation, and lulling me away from the things I have an opinion on. (window)

A change of opinion (sand) is being poured over the part of me that I can always rely on, my protection (grass).

A strong, complete part of me (10) is being laid bare (bears) on the change of my opinion. (sand) This is a huge mistake and will lead to disaster. (electrocution) ---does this mean if I actually shared a bit more of myself as I've been pondering lately that it will be a huge mistake??? D:

The disaster (electrocution) is absorbed by my change of perspective (sand) and does not touch my core. (the grass)

As this disaster (elec) occurs, my rational side (man) keeps me talking, while my creative side (edison) tries to get my attention. My creative side caused the first disaster so it is setting up the next.

A powerful (10) part of my past that I'm holding a grudge over --or the Republican party hahaha what???-- (elephants) is now arranged over my change of opinion (sand). My creative side (edison) tells me that it's going to be okay because my core (the grass) will keep me safe despite what happens.

The symbol of my grudge --or the republican party?? haha-- (elephants) is destroyed and suffers horribly, fulfilling my need to obliterate it. (torture)

----------------------------------------------------- this might be an optimistic dream. Both my rational and creative sides are telling me that despite whatever disaster I am going to cause for myself and THE WORLD *cackles* I will still be safe at my core, and will get through it. I am going through some sort of transition and it's gonna cause trouble but no worries cause I'll still be me. basically sucks for everyone else, but here I come? XD

Sunday, September 5, 2010

My Longshot

This short story was written as a submission to Longshot Magazine's 24 hour contest, the challenge theme being, "Comeback". It's based upon real events.

Fence Fight--Cee Martinez

This Morning

My reward for taking a different route from my normal walk came when I happened upon a backyard complete with a snarling Chihuahua behind a chain-link fence. Cream colored, stout of chest, and with a well muscled little trot that would make any cart horse envious. He hit the fence with murderous gusto. My dog, about fifty pounds of silvery Nordic fluff, locked eyes with the little stinker, and they commenced the oldest of dog traditions: snarling through the fence at each other in a way that if translated would probably equal Tarantino penned dialogue for a Mexican standoff.

I pulled on my dog, the leash so taut it vibrated but the damn dog's feet may as well have been sunk in mud. I finally had to nudge my dog with the toe of my sneaker to get him moving. We were halfway past the fence, Chihuahua still in deadly pursuit, when a large black Lab burst from the open porch door of the house. My dog dug in again, puffed and prepped for the second battle. My tight forearms trembled, and I put my back into pulling my dog from the fence.

Too late, however, because the Lab hit the fence, snapping and snarling and running over the Chihuahua in the process. I was nearly past the fence, but the Lab's barks faded in favor of the increasingly desperate tin-whistle scream from the Chihuahua. I stood for a moment, scowling, staring. The Lab left off his barking, and his tail dropped as he sniffed at the screaming Chihuahua. The squeals leaving the little dog's body now trilled and warbled, hitting scales that approximated the tone of a car alarm. Even my dog let the leash fall slack and as I walked back to the fence, he did not want to follow.

I looked at the prone dog. I saw his white teeth flashing, his tongue lolling, and his legs and tail were not moving. It made me think of that one time when my dad tried holding my pet hamster, almost dropped it and in his fumbling, pinched it against the glass of his aquarium home. When he put it back into the aquarium, it lay motionless on the litter shavings. its mouth flopping uselessly until it died seconds later. I stared with increasing dizziness at its head, thinking of that one time I saw those freaky videos of Russian scientists reanimating severed dog's heads.

I swallowed hard and looked up, staring at the open back-door of the house, and I yelled, "He's hurt! He's hurt!"

A pale as pudding wisp of a woman came running, "What happened? What happened?"

We never made eye contact. She lifted her dog into her pink mottled pale arms. His body hung limp. His neck twisted as his agonized chortles turned into rasping, gargled groans. "Dad!" She screamed, "Dad!" And then her voice deepened, became an accusatory stab, "What happened?"

If I hadn't have walked this way, I thought, if I'd just stayed on my normal route. My voice felt cold and empty as I spoke. "The black dog... it ran over the little one."

She didn't answer. She carried the whimpering Chihuahua back to a white-haired man who stood with his fists clenched on the back porch. She slid the dog into his arms; he cradled it over his thick forearm like one would an infant. The dog's neck hung over his arm as it began a fresh set of howling screams.

The black dog stood vigil, staring. Its pink tongue hung from its mouth as it growled.

I sobbed all the way home, my dog's tail between his legs.

This Evening

I bought flowers and a giftbasket after deciding that writing, "Sorry your dog died because of me" on an unsigned card and leaving it in their mailbox would be kind of cowardly. The woman answered the door and upon seeing me, broke into a broad, apple cheeked smile. "He's okay! Killer is OKAY!"

I blinked. Of course the damn dog's name is Killer.

"How...why?" I said with a gasp.

She said the dog was seemingly paralyzed so she and her dad took him to the vet to be put down. Then, on the table, just as the vet gets near him, the dog recovers and bites his hand. Basically, he's okay. Bless the saints! All of that.

I squinted. She continued to tell me that the dog checked out completely fine, and they all think he just had his feelings hurt from being trampled, and had thrown some kind of tantrum. You know, just to let everyone know the extent of his emotional pain.

I pursed my lips and pointed at her, "I don't think I like your dog that much right now."

She laughed and snatched the gift basket. "Killer has a girlfriend," she said as she carried the basket to her kitchen, and I followed. "She's another Chihuahua. She's pregnant." Her pale eyes lingered on me, her lips pursed. Cue the expectant pause.

I held up my hands, "Oh no, no, no, I am NOT getting a puppy!"

Her smile was small, content, like the Mona Lisa's. "Well, when you see them, I'm sure you'll love them."

I grimaced, "Are we best friends now?"

Killer appeared. Killer Lazarus, as I shall forever know him. He snarled. His big, bulging, Chihuahua eyes sparkled, and he strutted, and kicked as if prepping for a fight.

I'm glad the dog is okay. Hell, I believe in miracles, and I'm glad for that as well. I just want to know what frigging lesson I'm supposed to learn from this.

Signing out.

Friday, September 3, 2010

New Stories

The Umbrella

Flash Fiction about the irrational importance we can sometimes put upon things when dealing with uncontrollable events in our lives.

Ghost Ocean Magazine is a fledgling publication specializing in poetry and flash fiction. Very classy feel to it. Give em a try! :D

The Scapegoat

Micro-fiction. A young girl is abandoned by her mother and left to cope with ever escalating abuse from her brother and father.

Up the Staircase is a sophisticated literary magazine which features regular themed writing challenges and sharp stories that stick with you after you've read em.