Skip to main content

"..."

The humming from the microphone echoed and Kristen's shaky legs threatened to give out on her. How was it possible that she could spell twenty-letter diseases and speed through the lexicon of French cuisine yet flub a simple "i before e except after c"? Sweat had already begun to bead up on her forehead when the grating buzzer sounded to signal her failure.

"I'm sorry; that's incorrect." The facilitator stated simply. "You may return to your seat."

Eyes focused on her feet, Kristen made her way back to her folding chair. Part of her was shocked by the cold of the grey metal seat, but it was buried so far beneath her disappointment that she her body didn't react to the stimulus. How upset her would parents be to rece-ive a loser from the bus stop that afternoon!

She struggled to raise her eyes to the imminent spelling champion as he approached the microphone. As he began to spell the word that was to become her terrible legacy at Shady Elm Middle School, he turned a glimmering eye to her and gave a simple wink. "Receipt. R-E-C-I-E-P-T."

The boy turned away from the microphone and began to walk back to Kristen before the buzzer had even sounded. Kristen could barely breathe -- he had thrown the game! She didn't know whether to be elated with her renewed chance to win or angered by his actions. What could have been going through his head to motivate this young boy's self-sabotage?

When Gary returned he selected the chair directly behind her own and managed a few words before Kristen was invited to stand once again: "You're welcome."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ostrich

Too afraid to stand and fight; Too much pride to fly away. Cowardice: immobilize Egos lacking skill to play! Games of conflict can’t be played By those afraid to deal a hand. Flightless birds avoid their call Ostriching heads in the sand.  Thanks, Trifecta for the prompt, which requested an animal name be used as a verb. I figured I might as well ignore the dictionary and make my own...flightless birds have always intrigued me, anyhow.

on the surface

on the surface of the moon my feet are as light as my cares tonight but my world's just as empty and the space just as dark and the moon dust obscures the best stars in the sky so I look deep inside and I search for deeper meaning but I've been running on bingo fuel since long before we landed. the craters are only deep enough to cradle my head as I lie down to cry or fall down to die -- time will answer that riddle

Revolution 179

when nature holds her breath the skins upon the mast fall flaccid, their tapestries' richness untold - words withheld to punish her unshared whispers. Nothing given, nothing shared. homicidal waves shore simple rafts unprepared to leave an ordered existence, unprepared to float away as driftwood. how can one hold onto herself without trunks beside to bestow meaning? Mutability of form veils similitude of locomotion. you left your oars in a boathouse on the mainland; mine were lost along the way along with my rebellious spirit. scarlet flames fizzled as they fell overboard, fiery fingers never fated to reach the Red blaze. My revolution became intangible at 179 degrees. i smuggled a glowing ember onto an imagined isle. i cannot bring myself to extinguish its life. it promises a future laden with violence and heartache, whose progression i should halt with vigor but must i discard the scraps of memory? Cookie-cutter philosophy leaves the territory outsi...