Thursday, May 28, 2015
Wrongful Termination
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Dust Off Those Cobwebs!!
Alright, I'm making a commitment right here, right now. I'm going to post SOMETHING every week. On Tuesdays. Tuesdays are good, right?
Be prepared for the upcoming poems, musings, stories, and random other things that spurt out from my fingertips onto the screen.
Tomorrow begins the first Tuesday of writing. Hopefully I'll come up with something grand, with the help of my new Christmas present: Rory's Story Cubes!
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Feeling Important
And now I must add a word of caution to those students who are googling essay topics in search for cite-able sources. I am (mostly likely) not a cite-able source. These were essays written for classes, just like the essay you are writing. When your teacher goes and checks your bibliography and realizes that you copied some very flawed essay off of a creative writing blog, you'll look pretty silly.
So with that in mind. Feel free to read my essays, get some inspiration, and look into my sources provided on the Work Cited section of some of my essays.
Happy essay writing!!
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Investigators—Snippet
Elle was busy putting out the new Christmas decorations at the bookstore where she worked when she heard someone coming up behind her.
"Let me empty my arms," she said without turning, "and I'll help you in a second."
The customer said nothing, so she continued putting the decorations around the tree. But after several moments when it became apparent that the customer was still; behind her, she turned.
"What can I help you--" She gasped as she recognized that this was not a customer. It was her ex- husband Vincent. He grabbed her hard.
"Who else is here?"
"Vince, you're hurting me!"
"I said, Are you the only one here!?!" He got right up in her face. His hot breath reeked of onions and ketchup.
Unable to speak any longer, Elle just nodded her head. Then she swallowed hard and said weakly, "I'm the only one who comes in on Sunday mornings, we're alone."
"Good." He said, and he dragged her to the back room where the lockers were.
"I want your cell. Which locker is yours?"
She pointed.
"Open it and give me everything inside." He ordered.
She fumbled with the combination and he got impatient.
"You're doing that on purpose! Open it right now or I'll open it with your face!"
She pulled down on the lock and it unlatched. She pulled the locker open slowly.
He shoved her out of the way, and began greedily looking through her belongings. He pocketed a few things: her box knife, her wallet, the unopened present from her boss. And then he tossed everything else on the ground as he dug in the back to reach her purse. He reached inside, grabbed the rest of her money, and then his hands found her cell phone. He hurled it across the room, at the wall opposite the door and it shattered against the cement wall.
With his hand still grasping her arm tightly, he bent and started throwing things back in the locker. He let her go and commanded that she pick up the pieces of the phone and put them in the locker as well. There was no way she could escape, because she'd have to walk past him to leave the room.
She gathered her once smart, but now dead, phone and carried them over to Vincent. She let them roll out of her hands and into the locker. Then Vincent slammed it and replace the lock.
"Now you're going to write your boss a note that you had to step out for a minute so he doesn't worry."
"I can't leave. Who will watch the store?"
"Who gives a--" She censored his bad language in her head as Vincent dragged her to the checkout counter.
He began rummaging through the drawers, much less aggressively than he had looked through Elle's locker, careful not to disturb the contents inside. He finally found what he was looking for and shoved a yellow legal pad and a blue pen in Elle's hand, finally releasing his death grasp on her.
"What do you want me to write?"
"That you left, something believable. That you won't come back later."
"How can I make it believable and still leave the store? I would never abandon the store. IF I ever had to leave I would find someone to come in and watch the store while I was gone."
He grabbed her once more, this time grinding his nails into her shoulder.
"Write!"
Craig walked up the sidewalk towards the bookstore where he was to meet Elle after her shift. He walked in and the bell above the door clanged a cheerful greeting.
"Merry Christmas to you to," he said to the bell, feeling on cloud nine. Totally and uncontrollably in love. But he couldn't tell her that. No, but any second now her face would peek around the corner and brighten his day even more. Young couldn't remember ever being happier in his life.
Instead of being greeted by a beatifically Elle, he found himself face to face with a very distraught May.
"Oh Craig! Elle left, I think there must be something wrong. She left a note for me, but it's . . . well here, read it."
He picked up the note and read:
Boss,
I had an emergency I had to attend to, Mrs. Young. I'll lock the door behind me so the store will be safe. I hope you don't fire me over this. Merry Christmas, Elle. PS. Young, MY phone is dead sorry you don't call me.
"Why did she call me Mrs. Young? She's worked here for four years and has always just called me May.
And my last name is Andrews." Elle's boss looked understandably confused.
"My last name is Young. This note must be for me," Craig said, tapping the note against the table.
"But it's addressed 'boss' and she asks me not to fire her."
Craig sighed.
"Maybe it's for both of us then. But I think you're right. I think she must be in trouble."
He put his finger on the word "my", which she had written, albeit subtly, in caps. Craig already knew that
Elle's phone was broken, she had told him so last night. She had also told him that she would be using her mother's phone. That must be why she had emphasized that word "my".
Without a second glance at May, Craig bolted out of the shop and onto the street.
Around him all the plants looked dead. The trees that lined the road had lost their leaves for the winter and looked cold and bare. There was no snow on the ground or in the air, as one might expect on Christmas Eve.
The only snow lay in piles, black and dirty in the curbs.
The scene reflected perfectly the disorder Craig felt inside. He pulled out his cell phone to call Elle and see if she was allright. And if she was to ask her about the cryptic note she had left. But before he hit the send key, he was prompted to look once again at the message in his hand.
He looked over the note again. Something else was bugging him. "My phone is dead . . . sorry you can't call me." But that's not what it said. It said, "you don't call me." Was it a typo or a message hidden in a message?
Sorry you don't call me.
You don't call me.
Don't call me.
Craig dropped his cell phone as the thought startled him. He picked it up from the muddy ground, feeling foolish as a few last minute shoppers gawked at him. He wiped in on his pants and then shoved it in his pocket
Elle found herself in a dark room that smelled of mold and bleach. She wasn't tied to a chair, or anything, but her hands and feet were both bound with duct tape.
She tried to use her hands to reach the phone in her bra. She'd been lectured a hundred times not to put it there, that it made her look bad when he chest vibrated and lit up at fancy restraunts. But since it embarrassed everyone but her, she continued the practice. Now it had come in handy. Maybe even could save her life. She had a spare phone in her bra and her captors had no foresight to check.
The only thing she could see going wrong was that her mother always had her phone ringer on as loud as it would go and if it went off now she'd be punished severely. That's why she had to get to it before anyone tried to call her.
She hoped that Craig wouldn't try to call when he realized she wasn't at the bookshop any more. She hoped he was smart enough to get the message "don't call me" but then again, men never picked up on hints. For being a detective, Young was especially bad at picking up her hints it seemed to Elle.
After straining and twisting her hands and arms for what felt like forever, Elle was able to reach the phone just as it began ringing. She hurried and hung up, but it was too late, she could her chairs being pulled back from a table on the wood floor above.
Not wanting the phone on her body when they came down the stairs, she removed the battery and slid both across the floor to a dark corner of the room.
"Amelia," Vincent said in a singsong voice as he came into the room, letting in only enough light to silhouette his ugly figure. "We thought we heard a noise. Was that you?"
"Yes." She lied. "I was calling you to bring me a drink of water."
"It didn't sound like you. But it did sound like someone calling."
"I don't know what you mean." Elle stammered, her voice rising in pitch.
"I could have sworn I heard the beginning notes of the Monk theme song."
At this Elle began to laugh. As dire as her situation was, she couldn't imagine Vincent watching one episode of Monk, let alone recognizing the theme song from a ringtone from another room. It made him seem so . . . human. After they had been married for a few months Elle always thought of Vincent as more beast than human being. And Monk was such an endearing show for such a horrible man to watch.
"What do you think you're laughing at?" He swore.
"You think I was watching Monk down here? You think I have an iPad hidden in my bra?"
"Well it wouldn't hurt to check." He made a move to grab at her, but before he could she hit him over the head with her bound hands.
"You will not touch me!" She screamed. And then she hit him again.
"You're not getting no water!" And with that he was back up the stairs and the room went dark again. It
seemed even darker than before.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Investigators—Chapter 5
This work is copyright Amanda Mayne November 2011.
Craig's slumber was cut short when Aaron called him at 9am.
"It's too early!" He half-yelled into the receiver of his cell-phone.
"I thought you've been up like 4 hours already?"
"I stayed up all night. I've only been in bed four hours."
"Oh, well I just wanted you to know that the Penshaws left a message on the machine at work. Oh and I'm sitting here without you and I'm bored!!"
"The one day you show up to work on time and I'm not there to see it. Give me two hours and I'll come over."
"Ok . . . if you're sure."
"What did the Penshaw's want?"
"They just wanted to see if you've found any leads. Should I call them back and tell them we found the girl and the kidnapper and that we're going to turn them in?"
"No!" Craig shouted, then he straightened, "I mean, not yet. I'm not sure if I quite trust the Penshaws."
"They had their little girl taken away from them, I can't imagine what that would feel like."
"I can."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Craig."
"I just have a feeling about them. I just want to make sure that we're getting the whole story before we show them all our cards. Need I remind you they haven't paid us yet. If they paid us I'd feel guilty about with-holding this kind of information. I'll call them, I'll tell them we have a lead, but that's it. I won't tell them that I know what Amelia is going by now or that we've even been to their house."
"Ok, I think you're overreacting, but you're the boss."
They disconnected the call and Craig rolled back over to continue his rest. But he couldn't fall back to sleep.
The Investigators—Chapter 4
This work is copyright Amanda Mayne November 2011.
Dressed in official looking suits and ties, the two detectives showed up at the home of Elle and Charles Bennett.
"I didn't realize that Elle was married," Aaron commented as they wiated on the porch.
"She's not, unless she's in her 60s. But judging by that picture I'd say she's remarkable younger than that. This house has been owned by one Charles Bennett and his wife for at least 35 years."
Just then the door clicked open and a gray- haired lady greeted them.
"Oh my! Charles, come quick! Look it's some of them Mormons!"
Before they could say or do anything, the elderly woman closed the door in their faces. The two detectives exchanged a curious glance.
"Well, that went well," Aaron stated after an awkward moment or two standing on this woman's porch, "Now what genius?" He added, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Detective Young just shrugged and they turned to leave to go regroup and come up with a new plan. They were sure they'd have to go back to square one when the door opened again.
"Come on in, Elders!"
"We're not--" Aaron started, but Detective Young elbowed him in the side.
"Just go with it," He muttered under his breath to his less-experienced partner.
Shed led them through an entryway and into the living room. It was small but tidy and well decorated. The men took seats on the large tan leather couch and waited as Elle, sr. gathered her family.
Charles came in first. His hair had more color than his wife's, but he had a considerably smaller amount of it. The top of his head shined in the artificial lighting in the room.
He had an annoyed glare on his face and he stared down the "missionaries" with obvious disdain. Young didn't know much about Mormons, but he didn't think they'd done anything to earn this man's obvious hatred. Or maybe Charles just hated Young and Ackerley in particular. He continued to glower at them as he sank into his over-sized recliner.
Elle, sr. came back in the room with a plate of cookies.
"Growing boys need their cookies," she told them when they tried to refuse the offer. Then they each took a cookie to be polite. The motherly woman seemed satisfied with this and placed the platter on the glass- top cofee table.
Finally, the two people central to the case entered the room, hand- in- hand, both looking very much like their respective photographs.
"I'm Elle," The Elderly woman began, "and this is my husband Charles. These two beautiful ladies are my daughter and granddaughter, Elle and Julie. If you get us Elles mixed up you can just call me Janice. That's my middle name, and I've been going by it almost exclusively since my daughter moved in." She grinned at them and sat on the loveseat across from Aaron and Craig. She patted the seat beside her and Elle sat down and placed her daughter on her lap.
Janice turned to Julie, "We're going to listen to these nice men as they tell us about Jesus."
Julie didn't say anything, but stared at the men with an interest that most children didn't display when religion was brought into conversation.
"I'm--" Craig struggled to find the right word. Janice had used it earlier. It started with an "E." Oh that was it, "I'm Elder Young and this is my . . . um"
"Companion," Aaron supplied.
"Yes," Craig started again, "I'm Elder Young and this is Elder Aaron. I mean Ackerley. Elder Ackerley."
"Young, now that's a good solid Mormon name, isn't it. You're first name Brighton? Wasn't that his name? Brighton Young, founder of the Mormons?"
I thought the founder of the Mormons was Mormon? Craig wondered to himself. And what kind of name was Brighton?
Then things got silent. Everyone in the room was staring at Young, "Oh, right. We were talking about Jesus, huh? Um. who knows who Jesus was?"
Immediately Craig regretted asking the question. It sounded really stupid. Who hadn't heard of Jesus? But no one complained and after only a few moments Janice chipped in.
"Jesus was a great teacher. Some people say he was a Savior."
Young waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't appease him.
"Ok, good. Um, we," again he was lost. What religion did she think they were? The one with missionaries, right? They were just BARELY talking about this. Brighton Young. What was it?! Jehovah's Witnesses? No! "Um, we believe Jesus was a great teacher too. Elder Ackerley, tell the um," he looked at the family portrait above the piano for help. It said in big letters BENNETT. "Ackerley, tell the Bennett's about Jesus' teachings."
The look Aaron gave Craig said that we was going to tear his head off when they got back to the car, but when he turned back to face the family he was Mr. Cordiality.
"Julie," He said addressing the little girl with dark hair, "Do you know something that Jesus taught?"
Oh great, Young thought, I pass the buck to Ackerley and he passes it to the youngest person in the room. But to the surprise of everyone, Julie replied, "Jesus said to not be mean to people even if they're naughty and don't get presents from Santa."
"That's very good Julie," Ackerley cooed. Then he gave Craig another expectant look. The look said, I don't want to talk about this anymore, you're the one that was eager to pretend to be missionaries, you take over.
Criag nodded half to Aaron and half to himself and then took over. "Jesus said love everyone. Didn't he? He said we should be kind?"
There was general nodding going around.
"Who's Mormon?" The little girl asked.
Mormon! That was it! They were pretending to be Mormons. Well, pretending sounded so . . . they were undercover as Mormon missionaries.
"Mormon was a very important man in our Church. I mean without Mormon, we wouldn't be Mormons. If you know what I mean. Mormon's like the head honcho. Mormon is or was um a great teacher too."
Craig hated that his speech was riddled with "ums." Hadn't he always been the one to scold those that talked like that? "Find your words before you speak!" He would lecture. And now here we was "um um um."
"We also believe in Heaven," Ackerley said to change the subject.
"No, I," was he really about to blow their cover over that. Get in the game, Craig, he scolded himself, "I mean, of course we do. I thought he said we believe in 'Heather' and I was, like, what?"
Crap, now he was using "like" as an interjection. What was it about this investigation that was making his grammar leave him? He sounded like a teenaged girl. Or maybe it was the subject matter. Talking religion was never one of Craig's strong points. In hindsight, maybe "just going with it" was a really bad idea. He'd been thinking that Elle would be able to "confess her sins" more easily to a couple of missionaries who promised of a God who loved them, than to confess to detectives who were trying to prove she was guilty of kidnapping her daughter, potentially taking her away from the family and landing Elle in a jail cell.
"Aren't you boys a little old to be out proselyting?"
And now Janice was using words that Craig wasn't sure what they meant! Could this day get worse? Luckily, Aaron had this one.
"Most guys start proselyting when they're younger, but we kind of slacked off, and were just born again recently. That's why we're older."
"Born again?" Elle asked, with a hint of suspicion in her voice.
"Like, we found our faith . . . Again." And there he was using the "like" again.
The first thing Craig did when he got home from the Bennett house was turn on his laptop. While it was booting up he took of the tie that had started to feel like a noose very early in the visit. Next the shoes were kicked under the bed, and then the jacket was placed on the back of his computer chair. If they kept this guise up, there was no way Craig was wearing that suit jacket again. Even in cold October, it was way too hot.
Finally he heard the boot up jingle that said his computer was ready for him to begin his midless browsing of the world wide web. Only tonight he wouldn't be catching up on 90s tv shows or endlessy clicking stumble to see what stick-figure comics would appear. No tonight he was going to find out more about the Mormons.
He opened a browser, then his favorite search engine. He lightly tapped his fingers agains the keys, trying to decide what to look up. Then he shrugged and typed in: Brighton Young. It seemed like a good starting point, if Brighton really was the founder of the faith.
After finding a whole lot of nothing useful and a whole lot of United Kingdom maps he rephrased his search. Mormon Brighton Young. Did you mean Brigham Young? Craig wasn't sure what he meant. But he clicked in the affirmative.
He found himself skimming an encyclopedia entry. Words like polygammy, American Moses, and Utah stood out to him. He also found that the website called Mormonism the LDS Church. He followed the footnotes to mormon.org.
He scanned the tabs before deciding to begin with the one labled "Our Faith." It seemed like a good place to start. If he was going to pretend to be a Mormon preacher he would have to know at least something about the faith. From there he found links that said things like "The Restoration", "God's Plan for Happiness", and "Joseph Smith." He did not see a link for any Youngs, Brightons, Brighams, or otherwise. He clicked on the "Joseph Smith" link.
There he rad about a time and place of "theological turmoil." A phrase that struck a cord somewhere inside Craig. He could say that he himself was in a state of theological turmoil. He had always wanted to believe in God, but he wasn't sure if he ever really had. And now he wasn't sure that he could. How could a loving God take his family away from him? They'd done nothing wrong. Don't Christians believe that you reap what you sow? Karma? You put good energy out and get good energy in return? Why then had his wife and daughter been taken so long before it was their time. They were both so young. Too young to die.
He looked back at the website. At the painted blue eyes of the man some called a prophet. He was no longer doing research. He now needed some answers. He clicked on a link labled "God's Plan of Happiness." And wondered as the page loaded, doe God care for our happiness as human beings? Does he care for MY happiness personally? Does he know that I even exist? If I don't believe in Him does he still believe in me?
The page loaded, and it looked pretty boring. He scrolled down, not really reading. There were pictures and videos and big quotes from the bible. Did Mormons read the bible? He wasn't sure.
He spent all night on mormon.org. He learned that Mormon's do in fact read the bible as well as the Book of Mormon and maybe even more books. He found out that they preferred to be called Latter-day Saints. That they believed in being with your family forever.
Somewhere along the way he bagan taking notes. PArtially for himself, and partially so he and Ackerley could be more convincing as they contiued their investigation.
Before he fell asleep--at the time he usually woke up--Craig put in an order for three copies of the book of mormon. One fore him, one for Ackerley, and one fore the Bennett family. He couldn't believe they were giving them away for free. And he hoped they'd arrive before their next "lesson." He wondered if he should get a bible as well, since he now knew that Latter-day Saints also read that, but he figured he could find used bibles anywhere. In fact, he was pretty sure that they put a used bookstore where the music store used to be a couple years back.
He was also surprised to find that they had all the LDS scriptures available online for free. The book of mormon, the bible and a couple of books called the doctrine and covenants, and the pearl of great price. He'd check those out later, for now he was going to sleep.