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"The Deep End" (the seventy-second ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Deep End" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EDT), Aug 15, 2007 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| The Deep End By Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org (Entry #3) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| She smiled as the new guy held the
taxi door open. "Come in for coffee," she said. It would be more than coffee. She had been hurt in the past but then who hadn't and that was no reason to sit life out at the side of the pool. Even if he was a little on the old side, his Mediterranean good looks more than compensated. There was a confidence about him and old-fashioned values she found attractive. Here was a man who held doors open, who insisted on taking a taxi if he had two drinks with dinner, who paid the bill discretely with cash instead of loudly flashing the plastic. And he would be quite a trophy to show off to her pool-party pals, all girls together and all wealthy and divorced. It was a fine evening and they had coffee beside the pool. A gentle breeze carried in the sounds and smells of summer. "There's a story about this pool," she said. "The kid next door turned into a wild teenager. The parents weren't always there. He started having his friends round and it was all cans of beer, loud music and showing off to the girls. And then there was a silly game. Sometimes I would have some girls I know round for a pool-party. Still do. They're coming tomorrow. You can drop in if you like. Anyway back to the story. This day the party was in full swing when these kids came crashing through the hedge between the properties. It's over there beside the deep end. And they just threw themselves into the pool." "Doesn't sound too bad," he said. "Just kids you know." "Well there was a lot of shouting and bad language but the thing is they took all their clothes off first. You could say it was just kids having fun but it was an invasion of privacy and we did get a fright." "So did you think of putting in a fence or what?" "Something happened. The next week the pool was drained but we went ahead with the pool-party anyway. We had some drinks and so on. And then the kids came charging through the bushes again and jumped into the pool. It was quite a drop. I didn’t really set out to trap them but I knew it could happen and I did nothing to stop them. At first we had a good laugh and said it served them right and they wouldn’t come back again next time. But one of the lads, it was the kid from next door, had a bad landing. It was his head, brain damage. The family moved away. Just as well for I was in over my depth myself without knowing it. You see it turned out the boy's father had connections with organized crime. Would you believe it?" "Oh yes and he asked me to give you a message." They found her next day floating face down in the pool. |
| The Deep End By michael pelc michaelpelc@yahoo.com (Entry #5) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| For a week now the e-mail with the
familiar sender name has been sitting in my in-box, beckoning me with its
bold-faced, unread persistence. Could it really be from him? Against my will
and my better judgment, I yield to the temptation and open it. hi - just wondering how you've been. Dave Omigod, it is! It’s Dave. What has it been … twenty? … thirty years? Let me think … twenty-three years! Twenty-three empty years, I might add. Full of nothing but yellowed love-letter memories and nearly-forgotten dreams. Now, all of a sudden, he sends me an e-mail from who-knows-where, and he wants to know how I've been? What does the man think he’s doing here … picking up the thread of our conversation after coming back from the kitchen with a beer? I have a mind to tell Art about this … to forward the e-mail on to him and let him deal with Dave. And he would do it, too. He'd turn it right back at him, saying something like, "Hey, listen pal, that's my wife you're sending e-mails to." Yeah, Art could do that … definitely, he could. But I bet he wouldn't. He's too damn secure … that's what's wrong with Art. The bastard! He probably wouldn't do anything … except maybe laugh a little ... at me. No, wait … I have a better idea. Why don't I just forward it on to everybody in my address book? Boy, that would frost his balls, wouldn't it? Of course, no one knows who he is … this Dave character of the seemingly innocuous e-mail that only asks how I've been. Which means they would ask a lot of questions. As they would have a right to ask … I guess. Okay, so maybe I'm not quite ready to deal with that … with everyone … not just yet, anyway. After all, it could be kind of embarrassing. On the other hand, suppose I did forward it on anyway - to everyone. What would I say to … oh, I don't know … little Jenny's third grade teacher, for example? What would I say to her? "Oh, Miss Brookings, you know, I just thought you would get the biggest kick out of this silly old e-mail I got the other day. I know what a stickler you are when it comes to punctuation, and I thought maybe you could use this in a lesson plan with your class. You know, as an example or something. Why, did you read that sentence at all? It doesn't even start with a capital letter! And the man is college educated!" Okay, so maybe that won't work so well after all, will it? I mean, what would be the point of it all anyway? What would I do … write Dave back and chew him out for using bad grammar? Oh yeah, that would get him back good, wouldn't it? I'm sorry, but the man has made me feel like enough of a fool for one lifetime, thankyouverymuch. I would rather not give him too many more opportunities before I die. Okay, so that's out ... forwarding it on to everyone is out ... definitely out ... definitely. But … what if ... what if I just sent it on to SOME people? ... some very select people ... Hmmm ... yes, now that may have possibilities. Of course I would have to pick the right people … not just anyone, you understand ... yeah, I might could like that idea. Let's see ... I could send it on to ... to ... gotta be careful here ... this could be critical ... could be critical, you know ... I could send it on to ... Alice. Yes, dear sister Alice ... no, no, make that dearest sister Alice ... matron of honor at my wedding ... godmother to my child ... and, lest we forget - the woman who introduced me to Dave in the first place! Oh, what a perfect choice! Yes, oh yes, what a perfectly perfect choice! Alice would be so perfect ... except, sometimes she scares me ... now that she's getting older ... especially since Jimmy died. Now she sees death everywhere ... hers ... mine ... Art's ... hell, she's probably seen Dave's death, too. Okay, so her husband died suddenly ... and that was tragic, very tragic - I'll grant you that - but get over it, girl! ... get on with your life already ... you're draggin' the rest of us down some sort of blue moon highway here, okay. Still, if I took that chance ... if I sent her Dave's e-mail ... what would she say? ... I mean, after she got past the death part ... obviously, we know she would find a death part in it somewhere -- she finds death parts everywhere. Hell, she might even say something like ... and she would say it very melodramatically ... "Dave's ... dying." And she would drag it out like that, too: "Dave's ... dy ... ing." Like it was some sort of pontifical pronouncement. And it wouldn't be just a gut feeling ... no ... that wouldn't be good enough, not for Alice ... no, Alice would find a way to back it up with some of that ... that woo-woo stuff she's always talking about. You know, like how his coming back into my life means that he's aligning his yin and his yang and closing the corners of his blue triangle, or whatever it is one does when one's in touch with their spiritual center and the cosmos becomes one with the ... the ... oh, hell, I don't know ... the garbage disposal, or whatever. Besides that - besides the death thing and the blue triangle and the cosmos and all that - there is, of course, one other slight little problem when it comes to Alice ... she knows about the cross. Now let me make it clear ... very clear. If I knew ... before I did it, of course ... if I knew just how much of an idiot I would feel like after I did it ... well, then I never would have done it in the first place. Only trouble is, I did do it. Oh, why can't lovesick sophomore girls just be allowed to make stupid mistakes? It seems so dumb now it's hard to believe it ever seemed like a good idea ... though I guess it must have ... at one time ... else I never would have done it - honest. Okay, world, is this what you want? All right then, I confess. Mea culpa, mea culpa ... and bless me, Father, for I have sinned ... I was the one who set up that little white cross over on Willow Avenue ... you know, the kind you see by the side of the highway where there's been an accident and someone has died ... well, at the time, my whole world had just died, okay? That's why I did it ... and I did it there because that's where we were parked when Dave told me good-bye. See, I told you it was stupid. And I guess I don't have to tell you how stupid it would be if I sent that e-mail on to Alice, do I? Though I am running out of options here, you know. No Art ... no Miss Brookings ... no Alice ... no options at all ... nobody ... nobody, that is, except maybe ... dare I say it? .... hell, dare I even think it? ... Dave. You know, I have to admit that sometimes ... especially late at night when Art's snoring beside me and I can't fall asleep ... sometimes I've caught myself thinking about Dave. No, of course Art doesn't know ... I don't care how secure he might be, you don't tell a man you're lying in bed with that you're thinking about someone else. It's just that I've always wanted to know about him ... Dave ... to know things about him ... just things, that's all ... you know, things like: Did he ever marry? Did it work out? Did they have any kids? Did the two of them do the Appalachian trail thing for their honeymoon the way Dave and I said we were gonna? And ... just one more question, Dave, if you don't mind … if you don't mind too much ... have you ever ... during all these years ... have you ever thought of me … I mean, ever? Well, I guess this is my chance then, isn't it? My chance to find out all the answers to all my questions ... and all I have to do is hit the REPLY button ... it's right here in front of me on the screen ... just slide the cursor on up there ... just like I've done a thousand times before ... I know exactly where it is ... it's right there ... right there next to the button that says ... DELETE. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #5 Second place: #3 Third place: #2 Fourth place: #4 & #8 (tie) Sixth place: #1 Others receiving votes: #7 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Deep End Toni Giarnese jtgiarnese@sbcglobal.net |
#1 of 8 |
| 752 words | |
| The couple stands on the altar. It is 1939, their
wedding day. They smile at each other, a circle of two. My parents fashioned an enduring love that grew stronger, tighter through the lean times. Amidst the chaos of the Depression and war, they forged a sturdy bond. They lived in upstate New York, eager newlyweds far from family in a foreign land. Like trapeze artists, they trusted in each other, performing their routines day after day, letting go, holding tight. They stitched their lives into one. While my father excavated quarries and moved mountains, my mother stayed back at the boarding house and learned to knit. As Dad experimented with explosives and single-engine planes, Mrs. Searing instructed Mom in the domestic arts for most of the day. She painstakingly recorded how to make War Cake with sugar, lard and raisins, how to can beets in cider vinegar and water and how to keep the fat at just the right temperature for frying the Salvation Army Doughnuts. In perfect Palmer script, the teacher fresh from Normal school penned the recipes in her spiral notebook and read them aloud in the evening to the adventurous construction worker that had stolen her heart. The marriage veil yellowed with age and the bridal sheets wore smooth before I was born. My parents welcomed me, like an overnight guest. A tangent line, I touched the curve of their love, it was all of it theirs. But they created a family scene easily mistaken for the perfect world inside a paperweight. We sat together at the round table for dinner. I was cautious like a swimmer underwater in the dark, casting about for a mother’s kiss, in search of a father’s hand. Their talk and laughter reached me, but not the hands that stroked a knee or thigh under the tablecloth where the hem had pulled loose. At the sink, Mom washed, Dad dried, he flicked the towel, and she doused him with suds. I stood in the dining room and placed the knives and forks in their narrow compartments. My parents existed inside a thorny hedge on the edge of open land. There was no place to slip through, no one to follow. Old in love, they were at home with each other. They often retreated to the garden, ritual visits to admire the textures and tints of butter-varnished vegetables. Quiet talk in green afternoon voices, they shared a sweet repose. “Dear, did you notice the unusual leaves on the tallest tomato plant? The symmetry is quite interesting but there are nodules on the underside of them that appear to be potentially harmful. Quite unlike anything I’ve seen.” “Is that so? Do you remember that portrait of Mendel in his garden? It so reminds me of you.” I did not understand their conversations but yearned for the simple language of parent to child. They were mysterious to me, strict minded and pure. Theirs was a graceful dance of small moments, a waltz for two. I hovered in the background, pale like a grey plate. “Mom, the carnival is coming today to the Caldor Plaza. All my friends are going. Can we go?” “I’m sorry, dear, your father and I have plans. Besides, you know that those things are such messy affairs, not to mention dangerous. Why don’t you just have a friend bring you a souvenir instead?” I savored the fragile offering like a bright spaces between the words in a sentence. I accepted the tainted gift and forgot not to be happy. I did not swim on summer days at the lake or ride ponies at the harvest fair. There was no soft wallpaper or plush carpet, only polished stone and cold tiles. I lived amidst serene indifference, and it seared a hole in my heart. Like the young walrus that navigates below the ice, when in need of air comes up and hurls its full weight against the solid ceiling, I kept trying to break through. It’s quiet today at the church. The sky is the color of grief. A scent of wintergreen rides on a gust of sharp spring air. The wind keens through the green-tipped Douglas firs that fringe the churchyard. Sorrow trudges down the narrow aisle and in the pews around me, bodies shift and touch. My tears run freely as salt. There is an ache between my shoulder blades, here. It hurts. A wash of brilliant light stipples the two drab olive caskets on the altar. In the beginning I loved them. Later I judged them. But now I understand. |
|
| The Deep End Nancy J njswritingnook@yahoo.com |
#2 of 8 |
| 1346 words | |
| Some vacation this turned out to be. Sam couldn’t
believe her husband got that upset just because she wouldn’t go fishing
with him. It wasn’t the fishing, she hated going out on the water. She
couldn’t swim and just knew she‘d fall in and drown. He knew she was
afraid, yet he kept asking. While she didn’t like it when they argued, she
couldn‘t get around her fear. He loved fishing, that’s why she agreed to this cabin on the lake. She was content to be outdoors and could spend the day soaking up the sun or just wandering around looking at all the plants, smelling the rich pines and watching the birds and all the little lively critters scampering around. Looking out the window, she could see the long peer with the bench at the end. She didn’t mind quite so much sitting out there in the evening, but she wasn’t completely comfortable either. There was a drop off at the end of the peer and the water was deep. Yet she sat out there because Mike wanted to. Wasn’t that enough of a sacrifice? Sighing, she turned from the window. She would have to find something to sooth his hurt ego. He kept reminding her he would take care of her. Although she trusted him, it didn’t help; she was still afraid of the water. This last day of vacation she had relented and went out with him in the boat. It was awful, sheer torture. So totally nerve racking. She gripped the boat with both hands and couldn’t relax no matter how much he coaxed. He even used the oars instead of the motor so she wouldn’t be afraid. She thought it would be okay, but then he shifted his weight and the boat rocked. She almost lost her breakfast. “Take me back, please Michael, take me back.” “For heaven’s sake, we’re only a few yards from the peer. You’re not giving it a chance. The water can’t hurt you while you’re in the boat.” “I know that. But what if I fall in?” Real panic was setting in. “I’m not going to let you fall in. And even if you did, I’d jump in after you. Plus you‘re wearing a life jacket!” “I can’t do this, Mike, I can’t. Take me back. I wanna go back now.” Michael gave her a look that would sizzle bacon. “You’re being totally foolish, Sam. I’m getting tired of your phobia. You’re ruining the whole vacation. I‘m almost tempted to throw you in to prove it can‘t hurt you,” he shouted. “Don’t you dare! Don’t even kid about it. I swear I’ll divorce you if you try something like that.” Her knuckles were completely white and her face was scarlet. He only glared at her, but he did turn the boat around. She scrambled out and ran up to the cabin; he went back out fishing. She shook off the memory and took a quick look out the window again. His boat was heading back to shore so she had to think of something. There had to be some way to make amends. “I’ll make him a nice lunch, apologize and then he can go back out to get in the last of the fishing,” she said nodding her head for emphasis. “But what‘ll I fix? There isn’t much left in the line of eats.” She nudged Indy, their Black Lab, out of the way with the toe of her shoe. Bending at the waist, she peered into the tiny fridge, then went down on one knee to move things around. She found some lettuce, a couple tomatoes and half a package of bacon. “Ah ha! BLT’s, he loves BLT’s.” She pulled the stuff out and set it on the counter. Indy looked up expectantly. “Nope, not for you. It’s to sooth daddy’s temper. Funny how I end up with two water fanatics. Oh well, you both love bacon so I’m safe.” She was starting to feel better already. Breaking off several leaves of the lettuce, she rinsed them under the faucet and placed them on a paper towel. Next she sliced the tomatoes and put them on a plate. Grabbing the ancient iron fry pan she separated the bacon strips and turned on the stove. It wasn’t long before the aroma of sizzling bacon filled the room. She set everything on the table, added a jar of applesauce and a bag of chips to complete the meal. All that was left was the toast and the Mayo. She checked the window to see if he was coming and saw the boat was at the dock and he was trudging up the slope. Dropping the bread in she pressed the lever and it sank into the bowls of the toaster. She got the Mayo out of the fridge and couldn’t believe it was almost gone. It shouldn’t have surprised her because he slathered it on his sandwiches so thick she called them his “Cardiac Arrest Sandwiches.” She started searching for a knife and all she could find was a steak knife with its pointy little tip. She tried to scoop out some of the Mayo but it was the wrong kind of knife. The toaster popped up and there she stood, Mayo jar in one hand and a stupid, useless steak knife in the other. She dropped the knife in the sink and grabbed a teaspoon. It was too short to reach the bottom. He has to have Mayo on a BLT! She struggled with the spoon for a moment and then heard the clump of his boots as he climbed the wooden porch steps. She frantically whirled around to face the door, putting her hands behind her. The door opened and Mike came in, tackle box in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. As he was setting the pole down he said, “Honey, I’m really sorr…….” He stared at his wife standing in the kitchenette with tears running down her face. He dropped the tackle box in a chair and crossed the small space between them and grabbed her, pulling her close. “Honey, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying? Are you alright? Indy gave a short bark but Mike shushed him. He held her out at arm‘s length and gave a gentle shake. “Sam, what’s wrong? Talk to me!” “I’m really sorry I’m so afraid of water and I can’t tell you why because I don’t really know myself except that I am but I wanted you to have a good time on vacation and I went and spoiled the whole thing by being such a sissy and I wanted to be brave but I wasn’t and then you got mad and then I got mad and everything went kaflooie and then I ran up here and you went back out and I wanted to do something to make it up to you and so I thought I’d make you a nice lunch and everything was going along pretty good but when I went to get the Mayo there wasn’t much left because you use so much on your sandwiches but a BLT isn’t the same without Mayo so I thought I’d have to get it out but the steak knife has this pointy little end and I couldn’t find another knife and I had to get the Mayo out of the DEEP END of the jar and I couldn’t so I got a teaspoon but it was too short and then I heard you coming and I pushed the spoon in and --- and” she quit talking and pulled her hands out from behind her. There hanging on her right hand was the Mayo jar. Mike just looked at her, then her hand, then back at her and burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself, it was so darn funny. “Honey, I love you and I’m sorry we had that tiff and I don’t care if you don’t go fishing. And - and I really like BLT’s even without Mayo.” |
|
| The Deep End Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org |
#3 of 8 Winner |
| 490 words | |
| She smiled as the new guy held the taxi door open.
"Come in for coffee," she said. It would be more than coffee. She had been hurt in the past but then who hadn't and that was no reason to sit life out at the side of the pool. Even if he was a little on the old side, his Mediterranean good looks more than compensated. There was a confidence about him and old-fashioned values she found attractive. Here was a man who held doors open, who insisted on taking a taxi if he had two drinks with dinner, who paid the bill discretely with cash instead of loudly flashing the plastic. And he would be quite a trophy to show off to her pool-party pals, all girls together and all wealthy and divorced. It was a fine evening and they had coffee beside the pool. A gentle breeze carried in the sounds and smells of summer. "There's a story about this pool," she said. "The kid next door turned into a wild teenager. The parents weren't always there. He started having his friends round and it was all cans of beer, loud music and showing off to the girls. And then there was a silly game. Sometimes I would have some girls I know round for a pool-party. Still do. They're coming tomorrow. You can drop in if you like. Anyway back to the story. This day the party was in full swing when these kids came crashing through the hedge between the properties. It's over there beside the deep end. And they just threw themselves into the pool." "Doesn't sound too bad," he said. "Just kids you know." "Well there was a lot of shouting and bad language but the thing is they took all their clothes off first. You could say it was just kids having fun but it was an invasion of privacy and we did get a fright." "So did you think of putting in a fence or what?" "Something happened. The next week the pool was drained but we went ahead with the pool-party anyway. We had some drinks and so on. And then the kids came charging through the bushes again and jumped into the pool. It was quite a drop. I didn’t really set out to trap them but I knew it could happen and I did nothing to stop them. At first we had a good laugh and said it served them right and they wouldn’t come back again next time. But one of the lads, it was the kid from next door, had a bad landing. It was his head, brain damage. The family moved away. Just as well for I was in over my depth myself without knowing it. You see it turned out the boy's father had connections with organized crime. Would you believe it?" "Oh yes and he asked me to give you a message." They found her next day floating face down in the pool. |
|
| The Deep End Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com |
#4 of 8 |
| 1342 words | |
| The yellow moon resembled an old pie plate dipped in
pancake batter. Its dull glow dwarfed the tiny stars' shafts of light, casting
a muted glow over the earth's evening. The moon was unchanging but the sky and clouds were limned with a different aspect, for two people in particular. Lily Langford watched the moon from from a bench in St. James Park, and Bill Fields saw the same moon from a bench in Central Park. They both were sighing until the imminent day when Lily would board a ship for New York. Letters had crossed the Atlantic, half of them scented, and a yearning had arisen; a yearning of love that can only happen when one's best side is put forth, and unknown inner depths revealed to someone you unfortunately are not allowed to see in person. Time would tell if this passion would be realized when once again they met. William, better known as Bill, lived in a two room walkup, where climbing up the stairs and traversing the hallway, one could smell the garlic and hear the drone of crackling radios. His evenings and Sunday afternoons were spent on the vaudeville stage, juggling various objects. Several quips peppered his dextrous tosses and pratfalls, and the applause he received was enough to keep him steadily employed. Many was the time he wanted to pack his portmanteau and sail for London, but he never got the nerve to decamp from his comforts. Lily was once the darling of the British Music Halls, but her songs, attire, voice, and face were showing signs of age. Being less and less in demand, and last year quietly having to relocate to more modest lodgings, she thought she might succeed on Broadway. Perhaps to new audiences, she could be ballyhooed as the star she had once been. Then, of course, there was Bill. ----///---- Two men waited by the outer railing as the large ocean liner, nudged by grimy tugboats, wallowed up to its ramp. Bill walked up and down the dock, scanning the hundreds of passengers, adjusting his tie and slicking back his hair with nervous hands. His friend, a second rate Irish comic named Donal Finnerty, moved his gaze languidly between the ship and his tiger-pacing-in-a-cage comrade. "How will ye be knowing which of the lasses she is? 'Tis been a long time." "I shall never forget that vision of loveliness, it's forever etched in my heart. Besides, I have her photograph." "Well if that don't be working, she'll recognize ye by that nose and fancy getup." "If you do not desist from distracting me, I'll shall push your nose in for you." "Don't ye be trying it. Your nose is much bigger than mine. Why if I..." "Cease, you putrid potato eater. Here she comes now, starting down the gangplank," he pointed with a grand gesture. "My luminous Lily." Miss Langford was a peach all right. Bill greeted her as she set foot on the pier with an amiable smile, an exaggerated bow, and a kiss of her hand. He introduced Mr. Finnerty and then shooed him off, getting a wink in return. The couple proceeded to a nice quiet hotel that Fields had chosen for her. The following weeks were spent in a whirlwind sampling of the best of New York - the best that Bill knew. Dinners on rooftop gardens with strolling musicians, boat rides amid the greenery of Central Park, trolley excursions to the gaiety of Coney Island, watching kids play stickball from the stoop of his humble apartment and, of course, the theater. She had watched Bill perform his vaudeville juggling act several times but recently began to beg off, claiming a headache. Bill Fields was quite entranced by Lily Langford and the feeling seemed to be mutual. He was solicitous in his attentions and quite falling in love. They strolled, arms interlocked, through the cool evenings, nodding at the more important personages, absorbing the nightlife and neon, the music and merriment, the excitement and magic that was New York. Lily had been introduced by Bill to some of the better theatrical agents. Owing to her West End reputation in England and voice that still trilled like a nightingale, she was offered bookings at some choice venues. Soon she was spending her evenings performing in swanky places that dripped of red velvet, painted china, and the best champagne. Lily was also being courted by the richest swells, young men in impeccable dress and a saucy insousiance barely concealing their hidden desires. Inevitably, this scene ensued : "Bill, you know I care for you and appreciate all you have done for me." "Indubitably, my pulchritudinous princess. I have wanted only the best for you." "But don't you see, Bill? I've moved on. We are travelling in different circles now. I shan't be able to spend as much time with you anymore." "I quite understand, my dear, or should I say Miss Langford," he intoned frostily. "In other words, you are shunting me off." "Oh, it's not like that Bill. You must understand I have my career to think of." "Very well. I know when I'm neither needed nor wanted." And with that he strode out followed by her plaintive bleat of "I'll call you." But of course she never did. ----///---- Donal Finnerty dropped into Hanrahan's Pub one day and struck up a conversation with Angus, the bartender and proprietor. "Top o' the evening to ye. Say, you haven't seen Bill Fields around lately, have ye?" "He's over there at that table, been in almost every day. I bring him a whiskey every half hour or so. Got fired from his job and pining after some lassie." "Ye don't say?" " 'Tis true. Aye, like many a man I've seen who takes to the drink shortly after a woman leaves him. He's really gone off the deep end." Donal wandered over to Bill's table and greeted him with a hearty clap on the back, causing him to sputter out most of a mouthful of good Irish whiskey. "Bill Fields, as I live and breathe. I haven't seen ye around in a while. Ye be forgetting your old friends?" Bill looked up at him with blurred eyes. "Have a seat, my garrulous gentleman. My humblest apologies for not lifting a glass with you of late." "Aw, I don't take it personal." "Of course not, my good friend. A toast to us, to the past and the future." They drank. After a long pause, Bill continued. "I conjecture that you've been apprised about Miss Langford and myself?" "Sure, and I'm right sorry. She's a fine lass." "What am I to do with myself? This dandified city makes me nauseous now." "Ye know, Bill, the best thing I liked about your act was the jokes you tossed out, and the slapstick. You're as good as that Harold Lloyd or Ben Blue or even Chaplin. Maybe ye should be going to Hollywood and get into those moving pictures." I light dawned in Bill's bloodshot eyes, followed by a firming of his resolve. "Once in a while, Finnerty, that cracked cranium cogitates an excellent idea." "Ye be shaming me modesty. I can see it now, the next big star - Bill Fields!" "Well I cannot be known by that old name now. Unfortunately, someone would indubitably recognize it. I think in my new endeavors I shall go just by my initials. Far more sophisticated, don't you agree?" "W. C. Fields?" |
|
| The Deep End michael pelc michaelpelc@yahoo.com |
#5 of 8 Runner-up |
| 1430 words | |
| For a week now the e-mail with the familiar sender name
has been sitting in my in-box, beckoning me with its bold-faced, unread
persistence. Could it really be from him? Against my will and my better
judgment, I yield to the temptation and open it. hi - just wondering how you've been. Dave Omigod, it is! It’s Dave. What has it been … twenty? … thirty years? Let me think … twenty-three years! Twenty-three empty years, I might add. Full of nothing but yellowed love-letter memories and nearly-forgotten dreams. Now, all of a sudden, he sends me an e-mail from who-knows-where, and he wants to know how I've been? What does the man think he’s doing here … picking up the thread of our conversation after coming back from the kitchen with a beer? I have a mind to tell Art about this … to forward the e-mail on to him and let him deal with Dave. And he would do it, too. He'd turn it right back at him, saying something like, "Hey, listen pal, that's my wife you're sending e-mails to." Yeah, Art could do that … definitely, he could. But I bet he wouldn't. He's too damn secure … that's what's wrong with Art. The bastard! He probably wouldn't do anything … except maybe laugh a little ... at me. No, wait … I have a better idea. Why don't I just forward it on to everybody in my address book? Boy, that would frost his balls, wouldn't it? Of course, no one knows who he is … this Dave character of the seemingly innocuous e-mail that only asks how I've been. Which means they would ask a lot of questions. As they would have a right to ask … I guess. Okay, so maybe I'm not quite ready to deal with that … with everyone … not just yet, anyway. After all, it could be kind of embarrassing. On the other hand, suppose I did forward it on anyway - to everyone. What would I say to … oh, I don't know … little Jenny's third grade teacher, for example? What would I say to her? "Oh, Miss Brookings, you know, I just thought you would get the biggest kick out of this silly old e-mail I got the other day. I know what a stickler you are when it comes to punctuation, and I thought maybe you could use this in a lesson plan with your class. You know, as an example or something. Why, did you read that sentence at all? It doesn't even start with a capital letter! And the man is college educated!" Okay, so maybe that won't work so well after all, will it? I mean, what would be the point of it all anyway? What would I do … write Dave back and chew him out for using bad grammar? Oh yeah, that would get him back good, wouldn't it? I'm sorry, but the man has made me feel like enough of a fool for one lifetime, thankyouverymuch. I would rather not give him too many more opportunities before I die. Okay, so that's out ... forwarding it on to everyone is out ... definitely out ... definitely. But … what if ... what if I just sent it on to SOME people? ... some very select people ... Hmmm ... yes, now that may have possibilities. Of course I would have to pick the right people … not just anyone, you understand ... yeah, I might could like that idea. Let's see ... I could send it on to ... to ... gotta be careful here ... this could be critical ... could be critical, you know ... I could send it on to ... Alice. Yes, dear sister Alice ... no, no, make that dearest sister Alice ... matron of honor at my wedding ... godmother to my child ... and, lest we forget - the woman who introduced me to Dave in the first place! Oh, what a perfect choice! Yes, oh yes, what a perfectly perfect choice! Alice would be so perfect ... except, sometimes she scares me ... now that she's getting older ... especially since Jimmy died. Now she sees death everywhere ... hers ... mine ... Art's ... hell, she's probably seen Dave's death, too. Okay, so her husband died suddenly ... and that was tragic, very tragic - I'll grant you that - but get over it, girl! ... get on with your life already ... you're draggin' the rest of us down some sort of blue moon highway here, okay. Still, if I took that chance ... if I sent her Dave's e-mail ... what would she say? ... I mean, after she got past the death part ... obviously, we know she would find a death part in it somewhere -- she finds death parts everywhere. Hell, she might even say something like ... and she would say it very melodramatically ... "Dave's ... dying." And she would drag it out like that, too: "Dave's ... dy ... ing." Like it was some sort of pontifical pronouncement. And it wouldn't be just a gut feeling ... no ... that wouldn't be good enough, not for Alice ... no, Alice would find a way to back it up with some of that ... that woo-woo stuff she's always talking about. You know, like how his coming back into my life means that he's aligning his yin and his yang and closing the corners of his blue triangle, or whatever it is one does when one's in touch with their spiritual center and the cosmos becomes one with the ... the ... oh, hell, I don't know ... the garbage disposal, or whatever. Besides that - besides the death thing and the blue triangle and the cosmos and all that - there is, of course, one other slight little problem when it comes to Alice ... she knows about the cross. Now let me make it clear ... very clear. If I knew ... before I did it, of course ... if I knew just how much of an idiot I would feel like after I did it ... well, then I never would have done it in the first place. Only trouble is, I did do it. Oh, why can't lovesick sophomore girls just be allowed to make stupid mistakes? It seems so dumb now it's hard to believe it ever seemed like a good idea ... though I guess it must have ... at one time ... else I never would have done it - honest. Okay, world, is this what you want? All right then, I confess. Mea culpa, mea culpa ... and bless me, Father, for I have sinned ... I was the one who set up that little white cross over on Willow Avenue ... you know, the kind you see by the side of the highway where there's been an accident and someone has died ... well, at the time, my whole world had just died, okay? That's why I did it ... and I did it there because that's where we were parked when Dave told me good-bye. See, I told you it was stupid. And I guess I don't have to tell you how stupid it would be if I sent that e-mail on to Alice, do I? Though I am running out of options here, you know. No Art ... no Miss Brookings ... no Alice ... no options at all ... nobody ... nobody, that is, except maybe ... dare I say it? .... hell, dare I even think it? ... Dave. You know, I have to admit that sometimes ... especially late at night when Art's snoring beside me and I can't fall asleep ... sometimes I've caught myself thinking about Dave. No, of course Art doesn't know ... I don't care how secure he might be, you don't tell a man you're lying in bed with that you're thinking about someone else. It's just that I've always wanted to know about him ... Dave ... to know things about him ... just things, that's all ... you know, things like: Did he ever marry? Did it work out? Did they have any kids? Did the two of them do the Appalachian trail thing for their honeymoon the way Dave and I said we were gonna? And ... just one more question, Dave, if you don't mind … if you don't mind too much ... have you ever ... during all these years ... have you ever thought of me … I mean, ever? Well, I guess this is my chance then, isn't it? My chance to find out all the answers to all my questions ... and all I have to do is hit the REPLY button ... it's right here in front of me on the screen ... just slide the cursor on up there ... just like I've done a thousand times before ... I know exactly where it is ... it's right there ... right there next to the button that says ... DELETE. |
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| The Deep End RUBY ASTARI author81@gmail.com |
#6 of 8 |
| 184 words | |
| It was written like a drama, the plots inside your personal fairy tale full of serious issues and trauma. I'm wondering if your journey has failed and sad-endings have left more permanent scars. You've revealed several pages to me all from your true, storybook life, while the rest remain a mystery. No matter how I strive to search, they're just not for my eyes to see. So here what I've only known so far about a lonely boy inside a man with an unhappy childhood and a broken heart a jilted lover, betrayed by friends, leaving scars that may never mend. I've tried my best to reach out for you. I thought it was enough. I even offered a love so true, hoping to chase away your blues and getting you through anything rough. But the distance's always set us apart. Misunderstandings have even made this hard. Although you forgave me like you said you had and I've accepted your apology too in the end, I knew things would never be the same again. So, where are you now? Here I am, losing a friend, wishing I could still see you again one day have another chance to catch your fall before you'd hit the deepest end... -the end- (To: My lost "Teddy Bear" somewhere...) |
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| The Deep End glenlee10@sky.com |
#7 of 8 |
| 348 words | |
| Bored, he sought a more attractive faith, with modern wisdom, something pertinent to lifestyles that reflected a new age; a deity to shape, make relevant, to common sense and rationality. He set aside established mores and dogma, soon finding intellectual treasure troves, not recognising they were always dressed in the Emperor’s latest set of brand new clothes. To a man adrift, the new ways made good sense. He followed jaded crowds down paths of nonsense, made minor gods of those who sought relief from the lonely void of empty, slothful lives, in superstitions, cults or alien beliefs, to places lacking any definition, where each game’s shrined in strangely twisted thought – sometimes benign but often murderous. And charismatic leaders, beckoning, he followed, blinkered, always over zealous to ideas that led away from simple truths. He fell prey to fraud and exploitation, and to allied industries of cynicism. Unable to distinguish truth from lies, finally he favoured scientism – believing science had all of the answers. Changing modes in rational precepts led him further from the age-old truth to unchecked arrogance in which God played no part. HE remained aloof, and watched the childish antics of HIS world. Each guru led him down the tracks of error but delving further, after all, he found that man was at the hub of all his searching; bedevilled, lost, disturbed, but not profound; having no questions, let alone the answers. Deriding God, he yet found no replacement, for nothing man-made filled the vacuum. And feeling more confused than ever – the claims were all too sour to consume – he decided atheism was the way. And now he’s questing back and forth and round, like a rodent in a maze, experimental. There’s no way out it seems, and no way back for each route leads to walls unclimbable, made of sweating bricks that ooze despair. Corruption pools, in corners, rank and noisome, the scum of shapeless evils undefined, charged with chaos, sifted through a nightmare; the result of self and vanity combined, destroying men who turn their face from God. He slides on leaching saturations, cursing, and stumbles from one dead end to the next, for God, tired of foolish intellectuals, declines to offer proof that HE exists knowing that the truth awaits at death… …and in that deep end, will he sink or swim? |
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| The Deep End undermichealswing@yahoo.co.uk |
#8 of 8 |
| 908 words | |
| “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” Derek
sat in the confessional his hands shaking. “My wife and I were married for ten years. Ten years of love, joy and trust. This last statement is a bit of a fabrication. The truth is that we were not happy but … I am afraid that the only way I can descried what we had is to tell you our story. The first year together we tried to fill our lives with the ideals of love, joy and trust but to no avail. Somewhere between falling in love and exchanging our vows we had changed as people. We did however perfect the art of acting. We portrayed the ideal romantic couple in public. We smiled, flirted and kissed. Our friends and family laughed. “You two behave like love struck teenagers,” they said.” “When guests were gone and eyes turned away we put away our masks and exposed the truth. We shared a house but not a home. We shared a bed but stopped warming it with our passion. We had both acknowledged that our love was gone drowned in a pool of unspoken words and unexpressed feelings. Our love was like a pool. The first few steps in sent shivers through our bodies as the excitement set in. Then we ventured further and were able to hold each other’s hands yet stay grounded. Then somehow things went wrong and we found ourselves grasping for breath as we struggled at the deep end. Why did we not just let go a swim away? Maybe it was pride; we could not admit our marriage failed because that meant we as individuals failed. May be it was fear, we grew so familiar with our misery that to think of anything but, was scary. There is also a very small chance that somewhere at the very bottom of this pool we struggled in, we saw a glint of hope and happiness.” The priest was very quiet throughout my story, which Derek appreciated. He just wanted someone to listen to him. “I am an honest man, Father. Okay I am not very religious but I am honest. Our marriage failed because I took her for granted. I never really told her I loved her and though I touched her, I treated her like a dog. She was my second choice in life but we do not always get what we want. Stupid woman told me she was pregnant. I had to do the right thing in God’s eyes and marry her. But where is my child Father, where is my baby boy? The bitch killed him with her lies. I never forgave her for how much she stole from me. She stole my happiness my future and my son. Yes, I was angry Father, but still, that was no reason for her to stray.” Derek rubbed his hands repeatedly on his jeans. “Her infidelity was more than I could bear Father and I had to save her before she sinned any more. I begged her to repent before the Lord but she just fought. Now she has swum away, no doubt she has gone to her lover never to return. In those last few moments before she left all she did was fight. I cried and pleaded for her to just listen and stop fighting but she would not. I can still feel her head push against my hand as she tried to come out of the water. I needed to cleanse her, to wash away her betrayal but she just fought. I could not fight anymore. I left her there when she too realised fighting was not helping. I walked away sure that she left to go and be with her lover the moment I left her.” “I learnt something Father, in life we are sometimes thrown into the deep end and we can either swim or give up and drowned. I decided to swim. I passed through all the tricky stuff and now I just have to float in bliss.” “Father are you listening to me?” Derek stepped out of the Confessional, opened the priests little cubicle and removed his knife which he early embedded into Father Andrew’s throat. “Lost for words Father? I can’t say I blame you I think any man would be dumbstruck to find they have been discovered by his mistress’s husband. She thought I was stupid, said she was coming to church, but I knew better. You horny Bastard. Well Father, I tried to cleanse your whore but I think her soul is still pretty fucked. As soon as she wakes up from her nap in the pool I will tell her you waiting for her and that I don’t mind, you can get together I don’t mind anymore really. See Father, God has set me free, I am free from the world, and out of the deep end I am free.” Derek crossed himself at the alter and stepped towards the door, the blood on his knife dripped carelessly behind him. He got home and found his wife floating head down in the pool. “I am sorry my love. You won’t be alone I am coming to bring you back.” Knife still in his hands he jumped into the pool, swam to the deep end, kissed his dead wife lips, and then slit his wrist. “I think this is it love, we’ve reached the end.” |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club