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"Tiffany And The Giant" (the seventy-seventh ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Tiffany And The Giant" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), Jan 15, 2008 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Tiffany And The Giant By Michael Pelc michaelpelc@yahoo.com (Entry #6) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| Once upon a time, which is how these
kinds of stories always start out (though the opening is more typical of the
pleasant variety of the genre), little Tiffany Marzipan and her mother were
sitting at the kitchen table. Mrs. Marzipan was feeding her daughter breakfast,
and since Tiffany was just about to turn six years old, her mother asked her
what she wanted for her birthday. "I want a giant," said little Tiffany. "A giant? Ho-ho, that's a good one, dear. Do you have any idea how much a giant costs these days? Why, even the used ones are prohibitively expensive. Here. Have this instead." Mrs. Marzipan reached under her apron and produced a book which she set down on the table in front of the little girl. "It's a Jon Gnagy Learn To Juggle instruction book, just like the one The Great Gnagy himself advertises on his TV show." "But Momma," said Tiffany in a tiny little voice that was every bit as sad and forlorn as the night time lament of a solitary whippoorwill, "I can not learn to juggle. For you see, I have no arms." What the girl said was true. She had no arms. Just pink little stumps at the ends of her shoulders. "Then you shall have nothing at all for your birthday," said Mrs. Marzipan, and she picked up the book and placed it back in its hiding place underneath her apron. Some time later (a year to be exact), when Tiffany was about to turn seven, her mother once again asked her what she wanted for her birthday. "I want a giant," said little Tiffany, just like she'd told her mother before. "Oh child, do you have any idea how much it costs to clothe, house and feed a giant these days? Why, it's simply out of the question. Here, have this bicycle instead," said Mrs. Marzipan. She opened the back door and wheeled a shiny red bicycle in from the porch. "But Momma," said little Tiffany in a voice every bit as sad as the whimpering of a day-old puppy who can not find its mother, "I can not ride a bicycle. For you see, I have no legs." Once again, what the girl said was true. She had no legs. Just the tiniest of little stumps at the end of her torso. "Then you shall have nothing at all for your birthday," said Mrs. Marzipan, and she wheeled the bicycle back onto the porch where it had been before. Another year later, when Tiffany was just about to turn eight, as she had done the previous two years, Mrs. Marzipan asked her daughter what she wanted for her birthday. "I want a giant," said little Tiffany. "Well, that's certainly a new one," said Mrs. Marzipan. "Tell me, child, why is it that you want a giant for your birthday?" "So that, when I grow up and get married, I'll have someone to dance the Chicken Dance with at my wedding reception." "Oh, child, don't you know that no man is ever going to marry you? So there's not much point in getting you a giant, now is there? Here, have this instead," said Mrs. Marzipan. She opened up a cupboard, pulled out a brightly wrapped box all frillied up fancy with bows and ribbons, and set it on the kitchen table in front of Tiffany. "It's one of them new-fangled paint-by-numbers kits. You know, the kind that are all the rage with the wives at the country club." "But Momma," said little Tiffany in a voice every bit as sad as the heartfelt barking of a baby seal who has become lost in a storm at sea, "I can not paint – either with numbers or without – because, you see, I have no eyes." What the girl said was true. She had no eyes. Just empty sockets that gathered lint and dust, especially during the winter months when the air inside the house was dry and the windows were kept shut all the time. "Then you shall have nothing at all for your birthday," said Mrs. Marzipan, and she put the unopened paint-by-numbers kit back in the cupboard. So it went, birthday after birthday, year after year, decade after decade. Until the day Mrs. Marzipan died. Without a mother to care for her any more, Tiffany was placed in a state run nursing facility. It is said, by the staff who got to know her there, that Tiffany would often look back on those yearly breakfast chats with her mother with great fondness and affection. She considered them to be the happiest days of her life. It was, you see, the only time anyone had ever asked her what she wanted for her birthday. |
| Tiffany And The Giant By Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com (Entry #8) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| In a gaudy, cluttered retro store,
there aimlessly strolled a young girl by the name of Tiffany Krepplebaum,
looking for a funky clothing bargain or two. Tiffany of the pouffed blond hair,
perfectly cute features, and a body that turned men's heads, even dogs and the
occasional pigeon. Near the end of the back aisle was a bin full of cheesy
junk. Poking out from the jumbled discards of bad taste, was a large
exquisitely painted vase that caught her eye. There was someone who would like
it, her grandmother, and it was gran's birthday today. Five dollars wash fished out of her pink plastic purse, shaped like a heart, and out she went. It was only about a mile or so, to grandmothers house we go. In the light, Tiff noticed it was a bit dusty and smeared so she stopped at a park bench, dug an Orange Julius napkin from her bag, and proceeded to rub at the dust and smudges. Wheeeewhooosh - and from the ornate vase a large cloud appeared that materialized into a huge man clad in silk clothing, presided over by a luxuriant beard, and topped by a funny little hat. "O M'God! Like, who in the hell are you?" "I am a genie," he boomed in a voice reminiscent of James Earl Jones, "and I've come to grant your wishes." "Like, cool. 'Cept there this like, girl in my class named Jeanie and she's always like, talking about me behind my back. You're bigger than like, the x-mas tree they had at the mall. I think I'll just call you The Giant. T. G." "Begging your pardon, Miss I would prefer ..." "Oh don't get your panties in a bunch. T.G. is awesome. Everyone has a nickname; J-Lo, Shaq, Brit. Ooh, besides, T.G. could also stand for like, The Genie." "As you wish," he sighed, "and speaking of wishes, you may have one and a half." "I thought it was supposed to be like, three wishes?" "Government cutbacks." "Oh, well." She stood up, brushing off her short denim skirt and checking her butt for stains and also reassuring herself it still looked smokin'. "I'm headed over to my gran's house. Are you sure people won't like, notice you, T. G.?" "No one can see me but you." She flounced off down the path, hips aswagger, her 36D's leading the way, straining under a James Dean t-shirt. When those bad boys bounced, it looked like Dean was smoking the cigarette though no one but the genie was looking at that. "This is like, so amazing," she chirped, building up enthusiasm. " I want to just soar like the beagle." "Be careful not to use the word 'wish' until you're ready, and enunciate. One unfortunate gentleman ended up as a 12 inch pianist." "What's a half wish?" "Well, like your last one. You could soar but not like ( he cringed at having used the word 'like' twice ) a beagle, maybe a freegle." "What's a free gull?" "A mythical bird from the land of ... oh, forget it. Suppose you wanted a tall handsome boyfriend. Well he would either be tall or handsome, but not both." "Let's see, a tall doofus, or a hottie that comes up to my boobs. That's like, a tough one." "It doesn't have to be that one," he said growing exasperated. "We'll find another. That was merely an example." "Oh, it's a like, hypochondriacal question." "Yes, Miss." "How about fame and fortune? That's a very popular one. If you get fame, you might get a fortune, and if you get the fortune, you may or not get fame, unless you want to act like Paris Hilton, but at least you'll have the fortune." "You got it dude." She stopped a moment on the crest of a little rise, took a deep breath closed her eyes and said : "I wish for flame and four tunes." Ooh, this could turn out badly, the genie thought. "Alright, now on to the biggie. And don't think about being popular in school or having a new car. Think big." "I'm already popular in school, thank you, though I could use a new car," she mused. Now a very audible sigh escaped T. G.'s lips, ruffling his whiskers. "Think bigger, Miss." "How about world peace?" "I can see you've been in beauty contests." "Miss Westside Chamber Of Commerce and Miss Elmer's Pork Rinds." "Very commendable, I'm sure. We've unfortunately never been able to get world peace past the filtering system." "You mean Phil has like, a system that keeps him from ringing me? No wonder he hasn't called." "No, Miss. It simply means ... never mind that. You could ask for an end to the war and have those billions put into health care." "As if. Don't I look healthy enough?" she said sticking out her already noticable chest and twirling around." "Hmm, I think I have another idea." He thought for a while. "Well, what is it? This is like Chinese waiter torture." "You could wish for that 400 billion to be spent on schools and education." "What for? I like, graduate next year." I wish, thought the giant genie, that all teenagers would have the word 'like' erased from their vocabularies. "Better schools would mean more and better teachers, extracurricular activities reinstated, renovated facilities, money for college ( as if you'll ever go there ) , tutors to help you out, less homelessness, better jobs for the future for everyone." What am I doing, he thought. A beauty shop is more likely. We're going to conjure up billions so this bimbo can be a lap dancer? "It will help you in so many ways and millions of others too." "You got it, big guy. Let's, like, go for it." Once again Tiffany took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said : "I wish for 400 billion dollars for ..." she shot a look over to T. G. "Schools and education," he whispered, crossing his fingers that she didn't screw this one up. " ... Schools and education." Whew! "I must go now, Miss. It has been a distinct pleasure meeting you." "Ciao, Mr. Giant Genie." With another whoosh, he vaporised back into the vase. Knock, knock, knock. "Grandma. Are you home?" "Well hello, Tiffany. Land sakes. Do you go out in public dressed like that?" "Everyone wears stuff like this, Gran. Here, I brought you a lovely vase." "That's so thoughtful of you, a perfect thing for my flowers." "Sorry I can't stay and chat but I have to meet some friends at the mall. I'll stop by later when I have more time." "That's quite alright, dear. You go have fun with your little friends." Quite an unusual vase, Grandma Krepplebaum thought. Dirty though. I'll have to wipe if off good. That Tiffany. I wish that all those kids were like when I was a girl; dressed decently, did their homework, and had good manners. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #7 Second place: #2 Third place (tie): #3, #6 Others receiving votes: #1, #5, #8 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Tiffany And The Giant Haller, Roger RH8638@att.com |
#1 of 8 |
| 2491 words | |
| They were close to the mountains now; the mountain
blocked the west leaning sun. The screaming started again. The band of nude
humans dove for cover under the root ball of a fallen tree. Shiv groaned as he
clapped a hand over a bleeding knee. He took a hit from his dive onto a jagged
rock. While lifting his hand to assess the damage, the group watched as a
two-inch gash dripped blood in stringy drops from the back of his leg. The screamers were on them. Diving raptors ripped the bark off the log above them and screamed madly at the root ball they couldn’t shake. They dove in a system of well-timed dive bombings with bowling ball sized rocks aimed to flush the prey. The Purple Screamers pounded the log in endless waves when, without warning the permanent sneer of a monstrous green beak lay at their feet. Behind it, a glassy eye turned dull. An arrow the circumference of Shiv’s forearm quivered from the iridescent feathers. A massive force lifted the tree and flung it effortlessly. Two King Kong hands swept down and corralled them before they could bolt, then lifted two captives high in the air in each hand. They were held with just enough pressure to ensure their capture, leaving them enough room to breathe. Above them, several raptors screamed high in the thermal winds against the cliffs of the mountain range. The hapless captives were packed for several strides and dumped unceremoniously back on the shore of the river. In front of them stood a striking blonde Amazon of a woman, fresh faced and radiant. She took in their undignified plight with her arms folded and a slight smile trying to spread across her face. She wore a waist down shiny purple kilt, but wore nothing on top. “Greetings Earthlings,” she chuckled, “I’m Tiffany, and this is my giant.” She waved a stately hand at the forty foot Sasquatch standing with a crooked grin behind them. Frenchy was the only one who could speak. “Mon dieu!” Instinctively, he covered his bare genitals with his hands. Although the rest had become accustom to each other’s nudity, they followed suite. One eyebrow went up on Tiffany the Amazon and she asked, “Do any of you speak English?” Black Mac stood. “Yes, we all do… Did I hear you claim ownership of this tower of fur?” She broke out in a belly laugh now. “No one owns a giant. For that matter, no one owns anything on this world. He is mine in the sense that he is my friend. She turned to the giant and made several hand gestures. Shiv recognized the American Sign Language he had used most of his young life, when he still had a deaf sister. The creature gestured back. Shiv broke the silence. “She just introduced us as friends and he just answered that we are sure pink. Except for one, he grinned. Mac, he called you charred.” Comparing them to cooking food, under the circumstances, didn’t raise much humor. Tiffany eased the strain on everyone’s mind. “Don’t worry, Chuckles prefers purple chicken” She pointed at the bird and signed again. Chuckles retrieved the bird and his bow and quiver. “We just escaped a human farm east of here, and are trying to get as far away as we can to save the meat on our bones”, Mac replied, “These beasts eat human flesh.” This time both her eyebrows rose. “You people were the guests of the tribe that invented the transporter you rode in on.” Chuckle’s tribe prefers bigger game where they don’t have to put out so much energy for one meal. He and his tribe live in the pass ahead, where Purple Screamers are thick.” “I escaped along your path a couple years ago and my giant scooped me from my captors. You see Chuckle’s band and the Tower tribe do not necessarily see eye to eye. “ “I stay as close to the tower as safety allows because we want to break that tower so they can’t fish the human gene pool anymore. Dan and I are trying to figure it out.” Mac’s eyebrows rose now, “Dan? Did anyone else escape?” “Not many have come through, but I know lots have broken out of the cages and live in the thorn bushes back there.” Her arm pointed east, “Three women, Dan, and another man live with me in the Pass Giant’s camp. I know of a couple of men that have moved on to the coast, but I have seen a few other tracks in the river sand, so I expect, or at least hope there are a few more that made it to the shores. According to Chuckles, no giants live at the bitter water flows.” Shiv piped up now, “Coast? Bitter water flows? So there is a coast out there? Is it treed? Is it tropical? “ “Whoa! Hang on, lots of time to answer questions. Do any of you have a mind to get out of this noisy heat and have a spot of tea with me?” Mac looked up at the squealing birds. “That sounds pretty good to me.” Willow followed his gaze. “I second that motion.” Tiffany gestured to the giant. It reverently lifted her to a basket harness on its quiver strap and she rode like a queen on his chest. The Giant scooped them again. With the bow and quiver on his back and the bird hung from a hook on his quiver the giant was loaded. Shiv couldn’t take his mind off Willow’s breasts while squeezed gently against her. He could tell she enjoyed the effect it had on him. The hardened penitentiary inmate was blushing. They rode in the hands of the giant, like a furry circus ride for miles. Cliffs stood high on either side and a few of the miles had been spent watching Chuckles wade in waist deep river water with no flat land between the cliffs. The Purple Screamer floated behind him. Shiv wondered if it was too late to learn how to pray. It only took the Sasquatch twenty minutes to reach a fire in a clearing, well into the pass where he dropped them gently. Nightfall fell and the fire felt good. Chuckles took his leave to go wherever giants go in the dark. Tiffany pointed out a few grass huts, edged into the trees at the edge of the clearing. “We built shelters inside the bush to keep them out of sight of the Screamers and to keep them from under the feet of the giants.” “Where do the giants sleep?” Willow asked. “They can’t be bothered with shelter except in the monsoons. They build rudimentary wood and thatch shelters for that but pull them down and burn them once dry. Their fur is an amazing insulator, very similar to our polar bears.” “Would any of you like robes or kilts? They can hold off the evening chill. Everyone nodded so she beckoned them to follow to one of the huts. There on a stick shelf were several kilts made of sectioned Purple Screamer feathers, shined translucently in the dusk. Under them were full sized robes made of a soft chamois. The men opted for the feathers and Willow asked for a robe. “OK, about my questions…” Shiv piped up while tying his kilt. Tiffany cut him off, “Let me get you all up to speed, then if you need to ask questions, feel free.” “As you know, we all found ourselves plucked from our daily lives and woke up in cages in a rain forest. As you are either aware, or suspect, we are not on Earth. I’m not sure where this is, but we are definitely lighter here and the days go faster than we remember. I would think that would make this rock a bit smaller than Earth. So far so good?” She scanned for nods then continued. “The giants are very intelligent. Don’t let their appearance fool you. They are advanced and have an intricate tribal community. They have science that is at least as advanced as Earth, and in many ways superior. They don’t waste schooling on children; they officially learn all their lives. They have specialists and generalists and when they disagree, they simply agree to disagree and separate into tribes that do agree. They have no boundaries and trade comfortably with each other. As far as the Tower Giants are concerned, they are simply farming a lesser race for food. The pass giants have decided that we are intelligent, are more trouble than we are worth for food, kind of cute and entertaining, so they keep us safe.” She paused. “Any questions? Good.” “This has been going on for a couple centuries in Earth time, it started in North America, but in the last few years, they began to harvest Europe, Africa, and North Asia. They keep expanding with disguised towers on Earth. The Pass Giants have given me a lot of inside information. The Tower Giants have help on Earth. There’s an organization that feels they are cleaning earth of undesirables.” Tiffany noticed the rapt attention she was getting. This was the first time they were getting the full picture. “I am going to stay here and find some way to kill that tower, but I know it’s not a simple job. If they built one, they can and probably have built more.” “How can we help? You have mostly confirmed what we already knew, but we have a lot more detail now. What can we do to bring this system down?” Mac had heard enough. Tiffany replied, “We come from all walks of life. We need to bring together a human band that has the knowledge and insight to work together and break this system. Keep in mind, if we break it, there will be no way back home.” “So far, none of us seem to have much to go back for. What can we do?” asked Willow, “How can this little band of humans make a difference?” “You can collect people. I would advise you to continue down stream about hundred and fifty miles, to the bitter water. That’s what the giants call the Ocean. There is a frothing ledge there, where heated mineral water boils up in a shoal and mixes with the sea. The Giants have no use for the area, the Purple Screamers prefer the mountains, and there don’t seem to be any natural enemies for humans. I think you will find ample food and shelter and I will continue to send escapees your way.” Shiv wasn’t too sure he wanted to put any distance between him and the tall blonde. Not being much for diplomacy, he injected. “You look like you could use a good strong man with balls around here girl. How about I stay and keep you warm at night.” She laughed, “If you didn’t have balls we could talk. I would rather Willow stay to keep me warm.” She winked at Willow who grinned and winked back. Shiv was silent for half a beat, then murmured. “…Got any straight sisters?” Still grinning widely at the quieter Shiv, she shook her head. Mac nodded and looked at the rest of the crew. “You in?” Each nodded in turn. It was easy to see they all felt better about living some distance from the giants and the raptors. “In the morning I’ll show you a trail that leads to the bitter water. You will have to cross the river a couple times and work your way over a couple of falls, but you can get to the ocean. Come meet my clan.” The travelers were introduced to Dan, a cell phone engineer from Atlanta, Randy a Sous Chef from a five star restaurant in New York, Ann a seamstress from Detroit, who was responsible for the robes and kilts, Penny, a secretary from L.A. and Stacey, a farmer from Idaho. After hearing the plan, Randy and Stacey asked to join the expedition west. Shiv thought a cook and farmer would be good additions and everyone agreed. Dan and Ann had bonded and Dan wanted to investigate the tower. He had a seedling of a plan. The next morning found the troop ready for the trail. Tiffany showed up naked the next morning and gave the men robes as well. “Wear these when it’s cool or when you are in the open. The tan color matches the dirt of the trail so you are not quite as visible to the Screamers, but in the hot sun, you can role them down around your belt like this.” She donned one of the robes, around her torso, then rolled it down, and secured it with a vine rope. “I have seen very few insects; the weather is pretty much like Hawaii back home. It’s more normal than not to be overcast near the sea, so unless you are fresh out of a nunnery, nude is often the best way to be.” The group dressed and Tiffany pointed to a simple bow and quiver set for each, and a paperboy type sack made of the chamois. “Weapons and food.” Take a close look at that you have, you will want to look for the same thing until you learn the larder of the coast better. She opened a pack and pulled out a dried mushroom. It was faded blue. “These are regenerative; I recommend you build your diet around them. You find them at night; they radiate a blue glow when fresh.” “Hey, are those what made it glow blue under the berry bushes?” Shiv remembered his night in the thorns. “The very same.” “It’s too bad, but as you drop down to the coast, you lose the huge berry bushes. It is worth the trek back up to visit us though, because it doesn’t take too many of those berries to make a load for your larder. Cut in strips and dried, they make great trail food as well. You will see several dark red strips in your bags that are dried giant berry. Dry the strips near your evening fires.” She dug in the bag again. “This is dried Lump Back meat. They are thick in the marshlands near the coast. Very good eating.” Tiffany was waving a red tinged jerky. She pulled out what may have been a deflated yellow balloon. “This is a Lump Back stomach. It is the best water bag you can find. You have lots of river water for your trek, but as you travel, it will become a necessity.” “Remember to come back and visit.” “There is your trail.” She pointed at the trail paralleling the riverbank, Chuckles and a smaller giant came back into the clearing. They waived as the band headed west. Just like old friends. Shiv looked back for one more look at Tiffany and the Giant. |
|
| Tiffany And The Giant glenlee10@sky.com |
#2 of 8 |
| 2455 words | |
| Tiffany wasn’t bothered by the sharp stench of
fresh urine. And when the stinking tramp finished and wandered out of the
alley, his trousers still open, she merely turned to lay with her face against
the abandoned factory’s flaking, salt-streaked brickwork. Smells enveloped
her like a warm blanket; the sweet, tainted smell of the tramp’s wee only
added to the melange. On her way into the alley at dusk, Tiffany had crunched the bones of a long dead animal. It’s maybe a rat or it’s maybe a cat, she’d thought and giggled because her thoughts rhymed like the words from a child’s book. She’d settled down at the end of the alley and wrapped her torn blanket around her to keep out the chills of the night. She’d dozed until woken by the sound of the stumbling old man, kicking aside debris in the dark and cursing. Warmed no longer by the alcoholic haze of security, she sat up, hugging her knees to her thin chest. She was chilled to the very marrow of her being. To comfort herself she crooned a small, thin song; the keen of a lost child Tiffany’s parents had been teachers and consequently gave their only child a great deal of attention; talking to her, guiding her, teaching her. She hadn’t been spoiled but she’d wanted for little. Then they’d made a mistake; they did it out of love but it altered nothing. Tiffany’s mother was diagnosed with a particularly pernicious form of cancer and was given six months to live. After leaving the hospital, hand in hand, lost to grief, her parents had walked for an hour without talking. And when the numbness began to wear off they decided how best to protect Tiffany. They agreed to tell her that her mother was very ill but not to mention death or dying. Tiffany was twelve years old. What else can we do, they’d cried? They failed to take into account the fact children cannot be protected from the trauma that surrounds them daily. Tiffany was perceptive enough to know that her parents were lying to her. She couldn’t understand why they were lying and was angry that they were shutting her away from something important. In the end, that was what mattered to Tiffany; that and the big lie. Moreover, she was afraid and those people she’d once been able to confide her fears in, weren’t talking to her. She’d lived on the edge of panic for the two months leading up to her thirteenth birthday. When the day dawned, Tiffany, a teenager at last, flew downstairs, missing every other step in her excitement. Still tucking her school blouse into her skirt, she ran into the kitchen and stopped, puzzled. The kitchen was empty; empty of presents, empty even of her parents. And the cat was missing. Tiffany looked at the clock on the cooker. Red on black, it said, 7.30 am. She was only fifteen minutes earlier than usual; the time she’d reasoned she’d need to open her presents and her cards. Only, there were no presents, no cards and no sign of her mother and father. “I don’t believe it. They’ve only overslept!” she muttered angrily. She stomped back upstairs. Her father came out of the bathroom. Tiffany didn’t notice his drawn face or the purple bags beneath his eyes. “Daddy!” she squealed. “It’s…” “Shh”, he interrupted, his finger to his lips. “Your mother’s had a bad night. She’s only just gone to sleep. Don’t wake her, dear.” “But...” “Come downstairs, sweetheart. I’ll get your breakfast.” He brushed by her. “Will toast do?” he asked. Toast was the last thing Tiffany wanted and living up to her brand new title of ‘teenager’ she sulked, ate half a slice of toast and flounced from the house ignoring her father and forgetting to look in on her mother before she went. Had Tiffany not been so upset, she might have come home at her normal time of 4 o’clock, in which case she would have had time to say goodbye to her mother. As it was she caught a bus to town after school and mooched around the shops for an hour or so. At 4.30, while she was rummaging around the latest music CDs, her mother died of a massive heart attack. Tiffany returned home at 7 o’clock. She walked down the street towards her house, passed a group of neighbourhood women talking at a gate. She heard one say, “It’s a tragedy. That’s what it is. And her so young.” She saw a black car outside her house. She saw a coffin being carried from the house. Tiffany ran away. It was the first time she’d ever run away. She didn’t run far. She had nowhere to go and at 11 o’clock she went home. As she slipped her key into the lock the front door swung open and Tiffany was enveloped in her Aunt Judy’s arms. “Oh, Tiffany! Tiffany! Where have you been? We’ve been out of our minds with worry.” Tears streamed down her aunt’s face. Tiffany pushed her away. “I’m hungry,” she said and headed for the kitchen and the refrigerator. “Let me make you something hot,” her aunt offered, rubbing tears from her cheeks. “Where’s Dad?” “He’s out looking for you.” Tiffany’s aunt reached up her cardigan sleeve for a tissue, blew her nose and said, “as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.” “Like what?” Tiffany asked. Her manner appeared casual but inside she was crying. She knew what was wrong; had known as soon as she’d seen the coffin but she had to hear the words. “It’s Mum, isn’t it? She’s dead?” Aunt Judy nodded and burst into tears; slobbering, gulping tears and plenty of snot. Tiffany was disgusted. She slammed the fridge door. “There’s nothing here,” she whined. At that moment, Tiffany’s father entered the kitchen. He paused and looked at the tableau; his sister crying and his daughter dry-eyed. “Have you told her?” he asked his sister. She nodded. “She knows,” she sniffed. “Come with me, Tiffany,” he said and walked from the kitchen, with the weight of the world on his slumped shoulders. Tiffany felt inclined to be disobedient but snatched up a bag of crisps and followed him to the dining room. He turned and held out his arms. For the first time ever, she did not run into them for a hug. She was angry and frightened. And it was all his fault. She stood her ground and stared at him. There were tears in his eyes. They seemed reluctant to fall. “You didn’t have to run away,” he said. “I was worried.” “How did you know I’d run away?” Tiffany opened the bag of crisps and began to munch one. “Mrs.Tolliver told me. She said she’d seen you in the street.” “She always was a nosy cow.” Tiffany crunched on a second crisp. “Mum’s dead isn’t she? Why didn’t you tell me how poorly she was?” Her father’s tears spilled over. He sat on the settee with his head in his hands. “The doctor told us she had at least another four months,” he moaned. “But you didn’t tell me!” Tiffany shouted. He raised his head. “How can you tell a twelve year old girl that her mother is dying?” he said. And that is when he lost her. “I’m not twelve,” Tiffany screamed at him. “I’m thirteen!” He just looked at her and Tiffany could tell that he had no idea it was her birthday today. She ran from the room and even when the door slammed behind her, Tiffany’s father had no idea why his daughter was so angry. Reginald learned though. Tiffany refused to answer his plea when he stood at her bedroom door, knocked and asked her to come out. As soon as his sister left, he wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. While the kettle was boiling he studied the calendar that hung on the pantry door. Today his wife had died. He looked for the date. The twentieth of September. There was a big, red cross by the date and the words, also in red, ‘TIFFANY’S B’DAY!!!” Tiffany’s birthdays came and went. She refused to let Reginald heal the breach between the two of them and whenever anything went wrong at school or at home, she’d run away. The day before her sixteenth birthday, she didn’t come home from school. She spent the night behind the Town Hall, drunk in an alley. Tiffany had discovered cheap cider. A caretaker found her the following morning when he put the rubbish out for collection and the police were called. Tiffany was taken home. Her speech was still too slurred for her to tell the police who she was, but her address was traced from the detail amongst her personal belongings, which she’d somehow not managed to lose. Following the escapade Tiffany locked herself in her bedroom and refused to talk to her father. “You’ll only nag,” she said. “Talk to me, Tiffany. Please, darling. Talk to me.” She would not open her door. There were times when Reginald thought she was coming round but they were few and far between. When she was receptive, he spent time with her and talked, though he did most of the talking. He just hoped she was listening as he told her that she was his princess and that she could do whatever she set her mind to. “You can do what you want; you can be who you want…” he tried. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. If only I apply myself and do my lessons like a good, little girl,” she’d finish sarcastically. “Stop nagging, Dad. I’m bored.” She usually yawned in his face and left the room. Reginald kept trying. It was hard without his wife’s help he had to keep trying, had to save his daughter. Tiffany didn’t want to be saved. She discovered vodka and left cheap cider behind. Reginald saw less and less of her. She was seventeen and never attended school. When he went to work in the morning, she was usually in bed, snoring and sleeping it off. Six months later Tiffany disappeared. Reginald called the police and a search was carried out but as she was almost an adult and they were busy and failed to find any trace of her. So Reginald walked the streets every night. He called on every supermarket, every retail outlet that sold alcohol and every corner where there were reports of drunken youths gathering. For six months he searched the city’s streets, until the night he was almost knocked over by an angry old tramp who’d obviously just been into an alley to urinate. The man’s flies were open. Reginald shuddered. This was the type of person his daughter must be mixing with. Reginald stood still while he brushed the place on his coat against which the tramp had stumbled. As he did so, he heard a sound he knew, a song Tiffany had made up when she was little and was sad. It had no words but she’d sung it when her hamster had died and when her Grandfather had ha to go into care. As far as he knew, she’d not sung it for her mother. He’d listened but had heard only silence from his daughter at that dreadful time. He turned towards the dark mouth of the alley. He began to hum the song. It had no words but he knew the tune well. He found Tiffany at the end of the alley, mewling like a lost kitten. “Come on sweetheart,” he said and stooped to help her up. “Let’s go home.” “Yes, please, Daddy,” she said and finally let him help her. It was a month after Tiffany’s twenty-eighth birthday. She had known her father was dying. He had told her the diagnosis as soon as he’d returned from the hospital. Tiffany was with him at the end, holding his hand. They’d chatted about the past as he slipped away, a smile on his face. At the funeral, it had been arranged that Tiffany would say a few words. The vicar nodded to her, where she sat in the front pew, when it was time. Tiffany rose and made her way to stand by her father’s coffin. Despite her tears, she was smiling. It was what her father had wanted. “Don’t cry for me,” he’d said at the end. “I’m going to meet your mother and together we’ll watch over you. You’ve made us both proud, Tiffany, so proud.” Tiffany turned to face the congregation. “Thank you for coming today to help me celebrate my father’s life,” she said. “He didn’t want anyone to grieve for his passing. He said he’d had a good life. My father lied.” Tiffany waited for the gasp from members of the audience to die down before she continued. “Yes,” she said. “My father occasionally stretched the truth somewhat. I made his life hell for many years but he never gave up on me. Even when I wasn’t listening, he kept telling me how proud he was of me. Even when I’d been drinking and was sleeping rough, he’d find me and tell me how beautiful I was. For five years I didn’t hear my father’s words. But he kept repeating them. Then one day, I listened. His words were simple. I could, he said, be anyone and do anything.” Tiffany paused and gave a smile of apology to the congregation. “You all know what I mean. He said the same thing to all his friends and relatives. He had faith in all of us. He lifted us all.” Aunt Judy snivelled and reached for a tissue. She still kept one up her sleeve, Tiffany noted. “I have succeeded as father said I could. I am a consultant at the General Hospital in the oncology department. Almost the last thing my father said to me was that he was proud of me. Well, I knew that. I think I always knew that.” She looked down, gathered her thoughts, wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye and said in a clear voice that rang down the aisle of the church. “In 1130, Bernard of Chartres said, ‘We are like dwarfs on the shoulders of giants. We can see more than they, and see things at a greater distance, not by virtue of any sharpness of sight on our part or any physical distinction but because we are carried high and raised up by their giant size.’” Tiffany turned to face the coffin. “Thank you, Daddy. I could not have done it without you. You were my giant.” |
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| Tiffany And The Giant Nancy J Schneider njswritingnook@yahoo.com |
#3 of 8 |
| 1600 words | |
| Saturday 15 December, 2007: Just checked my e-mails and got one from Jon at the ACW Club. The next writing prompt is “Tiffany And The Giant.” What?! That’s a dumb one. Who comes up with these titles? Oh well, I’ll think on it a bit and I’m sure I can come up with something. Sunday 16 December: This time my imagination eludes me. When I saw the prompt “The Deep End” within minutes I had a story idea. Same with “Out of the Blue.” “Cloud Nine” came even faster. It was almost as if I could picture the finished project before I put one finger to the keyboard. And as soon as I heard “The Timepiece” I thought of the white rabbit! I did a good job on “Snapshot” too, but that one got lost in cyberspace somewhere. Even my tech support guy couldn’t tell me what happened. It was there one minute and *poof* gone the next. The folder was there, the file was there, but it was as empty as a freshly dug grave. So I eagerly waited for the next prompt - and along came this: Tiffany and the Giant. It’s been a busy day and I still haven’t a clue. Hope I’m not just reacting to losing Snapshot. I don’t think so, I think I’m just blank. Tuesday 18 December: So much for inspiration. Can’t come up with any interesting story line. Have I lost my touch? Am I experiencing writer’s block? Am I too busy with other things? Aargh, I just don’t know, but I’m getting frustrated. Got to remember what Chris says in the NaNo contests, “No Plot? No Problem. Just start writing.” Harrumph. Hard to write when my mind is as blank as a new screen. And I call myself a writer? Friday 21 December: Blame it on the holidays! I’ve been so busy I barely let my mind have any time for free range thinking. I don’t even toss it around at night before sleeping because I’m so darn tired I zonk out as soon as my head hits the pillow. I’ve got all this stuff to do because December’s a busy month. No time for contest writing. Well, I’d take the time if I could come up with something. But the only Giant I can think of right now is the Jolly Green one. Wednesday 26 December: So the Christmas celebration is over for another year. Now I’ve really got to settle in and get to work on this contest. No more excuses. Maybe if I put it in the back of my mind during the day it will come up with a story line. I really haven’t much to do now so there should be no reason to keep procrastinating. I’m sure I’ll come up with something. Thursday 27 December: I wish I wrote more Sci/Fi, then maybe I’d know how to deal with Giants! Should I have Tiffany out camping with her family and stumble across Big Foot? Then what? Make it like “Harry and the Hendersons” where the giant is friendly? Should I have it eat ‘em? What other kind of giants are there? Giant football players or giant basketball players who really aren’t giants, merely tall and/or big guys? Why would Tiffany have contact with them - unless it happens to be her brother and she gets all kinds of attention for being the giant’s sister? Maybe that’s do-able. Friday 28 December: Half way through the contest - almost. And the sports type giant doesn’t pan out for me. Don’t know enough about football or basketball to write a believable story. Rats! Saturday 29 December: Another holiday coming up and I think I’ll take time off the pondering until after the New Year. If I let it sit in the incubator, have a little wine to celebrate and stimulate, it may develop into a story line. Good-bye 2007. Tuesday 1 January: Well it’s here, the grand and glorious year 2008 - and I still haven’t written a thing for the upcoming ACW contest! But this is a new year and a new start and I’m sure I’ll come up with something. After all, I call myself a writer, don’t I? Well, not always. But this is a new year and a new start and - whatever! Actually this ACW thingy reminds me very much of a writing seminar I took several years ago. The instructor was really good. She started out by saying something like, “Before I start my presentation, I’d like to do something.” And then she held up a pail, a metal bucket, and told each of us to write a short story no more than 200 words about this bucket. We all figured it was her way of finding out if any of us had talent. She gave us 15 minutes, then had us put down our pens. “You all saw this bucket, the same bucket. Yet I guarantee that every one of you will have a different story about this same old pail. It proves that we all have our own “voice,” our own perspective on what this bucket brings to mind. Some of your stories may be similar, but there won’t be any two alike.” And she was right. It’s the same with this writing assignment. The same title is given to all and yet no two stories are alike. Heck, some of them are so vastly different you’d almost think they heard a different title. So I guess it doesn’t matter what I write about Tiff and her giant, as long as it uses the theme somehow and it‘s good writing. There’s the challenge I guess. Usually when I have a theme in my mind the writing comes easy. So why am I so blank on this one? Tiffany and the Giant. I know nothing about giants. Friday, 4 January: Hey, maybe it doesn’t have to be a literal giant. Think outside the box. Maybe I can add a word to the title like, “Tiffany and the Giant Zit” or something like that. Yea, I can have Tiff waiting and waiting for the local BMOC to ask her to the dance and when he finally does she gets this giant zit on the end of her nose the night before the dance. Or it could be on her chin. Yea, ok, but then what? Do I have her get rid of the zit - or does she tell him she can’t go - does she try to cover it up - or is he such a great guy that he tells her he doesn’t care about the zit? Some of the writers in this group would probably kill her off or else kill off the guy cause they seem to like to kill off the characters. But who would kill someone over a zit? Nope, guess that one doesn’t work either. Tiff and the giant *what?* Monday, 7 January: Ok I’m running out of time. Got to knuckle down. How about Tiffany and the Giant Wish? I could have her wish her parents would get back together after the divorce. She thinks it’s her fault, so tries everything she can to get them back together. How about if she wishes for a horse but doesn’t think she’ll ever get it, but does. Or I could have her get cancer and she sends up giant prayers to get better. Ah, some possibilities. Thursday, 10 January: Nope, none of those worked. Boring, stiff, too schmaltzy or something. But this time I think I got it. Tiffany and the Giant Mistake! I could have her cheat on her taxes and gets caught. Or maybe embezzles money from her employer. Better yet she makes a giant mistake when she says “Yes” to her boyfriend. Got it! Sunday, 13 January: And so goes all my good ideas. Scribble them down, cross out words, sit and ponder and still no solution. They just don’t flow. I don’t think I like this contest! It was always fun before, so what happened? What if I was writing on assignment and couldn’t come up with a story? Fired, that’s what. Can they fire me from a volunteer contest? I don’t think so. Do I care? Yea, I do. Tuesday, 15 January: Guess I’ll have to pass on this one, too. I was doing so good until my dumb computer ate the Snapshot. That was one heck of a story! By now I think of it as one of the best I ever wrote. All the effort put into it and as quick as a blink it was gone. And yes, I did save it - I know I did. Beside, even if I forgot to hit save the last time I worked on it, there should be something there from before. But there wasn’t. It was just gone. So maybe I’m afraid to put effort into this one for fear it will get lost, too. Good thing I keep a journal so I can record all these feelings. Too bad it didn’t help me with this big problem of not coming up with anything. And tonight’s the deadline, no time left. Such a big problem - could almost say a giant problem - and I’ve got to get past it. Tomorrow Jon will post the next title and I really have to write something. Then I’ll be over the hump, over the problem. No more giant problems with writing. Too bad my name isn’t Tiffany or I could write about Tiffany and the Giant Problem! |
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| Tiffany And The Giant Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org |
#4 of 8 |
| 400 words | |
| Hi, I'm Tiffany and this is my first post to the group
so here is my story. I'm 17 years old and Tiffany is a girl's name by the way,
just in case you didn't know. So why do I think I need to join this online group? Well this whole alien abduction thing is driving me nuts! You'd think after all this time everyone would be getting a bit bored with the same old stories. Well, yes they are and that's the problem for it's my story and no one is really listening. So how would they like it their father had been slipping away to have sex with aliens! Well, it seems like I've had to live with the stories just about all my life. Father even talks to me about it now and tries to explain. I might believe him if he had the guts just to say he does it because he can, but he tries to pretend it's all been for procreation. Well hello, I know recreation when I see it. What's more, each time he's been doing it, he comes back to his little-old, boring grey world with the same smug, self-satisfied, superior sort of look on his face. I just hate it when I see him like that. He even says some of his friends are doing it too as if that made it okay. It's all been so unfair to my Mom. I don't get to see her often but I know she loves me, she really loves me. I call her 'The Giant' because I thought she was huge when I was young and yes she actually is big. I think father finds her size exciting in an un-natural sort of a way. She could pick him up and throw him around, but he's got all the power in the relationship so she just does what he wants. I keep thinking about all the other Moms out there. It not fair to them either. I guess they all have much the same story to tell. We should do something for the sake of my 'Giant' and all the others out there. We are the future and it's time to make them stop abducting aliens. Come on folks this is supposed to be a site, run by hybrids for hybrids. If we all work together we can make them leave the Earth girls alone. Regards Tiffany (new girl on the block) |
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| Tiffany And The Giant lins.writing@yahoo.com |
#5 of 8 |
| 2462 words | |
| Wednesday May 30 9:30 a.m. I could hardly believe that tomorrow is to be my last day of work. I’d been doing this for over 20 years, now it was my turn to retire. I took today off because I have my yearly physical scheduled, including my mammogram. I’m not concerned with my yearly stuff, as I have been feeling great, well, maybe a little preoccupied with tomorrow. 9:45 a.m. Here we go. As usual, I start holding my breath the minute the technician activates the squeeze thing. Snap, one down and three angles to go. “Well, little lady, everything looks good,” the doctor said. “You’ll get the results in the mail. Any questions for me?” “I have a little shortness of breath when I go for my daily walk and since my dad died from a heart attack, should I be concerned with it?” “Have my nurse set up a stress test and at least get a base line. I don’t think we’ll find anything, but it’s best to be safe.” “Works for me.” The nurse came in after he left and set up the appointment for Friday, at 8:00 o’clock. My first day of retirement and I’m going for a stress test. Retirement that sounds weird. I didn’t think I’d ever get this old. Thursday May 31 6:00 a.m. My last day of work. The team planned a retirement party for the afternoon and I still have to finish the work on my desk, then clean out my cubicle. My husband Mark, and my daughters Nicole and Bridget, should be here by one o’clock; they can help carry my stuff out to the car. I hope the phone doesn’t ring too often today. I’ll never get this all done if I get too many calls. There it goes; it’s starting already. 7:15 a.m. “Good morning, how may I help you? Yes, this is she... Sure, I could make it tomorrow if you have an opening after 9:00 o’clock as I have a stress test at 8:00. Great…I’ll see be there at 10:00. Thank you.” The clinic, oh well, I guess my first day of retirement will be spent in doctor’s offices. I’m sure it’s nothing I have to worry about. The last time I had a retake it turned out to be nothing. I hope Mark gets here before the party starts. I best get back to work. 12:30 p.m. “Hi, Mark. I’m glad you’re in time for the farewell speech and presentation by the big guy, Mr. Brice. Come on, I want my boss to know you’re here.” “Looks like a good turnout. How are you holding up? Any tears yet?” “No, and I don’t think I’ll shed even one. By the way, I have a retake mammogram tomorrow. The clinic called and set up an appointment after the stress test.” “Are you worried?” Mark asked. “No. I had a retake before, and it was nothing,” I said, walking towards my boss. “Alexis, you remember my husband Mark?” “Yes I do. Mark, it’s nice see you again. I’m glad you could make it.” “It’s nice to see you too. I bet it’s going to be mighty quiet here after Tiffany’s gone.” “It sure won’t be as interesting. We probably won’t have as many potlucks either. She usually kept us on our toes as to whose birthday was next and when. Here comes Mr. Brice so we’ll be starting the presentation soon. Don’t go too far, Tiffany.” “Okay. I’ll watch for your nod,” I said, taking Mark’s hand and moving towards the treats table. “I hope my girls get here soon. They probably are lost on post somewhere.” “I’m sure they’ll get here soon - between the two of them they shouldn’t have too much of a problem.” 1:00 p.m. “I see Alexis is calling me to come up front. I guess they’re ready to begin.” “Twenty-one years of service is quite an accomplishment. You have performed your duties beyond what is expected. Thank you for your dedication and wonderful sense of humor that made life working here a pleasure and an adventure every day,” Mr. Brice said, handing me a framed commendation and shaking my hand. “I thank all of you for coming and for your generosity. It’s been a pleasure working with you, well, maybe not the working part, but definitely being part of this big family. I see more food is out so let’s start eating!” “Good job and not a tear shed,” Mark said, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “I’m proud of you.” “Thanks. Well, look who’s here - my long lost girls; just in time to help clean up my area.” “Hi, Mom, sorry we’re late. We sort of got lost,” Nicole said, giving me a hug. “That’s okay - I’m glad you made it. Go get something to eat, and then help me clear my area and take it all out to my car.” 2:30 p.m. “I’ll see you when I get home, Mark. I’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes.” I can’t believe all the gift certificates I received from my co-workers, and thoughtful gifts from the people who retired before me. I’ll miss the people not the work; but it’s time I move on to the things I’ve been putting off doing until I retired. Like writing - I’ll actually have time to write. Maybe even help my sons at the Studio. I promised them I’d help with their business once I had more time. Now I should have the time. Friday June 1 4:30 a.m. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you today?” Mark asked as he picked up his lunch and headed for the door. “Definitely not, and don’t worry - I’ll be fine. The stress test is just for a base line and the mammogram will probably be nothing too. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” I hope the retake is nothing. I don’t have any cancer in my family; it’ll all work out. 8:30 a.m. The stress test was a piece of cake, passed with flying colors. Now it’s time for the mammogram. I’m glad it’s only one side, I’m still a little sore from two days ago. I hope it doesn’t take too long, I’m getting hungry and I usually eat lunch a half hour from now. 10:00 a.m. “Tiffany, come with me and we’ll get this done as quickly as possible,” said the technician. 10:30 a.m. Waiting. They took more x-rays than before and said wait. Like I have anything else to do. I’m sure it’s all fine and routine. “Tiffany, we would like to do an ultrasound to see if what we see on the mammograms shows anything different. Would you be able to do it now?” Lisa, Dr. Christiana’s nurse said as she came in the room. “Sure.” I’m retired and have nothing else to do. I’ve never had an ultrasound, another new experience. Glad I can get it over with today and don’t have to come back and use more of my retirement in the doctor’s office. “Okay, follow me. The technician will be with you in a bit.” “This sure feels strange, wish I knew what you’re seeing.” “I’ll let the doctor explain it to you. It’s all finished now. I’ll give this to her and she’ll come in with the results," the tech said with a smile. About five minutes later Doctor Christiana comes in. “So, what did you find?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful. “Well, there are two spots that don’t look normal and we’d like to do a biopsy on both. Do you have time right now, or would you like to come back a different day?” “I have plenty of time. This is my first day of retirement. How long will it take?” “Not very long, you should be out by lunch,” she said. “Let’s do it and get over with it.” 12:15 p.m. “Tiffany, we took samples from both irregularities but won’t have the results back until Monday. Could you come in then for the findings, say, 10:00 o’clock?” “Sure. Would it be okay if my husband came too?” “Certainly - in fact it is recommended,” Dr. Christiana said smiling. “Great, see you then, and thank you for getting this all done today and with no waiting. I appreciate it.” “You’re welcome. See you Monday.” She didn’t reveal anything in her tone or smile. I hope the biopsy is negative. I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s Cancer. I’m not going to worry, all will turn out fine…I hope. 12:30 p.m. “Hi, Mark, I’m finally done. Boy, did they take the tests. The stress test came back as above average. I’m very happy with those results. The retake…well that was okay but then they did an ultrasound and next a biopsy. The results won’t be back until Monday. I made an appointment with the breast doctor for Monday at 10:00 o’clock. Will you be able to take off from work and come with?” “Of course. Did they hint at the results at all?” “No, but I’m sure it’s just a precaution and nothing to worry about. I’ll tell the kids I had the tests when we go to lunch with them tomorrow.” “I’m sure they would want to know too. I won’t say anything to them at least not until you have told them.” “Thanks. I don’t want to worry them any but maybe they will pray for wisdom for the doctors and peace for me.” Saturday June 2 5:30 a.m. I’m retired a whole day already. Hope my kids remember we’re meeting them at the Studio for lunch. I’m happy Mark likes them and they like him, makes life a lot easier. Not many men could put up with six step-kids, even if they are all grown. I can’t imagine getting married to someone with a ready-made family, becoming a stepparent, grandparent and first time spouse all at the same time. I hope the kids don’t ask too many questions. I have no answers. It’ll all be fine; I’ll make it through this waiting. I have plenty to do before we have to leave. Laundry, dishes, I can check email a few times; I’ll keep busy and won’t even notice the time. 11:00 a.m. “Tiffany, are you almost ready to leave? I told your kids we’d be at the Studio by noon.” “I’ll be right there - I want to grab extra water,” I said, going back in the kitchen. It’s just lunch with the kids why is he in such a hurry? “I hope they don’t ask too many questions about yesterday,” I said, getting in the car. “I won’t have any answers until Monday.” “If they do, it’s only because they’d be worried about you.” 12:00 p.m. Pulling into the Studio parking lot on time is good. I am glad there is one spot left right at the door because my right side is sore and the more I stand, the more it hurts. Here comes Tim to greet us at the door. “Surprise! Happy retirement. Come see who else is here to wish you well in retirement!” “Oh my gosh! What are all of you doing here? I thought we were just going out to lunch.” “I think we have plenty here to eat,” said Pete. “My goodness, look at this little princess coming to me.” Our little granddaughter runs to give me a leg hug. “Let’s go see who else is here.” This is much more than I expected. There are people from work, church, my sisters Nancy and Sandy, their spouses and even my Mom. This must be the greatest retirement party ever. I make my way around talking to everyone, hoping I don’t slight anyone or talk to one more than the next. 1:00 p.m. Tim and Pete call everyone to watch the video they produced in my honor. Here it is - my whole life from birth to retirement, sixty years and going strong. Boy, what memories they captured. “There’s my Daddy,” tears stream down my cheeks. “Listen, I heard his laugh. I haven’t heard that since he died over thirty years ago. You guys…“ 2:00 p.m. People are starting to leave, and here comes Tim. “Mom, how did your tests go yesterday?” “I’ll get the results back on Monday; I’ll let you know when I know something.” Riding home we reminisced about all that transpired throughout the day. “Who did all the work on the party?” “Nicole did most of it, but they all had their hands in it and did a great job.” “I agree one hundred percent on that. I noticed Bridget was bubblier than yesterday. I’m surprised she didn’t say something before today. Well, she did yesterday sort of, when she said something about lunch today. Nicole covered it over and I thought nothing more about it until now. Boy, those kids are fantastic.” 4:00 p.m. Mark’s parents came by to see the video since they’d missed it at the Studio. I could watch this repeatedly and still get teary eyed. Sunday June 3 Church went by fast and they put me on the prayer list regarding the results of my tests. We didn’t visit my Mom as we usually do because we saw her yesterday. I kept busy with crocheting to help keep my mind off tomorrow. I thought about yesterday and realized how blessed I am, to have kids that give their all to please me. 8:00 p.m. Bedtime. “Mark, what do you think will happen tomorrow?” “I don’t know. Are you worried?” he asked as he turned out the light. “Not really. I’ve been praying for peace in whatever the Lord gives me. I know He’s faithful.” “Good attitude. Don’t be anxious, I’ll be there too for whatever comes.” “Thanks, I love you.” “Good-night my Love.” Monday June 4 9:55 a.m. We got to the clinic early and sat down ready for a long wait. “Tiffany.” “That sure was fast. Usually we get at least five minutes to read,” I said as Mark and I followed the nurse down the hall. “Dr. Christiana will see you in a moment.” “Thank you.” Oh Lord, fill me with peace and acceptance of whatever the news. Let me shine with your light through all things. Nothing Dr. Christiana tells me will be greater than You, I prayed silently. The door opened and in came Dr. Christiana. “Tiffany, I’m sorry, I have some bad news. You have breast cancer.” “Praise God! I have a new path to follow. I didn’t know what to do in retirement and now He gives me a new path. Certainly not the one I would have chosen but my name is Tiffany, not Jonah. I’m going straight to Nineveh. No side trips to Tarshish or anywhere else.” “Tiffany, what are you talking about? I told you that you have cancer.” “I know, but don’t worry, I have a great God. Nothing is bigger, or stronger, or wiser than He is. Not even the giant called Cancer. I know the Lord put me here for a purpose and will be with me through all things. I will face this with Him. Everyone I meet, will know how great is my God.” |
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| Tiffany And The Giant Michael Pelc michaelpelc@yahoo.com |
#6 of 8 Winner |
| 734 words | |
| Once upon a time, which is how these kinds of stories
always start out (though the opening is more typical of the pleasant variety of
the genre), little Tiffany Marzipan and her mother were sitting at the kitchen
table. Mrs. Marzipan was feeding her daughter breakfast, and since Tiffany was
just about to turn six years old, her mother asked her what she wanted for her
birthday. "I want a giant," said little Tiffany. "A giant? Ho-ho, that's a good one, dear. Do you have any idea how much a giant costs these days? Why, even the used ones are prohibitively expensive. Here. Have this instead." Mrs. Marzipan reached under her apron and produced a book which she set down on the table in front of the little girl. "It's a Jon Gnagy Learn To Juggle instruction book, just like the one The Great Gnagy himself advertises on his TV show." "But Momma," said Tiffany in a tiny little voice that was every bit as sad and forlorn as the night time lament of a solitary whippoorwill, "I can not learn to juggle. For you see, I have no arms." What the girl said was true. She had no arms. Just pink little stumps at the ends of her shoulders. "Then you shall have nothing at all for your birthday," said Mrs. Marzipan, and she picked up the book and placed it back in its hiding place underneath her apron. Some time later (a year to be exact), when Tiffany was about to turn seven, her mother once again asked her what she wanted for her birthday. "I want a giant," said little Tiffany, just like she'd told her mother before. "Oh child, do you have any idea how much it costs to clothe, house and feed a giant these days? Why, it's simply out of the question. Here, have this bicycle instead," said Mrs. Marzipan. She opened the back door and wheeled a shiny red bicycle in from the porch. "But Momma," said little Tiffany in a voice every bit as sad as the whimpering of a day-old puppy who can not find its mother, "I can not ride a bicycle. For you see, I have no legs." Once again, what the girl said was true. She had no legs. Just the tiniest of little stumps at the end of her torso. "Then you shall have nothing at all for your birthday," said Mrs. Marzipan, and she wheeled the bicycle back onto the porch where it had been before. Another year later, when Tiffany was just about to turn eight, as she had done the previous two years, Mrs. Marzipan asked her daughter what she wanted for her birthday. "I want a giant," said little Tiffany. "Well, that's certainly a new one," said Mrs. Marzipan. "Tell me, child, why is it that you want a giant for your birthday?" "So that, when I grow up and get married, I'll have someone to dance the Chicken Dance with at my wedding reception." "Oh, child, don't you know that no man is ever going to marry you? So there's not much point in getting you a giant, now is there? Here, have this instead," said Mrs. Marzipan. She opened up a cupboard, pulled out a brightly wrapped box all frillied up fancy with bows and ribbons, and set it on the kitchen table in front of Tiffany. "It's one of them new-fangled paint-by-numbers kits. You know, the kind that are all the rage with the wives at the country club." "But Momma," said little Tiffany in a voice every bit as sad as the heartfelt barking of a baby seal who has become lost in a storm at sea, "I can not paint – either with numbers or without – because, you see, I have no eyes." What the girl said was true. She had no eyes. Just empty sockets that gathered lint and dust, especially during the winter months when the air inside the house was dry and the windows were kept shut all the time. "Then you shall have nothing at all for your birthday," said Mrs. Marzipan, and she put the unopened paint-by-numbers kit back in the cupboard. So it went, birthday after birthday, year after year, decade after decade. Until the day Mrs. Marzipan died. Without a mother to care for her any more, Tiffany was placed in a state run nursing facility. It is said, by the staff who got to know her there, that Tiffany would often look back on those yearly breakfast chats with her mother with great fondness and affection. She considered them to be the happiest days of her life. It was, you see, the only time anyone had ever asked her what she wanted for her birthday. |
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| Tiffany And The Giant C.L. Glazier PAWFECT1@aol.com |
#7 of 8 WCA Winner |
| 1322 words | |
| People say my little gal is touched in the head. I know
I had a hard time birthing her. Both of us nearly died, the midwife said. My
gal was always a slow one – slow to walk, slow to talk, slow to do just
about everything. I named her Tiffany. Folks laughed at me, but I thought that my little gal needed a pretty name. Lord knows, she didn’t have much else. I had seen those beautiful blue boxes that come from that fancy store in a magazine. I thought that those blue boxes matched the color of my little gal’s eyes. And no matter what anyone else said, Tiffany was a rare and precious jewel as far as I was concerned. I don’t think most folks actually intended to be mean. Grownups that is; kids were a different story. They used to laugh at her and poke fun. One day she came home with a huge lump on her head. She never did tell me what happened, but I knew that one of those cruel children did something to her. After that, she never really wanted to leave the yard. My own dear daddy loved Tiffany as much as I did. It would make his blood boil when folks said things about Tiffany. “She’s been touched by God,” he would say. “She’s our special angel.” When she came home with the lump on her head, my daddy just about cried. And when the both of us watched her playing alone, it about broke both our hearts. The day of Tiffany’s birthday, my daddy wasn’t there when we got up. That was unusual because Daddy would never miss Tiffany’s special birthday breakfast: banana pancakes. Daddy would always screech like a monkey while we ate, which would make my little gal laugh like crazy. We never really had a party for Tiffany’s birthday. It was just Daddy and me and my little gal. Sure I made a cake and we had presents and ice cream, but most folks avoided us so we didn’t bother with much fuss. We planned on having the cake with our lunch. But when lunchtime rolled around, still no Daddy. I asked Tiffany if she wanted cake and ice cream anyway. She just shook her head. Long about five o’clock I was more than worried when I heard Daddy’s old pickup truck rattling down the drive. “Where’s my angel?” Daddy said. He got out of the truck slowly. I was afraid he was hurt the way he cradled his arm. “Daddy, where have you been?” I scolded as I opened the screen door. “You okay? We’ve been worried sick.” “I want my little gal to come here,” Daddy said. Tiffany peeked around the corner. I think she might have been mad at Daddy because she didn’t run into his arms like she usually did. “Come here and see what I’ve got for you, girl,” Daddy said. Tiffany slowly walked toward Daddy. When she was just a little ways away, he opened his coat. There nestled against his chest was the tiniest puppy I had ever seen – a little brown and white blob with the brightest brown eyes. He didn’t look a bit scared; he peered over Daddy’s arms as if to say hey. “Got him from my old friend Duke,” Daddy said. “His momma died giving birth and he was the only one who pulled through. He’s going to need some special care and I thought you might just be the gal to do it.” Tiffany took one look at the puppy and squealed with joy, nearly knocking poor Daddy off his feet jumping up to hug his neck. Daddy just laughed. “Whoa, hold on there, girl,” he said, holding the puppy up out of reach. “This here’s a baby. You got to be careful with him.” He gently placed the puppy in Tiffany’s arms. She cradled him and kissed his small head. “What kind of dog is he, Daddy?” I asked. Daddy shook his head. “Duke said he didn’t rightly know. His momma is a mutt and his daddy didn’t stick around long enough for Duke to ID him. One thing I do know is that he is going to be a big ‘un.” Tiffany looked up at Daddy. “How you know that?” she said. “Look at his feet,” Daddy said. “See how big his paws are? That means before long, he’ll be bigger than you are – a real giant dog.” “Oh grandpa, don’t be silly,” Tiffany giggled. “He’s a tiny baby.” Daddy gently chucked Tiffany under the chin. “So what you going to call this baby?” Tiffany didn’t say anything for a while. “I think I am going to name him Giant on account of his big feet.” Daddy laughed. “Gal, that is a perfect name.” We all went into the house, Tiffany cradling her new baby. We ate cake and ice cream and Tiffany tried to get the puppy to eat some cake. He turned his nose up at it. “This here baby don’t eat people food,” Daddy told Tiffany. “He eats special food just for dogs. Duke gave me some to get by but maybe this weekend we’ll run on up into town and get him some supplies.” The next few months seemed to fly by. And true to his name, little Giant grew and grew. And it turns out Daddy was right. Giant soon grew to be as big as and then bigger than Tiffany. A more patient dog you’ve never seen the likes of. Tiffany dressed him up in doll clothes until he got too big; then she tried dressing him in Daddy’s clothes. He put a stop to that pretty quick. “You see this here fur coat Giant’s wearing? That’s all the clothes he needs,” Daddy said, as he shook the dog hair out of his favorite flannel shirt. Anywhere you’d find Tiffany, you’d find Giant. He slept on her bed and Lord knows how the both of them fit, but they managed. Tiffany could tie a rope around his neck and lead him anywhere. “Before too long, she’ll be able to put a saddle on him and ride him,” Daddy said. I quickly hushed him: “Don’t give her any ideas.” My little gal really seemed to come out of her shell. One day, she told me she was going to take Giant for a walk. It was the first time she had left the yard without either Daddy or me in months. I didn’t want to let her go, but Daddy said she’d be fine. About an hour later, Tiffany and Giant came strolling back in the yard, both of them looking pleased as punch. Not too long after that, the phone rang. It was our neighbor Alphie and he was laughing so hard I could hardly understand what he was trying to tell me. “That little gal and that giant dog of yours are something else,” he chuckled. Once poor Alphie could breath, we finally got the whole story. Seems that some of those kids who loved to pick on Tiffany got a first-hand look at what Giant would put up with. They started making fun of her and one boy got too close. Alphie said that Giant gave one loud woof and knocked that boy over on his behind. The rest of the kids scattered. That bully boy scrambled to his feet and ran home as fast as those feet would take him. When I hung up the phone, I grabbed Giant and gave him a big hug. That night, he got hamburgers for supper, same as us. When I put his bowl on the floor, he looked up at me as if to say, “All this fuss isn’t needed, but I appreciate it.” I was afraid that the bully boy’s parents might cause a stink but nothing ever came of it. Nothing except that my little gal could walk around without worrying about what those mean kids would do to her. Pretty soon people got used to seeing them together. “There goes Tiffany and the Giant,” people would say. Tiffany would just smile. |
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| Tiffany And The Giant Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com |
#8 of 8 Runner-up |
| 1169 words | |
| In a gaudy, cluttered retro store, there aimlessly
strolled a young girl by the name of Tiffany Krepplebaum, looking for a funky
clothing bargain or two. Tiffany of the pouffed blond hair, perfectly cute
features, and a body that turned men's heads, even dogs and the occasional
pigeon. Near the end of the back aisle was a bin full of cheesy junk. Poking
out from the jumbled discards of bad taste, was a large exquisitely painted
vase that caught her eye. There was someone who would like it, her grandmother,
and it was gran's birthday today. Five dollars wash fished out of her pink plastic purse, shaped like a heart, and out she went. It was only about a mile or so, to grandmothers house we go. In the light, Tiff noticed it was a bit dusty and smeared so she stopped at a park bench, dug an Orange Julius napkin from her bag, and proceeded to rub at the dust and smudges. Wheeeewhooosh - and from the ornate vase a large cloud appeared that materialized into a huge man clad in silk clothing, presided over by a luxuriant beard, and topped by a funny little hat. "O M'God! Like, who in the hell are you?" "I am a genie," he boomed in a voice reminiscent of James Earl Jones, "and I've come to grant your wishes." "Like, cool. 'Cept there this like, girl in my class named Jeanie and she's always like, talking about me behind my back. You're bigger than like, the x-mas tree they had at the mall. I think I'll just call you The Giant. T. G." "Begging your pardon, Miss I would prefer ..." "Oh don't get your panties in a bunch. T.G. is awesome. Everyone has a nickname; J-Lo, Shaq, Brit. Ooh, besides, T.G. could also stand for like, The Genie." "As you wish," he sighed, "and speaking of wishes, you may have one and a half." "I thought it was supposed to be like, three wishes?" "Government cutbacks." "Oh, well." She stood up, brushing off her short denim skirt and checking her butt for stains and also reassuring herself it still looked smokin'. "I'm headed over to my gran's house. Are you sure people won't like, notice you, T. G.?" "No one can see me but you." She flounced off down the path, hips aswagger, her 36D's leading the way, straining under a James Dean t-shirt. When those bad boys bounced, it looked like Dean was smoking the cigarette though no one but the genie was looking at that. "This is like, so amazing," she chirped, building up enthusiasm. " I want to just soar like the beagle." "Be careful not to use the word 'wish' until you're ready, and enunciate. One unfortunate gentleman ended up as a 12 inch pianist." "What's a half wish?" "Well, like your last one. You could soar but not like ( he cringed at having used the word 'like' twice ) a beagle, maybe a freegle." "What's a free gull?" "A mythical bird from the land of ... oh, forget it. Suppose you wanted a tall handsome boyfriend. Well he would either be tall or handsome, but not both." "Let's see, a tall doofus, or a hottie that comes up to my boobs. That's like, a tough one." "It doesn't have to be that one," he said growing exasperated. "We'll find another. That was merely an example." "Oh, it's a like, hypochondriacal question." "Yes, Miss." "How about fame and fortune? That's a very popular one. If you get fame, you might get a fortune, and if you get the fortune, you may or not get fame, unless you want to act like Paris Hilton, but at least you'll have the fortune." "You got it dude." She stopped a moment on the crest of a little rise, took a deep breath closed her eyes and said : "I wish for flame and four tunes." Ooh, this could turn out badly, the genie thought. "Alright, now on to the biggie. And don't think about being popular in school or having a new car. Think big." "I'm already popular in school, thank you, though I could use a new car," she mused. Now a very audible sigh escaped T. G.'s lips, ruffling his whiskers. "Think bigger, Miss." "How about world peace?" "I can see you've been in beauty contests." "Miss Westside Chamber Of Commerce and Miss Elmer's Pork Rinds." "Very commendable, I'm sure. We've unfortunately never been able to get world peace past the filtering system." "You mean Phil has like, a system that keeps him from ringing me? No wonder he hasn't called." "No, Miss. It simply means ... never mind that. You could ask for an end to the war and have those billions put into health care." "As if. Don't I look healthy enough?" she said sticking out her already noticable chest and twirling around." "Hmm, I think I have another idea." He thought for a while. "Well, what is it? This is like Chinese waiter torture." "You could wish for that 400 billion to be spent on schools and education." "What for? I like, graduate next year." I wish, thought the giant genie, that all teenagers would have the word 'like' erased from their vocabularies. "Better schools would mean more and better teachers, extracurricular activities reinstated, renovated facilities, money for college ( as if you'll ever go there ) , tutors to help you out, less homelessness, better jobs for the future for everyone." What am I doing, he thought. A beauty shop is more likely. We're going to conjure up billions so this bimbo can be a lap dancer? "It will help you in so many ways and millions of others too." "You got it, big guy. Let's, like, go for it." Once again Tiffany took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said : "I wish for 400 billion dollars for ..." she shot a look over to T. G. "Schools and education," he whispered, crossing his fingers that she didn't screw this one up. " ... Schools and education." Whew! "I must go now, Miss. It has been a distinct pleasure meeting you." "Ciao, Mr. Giant Genie." With another whoosh, he vaporised back into the vase. Knock, knock, knock. "Grandma. Are you home?" "Well hello, Tiffany. Land sakes. Do you go out in public dressed like that?" "Everyone wears stuff like this, Gran. Here, I brought you a lovely vase." "That's so thoughtful of you, a perfect thing for my flowers." "Sorry I can't stay and chat but I have to meet some friends at the mall. I'll stop by later when I have more time." "That's quite alright, dear. You go have fun with your little friends." Quite an unusual vase, Grandma Krepplebaum thought. Dirty though. I'll have to wipe if off good. That Tiffany. I wish that all those kids were like when I was a girl; dressed decently, did their homework, and had good manners. |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club