DP Writing Challenge – Ray Bradbury’s Noun List

 

 

Ray Bradbury, author of 11 novels, including classics such as Fahrenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles, faced writer’s block just like the rest of us. Bradbury, in addition to giving great writing advice, busted writer’s block by creating lists of nouns — the basic building blocks of sentences, paragraphs, short stories, novels, flash fiction, memoir, and poems.

The beautiful thing about the noun list twist is that you can use it to nudge your muse when writing fiction, non-fiction, memoir, poems — anything you wish to work on.

In today’s challenge we’ll ask you to write a new post using some nouns from various sources.

On the other side of the Milky Way Galaxy lies a world much like Earth.  In fact, it is a near mirror of Earth, different in only one way.  They have evolved to a point where there is one society, one language, and there is no violence of any kind tolerated toward other humans, for they, too, are human. 

It began as an experiment, a trial run, to see if a race of beings could survive on the outskirts of the galaxy.  These creatures called the outer edge of the galactic core home.  They found the collective radiation of the core had been poisoning them, not helping them evolve, as they once had thought.  Humans, similar in cellular structure, but considered animals and therefore expendable, were placed on two planets opposite each other and were to be observed over a period of 10,000 years to learn of the effects each solar system.  However, this race of beings died out and were extinct before the experiment was concluded. 

It was in this manner that the two worlds were left alone, free to grow and evolve at their own rates with no outside help.  No notion that there were any other beings in the galaxy, or the universe for that matter, other than themselves. 

As they grew in numbers and technology, they expanded on their own planets and eventually colonized other planets.  But one world grew much faster and technology expanded much more rapidly than the other.  Consequently, they evolved much faster than their galactic cousins. 

Sothess was the center of the government of the humans who developed technology that far surpassed the other’s technologies.  They had evolved to the point where there was no violence tolerated and offenders had their minds probed, the damaged areas erased and rewritten to conform to societal standards.  It was a Utopian society, colonizing planet after planet, cataloguing indigenous species of flora and fauna, and increasing their knowledge of themselves and the galaxy they lived in.

The other planet was Earth.  Plagued by strife and war, their progress was significantly slower.  Colonies were settled and fought over at first by the different countries of Earth.  Later colonies were settled and fought over by the worlds that had themselves been fought over. 

But they had overcome that dark history and had been advancing in the galaxy toward the same end as the Sothess, namely one of peace and knowledge.  The people of Earth never forgot their dark history, preferring to remember the pain and suffering that was so common so as to be a deterrent for future leaders.

It was a future they would again relive, for one day a baby was born in a basement on Sothess.  A baby with a grim future.  A baby that would grow up to be someone the Sothessians wouldn’t know exactly what to do with. He was anathema to the Sothessians.  And he grew up knowing that; resenting it, vowing to get even with them.

On Earth, at the same moment as on Sothess, another baby was born on a calm tranquil lake in what the locals called “Upstate New York”, but was officially recognized as Sector 3a Subsector 14-1.  This baby would grow up to be the opposite of The Anathema.

There would be a war that would dwarf all other wars known in human history.  Would the humans of Earth be slaves to The Anathema; the holder of technology so great he could erase minds and record his own thoughts to them?  Or would the individual human minds of free will prevail? 

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/bradbury-list-twist/

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The Best Birthday Ever – DP Challenge

Aside

Max sat in the porch swing of his farm house south of Nashville in the early evening hours of a hot summer day.  He had just celebrated his seventy fifth birthday and decided he needed a break from the festivities of supper and opening presents and children begging to open them for him and, of course, from him letting them.

He heard the screen door around the corner of the wrap-around porch open and close with a slam.  Figuring a small child was going to come running around the corner he pulled back his outstretched legs not wanting to trip the little hooligan.  But instead his wife, Annie, of forty years came by and sat down next to him silently and then let out a big sigh.

“I haven’t cooked a supper like that in I can’t remember how long.  You better have appreciated it, mister!” She let out a chuckle and patted his knee affectionatly.

“You know I appreciate everything you do, dear,” Max said truthfully.

“I know you do,” she said with a smile.  “And you had better do the same for me when turn seventy five!”

They both laughed and he put his arm around her, while she laid her head on his shoulder, much the same way they had done before they were even married.  Things hadn’t changed much in their relationship except that they grew to love each other more each year.  He knew it sounded cliche whenever someone asked him about it, but he honestly believed that each birthday and each anniversary when he reflected on his life, he found that he loved his wife more each time.  Nobody asked him about his children or grandchildren, but he loved them more each year also.

He heard the screen door once again and a moment later a little girl of five years old came around the corner and beamed at the sight of grandma and grandpa.

“Well hello, Little Miss!”  Emily, their only granddaughter walked up to them as Max stopped their easy, relaxing swing.

“Hi papa,” she said in her sweet angelic southern accent. “Hi, grandma.”

Max picked her up and put her on the swing between him and Annie and started rocking the swing once again.  The sun made its way below the trees in front of them casting an orange glow over the horses in the field and, up close, the fireflies could be seen sending out their mating calls. Frogs and crickets could be heard croaking and chirping their songs to each other.  Without realizing it, Max sighed a completly relaxed and contented sigh.  Everything was perfect just as it was right in this moment. He again put his arm on the back of the swing and gently traced circles and figure eights around the back of Annie’s neck which used to send goosebumps up her arms way back when.  He did it without thinking about it now.

He had had many such perfect moments in his life as he reflected on it.  The moment after he proposed to Annie and she tearfully accepted.  The moment he sat on this very porch swing with her after they bought this house.  The moment each of his two children were born and the moment he first held each of his five grandchildren.  They were all perfect moments at the time.  But this one, this moment seemed to top them all.

The moment was interrupted by the sweet voice of Emiliy.  “Papa,” she inquired.

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Tell me about when you and grandma were little like me.”

Max looked at Annie with a smile.  “Well, cupcake, I grew up in the city in the north and Grandma grew up in the country in the South.  And nobody thought we would make it!”  Emily giggled with all the enthusiasm of a five year old which swelled Max and Annie’s hearts so full of joy they could hardly contain themselves.

“A Yankee and a Rebel,” she exclaimed, having heard them recall Annie’s parents declaration, and giggled once again.  They all heartily laughed at that and when they eventually settled down, the frogs and crickets once again dominated the conversation as the sun fell further and further behind the trees.

“Papa,” she asked again.  “Will boys ever like me?”

“Little Miss, what are you thinking about boys for at your age?”

“Well, there’s this boy, Tommy and I like him.  But he picks on me and calls me names.  Mamma said that’s because he likes me, but it sure don’t seem like it.”

“Well, let me tell you something about little boys, honey.  When they’re young like you are, they tend do mean things to the girls they like because they think they’re not supposed to like little girls.  But when you get older, they’ll like you plenty.  They’ll even want to kiss you!”

“Not Tommy.  He won’t want to.”

“Yes, even Tommy will want to.”  He thought about the girls he had crushes on when he was young.  He could remember their names, but he couldn’t picture their faces anymore.  Amy, Jennifer, and Jessica.  It was so long ago and yet he could remember feeling like he was strange for actually liking them.  How much a young boy’s perspective changes in the few short years from adolecence to the teenage years.

“And then when you’re a little older than Bubba, boys will start to ask you out on dates.  And your mamma and daddy will want to meet them to make sure they are good enough for you.  And of course they won’t be good enough for you beacuse you’re a perfect little angel aren’t you?” He poked her in the belly and she scruched up and laughed till little tears came streaming out of her eyes.

“And then you’ll go to college and you’ll meet a boy there and you’ll eventually fall in love and get married.”

“Like you and Grandma?”

“Yep.  Just like me and Grandma.  And you’ll have kids just like me and Grandma had your mamma and your Uncle Henry.”  This seemed to satisfy her curiosity for the moment as she didn’t ask any further questions.  They continued to gently swing as the sun finally set below the horizon.  Something in the distance set the horses running which made Emily sit up and watch them.  When they finally settled down and continued their grazing, she sat back, and leaned against Annie who held her close, while Max held his arm around Annie completing the circle of protection.

Max thought of when he was a young man chasing the college girls all around.  His prioties had been, girls, booze, sleep and school.  In that order.  When his own parents had threatened to make him pay for the school he was failing out of, he changed his priorities.  School and girls shared the first priority while booze was a close third.  But school won out and he graduated, moving to Nashville for a job.  His focus went to money first, then girls and booze following a close second and third.  And finally he met Annie.  The proverbial friend of a friend.  His first priority immediately switched to her.  He couldn’t get her out of his mind no matter how hard he tried.  Getting her was his focus, his drive.

When he finally got her he didn’t want to let her go and she didn’t want him to either.  They were married and shortly thereafter they had their daughter.  His perspective again shifted to providing for his new family.  Protecting his daughter and wife became first priority.  Then their son came.  He could hardly believe that he had a family and responsibilities that five or six years previous would have seemed like a joke to him.

My how some things change and yet how some things never change.  He recalled how he felt about Annie when he first met her and how that hadn’t changed in over forty years.  He recalled how he felt when his children were born and how that hadn’t really changed throughout the years.  And he thought of his priorities before Annie and how it changed yearly, almost monthly, sometimes.

Max heard the porch door open again and his daughter came around the corner.  “There y’all are!  We were wondering where the man of the hour and all his ladies went!”

Max stood up and hugged his daughter and smiled.  “Now I have all my ladies.” He positioned her and motioned for her to sit in the swing with her own daughter and her mother.  He leaned on the porch railing and thought for a moment as he gazed upon three generations of those whom he loved more than his own life and determined that this moment topped the one he had five minutes ago.

This moment, with so many others, would be ingrained in his memory until he took his last breath.  He hoped it wouldn’t be for a long time yet to come, but if he died tonight, he would die the happiest man on earth.  He had lived a storied life with all his adventures and conquests, but it was those in front of him now, and all those in his house that made his life worth living.  His family was the most precious thing he could have, and from the time it began, it had provided the perspective he needed to enjoy and experience life as he knew it was meant to be experienced.

As darkness enveloped them, and the frogs and crickets grew louder, they headed back into the house for cake and ice cream.  Emily was first to go back in, followed by her mother.  Max held his wife Annie back and put his hands on her waist and she put her arms around his neck and his kissed her.  As they looked into each other’s eyes reliving forty years in just a second, they both heard two of their younger grandsons.  “Ewwwwww,” they exclaimed simultaneously.  They smiled, held back a laugh, and walked in the house, hand in hand, both knowing their grandson’s priorities would change soon enough.

——

http://www.dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/10/weekly-writing-challenge-golden-years/

http://siobhanmcnamara.wordpress.com/2014/03/11/the-path/

http://gurpreetksekhon.wordpress.com/2014/03/11/weekly-writing-challenge-the-golden-years-its-all-gold-a-95-word-story/

http://alienorajt.wordpress.com/2014/03/11/maiden-mother-crone-all-in-one/

http://teepee12.com/2014/03/11/golden-what/

http://forgottencorrespondence.wordpress.com/2014/03/12/the-18th-of-august-1941-germantown-maryland/

http://ordibild.com/2014/03/12/premiere/

http://wiredwithwords.wordpress.com/2014/03/11/the-elders-of-us/

http://soulfoood.me/2014/03/13/positively-thoughtless/

Brady’s Silence (explicit)

The Challenge
There are multiple ways of interacting with silence: purposefully leaving something unsaid, breaking the silence around a topic, or, quite simply, getting tongue-tied. For this week’s challenge, we want you to take the theme of silence and explore it in your own way.

The summer of 1956 was a most memorable summer for young Brady Holt.  Brady was a precocious ten year old from Peru, Indiana and he was out of his element in the balmy, sticky, humid climate of southern Alabama.

Rarely had Brady been outside of his tiny hometown except a few times for a wedding or a funeral or something he didn’t really care about in Indianapolis, just an hour or so to the south.  Brady wanted to go places to see them, not to attend stuffy formal events and be cooped up all day long inside.  He had the typical mind of a ten year old boy that wanted adventure in the exotic places of the world like the Wild West tracking down Geronimo or perhaps the deserts of Egypt making his way to see the Great Pyramids.

It was with this spirit that he could hardly contain himself when his father announced one day that the family was going to Pensacola, Florida to visit his relatives.  It was going to be the adventure of a lifetime for Brady.  He’d meet cousins his own age for the first time.  He’d be near the ocean!  Well, as near to the ocean as he’d ever been anyway, and the Gulf of Mexico seemed just as big as the ocean when you were in its presence.

So the tiny family of three, Brady and his father and mother, packed the car and headed south along US route 31which ran straight through the middle of Peru through ninety percent of the trip to Pensacola.  It was early evening on the second day of the journey when the family stopped for gasoline and dinner in the small town of McKenzie, Alabama about a half hour north of the Florida state line.

They stopped at Floyd’s Station and Brady’s dad told the man to fill it up, check the oil and top off the radiator.  He said they’d be back in a little bit after grabbing some supper at the diner across the street.

Brady reluctantly held his mother’s hand as they crossed the street, protesting the whole time that he wasn’t a child and he could cross the street himself.  In the end his mother won and only let go of his hand once they walked into the diner.

It didn’t seem like anything new to Brady, but he was excited nonetheless.  Elvis’ new hit Heartbreak Hotel played incessantly on the jukebox and the smell of hamburgers and fries wasn’t new to him either.  But it still held a mystique to young Brady because it was in a far off place called Alabama.  He knew more of this state because of baseball than what he learned in school.  The extent of his knowledge was that Willie Mays and Hank Aaron were from Alabama and the capitol was Montgomery.  And he had heard plenty about Montgomery and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. lately with the bus boycotts going on.

Brady had heard about it from the evening news he sometimes listened to on the radio with his dad and he sometimes heard a passing comment his dad made to his mother while reading the newspaper.  He often wondered why the “negro’s” would boycott the busses and why they were treated differently than regular people.  He sometimes tried to ask his dad about it, but he rarely gave him a satisfactory answer stating that “they” were just different and these laws were there to protect them because white southerners weren’t ready for integration yet.  Brady never got an answer as to why the white people weren’t ready for integration or how black people were different than white people.  To him, the only difference was the color of their skin.  But then again, in a small rural area of central Indiana, Brady had actually never seen a black person in the flesh.

Brady went to the counter where there was an extra seat.  He sat down claiming his stake at the “bar” and begged his dad to let him sit there.  He agreed and he and Brady’s mom sat down at a nearby booth.

Brady noticed the waitress take a plate from the window that the cooks would put orders on a ring the bell and thought she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.  Her chestnut hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders and she had the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen.  She walked over to him and smiled.

“Hi there, sweet pea,” she said in the most beautiful southern belle accent this ten year old boy had ever heard.  “What’ll it be?”

“Um, hi,” Brady stammered.  “Can I have a plain cheeseburger and some French fries,” he asked.  He heard his father clear his throat somewhere behind him and Brady added, “Please?”

The perky high school senior smiled, “You sure can, honey.  You want anything to drink like a Coke or a Dr. Pepper?”

“I’ll have a Coke,” he said.  “Please,” he added before his father could clear his throat again.

Brady looked around again, soaking in this new experience so he could tell all his friends about it when he got home.  How he had visited Alabama and went to the same diner that Willie Mays might have gone to!  Even sat in the same chair!

Brady hadn’t realized that the Jim Crow laws would have prevented Willie Mays from ever sitting right where he was sitting.  Even now that he was in the big leagues, Brady would never have known that Willie Mays probably wouldn’t even be able to get a Coke from a place like this.  But he would soon learn.

The waitress brought his cheeseburger and French fries over and a chocolate milkshake over and set them down in front of Brady.  “I made this milkshake by accident, honey, and didn’t want it to go to waste.  Do you like chocolate milkshakes?”

“Yes, ma’am!  Gee, thank you!”  Brady took the cheeseburger in his hands and took an unhealthy fist size bite out it and chewed with the biggest grin on his face.  He was really here.  Far away from home and everything he was used to.  In the morning he’d be at the ocean and going on adventures with his cousins.  He swallowed and sucked for a second on the straw in his thick chocolate milkshake that was melting fast in the evening heat of the deep south.

He heard the slam of a screen door in the back but paid it no mind as a Patti Page record started to play on the jukebox.  He took another bite of his cheeseburger and turned his head to a commotion he barely perceived in his young impressionable mind.  What he saw made his eyes widen and he swallowed his half chewed cheeseburger hard.

By the back door of the diner was the door to the kitchen and there stood a wiry black man who was just about as old as the pretty young waitress that had just served Brady.  He looked frightened as two big and burly farm boys flanked him.  Brady could hear one of them talking to the black man but he couldn’t hear what he was saying.  He strained, but try as he might, he couldn’t hear what was being said.  The black man kept looking down at the ground but wouldn’t say a word.

Suddenly, the farm boy closest to the door took hold of the kid and shoved him up against the wall.  Then he threw him into the main dining room and the kid fell right at Brady’s feet.  Brady looked at the terrified kid’s eyes and didn’t know what to do.  He had never seen a real fight before and had never seen a real black person before.  This was all new, but it seemed so very wrong to young Brady.  What had he done?  He was just standing there as far as Brady knew.  Why had they pushed him against the wall and then shoved him down?

Brady held his gaze and started to do the thing he felt like he should.  He got off his stool and held his hand out to help the kid up, but a strong hand lifted him up and put him back on the stool.  He had no idea what had just happened, he kept looking at the terror in the black kid’s eyes.

“What’re you lookin’ at nigger,” one of the farm boys yelled.  “You lookin’ at Cindy?  That’s my girl, nigger!  You lookin’ at my girl?”

“No sir,” the kid stammered and shuffled backwards on his hands as the farm boys approached him.  He stumbled and fell on his rear, his feet trying to gain traction to keep pushing himself backwards.  He was nervous as all eyes were on him and he didn’t know how to get out of this mess he had somehow found himself in.  “Please, sir.  I jus wanted a Coke.  I’m jus passin’ through, sir.  I don’t want no trouble.”

“’I don’t want no trouble suh’,” one farm boy mocked.  “Well you got trouble, boy.  This here diner don’t serve no niggers.  Never has, never will.”

“I am sorry,” the kid managed and finally was able to stand up.  He turned around and was ready to high tail it out the front door when one of the farm boys pushed him from behind and the kid went crashing through the screen door, getting tangled in the metal mesh of the screen and tumbling again to the hard concrete sidewalk.

Brady turned back to the counter and noticed the smug look on the pretty waitresses face and all of a sudden, she didn’t look so pretty to him anymore.  He took another bite of his cheeseburger and went to the booth where his parents were and sat down next to his mother.

“Dad,” he asked.  “What did that kid do wrong?”

His dad looked at him and said, “Not now, son.  We’ll talk about it later.”  He leaned over and looked past the booth and out towards the front door and didn’t see the kid or the two farm boys.  “You done with your dinner?  We have another hour or so until we get to Uncle Kevin’s house and I don’t want to get in too late.”

“Yeah,” Brady answered.  “I guess I’m finished.”

He got up and his mother followed and Brady’s father went to the counter and handed the pretty waitress that wasn’t so pretty anymore a bill and some change for the meal.

When they left the doorless diner, they had walked only a few feet when they heard more commotion across the street nearby the gas station they were headed to.  Brady ran across the deserted street without looking and stood on the curb not able to take his eyes away from the horror of what he was watching.

There stood the black kid, being held up by one of the farm boys.  The other, the one whose girl was the waitress, was punching the kid in the gut and giving hooks that Brady thought Joe Lewis would throw, to the kid’s jaws.  With one hook, Brady saw a spray of red and something white come flying out of his mouth.

Brady wanted to yell at them to stop.  That the kid said he only wanted a Coke and that was it.  He didn’t want any trouble so stop beating him up.  But nothing would come out of his mouth.  He took a step forward and tried again.  He opened his mouth but nothing would come out.

His father had stepped up behind him and tried to steer him towards the car, but he shrugged him off.  He knew this was wrong and yet how could he stop this?  What could he do as a mere ten year old kid?  Tears started streaming down his cheeks and he looked up at his dad, pleading with him to stop this.  He couldn’t do anything, but his dad could.  He was an adult.  Hadn’t he always said to go to an adult if something bad happened or he had trouble with an older boy at school?  His dad looked at him sympathetically and said, “Come on.”

He once more tried to steer him toward the car and once more Brady shrugged him off.  More defiantly this time since his dad seemed to not want to help.  He turned and saw the kid crumpled on the ground and the farm boy that was holding him got his two cents in by kicking him full in the gut before the two of them walked away.

Brady took another few steps forward, as if he wanted to help the kid, but didn’t know what to do or how to help.  He could hear the kid coughing and groaning and could see the blood on his clothes and around his mouth in the cold light of the street lamp.

Brady wiped tears from his eyes as the kid staggered to stand up.  He stood there for a brief second and looked up at Brady and for the second time their eyes met.  He gave Brady such a haunting look that it would never leave his mind for the rest of his life.  It was a look that said, “You’ve just been shown only a little bit of what my people have had to go through and are going through now.  Don’t just stand there next time.  Don’t just stand there in silence and watch.  I’m no different than you except the color of my skin.”

The kid staggered and stumbled back to some house or some car from where he came.  Only when he disappeared around the corner did Brady turn around and slowly walk to the car.  In that moment in young Brady’s life, he resolved to never again be silent.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/17/the-sound-of-silence/
http://jenniferann1970.wordpress.com/2014/02/18/when-the-silence-almost-deafens-you/
http://wiredwithwords.wordpress.com/2014/02/20/letters-from-silence-20th-february-2014/

 

The Valentine

Vince couldn’t concentrate all day long. He wanted to go home and see his girlfriend Olivia and surprise her for Valentine’s Day. Their relationship had been rocky for the last several months, but it wasn’t anything he thought they couldn’t work through.

The whole week he was thinking about what he could do to show her just how much he loved her. He wanted to do something special on Valentine’s Day for her and try to patch things up. He knew he had work to do in order for their relationship to heal and to progress, and he was up to the task. He loved this woman and wanted to be with her forever.

Vince thought of all kinds of things. Simple things and elaborate things. Things that would be expensive and things that were cheap. He tossed around a romantic weekend getaway and he tossed around dinner and a movie. What he settled on was simple, elegant, and romantic. And he knew she would love it. The minute he decided what he was going to do it was half past nine and he put his plan into motion. He still couldn’t concentrate on work.

————-

Olivia sat at her desk in her cubicle and sighed. Three in the afternoon and still no flowers from Vince. He really didn’t love her. He knew she was a sucker for holiday’s and she had dropped him hints about Valentine’s Day coming up. She resolved in her mind that if she didn’t get flowers or chocolates or even just a note or phone call on Valentine’s Day, she would leave him. She didn’t want to, she loved him, but she couldn’t go on like this for the rest of her life. Trying to change certain things to make him happy while he never did anything to try to make her happy. What kind of relationship was that? So when her afternoon break came at three o’clock and there were no flowers, chocolates, notes or phone calls from him, she went from depressed to angry. She thought of all the things she had given up because of him. The big promotion at work that meant they’d have to move, the weekends with her girlfriends, and as much as she hated to admit it, she’d do it again if she just knew how he felt.

Olivia had tried, for the three years they had been serious, to get him to open up more to her. She wanted him to let go of the fear and stigma of men talking about their feelings. She knew it would help him. But he never really “got” it. He would come home upset about something and be so cold to her and she’d gently prod to get him to let it out and instead of talking, he’d explode. Those nights usually ended up in an argument and Olivia crying herself to sleep on the sofa wanting to get out of the unhappy relationship but not wanting to leave this man she loved.

She had worked up the courage all day long for the inevitable, had made arrangements with her best friend to stay with her at her apartment until she could find a place of her own and figured she would go home, tell him she was leaving him, pack a few essentials and leave. She would worry about getting the rest of her stuff later. It was 3:30 now. Time to leave work. She would have forty-five more minutes on the commute home to figure out what she would say to him.

———-

Vince put the finishing touches on the home-made card and set it on the dining room table in front of the bouquet of lilies he had bought when he left work. There was a dozen roses on her nightstand in the bedroom too. He went into the kitchen to check on the dinner he was making to make sure everything was done and hot and ready for when she got home. He heard the garage door open and was so nervous. He was so excited to see her.

Olivia walked in and looked so sad. His heart skipped a beat as he saw her look so sad. What was wrong? What happened? Her face turned from sadness to confusion as she looked at the dining room table already set for dinner and she smelled the Italian food cooking with wafts of garlic and oregano finding their way to her from the kitchen. She saw the flowers and the card on the table and her own heart skipped a beat as she looked at Vince.

“Hey, baby,” he said quietly. “Look, I know I’ve been a jerk these past couple months and I know I haven’t exactly been the best guy in the world before that either. But I love you. I can’t describe it so I let other people say how much I love you. It’s in the card.” He walked to the table and picked up the card and handed it to her. She looked at it as he handed it to her and then took it. Before she looked at it, she looked up at him. She looked in his eyes and flushed. She looked down, paused for a few seconds and then opened the card.

Dear Liv,
I love you. But that’s not enough to explain how I feel. It’s much more. You know I’m not good with showing feelings, or talking about things, but from today on, I will try. I love you more than anything.

She put the card down on the table and sniffled as a tear rolled down her cheek. She looked up and he wasn’t there. He appeared in the corner of her eye from the living room and music filled the air from their surround sound stereo system. It was a breezy bossa nova type song and then she heard Tony Bennet start to sing. Vince opened his arms in the traditional dancing pose and she walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder and took his other hand in hers and they started dancing.

“Hold me close and hold me fast,” Tony crooned. “This magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose. When you kiss me heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose.”

Olivia closed her teary eyes and rested her head on his chest. He brought her hand in towards them both and the arm around her waist brought her in closer and held her tightly.

“When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart, a world where roses bloom, and when you speak, angels sing from above, every day words, seem to turn into love songs. Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be la vie en rose.”

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/10/writing-challenge-valentine/