The Bettermost Drabblefest: Please Join In!

[ifyoucantfixit]

     Bobby Twist wakes up as his daddy calls from the door to his, room.  "Come on son, its time to get up.  School day, and your mama is gone
to work already.  She had a meetin this morning with your grampa. "
     "I'm makin your breakfast this mornin.  What do you want?"
     "I want pancakes dad, pancakes with bananas, and pecans on em."
     "Bananas, and pecans it is then,  I can do that."  Jack wanders off into
the kitchen and pulls out the mixing bowl.  He thinks back to when he was
a boy, and his mama, used to make him pancakes for breakfast, too.  It seems
like a million years ago.  A million years of breakfasts, and all that time he has
never missed a day of having breakfast.  Mostly something easy and fast, and
even picked up on the way to work.  A donut, a sweet roll, or even, left over
beans, and bacon.  All these breakfasts.  Breakfast that mark a mans life.  Its
just one more way of counting.  The days of how you live your life." 
     "Dad do i have to wear those tennis shoes mama laid out for me to
wear?"  "Why Bob whats wrong with the tennis shoes?"  "Well, i'd rather
wear my boots.  Liike yours."  "Go ahead and wear the boots son, it's ok. If your  mama says anything, i'll just tell her I,  said it was ok, you wore the boots."
     "Now sit and eat, we ain't got all day.  You gotta get to school, and I
gotta get on to work."
     "I've gotta go deliver a truck, out on one of the back roads south a town,
between here and the border."  "I just wanted to get you to
 school with a good breakfast first."  "I'll be back this afternoon in time to pick you up, from school too."  "Maybe we can go get that glove you wanted after."
     "You done?  Lets go then."  Jack places the dishes in the sink.  picks
up Bobby's pack.  Hands it to him, and scurries the boy out the door.
     "Hello Mrs Twist, we have some unfortunate news for you."  "What?
What?  She screams!"  "We found your husband, maam, laying beside his truck,
He has been killed."

[haunted_by_bbm]

Don Wroe’s Cabin  (Part 3)  (My Drabble Trilogy) 

Saturday, November 13, 1976  8:43 p.m.

“I like your eyebrows.”

“Whut?  What did you say?”

“Nothin…didn’t say nothin.”  Ennis buried his face in Jack’s back, muffling the words, refusing to look up or let the man turn around.

“I heard you,” Jack laughed, twisting in Ennis’ grasp, pulling free, turning around to face the man.  “I heard what you said, cowboy.” Jack chuckled.  “Just want you to say it again while I’m lookin at ya.”   

“Geez, Jack, stop. Why you do that to me?  Just slipped out is all.” 

Even in the cozy darkness of the cabin, Jack could see Ennis turning his customary shade of red. 

“I like your eyebrows too.” 

“Do you now?” 

“Yup.  They’re right where they belong, one above each eye.” Jack winked. 

Ennis grunted.

Jack scooted all the way up into Ennis’ lap, straddling him, nuzzling his face, planting a kiss on each of the man’s light brown brows.

“You bein’ so sweet…think I’m gonna have to make you some pancakes in the mornin to show my appreciation,” Jack sighed, letting a slow tongue run along Ennis’ jawline.

“hhhmmm, can think a better ways for you to show your appreciation…  B’sides, these gonna be normal pancakes?  Or they gonna be black like everythin’ else you try to cook when we get together?” 

“Oh, I imagine I can handle makin you a decent breakfast in this here kitchen…but for now…how ‘bout we explore those better ways you have in mind for me to show my appreciation?”

“Now you talkin…  No more talk ‘bout eyebrows.”

“You started it.”

“Jack...”

“hhhmmm…”

“Shut up.”

“Kiss me.”

“If’n that’s the only way to shut you up.”

“Pretty much.” 

“C’mere then…gonna keep you quiet for the rest a the night.”

“Now, you talkin’…”   

_________________________________________________________________

(300 Words)

[MaineWriter]

For today, let's go with some real specific movie iconography:

• two bloody shirts
• reunion kiss
• smiles a lot

L

[Cameron]

Images in Black and White

October 1981

Ennis and Cassie were watching an old movie.  They were on the old tattered couch, Cassie lyng with her legs in Ennis's lap.  It was one of those old movies from the forties, all black and white, and Cassie felt the tears in her eyes when the couple, separated for years by the war, came together for a long, sweet, reunion kiss.

Cassie glanced over at Ennis.  His brow was wrinkled and his eyes had that lost, far away look that they often do.

“Hey, what ya thinkin’ cowboy?” she asked.  He gave her a little, wan smile and he began rubbing her feet, like he did that first night.

Cassie looked again at the movie.  The main guy, tall and dark, was having bad dreams, he was remembering  what it was like in the war, on the screen was him and his buddy, in a foxhole, with guns going off all around.  The main guy, had his buddy in his arms. The buddy was shot, and now their heads were down, holding each other so tightly, so all Cassie could see on the screen was the two bloody shirts, wrapped tightly round each other.

Ennis had stopped rubbing her feet, and was staring straight at the screen.  His face had a look of pain, and Cassie could see the tears in his eyes.  Cassie could feel the familiar ache.  She knew she loved him, but sometimes she just wondered if it would just be a whole lot easier to go with a fella who smiled a lot, instead of one that was always trying to fight back the tears.

(267 words)

[Scott6373]

“Good morning son.”  His mother was busy making the usual breakfast that she had made for perhaps her entire lifespan.

“Mornin Ma.”  She brought him a mug filled with steaming coffee that tasted more like muddy water than anything else.

“Your father has gone out to the field already.”

“Um…yeah I thought so.  Thanks for letting me sleep.”  She returned to him with the bowl of sticky oatmeal, the poached egg on top oozing over the lumps.

“You got in late son.  I didn’t want him to wake you.”  Jack nodded and began the arduous task of pleasing his mother by eating what she had cooked.  “I did go up and take your laundry.  I’ll get that cleaned up for ya.”

Again he nodded with only a fleeting understanding of what his mother had said.  His mind and memory were still on Brokeback.  Maybe he should have driven off more slowly.  Maybe he should have said something.  He regretted the fight, though he knew, for his part, it was just more of the same rough and tumble, that he hoped would lead to a final morning of  melding.  He should not have hit him, even if by accident.  The memory of Ennis’ blood, smeared on the cuff of his shirt made him wince.  The shirt.  “I did go up and take your laundry.  I’ll get that cleaned up for ya.”  He pushed the empty bowl away from him.  “UH…Ma…where is it?”

“Where is what son?”

“The clothes you took.”

“In the basket over there by the door.  Why?”

“I uh…need to get something out a pocket.”  He got up and went over to the worn wicker basket and started to search.  He didn’t hear his mother say that she had checked the pockets and found nothing.  Eventually he did find his treasure.  From where he was squatting, he took a quick, secretive glance in his mother’s direction.  Seeing that she was busy attempting to clean the oatmeal pot of its plaster-like contents, he took what he had been looking for, and headed toward the stairs.  “Thanks for the food.  I’m gonna clean up and head out to help Pa.”

“All right son.   I’m making your favorite for dinner tonight to welcome ya home.  Would you like me to make ya a cherry cake…”  She turned in time to see her son disappear up the stairs without getting an answer to her question.

He went into the tiny closet and took one of the wire hangers.  But before using it, he drew the shirt that wasn’t his own close to his face, and breathed in deeply.  The aroma of cigarettes and happiness made their way into his soul.   He left the closet and sat on his boyhood bed.  With great care, he threaded one sleeve inside the other.  He worked the material until the two shirts were embraced, one in the other.  He went back into the closet.  In hopes  to avoid another theft of his memories, he hung the new garment on a tiny nail that jutted out in his secret, but not really secret, hiding place.  He grabbed his hat and headed back downstairs.

As he walked toward the door, his mother asked, again, the question that she had not received an answer to.  “You want some cherry cake tonight?”

(551 words)

[MaineWriter]

Lightning Flat, WY
October, 1976

“You tellin’ me yer queer?”

“I’m tellin’ you that this is Ennis, he’s my partner and the man I plan ta spend the rest a my life with.”

“Then you ain’t my son and you can just get outta this house right now. I didn’t raise you ta grow up ta be a faggot.” John Twist’s lip curled as he spat out the words.

Jack looked at his father, then his mother. “Mama, can I get somethin’ from my room before I leave?”

“A course, Jack,” she answered.

“C’mon En,” said Jack, pulling him by the hand.

“What, you gonna go fuck him up there in yer childhood bed?” snarled Twist, Sr., as Jack left the room.

“Yeah, mebbe we are, and I’ll make a lot a noise while we’re at it,” Jack shouted back as he headed up the stairs.

“Jack, I don’t need ta come with ya, I can wait in the truck.”

“No, En, c’mon on, I have somethin’ I want ya to see.”

Ennis stood in the doorway of the little room, his eyes quickly taking in the crooked bed, the silent alarm clock, the cowboy figurine on his horse. Jack moved to a narrow space behind the closet and pulled out two shirts on a hanger. “You never left yer shirt up on Brokeback,” he said softly. “I took it.”

Ennis walked over to where Jack was standing, lifted up the sleeve and fingered the bloody cuff. He looked at Jack, puzzled. “Ya took my shirt?”

Jack nodded. “I needed it…it’s all I had a you. I could smell you on it. Sometimes I’d…I’d wear it ta sleep in.” He took the shirts off the hanger and rolled them into a ball. “There’s nothin’ in this house I care about, but I don’t want that bastard ta have yer shirt.” He started to move past Ennis, but Ennis reached out and stopped him, his hand on Jack’s arm.

“Ya got me now.”

Jack looked down at the ball of fabric in his hands, then up at Ennis. “Yeah, I do. C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

(355 words)

[TH]

morning of melding. 

  Ohhh...  I ~do~ like a good phrase... and..., it seems, you can turn them...  -smile...  -thanks... 

[Scott6373]

Lightning Flat, WY
October, 1976

“You tellin’ me yer queer?”

“I’m tellin’ you that this is Ennis, he’s my partner and the man I plan ta spend the rest a my life with.”

“Then you ain’t my son and you can just get outta this house right now. I didn’t raise you ta grow up ta be a faggot.” John Twist’s lip curled as he spat out the words.

Yikes...really bad memories here.  Well done Leslie!

[belbbmfan]

He went into the tiny closet and took one of the wire hangers.  But before using it, he drew the shirt that wasn’t his own close to his face, and breathed in deeply.  The aroma of cigarettes and happiness made their way into his soul.   

(551 words)

Yes, i can image that this is how it went. 'the aroma of cigarettes and happiness', those shirts are such a powerful image.

Lightning Flat, WY
October, 1976

Ennis walked over to where Jack was standing, lifted up the sleeve and fingered the bloody cuff. He looked at Jack, puzzled. “Ya took my shirt?”

Jack nodded. “I needed it…it’s all I had a you. I could smell you on it. Sometimes I’d…I’d wear it ta sleep in.” He took the shirts off the hanger and rolled them into a ball. “There’s nothin’ in this house I care about, but I don’t want that bastard ta have yer shirt.” He started to move past Ennis, but Ennis reached out and stopped him, his hand on Jack’s arm.

“Ya got me now.”

Jack looked down at the ball of fabric in his hands, then up at Ennis. “Yeah, I do. C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

(355 words)

And this is how it should have been...

great drabbles, thanks 

[mariez]

Any idea for archiving and expanding drabblefest sounds great to me - I was thinking of some prompts last night and couldn't remember if they'd been used before! 

It seemslike a million years ago.  A million years of breakfasts, and all that time he has
never missed a day of having breakfast.  Mostly something easy and fast, and
even picked up on the way to work.  A donut, a sweet roll, or even, left over
beans, and bacon.  All these breakfasts.  Breakfast that mark a mans life.  Its
just one more way of counting.  The days of how you live your life." 
.   .  .

     "Hello Mrs Twist, we have some unfortunate news for you."  "What
What, she screams."  "We found your husband ,  laying beside his truck,
He has been killed."

Oh, Janice - that is superb writing!  Perfect and subtle foreshadowing - I should have seen that coming, but I didn't.  Stand up and take a bow.

Don Wroe’s Cabin  (Part 3)  (My Drabble Trilogy) 

Saturday, November 13, 1976  8:43 p.m.

“I like your eyebrows.”

“Whut?  What did you say?”

A trilogy - terrific!  And so was that drabble - so sweet and funny and real - just like our guys!   

Images in Black and White

.   .   . 
  The main guy, had his buddy in his arms. The buddy was shot, and now their heads were down, holding each other so tightly, so all Cassie could see on the screen was the two bloody shirts, wrapped tightly round each other.

Ennis had stopped rubbing her feet, and was staring straight at the screen.  His face had a look of pain, and Cassie could see the tears in his eyes.  Cassie could feel the familiar ache.  She knew she loved him, but sometimes she just wondered if it would just be a whole lot easier to go with a fella who smiled a lot, instead of one that was always trying to fight back the tears.

Oh, my Marleen - you just keep outdoing yourself.  Your use of the bloody shirts prompt is nothing short of brilliant - as was the entire drabble.

.   .  .
He went into the tiny closet and took one of the wire hangers.  But before using it, he drew the shirt that wasn’t his own close to his face, and breathed in deeply.  The aroma of cigarettes and happiness made their way into his soul.   He left the closet and sat on his boyhood bed.  With great care, he threaded one sleeve inside the other.  He worked the material until the two shirts were embraced, one in the other.  He went back into the closet.  In hopes  to avoid another theft of his memories, he hung the new garment on a tiny nail that jutted out in his secret, but not really secret, hiding place.  He grabbed his hat and headed back downstairs.
.   .  .

I kept reading over and over. I don't know what to say, Scott. You're so good, I could cry. 

And this is how it should have been...

Yes, Fabienne.  The beginning was so hard to read, Leslie - but then really fine writing so often is.  Thanks for the ending - I needed that.

Thanks, all,
Marie