Glove

Swathed in velvet and jewels, Cinderella pulled on a white satin glove. The lace band squeezed her flabby arm. "Maid," she called, a thin note of disdain in her voice, "I believe this pair, too, has shrunk from carelessness. Please bring me a pair that you haven't taken to be laundered and find out who's mistake this was."

"Yes Your Highness," came the young girl's response. Quickly the girl picked the dropped glove from the floor and put it in the pile with the other discarded gloves. She handed the Queen a new pair of gloves, which she assumed would also prove to be too small.

***One Minute Writer ***

Sharp

George Stevens the Third sat at the threshold of his home. His nose twitched and his body quivered in anticipation. Licking his lips, he assessed the danger of venturing out. The fourteen sets of brightly colored feet would only be problematic for the first few seconds. He knew from experience that his presence was enough to make them scatter. His real concern was Franklin, a.k.a. Frankie. Frankie was a muscle bound bully with quick movements and a white patch over one eye. Last time they met, Frankie had almost killed him. George reached back, unconsciously rubbed his bottom and then straightened his whiskers.

"No," he thought, "I'd better wait a while. That damned cat is always lurking by when feet are present. The sharp cheddar will still be there after the feet have left."

*** One Minute Writer ***

Interview

I stared into the flickering flame of the electric candle and watched the small light bounce off the fabric of the fake pink rose next to it. 'How did I get talked into this?' I wondered. I hated interviewing! Reaching up, I smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen from my ponytail holder and smiled sarcastically at my friend down the way.

He sat down across from me. The table separating us was narrow and he kicked my leg while trying to settle himself. His apology was quick, but I found myself drawn in by the quicker blushing of his young face. His smooth skin, dark hair and deep eyes. His clean hands and prominent chest muscles.

Picking up the small clipboard, I checked the box "will see again" next to the name that matched his badge. Maybe speed dating wouldn't be so bad.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Swing

Only Squirrel noticed that she had arrived with less joy than previous years. He sat silently among the cheerful woodland creatures, listening to their incessant chatter while observing her. Spring wandered slowly, examining the brown sticks and hard clumps of Earth that sat humiliated in their nudity where every one could see. She would touch them gently, whispering consoling words, and promise deep robes of green with jeweled flowers as decoration. Her prophets helped spread her promise from the tops of the trees in little chirps and tweets and whistles. But she didn't twirl. Her hair was limp, it's bright golden color hidden behind a veil of sadness.

Quietly, he left and scampered up an old arthritic tree. "Dearest Spring!" he called. Nerves caused him to dart between branches and the old tree shook them, annoyed to have the extra weight of Squirrel for fear his branches would snap. "Miss Spring!" Squirrel called again.

She turned and came over, stroking the old tree, relaxing his tired joints. He relaxed and the Squirrel stood still. "My dear Spring," Squirrel began and then hesitated at the stormy grey of her eyes. He was accustomed to eyes of brilliant blue with flecks of white in this young maiden. "I beg your pardon, miss, but what keeps you from your twirling dance and babbling laughter?"

Her eyes darkened. A dangerous light flashed across them for such a brief time that Squirrel thought perhaps he was dreaming this encounter. She looked at him intently. "A woman aught to be entitled to a mood swing now and then!" she stormed and her tear drops soaked Squirrel and the Earth as she turned away and left with a great wind at her heels.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Mountain

For many years, John had loved her..... and only her. He thought of her as his lover and was always faithful to her. She had taught him patience and how to survive with whatever Mother Nature and God provided. But today, they were failing him and he knew that this would be his last battle. Propping himself up on his elbow, John looked out his window to see her one last time.

The white crown glinted brightly in the sun; the purple and blue cloak fell gracefully down the length of her body; her green and yellow skirt peeked from beneath the cloak. She stood majestic and confident as always. Finding great peace in her solidity, John laid himself down and took a last rattling breath, releasing his soul into his love's care. The great mountain sighed at his immortal embrace.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Late: Short Fiction

"Not until I am two weeks late," she had insisted over and over for the last month. But now that she was a few days late, it seemed she was changing her mind. Her movements slowed, her weight increased steadily, and her feet swelled. Her breath became ore labored, making it difficult at times to understand her. "We are almost there," she whispered each morning upon waking. Each night as she lay in bed, she would say, "It can't be much longer now."

The afternoon before the two week anniversary, she seemed crest fallen. "Babies come when they want to," she cried when she called form work. Cozied in a booth at dinner, she smiled for the first time that day. "Babies come when they want to," she declared.

"That's what you said this afternoon," I responded. "But our baby is coming as determined by the medical field."

"No," she said, fidgeting in her seat and still smiling. "Our baby is coming now. Do you think yuo could get the car and say several rolls of paper towel?"

*** One Minute Writer ***

Cat or Dog

I knew that damned creature lurked beneath the bed just waiting for light to ascend and my ankles to descend. It never failed. Every morning I awoke in that strange bed, I'd enter the breakfast nook with new scratches mixed with weeping blood and a frustration that far outweighed the sting of pain. "I hate your cat," I'd say as a morning greeting. My middle school best friend simply responded with a shrug. Is it any wonder I am a dog person?

*** One Minute Writer ***

Scheme

Scheme

Laurie passed me the note silently as Mr. Wan drolled on about the importance of understanding lowest common denominators. Carefully, I unfolded it and set it on top of my notebook so it would blend in with the pitiful little I had written. Want in on the plans for Joey? it said. I ground my teeth involuntarily at the name. Joey Parsons. The biggest creep I ever hoped to meet. Now there was a lowest common denominator.

He'd asked me out on a date a few weeks before. All the girls thought he was cute. Tall, athletic frame, blonde hair and blue eyes. He wasn't the lead on any teams, but he was certainly in that crowd. I'd said yes and then floated all the way home, calling everyone one of my friends to tell them what happened. We were all super excited for the date.

He picked me up at my house in his shiny black Camino. His dad gave it to him for his 16th birthday and then bought himself some new hobby car. Joey had helped rebuild the car and talked about details that I didn't care to understand. I was simply enthralled to be with him. We pulled up in front of The Burger Joint. Hamburgers, french fries, and a shared chocolate shake later, he paid the bill and we left for the drive-in.

He smiled at me a lot on the way to the drive-in. We were going to watch Twilight. I'd seen it when it came out in theaters, but didn't care because it meant sitting with Joey in his awesome car. He paid for our tickets and some sodas. We climbed into the backseat. When the sun set, the air grew chilly. He gave me a blanket and pulled me over close to him, wrapping his arm around me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at just being this close to him. It was going to be a perfect night.

After a few minutes, he slipped his hand over my shoulder and rested it over my breast. His other hand slid up my thigh. I was uncomfortable with this and quietly removed them. He persisted. I grew angry and impatient. I told him to stop and pushed him away and started to slide across the seat and out of the car. The butterflies in my stomach flew chaotically, trying to escape the situation. Joey wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap. "Where are you going?" he said. His tone was dark and dangerous.

"Let go of me," I said through gritted teeth as I struggled to pull free.

"What? You think you can just have me pay for everything and then leave without giving me anything in return?" His grip tightened around my waist.

I pulled my elbow back hard, catching him square in the chest. He let go, surprised at the force and sudden loss of breath. I scrambled out of the car. I would have fallen through the door had he not caught my wrist. I turned toward him so the majority of my body could continue to move away. "Yeah. That's exactly what I think," I said.

I pulled my arm away, but not before he slapped me. I fell backward from the force, hitting my head of the low end of the speaker pole. I could feel something wet dripping behind my ear and I could taste the tell tale sign of iron from blood in my mouth. I jumped up and ran to the concession stand where the girl's bathroom was located. I cried as quietly as I could inside the stall, dabbing away the blood on the too thin toilet paper.

Later, I found my purse hanging on the speaker pole. He'd used my lipstick to write his thought of me on my purse. He'd taken the time to destroy everything he could. The mirror was shattered, pictures torn, my cell phone sat in a mostly full cup of soda, my lipstick was smashed into the dirt.

The class bell rang and Mr. Wan told us to do the problems on the following two pages. I folded up the note and packed it in my backpack with my math books, etc. Laurie was waiting for me by the door. "I'm in. What's the scheme?" I said as we left the room.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Troubled Teen

She thought she had been struck by cupid's arrow. She had never experienced the sensation she had when she looked at Josh. Maybe band camp wouldn't be so bad after all. She walked over to him and smiled weakly. "Ummm.... hi Josh," she said. Her mouth was dry. She would have been willing to drink a bottle of mouthwash if it meant her tongue didn't feel like sandpaper in his presence. She watched him tug a little harder on the head of a gnome, trying to pluck it from his camp counselor's garden. The counselor had nailed it to a stake and buried the end deep.

He looked over his shoulder briefly. "Hey."

She felt the heat rising from her feet, up her legs and into her abdomen. It made her feel nauseous, dizzy, confused. Is this what love felt like, she thought. She stumbled forward slightly. Her bright red golashes glowing bright against the slightly damp color of earth. "Hey." she responded, her vision clouding everything but Josh out of her sight. She felt herself sway. I'm weak in the knees. It's a fairytale!

Josh looked over his shoulder again. "Are you okay?" he asked, forgetting the gnome and reaching for her instead. She could feel the heat rising up her chest and into her face. She was having difficulties breathing. She couldn't believe what a strong effect he was having on her. She swooned. The last thing she saw was Josh leaning over her and the last thing she felt was his lips pressing against hers.

At least, that is the way she preferred to remember it when the other kids at band camp taunted her. She kept this story alive inside of her using it mentally fend off the taunts of the other kids who had learned what happened. Maybe one day, she would be able to use it as the opener to her explanation of how she found out she was allergic to porcupine quills.... and why she would never attend another camp in the mountains again. For now, she had to endure the teasing and hateful words that teenagers are so good at conjuring up.

A Bizarre Gift

My birthday had been largely perfect. No fuss, no muss. My husband and I sat huddled up on the couch after having put my son to bed, my swollen belly taking up the most space.

"Did you get everything you wanted for your birthday?" he asked.

"I think so," I responded feeling content and happy. Our hands were intertwined.

He reached to the side of the couch and pulled up a smallish box. "Do you think you can handle opening one more present?"

I was immediately curious as to what was in the transformed shoe box. It stood up on it's end. The lid had been fashioned to look like little doors, complete with two small knobs to pull them open. It was the only gift I had received with the exception of the birthday card my son had picked out.

I opened the doors slowly and peered inside. I felt kind of guilty, as if I was spying on someone's life. Inside was a little bar and from it hung green things. I pulled the door open wider and reached in, pulling out one of the green shapes. It was a $20 bill folded into an origami shirt. There were pants and dresses too.

"There is $250 for you to go buy a new wardrobe. I know it doesn't do you any good now, but I thought you would want new things after the baby was born."

I couldn't stop admiring the little wardrobe. I was so moved by the amount of time it must have taken to create. It was beautiful in artistry and rich in love. Sometimes, money can buy happiness.

Bad Day

As I lay on my cot, wondering what had become of my fellow travelers, I heard the beating of drums in the distance. I closed my eyes. The first person had walked with the captors calmly. She hadn’t tried to struggle at all, assuming she was being brought in front of the leader of the tribe to explain our sudden appearance. The next few people went timidly, looking back over their shoulders, a tell-tale fear in their eyes. The last two had struggled. Kicking, shouting, screaming, and being beat down until they were unconscious and unceremoniously dragged toward the sound of the drums.

The drumming became more intense. Low chanting had begun to float through the heavy jungle vines and find their way to my ears. It wouldn’t be long before they reached a fevered pitch and three strong men from the tribe would come to escort me to the drums, like all the others had been. The chants would end and I would walk silently to the solitary beat of a drum, one that would mark time in seconds. Step. Step. Step. It would demand.

The voices were ascending. I swallowed although my mouth was dry. The leaves outside of the hut rustled. I stood straight, emphasizing my height, in the middle of the little hut. I could hear the unmistakable sound of the wooden end of the spears scraping against the ground. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the stale breath of the room. The door slid open and a masked person peered inside, its clawed hand summoning me forward. I realized it was going to be a very bad day.

*** One Minute Writer ***

An Essay for a Netbook

Tell Us How Our Libraries Have Impacted Your Madison College Learning Experience

As a non-traditional student, I am taking my education far more seriously than I did as a traditional student. I am stimulated by the environment and frequently challenged by the class work. I find myself putting more effort into studying and taking pride in being a part of this community. However, I did not start out feeling this way. I had been out of school for many years when I found myself sitting at my computer reflecting on my college days as a traditional student and nervously tapping my pencil, wondering what my on-line class would be like. I was riddled with anxiety about my ability to do well. It was the library system that both supported and pushed me to do better, thus opening the door for an extremely positive educational experience.

The catalyst for exploring the library and its resources came in the form of an assignment. I was to work with a small group of students to produce a well written paper dissecting the weaknesses and strengths of an employee handbook. The logistics seemed overwhelming at first and the three of usbitterly complained about how unfair this assignment was for an on-line class. Finally, we accepted the reality that we would need to find a way to make it work. The library provided a convenient place for everyone to meet to share opinions and knowledge. There were ample easily accessible materials that supported our ideas and the overarching project. It was a very positive experience and I continued to use the library as a meeting ground for other groups.

It wasn’t until my third or fourth class that I was asked to write a paper alone.Having always had the support of a group, I found myself feeling uncertain of my ability to write a paper outside of the team effort I had come to rely on. I spoke of this to a classmate I had worked on previous projects with and he told me about the wonderful experiences he had with the writing center. I made an appointment. The writing center staff was extremely professional and knowledgeable. This service proved to be invaluable to the writing of that paper and to my self-confidence as a capable student in every area.

I began visiting the library to look through additional reading materials teachers had recommended or articles they had placed on hold. It became a home away from home, one I would visit when I was early for class or when class ended early and I wasn’t ready to go back to my house. I started reading more, learning beyond what was expected of me. I became addicted to research and my personal library at home began to fill up with genres besides fiction. I am quick to share these resources with others. In that sense, the MATC library has made it possible for my experience with education to extend beyond the boundaries of the campus and learning community.

The library system was central to helping me build the confidence I needed to succeed academically, providing materials and space essential to supporting a quality education, and making it possible for students to learn beyond what a classroom can offer by encouraging social relationships through common interests and goals. All of these things combined have made my Madison learning experience the absolute best anyone can expect.

*** This was a contest through Madison Area Technical College ****

Half and Hold

"Alzheimer's is worse for those not inflicted, but forced to watch. A progressive disease that devastates those around the inflicted and leaves the inflicted standing in a thick fog, but otherwise unharmed," she had explained to many of her research subjects and their families. Lauren could feel it moving in her, the dampness settling into the deep recesses of her brain, slowing her thoughts and obscuring some memories completely. She worked diligently to hold on to her memories, using all she had learned in her studies of the disease and bargaining with God to let her keep the most important ones: her children's names; the joys and frustrations they brought her over the years; her own name; and an identity she could recognize as hers. In return, she would sacrifice her body and the other half of her mind. Just let me keep these few things, she prayed silently. It was a prayer she fervently wanted heard and ultimately knew would go unanswered.

*** One Minute Writer***

Chase

We'd first met Chase when he was two-and-a-half. He had wandered off the street and into our house. I was washing dishes when his little body walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, his mouth dropping open. "Can I have something to eat?" he garbled in typical two-year-old fashion.

"Where are your parents?" was all I could say. Eventually, I learned dad had been out of the picture since before he was born. He only showed up to beat on mom. Mom had serious mental health issues, but refused to seek help.

We adopted Chase in our hearts. We watched him grow from a toddler to a teenager, frequently providing what his parents chose not to. He dropped out of school and was working full-time to support his mother. It was admirable, but he should have been enjoying his senior year and visiting colleges.

"What can we do?" I asked my husband as we digested the facts.

*** Prompt provided by One Minute Writer***

I Have A Dream

There is a common misinterpretation that Martin Luther King's speech lobbied for equal rights for all. In reality, all but the first "I have a dream" stanza, and the build up to those beautiful passages, specifically sites brotherhood and equality between whites and blacks/ Negros. What should we rally behind then? The essence of his speech. The underlying prose of equality. As long as a group of people are systematically devalued by a characteristic such as race, gender, age, religion, sexual preference, etc, his speech is very much relevant. And humanity will have something to rally behind.

*** Seven Days, Seven Questions ****

Holiday Ornament

I remember always loving my Grandmother's Christmas Tree. It was covered in white porcelain ornaments of various shapes and sizes. The old fashioned kind you can't buy anymore. When she died, her belongings were split among her children and I was disappointed not to receive any of the ornaments I treasured. I never told anyone. A year later, I received a package in the mail at Thanksgiving. It held a dozen white porcelain snowflakes. Thank you to whomever sent it to me. I wish I knew who you were and how you knew how desperately I wanted them.

*** One Minute Writer ***