Although his morning had begun like any other day, as he stared at his plate of scrambled eggs something told him this was not to be just another day.

She could feel his presence all around her and wished she could hear his voice, just one more time, assuring her that everything was going to be okay.

The old feelings came back.  They would come every so often.  As much as she hated herself for having them, especially after so many years, Rebekah welcomed them.  She welcomed any real feeling.

Moving over in bed, her nose closer to his pillow, she breathed, deep.  Hoping.

Nothing.

Grabbing the pillow she pulled it close and wrapped herself around it.

“Daniel,” she said, tears coming.  “I miss you, Daniel.”

The ceiling fan massaged the air as the morning light made shadows dance around the ceiling.  The dawning of each day and the eve of every night she lay, watching, hoping.

Nothing.

Wiping her eyes she pushed his pillow away, back into place.  A couple of deep breaths and she rolled her legs over the side and her feet onto the floor.  Her back ached and she waited for the blood to find it’s way to her toes.

Time.  Age.  She never used to mind them.  Facts of life.  Now they were the things she was fighting.  Each day trying to hang on, finding a reason; knowing that she still had too long to go.

She shook her head.  She used to know that Daniel had too long.

Rebekah stood and stretched.  All she would try to worry about is today.  That’s the best she could do.

First sentence of this story submitted by Cathy S. It received the third most votes for sentences submitted the week of October 1, 2012.  

Please leave comments below on if you liked the direction I took the story, or if you would have personally went a different way.  I would love to know!

Preface – My son, Michael, is celebrating his 11th birthday today, so I let him pick the sentence to start.  Thanks so much to Jim B. for his willingness to trade out his submission for another time.

Mario arrived in Kongo Jungle to capture Donkey Kong’s banana stash, ready to deal with Diddy Kong.   As soon as Mario’s feet touched the shore, even before he could take off his tanooki suit, barrel’s were raging toward him.  Diddy stood on top of the bank, gleeful, hurling one after the other.

Dodging and jumping over the barrel’s, Mario carefully made his way up the sand, closer to Diddy.

Stupid little wanna-be monkey.

Mario’s last attempt had been a complete failure, thanks to Diddy, and Mario was not going home to the Mushroom Kingdom empty handed this time.

Diddy jumped and flipped with excitement, watching Mario struggle up the hill.  Mario let him have his moment of glory.  Last time Mario only came with his hammer, but this time he was ready.

As the next barrel came rumbling toward Mario, he jumped and simultaneously pulled a shell out from his backpack.  Before he landed, he lobbed it at Diddy.

Diddy stood, the next barrel high above his head, ready to throw.  The sadistic joy in his face turned to shock, then terror, as the shell made it’s way up the hill and plowed right through him.  Diddy flew into the air, barrel’s cascading around him, and then landed on his head.

As Diddy lay, unable to move, stars swirling around him, Mario ran past and said, “Woohoo!”

I love you Michael.  Happy Birthday!

When I was young, I thought I truly had it all figured out.  Life and I were pretty tight.  Anytime I wanted something, life was there, with exactly what I needed.  It seemed it would always be that way.  Unfortunately, when you’re dead, life kind of shrugs its shoulders and says, “Sorry, wish I could help.”

Well, dead is a relative term.  What would you call it if you still feel like you are walking around, interacting with the world, but you have no control over what you do?   Is that living?   If I used to have a soul, is it gone now, somewhere else, and my brain is still stuck in this body, watching me do what I do day in and day out?

I don’t know.  Like I said, dead is a relative term.

Do I agree with the things I do?  Certainly not!  But if you don’t have any control over what you do, does it matter?  Mostly I’ve gotten to the point where I just try to ignore it, and keep my thoughts occupied with different things.  Positive things.   All the wonderful memories I had when I was young and thought I had it all figured out.  It’s amazing how real a memory can feel when you need it too.

Every now and then I’ll see somebody that is still like I used to be.  If only I could communicate.  Oh well, the best I can hope for is that something changes and my mind takes control of my body again, or, more likely, somebody puts a bullet in my head.

I’m assuming a bullet to the head will actually finish me off.  But who knows, I also never assumed that I would ever be walking around, making animal noises, eating human flesh.

Like I said, life and I used to be pretty tight.

Used to be.

First sentence of this story submitted by Trey G. It received the most votes for sentences submitted the week of October 1, 2012.  

Please leave comments below on if you liked the direction I took the story, or if you would have personally went a different way.  I would love to know!

About to enter the gates of Urquhart Castle, Rupert hobbles up to the entrance trying to adjust his headset for the tour, and yells out, “How do ye turn it down a bit?” 

The tour guide grabbed the control box from Rupert and adjusted the volume.

“Is that better?” she asked, smiling.

Rupert saw her mouth the words, but couldn’t hear a thing over static in his ear coming from the audio.  Lifting one side of the headset, he gave her a puzzled look, and asked, “Huh?”

“Can you hear it now?” she asked, louder.

He gave a disgruntled nod.

“Come on dad, we need to catch up,” his daughter said, putting her hand around his shoulder.

Catch up.  He knew he was going to be playing catch up all day.  His whole life he had waited for the time when he could come to Loch Ness.  Now that he was here, he was going to have to fight his body, and this boring tour, to get to what he really wanted.

“Dad?”

“I’m coming!” he said gruffly, trying to get his legs going.

At every stop in the castle, Rupert made his impatience known with a heavy sigh or a loud, “When are we going to see Nessie?”  Rupert didn’t have time for all the ‘old castle’ shtick.  His daughter just rolled her eyes and smiled, apologetically, to the other group members.

Finally, at the end of the tour, they were standing on the shore of the great lake.

“The first account of the Loch Ness Monster dates back to 1933, when…” the guide started.

Rupert took his headphones off and gazed out over the lake.  All these years, waiting, he was finally here.  He handed the headphones to his daughter, who didn’t seem to mind taking them.  She never really understood why he wanted to come anyway.

He slowly walked away from the group and onto a small dock leading out into the lake, the group turning their attention from the tour, to him.

“I’m sorry sir, you’ll need to come back to the group.  You need to be off the dock, please,” the guide said, a look of concern on her face.

Rupert ignored her.  At the end of the dock, he pulled an old necklace out from inside his shirt.  On the end of it was a whistle.  He put it to his mouth, smiled and blew long and hard.

There was no audible sound.

“Dad,” his daughter called out, exchanging looks with the guide.  “Dad, come on back up here.”

“I’m home,” Rupert said, quietly to himself, before jumping in.

Screams echoed off the shore of the lake, right beside Urquhart Castle, nestled in the Scottish Highlands.

First sentence of this story submitted by Becky W. It received the third most votes for sentences submitted the week of September 24, 2012.  

Please leave comments below on if you liked the direction I took the story, or if you would have personally went a different way.  I would love to know!