Posts Tagged ‘Blues inspired’

18th September
2011
written by amber

How Come My Cat?

My wife, she named her cat Santana. She named it Santana but I named it Satan. That cat was the devil indeed.

My wife, she laughed when the cat hissed at me. She laughed when it clawed me. That cat hated me with a feeling.

My wife, she loved that cat. She loved that cat from morning to night. Treats in the morning, cuddles at night, and nothing for me.

My wife, she was warm to the cat but cold to me. She was so cold to me, I near to got frostbite in my own home. And yet I loved her with a feeling.

My wife, she had this job. She went off to this job every day. And she loved that job.

My wife, she broke her leg. She broke her leg from tripping on the cat, going down the stairs. But she never blamed the cat.

My wife, she couldn’t go to work with her broken leg. She had to stay home, but her boss let her work from home. She said he was a good boss.

My wife, she said her boss would bring some work home for her. She was still entertaining him when I got home from work.  I came in the door and I noticed something strange.

My wife’s cat, he was sitting in her boss’s lap. He was purring. That cat, Santana, Satan, was sitting in her boss’s lap.

So I shot them. Wife, boss and cat.

That’s all.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story posted every day on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.

This is the last story of Cat Week.

19th August
2011
written by amber

Little Red Rooster

He knows that’s what they call him. He knows why they call him that.

He’s short, he’s bossy and he’s native. So what?

He runs the best soup kitchen on Hastings, has done for nearly 25 years, so names like Little Red Rooster, or Little Napoleon, or Little Chief, they don’t bother him. Much.

Okay, maybe the little wears thin at times. 5’3″ isn’t all that short, and he can pitch men twice his weight out the front door if needs be. But he did expect to be a taller man. His mother promised that he’d have a growth spurt in high school, just like his brothers did. But it never came.

And he knows she’s proud of him, she says he’s a far better man than either of them, Bruce earning all that money in the oil patch and never visiting, never paying what he should to his ex-wife and kids, George in jail again, swearing again to turn his life around.

But she does call him, “My little son.”

And he’s never once had a woman take him seriously. Lately he’s been back on the dating websites, lying again. Martha in the kitchen teases him about it. Fine for her, she’s 5’10” married to a man two inches taller than she is.

“What’ll you do when you get one to go out on a date with you?” she asks. “Tell her you got shrunk in the wash?”

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story for every day of the year and posted on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section of any story.

 

12th August
2011
written by amber

Mustang Sally

She’s never ridden a horse. She’s never driven a car. They call her Mustang Sally because she likes to sing the song, and the guys taught her the song because she likes to sing, and she kind of looks like that guy in that movie about those Irish guys who sang R&B. The Communists. Something like that.

Anyway, if you’ve seen the movie, you know that guy is no Tom Cruise, in fact, he’s kinda ugly. And so is Sally, but you should see her smile and preen when she sings that song. She does have a good voice, but that’s not why the guys egg her on to sing the song over and over again.

Mustang Sally, hey you’d better slow that Mustang down.

They’re laughing at her, but she doesn’t know it. And it isn’t just the guys who clean the toilets and wash the floors, it’s even Rob, who is a nurse and the rest of us nurses think he ought to know better. Because making fun of Sally is like making fun of that girl in high school whose mother didn’t know enough to teach her about hygiene, you know the one I mean, the girl who isn’t pretty enough and smart enough and rich enough to avoid that kind of embarrassment.

And we’ve all flirted too close to that edge, we all identify with it.

Well, maybe not Eloise, the physiotherapist, who snickers along with the guys. Gorgeous and young and certainly going somewhere, she feels no personal bond with Mustang Sally.

All you want to do is ride around, Sally.

Sally’s slow in body and mind, but she’s always happy and she sings like she was born for it. Yes, I’m paid to help her but I’m proud to call her my friend.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story posted every day on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.

3rd August
2011
written by amber

Mojo

Got my mojo working. It’s been giving me no end of trouble lately. I say, “Give me some gumbo,” and – poof – a bowl of red beans and rice appears on the table in front of me. I say, “Blue suede shoes, please,” (no need not to be polite) and the joker puts Dorothy’s red slippers on my feet and hurls me into a tornado. I had to brush my own hair after that. No telling what it would have done to my ‘do.

So I took it back to Madame Ursula’s and she performed some mumbo-jumbo, incense, dried frog’s feet, feathers from a red rooster and all, you know the drill. Told me to give it a try, see if the fix was in or not. I asked for a bourbon, a scotch and a beer. Oh, they came all right, but all mixed together in one glass. Very funny.

Madame Ursula said I needed more help than she could give me. I had to go to Marie Lavoie’s grave at midnight; the cemetery guard took his touch, I left the venerable lady with her favourite tipple and then sat and waited.

I fell asleep and dreamed about a solid gold Cadillac. When I woke, I had my blue suede shoes and a steaming bowl of gumbo, complete with spoon. The streetcar pulled up the minute I stepped out on the street, even though that wasn’t its regular route.

When I got home, I felt I was ready for the big test. I wished for you.

But it just don’t work on you.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story posted every day on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.

27th July
2011
written by amber

Gimme Some Lovage

I don’t want no woman to feed me. I don’t need no woman to feed me. I’ll feed myself. I’ve got a garden – peas, corn, squash. The okra didn’t come up. Well, the okra did come up, but it died. I don’t know why.

I got lots of herbs. The house, it belonged to someone else before me. I didn’t know what was gonna grow. I didn’t know what was gonna come up.

Parsley I recognized. I’ve seen it in the grocery store. Chives too I’ve seen before, with their pink flowers.

Something with little leaves and a strong taste. Took it to the market. Thyme, they said. For spaghetti and such like.

Rosemary I got. One restaurant I liked to go to used to stick it in the middle of the mashed potatoes. Never did get that. Was I supposed to eat it?

Can’t afford no restaurant no more. My last album didn’t sell well. The gigs dried up after what happened in Mobile. Misty took everything I had left. The money and my son.

She said he wasn’t my son. She said he wasn’t mine. I never believed that.

The big plant in my garden, my grandmother’s garden, I had no idea what it was. Some kind of flower, I thought, but my auntie told me it was a herb.

Lovage.

Use it in salads. Use it in soups. Tastes like childhood. Tastes like freedom and hope. Tastes like my father saying, “Go ahead, try to pluck that there guitar, son.”

Tastes like what I thought I had.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story posted every day on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.

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