?

Everything . . .everything is just falling apart.  Dying, convulsing at my feet.  Staring into space with pleading eyes; I only could watch as life's spark left his timeless green eyes.  I brushed his pearly pink paw with my finger, calling out to him, pleading to understand what exactly, the hell, was happening.  To everything.  To my Everything.  What just . . . he said who?  And the what?  And dafuq?!?  Why?  After everything, I just have to ask WHY?  What haven't I done?  What have  I done?  I'm nothing that I was supposed to be, and sadly I'm starting to think I never will be, that which I was supposed to be.  Which was better than this.  It was supposed to be so, so very much better than this.  Haven't I atoned for the wrongs that I have done?  Haven't I dealt with, and forgiven those who have done wrong against me?  I have always tried to be a kind and thoughtful person to everyone.  People have always wronged, betrayed and bullied me and I just don't understand why.  People I was supposed to trust, due to position or authority, or even to familiarity or fraternity.  But my back has always been a tender target for even the dullest of knives.

"Write What You Know" - Forcing it - 10/6/11

"Damn you, shut up!"  her greasy fingers stabbed at the beeping box, finding the switch and turning the whole thing off, silencing at least one beep.  She slid to her left on the greasy floor, balancing on the ball of her foot as her left hand sought the three square buttons that would shut off the three simultaneously beeping fryer timers.  One, two, three, their shrill call was silenced, and she slid back to the right to regard the flat-top grill in front of her in frustration.  Several orders flitted through her mind as she mentally organized the food pressed under hot weights in front of her.  Lifting a few, she snatched up a spatula, spinning it once in her hand before applying the blade to the grill and sliding two sausage patties on the end.  She spun on her left foot gracefully, reaching out with the spatula to slide the meat onto a plate with a pair of eggs sunny side up.  She caught the ticket hanging on the reel between two fingers, slapping it to the tray of food and giving it a little shove forward.

"Order up!" she called, returning to the grill.  Two sets of grilled chicken tenders, four and four, one for a dinner, one for a sandwich.  She plucked the two pieces of bread grilling on the flat-top and placed them on a plate, sliding four pieces of grilled chicken on one piece, lettuce, tomato and a fan of three pickles on the other.  A spade of hasbrown casserole was plunked on the plate with a clank and placed on a tray under the heat lamp.  The printer caught her attention as it sputtered to life on the shelf, spitting out four new tickets.  Ignoring them, she reached for a long handled metal spoon to add a portion of stewed carrots to a round plate, wincing and crying out as the spoon burned her hand.  Next were mashed potatoes, spoonulaed on to a plate.  With brown gravy on top.  With another of the metal spoons.  She braced for the scorching her hand would yet again take and quickly gravied the potatoes.

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Blah, this forcing it thing sucks.  Bet it's boring for you too lol

Charlie - 10/4/11

She swiped at the offensive buzzing with an arm dead from sleeping on it wrong.  There was a loud crack as the alarm clock struck the wall before its slender plastic frame clattered down behind the bedside table, still announcing shrilly.

"Urrrgggghhhmph!" she groaned, "Gonna be one of those, eh?"  Her fingers searched the wall for the outlet, yanking the clock's cord free from the socket.  She'd have to reset it later but, meh, oh well.  She wrestled with the sheet as she stepped from bed, wondering what on earth she had dreamed about the night before as she extricated her ankle from the tangle.  Today had to go well, right?  It had to be a good day.  That stint with the alarm clock was nothing.  Her suitcase was still on the floor, all her clothes packed inside, ready to be worn with purpose.  She lifted her favorite pair of jeans, the blue polo with yellow bands on the collar and her brown suede chaps.  And the lucky socks.  Can't forget the lucky socks on a day like this.  Thankfully she had showered the night before, as the late October air had already turned quite chilly, and the aged 14x60 in which she now lived was rife with little streams of frosty morning air seeping through the old insulation and addled door seams.  She dressed quickly, grabbing a sweatshirt before heading for the coffee pot to clear some of the sleep from her mind.  As the pot began to percolate, she drew a cigarette from the pack on the counter, lit it, and took a contemplative puff.  She had finally made it.  After years of shame, exhaustion and injury, she had finally made it where she wanted to be.  Well, maybe not this particular place, as the trailer was quite shabby, but the first day at her new job more than made up for it.  All her life she had loved horses and this was her dream.  To work for a professional in the industry, learn as much as possible, and try to make a name for herself as a rider, trainer and instructor.  It was that way in the industry, unless you were rich already, and that's the way she liked her work.  If you couldn't buy your fame and your name, you had to work for it.  And you can't fake working with horses.  Not doing the things they did.  If you were a bad trainer, a bad rider, it would all come out in the end.  

When she had come to ride for Kit Horn a month ago, she had been quite nervous.  Kit had made a well-deserved name for herself as a veteran of Eventing, and it was the shot of a lifetime.  It had been several years since she had ridden at that level, but she had tackled Kit's audition with no fear.  And Kit had certainly tested her fear.  But she had cantered that mare boldly to the five-foot spread fence, and jumped it with ease.  Sure, she had nearly lost her seat, but Kit had exclaimed, "I think you're exactly what I'm looking for!"

Her cigarette hissed out as she dropped it into the dregs of last night's soda can.  She filled her travel mug full of steaming coffee and headed out to her truck to make the short drive to the barn.  The sun's rays were just clearing the treetops in the distance as pulled onto the road.  Yes, today would be great.

                                                        *               *               *

The latch on the gate clanged, announcing her arrival to the various horses grazing in nearby paddocks.  A dog barked from the barn, gaining the hound-like chorus of his fellow mates.  Three beagles tumbled from the barn's side entrance as she pulled through the gate.  She hastened to park the truck and get out to close the gate, lest the dogs get out first.  She banged it closed just in the nick of time, causing the three rambunctious dogs to crash into her legs.  They pawed at her happily, and she let them sniff her hands as she carefully picked her way through them back to the truck.  They all piled inside when she opened the door, causing her to pause and regard them a moment.  Their happy dog faces were the only response.  She shrugged and returned to the driver's seat, making the short drive to the parking area in front of the barn.  The dogs all piled out again when she opened the door, trapping her in the seat with a flurry of tongues, paws and tails before racing back inside the barn.  She followed them, brushing the dog hair from her sweatshirt.  She was greeted by the soft morning sounds of horses snuffling and shifting in their bedding.  A few graceful heads peered over the stall doors, wondering about the arrival of their breakfast.  The sound of grain hitting the bottom of an empty bucket got her attention, and she followed the sound towards the back of the barn.  A tall blonde girl was bent over a line of buckets, reading from a page.  She dipped a large scoop into one of the several barrels behind her and divided it among three buckets.

"Oh, hi there," she said, putting the scoop down and holding out her hand.  "I'm Emily.  You must be that new girl, Carley."

"Charlie," she corrected.  "My name is Charlotte, but most people just call me Charlie."

"Oh, okay, Charlie."  Emily went back to her scooping.  "I'm getting grain ready right now.  Would you mind loading the buckets I'm done with into the golf cart?"  She gestured towards the back of the feed room to another open door.  Charlie crossed the room, picking up a stack of filled buckets and placing it on the back bed of the cart.  Emily appeared with another stack of buckets.  After loading the buckets, they got in the golf cart and Emily drove down the path lined with paddocks towards the back of the property.

"These paddocks are for the horses in training," Emily said, pointing out the paddocks as the drove.  "We'll rotate these guys into the stalls after morning grain after the horses who are stalled at night are fed.  They'll be the ones we're working today.  The guys in the stalls now have the day off today."

......

That's all for now.