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Monday - 9/17: Innocence

Posted by on Sep. 17, 2007 at 7:13 PM
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New word:  Innocence.

I still haven't done swingset...  Still working on that one!

~~Sarah

 

 

by on Sep. 17, 2007 at 7:13 PM
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FictionalGypsy
by on Sep. 17, 2007 at 9:01 PM
This one gave me a bit of trouble. But here it is, in all its roughness. LOL



            Her eyes watched as the youngest spun in a circle and then fell to the ground. She smiled. This was what it was all about, wasn’t it? Just to get out in the sun and play. Except today, there was no sun. The clouds gathered as they drove to the park.

The oldest girl’s laughter met her ears and she turned to look. She and her friend sat chatting on the picnic table. A boy walked by and they whispered behind their hands. She sighed.

“Mommy! Come play with me!” The youngest ran up and grabbed her hand, just as the first rain drops fell.

“We need to go, it’s starting to rain,” she stood.

“Let’s play in the rain.” The youngest hopped on the spot as the oldest and her friend dashed for the car.

“We’ll get wet and catch cold,” the rain began to fall harder. She picked up the youngest and dashed for the car. The drive home was silent as their day at the park was ruined by the rain.

Later, as the girls were snuggled in their makeshift sleeping bags on the living room floor, she stood by the back door and watched the rain.

“Remember what it was like?” Said a female voice. “What it meant to be free? What it meant just to have fun for no reason? It’s only rain.” She looked around; there was no one inside or outside. The voice she didn’t recognize. “You don’t have to be so adult all the time.” She heard her husband giving the girls their nightly hugs before he took his shower. “Remember what it was like to be as young and innocent as your girls?” She opened the back door and stepped out on the porch. The rain poured harder. She stepped out into the yard and held her arms out. As she turned, the cool rain soaked her hair and her dress. She spun faster and as she did so, the laughter escaped. She fell to the wet grass and laughed. When she opened her eyes, her two daughters in their pink robes were spinning in the rain. As she sat up, she saw her husband on the porch, the video camera in his hand and a big smile on his face. Now she remembered, and all her worries washed away with the rain.

syuratick
by on Sep. 17, 2007 at 9:54 PM
My daughter's story:

Merry Xmas!
The plan was perfect.  It was foolproof.  I put on the stupid fake beard, the stupid red hat with the stupid ball of fluff at the end, and stuffed the stupid red and white jacket and pants with pillows. There, I thought to myself, I look just like St. Nick himself.  Then I grabbed the stupid bag of cheap toys and went to my first job, a house in a rich neighborhood a few miles east.

The house was exactly like I hoped.  Rich, spoiled kids with businesslike parents.  I let the kids take some toys out of the bag, and while everyone was occupied, stole money, rings, anything small within an arms reach.

Four more houses went by, and I had no problems.  I thought this must be too good to be true, but the sixth door opened, and in the living room was a little boy.  There was also a little blonde girl, maybe a year older, and a teenage boy sitting by the fire.  What really caught my eye though, was the little boy.  His skin was dry and colorless.  His hair was messy and thin, and he seemed to barely notice when "Santa" walked into the room.  I felt as if I had been stabbed in the heard, but wouldn't die.  Then his hypnotic innocence forced me to reflect on what I'd done.  I dropped the entire almost full bag of toys by the tree and left.

The innocent, hypnotic stare of the little boy prodded and pryed at me until I went to a police station and confessed.

I was not innocent.

~~Sarah

Attention writers! Join the challenge!!! Come check out my new group: NaNoWriMo



 

ontheroad
by Group Admin on Sep. 17, 2007 at 11:53 PM

The best thing about her is her look of innocence and trust. Her eyes are wide set & dark brown, and she stares at me with an unblinking look. She trusts me completely, knowing that I will take care of all her needs. Those needs usually have to be met at times when I am involved in other things. Though they have increased dramatically in recent years, I will take care of them because she is a member of my family.

As she gets older, she is more difficult to manage. She has arthritis and needs help getting up the stairs. She has cataracts and doesn’t see as well as she did when she was younger. She takes many pills a day to manage her digestion, pain level, and mobility. When I talk to her, she looks at me wide-eyed as though she understands, but she rarely does what I ask her to do.

Oh well, I tell myself as I reach over to turn off the computer and grab her collar and leash. It can’t be helped. She is the definition of innocence.

C’mon Patty,” I say with a sigh, “it’s time to go for a walk.”

 

(this didn't take any imagination -- I live with it daily.  But reading the other two stories so far, I think I should rethink this topic)



My Home is Where I Park It




LynnMcMo
by on Sep. 18, 2007 at 11:47 AM

Actually, I wrote this one before I even saw the word prompt!!!!  But since I did use the word "innocence" in the story, I wanted to pass it on.

BUILDING FOR SALE

Tears filled my eyes as I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.  The old church had stood empty for five years or more.  My mother told me the property was for sale.  Until I saw the sign, I didn’t believe it.

I parked my Toyota in the gravel lot behind the small building, near the spot my father always parked his beat up Chevy pick-up on Sunday mornings.  Stepping out of the car, I could still see the lot full.  Grandpa Kinney’s big brown van should be there by the door, with Evelyn’s big green Ford beside it.  I was 12 the last time I saw the lot filled like that.  Amazing how that picture was so clear in my head 25 years later, even if the innocence of that time has gone.

The lights were off, and when I tugged on the handle I found that the back door was locked.  It shouldn’t have been a surprise, since the building was unoccupied.  But it didn’t feel right.  I could almost hear Pastor Endres say, “Never lock the church doors.   God wouldn’t turn anyone away, and we can’t, either.”

Looking out at the large yard beside the church, I couldn’t help thinking about the Fogerty boys.  They spent countless Sunday afternoons and Wednesday evenings chasing me around that yard, terrorizing me.  Ryan would call me Medusa every chance he got.  His older brother, Shawn, would correct him.  “She’s not Medusa.  She’s Medusa’s uglier sister.”  The only thing more annoying than their teasing was my father’s insistence that they only teased me because they liked me.

“You’ll probably end up married to one of them someday.”

Thank God, Daddy was wrong about that.

As I wandered the grounds, I came upon a familiar group of trees.  They had changed over the years, grown taller and fuller.  Sort of like I had.  There in the center of the trees was a large rock that I remembered fondly.  I smiled as I lowered myself onto that rock.  Oh, how many hours I had spent here, alone with my thoughts, talking to God.  Oh, I wasn’t supposed to be sitting there.  I was supposed to be pulling the weeds around the tree or helping with the cleaning of the church. 

I looked up.  Patches of blue sky were visible between the leaves of the trees.  Leaning my head against the tree trunk, I thought about the Sunday school picnics we used to enjoy here.  Games set up for the kids to play.  Tables set up all around the yard, close enough for everyone to be social, but far enough apart that families could have a little space to themselves, too.  Always, God was in the midst of it all.  Always. 

It just seemed wrong to be selling this church.  So much good had happened here.  My sisters and I were all baptized in the cold waters of the church baptismal.  My father had directed the youth group plays, many of which he had written himself, on the stage here.  We held revival meetings that energized the whole community.  I gave my heart to Christ at the altar inside, during vacation Bible school week when I was 10.  This was where I had planned to get married, where I wanted my children to learn about Jesus and the awesome sacrifice he made for them.

But God had different plans.  He called Pastor Endres away. Grandpa Kinney didn’t like the new pastor.  He was too ornery to like much of anything new.  He and Grandma changed churches so they could worship with their oldest son.  The Fogerty family moved out of town, after the sudden death of their daughter made it impossible to stay.  Evelyn’s health deteriorated to the point that she moved into a nursing home.  One by one, the other families left.  When there were no more teens to fill the youth group, our family found another church to attend.  One day, all that was left of the church was the building.

“Are you still here, Lord?” I whispered.  Was His heart breaking, the way mine was?

The wind rustled the leaves.  I smiled and thought of Amy, Pastor Endres’s adopted daughter.  She used to say that the wind was a kiss from God, that when nothing else was going right, she would feel the wind on her cheek and know that God was still there.

Heading back to my car, I knew that everything was going to be OK.  The church had closed, the doors were locked, but God still wasn’t turning anyone away.  He had done a good work here, in the lives of everyone who had walked through those front doors.  Now it was time to let go, and let Him work in other ways.

My smile widened, thinking of all that He would still accomplish in this town, with or without that little church.

  

Lynn


ontheroad
by Group Admin on Sep. 18, 2007 at 1:57 PM

Quoting FictionalGypsy:

This one gave me a bit of trouble. But here it is, in all its roughness. LOL



Her eyes watched as the youngest spun in a circle and then fell to the ground. She smiled......


When she opened her eyes, her two daughters in their pink robes were spinning in the rain. As she sat up, she saw her husband on the porch, the video camera in his hand and a big smile on his face. Now she remembered, and all her worries washed away with the rain.

What a delighful picture this story evoked. When was the last we did anything of that sort??

Good story.


My Home is Where I Park It




ontheroad
by Group Admin on Sep. 18, 2007 at 2:01 PM

Quoting syuratick:

My daughter's story:

Merry Xmas!
The plan was perfect. It was foolproof. I put on the stupid fake beard, the stupid red hat with the stupid ball of fluff at the end, and stuffed the stupid red and white jacket and pants with pillows. There, I thought to myself, I look just like St. Nick himself.



 

A little bit of the dark side from you.  Good job!


My Home is Where I Park It




Outnumbered621
by on Sep. 18, 2007 at 2:07 PM
boy those were all fantastic! I already have favorite authors! You all better write books I can buy, hehe.   I just saw the word this am, will work on a story at some point tonight. Have a good day! laura
FictionalGypsy
by on Sep. 19, 2007 at 12:22 PM

Quoting ontheroad:


What a delighful picture this story evoked. When was the last we did anything of that sort??

Good story.


My Home is Where I Park It






Me? Honestly? Er, sometime this summer....LOL
Outnumbered621
by on Sep. 19, 2007 at 2:42 PM
Innocence lost as a mother yells at her child.
Innocence lost as a father raises his hand to a cowering backside.
Innocence lost as a brother plays a cruel joke on his sibling.
Innocence lost as a a beloved pet passes away.
Innocence lost as our eyes and ears are exposed to what we call life.
Innocence lost as our mouth speaks learned words from countless bus rides.
Innocence regained as we hug a weary soul.
Innocence regained as we choose to speak softly in reproach.
Innocence regained as a brother offers a hand to help out his younger one.
Innocence.
Loss.
Anger.
Fear.
Loving kindness.
Gentleness.
Selfcontrol.
Innocence.
ontheroad
by Group Admin on Sep. 19, 2007 at 10:57 PM
Wow!  so many good stories.

Lynn, that was a story with a message -- was it a true story.  It had a ring of truthfulness to it. 

Laura,  a poem!  I like poetry, but i don't read it often enough.

Good job done by all!

My Home is Where I Park It




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