Word count: 333

Strike
By
RD Larson

© 2005 RD Larson

As the ball hurtled toward him, George choked up on his bat. No time to think. Swing.

Foul. Relax. Just swing through. He cocked his arm. He took a deep breath and the pitcher wound up.

"Strike one," yelled the Ump.

George felt his stomach knot up. Guts. The ball spun off the pitcher's thumb and forefinger. Like an arrow, it spiraled toward George. He kept his eye on it and let his body talk.

Whack. The ball bobbled in the air and rolled foul this side of third base.

"Come on, George. Get a hit." He could hear his father's chanting. It made his gut hurt even more.

"St---RIKE two"

George took a step back. He bent over to yank at his foot straps. He took a deep breath with his head down by his knee. He could still hear his father.

"Batter up. Batter up. Come on, George, get a hit."

His chest hurt now. Maybe he was going to have a heart attack. Sometimes kids did. They did have heart attacks. George stood up, not wanting to see his father, not wanting to look at him. Nevertheless, from the corner of his eye he did see his Dad giving him thumbs up.

Okay, God, let me get a hit, he thought, desperate. Scared and desperate. He stepped back up to the plate and slid his feet forward and backward. Then he swung the bat up on his shoulder. He squared with the ball and nodded.

The alien pitcher held the ball out to him, lining it up with the target. George couldn't see his eyes. The kid reared back, his leg high: then slung the ball out fast and low.

George hit it. He hit it hard to right field and nobody caught it. Thanks, God, he thought, now I won't die but maybe he will. God knew he meant his dad. More heart attacks happen to men in their forties, he thought, running over first base and heading for second.

What Happens in Vegas
By
RD Larson
© 2005 RD Larson©

"You didn't?"? Lindy raised her dark eyebrows.

"Yes, we did. Right there on the Strip." Jed glanced at his girlfriend.

"The two of you?"

"Well, it wasn?t a ménage a troi," Jed replied. He cackled a bit hysterically. "So, there we were. The two of us."

"You danced with my brother while wearing My clothes on THE STRIP in VEGAS?"? Lindy"s eyebrows met in the middle, bounced up and down, and curved into arches. Then she laughed until she cried and wet her pants.

I couldn't tell her about the rest of my 'bachelor trip' for a good twenty minutes.

I'm watching the Oscars, RU?

Shaking In and Out
By
RD Larson
© 2005 RD Larson

Shaking like a cold Chihuahua I repeated my question, "What makes you think I don?t love you anymore?"

"I saw you with him. At Lido's. I went in for a beer with Donny but then . . ." He paused, his dear face white and drawn. I reached a hand toward him. He flinched away.

"He means nothing -- it's a -- need, like a drink of water," I said, my breath dying in my throat.

"I am trying, I've been trying to . . ." His eyes fell in shame and disgust at his inability.

"It doesn't matter. I love you, Justin. I LOVE you, the way you are, just you. Nothing matters but us. We'll get through this." I said it with a confidence that I did not feel. Hopeless that we would ever be together again, I tried to comfort him again. What had been a once-in-a-while had turned in to months and now, and now -- a year.

He slumped against the door jam, his hands tucked under his armpits with his arms making an X across his chest. He did not look at me. I didn't know what to say or do.

I turned away, considering whether to start dinner or not. Would he eat? I sighed.

"Justin, honey, please listen without -- well, just hear me out." I went up to him, putting my hands on his ridged shoulders, and looking into his face. His eyes kept staring at the floor. Feeling tears in my own eyes, I tried again to help him.

"Honey, Justin? There's medicine now and . . ."

He jerked away and spun out the door. When it slammed shut the whole apartment shook.
 

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Found

Eleven days ago I found the money in a garbage can. When I saw new looking paper sack in a garbage I grabbed it out. You'd be surprises what people throw out. New stuff sometimes.

It was somebody's dough. I wanted to leave, to run because I knew they would come after it, after me.

At first I thought I'd give it back but then I thought, who knows where it came from? It could be robbery money and it'd be marked. I thought that for a while. It could be drug money or payback for a murder. My hands held the twenties and tens. Hundreds of them. All fairly used. I wanted to count my. . . What would I call it? My find, my loot -- no, not loot.

I wanted it. Make no mistake about that. I'm always broke. Other guys get CD's and DVD's. I get nothing. I can't hardly pay my rent on my sad crib. My job sucks. I clean up the Tidy Wash and Dry on 28th street. Minimum wage, oh yeah. So what fool wouldn't would keep all this money?

I started laughing. I guess I'll just damn keep it.

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RD Larson General Nonfiction eBook
Mama Tried to Raise a Lady
by RD Larson

[General Nonfiction, 41580 words] RD Larson was a very special little girl, with a very special Mama. RD was something of a tomboy, but her mama tried to raise a lady. RD believed in angels and even though she was born with a heart ailment, Mama taught her to have faith. Having faith wasn't hard for the little blonde waif whose movie star mama gave up the silver-screen to marry her Pop. Other things were hard though--minding her manners, staying clean, behaving like the "little lady" her mama wanted. RD Larson's "Mama" stories have been popular with magazines, have won awards in contests, and have been making people laugh ever since she started to write them down.
Buy Now! Details http://www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/eBook29478.htm>

Yahoo Personals

I'm so glad to see Bush getting ragged on; he's such cowboy. He's not perfect but he thinks he is. People do stuff they're sorry about later. Sometimes they even do things that are not a good thing when they're old.

What the heck. If you're a public person you have to put up with the "EYES" on you. A lot of people live their lives from the lives of other people. Does that make them a fungus or a lichen?

Anyway, go to Bewildering Stories, I have a couple there.

Flash flash.
sudden date

In line. He's behind me. Eyes. Smiles. Dinner? Yes. Life commitment? No.

Snotty-Kid
By
RD Larson

© 2005 RD Larson
340 words



Knock at the door. I put down my crossword puzzle to listen. Knock again. I got up slowly.

I look through the window. Looks like State Trooper. Hat and all, standing in the rain.

"Mr. Stanton? Hello? Mr. Stanton?" He calls to me. I unbolt the door and open it.

"Yes, I'm Stanton."

"I'm sorry to inform you of an accident on I-40. Accident with two vehicles it concerns your wife," said the fresh-faced kid. ?"our wife is deceased. In the accident."

"What?" I thought I had heard him say my wife was in an accident. I didn?t quite hear him. "Who? My wife? Stella?"

"Yes, Sir. There's been an accident. I'm very sorry for your loss. May I come in? Sir? Sir? Oh, shit."

I had let go of the door and stepped back on to a spongy floor, then the sponge changed to Jell-0 as I fell. I hit the carpet and the hall table. I couldn't think how to get up or answer the Trooper. He came in the door in a big rush -- stood over me and talked into his shoulder. "Emergency Personnel to 767 Freestone Place, possible heart attack."

I laughed; my heart would not attack me. I laughed out loud but no sound came out.

"Mr. Stanton? Hold on, we're going to get you to the hospital," he told me. It sounded like a speech he'd given in English class one year. I remembered him now. He was one of the students that made my last year of teaching so miserable. Now he's a cop? I laughed again, my belly shaking backwards toward the water floor. The little snot. I'd have thought he'd been in prison by now. He came here. Why? Why was he here? I tried to remember.

I felt so tired just then that I closed my eyes. Stella will talk to him. Snotty-kid. I'm feeling sleepy; then as another stray thought filled my mind I just drifted off.
 

Preternatural Prettiness

I met Astrid on the ferry to Whidbey Island. She stumbled up the stairs ahead of me, clinging to a dog carrier, a huge leather bag and a Subway sandwich. We sat down in the nearest available seating that was empty. I surmised that she was like me, wanting to be alone to read her book. I pushed on my reading glasses. Yet I couldn?t keep from looking at the woman across from me. To say she was unique would be an understatement. She fed her dog bites from her mouth through the un-zippered top of its carrier. Her braided hair streamed over her shoulder, an odd color, a sort of a brindle shot with white. She wore blue and pink and lime green all at once. You?ve heard it?s all in the eyes. With Astrid that was true. Her eyes were green as grass in the spring. The eyes said intelligence, strength and something else - vividness, that preternatural prettiness that comes from living one?s life on a taunt thread. I didn?t know then that she was a revolutionary 

Beyond Me
By
RD Larson

Built in 1850 St. Mary's Cemetery sat there, gray as the dead, and just as dismal in the rain. Many of the old graves had sunken. I stumbled. The tangle of weeds threatened to pitch me against a leaning headstone. It was beyond me to find a sane reason for Tino to insist that I meet him here.

I am such a fool; I ragged on myself. No, I am a guilty sinner. Here I am, traipsing around in a dark after a married man who had no future to offer me. I knew how stupid it was to get "involved" as they say with a man like Tino. I knew better. He simply seduced me with charm.

I stumbled and dropped my purse. As I bent to pick it up, I read the headstone. The black letters against the wet marble that caught my sudden choking attention. I gasped out loud.

Tino grabbed me by the arm as I slipped in the grass and muck. I could smell his cologne and felt the rough wool of his damp jacket. In stark fear, I collapsed against him.

"There, there, darling, don't worry." His voice swept over me. I relaxed as he could calm me as only he could.

"Look, look at that headstone," I cried out, pointing in the glare of the flashlight.

"Oh, I know. Isn't it funny? I knew you'd laugh. That's why I wanted you to meet me here." Tino's hand closed on my arm. He tilted my rain-stained face up to meet his laughing face.

"Why is my name on that headstone?" I demanded, arching back to look up into his dark Gypsy eyes
end

Nora and Jimmy

A Grand Love Affair

the beginning

By

RD Larson

As the train began to leave the station the young soldier looked back at the platform. A woman in a gray skirt and blue sweater stood with her arms were wrapped around her body in protection. Jimmy watched until he could see her no more.

Her husband or boyfriend must be on the train, and she's missing him already. She's afraid he'll be killed or something worse, that their love will die. Jimmy closed his eyes. Not even his mother came down to see him off. When you're the next to the youngest of five brothers, one more going off to war is just another day of grief.

" Why make it worse," his mother said. "You're like Sammy, another of my baby boys, both going off to try to make war. You men, you boys. It's all about fighting. Why? Why see you leave? Why did I have you boys? Not to die in some war!"

He had no answer and kissed her pale, wet cheek. Now in the train on his way to boot camp, he tried to think if it had always been about fighting. Over food maybe, they had fought. But never against each other. Not ever, even though they fought any outsider like ferocious wild animals. Jimmy sighed. His mother was right in a way. It was a man?s point of view, the view of a larger world, and an idea of abstract belief in the might of right. Maybe women didn't have the same view.

He got up and walked the length of the train and back again. The jostling men and boys--he could tell the difference--seemed to be strangers, but the truth was they were mostly from his hometown. Chicago was a big city. Not one face was familiar in any way. He sank down into his seat and stared out at the farm fields passing by.

Jimmy lay back in his hard seat. Troop trains were just cargo carriers, just moving men from one place to another. A mess cook came around with bags of day-old doughnuts but he didn't care. He didn't care what he ate since he was hungry all the time. Ate anything, anything at all. Somewhere between Chicago and New York he dozed off. He hadn't traveled and wanted to look out but the only lights were well off the train route so he missed nothing.

The next morning as he sat watching the daylight calling him toward the east, the same mess sergeant went around with buckets of oatmeal and gallons of milk. Strong hot coffee too. For the first time Jimmy missed his mother. At home there'd be homemade jam for toast and a couple of rich eggs from their own hens. He ate two helpings of the mush and drank three cups of coffee before sitting back to watch a changing view.

As they got closer to New York the towns got closer and he noticed some backyards were up against the tracks. A woman hanging clothes waved at the train. Jimmy thought of the woman in the train station.

Who was she? Did she belong to a man on the train? He tried to erase the thought of her, knowing full well he would never make a move on another man's girl.

Someday, somehow there'd be a girl for him. . .that girl . . . that very girl .

Posted on Sunday, January 30 @ www.BeWrite.net
Fire
By
RD Larson

(approx. word count) 147

Night. Alone with fear.The log on the fire exploded from a captured pocket of water. I jumped and half arose. I lay near the warmth, dreading sleep. I knew what came out when it got dark, when the fire died.

I would stay awake all night to keep them from entering my cave. I am human, naked. They are carnivores, hungry, armed with teeth and claws.

I have fire. I tug another log over to the pit. I tried to remember if I had eaten during the daylight. A few grubs. Best, I had found a young willow tree. I chewed the willow twig, feeling my eyes grow heavy as the pain abated.

The torn calf muscle oozed less blood now. If I could just keep the fire going, I might live another day.

The End
RD Larson © 2005

Roxy Wanted:

By

1. RD Larson
   
   WANTED: Treadmill Fitness Quality
   Type only FOR SALE: size 6-8
   Wedding Dress, worn once.
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   
   FOR SALE: 1 ct. diamond engagement
   ring; diamond ring perfect condition
   $4000 or OBO
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   Wanted: free puppy small size, will love
   call anytime PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   Need handyman for chores
   Must have references and
   strong back. Good pay.
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   Need handyman for chores
   Must have good current references
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   WANTED: late model sportscar,
   excellent condition, low miles
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   NEED Swing Dance Partner
   SWM, Age 35- 50 non-
   smoker, willing to travel
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   
   WANTED: swing
   dance couple
   for $$$ contest
   New York City Area
   PH:1 800-???-???
   
   
   
   HEADLINE: Idaho Couple wins Big Bucks
   as Swing Dance Couple of the Nineties
   
   
   
   FOR RENT: 3bdm 2bam lvgrm,
   mod kit, pool, hot tub in
   Sunnyside Subdivision, Pautek
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   
   Moving Sale-
   Everything Goes
   Saturday & Sunday
   rain or shine
   538 Sunny Lane Sunnyside
   
   WANTED: 2bd, 2b condo or apt,
   near city with off street parking
   couple, small pet. need soon.
   PH: 555 - Roxy
   
   
   
   Couple Weds In Spite of Odds
   Blind Dancer weds Orphaned Widow
   
   When Roxy Simm's mother and father were killed last
   year in a freak automobile accident, none of the emergency
   personnel at the scene knew it was Roxy's husband driving
   the other vehicle. The 32-year old woman, who was injured
   with a broken pelvis and internal injuries, had to be told by a
   hospital chaplain that her husband had been killed in the horrific
   crash as well as her parents. Today, one year later, healed
   and moving on with her life, Roxy married again. Her husband
   is a blind high school music teacher, Adrian Blythe. The couple
   recently won $150,000 in the Swing Couple Dance Contest of
   New York City. When asked how she managed to overcome
   her grief, Roxy said, "Oh, I didn't overcome it; I just went on,
   one day at a time, just like Adrian dances, one step at a time."
   
   
   
   WANTED:
   Dog sitter/day care for K9
   working couple;
   must be loving caregiver
   for our Sam
   call 555-ROXY
   
   
   ORPHANED WIDOW OPENS STUDIO
   Blind Musician Husband to Teach
   
   Unable to have children, Adrian and Roxy Blythe have opened a dancing and music studio for at-risk children. Their efforts are supported by a number of non-profit arts groups and an anonymous benefactor who reportedly saw the couples dance in Toronto. Their Latin Salsa dances have sparked a craze in that chilly city this winter. Six children will live at HomeAgain Dance and Music Studio, where the girls will share one dormitory and the boys another. Roxy Simms-Blythe learned to cook from her mother and often prepares gourmet meals for fund-raisers of the ARTS Community. She was referred to as "The Orphaned Widow" in the national press when her late husband's large truck plowed into her parents' model sedan four years ago. All three were instantly killed. Simms was injured seriously and has made a remarkable recovery from a broken pelvis, learning to dance as part of her rehabilitation. Adrian Blythe, a blind music teacher from a Pautek, Idaho high school , answered an ad in Pautek's local paper for a dance partner; the two have been inseparable ever since.
   
   
   Students of HomeAgain Music and Art Studio
   Shown Paintings at TheateRox Gallery
   
   
   As at-risk children, boarding at an
   art school run by dancers, Roxy and
   Adrian Simms-Blythe....................
   
   
   Students of HomeAgain Dance For AIDS Benefit
   
   
   HomeAgain Students
   Win National Award
   
   
   
   
   
   Couple Honored
   
   Roxy Simms-Blythe and Adrian Blythe were honored last night by a dinner and roast by the Mayor for their for their on-going care of the child victims of domestic violence. The HomeAgain Studio of Music and Art has six students at the present time. Ms. Simms-Blythe said they hope to have two more children in their home and studio by ......
   
   
   
   
   Anonymous Benefactor Leaves
   Millions to Dancing Couple
   
   In a press release today, the will of M. I. Caravel, multi-millionaire art collector and former owner of LeBebe Boutiques fashion stores, Breckenworth's Candies and Tarts, and developer of the TRANSGLOBE TELE.COM has left the bulk of his fortune to Roxy Simms-Blythe and Adrian Blythe, local dance-artists and teachers of the HomeAgain Music and Art Studio. When reached for comment, Ms. Simms-Blythe only said, "It’s a wonderful, really wonderful gift. Instead of six kids, we can now have twelve; yes, I will have to have some one to help with the work, but most of the money will go to help the kids, the kids who come to us from domestic violence or molestation victims will get more help and more opportunities, go to college even. I have everything I want, I have Adrian and Sam, my dog." When asked why Mr. Blythe doesn't share ownership of her dog, Ms. Simms-Blythe told about this reporter about the new seeing-eye dog, a golden retriever, that Adrian Blythe had just received. She said that her husband has named the dog Sadie. The couple have been married for six years.
   
   
   WANTED: Housekeeper
   40 hr. a wk; holidays and wkends off;
   school for kids references &
   background check required.
   PH: 555-ROXY
   
   
   
   
   
   
   Wanted: two college students
   to help teach students music and
   art, part-time, well paid work.
   Must have excellent references
   and pass background check.
   PH: 555 ROXY
   
   
   
   
   Freak Accident in Death of Dancer
   
   Adrian Blythe, local dancer and musician was killed today as he walked along Lexington Avenue. A glass window panel fell to the ground severing the former
   dancer and music teacher’s head. Mr. Blythe had been blind for nearly twenty years; his seeing-eye dog, Sadie, was also killed by the incident. The police are investigating the cause of the mishap. Widow of Blythe, Roxy Simms-Blythe
   could not be reached in her Idaho home. She was said to be vacationing with six of their foster children at the family summer place. Ms. Simms-Blythe lost her former husband, Samuel "Sam" Simms in the same accident that took her parents lives ten years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Simms-Blythe have operated The HomeAgain Music and Art Studio for eight years free for the child victims of domestic violence. The children stay as foster children for as long needed, taking music, dance and art classes as part of their care. The Simms-Blythe Trust supports the school from an inheritance the couple received from multi-millionaire, M. I. Caravel, upon his death six years ago. Many people were shocked at news of the accidental death of Adrian Simms-Blythe, expressing shock and deep sorrow.
   
   
   Wanted: some ray of hope;
   some bit of sunshine
   some future dream.
   Please call.
   PH: 555-ROXY
   
   
   
   
   Public Thank You
   
   Thank You to all the friends
   who knew Adrian.
   He will live in our hearts
   forever.
   Roxy Simms-Blythe
   
   
   Studio Moving Sale:
   Everything Goes.
   Piano, furniture, dog house,
   bunk beds, paintings, and
   sheet music.
   Saturday & Sunday
   rain or shine.
   for more inf.
   call 555-Roxy
   
   
   
   Pautek Welcomes its Own
   
   Returning to her roots today was dancer
   and former resident, Roxy Simms-Blythe.
   
   
   
   ###

Yahoo Personals

I forgot. It's another one on that website, but to make it up to you here's new one from the Erle and Stumpy stories:

14 February 1980,

Dear Carla:
I know I haven't written for a long long time. It's been hard just to work and keep on as though nothing has happened to Erle. I know that you finally married that guy you kept going out with during college. During the times when Erle wouldn't have anything to do with you or when you didn't want him around.
No one could say that the two of you have had an easy time of it. I think after he saved your life at Dream Lake, he felt as if you owed him love. I think that you felt the same way. I was so young at the time that I couldn't see the difference between that and real love.
Of course, after you went to college and he stayed here working down in Paxton, he got to know some other girls. They were the kind of girls that liked guys like Erle. You know, tough guys, the kind who fight and drink. I remember that time when you came to me crying because Erle wouldn't go see you in that play the first year you went to Ol' Miss. I felt so proud of you and I wanted you to know I cared, but having me there didn't mean the same to you as having Erle in the audience watching you.

One time Erle told me, "Don't ever get to close to your Dream Girl because the minute you do that, the girl turns into a grabby bitchy whore. Once they get their fangs into you, you're full of poison about yourself and what you mean as a man."
I knew why he felt that way, what with his mother screwing around all the time. But he couldn't seem to get over it. Lots of times, he'd ask me if I'd heard from you or if I'd seen you. I always told him the truth. He never could figure it out that it was him you pitied not me. He never thought we'd be a couple.
When you did go out with me, it was so sweet. I know you know I wanted more but just couldn't see me in that light. It was okay, Carla. I've always felt blessed just to know you.
I guess you've read the papers and know that Erle has gone to an institution. They said he was criminally insane. I don't think so but all the crap that happened to him spewed out after he accidentally shot his Mom. He doesn't scream any more, you'll be happy to hear that. They drug him there and he's in sort of an awake coma.
If you ever want to get together for old time's sake, just come by the house on Bonner Street. I still live there with Erle's truck in the garage waiting for him to come home. I work out at the old steak house. It's a job, but I like it well enough.
I miss our talks. I'm alone now that my mom has passed. It took so long for the cancer to take her that I nearly died myself. Please, Carla, come by to see me.
I miss you.
Your old friend,
Stumpy.

Another chance to read about the elevator.


http://www.rdlarson.com/FLASH.html

Yahoo Personals

http://bewilderingstories.com

As you can see I've changed my page. Some reader wrote and said that it was too dark and too hard to read. Normally, one person can't change my mind but when I checked it out -- IT WAS TRUE! Favorite TV show? 24 Seen The Aviator yet? absoutely amazing -- it seemed bigger than life. Heard Tina Turner's new CD? I'm gonna get it. Snow on Sunday and sun since then.

When a friend has a birthday,
you celebrate, too.
For you think of her
and all that you'll do
when next you
meet for a lunch
or a meal.
Time has a favor to bestow--
a gift for the birthday girl
and her friend,
"the pleasure of knowing
that we're
friends"
is
a truth that
warms a heart
and
leaves a hug
always!

written for Mary Ellen, 2000
by RD Larson

 

The Bread of Life
I follow her. I am talking; she doesn't listen.
She tells me she is busy; I tell her I have been hurt. She looks,
But I can see in her eyes, that
Such little blood is unimportant, I do know that.
I ask her if I can help; she shakes her head.
"No, Baby, it is better if I do this myself."

I sit in a chair, turning face cards down; she is absent, if
Present.
I watch her from beneath my eyelashes; she is more
Beautiful
Than any movie star because she is so alive.
Turning here, bending and stretching, she is
Graceful and quick,
Not a wasted movement.

I watch her began to knead the bread.
It speaks of creation to me.
I am in awe as the dough becomes smoother, firmer.
And, somehow, softer.
I turn over a Jack of Hearts
As he walks through the door.

He is taller than I; older and
More loved in everyway.
No wonder. He is perfection,
Born of her dream and in her image.
I watch in absolute silence
As, bread forgotten, she gathers him
Into her mother-warmth.

The bread loses its shape;
It falls over on its own self.
I see it is hardly bread-to-be
Now, that Mother has her son.
The Jack of Hearts has a drop
Of my blood curling on it.
I shrink into my inner soul;
The terror always there,
Remains forever.