Emoji Love [FICTION]

“They’ll cost a little bit more. But they speak to the young romantics of today.” I finish, holding my breath as the board contemplates my presentation. 

On the screen behind me, pastel squares feature images of heart emojis, the American Sign Language “I Love You”, and people hugging. Some have little acronym greetings like LMK (Let Me Know), FTW (For The Win), JW (Just Wondering), ISO U (In Search Of You), HMU (Hit Me Up), WDYT (What Do You Think), AMA (Ask Me Anything), ILY (I Love You), and OTP (One True Pairing).

The members of the board ponder the images a moment longer and exchange looks. My lip slides between my teeth as the chairperson looks up with unreadable eyes and softly speaks.

“Let us have a moment to discuss this. You’ll find some fresh donuts in the break room.”

“Thank you,” I force myself to speak clearly and confidently before exiting in search of sugary courage.

I have nervously nibbled through half a donut when the stenographer comes to invite me back to the meeting. She smiles reassuringly but deflects my shallow attempts to get a hint at my idea’s fate. She quickly takes her seat without glancing at anyone. My eyes, however, rove with questioning hopefulness over every face. They all look back at me impassively, so my eyes return to the chairman.

“We love that you want to appeal to a younger demographic, but we feel like they won’t go for the chalky candy even if we shape it like a tiny cellphone. We also fear making it too much like another product that has been on the market a long long time might leave us open to a lawsuit.” He pauses to look at me kindly and let me process.

I nod my head, preparing to face rejection of yet another seasonal idea.

“But we like the idea enough that we would like to do some research and see how younger people react to your Love-texts if they are molded into chocolate or maybe a hard candy. Would you be willing to help with that research and development?”

I stand numbly taking this in until he clears his throat. “Yes. Thank you.”

—

A year later, I am head of the Textual Love division. Our products may cost a little more than our competitors, but they taste better and say more.

~~~

Oops. Another later entry. Sorry, dear readers. 

The Week After Halloween [FICTION]

I wander in a cold dark shuffle through my house. I am too afraid to turn on any of the lights. The smallest glimmer of light hurts my eyes so much, which causes the throbbing in my head to go back to beating a nasty beat inside my skull. I shouldn’t have accepted the challenge. I should never accept dares from my best friend Erica, but I always do. 

This year, she challenged me to dress up for Halloween and hit the swankiest neighborhood in town. Bless my mother for giving me genes that make me barely top five feet at twenty years old. In the right costume, no one even questions if I am too old to go trick-or-treating. But that was only the start of her plans for me this year.

As I stepped down from the expansive porch of the final house in the neighborhood, Erica rushed forward to take my hand. “Good job, sweetie. You were so polite to all these nice people who gave you treats.” Her words dripped more sugar than my king size pillowcase though the later overflowed with enough full-size candy bars to make my thin arms struggle to keep it aloft.

“Just like you taught me, mommy,” I replied in my best little girl voice as I rolled my eyes at her.

“You got so much candy, we should talk about when you get to eat it.”

“Just one candy bar a day, mom?”

“I was thinking something far more challenging.” She grinned at me, squeezing my hand tighter as she began to giggle.

I groaned. “But I just completed your challenge.”

“You completed part one of my challenge…”

“How many parts are there?”

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet.”

“And what is part two?”

“You need to finish this bag of candy this week, except for,” she reached into my bag to extract a king size Reese’s and its king size cousin, Twix. “I will help you with these two.”

I felt my eyes widen until they must look like sunny side up eggs with brown yolks. “You want me to eat all of this…” I lost the ability to speak as I hefted the heavy bag up to eye level and peered inside at shiny wrappers promising sweet sugary delight and chocolate contentment.

“You can do it.” She reassured me, looking over her shoulder before letting go of my hand and clapping me on the back. “I know you can.”

“This has to be at least fifteen pounds of chocolate.”

She peeked into the bag, “Indeed. And who knows how much all the nuts and candy and nougat weigh.”

I groaned. I am certain my face had already begun to turn a vivid green despite the heavy coating of costume paint making my face a lustrous white. I clutched the overloaded bag to my chest, feeling my heart rate ramping up in anticipation of the ill-advised week ahead.

Sunday went well. As the first day of my quest to down way more sugar than any sane person should eat in the course of a year, it still held a sense of excitement. Erica’s challenge and assurance that I could succeed bolstered my will to get started. 

And start I did by sorting the candy to see how much I had of each variety. Then I started making piles for each day of the week. As I watched each pile grow larger, I took a deep breath and centered myself. Only a miracle would find me alive and not climbing up the walls of a stranger’s house on the other side of the city by the end of the week. I could even picture them dialing 9-1-1 in terror. 

I took another deep breath and went to work. I picked up a Zero bar, bracing myself since I had never had one before and took a big bite. The mix of flavors sounded good on the package but my tongue did not enjoy them. I shrugged and wolfed down a Reese’s cup to wash away the flavor. The lingering flavor of peanut butter and chocolate soothed away my trepidation for an hour. Then I came back for my next installment.

By Wednesday, I was hurting. The world spun around me. My mouth felt like it was coated in chocolate-flavored taffy. My stomach had begun expressing its displeasure with grumbles and displeased gurgles every time I even looked at the day’s pile of candy. I soldiered on.

Thursday evening, my stomach sent its distress to my intestines. You know that didn’t go well.

Friday, I had to call off work, due to extreme intestinal distress. They were wise not to ask more questions or impugn the truth of my words. Otherwise, they might have heard things they couldn’t unhear. 

Trying to combat the war in my belly, I started eating a healthy protein with each candy bar and then taking a walk. Every walk was punctuated with discomfort and interrupted by a mad dash to the bathroom, but I persevered. And I was down to my last six candy bars. 

Only six more candy bars. 

I glanced at the clock. I also had only six hours. My feet hurt. I had mastered ignoring my stomach though I knew I would be sorely punished for ignoring its complaints. I slowly chewed on a KitKat as I staggered around my living room, touching walls and furniture as much as possible for reassurance that I wasn’t falling. Would I make it? Would I win this challenge? Would this even be the end of the challenge?

That’s when I turned the light off, so here I am stumbling around in the dark.

Erica assured me she would arrive at 11:59 on Saturday night to see how I fared. She lied. The doorbell rings at 11:30 while I am staring despondently at one regular size Twix and one Take Five. I had saved the best for last in the hopes that I could power through, but apparently my plan isn’t working.

I grab the Take Five and take a hefty bite as I open the door and greet Erica, “See what you have done to me?”

She grins and steps closer, peering at my face so closely I am mildly worried she is about to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Oh, girl, you are breaking out.”

“More than you know,” I grumble as a loud roar rumbles through my intestines.

She peeks past me at the coffee table, where one last pack of Reese’s rests atop the crumpled pillowcase. “Really, just one left? What are you complaining about?”

“One and a half,” I mumble around another mouthful or five fantastic flavors.

“I guess I am going to lose this challenge,” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I stuff the last bite of candy in my mouth. The action makes my knees weak and my head spin, so I lurch toward the living room with Erica at my heels.

“Gosh, Erica, I think I gained fifty pounds. You win the challenge, I can’t eat one more candy bar.” I collapse onto the couch and whimper as my hand bounces off the wall and the wrapper drops from my now limp hand to flutter to the floor.

My other arm falls over my eyes. I close them and breath deeply, contemplating how long I will need to fast before I dare to put any kind of food on the path to my stomach, particularly candy. I sit there like that in silence, waiting for Erica to crow her win over me. She keeps her silence, too, waiting for it to be official.

After what seems like longer than the handful of minutes left until midnight, I slowly lift my arm from my eyes. It takes me another minute to convince my eyes to flutter open. They scan the room, resting on Erica’s smug face.

“How exactly did I win?” I gesture toward the coffee table.

“Because there is nothing left in the bag,” Erica grins at me.

“Don’t mock me,” I sit up, “It’s right…”

“Yes, the pillowcase is right there.” She winks at me and pats her pocket.

Her pocket crinkles. Then she smiles wide at me, showing teeth stained with chocolate. I look down at the table, which now holds only a crumpled pillowcase and a few magazines. I have never been so grateful to see the last candy bar disappear in all my life.

~~So how many of you are feeling that candy collapse this week?~~

WELCOMING FALL [POETRY]

 Warm glow behind frosted glass

Are we ready for pumpkins at last?

Spice on the air, awaking our tongues

As we breath the chill deep into our lungs

And dream of dark nights and costumes bright

Apples dripping candy, children’s delight

As we step back in time or summon the future,

Dressed up in scrubs, marred by a suture,

And when tricking is done, we tally our treats

And wait while our hot chocolate heats

Gazing at a moon so full in the sky

As our minds now turn to pumpkin pie

Hello, dear readers. I hope you are ready for fall. It snuck up on us amongst all the excitement. I started this poem sometime in August. It can be rather cold when you are walking around your neighborhood before the sun is even up. Or maybe I am already half thinking about costumes and treats?

Revenge of the Candy [FICTION]

Night after night after night, life remains uneventful. Then the one night of the year comes that breaks the humdrum of our lives. We deck out our houses with cobwebs and pumpkins and hide ourselves behind wigs, makeup, latex, and nightmares. Children and adults share in the awe and wonder that culminates in Halloween night. A night when parents get the chance to share the glorious night with younger versions of ourselves, our children. Sadly, their interest wanes as they outgrow their need for our protection from the terrifying.

With a few weeks left before Halloween, I greeted my son Cal at the door with pictures of the final candidates for our costumes. I had tried to catch him numerous times, but he was always rushing somewhere. This time, I timed it perfectly and met him at the door. We would have a few minutes before dinner. He glanced at my idea sheets as he dropped his bag at my feet before focusing on his scuffed sneakers.

“Sorry, mom. I promised the guys we’d go as the ninja turtles this year.”

I choked back my feelings and flashed him a smile. “Well, that sounds like fun.”

“And we wanted to go trick-or-treating by ourselves,” he mumbled as his eyes moved up to his hands.

“Oh.” I couldn’t find words, so I turned toward the kitchen. “I should finish dinner.”

Silence reigned between us through the intervening days. We broke it only for required greetings or polite requests. When Halloween finally arrived, my husband helped Cal into his costume and walked him to the door for a few final words of caution. I hid in the kitchen, pretending that the fun size candies needed more work than simply opening a bag and dumping it into my oversized cauldron. With no partner in costuming, I had pulled out an old witch costume from before my precious boy entered my life. The itchy wig and slightly tight black dress accentuated my misery.

I sighed as the door closed behind Leonardo with his blue mask and foam katana. I focused more intently on my mix of candy, stirring it aimlessly as I watched the colorful packages swirl.

My husband joined me in the kitchen. “That looks just right, honey.” He reached around me to grab a peanut butter cup from the top of the stash.

“Thank you.” I mumbled.

“Cheer up, babe. You still have me.” As he leaned down to kiss the top of my head, the doorbell rang. “And your annual visitors. Better treat them. We don’t need toilet paper.”

I thanked him with a peck on the cheek and headed to the door. Throughout the evening, he offered me his winning grin whenever I glanced his way. The doorbell rang and rang. I tossed out candy to ghosts and goblins, superheroes and villains, and creatures I wouldn’t even try to figure out. I even doled out some treats to a couple of teenagers who were wearing far too little clothing for the gusts of chill wind that swept down our street. Even the sweetest smiles and expressions of gratitude made no dent in the shadow on my mood.

Halfway through the evening, my son returned home. The banging of the back door sent me racing to intercept an interloper. By the time I stepped into the kitchen, Cal’s back was disappearing up the stairs, one katana hanging dejectedly from his back without its partner.

My husband followed close at my heels. We exchanged that silent look so familiar to parents. He waved his hand up the stairs. I nodded and followed my son. I stopped at his door, pausing to catch my breath and sort my thoughts.

“Mom?” His muffled voice called out to me.

“Yes.” I almost whispered back, afraid to presume too much.

“You can come in.” His voice echoed louder.

As I entered the room, he rolled over to face the wall. My motherly eyes detected redness around his eyes in those few seconds.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Some big kids stole my candy,” he mumbled.

Stunned, I just stared at the back of his head. My mind raced.

“Mom?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” Preprogrammed maternal words fell from my lips before I could formulate a plan.

“Thank you.” He whispered as I slipped out of the room.

Without more thought, I stepped into my own room and glanced into my overstuffed box of costumes. On top was a candy cane outfit from a Christmas pageant. I pulled it out and quickly switched from cackling witch to sweet treat. A few sprays of glitter and some white face paint made me feel appropriately incognito. I stuffed a dark cloak in against my skin before I zipped up. I slipped out the back door as my husband opened the front door to greet and treat a new batch of children.

Realizing that I hadn’t asked enough questions, I began speed walking from one street to the next. My eyes roved from child to child, hoping I could pick out the one who looked evil enough to steal from my baby. Despite the chill in the air, sweat began to pour down my lower back. My legs grew weary. I turned toward home to confess my failings as a mother.

I stepped into the shadow of a large oak tree as I rounded a corner and almost tripped over my sparkly red shoes. Turning the same corner were two awkward boys toting multiple bags of candy.

One bag of the bags stood out and stopped my feet. My heart melted as I gazed at the old pillowcase with a crude outline of a bat embroidered on it. Cal couldn’t have completely rejected me if he chose that sad carrier for his treats. I stepped out of the shadows into the path of the hoodlum and his partner.

“What the **** are you?” His voice changed pitch twice during his question, settling on a puberty-driven squeak.

“Can’t you tell?” I leaned forward, spraying a gentle mist of peppermint oil as I focused my best mom gaze on the little thief.

“What the…?”

As his eyes watered from the overpowering aroma of the holidays, I grabbed the bat bag. He resisted, but the other bags weakened his grip.

“You better return the rest of those treats or you won’t be getting anything for Christmas.” I said as I pulled the bag free and stepped away.

“Hey…” Another spritz of peppermint turned his squeaky protest into an irritated cough.

Before he or his friend could recover, I disappeared into a neighboring yard and made a beeline for the next street. I pulled out my cloak and threw it over my shoulders. I could hear them calling back and forth to each other as they searched for me. I kept cutting through dark yards until I reached my own backyard and disappeared back into my house. My husband looked up from the couch as I closed the door and locked it.

I nodded and headed for the stairs. He stood up to follow, but the doorbell rang again, so he grabbed the candy cauldron. I climbed the stairs alone. I rapped on Cal’s door, entering before he could invite me. As the door opened, his eyes took in my attire questioningly but lit up as he saw the bag in my hand.

“Thank you.” He exclaimed, leaping from the bed to hug me.

“You’re welcome.” I replied as I enfolded him in my arms.

“You can come with us next year.” He whispered in my ear as his hands reached for the bag.

“Thank you.” I said, letting go of the bag and sitting back to watch my boy sort through his treats.

(I couldn’t resist mixing my holidays like the retail stores do. Hope you can forgive me.)

A Child’s Terrifying Journey

My goal for the month of October is to celebrate the delicious holiday that it holds. What terrifies you? What do you think of this piece? Please comment below. 

Darkened streets and shaded lights promised a fright night that would never be forgotten. Should I choose to participate, gearing up proved essential. I slipped out of the attire of an everyday mortal then paused. Clothed only in my underclothes, I double-checked the door. Finding the lock securely in place, I turned to the items waiting on my bed.

A black spandex unitard with long sleeves lay next to a shimmering silver chest plate. I grinned and slipped one leg and then the other into the spandex. With a little adjustment to the arms, I could swing my arms freely. The chest plate came to rest against my boney sternum, which brought a grin to my face. I gently rubbed short, slender fingers along my newfound abs. I slipped the mask down over my head, tucking a few stray hairs under the cap. Then I surveyed the new me with a critical eye.

“Time to take out some bad guys.” I straightened my spine, stretching to my full height and replacing my smile with a stern look.

“Johnny, hurry up.” My mother’s impatient wail reverberated up the stairs.

In answer to the summons of my commissioner, I thundered down the stairs. I stopped when I reached the bottom to strike a pose. My mother laughed and patted me on the head. I stepped away from her, gently running one hand along my mask to make sure it remained in place.

“Come on, you.” She offered me a fanged smile as she tossed back her cloak and pulled open the door.

As we stepped out into the twilight of horror, she offered standard advice about my mission, cautioning me not to walk in the street or get too far away from her. I shrugged off her advice with a few cursory words of understanding. Then I slipped out into the throng of imps hiding behind masks. The wave of rock stars, animals, cowboys, and strange beings carried me along from house to house.

As the last remnants of sunlight fell victim to the darkness of night, the adventure truly commenced. In the dim light of porch lights and glowing pumpkins, I became more aware of the horrors around me. Mouths without faces twisted into dozens of expressions. Some grinned. Many gaped. Others grimaced. Lips in shades of purple, green, and red twisted away from broken teeth or sharp fangs. A few offered a semblance of a scream, but no such sounds interrupted the soft giggling of the imps who surrounded me.

As I followed one of the imps down the narrow steps of a white house with peeling paint and cobwebs hanging from every tree and bush on the lawn, the imp stopped to peer into his bag. I didn’t have time to pause. Attempting to veer around him, I tripped and fell onto the lawn. As I caught myself, something squirmed under my hands. Radioactive worms crawled around and through my fingers. I opened my mouth to scream but managed to squelch my fear just in time. Superheroes aren’t afraid of worms, even ones that light up the night and smell vaguely of fruit.

I managed to scramble to my feet despite the squirming worms. As I lurched forward, soft, silken threads floated out to touch my face. Dark, slimy spiders hung in the webs that clung to my skin. They didn’t move as I brushed the webs from my face. I shrugged free of the webs and scurried on to the next house with a backward glance to make sure the spiders didn’t follow me.

Dense unkempt hedges blocked off the next yard except for a narrow gate. As my flashlight played along this barrier, shimmering eyeballs caught the light. As they watched me, I walked faster and looked away from their empty depths. Soon I rounded the corner toward the next house.

Hurrying footsteps pursued me. I didn’t turn around. I ran. As my short legs pumped harder and harder, I could feel my pursuer closing the gap. Finally, a hand closed on my shoulder. I used my last dregs of courage to bite back a scream.

“Johnny, it’s time to go home.”

I slumped into the bracing hand on my shoulder and turned to face commissioner mom. She smiled down at me and released my shoulder. I took the hand she offered me, allowing my bag of goodies to bang against my leg with every step we took.

The next couple of weeks faded under a sugar haze. My mother tried to bring me out of it by offering me misshapen bones to eat. She tried to claim they were collie flowers, but I knew that meant bones even though they looked a little like albino broccoli. This fact did not enhance their desirability. When I refused to eat them, she’d grab one from my plate and pop it into her mouth, crunching happily as I shuddered.

By the time December came, she’d given up on getting me to eat the bones. Instead, she concocted a new torture. After waiting a half hour in the waiting room, a woman in lilac scrubs forced me into a machine that whirred around my head, checking to make sure their unique torture would work on me. Then I was guided down a narrow hallway to a tiny room with a chair illuminated by an oversized light. I sat down warily and waited.

The woman in scrubs returned with a tray full of metal instruments of torture. She talked soothingly as she poked and prodded with her metal picks. She even allowed me to pick the flavor of my torture paste before filling my mouth with almost bubble gum that left a gritty residue in my mouth. When she finished, she told me to stay seated and wait some more.

Soon, an old man with a short, grey beard joined me and smiled as he looked at his clipboard. “Your mother tells me you’ve been enjoying a lot of sweets over the past couple of months.”

I nodded my head as he leaned in and peered into my mouth. “Looks like you need a little more work here.”

“No.” I assured him.

He laughed softly and reached for something out of my range of sight. “You knew this was going to happen.”

He laughed again, a slightly maniacal laugh. Then the whir of the drill started and I passed out.

Tooth Thief

I apologize again for last week's neglect. Hopefully, today's submission inspires you to forgive me and helps you welcome the upcoming holiday weekend.

A clatter interrupts the stillness of night. I roll toward my husband to find that his wall of sleep is too thick to breach. No matter how much I shake him, he doesn’t even moan an acknowledgement. As another clatter echoes up the stairwell, I slip out from under the covers. I pause with my hand reaching toward the door.

Shaking my head, I turn back to survey the bedroom in the dim glow of moonlight. My eyes rest on the Maglite that always sits on my end table. Quickly crossing the distance between us, I pick up the Maglite and start toward the door again. The weight of the long handle gives me courage to walk toward the noise.

Stepping into the hall, I hear a slight buzzing sound accompanied by the rustle of paper. Tentative steps bring me to the top of the stairwell. Looking over the banister, I see a soft blue glow emanating from the living room. Careful to avoid the squeaky second step, I wend my way down the staircase until I can press myself up against the wall to the living room. Inching forward, I am finally able to peek into the room. I stifle a gasp of surprise.

A tiny woman with long, delicate wings floats three feet above the floor in my living room. Blond curls cascade down her back, tied away from her face with a thick pink ribbon. A white pinafore with pockets that look like huge molars covers a dress of pale blue. She holds a scepter with a large smiling tooth atop it in one hand. The other hand busily searches through the Easter baskets that await my children and the morning. She picks up and quickly drops the small toys and books that nestle amongst the colorful grasses without showing any interest, but pockets all of the chocolate. As I inhale sharply in disapproval, she notices she is no longer alone.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Her voice sounds like a song.

“What are you doing here?” I counter.

“Visiting.”

“But my children haven’t lost any teeth in months.”

The tooth fairy snorts derisively. “Yes, dental hygiene is putting me out of business.”

“So you’re stealing their candy?” Bewilderment sets in.

“They don’t deserve it if they won’t let their teeth rot out of their heads.” She fires back as she points her wand at me.

The smiling molar vibrates and a blue bolt of electricity leaps out at me. I duck reflexively, turning in time to see the painting behind me burst into flames. I turn back toward the tooth fairy. She has raised her wand again.

As she sends another bolt of electricity toward me, I press the button on the Maglite. Startled by the beam of light, she poofs out of existence. The bolt of electricity sails over my shoulder to set a second painting on fire. The fire alarm goes off. My husband and children stumble down the stairs in a sleep-induced stupor as I smother the last flickering flame and move to silence the smoke detector. The children find distraction in their baskets of goodies, but my husband looks as if he wants an explanation. I return his stunned gaze, searching for the correct one.