Still working out the bugs...

I knew the second I felt my itchy trigger finger flinch, there was no stopping the email from being prematurely sent. Lesson learned. The next time I write something that is going to be judged, sit on it for a minute! I didn't even title it!! Rookie.

Still, I didn't lose exactly. An honorable mention is absolutely wonderful, and I am very proud to have been recognized by people who are actually published writers! However, I know what I did wrong. There is that voice again, "Fool. You should have done this." I know, I know.


May 2, 2010
entry #7

Dear Punkin,
Observationally speaking, yesterday was one of the most interesting insights into the "little people's" culture that I have witnessed thus far.
The smaller of the two, adorned in a white shirt with numbers on the back and long striped socks, joined with other little people on a large field of grass. There were nets set up on either side of the rectangular area where they ran around frantically trying to kick a spotted ball into them. It all seemed very chaotic to me, though every "little" on the field seemed to derive great joy from pelting one another in the shins. Oddly during this event, their arms appeared to be paralyzed as they never once did the obvious and simply pick up the spotted ball and throw it into the net. I have yet to surmise any possible reason for such behavior.
Periodically, the small one would run at me and seemingly demand that I pour water into its open mouth and all about its head. It would then return to the field of grass and continue beating the other's legs with its feet.
Because I had expected an onslaught of whines and clicks after such an activity, I was able to quickly throw the foodstuffs into their mouths and escape to the sanctuary of our room. For now, I am safe. Though for how long I cannot say. I am, as always, awaiting your swift return.

I wrote this for a "Flash Fiction Contest"

Contest rules: 400 words, must use the words, "crimson", "sincere", and "rickshaw"
I stuck with the original format.


"Hopscotch and Wine"


As he wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, a draft of cold air sent a chill down Nathan’s back. He shivered as he looked at the unopened envelope in his hand. It was crinkled in the middle and around the right side where he’d toyed with the idea of not reading its contents at all. The handwriting on the outside revealed its author. After all, his wife had sent word about their children many times before. Nathan sat in his hotel room on the edge of the crimson flowered comforter and ran his forefinger under the flap she had licked to seal the news.

January 7, 2010


Dear Punkin,



This may very well be my final transmission. Those little people are back again. They have now taken washable writing sticks and drawn an alien language down the sidewalk out front. I can only assume it is some sort of signal to the "others" like them. They have fashioned a grid with what appears to be numbers written inside the boxes. They then stand inside a drawn semi-circle and throw a single stone which lands on one of the numbers. Then, horrifyingly, they hop on one foot to pick up the stone they just discarded, all the while laughing out loud. I'm frightened!! I shudder to think what would happen if they noticed me spying from the kitchen window. If they sense my most sincere need for solitude they are sure to stop me before I am able to ascend the stairs. It's like they're trying to tell me something! I just KNOW it! I will try throwing foodstuffs at their mouths and surrounding them with the loud, plastic things you bring from your travels in Asia.
I do not know how long the “little people” intend to hold me captive, and I am beginning to believe there may not be enough wine in the house to sustain me until you return.
You’re my only hope.

Leslie


Nathan dropped the letter and gazed out the window to the street below. He knew what he must do. He grabbed his suitcase and ran out the hotel door leaving the blanket and the letter to lie on the rented room’s floor.

Waiting just outside was the rickshaw and driver that couldn’t get him to the train station fast enough.




Written by Leslie M. Brown
http://letterstopunkin.blogspot.com

Quote of the day

Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put. -Winston Churchill

Today my favorite word is "serendipity".

It just is.

Especially in sleep, I am never alone.

January 2010
entry #6


Dear Punkin, Upon waking from a fretful night's sleep, I came to the realization that both of the little people had sneaked into my sleeping quarters. The smaller of the two appeared to make a determined attempt to swallow it's own thumb, while the apparently "female" of the two held her mouth open wide. I can only assume it was her intention to eat me in her sleep. I was horrified at my thoughtlessness for not having the presence of mind to replenish my food-stuff supply for such occasions. When they sensed my impending stealthy escape, they raised their heads and began speaking their "language" at me until I was able to retreat to the kitchen and end the incessant rise and fall of their "words". I do not know how long the supplies will last. I hope to replenish them at some point in the day. If I am allowed a moment later, I will report again.

Every now and then I get to leave the nest, myself. (big props to my mom who my children have affectionately named, "Momo") There is nothing like getting away for just a couple of days to really set your head straight and put priorities back in perspective.
However, as the day of departure approaches I always have a series of small panic attacks that gradually build and culminate in a full-fledged cry right before I leave. The thought of being away from my kids isn't terrifying, it's the thought of what might happen while I'm gone that scares me.
One particular time, I returned from a trip to find that while I was away my daughter "blossomed" in the span of three days. Seriously... full bloom. She's TEN. Are you picking up what I'm putting down? TEN. Lady bottom, mood swings, and all.
I left behind my little girl, and came home to a "wow it's great to see you...you didn't get me a WHAAAAAAAHHHHH!" pre-teen. The scariest part is what's in the near future...the P word.
I've got the vapors.

November 2009
entry #5


Dear Punkin, I have returned safely home. Upon entering our house, one of the "little people" attacked me at the door, screaming and flailing it's arms all about my head and neck. The larger of the two seems to have grown...all over. I am assuming it's a female as her body is slowly mimicking my form. Her mood seems to fluctuate in complete synchronization with my own. It only serves to make my attempts at communication that much harder.
I arrived weary, but luckily had the presence of mind to walk in with food-stuffs to throw into their constantly open mouths. I do believe it may have saved my life. I can only hope to continue steering clear of the larger "little" as she is growing through whatever metamorphosis is about to explode from her form. Pray for my survival until your return.