thebrenljdoll Contest Entries
So I finally got voted out on a week when I was planning on skipping until I was like nooo, let me just, you know, try and write something. Blah. So here are all of my entries:
Isabelle had slept through the phone ringing (it was, after all, four in the morning). Not that a ringing phone normally required her attention at home. However, when Mikala shook her awake (eyes shining with unshed tears when the bedside lamp was turned on), Isabelle wished she had woken up to the phone.
"Wha-what's wrong?" Isabelle asked, rubbing her eyes to try and refocus on Mikala.
"Dad," Mikala said, before breaking down.
--
It takes two long layovers, two puddle hopper flights, three different airlines, one rental car fiasco and a three hour road trip, but they arrived in one piece, only mildly annoyed with the other's company. And Isabelle should feel bad about wishing Mikala would at least respond to any of her attempts to have a conversation, but she's tired and the plane seats were uncomfortable and Mikala hasn't elaborated on much of anything (which frustrates Isabelle, because crying, upset Mikala she can deal with. This stoic, fake Mikala that she's getting isn't as easy to understand).
When they get to the house, Mikala's mom is nice, smiling at them despite the stress that's showing up around her eyes from days of coordinating with people she never wanted to deal with, asking about their trip and apologizing for the inability to get a direct flight to the city.
Isabelle fills the conversation void that Mikala's silence leaves, and tries to ignore the tight smiles that don't met anyone's eyes.
--
The house seems too full. Too full of people and food and flowers. None of it's living, though, and Isabelle's getting uncomfortable within the confines of the building.
"You didn't have to come," Mikala said after dragging Isabelle upstairs to her father's (former) office.
Isabelle doesn't respond, because the statement doesn't deserve one. She's not going to not come to her girlfriend's father's funeral. But, she does pull Mikala in for a hug, because it seems like the right thing to do.
--
The day of the burial is a perfect day for a wedding (not one of body to ground, but one of body to body). And the moment she thinks that, Isabelle wishes that was the reason the entire family was gathered, not this solemn affair that they're attending.
Nothing goes wrong during the service, and most people leave as soon as it's over, heading back to the house for food and comfort. But, Isabelle finds herself standing next to Mikala a few feet away from the coffin, watching as they lower it into the ground. They don't say anything to each other, don't even acknowledge one another. When the polished wood meets the dirt, Mikala finally turns to leave the cemetery.
I won't judge you. I can't, really. I don't actually have a brain. I do have ears, though (even though they're full of fuzz and don't actually have holes in which sound waves can enter), so I'm a good listener. Which is good, because you like to talk. Well, I'm not sure how much you like talking, as much as I know that you've done all of the talking when you're with me. And that's okay, because I don't have vocal chords, or a working mouth (just a bit of string that forms an upside down V), so I can't fill the silences when they come up. I figure you're going to grow tired of my inability to speak at some point, because it's a very one way street between the two of us. Just know that, when you get your boyfriend (or your girlfriend. Or your boyfriend that's actually a girlfriend or vice versa--like I said, I won't judge you), and they've stopped listening to you, I'll be here (especially if you marry them). You can come to me with your problems and your thoughts and what ever else happens to cross your mind. I'll still listen. I can't offer up any solutions (no working mouth, remember?), but I will be more than happy to silently sit here and absorb everything that comes out of your vocal chords. As your teddy bear, it's my job.
The Tree House
It was their Fortress of Solitude, and they asked Superman to please not sue, since they don't have any money anyway. It was their Bat Cave, and they hoped Batman was rich enough already. It was their super secret hideout that no one else knew about... except their father, because he built it (Not that they couldn't have, they were superheroes, after all, but because they didn't want him to suspect anything).
Every day after their alter egos went to school and did their homework, they would come to the hideout and see if there was any crime that needed to be stopped, villainous plots to be thwarted, or injustice to fix, with the old police scanner that their grandfather had given them for one birthday serving as their supercomputer that would keep track of all the citizens that needed protecting. Every night at sundown, however, they had to go back into the house so their mother wouldn't fret about them for too long and discover what they really were (and it was dinner time, and even specialized crime fighters need to eat).
Life continued on this way until their alter egos discovered girls, and the way that they moved just so, and there was nothing either could do about the other finding their own Lois Lane or Mary Jane or whoever-it-was-Bruce-Wayne-was-hooking-up-with-now, and, no, not he wasn't doing anything with Robin. Those are just vicious rumors spread to discredit the Caped Crusader. The hideout was becoming warped and too small for their newer, larger bodies, and the police scanner finally broke after being dropped one time too many, so they decided to abandon that hideout and vowed to find a new one, at some point (they didn't look very hard, though).
When they graduated, they went to separate colleges, and the hideout was forgotten about, as was their vow to keep the town safe. That's what the actual police were for anyway, they reasoned, guilt being washed away by parties and girls that had started becoming women. They only saw each other during major holidays, and they rarely talked now, too busy keeping up with their brand new lives, full of people who didn't know about their past. So the town was without its superheros (but that was okay, they figured, because no one knew about them anyway, really).
They had moved away, so they didn't notice the way the town gradually got worse without them, and they didn't care, because the town didn't offer the same things their shiny cities did, and they didn't think anything of their parents moving away, so they still don't know how bad the town becam), and it's not betrayal since they never formally promised anything... right?
"What would you do...for a Klondike bar?" He asked, the swing he was on idly moving back and forth on its hinges.
She continued twisting around in hers, the chain making squeaking sounds as she wound it tighter. "Depends on the weather."
"Okay," he said, "it's the middle of winter, there's snow everywhere, and you've run out of blankets to cower under as the storm outside rages on, covering the ground with white flurries, and you'd turn on the heat, but you're in an abandoned warehouse, because you lost your home right before winter started."
"You have a very active imagination," she said. "And... I guess I'd swallow fire. That way, I would get a temporary reprise from the cold, and if I burnt myself, then I'd have something to cool my throat down with."
He stared at her. "Well fine then. Be practical about it."
She smiled, and stopped winding up the swing. "That's what you keep me around for," she said, before letting the chain uncoil and allowing herself to spin closer to the ground.
One step forward. Quick scurry back. Two steps forward. One tentative step back. Glance around, look for other life. Nothing else seems to be around. It's me, the object and the vast space between us. That's it. All I have to do is get there, snatch it and run back home. That's the goal. I can do it. True, I've never encountered anything like this before, but over there? Over there is food, which I need to live, to survive. Come on... just... go for it.
Glance around again. Nothing's there. I'm going for it this time. Now. Now I'm running forward and it feels good and I'm almost there and then-- I cross into forbidden territory, and realize it's a trap.
A mouse trap. Blasted humans. I was hungry, too.
"I want that one," she said, pointing to the blueish, purplish flower. It was her birthday, and she always got to pick the flower for the centerpiece on her birthday.
"The violet?" Her mother asked.
"Yes, the violent." She nodded.
"Okay. I'll get you the violet." Her mother laughed, before paying for the flower and handing it to her.
As they left the store, she cradled the flower against her, protecting it from the outside.
Her mother smiled, sadly, already mourning the day she would grow up and this ritual would be seen as a hassle.
Isabelle had slept through the phone ringing (it was, after all, four in the morning). Not that a ringing phone normally required her attention at home. However, when Mikala shook her awake (eyes shining with unshed tears when the bedside lamp was turned on), Isabelle wished she had woken up to the phone.
"Wha-what's wrong?" Isabelle asked, rubbing her eyes to try and refocus on Mikala.
"Dad," Mikala said, before breaking down.
--
It takes two long layovers, two puddle hopper flights, three different airlines, one rental car fiasco and a three hour road trip, but they arrived in one piece, only mildly annoyed with the other's company. And Isabelle should feel bad about wishing Mikala would at least respond to any of her attempts to have a conversation, but she's tired and the plane seats were uncomfortable and Mikala hasn't elaborated on much of anything (which frustrates Isabelle, because crying, upset Mikala she can deal with. This stoic, fake Mikala that she's getting isn't as easy to understand).
When they get to the house, Mikala's mom is nice, smiling at them despite the stress that's showing up around her eyes from days of coordinating with people she never wanted to deal with, asking about their trip and apologizing for the inability to get a direct flight to the city.
Isabelle fills the conversation void that Mikala's silence leaves, and tries to ignore the tight smiles that don't met anyone's eyes.
--
The house seems too full. Too full of people and food and flowers. None of it's living, though, and Isabelle's getting uncomfortable within the confines of the building.
"You didn't have to come," Mikala said after dragging Isabelle upstairs to her father's (former) office.
Isabelle doesn't respond, because the statement doesn't deserve one. She's not going to not come to her girlfriend's father's funeral. But, she does pull Mikala in for a hug, because it seems like the right thing to do.
--
The day of the burial is a perfect day for a wedding (not one of body to ground, but one of body to body). And the moment she thinks that, Isabelle wishes that was the reason the entire family was gathered, not this solemn affair that they're attending.
Nothing goes wrong during the service, and most people leave as soon as it's over, heading back to the house for food and comfort. But, Isabelle finds herself standing next to Mikala a few feet away from the coffin, watching as they lower it into the ground. They don't say anything to each other, don't even acknowledge one another. When the polished wood meets the dirt, Mikala finally turns to leave the cemetery.
I won't judge you. I can't, really. I don't actually have a brain. I do have ears, though (even though they're full of fuzz and don't actually have holes in which sound waves can enter), so I'm a good listener. Which is good, because you like to talk. Well, I'm not sure how much you like talking, as much as I know that you've done all of the talking when you're with me. And that's okay, because I don't have vocal chords, or a working mouth (just a bit of string that forms an upside down V), so I can't fill the silences when they come up. I figure you're going to grow tired of my inability to speak at some point, because it's a very one way street between the two of us. Just know that, when you get your boyfriend (or your girlfriend. Or your boyfriend that's actually a girlfriend or vice versa--like I said, I won't judge you), and they've stopped listening to you, I'll be here (especially if you marry them). You can come to me with your problems and your thoughts and what ever else happens to cross your mind. I'll still listen. I can't offer up any solutions (no working mouth, remember?), but I will be more than happy to silently sit here and absorb everything that comes out of your vocal chords. As your teddy bear, it's my job.
The Tree House
It was their Fortress of Solitude, and they asked Superman to please not sue, since they don't have any money anyway. It was their Bat Cave, and they hoped Batman was rich enough already. It was their super secret hideout that no one else knew about... except their father, because he built it (Not that they couldn't have, they were superheroes, after all, but because they didn't want him to suspect anything).
Every day after their alter egos went to school and did their homework, they would come to the hideout and see if there was any crime that needed to be stopped, villainous plots to be thwarted, or injustice to fix, with the old police scanner that their grandfather had given them for one birthday serving as their supercomputer that would keep track of all the citizens that needed protecting. Every night at sundown, however, they had to go back into the house so their mother wouldn't fret about them for too long and discover what they really were (and it was dinner time, and even specialized crime fighters need to eat).
Life continued on this way until their alter egos discovered girls, and the way that they moved just so, and there was nothing either could do about the other finding their own Lois Lane or Mary Jane or whoever-it-was-Bruce-Wayne-was-hooking-up-with-now, and, no, not he wasn't doing anything with Robin. Those are just vicious rumors spread to discredit the Caped Crusader. The hideout was becoming warped and too small for their newer, larger bodies, and the police scanner finally broke after being dropped one time too many, so they decided to abandon that hideout and vowed to find a new one, at some point (they didn't look very hard, though).
When they graduated, they went to separate colleges, and the hideout was forgotten about, as was their vow to keep the town safe. That's what the actual police were for anyway, they reasoned, guilt being washed away by parties and girls that had started becoming women. They only saw each other during major holidays, and they rarely talked now, too busy keeping up with their brand new lives, full of people who didn't know about their past. So the town was without its superheros (but that was okay, they figured, because no one knew about them anyway, really).
They had moved away, so they didn't notice the way the town gradually got worse without them, and they didn't care, because the town didn't offer the same things their shiny cities did, and they didn't think anything of their parents moving away, so they still don't know how bad the town becam), and it's not betrayal since they never formally promised anything... right?
"What would you do...for a Klondike bar?" He asked, the swing he was on idly moving back and forth on its hinges.
She continued twisting around in hers, the chain making squeaking sounds as she wound it tighter. "Depends on the weather."
"Okay," he said, "it's the middle of winter, there's snow everywhere, and you've run out of blankets to cower under as the storm outside rages on, covering the ground with white flurries, and you'd turn on the heat, but you're in an abandoned warehouse, because you lost your home right before winter started."
"You have a very active imagination," she said. "And... I guess I'd swallow fire. That way, I would get a temporary reprise from the cold, and if I burnt myself, then I'd have something to cool my throat down with."
He stared at her. "Well fine then. Be practical about it."
She smiled, and stopped winding up the swing. "That's what you keep me around for," she said, before letting the chain uncoil and allowing herself to spin closer to the ground.
One step forward. Quick scurry back. Two steps forward. One tentative step back. Glance around, look for other life. Nothing else seems to be around. It's me, the object and the vast space between us. That's it. All I have to do is get there, snatch it and run back home. That's the goal. I can do it. True, I've never encountered anything like this before, but over there? Over there is food, which I need to live, to survive. Come on... just... go for it.
Glance around again. Nothing's there. I'm going for it this time. Now. Now I'm running forward and it feels good and I'm almost there and then-- I cross into forbidden territory, and realize it's a trap.
A mouse trap. Blasted humans. I was hungry, too.
"I want that one," she said, pointing to the blueish, purplish flower. It was her birthday, and she always got to pick the flower for the centerpiece on her birthday.
"The violet?" Her mother asked.
"Yes, the violent." She nodded.
"Okay. I'll get you the violet." Her mother laughed, before paying for the flower and handing it to her.
As they left the store, she cradled the flower against her, protecting it from the outside.
Her mother smiled, sadly, already mourning the day she would grow up and this ritual would be seen as a hassle.