Friday, June 13, 2008

Friday Snippet 48


Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com



Update: the snippet is pasted in as of Sunday morning. It is short again. I'm taking baby steps with the scene, feeling my way, as Crystal is with Garrison.
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I woke with a headache today and was unable to see or think well enough to work on the snippet. I'll do my best to get it pasted into this shell this weekend.

You can catch up or review via the links to the first thirteen parts available below.

The entire thing is closing in on 12K. So much for it being a short story. Based on the scenes yet to be written which I know about, I estimate I'm 1/3 to 1/2 way there. That won't be long enough for a novel either. sigh.

But then I hadn't planned on it being a novel. I have enough novels in progress in this story world!

One of them is even set in this same motel. And someone you've already encountered in this story is a POV character in it. You learned her name when Crystal did in part twelve: Brook the housekeeper. She was the protagonist of my first NaNo novel,
Majoring in Marine Biology.


Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen;)




As Crystal approached, Garrison, who was kneeling in the center of a nest of blankets and stuffed toys, stared with wide, solemn eyes. When she had reached about three paces from the side of the crib, he pulled a blanket up over his head, holding it in place with both hands. She stopped and knelt down. "I see you don't want to see me yet." she said softly. "Do you want to see the juice Mama sent for you?"

Crystal waited in silence for Garrison to acknowledge her. There was no urgency that warranted swooping in and manhandling him into fresh diapers. Until he decided that the discomforts of his hunger, thirst or wet bottom outweighed the discomfort of not knowing her, any 'help' she attempted to force on him would be an infliction of trauma.

"Ju. Ju." Garrison's voice was so soft and muffled by the blanket he held taut over his head with clenched fists against each ear that Crystal knew he was talking more to himself than to her.

"Yes. Juice." Crystal answered him anyway. "It's apple juice, I think. And Mama said you could come out to the fridge to pick your treat after your diaper change."

It was impossible to know how much of what she said he understood. More important than the meaning of the words though, was the meaning held in her tone and in her presence. This Crystal had learned by watching Mother's way with the babies. She swallowed convulsively as her throat went tight and dry in response to a brief vision of Mother playing peek-a-boo with Winston at about this age. She mustn't let her thoughts wander there right now. Too bad there wasn't a blanket she could pull over her memories.

Instead of lowering the blanket, Garrison held it firmly in place as he lowered himself face down onto the mattress and stuck his thumb in his mouth. The vigorous sucking was audible from where Crystal still kneeled. After a minute or so of this he released the thumb and began again with the sing-song 'Mamamma, Mamamama, Mamama, Mama.' that Crystal had heard coming over the baby monitor in Brook's apron pocket. He was trying to turn back time and rewrite history she thought, smiling to herself. She knew that he could very well soothe himself back to sleep this way. She would not interfere if he did.

2 tell me a story:

Scribbit 6/13/2008 11:17 PM  

Why does that not surprise me that it's Dali? But actually I think I really like it . . .

cherylp 6/16/2008 8:00 PM  

If more people would handle babies, (heck, even grown ups each other) this way, there would be a lot less problems in the world.

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