sixwords

Busy Mary - by IKA

Mary stared at the pattern before her. She was supposed to sew this? It looked so hard. Mary sighed and went out for some fresh air.
   "Mary!" Mom called her.
   "Yes?" Mary answered.
   "What are you doing outside? You have to finish the quilt before Saturday."
   "Oh my. It is Tuesday. How am I uspposed to finish it before Saturday?"
   "You go inside and start sewing."
   "How long do you think it will take?"
   "Listen. It won't take you long."
   "Okay, I'll do it."
   "Oh yes, remember to hurry. You have to take care of Ellen Smith today."
   "Why does she need so much caring about?"
   Mom was already in the house. Mary went in. She saw a photograph of Ellen Smith. In the picture, Ellen was sitting on a chair, looking as cute as you can imagine.
   When she was going to Ellen's house, she could hear Ellen talking to her doll.
   "You nawty, nawty doww! I have a notion to give you a panking. Be dood, ow I wiww have to give you one. Wouwd you wike dat?"    'No, I wouwdn't, Mommy. I wiww be dood.'"
   Mary wanted to laugh.
   When Mary was done caring for Ellen, Mrs. Smith handed her a card. "Just sign your signature here, and I will pay you on Friday," she said.
   Mary went home. Her big sister Jane was sitting at the table, cutting out cloth squares.
   "I thought I would help you with the quilt, Mary."
   "Oh, thank you, Jane!"
   Everything went perfect. The quilt was done Thursday night.

The Adventures of Alan - by G. S. A.

Part I: The Cave

The mysterious things in the cave were spooking Alan. Strange writings on the wall of the cave and strange prints of claw feet in the sand…and the moaning in the cave. The air had strange scents. Alan had photographed many things that were strange or confusing in the cave. There was something strange about the wall… it seemed to be a pattern. Alan was caring for his food, which was mostly peaches and orange juice, and had a lot of notions why to turn back. Alan turned into a corner and spied a strange marking on the wall. Pushing his torch closer, the three markings came into view. They were three letters, and made initials and a word: HAS.

HAS were the initials of his great-grandpa, who disappeared and was never found. Henry Alan Sprites. Alan almost fainted at this. He moved the torch ahead of him, but it bumped against a dead end. Turning around to go back, he saw a straight line going up. It made a square around the initials. Alan inserted his pocketknife into the crack and squared it all the way around. Then, he inserted his hand and pulled out the block. A dark hole went through the wall. The block was seven feet long. When Alan threw it over to the dead end, it shattered and fell with a skull and bones to the ground. Alan crawled into the hole and fell into a darkened hallway. He lit some other wood in the torch holders and walked threw the lit hallway. Another mysterious maze to walk through.
Alan found a candlestick and lit it. To his surprise, the candle formed a bigger flame. When the room lit up, Alan spied something. The initials: HAS

Vanity of Vanities - by Rosanne

I looked carefully at the photograph in my hand. Once upon a time, it had been my prized possession. Once upon a time I had had a notion that it really mattered if a picture was inscribed with a signature or not. I had spent a great deal of time hunting down that picture in the stores, a great deal of effort deciding exactly which one I should buy, and too much money purchasing that autographed photo of my favourite singer. No longer caring about that precious piece of paper, I ripped it into shreds, and tossed the pieces in the air. The pieces fell in a pattern all around the wastebasket. I sighed, picked them up and threw them away.

My second attempt at benepropisms* - by Kelly

The rich old man wept as he listened to the photograph, listened to the pittern-pattern of little feet running in and out of the notion, caring back memories of the family vacations he'd missed. Busyness, he had always been away on busyness. He ran his fingers through his air. He sneezed: Signature! Signature! and wondered what his life truly meant.

*malapropism, according to Webster: ludicrous misuse of words, especially caused by resemblance in sound. (here, for example, photograph for phonograph, notion for ocean, etc)

sorry to the younger sixwords participants for using tons of big words. I like big words... :-)

Trial of an Excellent Seamstress - by Kim

The pattern repeats. She puts away the photograph, again, her sigh hanging in the air. Folding up the latest letter, she avoids looking at the familiar, firm signature. She has a notion to stop caring.

How many times has she tried to make this particular customer happy? Trying to reconstruct a pattern in an old photograph, taking care to find period notions and fabrics, she seeks to recreate the signature dress of the famous, fastidious old woman. With a resigned air, she resumes her work.

Weeks later, photographers crowd around, flashes fill the air. Young girls crowd close for the grand lady’s signature, patterning their speech after hers. Caring to thank the many who have supported her, the distinguished actress commends her seamstress. Despite a notion to duck behind a bush, the seamstress beams.

Further Continuation - by Dawn Penguin

He looked around, sniffing the air, and noted a definite lack of cake
smell in the air. Suspiciously, he stepped forward toward the expectant
partiers. "It's not my birthday," he declared softly, every sense on alert.

When he reached the table, he extended his hand slowly toward the cake.
Cautiously, he swiped at the frosting, not very surprised when his
fingers came up empty. The people and the cake and the table faded,
leaving him in a room with a grid pattern on the walls. A holograph room!

He turned toward the door, his instincts telling him that he needed to
be very careful. As he approached, the door opened of its own accord.
Leaning noiselessly around the doorframe, he found the hallway still
empty. Gratefully he eased into the hallway, following the wall. He had
a notion the object of his mission was going to be more difficult to
reach than he'd expected.

He reached another corner, and just then he heard footsteps behind him.
Glancing back, he saw a phalanx of alien soldiers turning into the
hallway. No longer caring if he was heard, since he'd been seen, he
turned the corner and began to run. Spotting a doorway halfway down the
hall, he made for it, and slipped through the door, closing it firmly
but quietly just before the soldiers turned the corner. He slowly turned
the lock until he heard a soft click, then turned away from the door.

He was in an office, which contained a desk, several file cabinets, and
a couple bookshelves. There was a medium-sized window on the back wall,
which was covered both with blinds and heavy drapes. On the wall behind
him, he found a bulletin board on which were several photographs and a
few letters. He peered closely at one of them, trying to make out the
signature, but it apparently belonged to one of the aliens and was
completely indistinguishable.

When he turned back around, he realized there was someone - or something
- in the chair behind the desk.

Puppets of the Chai Regime - by Meg

In summertime, with school now past we go.
To cafes near our house we walk or bike.
Though cake and pie do tempt we shall forego,
For we are here to drink and read and write.

My grouchy son complains about a fold
Amiss along his origami box.
I help -- inform him of a fold he’s skipped.
He smiles and into place the pieces lock.

The girls read books and write within their journals.
They hum along to music from the radio.
Iced chais are quickly downed once whipped cream’s gone.
"More chia!" they cry, an ever thirsty trio.

Once safe at home we fall back to our ways
Of playing, cleaning and navigating summer's haze.

Captain Grouchy Simpson - by Anonymous

A Strange Recipe for Cake
1 cup sealed lemon juice, very safe, non-toxic
2 cups Radio Crunch Cereal
3 cups shredding inform papers
4 cups grouchy peaches
5 cups rotten puppets

Now The Story That Goes With It:

Captain “Grouchy” Simpson stalked from side to side. Man! He couldn’t stand being the center of the Space Piracy Department that the Secret Space Police were trying to arrest. SPD and SSP had sides. The SPD Citizens were the Space Piracy Department Citizens. The SSP Citizens were the Secret Space Police Citizens. Captain “Grouchy” Simpson got his nickname, Captain “Grouchy” Simpson, because of his very gruff voice when the SSP did catch him, Captain “Grouchy” Simpson looked so muscular, that the police thought they must of caught their boss, Captain Stonewall! Anyway, this adventure was when Captain Simpson committed the crime of bombarding the S.S. Space Shuttle. They overpowered it and imprisoned the crew. The crew was now in the SPD Prison, the SPDP, for short. Anyway, now the SSP were after them for imprisoning. But, Captain Simpson kept on overpowering the Secret Police. Here’s the story:

Captain Simpson was cruising around in the asteroid belt when a bunch of angry Secret Police Pods flying around shooting. The electric shield came on and Captain Simpson was now using his Atomic Bullet 3000 Gun. What he did not know was that Captain Stonewall was radioing his ship, getting all the Atomic Bullet recipes. Here’s what he found: 1 cup lemon juice, very safe, non-toxic
2 cups Radio Crunch cereal
3 cups shredding inform papers
4 cups grouchy peaches
5 cups rotten puppets

Captain Stonewall did everything it said, and then blew up Captain Simpson’s ship.
I sure wish I taped that ending!

The Puppet Show - by Iliacat

Mary stared at the window. Nothing. She was watching for her friend Kate because they were going to do a puppet show on the grass next to sidewalk. Mom walked into the room.

“Mary, Kate called and said that she’ll be here in about 15 minuets. She had to help her ‘very grouchy’ sister bake a cake,” she informed Mary.

Mary sighed. “I guess I’ll listen to the radio while I wait. I need to find out if we need to make a big cover for the rain or not. I have the materials,” she said. As Mary flicked the radio on, the doorbell rang. Mary ran to the door. Mrs. Fuinol was there.

“Mary, is your mom home? I have to give her this,” she said. Mary was about to get mom when mom bumped into her.

“Hi, Tracy,” said Mrs. Fuinol. “I was wondering. I saw a sign next to your house that was showing a picture of a puppet booth. It said over the top, ‘the M.A.K. Puppet Shows’ underneath in small letters it said, ‘the next show is on the 6th of August at 2:00 pm.’ I was wondering if it cost any thing.” “well yes. It costs 5¢ a person. You have to come at 2:00 if you want to watch.” “well, thanks for telling me. I rreally must be going. Goodbye. Oh wait, have you read the paper today? All about this boy who...” Mrs. Fuinol’s voice drifted off as Mary went back to the radio. She did NOT want to listen to the story. She could tell by the beginning that it was not interesting.

The radio shouted as she came back, “50% CHANCE OF SPRINKLING IN THE NORTH SIDE OF THE STATE, IN THE MIDDLE, 10%, IN THE SOUTH, 20%, IN THE WEST, 60% AND IN THE EAST, 90%. IN THE SOUTHWEST, THERE IS NO EXPECTED RAIN WHATSOEVER. KEEP SAFE EVERYWHERE. THIS IS ... THE PPC NEWS.”

Mary sighed. She lived in the east. That meant lots of rain most likely. But she had wanted to make the cover. When Kate came, they began to make the cover just in case. When the were sewing it together, they heard thunder.

“oh no! What if we don’t finish by 2?” cried Kate.

“I don’t know, Kate!” they finished 5 after 2. They ran out and 13 people were waiting. They had umbrellas. They smiled when Mary and Kate came out. More people came. Soon there where enough people to make $1.50!! It went perfectly.

CONTINUED - by Dawn Penguin

When he regained consciousness, he was in the dark. He felt frantically
for his radio, his sidearm, and his glasses, all of which were where
they belonged. He was relieved, but confused. He appeared to be safe,
but it was difficult to tell in the dark. He stood up, reaching his
hands in front of him as he moved slowly forward. He hit a wall almost
immediately.

Suddenly, his radio crackled. He decreased the volume on it to barely
audible as he held it to his ear. Only static. He pushed the button on
the side and whispered, "Command? Come in Command. Over."

There was no answer. He snapped off the radio, intending to inform
Command later that it was rather stupid to have to carry a radio on such
a sensitive mission. He knew Command would disregard his complaint, but
he felt it was necessary to lodge it, regardless.

He followed the wall carefully, hoping to find a room. Or a light
switch. He was beginning to feel a bit grouchy over this whole thing. He
felt like he was just a puppet, his strings being pulled by Command, but
never really knowing what was going on. His shoulder hit something on
the wall.

It appeared to be a switch.

He flipped it.

The lights came on, to the sound of a crowd of people yelling,
"SURPRISE!" as they stood surrounding a beautifully decorated birthday
cake on the table.

A Silly One - by Rosanne

A grouchy young puppet named Blake
informed us he would bake a cake
His radio went in
and so did a fin
Was it safe to eat? Give me a break!

"Peace and Safety" - by Karin

"Peace and Safety" trumpets the puppet government, figurehead for corporation and greed. Spouting misinformation; was it yellowcake plutonium? Uranium? Radioactive waste fills ancient Mesopotamia, the Garden of Eden now bearing children without faces and limbs. We don't want to see that, grumbles a grouchy public. Wave the flag, tie the ribbon. Give us our Peace and Safety!

Surprise! - by Kim

Pressed behind the couch, I’ve grown hungry and grouchy
A burst of static breaks the silence; the two-way radio informs us:
Remain hiding a bit longer, she is safe on her way.
Time to pop up like puppets as someone flicks on the lights.
Yelling, “Surprise!” I leap up, but my mind is on the cake …

Radio Melodrama - by Kelly

Hello. Remember me? I am your radio. You used to listen to me when you were little, in the front room. The kiddie radio shows back then weren't any more sophisticated than the sock puppets you had in Sunday school, but you loved them both. And you loved me. You loved twisting the dial and hearing different voices come out, hearing about stock prices on one station, country music on another, old-time polkas on a third. I didn't mind the cake and frosting on my dial one day, chocolate cookies the next. It was nice to be near you. It was nice to have someone listen to me.

Later I moved up to your bedroom, next to the pillow. Every Saturday morning I'd play Casey Kasem's top 50 countdown. I'd wake you every morning, and sometimes I'd even get to inform you that your school was cancelled. You'd fall back asleep, safe and warm, listening to me play those 50 songs of the week over and over again, interrupted every ten minutes to run down the comforting list of cancellations.

You moved away to college. Then you got married. For a long time I was in an empty room.

Now here I am in your new house. Forgive me if I sound grouchy, but here I am in a paper bag with Strawberry Shortcake and some old Shaun Cassidy LPs. And you're running around the house unpacking, with some shiny new thing hanging on your neck and singing you songs.

Your songs - everything YOU want to hear. No polka, no stock prices, no school closings, no commercials... she sings exactly the songs you want to hear, all the time. No wonder you love her.

I wonder if you'd notice me, if I leaned just a little farther over out of the bag.

I wonder if you'd see me, if I could get my 9-volt battery to power up the blinking 12:00 a few more times.

Hey, I wonder what you wrote on this grocery bag you tossed me into...

...salvation ARMY?

*sob*

Sestina for a Mom…. - by Mike

She grabbed up the old broom by the handle,
swishing up crumbs and a mysterious looking orange peel.
Listening to the washing machine hum
and poking at dirt piles with the toe of her boot,
she wondered what always made the sweepings crunchy,
but worried that, in the end, her work was not vital.

She often struggled with the urgent need to be really vital.
Who could ever say that insignificance is an easy role to handle?
The daily grind, the obligatory manufacturing of peanut butter sandwiches (crunchy)
and the measuring of her days in discarded banana peels
and complaining from the neighbors, and from the children to boot,
left her feeling that, in general, her life was at best, ho-hum.

But, if laughter is the best medicine, she could at least manage to hum
and have a glance at the ever nagging errand list for anything vital.
Someone needs school supplies, and another has lost his boot.
A typical day, and nothing she can’t handle.
She considered that, just once, she should make the van tires peel,
but satisfied herself instead with making her cereal a little extra crunchy.

She generally enjoyed her breakfast, especially the crunchy
cereal. Finding a brighter mood, she continued to hum
the tune now firmly stuck in her head. She spied yet another rotten peel
left in the corner by someone obviously far too vital
to stoop down and grasp the garbage can by the handle.
She briefly considered giving that someone a boot.

But she, after all, is the veteran, and not some young boot
too squeamish to touch things moldy, rotten or crunchy.
These were always mom’s noble task to handle,
regardless of her mood or the tune she chose to hum.
Or even whether anyone considered her role vital,
though she’d never understand the reaction to an old peel.

Someday, perhaps, she would make those tires peel,
or give that someone a boot
and point out to the whole wide world that she, the Mom, is truly vital.
And that satisfaction takes a little more than cereal, (even the kind that’s crunchy).
But for now, she would content herself with the quiet hum
of her laundry and another day to clean, shop, organize and otherwise handle.

Being recognized as vital, rather than discarded like an old stale peel,
is how we all handle the mundane chores of life. Like searching for a lost boot
or making yet another crunchy peanut butter sandwich. And don’t forget to hum.

Untitled - by Karin

disclaimer: Karin wanted me to note that she didn't read the others before sending hers in, not wanting to get 'ideas' before writing. But apparently peeled off socks, laundry, and work are common themes among moms!!!

With a groan, she pulled her feet from their boots and peeled off clinging socks. She desperately wanted a bath...it was vital she scrub, removing grime from every fold, crease, crevice of her skin, dirt from her nails, dust clogging every pore. Her hands, raw and bruised, still felt the roughness of the shovel's handle, arms and back protesting in memory as she began the warm flow of water.

The florescent light over the sink hummed irregularly, casting it's bluewhiteness throughout the small room. She sighed and lowered herself into the tub, eyes turning upward along tattered papered walls and ceiling. Glancing at the disordered pile of clothing on the floor, she realized she'd have to shake them out, dislodging stones, clotted dirt and other crunchy bits certainly residing in cuffs and pockets. Clothes would be left in the mudroom; she'd sweep up the trail of debris following her to this place and slide into bed, sleeping blank with exhaustion until morning.

Alien Creatures - by Anonymous

Allen reached the wild plains.
Ever since the plane crash,
It was very vital he found food.
He stepped on some crunchy sand—
And collapsed onto the blue sand.
The sand gave way with a hum and
He fell into a gigantic area.
There was a door in one side,
And a handle laying on the floor.
Nothing seemed right. Some kind
Of food peel was rotting on the
Floor. His boots were balancing
On the un-giving-a-way sand.
Then, it fell, knocking Allen out.

another verse for the banana song - by Weaving Major

It's a vital job dat you can handle!
     daylight come and me wan' go home
Get on you boot, stomp da crunchy taranch'la!
     daylight come and me wan' go home

Now hum as you peel da tasty banana!
     daylight come and me wan' go home
You said yo' six words fo' da reggae man-o!
     daylight come and me wan' go home

Day-O! Da-a-a-y O!
     daylight come and me wan' go home!

sixwords on today - by Kim

Like a boot to her stomach, his words hit her as she reaches for the handle of the van’s doors. His words peel away her pride and confidence in being a good mother. The hum of the air conditioning masks the sound of her stepping on crunchy old granola bars as she closes the van doors behind her and climbs into her seat. Keeping her eyes lowered so as not to cry, she accepts the encounter as a reminder; it is vital that she always be vigilant in watching over her children. She thanks the Lord for her children, whom she loves dearly, and for His protection, and even for painful reminders.

Untitled - by Dawn Penguin

He reached for the shiny blue door handle as he followed the distant
hum. The handle shimmered and disappeared just before his hand made
contact. He shuddered. This whole place just seemed to be getting
stranger and stranger. Stepping backward, he placed his boot carefully
into his previous footprint, studiously avoiding the crunchy broken
glass that covered the remainder of the corridor. He stepped into a side
branch with a clear floor and worked his way a bit closer.

Approaching an intersection, he slowed. Gingerly stepping forward, he
leaned, very slowly, around the corner enough to see. There he saw a
company of enemy alien soldiers, doing exercises in a room at the end of
the corridor. As he watched, one line of troops peeled off and out of
sight, while the others continued their drill.

It was vital that he find that hum! As soon as the company had their
backs to him, he zipped across the intersection to continue down the
corridor. He could tell he was getting closer; the hum was much louder
now. He suspected it was behind this tightly closed door. He was pretty
sure he could finagle the lock.

The lock clicked, opening.

He pushed the door open carefully, and, looking in, fainted dead away.

Untitled - Anonymous

Dathon again watched that terrible sea.
For the third time, he was totally mad.
He felt like he couldn’t live without his
“vital,” crunchy, old, Bionicle.
He pulled off his rain boots and peeled
Off his socks, humming “Yankee Doodle”.
He could handle the vital crunchy old Bionicle.

Strange Story - by I.K.A.

As I went to the community garden today I noticed that someone had walked through Mr. Smitty’s fresh clean grass with very muddy boots. Mr. Smitty had taken very good care of his grass and was very mad at anyone who messed it up. Oh well, I thought, at least he didn’t walk through my plot at the community garden. At least not yet. When I got to the garden I saw that something had taken the peel off my peaches! “That’s strange,” I thought. “An animal couldn’t of done it; it was too tidy. Then I heard a strange humming noise coming from my bushes. As I walked over to investigate, I heard a crunching noise under my feet. I looked down and saw that I was walking over my rhubarb!!! When I got over to the noise, I saw a raccoon handling my peaches as if they were something vital. The humming noise was Mr. Carnom mowing his lawn across the street. On my way home, I walked past Mr. Smitty’s house. He was in his front lawn, looking at the footprints and laughing. I asked him why. He said, “well, last night, before I went to bed, I noticed a deer eating my tulip bulbs that I planted so that they will sprout next year. It was a very muddy, rainy night, as you know. I went out to chase the deer away. I walked back over my front lawn and I didn’t know I left these marks. Oh well. I wonder why the rain didn’t wash them away? Oh, well, the rain was beginning to stop as I went in. it was about just misting when I got in.” so that was my day I had yesterday.

Excerpts from The Conner Boys’ Guide to Family Living - by Rosanne

boot- to be kicked off immediately upon entering the house, ideally leaving a pile of a dozen or so right where people need to walk.

crunchy- the feeling of the bedroom floor when you have neglected to pick up all the Lego. Don’t let it bother you. Act bewildered when your parents complain about it. (See also the entry, “What Lego?”)

handle- the part of the plastic pail to be removed immediately upon purchase and used to dig in one’s ears, or whip one’s sibling.

hum- a vocal exercise, used primarily for the purpose of annoying one’s siblings. There is a fine art to humming loudly enough for your brother to hear, but quietly enough so that your parents cannot. Practice, practice, practice.

peel- the part of a banana that you leave on the kitchen table until your mother screeches, "Put that thing in the compost bin!"

vital- a word used to impress your mother, and make her believe that home schooling really is working. Try the sentence, “It’s vital that we get a Nintendo Revolution.”

The Forest - anonymous

As Joe and Art were running through the forest the peel of an exotic tropical fruit fell from a tree and covered Joe's eyes. Throwing off his boot, Art knew it was vital to get a handle on the situation. Suddenly, the hum of 1000 bugs filled the air. They swarmed onto Joe and began eating the peel covering his eyes. Art again assessed the situation, and did the only thing he knew to do---he began eating the crunchy bugs which were covering his friend.

deceived - by Kim

She kicks off her boots and peels sweaty socks from her feet, leaving them to dry into crunchy sculptures on the floor. She can’t seem to get a handle on the supposedly vital art of cleaning up after herself. Stepping over the discarded footwear and yesterday’s dishes, she thinks, “I’m sure it will be easier to clean up, someday, when I have children who need clean clothes and dishes…” She flops onto the laundry-laden couch and flips on the tv, humming softly to herself.