WRiTE CLUB 2012 – Round 19

Sedney of Castonod, come on down because you're the winner of round 16. Your opponent, Lucky McGee, will have his/her piece returned to the pool for a chance at re-selection for a future bout. Everybody should make sure you check my WRiTE CLUB 2012 results page for a breakdown of all the winners, along with links to all of the writing samples.  

I wanted to invite everybody to stop by tomorrow as I'll be hosting Natalie Bahm in support of her book release targeted for a very special cause.  Natalie will be talking about working with an agent to get a book self-published, so you'll definitely want to be here for that!

Until then......

Here are this rounds randomly selected WRiTER's.

Standing in the far corner, weighing in at 491 words, please welcome to the ring……..Little Miss Proper.

London

August 1, 1941

“But I don’t want to carry a gas mask around with me all the time,” I said.

“It’s not a choice, Joyce, you have to. Everyone has to,” Mummy said. “Gina has to carry hers too. Only children under four who can’t carry them themselves won’t be walking around with them draped over their shoulders and their parents will be carrying them. If they are under two years old they need a Baby’s Helmet with them at all times. I would think they will just keep that in the pram.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair that The War is coming to England,” I said. “That Mister Hitler is a real rotter!”

“I think everyone in the world would agree with you on that, Love,” Mummy said. “You have to show Gina that it is all right and not fuss in front of her about carrying your mask. Imagine how grateful you will be to have it, if something horrible happens and you need it.”

“I know how to make it less scary for Gina,” I said. “We could make Dolly a little gas mask box.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Mummy said. “Perhaps you can work on that while I am getting the house ready in case the air raids start coming.”

I found a matchbox, sticky tape, and some string in the odds and ends drawer. I quickly made Dolly’s gas mask.

Gina came in the kitchen carrying Dolly.

“Look what I made for Dolly,” I said.

“Oh, that’s smashing!” Gina exclaimed. “Now Dolly will be safe too.”

Gina slipped the gas mask box over Dolly’s shoulder.

“What are you doing Mummy?” Gina asked.

“I’m doing some safety preparation,” Mummy said.

“Can I help?” Gina asked.

“I want to help too,” I said. “What can we do first?”

“Well, we need to move all the things out of the attic and then have several buckets of water at the top of the stairs,” Mummy said.

“I love going in the attic,” Gina said.

“I know it’s full of interesting things,” I replied.

“If you’ll start bringing the smaller things down, your dad and I can get the bigger items later,” Mummy said. “I’m going to cover the windows with heavy paper and tape.”

“Gosh, Mummy,” Gina said. “How are we going to see out the windows?”

“We won’t be able too,” Mummy replied. “The paper and tape will help protect us though, if they start bombing London.”

“I hope the Royal Air Force stops them before they get to London,” I said.

Mummy shook her head.

“Me too, Love, me too,” she said.

Gina and I climbed the narrow staircase up to the attic and began sorting.

“Oh look at this lovely toy tractor,” Gina said.

“We aren’t up here to play. Why don’t you carry that down stairs?” I suggested.

“I’ll put it in my room,” Gina said, “and I’ll put these books in my room too.”

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And in the other corner, weighing in at 484 words, let me introduce to you ……..Seaweed.

I could see his jaws working, chewing the peg in his mouth.“Nerve aʼ him.”

He spat in the water.

The daylight was just spilling on the waves as we emerged into open waters. Intermingled and bobbing happily with the red and green of my grandfathers buoys were new yellow and white ones.

Everyone had seen Macy as he came into town to register the “Cammy May”. They had avoided answering, when heʼd asked where the best place to set traps was. Who in his right mind would tell him that? If it was good, it was already taken. Eventually someone told him of a spot: not the best spot, not even a good one. No one had even caught a lobster there in the past five years. Heʼd have to earn and learn his way into good fishing.

But now the newcomer to Springerʼs cove had invaded Grampʼs set traps.

He must have “learned” that setting his traps in the other location was futile. Had he sensed their amusement? Had he heard talk down at Hershelʼs while filling his bait barrel?

My grandfather pulled his traps, edging his boat around the yellow infestation. The haul was good, but not as good as most days. Our live-tank was three quarters of the normal haul, enough to pay bills, I was pretty sure, but not enough to have some aside for winter.

Finished the haul, Gramp steered homeward, moving fast, cutting through the caps. He was quiet, staring straight ahead, no familiar tune from his grim lips as we turned into the cove. The gutteral chugging of the slowing engine calmed my pounding heart. Pulling up alongside the pier, I spied the light from the kitchen window. My grandmother would be setting the table for evening meal.

“Set his traps in mine,” was all he said as he sat down.

“What...who? Whoʼd do that? Not the new guy?” Grandmaʼs face grayed.“Ayuh. Macy.”

The silence during supper gave me ample opportunity to worry, but none to speak. At fourteen, my words were an annoyance in times like these.

Quiet continued until morning broke.

The phone woke me. My grandfatherʼs voice was low.“You sure?”

Pause.

“No, donʼt know.”

I tossed the covers back, slid into clothes and scrambled downstairs to the kitchen.

 

With breakfast remains still on the table, my grandfather was getting his gear ready, apparently leaving earlier than usual. I grabbed bacon and toast and followed him down to the pier. No words were exchanged as we untied the lines and shoved off.

Slicing silvery calm, we made our way out of the cove. Grampʼs face was emotionless as we neared his spot. I held my breath. The familiar red and green buoys bobbed and tugged, but there were no yellows to be seen.

“Been weeded,” was all he said, his blue eyes dancing like sunlight on waves.

Ghost traps and cemeteries make for good neighbors.

 

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