STAR TREK Nostalgia

Which theme is your favorite?

Star Trek: The Original Series, of course!

 

 5

Star Trek: The Next Generation, without question!

 

 4

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, trust me!

 

 1

Star Trek: Voyager - what else?

 

 0

You REALLY expect me to choose? Pfffft!!!

 

 2

None of the above -they're all dull as ditchwater!

 

 3

The original theme music always makes me feel the most nostalgic!  And Mr. Spock remains my most favorite of all the aliens!

Next in line is STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, with my favorite captain, Jean-Luc Picard.  Yeah, Patrick Stewart has my heart!  And his English accent is so sexy...   Commander Data and Lieutenant Worf up the alien ante!  LOL!  Gotta love 'em!

Ah, Commander, later Captain Benjamin Sisko, the Emissary of the Bajoran world, is the next leader of note in this series, and the first Black captain.  (Did you know Avery Brooks (Captain Sisko) was- and may still be - a college professor in a New Jersey university?)  I love Odo the shape-shifter, and Dax the Trill (what a worm!), the best aliens in this set.

And finally, STAR TREK: VOYAGER, home of Captain Janeway, the first female leader.  And new home of the first female alien, Seven of Nine, who happens to be an ex-Borg!  Oh yeah, and let's not forget the Doctor, a hologram, no less!  Wonderful!

RWC #45

LIFE FORM

She read the headline again, and almost spilled the cup of joe she had in her left hand, she was laughing so hard.

"UFO Over NYC"  

She chuckled as she put the paper down.  Oh geez!  All the people freaking out over a light in the sky!  Shaking her head, she finished the coffee and rinsed the mug before drying it and putting it back in the cupboard.  As she got ready for work, she wondered how many of those people who saw the lights actually thought they were seeing an unidentified flying object, Brushing back her very short red curls, she smeared some lip balm over her chronically chapped lips and grabbed her backpack.

No doubt all the talk at work would be about the UFOs.  Well, she knew she could avoid it if she stayed in the mail room.  No one bothered her there, and she was glad of that.  After the last two years, she reveled in the peace and quiet, and most of all, the anonymity, of the mail room.

Hopping off the train at the last stop, she walked briskly through the cold morning air to the laboratory, and passing through the employees entrance, she swiped her ID card and smiled at the security officer stationed there.  He was a pudgy little man, with blotchy skin and a bald head, and the most beatific smile, complete with dimples.  Everybody loved Charlie, and he returned their affection with great good humor and warm acceptance.

"Morning, May!" he said in his surprisingly virile man's voice.  The depth and timbre of it always struck a place inside her like a whip.

Morning, December!" she answered with another broad grin, and waved as she walked away.

Their morning ritual was special to her.  Without Charlie, she was just another face in the crowd.  He made he feel like part of something important - a friendship.  Turning down the long corridor to the capacious mail room, she passed the small secondary morgue, where Joe the Skeleton presided at the door in gruesome splendor.  Suppressing the shiver she invariably felt at this part of the way, she hurried to her place in the mail room just past it down the hall.

As she had become accustomed to it, the absence of anyone else at this hour did not bother her.  As long as the door remained closed, she could live with the knowledge of the dead almost next door. Putting her coat and backpack away in the locker assigned to her, she got to work on checking the sorted mail for the day.  She was scheduled to do the deliveries this week, which meant if anyone had left any sorting undone, she would be late delivering the mail.

A sound at the door made her look up, but it didn't open so she went back to checking that the mail had been sorted by floors, and where required, by offices.  Bulky mail had been placed on the motorized cart for ease of distribution, and she nodded, half an hour later, satisfied that she would make the "morning run" on time.  Checking the watch hanging from the chain around her neck, she saw she had time for another cup of joe before her day began in earnest.

The money for the cup of coffee was already in the snug side pocket of her uniform, and she walked out the door to the coffee machine across the hall from the mail room.  The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened, and she turned, alarmed, but saw nothing.  She stopped in front of the machine and listened, but no reason for her increasing heartbeat was apparent. 

She called out.  "Hello?  Is anyone there?"

That there was no answer did not surprise her.  No one was likely to arrive for another half hour.  She was always the first to get there, so she could do her checks and be ready to roll before the others came, or the press of people who frequented these chilling halls became more than she could stand.  And yet...the feeling that there was a presence there did not leave her.

Shaking her head, and breathing deeply to calm her quaking nerves, she got her coffee and returned to the mail room.  Everything was in order...except for what looked like an aquarium, glowing faintly in the back corner, the darkest part of the room, where neither daylight nor lamp light quite reached.  Gripping her cup for dear life, she walked toward the glow, hesitating a moment to wonder whether or not she should call for backup.

The melodramatic phrase made her giggle nervously, and she chided herself to stop being a ninny and just check out the corner.  Stepping resolutely around the last stack of mail, she felt herself prepared to scream for help if need be.  What she saw stole her breath...and her voice.

No one in the mail room attended to the aquarium till each had gone to investigate its faint glow. And no one else got any mail...

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

To enjoy other great reads, go here...Challenge #45

UFC #253

Sumax's Challenge

Write a Monorhyme poem about school in 250 words or less.

 

You can choose anything that happens at school, from first day, learning, playground games, fighting, teaching or playground supervisor, et al ... but the subject matter should convey the idea of a school setting.

 

A Monorhyme is a poem in which all the lines have the same end rhyme.

See example here …

http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/types.html

 

The entry must be in Monorhyme.

If is it not in Monorhyme and/or exceeds the 250 word limit, then it will not be accepted.

This one was very hard for me, because all my school stuff is so distasteful.  Anyway, I decided to go for it...

QUIZ TIME!

The day dawned bright and fair.

Teenagers everywhere

groaned loudly at the care

that Mrs. B made clear

she wanted them to share

in writing essays rare

on Chaucer's Chaunticleer.

Boys sat with faces bare,

and wished for their own share

of lazy summer fare,

of final moments rare

where they could take a dare

and kiss the shoulders bare

of girls down at the fair.

Girls fussed on with their hair,

and wished that they could stare

with longing eyes so clear

upon the handsome pair

of new boys over there

beside the wooden chair -

one boy would only glare.

Their teacher didn't care

that boys or girls weren't there

to learn about the fare

she had prepared so fair

for their especial care.

She really was aware

of each one's angry glare,

She put each in a pair

so they could each one share

the burden and the care

of reading Chaunticleer,

and memorizing fair

the lines about the dare

that caught him fair and square.

The fox out of his lair -

the students did not care!

The boys in lather rare

their goal would not forswear.

The girls sought to ensnare

the new boys in mohair -

they were without compare!

"Quiz time!" she did declare.

She knew this was warfare,

and since she would not swear,

she needed to beware,

or else the students there

would all her goals impair -

but she did not despair.

Pinning them with a stare,

her gimlet eyes aware

that no one had a prayer,

unless they had the flare

to let their thoughts cohere

on that poor Chaunticleer,

first question hung in air...

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

For better work, go here...UNITED FRIENDS CHALLENGE #253

RWC #44

MEETING

Max couldn't stand those big, fearful eyes a second longer.  They tore into his soul and ripped him apart.  He swallowed to keep his own tears at bay as he tried to decide what to do.  He hadn't known till that morning, when the package with the letters, legal documents, and pictures had arrived, who this forlorn and frightened little boy belonged to, and when he had discovered it, the weight of the world had pressed in on him. An elephant on his chest would have been a far lighter burden, and the pain much less intense.

He watched as the little boy's eyes welled up, and his pudgy fingers tightened on the ancient railing. He understood the panic that the child must be feeling as they stared at each other.  Why would anyone want to hurt this child?  How could they bring themselves to even attempt it?  Didn't they know who he was?  Didn't they know that he protected the weak, the innocent, and those who couldn't protect themselves?  Didn't they know that he protected his own?  He shook 

"Randy?"  He made his voice as low and non-threatening as he could, but the rusty-nail-on-concrete quality could not be hidden.  Grown men shivered when he spoke, he knew, even when he spoke without anger or threat.  What must he sound like to this innocent?  He was not surprised when the boy did not answer.

"Randy, I know you don't know me, son, but..."  He paused.  How in the name of God was he supposed to say this?  Who in the hell would ever have believed it? Out of nowhere, Darth Vader's dark, angular mask floated into his internal line of vision.  He smiled, hoping that he didn't look like a wild tiger snarling at his prey.

"Randy," he began again, "I am your father."

There, he'd said it.  Not that it made a difference to the cowering child, but at least it had been broadcast to the air, it had been released, given its freedom.  It could never be taken back.  

Randy watched him, and Max could see the emotions warring in him.  He was only three, and he really didn't understand that the reason he was clinging to that old iron railing like a lifeline was that he needed his dad to be there to protect him from the bad men who had been plaguing his life for the last six months.  He didn't realize that he needed to be loved by a man who would show him how to be a man himself one day.  He didn't know he mattered now more than he ever had before. He didn't know Max.

He didn't know...but he would.

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

For others, visit here: Challenge #44

FIAF #5

PORTRAIT

"It's not really white, is it?  But it's exquisite!  That iridescent pink was perfect for the ceremony.  And the hat!  I want to swoon!"

The old lady's tears hid in the creases of her wrinkled cheeks.  Had it been so long ago?  She was that woman still, frozen in that day of love and loss.

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

Fiction in a Flash ~ Week 5

The "rules" are few, and very simple:

* Your entry will come due each Saturday, when a new picture will be posted.  

* You may only write 55 words.

* Your entry must be fiction.

* Post your entry as a blog on your page, and drop off the link in the comments section on this page.

* Have fun!  (Yes, it's a "rule"!  )

RWC #43

SHIFT

"It'll only take a moment," he said in my head, staring hypnotically into my glassy eye.  "You won't feel a thing!"

I rolled the eye closest to him, and wriggled like the fish I was then.  Was that supposed to make me feel better?  

"You say that every time!" I complained.  "When will I get to be the bear, and eat you?" I wondered, taking a deep breath in anticipation of the painful end to this game.

"When you learn to shape-shift faster than me!" he answered.  "Now shut up!  I'm in a hurry.  I have a lunch date!"

I heard the crunch...and then the screen went white.

"Same time tomorrow?" Tom asked, as he wrapped his robe tightly around his wide shoulders.  I eyed him admiringly.  He was one big, hunky dude!

"Yes, please!" I answered, smiling up at him.  "I'll get you yet!"

"In your dreams, Pint-Size!"  He returned my smile, his deep brown eyes twinkling. "And don't lie...I know you dream!"  

He chuckled at my expression as he walked out of the simulator.

I hate being assistant to a god!

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

For more fun, visit this site: Real Writers Challenge #43

RWC #42 ~ "Stupor"

Kitty had never been drunk in all her life.  And she wasn't drunk now - she was sure of it.  She wasn't stumbling around on unsteady legs, or singing bawdy songs at the top of her lungs off key, or picking fights with the little people.  That's what drunks did, wasn't it?  There was her proof!  She was just sitting there, quietly trying to figure out where she was, and what she was seeing. 

 If she were to believe her eyes, there was a giant troll standing before her, with horns like a billy goat lying on his bald head, ears like a fairy, fangs growing up like stalagmites from his otherwise toothless gums, jewelry made of teeth and bones adorning his neck and left wrist, a loincloth of animal skins around his very ample waist, thankfully covering his probably quite scary private parts, and leather strappy sandals tied to the hams that were his feet.  Oh, and he was leaning on a huge bone club.

Well, really!  Obviously she must have hit her head on something, because creatures such as the thing standing before her, scratching his bald pate in a puzzled sort of way, only existed in children's fantasy stories, and were conjured up to frighten the little ones into behaving.  She was not a child, and she had not been misbehaving. And even if she HAD been, a little bit, with that delicious hunk who had come to sit next to her and who had kindly offered to buy her a drink, she hadn't done anything to warrant THIS kid of nightmare!

She turned her head, and wondered what that thing was that was making her cheeks itch. Raising a hand to scratch at it, she screeched at the sight of a paw.  What the heck!  She tried again...and that pesky paw swiped at her face.  What on Earth was going on?  The itch continued to torment her, and the troll stood still, looking as puzzled as she felt.  She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. What she saw confused her even more...

When had she gone outside?  And when did it become day?  She didn't remember going to bed! Heck, she didn't even remember leaving the bar!  That delicious morsel had been chatting her up, and she had felt herself getting more and more turned on by him, but they had still been in the bar till a moment ago...hadn't they?  The sky was bright as day, and the light hurt her eyes.  She squinted...and heard the troll sigh.  At least, she thought it was the troll. No one else seemed to be around.  

This is what she got for going out to a bar on her own.  She, who had never ever been in a bar, except for that one time, with her friend, who had turned out to be a dud as a date, and a total turn-off as a man.  She had been uncomfortable then; why had she ever thought she would be better off on her own now?  She shook her head, and decided that she had better get a move on.  If day had dawned, she wasn't home, that was for sure, and though it WAS Saturday, she would rather be at home, to sort out this confusing turn of events, and get her dull life back under her control.

The seat she was on seemed pretty high off the ground when  she looked down, but she wasn't afraid.  She stood up - on all fours!  WTH???  Now she was really scared! She sat down again, and heard the caterwauling howl that escaped her throat with a distant kind of horror.  She almost sounded like a cat!  Oh God, what was WRONG with her?  Who was the delicious, but obviously dangerous hunk she had been letting chat her up and ply her with drinks?  And where was he now?

The troll moved.  Or at least, it seemed like he did.  She closed her eyes, and opened them again...but the troll had disappeared.  The delicious hunk was back, and staring at her with something akin to concern in his deep brown eyes.  And his lips were moving.

"Kitty, are you okay, hun?"

She stared up at him, and realized she was lying across his lap.  She tried to sit up hurriedly, and felt the world spinning again.  She closed her eyes, and swallowed.  

"Kitty?"  His voice was frankly alarmed now.

She could not speak, so she reached for his face and smoothed her hand over his chin.

"Don't try to sit up, love!  I'm taking you back to your hotel!"

How did he know where she was staying?  And did she want him to take her there? Trying to tamp down the panic rising inside her, and still confused about what was happening to her, she struggled against the waves of nausea, and against his restraining hold, and sat up, weaving on the plush leather seat of the car - a limo, by the looks of it.  She had not accomplished any of the goals of her evening, except meeting a sexy hunk.  She had met one, all right...but what if he was really a troll?

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

To read other entires, visit the site: Challenge#42

Real Writers #41

WINTER DAWN

Morning,

and the heavy clouds of smoke

furl upwards

into the lightening air.

Warming,

and golden beams of sunlight 

stain the clouds

and rim the spreading smoke.

Baring

still-dark veins against the sky,

stands the oak,

bearing itself erect.

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

To read more, visit this site: Challenge #41

Marked

Welcome to September 11, 2010!

If you're expecting the usual platitudes, recriminations, vituperation, invective...you'd better move on.  

This is not going to be bitterly outraged anger against the infidels who committed such sacrilege against a defenseless and unprepared benevolent nation.  Nor will it be a bitterly impassioned review of the multitudinous and egregious sins of the US against poor and unsuspecting countries.  It will certainly not be a free-ranging condemnation of anything and everything American, or of American xenophobia, or other such excoriations.  And it will definitely not be a maudlin and sentimental memorial to the thousands of undeserving innocents who died at the hands of the rabid and pitiless bastards of an alien and murderous religion.

This is a marker, plain and simple.  

It marks an important date in the history of humanity.  Not just Christian or Muslim humanity.  Not just American or non-American humanity.  ALL humanity.  People who felt their cause was just, and people who felt the weight of that justice. People who embraced violence as a means of protest and retaliation, and people who abhorred violence as a means of solving the problems being protested.  People who loved and hated - each other, and most others.  People who were lost, but thought they had found the answer.  People who were angry, alone, frightened, desperate.

This is a marker, plain and simple.  

What happened nine years ago on this date has marked us all - the lovers and haters of America, the lovers and haters of Iraq.  It has marked all the rest of us, too. Those who try to steer a middle course between rabid nationalism and rabid imperialism, between an irrational fear of the infidels and an irrational hatred of the oppressors.  

What you choose to do with the mark that remains will say a lot about you as an individual. Don't assume that because you weren't there, or weren't touched personally, or have no love for the US, or no love for Iraq, or are a peace-nik, or whatever your reasons for distance may be, that you are unmarked.  Every global event marks us all, because we all participate in the event called being human.  Your anger is a sign of that mark, no matter who you're angry with. So is your sorrow. So is your glee.

How will you "celebrate" your humanity on this date that has marked you?

Welcome to September 11, 2010!

PP ~ "Sayings" (Much Modified)

I'm not a member of the Picture Perfect group, but I like the challenge they've put out this time - quotations.  I've chosen the one below, which is actually the first stanza of a Christmas carol, "In the Bleak Midwinter", by Christina Rosetti.  I've posted the song after the pictures - that's one of the perks of NOT being in the group: you can add your own twist to it!  

I took these pictures last winter!  And I'm eagerly anticipating winter again this year, despite the horrendous five days we had with that storm!  I know...I'm the weirdest West Indian, eh?  LOL!

In the bleak midwinter, 

Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, 

Water like a stone.

Snow had fallen, 

Snow on snow, 

Snow on snow, 

In the bleak midwinter,

Long ago. 

I could have chosen the video of the Kings College Choir of Cambridge, which you can see if you go here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0aL9rKJPr4 - but I chose this one because it was a service in which the congregation also sang.  I love that!

And yes, Christmas time is my favorite time of year!

Enjoy!