UFC #315

Shadowlight's Challenge

Use the prompt given below in green as the first or last line of a poem or short story.

Do not exceed 500 words.

In the recesses of fantasy the graces spit

THE SISTERS

In the recesses of fantasy, the graces spit, charred tongues burning, the juices of their lost desire still swelling on their tongues.  Not goddesses in the ordinary sense of the word, they were descendants of the Charites of Greek myth.  They had been named Thalia, Charis, and Grace -- the simplest names their mother could find to remind them of their heritage.  Her death had pushed them from the safe cocoon of anonymity into a harsh white light of expectations that they were each afraid they would never satisfy.

This latest disaster, brought on by their desire to take for themselves a moment of pure joy, had hurt more than them.  They looked around, as though one had spoken a command, and saw the carnage that their thoughtless actions had unleashed, and their voices soared in mournful song.  Tears streamed down their faces as they raised their arms and sang through the burning in their throats and the fire in their hearts.

Charis stopped first, lowering her eyes and arms, and waited for her sisters to follow suit.  They looked sadly at each other, knowing the ritual they were about to complete would never erase the memory of this day's events, and understanding that they had to learn from it, and never repeat the mistakes that had led to this.

"Let's prepare the circle," Thalia said, and her sisters nodded their agreement.  Breathing deeply, each woman turned slowly in a circle, moving in a predetermined pattern away from the others, turning her hands before her as she spun away from the others.  The further apart they grew, the brighter the light seemed to grow until there was a sharp point of light extending from the spot where each one stood.  They raised their arms again, their voices growing stronger as they joined their individual points together, and then they turned where they stood, watching as the lights above their heads moved with them to form a circle.

Grace spoke the ritual words of parting.

"May the spirits of these here dead be accepted into their eternal rest with joy and love.  And may those of us who remain be given the tools to keep our world free from the harm that befell these ones now gone."

The circling light descended, wrapping around the field on which they stood, and its glow intensified until the brightness was blinding.  And then it seemed to pass back into each woman, inflaming her for a brief moment in an iridescent fire. 

When the light faded, the sisters turned and walked toward the growing darkness.  The evil that had set this tragedy in motion was still out there, waiting for them.  They knew it, as they knew they had to learn how to defeat it before more lives were lost.  The next ritual they performed would bring the knowledge of their ancestors to where they needed it.  Ugliness and death reigned, and they must learn the way to return beauty and joy to their people...

(500 words)

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UFC #314

Sumax's Challenge

You've been given a journalistic assignment.
Write a factual feelgood piece for the feature section of a daily newspaper.
The subject matter is up to you.
1,000 to 1,500 words.

A SIMPLE GIFT

I have been an assistant principal supervising English teachers for twelve years in the same school in New York City.  The department has been in flux since the moment of my arrival, and today, only four of the people who were there in 1999 are still there.  I have had a love-hate relationship with the people in the department since day one, for a variety of reasons.  When I arrived, the people who were there had been, for the most part, unsupervised, and used to having their own way.  And they were not about to change for me, a rank outsider.  There was little help to be had from the then principal, a lovely, caring man whose goal was to please as many of the people all of the time as he could.  I was often told to be patient.  Change takes time, he would say, and people are afraid of change.

Over the years, I learned that my bosses -- as of this year, I am on my third in that school -- will only support me in the initiatives that THEY are invested in, and that otherwise I am on my own.  I have also found that I am not your typical leader.  In fact, more and more, over the years, I have come to the conclusion that perhaps I should have remained a full-time teacher -- I don't have the stomach for confrontation that seems to be par for the school leader's course.  However, be that as it may, I couldn't go back, and had to face the challenges, as they came, with the best grace.  It did not help that over the years I have had to deal with the unexpected birth of a fourth child (in fact, she came along in my first year on the job, much to my secret embarrassment and chagrin!), an on-again/off-again stint as a doctoral student (it's off again, and I think, after all these years, I don't stand a chance of being accepted again into the program to take my orals and write the dissertation), and the increasing vagaries of middle age.

Through all of this, I forged a relationship with the people I supervised.  Some of them have become my friends, but all of them have touched my heart.  I am a passionate person, and there were times when I became angry with them for being stubborn, lazy, obnoxious, obstructive, confrontational.  One man loved to bait me, and I fell for it every time.  One of my young teachers said he did it because he liked me.  I rolled my eyes at her -- how elementary school of him, if that were true!  And yet, despite his making me want to rip gouges of his flesh out in Shylockian style, and despite my hurt when they did not do what I wanted, they were my teachers, and I would support and defend them as long as they were with me.

I never had the money that other more established assistant principals had so I couldn't afford to give my teachers gifts.  But I saw the value of showing them that I cared about them, and valued their contributions, however reluctant they were to give them.  And I wanted to show those who were fully cooperative that I appreciated their care for the children we were hired to serve, and their care for me.  I began an annual event -- perhaps "event" is too large and imposing a word for what I started, but it is all I can find just now.  Every Christmas, I bake for them, and take it in, so each one gets a piece of Jamaican rum cake to bring them a little cheer.  In fact, because I usually took the whole cake in, people who were not in my department sometimes managed to snag a piece as well.

Last Christmas, I decided to do one better.  I still had no money for gifts, but I wanted them to see the slice of cake I gave them as my gift to them, and not merely a piece of holiday cheer.  I hit upon the idea of wrapping each piece in plastic, and placing it in a small gift bag.  I was pretty pleased with the idea, and hoped my teachers would approve.

The  night before, on the way home from work, I stopped in the dollar store in Poughkeepsie, 25 minutes south of my home, and searched for what I needed.  I was pleased to find sets of five gift bags in bright colors -- red, green, purple, silver, gold -- at a bargain price.  I got as many as I needed and went home with a smile on my face.  Baking the cake came next, and I added extra white rum (75% overproof) to the batter, to enhance the flavor, because I knew from past experience that they loved it when the cake was not only moist but redolent of rum.

I read while I waited for the cakes to bake and cool, and then I set to work.  I tried to keep each piece the same size, and wrapped them carefully in the little fold-over plastic sandwich bags, then placed them in the gift bags.  I had thought at first to write their names on each bag, but then I figured they might prefer to choose their own colors.  I stacked the bags in two larger bags for carrying and felt happy as I went to bed.  It was late, as usual, but I didn't care.  

Next day, I told my staff that they needed to stop by my office during the last two periods of the day, or before they left for home.  When they asked why, I hedged, not wanting to give anything away.  I wanted it to be a surprise.  I was rewarded by their pleasure, when they came to my office (some feeling apprehensive that their supervisor had summoned them) and saw that I had gift-wrapped their slices of cake for them.  They were delighted to choose the color they preferred, and all seemed to find the simple addition of a gift bag a thoughtful delight.  I felt proud of myself for having had the thought, and happy that I had done something to make their day.  This time, it was more than the cake that pleased them.  It was the fact that it was gift-wrapped.  They thanked me with warm smiles and hugs, and I went home with a warm feeling in my heart.

My challenges as an assistant principal continue, some very personal, some institutional.  But I know that next Christmas, when I need to give of myself again, I will take the extra step to show my staff I care about them, and wish them well.  A few gift bags went a long way toward showing people who spend at least part of their time at odds with administration that THIS member of the administration may be trusted.  It is a precious gift, and if I can only get it at Christmastime, I'll do all I can to earn it.

(1,180 words)

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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