Monday, February 9, 2015

The Killer Thumb.

The killer thumb.
(424 words)

On the island of Ridiculum Locus, was born the legend of King Octo Digitorum and his thumb. He was a very famous king for one reason and one reason only, he only had eight fingers. Now, legend says that the reason for this strange phenomenon is that the king was simply mad, and after seeing that there were things on his hands that did not look like the other four, he ordered his executioner to chop them off. It was a very strange time on the island of Ridiculum Locus, for when the king when went to see his subjects and saw that they also had those strange looking things on their hands, and being the kind and caring king that he was, albeit slightly mad, he ordered that the royal guards bring forth anyone with these strange things growing from their hands and have them removed at once. Terror filled the island as hundreds of people lost their thumbs to the knifes of the executioners. That is until the day the king realized that the very people who were cutting the thumbs off of his subjects also had thumbs. It was a very confusing time.
When the king was on his death bed, he ordered that he be buried with his fathers ten rings that were designed to cover one's entire finger.  But alas his lack of thumbs made it impossible for him to wear them all. This was not good.
A couple of days after the kings death, a plague swept the land. It was called Interfectorem Thumb. In the darkness of night, it was said that the village people could hear someone knocking on their door,but when they went to open it, there would be no one but a bloodied thumb on their door step. The next morning they would be found dead, an engraving of the kings crest craved into their torso. The villagers have come to the conclusion that the only plausible explanation for all this is the group Pollex Osores, whom wholeheartedly agreed with the king and his abhorrence for thumbs, who randomly picked a victim, warned him of his approaching death, and then carved the mark of their deceased king upon their cooling corpses.
We fear the thumb, but in some ways, we respect the thumb, and if you look at your hand right will see the thumb waiting patiently for its chance to strike.
You have been warned, you do not know the back of your hand as well as it knows you....

-Jessica Baker-

Friday, January 23, 2015

Oops! (again..)

Hey! I didn't write anything, today and yesterday. (surprise surprise surprise..) BUT I do have a really really really short stop motion film to make it up to you guys! So yeah..


Stop Motion Ponies. 

-Jessica Baker-

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Time to run.

Short but to the point.

Time to run.
(245 words)
I am in a race. I'm at the starting line, all ready and in position to start the second they yell go. The sun is beating down on my back as my muscles tense in preparation of movement.
And then BANG, the starting gun goes off and my feet are already moving, the wind in my face, my feet slapping against the hot asphalt as my lungs beg for the fresh air. I am on fire.

After running, and running, and running, passing every competitor I see, leaving them to eat my dust, I see the finish line. Like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I never thought I would see it. I  am a mere few feet away. I propel my feet forwards, a new spring in my step, I am a few steps away from achieving one of my biggest goals of running a marathon. I am just thinking of how I will bask in my glory when I realize I'm not moving.

I stare aghast at my feet, who seem to refuse to move another centimeter. I scream as I try to move my legs, grabbing and pulling with my sweat covered arms as I see other runners approaching, ready to steal my thunder. One, then two, then six, then I watched as all thirty six runners ran to steal my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.And then..

I woke up.

Time to run.
-Jessica Baker-

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Blank Page.

Okay so it's not a short story or anywhere close to five hundred words, but I am pretty proud of this one. It's my first published Haiku.

Blank Page, (14 words) 
A page before me

Lies without my written word

Where have you gone, Muse?
-Jessica Baker-

Monday, January 19, 2015

Ice Skater

Ice skater
(646 words)
I can't believe Kathy made me come here. She knows I can't skate, she knows I won't skate and she knows this and yet here I am freezing my ass off in Rockefeller center. "Come on, Derrik! You need the exercise." Kathy skated up to me and grabbed my gloved hand with her bright pink mittens. I wobbled un-surely as she pulled me away from the safety of the wall surrounding the rink, wondering why she thought I needed to do this. I'm a kickboxing instructor for god sakes, how much exercise should I have?
Kathy eventually got bored of my stumbling and tripping and grabbing her arm every time I fell, so she abandoned me and went off to skate with all the people who actually know how to skate. I watched her skate away with her bright green jacket and blue sweatpants, her bright red hair flowing down her back under her earmuffs. I remembered why I liked her, but then I remembered why we were here in the first place. Her new trainer, Paul, was going to train her to compete in an ice dancing competition. She thinks I still have no idea they're sleeping together. I rolled my eyes at the soap operaess of it all as I stumbled around the edge of the rink some more.
It was after I had lapped the rink a couple times without holding on to the side that I started to notice the other people around me. There were usually pairs. Couples, mothers and daughters, elderly, young, that sort of thing. Some individuals would break free from one group and skate solo to another group. They looked very weird. I scanned around to look for Kathy, but wasn't surprised when I just saw the flip of her red hair as she spun on the ice with...Paul....I grunted and started skating towards them, attempting to look as sturdy and as sure of myself as Paul, when out of no where there was a woman.
She yelled and I shouted as we tumbled onto the ice, as we fell I felt a burning sensation across my chest. "I am so so sorry, are you alright?" I asked as I tried to help her up off the ice while keeping myself upright. I gaped at the dark liquid spilled all over the ice. I thought for sure I had cut her, but she was smiling. "I'm fine, that's probably why I never go away from the side lines." She glanced down at the liquid and then to me. "I'm sorry about your shirt. But I hear hot chocolate is a pretty easy stain to remove, so I guess you're lucky I didn't bring my red wine tonight, hu?" I laughed when she said that, relived that she wasn't bleeding and that it was only hot chocolate and not red wine.
We started talking, and talking, and talking and eventually we had walked slowly around the rink. "Can I buy you another coffee? Or hot chocolate since I sorta destroyed your other one."  I watched her as she thought, and thought about how different she was compared to Kathy. While Kathy was of course really attractive, tall and slender, this woman standing before him (whose name was Beth, by the way,) was beautiful in her own sense. She had jet black hair cut into a bob, green eyes that went perfectly with her red turtleneck and black yoga pants. She finally replied
"I think hot chocolate with a perfect stranger sounds like perfection right about now."
The next day Kathy dumped me, totally out of the blue, but I wasn't even phases. In a way I think we were both glad. Because now she had her hunky trainer, and I had Beth. So in a way, Beth is sort of my Paul.
Geez that's a scary thought... 
-Jessica Baker-

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Yellow flowers

I have no Idea why I wrote this.
Yellow flowers.
(1223 words)
Neil Waters awoke to a woman lying next to him,her hair falling from her too tight bun,  still wearing her coat from their walk last night. His eyes grew wider as he tried to remember what happened last night. He sighed in relief when he remembered she had had car trouble and he, being the gentleman his mother raised him to be, had offered for her to stay at his flat until tomorrow when the cab could come, he had of course offered her the bed, but she said she didn't want to intrude, then she said she would but only if he would sleep where he usually did. The thought of that conversation brought shivers down Neil's back as he remembered how he insisted she wear her coat, partly because he didn't want to seem like he was trying something, partly  because the sheets were abnormally thin due to his being very warm blooded. Then he shivered for a different reason, watching her beautiful sleeping face so calm and peaceful, remembering  all the moments leading to this perfect one.
They had been walking on the pavement, under the orange glow of the street lights, she would laugh at something that wasn't even supposed to be funny and touch his shoulder gently, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. He had supposed to her it would be, she wasn't socially awkward like he was. Her name was a mystery, and she was his soul mate. He had seen her on the bus, the subway, and he was sure he was just seeing her face everywhere. First he had seen her on the subway reading Little Women and she was trying to hide the fact she was crying. He thought about her the entire ride home, and especially the extra forty minuets he was on the train because he was so deep in thought he missed his stop. The next day before he got on the train he bought a small bunch a flowers from the bearded man with hardly any teeth, Neil tried to make conversation but all he could get out was a 'Good morning.Windy today.' Which it was.
 When he got to the platform he hoped to the heavens that she was on the train and also that he could get more than a muttering whisper out when he finally got to talk to her.
 He remembered that moment when she got on the train as she shifted in her sleep next to him, drawing him out of his daydream. Her eyes fluttered open, looking straight at him. Neil said surprisingly clearly "good morning" Her face remained emotionless as she nodded, turned over, and fell back asleep. Neil chuckled to himself,which he never did. Then he remembered her face when she came on the train that afternoon, it sported the same blank stare...
Her windblown chestnut hair fell loose around her face. Her eyes were as though she was seeing everything but didn't even care enough to react to anything.Her cheeks were bright red from the freezing wind. She was wearing a night blue scarf wrapped around her neck, spilling over the collar of her snow white trench coat. He had stood straight up from his seat as soon as he laid eyes on her, strode over to her before he lost his nerve, and thrust the flowers at her. The blank look fell from her eyes and surprise took over. "I'm sorry, about Beth." Her eyes brimmed with tears and she nodded, taking the bright yellow daffodils from his clenched hand and held them in her lap as the train started to move. "Thank you. You are very kind." Neil blushed and clutched to the pole he held to keep himself from falling. He nodded like a bobble head to himself as she gazed out the window. When all at once he had a horrible thought, "What if she thinks I'm too unattractive to look at?"  He stared nervously at his reflection in the dark window of the train as they sped through the tunnel. He had worn his tweed coat and simple black scarf, so as not to have such a bulky appearance. His curly brown hair seemed to have been cooperating that particular morning, falling in short waves instead of sticking straight up, and his blue eyes stared nervously back at him as he decided he looked acceptable from behind his perfectly round glasses. He cleared his throat as the train pulled up to a station and more people piled on and off the train cars. She looked up and stunned him with her brown eyes. "Yes?" Neil opened his mouth and out came the sound of a dying mouse. The woman giggled and asked again. This time Neil managed to get out sounds that sounded a bit like "Coffee?" and "Name?"
Neil liked to run through that conversation over and over again in his head, he had asked her name and whether she would like to get some coffee, literally, when ever she wanted. She had smiled lightly, looked him over, and nodded as if to herself.
That evening they had gone to her favorite cafe where she had convinced him to try his usually black and plain tea with milk and two sugars. Neil drank the whole thing in two gulps. She had laughed when he told her his mother never drank her tea with milk or sugar. So naturally he never drank his with milk and sugar either. It was said in his house that people who drink their tea with sugar were weak and not tough enough to drink real tea.
Then they went for a walk. A long quite, cold walk. The sun set behind them as the clouds above turned pink, she talked about how much she loved poetry, Annabell lee was her favorite next to dream within a dream. Neil felt as though he didn't have enough information to keep up with this woman on her intellectual ranting, so he just nodded politely and listened as she talked of wishing to be in a Shakespearean play at the Globe Theater, she wanted to write poetry and great novels that would make people laugh and then make them cry for days on end. The funny part about this whole conversation was that he didn't mind in the least that she was the one doing all the talking. Neil was raised to let everyone else say their bit first, then when they got tired or ran out of things to say, then he could start talking.  He was thinking about that when the snow started out of no where, as if by magic.  They stopped under a street light, her mouth finally stopped moving as they stared at the scene unfolding behind them.
She held Neils hand as they walked to his flat. She fell asleep on his bed and he didn't have the heart to move her. Instead he lay his coat over her back, and slipped the sheets over her. He fell asleep stiff as a board trying not to touch her.
That afternoon the cab company came and whisked her away.
And he didn't even care that he hadn't learned her name. Because she had changed the way he looked at snow, forever.
-Jessica Baker-

Woops! (Eileen.)

Seems like I didn't post anything yesterday hu? Hmm..that's annoying. Could say I just didn't have the time or something came up but really I just didn't want to post something that I wasn't inspired about.
So I found one of my un-published works and I hope you'll like it :)
Also again please no one steal this... thanks.
I'll be posting another story later today.


Her name was Eileen, a maid for the Hickleberrys. She was brought over from Germany when her Master's family moved to England, for reasons that were only discussed in  hushed voices by the Master and his wife.They moved into a much smaller house than before, but still quite large to Eileen, whom had grown up in a one floor, three  room cottage in Germany. That morning she had risen just a few moments late and was hurrying to get everything ready. Suddenly she heard a noise. A creak of the  wooden  door at the servants entrance creeping open. The sound of boots and dainty  shoes echoed off of the plain whitewashed walls and hushed whispers caught the ears of  Eileen as she slowly poured the milk for the cats as quietly as she could so as not to miss a word.It was her employers coming back from that fancy party, and by the sound of it the Mrs was sloshed. "Where do you suppose the children are? Eileen?! Where are my  children?" Came the more than slightly slurred voice of Mrs Hickleberry. "They are asleep... Clarice...Do you smell something burning?" Mr Huckleberry commented. Eileen  frantically glanced around the kitchen to see smoke billowing from the large stone oven. "oh oh no no no!" she scolded the oven in a hushed whisper as she grabbed the  oven mitts and pulled them forcefully onto her large hands, her face blushing deep red from the heat as she pulled the loaves from the oven and carefully placed them  into the basket that she was to set on the table for breakfast. The top was burned a horrible deep black and the sides were singed a golden brown. "Eileen? What is  going" hiccup "on here?" Eileen swept into a deep bow, steadying herself on the table. But she grasped not the steady wooden table, but the silken blue table cloth,  pulling the entire breakfast onto onto the clay and stone floor with a terrific crash, china shattering and clay smashing along the floor, covered in milk and soggy  bread.
 "OH GOOD LORD!" Mrs said as she covered her mouth in shock at seeing Eileen's dress hiked up above her knees, stockings and garters for the world to see as she lay  sprawled on her back. From her head-dress to her boots she was covered in milk, bread, and flour. Eileen sighed said as calmly as possible, "Breakfast...has..been delayed."

To discipline  her for her wit  and for the horrible mess made in the kitchen the Hickleberrys made Eileen stay in the kitchen and clean until called. "May I at least go  change?" She had asked timidly after stating for the fifth time that it was an accident and that that was her breakfast as well. "No, go sit by the oven." Mr  Huckleberry said, looking down on Eileen as she sat on the milking stool and stared up at him, he had dark blue eyes, a long pointed nose and a dark black curly  mustache to top off the villein look "I could send Marylin to fetch some buns, oh but she is ill, so we will just have to make due, I suppose." and with that he strutted out of the kitchen  and slammed the big wooden door behind him. Eileen waited until she was sure he was upstairs before she shouted at the closed door "YOU'LL have to make due?! I smell  like a fromagère!" She stood and shook her fist at the door, angered at it's lack or response. "Just once, just ONCE I'd like to see him come off his high horse  and..gah!" Struggling to find the words she sat back on the milking stool and held her head in her hands, watching dust settle in the sun rays coming from the window  in the east part of the kitchen. Besides the dust covered window there hung a basket on the wall, containing wash clothes and a pair of oven mitts, should hers burn.  An unlit lamp hung beside it, the morning sun reflecting off of the tinted gold casing. Eileen shivered as a draft came through one of the newest cracks in the walls  and cast a chilled feeling throughout the kitchen. "Blast." She muttered as she reached for her sewing box, filled with scraps of fabric and pins from patching and  taking in the Mrs and the twin girl's dresses. Eileen plucked a sort of off white patch of coarse fabric ,sharp pin and stood up, the milk stool creaking in relief.  Running her hands along the cool wall, finding  the hairline crack and lined up the fabric above the fracture and shoved the pin in and up, trotted back to the sewing  basket plucked another pin, and pushed it in and down. "There." She said, brushing her hands to rid her hands of whitewash. "let's see lady's maid Marylin try THAT.  Hmp." She scoffed as she stoked the fire and soon the kitchen was filled with warmth and light. "I still need to do something with my clothes." Cautiously she looked  around the kitchen, the peaked out the door into the hall. "No one there." She muttered as she stripped off her boots and stockings and placed them in front of the  fire. Hands on her hips she felt her soggy apron, the lovely nightshade blue had been ruined with some sort of milk and flour paste. Eileen sighed. She loved that  apron, well it was actually just a long piece of dark blue velvet.made her feel like royalty, she thought as she untied it and placed it alongside the stockings and  boots, then she unbuttoned her dress and hung it on a nail . She moved the milk stool to the wall and set her sewing kit close to the fireplace. She set up the table  and picking up pottery as her bare feet padded along the cold floor. Finally the kitchen seemed more or less in order. And eventually she rested on the stool and  propped her feet up on the fire place. Leaning her back against the wall she soaked her feet in the warmth of the fire as she watched her reflection in the brass and  silver pots that hung above fire. She could see her dark brown hair pulled tightly from her face into a bun, reveling a very round face with a prominent chin and a  slightly pointed nose, nice brown eyes, and small pink lips. Her pale but strong arms and rough hands. Her legs were  just as if not more pale than her arms and reddened in the fires warmth. She smiled at the reflection and it grinned back at her. she felt so peaceful that she just  lent back and closed her eyes...

tap tap tap! came the sound at the door as Eileen awoke with a start as the knocking continued. "Coming! Coming." She said as she pulled her now very crispy apron from  it's place by the fire. Hurriedly tying it around her hips and wrenching the door open she came face to face with the milk man's son. "Um..'Ello," He said rather  awkwardly. He was a very tall and lean. His ginger hair fell around his ears and his nose came to a point in the front of his face and was littered with freckles. He  wore a light green fading shirt that came just short of his wrists and fraying grey pants that were also a couple inches too short. Eileen  watched as he fought to keep eye  contact  as he passed her the jug of milk. "Um, how are y-you?" He stuttered as his face went from pale to beet red in almost no time. I wondered why he was so flustered  until she looked down to see she was only in her corset and apron! Eileen's  gaze jumped from her  chest to his astonished face and back again as she backed into the kitchen and  finally slammed the door in his face, shouting at it. "THANK YOU FOR THE MILK!" as she backed slowly to the fireplace and scrambled to pull her stockings and dress back  on as fast as she could.

That afternoon Olivia, one of the Huckleberry's daughters , payed Eileen a visit down in the kitchen. "Mother said that you may make a trip to the dairy. It seems we  haven't received our delivery of cheese," She squinted at Eileen's  crusty apron and dress. "What happened to you? Why is your face all red?"Olivia wasn't the daintiest of flowers but she had a sharp eye when it came to humiliation, for  Eileen had been recounting that mornings events all day and her face returned to a bright crimson every time she did. "I sat too close to the fire. Why must I get the cheese? why wont they send Lady's Maid Marylin?" Eileen wined.  Olivia stood up just a bit taller, she loved punishing the workers, and in that way and all others, she was the spitting image of her father.Standing only a short four foot twelve inches in a emerald green dress with a hoop skirt that barely fit through the door, black hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back, accompanied with high cheek bones and a pale complexion. Add a pointed rat's nose and steely grey eyes and there standing before you would be the meanest eleven year old you ever set eyes on.
"Marylin can't go. She caught a chill doing your dirty work, and has been sentenced to bed rest by the doctor!" Olivia whinged. She glanced around the small kitchen and scoffed, "It's not like you are so insanely busy, anyway." Eileen  glared at her, which was a sort of grey area in their  complex worker/employer relationship. "Why don't you go instead? You always complain about how everyone else gets to leave on a whim. You go." Olivia gasped and placed her hand over her heart, falling against the door frame. "Are you honestly telling the daughter of your master to go to do your work FOR you?!" Eileen jumped from her place on the milk stool and resisted the urge to charge the small child, for although Eileen was only five years her senior, she was not a a very light woman, strong but not lean.  "He is my employer! Not my MASTER!" She shouted at the little dictator before her. All at once Olivia's bottom lip curled over and her eyes filled with tears. She began to sob, "MOTHER! Eileen is shouting at me!!" Eileen realized her fatal mistake all too late, for at the beckoning cry of her eldest Mrs Huckleberry appeared in the doorway. "Oh honey, precious girl! What is the matter!?" She shrieked as she fell to her knees and embraced the screaming  child. "What have you done to her?"  Mrs H shouted accusingly at Eileen. "You apologize for yourself right now young lady." She scolded as she herded Olivia out of the kitchen. "I'm very sorry." Eileen called after them, assuring they were out of earshot before adding "..very sorry that  you got stuck with such horrible children."
Deciding that she could use the exercise, that had nothing to do with the fact that the Hickleberrys ordered her to, Eileen dawned her cloak and boots, careful to be dressed as fully as possible. As she opened the door she was met with a strong frigid wind. Drawing her cloak close as possible she  marched out of the courtyard and onto the cobbled roads.
As Eileen came to the outskirts of town she took in all sorts of sights and sounds. The sound of the bells on the shop doors as people made their way in and out, the smells of freshly baked bread that wafted out of the bakery. She could even hear the tap tap tap of the busy peoples heels treading up and down the crowded roads. She found herself outside the servants entrance, and raised her hand, preparing to knock.
When suddenly, there in the doorway, was the boy from this morning. Both of their faces turned bright red, while Eileen managed to force a greeting out.
"Um....'Ello..We need, um, cheese....?"
-Jessica Baker-