TINY TUESDAY (m)
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TINY TUESDAY (m)
| Tue, 01-22-2002 - 10:11am |
TINY TUESDAY (m)
A while back, we had a Tiny Tuesday exercise where we all used the same opening sentence for our stories. It was amazing to see how many directions the stories went. So this week, please begin your short story with the following sentence.
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte.
Have fun,
Mac

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OK just let me know!
Ok this is 500 word or less. Any topic or type of writing within reason. Just as long as we use Briamonte as the first word.
Hang with me I still new to these and wanted to try it.
Jade
Have a mystical day,
Jade
Please Pray and Support O
Hi Jade (m)
Yes, the word limit is 500 or less and your story can be about any topic. As for the Briamonte part of your question, use the entire sentence (I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte) as the first sentence of your story.
I look forward to reading your TT. Happy writing,
Mac
My TT: Uncashed Checks (m)
I started a few stories today but this one stuck. Let me know what you think. Any and all types of critique welcome. Thanks, Mac
* * *
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte. It had been five years since I’d received an inheritance check from Briamonte & Associates. I stuffed the envelope in my pocket and headed up the narrow stairway.
As soon as I opened the apartment door, the smell of garlic bread and baked lasagna teased my nose. “I’m home, sweetheart,” I called out.
“I’m in here, Allison. Want a glass of Chianti?”
Laying my keys and the rest of the mail on the table in the foyer, I said, “Let me change clothes and I’ll be right there.”
In the bedroom, I slipped the envelope from my pocket, and then opened the back of the picture frame that held my mom’s photograph so I could hide it until the following day--when I could read it in private. I placed the envelope inside. Flipping it back over, I studied the photograph; I compared her high cheekbones to mine and pulled my straight black hair away from my face. She was only twenty-one years old when she’d met and married my dad. The eighteen-year age difference didn’t seem to bother her in the beginning because he showered her with extravagant gifts. When he wasn’t drinking, he could be a charming man but after years of living with his controlling behavior and his mental abuse she eventually she broke; a month into my freshman year in college, she used a .38 special to end her misery. Even though his finger hadn’t actually pulled the trigger, it might as well have--I always blamed him for her death.
“Are you okay?”
Looking up, I stared at the caring face of my live-in boyfriend of eight months. There were so many times I wanted to tell him the truth, but I was afraid he’d want me to keep the money. I wouldn’t be bought with my father’s wealth. He may have won my mother with his money, but he wouldn’t win me over ever. “Yeah, it’s just..."
“Oh, I didn’t even think. Is this the anniversary of your mother’s death?” he asked, rushing to the bed where I sat.
“No,” I answered, and walked to the dresser where I placed the pewter frame upon an antique doily that had once belonged to my great-grandmother. “I just miss her sometimes.”
“What about your dad? Don’t you wish you would have gotten to know him, that your mother would’ve told you who he was?”
I looked at his image in the mirror that hung in front of me. “Not really. She was the only parent I needed.” I watched as he moved towards me, and then embraced me from behind.
“I’m never going to leave you like she did.”
I turned quickly and snapped at him, “Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“She didn’t have a choice. She didn’t leave me by choice.”
Throwing up his hands, Patrick said, “hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Smiling, I wrapped my arms around his waist. “No, I know you didn’t. I’m the one that’s sorry. Come on, honey. I’ve got a lot to tell you,” I said, picking up mom’s photograph.
(My son) homework for TT
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte. It was in my son’s handwriting. I had found the letter laying on my bed when I had got home from work. I remembered reading a story to him it when he was little. I sat down on the bed my hands tremble as I opened the letter fully. My thoughts went to the story I used to read my son.
Briamonte was a small village nestled in the tall peaks of Raven in a book that I had got me son years ago. In this village lived a boy named Norwin. He was the smallest of all the dwarfs. There were boys that were younger than he was, that towered over him. Poor Norwin got teased day in and day out. One day he decided that he had had enough of the teasing and was going to runaway. As the story went on he met a fairy that asked him what was the matter. When Norwin told her that he was small and wanted to be big the fairy giggled at and told him that she was even smaller then he was, and flew off. Through out the book he meets different creatures that laugh at him until he meets a little dragon that is going through the same problem. They become friends and heroes as they save the Briamonte village from orcs.
I stared at the letter, trying to get past the first couple words. I had not seen my son in five years. He had always kept to himself, he had been diagnosed with brain cancer on his twenty-first birthday after blacking out and falling down the stairs. That was one of the hardest times of my life. My son was given only a six-month life expectancy. He was so full of life and then they told me he was dying.
I took the letter and dared myself to read it.
Briamonte, Mom do you remember that story?
I am so much like Norwin. My downfall is my cancer not my height.
I was driving into town today to visit you when something made me stop. There were screams of a child caught in a building that was on fire. I saved the little girl who has no mother or father. As I sit beside her hospital bed, holding her hand, I retell the story that you told me a thousand times or more, praying that she will wake up.
I love you Mom, I wish you were here to tell me the story again.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and called every hospital in town. I found where my son was and went to him. I held him in my arms and told him the story one more time.
In the end, he ended with little Emily as his daughter and they lived happily ever after.
***** This is not a true story!!!!
Jade
Have a mystical day,
Jade
Please Pray and Support O
Here's mine (m)
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte. The postmark stood out like a blemish on its smooth surface: the name of the town my sister lived in. I hadn't heard from her in ten years. Why was she contacting me now?
I set the envelope in the pile of junk mail and bills on my counter and made myself a tuna sandwich for lunch. I sat down at the table to eat. My mind raced with thoughts about Tyana. Was she in some kind of trouble again? Or did she want to make amends? What did she want from me now?
Winter sun streamed in through the kitchen window as I sat eating and considering. I finished my sandwich and looked at the clock. I had a half an hour before I needed to go back to work. I poured myself a cup of orange juice and curled up in the sunspot on the couch with my stack of mail, tucking my skirt under my knee. I sorted out the junk mail and threw it on pile in the floor, saving a Victoria's Secret catalog for later.
I sorted the bills into another pile. I'd take out my checkbook and pay them after work. I reminded myself to buy a book of stamps at the post office on the way home. The warmth of the sun through the living room window felt good on my skin. There were only a few envelopes left. I started opening them.
One was a thank you card from my mother. One was a renewal notice for my Home and Garden magazine subscription. I set in my bills pile. There was a birthday card from my nieces. It was made with blue construction paper and covered with Barbie stickers. Inside they'd scrawled "Happy Birthday Meg! We love you!!" in their scribbly writing. I smiled and picked up the last envelope. It was the one with the Briamonte postmark.
I stood up, stretched, and looked at the clock again. Fifteen minutes left of my lunch break. I threw away the pile of junk mail, and set the bills and catalog back on the counter. I put the birthday card on my bookshelf where Sandy and Jamie would see it the next time they came to visit. I tacked my mom's card to the bulletin board next to my computer. I took another swig of orange juice and slipped my shoes back on.
I looked out the living room window as I pulled my coat on. Melted snow dripped off the eaves onto my porch. It took me a minute to find my keys. I started to walk out the door, then caught a glimpse of that one white envelope still left on the couch. It glared at me like a neon sign, its whiteness against the dark blue cushion hurting my eyes. I picked it up and shoved it in my coat pocket. I closed the door and headed for my car.
I stared at the envelope,...(m)
...reading again the word Briamonte. I continued staring at it, forming a list in my mind as to who it could actually be from. Doctor Joseph, Richard's crisis team captain, or Doctor Harder, his psychiatrist. Or from Richard?
My hands shook as I laid the manilla envelope face down on the counter, then went over to the coffee maker and poured myself another cup. "Couldn't be from Richard," I said before taking another sip. "He doesn't want to see me, ever. To borrow his words."
In my mind, I counted the months since Richard had been taken away in hand cuffs. "Months? It's been two years. So it definitely can't be from him."
I stared at the envelope, then steered clear of it as I loaded the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. "If it is from Richard, what will I tell Kelly? She hasn't seen her dad for the whole time. She knows he's not dead, but she doesn't understand the mental illnes aspect of this either. She was only twelve when they took her dad."
I turned to stare at the envelope again, staring at it as if it were a rattle snake ready to strike. A funny little vibration started low in my right ear as I continued staring. Staring so hard that it became blurry.
"Good grief. Just open the damn thing!" I grabbed the envelope and ran my fingernail under the top flap. I pulled out several papers. Flipping through them, I glanced over the header: Evaluation Complete.
I clamped my hand over my mouth as I stared at them. I pulled in a deep breath, then another. I thumbed through them again and found a page that Richard had written in his evaluation process. " 'I want to go home and be with my family. Even though I think this residential treatment facility has done wonders, I'm ready to try to make things right with my family...' "
Tears welled in my eyes as I laid the page down with the others. "What does he think? That he can shut us out, then just come back as if nothing ever happened?" Even though my first gut reaction was anger, I knew in my heart that I wanted him to come home. He was my highschool sweetheart. The love of my life. And the father of my child. "God, how am I going to explain this to Kelly?"
Good one, Jade (m)
I like the way you tied your TT to a story she used to read her son. Neat idea. And it was also moving that she went to the hospital and read him the story again. I needed a tissue when I got to that part!!!
Mac
Hi, Mac...(m)
I think you did a good job with this assignment. I understood her pain clearly. An I thought how you weaved in the fact that she had told her boyfriend something entirely different about her childhood was very creative.
If I were to make any suggestions at all, it would be this: **I would start a new paragraph here**--"She was only twenty-one years old when she’d met and married my dad. The eighteen-year age difference didn’t seem to bother her in the beginning because he showered her with extravagant gifts."
"When he wasn’t drinking, he could be a charming man--**I would start a new sentence here, I think it would give more impact.** but after years of living with his controlling behavior and his mental abuse she eventually she broke; a month into my freshman year in college, she used a .38 special to end her misery."
Good story, Mac, Sammi
Suspenseful (m)
My curiosity would kill me if I didn’t open that letter-LOL. But I guess if I’d been used before, like your character indicated she had, I’d not want to know what’s in the letter. I loved the details of your piece. It was very thorough.
Good job,
Mac
Tissue?...(m)
I definitely needed one for this story. I thought the story of the village and how she told this story to her son was a very nice touch. I hope to read more of your writing, Sammi
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