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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Such inner turmoil...
in the narrator's life. Her future has suddenly changed direction, and she has her daughter to consider. I had the same question as Mac and Jade, and one other: might the instituion or the psychiatrist call the narrator in to discuss Richard's case in person?
Good story, with powerful emotions.
Have a good day,
Eyewrite
p.s. I apologize if this appears twice. I thought I posted this already but I may have made an error sending it.
TT (m)
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte. I should have answered Carrie's emails, before she had to resort to this old-fashioned method of communication. I read her note, and then reached for the phone.
"Briamonte," she answered and then her voice changed when she recognized mine. "Mo-om"-five or so swooping syllables of irritation, a technique she'd perfected at age twelve -"I really wish you'd read your email."
"I like to save it up for a slow day." As I sat, Hairy Pete settled onto my lap, purring and kneading, and chewed the end of my braid. "Now, are you sure you want me to come to this?"
"Mom, the whole point of email is that it's-oh, never mind. Yes, of course I want you to come. My publicist says it's important that I look, you know …"
"Human? Ordinary?"
"Oh, stop it, mom. With this new line …" I tried to remember what the line was as she talked. Designer tampons? "Are you listening?"
"Of course I'm listening, honey. I was just having a hot flash." It wasn't quite a lie, but I'd just remembered what the new line was. She called it Briamonte's Nights in White Satin, romantic but discreet bedroom accessories, body lotion and massage oil, and satin boxes to store the rude stuff in.
"You're humming." She'd always hated my singing, apart from the first couple of years of her life when she was much less picky.
"Sorry, I remember when the song first came out. Okay, honey, I'll come."
"Great. Now, remember, mom, tv will be there, so please don't …" she started the usual list of requests about what I should or should not wear. "And did you use the beauty salon certificate I got you for your birthday?"
"I sure did. It was far out," I added, just to annoy her.
"I can't wait to see you. Did you get blonde streaks, or red?"
"Uh huh," I said. I'd blown the lot on a full body massage and my hair was as yet unviolated by scissors or color. "Well, I'll see you Saturday night. Bye, honey."
I eased my original VW bug (over 200,000 miles and still going, more or less) into the forecourt of the hotel behind a couple of sleek imports. "Careful of this one," I said to the young guy who took my keys. "Jim Morrison got high in it. It's a historic artifact."
I followed the signs to the event, and there she was, sleek in white satin, clever girl, working the room in heels that would have had me groaning in agony after five minutes.
"Mom," she said. She whispered in my ear at top speed, "Absolutely nothing on politics, sex, drugs, rock and roll, the time I wet my pants at kindergarten, the environment, menopause, or your cats. I love you." She swiped cat hair off my black velvet.
I whispered back, "I love you, too." Arm in arm, we smiled for the cameras.
TT for a Wednesday afternoon
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte.
I could hear screaming and shouting coming from the next room.
“Hey, you got a letter,” my roommate, Reina, yelled at me from the living room. The lusty howls of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Conan almost drowned out her voice, but Reina could always hold her own with the loudest of bawlers. “An actual letter. Handwritten address and everything.”
I knew just what Reina meant. Our mailbox was usually graced only with the usual assortment of bills, credit card offers, and, occasionally, veiled promises of potions and pills that would help us grow extra inches to “increase her pleasure.”
So it was indeed a rarity that an actual letter ever reached our mailbox.
Reina turned the volume down slightly as Arnold waxed philosophically prior to his next battle. “Knowing you, you’re probably in some kind of trouble.” I could almost see Reina smiling innocently to herself.
I had no clue who or what Briamonte was. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Briamonte sounds like something Godzilla should be fighting.”
Reina sniggered. Arnold let out another battle cry.
Something rattled as I shook the envelope. “Feels like there’s something in the envelope.” I said to myself. “Only one way to find out.” I began to search my hopelessly cluttered desk for my letter opener.
I found the opener tucked underneath my keyboard. The Letter from Briamonte opened with a satisfying tearing sound.
A small key dropped out, landing with a flat thud on my desk.
“Looks like a post office box key,” Reina said as she passed me on her way to the kitchen. Schwarzenegger movies always made her hungry.
I unfolded the paper that had been stuffed in the envelope. If I were hoping for some clarification I wasn’t going to get it here. The handwritten note gave the address of a post office branch – not local, I couldn’t help but notice – and what I assumed was the number to the post office box. This was followed by a simple seven-letter sentence: “The information you need is located here.” That was all the note said.
The note was dated a week ago. It was signed Briamonte.
Reina returned from the kitchen with a huge hero sandwich in her hands.
“This has to be some kind of joke,” I told her. “This doesn’t make any kind of sense.”
Reina read over the short note. After wiping away a bit of mustard from the corner of her mouth she turned to me and said, “Uh-huh. I told you you were in some kind of trouble. Looks like the Man has got it out for you. The feds probably have this room bugged right now.”
Reina returned to her Conan movie, just in time for another pitched battle. I picked up the small key that had been in the envelope.
I could hear Arnold grunting and straining in the next room as I wondered what to do next.
Thanks...(m)
..for the great words.
I don't know about other states, but in Nebraska and I think Kansas, if the patient is over 14, they have control over who sees them, who the doctors can talk to about their case, so on, and so forth. I think with this just being a short-short, that Richard probably asked for these records to be sent to his ex(?)-wife. (I wrote this on the spur of the moment.)
In Nebraska, if you try to committ suicide, you are put into Emergency Protected Custody for stabilizing. (There you are evaluated and some are sent to residential treatment centers.) If you resist, they will do whatever's necessary. In this story, the handcuffs.
Thanks again, Sammi
Ooh, I really liked this one! Great story. nt
Great job! Sad, but I loved the story, it pulled me right in. nt
Great mom/daughter conflict, I loved it! nt
Ok, I gotta know what happened? What was in the box? Who's Briamonte? Great story! nt
Loved it Jade! Nicely done. nt
My TT - The New Comtesse
Ok, so maybe it's more small than tiny - but sometimes the muse gets carried away, and I for one, like to let her go!
I stared at the envelope, reading again the word Briamonte. It seemed that my hand was fixed – I couldn’t write another word with it. I took a deep breath and forced my hand to set the quill down. I took up the wax and the candle and spilled a small pool of deep purple onto the back of the envelope. Then I pressed the ring into the wax – the ring I had fought so hard for, the ring I had given the rest of my life to possess. Strangely, I did not savor victory as the seal of the Comtesse de Gallionesse cooled.
Instead, I felt like I had just sealed my own doom.
I rang the small silver bell which sat just inside the doorway of the room. There was a similar bell in each room in the chateau, each with a distinct tone. When I rang them, people came running. I think even now the servants have learned to distinguish my ring from that of the Comte. He rings the bell harshly, quickly. In his years he has come to expect not only immediate response from the butlers and maids, but also a degree of humility – as though they should be ashamed that they were not already at his side to do his bidding.
Gerard never hurries much in response to my ring, and he does not quake as he bows at my feet. He walks through the hall with long, smooth strides and hides his disapproving look with a curt bow. I wished, secretly, that I could replace him with a new head man – one who did not care who I was or where I came from.
“Gerard, would you please call Luc for me. I have a message that I need to be delivered right away.â€
He did not reply, but bowed slowly again and left the room. I still held the ring in my hand – it was too large for me to wear, and it wasn’t fashionable anyway. Carefully, I slipped it back over the ribbon that suspended it from my waist and tied it tightly. I didn’t plan to ever be parted from it if I could help it.
It was some time before I heard Luc’s uneven footfalls upon the parquet floors of the great hall. He entered the room with his hat clutched tightly between his hands, and bowed deeply when he saw me.
“At your service, lady.â€
I couldn’t help a nervous laugh from escaping. Luc had bounced me on his knee when I was a child – it did not seem right that he should be so different to me now that I had married.
“Come, now, Luc. Please.†I took his hands and brought him upright again. “There’s no need for that between us. Come and sit.â€
He smiled, but it was clear he was not entirely at ease. Although it was warm, he had not removed his rough wool coat, and his boots were scuffed and muddied from his work in the yards. He looked about the room at the richly upholstered chairs and lounges and his discomfort increased visibly. I followed his eyes around and was mildly surprised at the lavishness of my own drawing room. Was it possible that I had grown accustomed to my new home so quickly, that I could not notice how different my own life had become? He did not move to take a chair.
Disturbed by his awkwardness, I grabbed the letter hastily. My hand shook as I held it out to him.
“I need you to take this to the Captain de Brimonte’s barracks.â€
Suddenly, Luc’s discomfort disappeared, and his eyes focused on me with the tight, sharp scrutiny to which I was accustomed. He knew what I had written. We had spoken of it once, the day before my wedding. Even then he had warned me that it was a foolish move.
I held the letter out higher and raised my chin. It should not matter to me now if anyone approved – I had played my part and made my sacrifices.
“Celeste…†Luc was looking at the letter as though it might strike out at him. “This is not a wise thing.â€
My throat grew tight. It had never entered my mind that he might not deliver the letter for me. My carefully laid plans were often victim to the smallest stones. I closed my eyes and thought of the ring hanging from my waist like a golden key.
“I know the risks – that is why you are the only one I trust to deliver it.†I said with more confidence than I felt.
Luc shook his head, wringing his hat nervously.
The hardness of his mouth crumbled my resolve. Everyone else at the Chateau was loyal to the Comte, Luc was the only person I could trust. But he did not understand Jean – he didn’t see the look in his eyes when I told him I could never see him again. On the verge of panic, I took Luc’s hand and pressed the letter into it, leaning close to him. “Please, Luc. I must do this – he deserves that much. You, of all people, should understand.â€
“If you are discovered – if we are discovered, the Comte… â€
I pulled away, gathering my nerve again. “We won’t be. Jean will not reveal me – nor will you. It would be just as dangerous for either of you to talk.†I straightened my skirt to hide my own uncertainty. “Don’t you see, this is the only way he will ever give up on me.â€
Luc frowned deeply, then tucked the letter into his coat pocket. “I think you underestimate him, Celeste. You just may find Jean de Briamonte the kind of man who is encouraged by scandal and intrigue.â€
My stomach fluttered at the thought. “Pray he isn’t, Luc. As you are family to me, as much as my father and mother ever were, pray that Jean will go quietly to America and forget all about me.â€
Luc smiled and took my hand to kiss and whispered. “I will pray for you, even though I know you are asking me to wish against the hope of your heart.â€
Then he turned and left, limping only slightly. I stared after him, amazed to find that he had hit upon a feeling I had not let myself entertain. As the hoof beats of his horse retreated down the gravel drive, I fought the urge to rush after him and snatch back that envelope. I forced myself to sat back down at my desk and took out another leaf of paper to compose a cheerful, devoted letter to my husband.
Instead, I put my head in my hands and cried like a little girl for the first time in years.
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