The Eyes and the Storm

This is a piece I'm working on for my workshop. It is actually part of a bigger idea-in-progress. I posted another part of it a while back. I haven't figured out how the two parts will go together, as far as a timeline is concerned. Currently, I think this will end up coming before the other. If you're interested in reading the companion piece, you can find it here.

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A cold wind kicked up across the lake. The clouds came in slowly, bearing the heavy burden of rain. The sunlight winked out, smothered by the smoky gray-black thunderhead.

The surface of the lake bucked and thrashed against the wind; the last remaining boats fluttered back to dock just as the first bullets of rain struck the tormented lake.

Cal watched from his perch on the window seat as the sky spilled out its sadness, cast a deceiving dusk-dark shadow over the midday sun. 

He felt a small but firm tug on the cuff of his pant leg and he rocked back on his heels to make room for his sister, who scampered up next to him and pressed both hands and nose to the chilled pane of glass. Her hot breath teased up a ghostly fog on the glass. With one precise little finger, she turned it into a frowning face.

“Rainin,” she said.

Cal nodded and hugged his knees to his chest, crossed his legs at the ankle. “Uh-huh.”

“Guess we can’t go swimming today, huh?” Cecelia turned her big blue eyes up at him, a glimmer of hope still hidden behind her mask of responsible acceptance.

“‘Fraid not,” Cal said, and the glimmer faded. “Maybe tomorrow, yeah?” He nudged Cecelia gently with his shoulder and let a small but encouraging smile play across his lips.

Cecelia perked up, though reluctantly. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe.”

Cal turned back to watch as sheets of rain cascaded down across the sky. He could see the small rowboat he built with his father teeter back and forth on the top of the water, straining against the dock line. A jagged spear of lightning fell from the sky, lit up the lake briefly, leaving an eerie stain behind Cal's eyelids. He counted the seconds, making it to three before the heavy groan of thunder came.

In truth, Cal was glad of the rain, of Cecelia not swimming. He still didn’t trust the water—not the water or the eyes it held.

The Unyielding Beast

This is a writing exercise done in class for my senior seminar, Writing as Resistance. It appears here unedited, just as I wrote it in class—only typed, of course. The way she walked us through the exercise was very broad, so I find it interesting that this is where my pen took me.

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I could still feel the hot embers burning my nose. I thought if I opened my eyes, I'd see what I'd been so afraid of. But as my clammy hands went to my sides to steady myself, they met with the cool familiar leather of my couch and pulled me back into myself. Blinking, I looked around. The hum of the air conditioner kicked on and made me jump. I hadn't realized how heavy the silence had been.

In the corner, married to shadow, stood the grandfather clock. It towered over me as I approached it. It was cold, smooth against my fingertips, its face eyeless yet staring as seconds became minutes, and minutes hours. The sharp angles of its frame, the once white face now yellowed with age, thrust me back to that day. The funeral. The will. The clock was the only thing he'd left me, a tired reminder of how time marches on. And time runs out. It runs out for everybody.

My hands shook as I pulled back the glass, exposed the face. I wanted to go back. Again the feeling rose in me to run. To run back. I placed my finger down, a roadblock for the ever-moving second hand. It ticked, ticked, then met my finger, stubborn and unmoving. I felt it fight against me; such a small pressure, such a feeble resistance. And that's how it was the last time we spoke, he and I. His body was tired, his spirit broken, his will to fight and live was waning. That's how it was when he told me about the clock and how it only moves one way, always one way. I remembered the light in his eyes, I remembered how fast it faded and how empty he seemed once it was gone. A shell.

Only one way, he'd said.

I heard small wheels inside the clock ache and strain, but I wouldn't relent. Instead, I pushed back. Time, the unyielding beast, was forced back, the minute hand rewinding second by second, hour by hour. It weighed too much. Time bore such a heavy load.

Then, without warning, the minute hand snapped.

I thought I'd won, but the gears shifted and the jagged black claw of the second hand pushed forward. Time could not be defeated. Time could not be stopped.

Though I had pushed back the hands, though the hour the clock boasted was wrong, time itself was a bigger monster, bigger even than that massive grandfather clock with its unforgiving face and empty heart. It was the true adversary, never to be conquered.

Tucker's New Sweater

-a word+photo-told story by Sarah E. Thomas

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Once upon a time, there was a small, energetic bundle of fur, excitement, and love.

This little bundle just so happened to be named Tucker.

Sometimes this particular bundle would find himself galavanting about outdoors on days where the weather was a little less than warm. It was on days like this when he ended up calling it quits sooner than he really wanted to, retreating to the door and barking to be let back in.

He loved being outside, but it didn't take much to cool his little short-haired body down.

But one day, while shopping for clothes, Tucker's loving and devoted pet human, Sarah, spotted an absolutely adorable little gray sweater. And it was made just for dogs!

"Mom!" she cried, ecstatic even as she held up the little item proudly. "Wouldn't Tucker just love this?"

Her mom nodded in response, already in line with a few things of her own.

Sarah beamed at the sweater, happy to find that it was indeed in the proper size to fit her little pup. The purchase was made and the sweater was added to her bag of clothes to be carted back to the house.

As soon as Sarah made it home, she had the tags removed and the sweater prepped and ready for wearing. She knelt down to present the gift to Tucker.

Tucker eyed the garment curiously, his wet little nose sniffing as he pondered what this new thing could be. Then, suddenly, the thing was on him. He froze, unsure of what to do next, but then his pet human pulled his legs through and it seemed to settle onto his little body with ease. He took a few practice steps, trying to nibble at the thing's hood with his teeth.

"Look mom!" Sarah exclaimed. "He looks SO CUTE! I have to get the camera!"

Tucker turned in a couple of circles, but as he did so he found himself warming up. The warmer he got, the more accustomed to the sweater he seemed to become.

"Time to take it for a test drive," Sarah said, opening up the door and watching as Tucker high-tailed it outside.

Tucker's first order of business was to make sure that one and all knew of his brand spankin' new sweater.

Kelsi was the first to hear the news, unable to ignore Tucker as he excitedly showed off his new fashion statement.

Ever the good aunt, she feigned a smile and pretended to be more interested than she really was, hoping that in doing so Tucker would be satisfied and distract himself with something else.

From his perch on top of Sarah's car, Teddy offered his two cents, not waiting for anyone to ask his opinion.

Other than those few words of wisdom, Teddy had little to say.

Tucker, now satisfied that he'd made everyone aware of his incredible sweater, busied himself with his usual outside activities; chewing bones, running around, sniffing out big important things.

And all the while he couldn't help but notice just how warm he stayed. What an awesome sweater!

After running around outdoors for a good long while, Tucker finally wore himself out and decided it would be as good a time as any to take a break and head back in for a quick nap on the couch. Not because of the cold, oh no. Just because he had run off all of the energy he'd built up so far.

But this was only the beginning, the first of many trips out into the cool air armed with a very handy little grey sweater. Why with that one little added accessory, Tucker felt that surely he could conquer the world! Starting, of course, with his own backyard!