Hope you enjoyed the story I did for the writing challenge last month. This month, I’ll be trying to dive into poetry (again). Here’s something I came up with with the prompts: Memories, and The Reason It Isn’t There (~50 lines). # My Answers to your Questions I never see you, Yet your questions are legion. You sit, satisfied, Stomach filled with the free Food that you can always cook Better, you know best, anyway. After all, what is rice, When it’s salt that is needed? After all, what is wisdom, When it’s status that’s all important? Years past, three hundred and sixty-five At a time, a cycle we continue Out of ritual, out of tradition, A moment in the sea Of ties forged and old wombs. And you ask, smirking. While I answer, a telepathic Wave at the front Your face, but one you will Never feel. Blood of brotherhood Thicker, than Water of the Womb. So in your effort, Filling your gossip Rolodex of noise… Your questions, My answers, Are these… “What are you doing now?” “Something I care about.” “Why not <this>? There’s no money in…” “And obviously, you don’t.” “What have you been eating?!” “Food. What have you not?” “Why did your mother let you get this fat?” “Why did yours let you get this rude?” “Your partner is not your type!” “Clearly, they’re not yours either.” “When is it your turn?” “After you’re done with the snacks, thanks.” “Why do you care so much? Those people are not your family.” “As are your intentions, Those, not out of integrity and concern.” “Can’t I just ask questions?!” You could, I’ll answer. But if you cared, I’ll answer proper. Joelyn Alexandra # I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece, and stay tuned for more pieces from writing challenges in the upcoming months!
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In an effort to flex my writer / storytelling muscles a bit more, I’ve decided to revive my pieces derived from Nika Harper’s Writing Challenges from Wordplay on YouTube. Since this month starts with the Short Story, here’s what I came up with. Prompts: Unbridled enthusiasm & A guy walks into a bar # The Other Currency Joelyn Alexandra “House special, please,” Warden said, “Extra strong.” The barkeep chuckled as she tucked her flopping fringe back behind her ear. With a single swoop, she poured and mixed parts of club soda, cola syrup, and pomegranate juice into a shaker before giving the drink a rinse and tumble. Pouring out the soda in a tall, clear glass, she smirked at him. “A little too enthusiastic for your first time here, aren’t you?” she asked. He did nothing except smile sheepishly in response, reaching for his drink. “So,” the barkeep continued, wiping the walnut bar while she kept her gaze trained on this newcomer, “How did you get in?” “I have my ways,” Warden replied with a wink. The barkeep smiled back with that kind of smile you see curling at the side of a mouth of someone being snarky. Her gaze shifted from his eyes and face, down to where his fingers fumbled around with an incisor-like shell pendant hanging around his neck. Inching a couple of steps away, she ran her fingers on the underside of the bar until they found a switch, and she let the pads of her fingers rest against the device, as she continued her conversation. While the small talk continued, the bar crowd came and went in regulated batches, as they were meant to. Halfway through their conversation about the upcoming Sugar Tax, the barkeep’s attention went beyond Warden’s right shoulder, square on another stranger at a high table at the far end. Knocking his knuckles lightly against the metal table, the sounds created a beat one could only associate with music pumping out from the rich areas. Dressed in a casual suit, face clean shaven, and hair back, the barkeep pushed the button under the bar. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she said to Warden, before leaving her post. Warden’s gaze followed her as she exited from behind the bar and headed straight for one of the bar’s bouncers. Hiding behind his drink, his eyes traced their gaze from the corner to the same stranger the barkeep saw just a few moments ago. Then, his empty glass hit the bar with a clink. “I see you’re new here too,” he said after taking a seat next to the stranger. “Likewise,” the stranger answered, “What’s your story?” Warden raised an eyebrow. “Everyone who finds themselves here have something up with them,” the stranger explained, “So, what’s your shtick?” Instead, Warden shifted in his seat, leaned in and said, “What do you want to know first?” “How much are you asking?” “I don’t trade currency.” “Really?” With the slightest movement, Warden leaned in further and stroked the top of the stranger’s right forearm. “The world cannot run on money alone,” he said, his forefinger tracing its way to the tip of the stranger’s sleeve. “Knowledge and information, however,” Warden continued, his eyes locking onto the stranger’s, his free hand sliding off the table. Then, his eyes went from the stranger’s to the mark peeking from underneath. “Is a different story.” The stranger bolted, only to be chained down when Warden grabbed his wrist with the stroking hand. Before the stranger could do anything, Warden’s free hand came over the table and tasered him right in the tattoo. Screaming, the stranger retracted his arm and fell onto the floor, writhing and jerking against the aftershocks from the stun gun, now pocketed on Warden’s belt. The latter turned around, walking past a bar full of people now with their eyes locked on him, one hand on their drink, their other hand on some kind of a weapon aimed at this dark, tattooed guy walking through the bar at the moment. Reaching the bar, Warden reached into his pocket and placed a photograph on the table. Cautiously, the barkeep took the photo – an exact match for the stranger now lying in the middle of their speakeasy – and flipped to the back. “Now, can I assume that I’ve passed the audition?” Warden asked. # I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece, and stay tuned for more pieces from writing challenges in the upcoming months!
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