Comments Posted By Izolda

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For many months during this project, I kept thinking that I was going to fail and if I had failed, I would have been sorely disappointed in myself. It wasn’t a Herculean task like so many other people might face, but it was a goal I set for myself, to write one of these suckers a day for a year. As it is, for the last month, there have been times when I just didn’t want to keep writing. So, I came up with a way of counting things down. I counted backwards until tonight when I reached the number one. Interestingly enough, the number one also brings me to the last part of this project. There is some philosophical discussion to be had about the juxtaposition of something being both first and last but that’s for another night when I’ve had at least one glass of Amarula. It’s been a pleasure to write these stories, and an honor to see that so many of you have read them. I can’t wait to share the next phase with you and that’s all coming soon….

» Posted By Izolda On 06.24.2011 @ 8:56 pm


“Father, son, and the holy ghost. Chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. Earth, sky, and sea. See? They all come in threes.” Jackson careened around the room and yanked on his hair as he named all the triads he could think of. “Life, death, rebirth. Solid, liquid, gas. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Oh man, it’s all so intense!” Now he stared up at the ceiling as if it would yield the secrets of the universe as murmured more triads. “Um, dude,” Toker raised his head off the floor blearily. “Speaking of breakfast, lunch and dinner, did you eat any of the brownies I had in the fridge?”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.22.2011 @ 8:51 pm


“One cell, two cells, four cells – they all divide, and then after nine months, you get a baby.” Marcia desperately reached for the best explanation she could come up with under the circumstances. It wasn’t every day your eleven-year-old asked you about the birds and the bees and Taylor had taken her by surprise. Marcia sighed inwardly as she thought she’d acquitted herself quite well. And then she made a crucial mistake and said, “Does that answer your question? “Actually, no, Mom,” Taylor replied. “‘Cause what I’d asked wasn’t where do babies come from. What I’d asked was how do people have sex?”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.21.2011 @ 7:14 pm


The class stood in hushed anxiety while they eyed their instructor. He had a reputation and not all of it good. But still, his classes tended to fill up quickly even if there was almost a five percent daily attrition rate, once the class got going. “And now,” Professor Sommers snaked around the room and poured the clearly-labeled bleach into the beakers set on every lab table. “Now, we will predict which will cause the biggest reaction.” Without missing a beat, he reached for the well-marked Hydrochloric Acid. He made the barest of pauses and turned in a full circle to make sure the students saw what he held. No one stopped him. Almost sadly, he moved to the first beaker to pour. “My poor eyebrows,” he lamented quietly. “Professor wait!” Sheldon Bowerman yelled right before the first drop left the bottle of acid. “Yes?” The professor froze. “That’s – that’s acid.” “And?” the Professor continued. “It will explode!” Sheldon cried. The Professor grinned widely. “Well,” he said as he capped the bottle and quickly moved it away from the beaker of bleach. “I’m glad someone was paying attention.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.21.2011 @ 6:22 am


“Do you share the common belief that nine is a magic number?” Reginald asked as he approached Darlene. “What?” she turned her cornflower blues on him and his well-rehearsed come-on disintegrated. Uh,” he stuttered. “You know. The number nine. Three times three and it makes nine.” “I know my multiplication tables,” she continued scanning the books on the shelf. “Well,” he tried one last, desperate gambit. “Did you know that if you add the two digits of any two-digit multiple of nine, they all add up to nine? Like 27. 2+7 equals 9.” “Yes,” she replied and tugged a stray bit of honey-gold hair behind an ear. “I also know that Pi is infinite, that density equals mass over volume, and that the limit of sin X over X as X approaches 0 is one.” And then Reginald noticed Darlene was searching for a book in the Higher Mathematics and Statistic section.

» Posted By Izolda On 06.18.2011 @ 11:03 pm


“Take me to the station for Channel 12,” Madeline commanded as she got in the cab and slammed the door smartly. “I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.” She settled into the seat in a huff and reached into her large, pink bag. She brought out her knitting. For a moment, the click clack of her needles made the only sound in the cab. “Um, Ma’am?” The cabbie twisted in his seat to look back at her. “We don’t have a Channel 12 in this city.” “Well of course you do,” Madeline lay aside her knitting, reached back in her bag and withdrew what looked like a cross between an XM radio receiver, a satellite dish, and a spaceship. She flipped it on and a hissing zapping sound filled the space. “Do you hear that?” she cried. “How can they use that kind of language in public?” “Ma’am, I don’t hear anything but static,” he replied and then he noticed the sweater she was knitting. It had room for four sleeves, and two heads. Quickly, he glanced back at her and saw the slit eyes behind her horn-rimmed glasses. “But,” he amended. “I’ll definitely take your word for it.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.14.2011 @ 6:38 pm


Many people say 13 is an unlucky number. Me? I’ve embraced it. I mean, look. There are 13 full moons in a year, which is cool because that means that sometimes we get Blue Moons, and while they’re not blue or anything, they’re still pretty cool. There were 13 people at the last supper, and while some people might think it’s a bad thing, I say, no because Jesus had company, you know? There are 13 players on a rugby team and I think rugby rocks! But mostly, I love the number 13 because last Friday the 13th, I bought a lottery ticket, picked the numbers 1, 3, 13, 26, and 39, and won 13 million dollars.

» Posted By Izolda On 06.13.2011 @ 6:12 pm


“My beloved,” Franz spoke softly and still his breath hissed through his fangs like a thousand whispers under a midnight sky. “Please, allow me to make you immortal. Then, we shall be together, as one, in eternity.” Myra languidly opened her sapphire eyes and gazed deeply into his. Tantalizingly, she moved her soft, perfectly-formed hand to his face. Just before she reached his cold, sallow skin, she balled her fingers into a fist and punched him on the nose. “Dude,” she said, “I’m only fifteen. There is totally no way I’m going to be stuck at this age forever. If I am, I’ll never be able to get my driver’s license.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.12.2011 @ 6:37 pm


“Grandma,” Sarah called patiently as she pulled up at Taggart’s Final Rest Mortuarium and opened her car door. “This is the 15th funeral you’ve been to in the last week.” Yep,” Grandma Turnbull replied as she swung her cane, legs, and tiny frame into the car. “Sometimes, you just need to double up and do two a day. Besides, funerals are the only places that serve Pigs in a Yellow Blanket anymore.” “Wait,” Sarah said. “You go to these funerals because they serve hot dogs wrapped in bacon all surrounded by American cheese?” “Yes,” Grandma Turnbull pulled open her bag, drew out a specimen and popped into her mouth. “They serve them at every single one nowadays. I guess they figure if the grease kills you right there, they have more of a chance of getting your business.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.11.2011 @ 10:40 pm


“Come on, Zoe, you need to rise to the occasion. Go out there and show ’em what you’re made of.” Dan Robbins smoothed his daughter’s hair away from her face. “I can’t go out there,” she replied tearfully. “I can’t ever show my face again.” “Come on, honey,” he put a finger under her chin and gently nudged until she met his eyes. “You aren’t the first girl to spill Grape punch all over herself on her sixteenth Birthday. And you won’t be the last. Now go out there and show ’em what you’ve got.” “Okay,” she sniffed. “But if even one person mentions the big purple stain down my front, I’m gonna go Carrie on their asses.” “That’s my girl,” he patted her head until her fangs receded and her horns retreated back into her head. “You’re going to be just fine.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.10.2011 @ 9:15 pm


“I’m doing my report on 17,” Mitchell said as he walked to the front of the class. “So why 17,” Ms. Abrams, the teacher, raised her hand and asked. “What makes it so special to you?” “Well,” Mitchell replied. “It’s the first one that doesn’t really mean anything. It’s like this: 2 has all those dualities. 3 is father, son, and holy ghost, or life, death and rebirth. Five has five elements. 7 is luck. 11 is the first in the double digits, plus you know, the whole 7-11 thing. And 13 is unlucky or at least it’s gotten a really bad rap. Then, comes 17, and basically it’s just a prime number.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.09.2011 @ 6:23 pm


Ellie stood on the corner and ruminated on her life to this point. She’d hit the road at thirteen. She’d turned tricks in Chicago and New York. She’d muled for a drug cartel in LA, and now, on the day when so many might be celebrating being “adults,” she instead wore a big floppy-eared dog costume as she carried a sign that pointed the way to a new gourmet hot dog stand in Des Moines. Happy f*cking eighteenth,” she murmured as she brandished the “Dog Eat Dog” sign like a sword. “Happy f*cking birthday to me.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.08.2011 @ 6:49 pm


“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Judith pointedly looked down at her wedding band. “I don’t think so,” George replied as he loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. “Today is the 19th,” she prodded him none too gently. “So it is,” he looked at his watch, and hid a smile as he turned away. “It’s our anniversary,” she said through gritted teeth. “Yes, my love, it is,” he replied as a knock sounded at the front door. “Who could it be at this hour,” He made a show of frowning and hurrying toward the door. He opened it, and the musicians, caterers, flower bearers, and dancing girls poured into the house. “Oh darling,” he called. “Your anniversary present has arrived.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.07.2011 @ 6:42 pm


On her left foot, Eliza had all shades of pink. Her right foot sported purples and mauves. Her left hand bore every shade of green she could find while her right had coppers and other earth tones. She painted each one of her twenty nails a different color. The twenty first? She left that one clear.

» Posted By Izolda On 06.06.2011 @ 7:40 pm


“When exactly did plaid come back in style?” Shannon held up no fewer than twenty-one pairs of shorts. Each one was a garish parody of a Scottish clan tartan. “There are literally no shorts on the racks that aren’t in plaid. I swear,” she continued. “Those Scottish Lairds are spinning in their graves.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.06.2011 @ 5:44 am


“All right, Tommy. I’ve had just about enough,” Ms. Riverdale strode over to Tommy while he hastily jerked his arm back to his side. “You will write the following on the chalkboard twenty-two times,” Ms. Riverdale announced. ‘I promise I will not keep trying to taste Susie Wilson’s hair.'” “But it smells like strawberries,” Tommy pointed out reasonably. “I was just trying to see if it would taste like them, too.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.04.2011 @ 8:45 pm


“Okay, we’re going to take the twenty-third caller,” the DJ announced. “Mom, mom, I need your cell phone,” Claudia cried from the back seat. “I know the answer!” “Honey,” her mother explained patiently. “You’re not calling in.” “But I know the answer is Lorna Luft and Liza Minelli, Judy Garland’s daughters,” Claudia pouted. “They haven’t even asked the question yet; you could at least pretend like you don’t know,” her mother turned off the radio. “You’re not going to let me call in, are you?” Claudia asked. “I don’t know. You’re the world’s foremost psychic,” her mother replied. “You tell me.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.03.2011 @ 7:02 pm


“Relax, kitten,” Samantha purred as her leg rubbed up and down Jack’s thigh. “You’re going to do just fine.” She angled closer to him, and he fell into the depths of her indigo eyes. The moment lengthened and Jack fumbled for the limo’s phone as its ring pierced the silence. “Uh, hello?” he said. “Reese! Where are you?” Mr. Thompson’s voice sliced through Jack’s already fragile control, and he dropped the phone into Samantha’s tumbler of whiskey. “Crap!” he cried anguished while fished it out and vainly tried to dry it on his shirt. “I’ve only had this job twenty-four days. And now, Thompson’s going to fire me.” “No he won’t,” Samantha said. “Why not?” he asked hopefully. “Because I’ll tell him not to and my husband always does what I tell him to do.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.02.2011 @ 6:33 pm


“Twenty-five days,” the words reverberated in her skull like the clanging of some gong as she made a bright, red X on June 1st. She flipped back to May and saw the thirty-one Xs there. Five months and five days ago, they’d told her she had six months to live. And, now she only had twenty-five of those left and every day she finished vertical, she added another X. Amy stuffed the calendar into a pocket, hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder, and left the motel. She smiled at the flatirons in front of her and said, “I took the one less traveled, and that has made all the difference.”

» Posted By Izolda On 06.01.2011 @ 8:17 pm


A montage of possible story ideas danced in front of my eyes, but I discarded each one almost as quickly as it passed by. A kid who wants many toys, a grandmother looking at old photographs, a private detective going through his notes – none of them felt remotely exciting enough to share. I have to remember not to try and write when I’m this exhausted. Oh well, as Miss. O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is another day.”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.31.2011 @ 8:31 pm


“Why, I remember it like it was yesterday,” Margaret giggled like a school girl. The old album creaked as she opened it. She turned page after page of yellowed photographs until she came to the one she sought. “I’d just gotten off duty at the hospital. Some friends and I were planning to paint the town red. And here came this tall, handsome army man,” she said. “He grabbed me, spun me around, and then he kissed me.” Now she held up the album for me to see. The iconic image had faded but had lost none of its fire. “I never saw him again. But three days later, I received this photograph in the mail.” “I wonder who sent it to you,” I pondered. “Does it matter?” she answered. “Does it really matter?”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.30.2011 @ 8:50 pm


“Oh crap, they’re still growing in!” Patrick wailed as he ran from the mirror. “Mom,” he shouted. “They’re coming back.” Megan Reese stopped in mid laundry-folding as her son barreled into the room. “Sweetie, we talked about this,” she soothed. “It’s a normal part of growing up.” “But, but, I don’t want to grow up,” tears welled in Patrick’s eyes. “I never want to be an adult and this means I’m going to be an adult no matter what.” “Believe me,” Mrs. Reese replied. “There’s a whole lot more to being an adult than being able to grow sideburns.”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.30.2011 @ 5:29 am


Amid the cacophony, Lauren hung her head in despair. As usual, the prize slipped through her fingers like star systems through Grand Moff Tarkin’s. “Dammit, Lauren, get your head in the game,” she snapped out loud as she marched back to the free-throw line. This next shot meant the game, and everyone knew it. Lauren closed her eyes, pictured her favorite small, green-skinned guru, and threw the ball. Everyone hushed until the soft swoosh that meant, “Nothing, but net.” Lauren lifted her fists in the air and cried, “Do or not do, there is no try!”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.28.2011 @ 10:11 pm


“So what you’re trying to tell me,” Patricia said as she unwrapped the silver foil packet, “is that these mints are minted at the mint.” “Precisely,” Mr. Spear replied. “And if you don’t figure out how to fix the press, no one will have Peppermint Patties in time for Christmas.”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.27.2011 @ 9:24 pm


The relentless sun beat down on them and the sand scoured away the upper layers of their skin like they were potatoes that had been boiled too long. Mitchell suffered worse than most; he had been raised in Four Falls, Washington, the rainiest place in the US. Nothing had prepared him for the broiled sandpaper conditions in which he now found himself. “Hand me the canteen, will you?” Mitchell licked his lips and tasted only desert. “Dude, it’s been empty for hours,” Knowles croaked. “I know,” Mitchell replied. “But a guy can dream, can’t he?”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.27.2011 @ 5:14 am


Myra ran along Madison Avenue. “Crap!” she cried. “There just aren’t any.” She ducked into an alley, shrugged off her backpack, and pulled out a swath of purple material. Next came black boots, purple leggings and a black leather vest. The alley’s resident rats looked on while she transformed from mild-mannered museum curator to Victory Girl. She repacked and hid her backpack behind a dumpster. “Damn,” she sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a good ol’ fashioned phone booth.”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.24.2011 @ 7:34 pm


Steven walked into the bedroom and promptly dropped his two glasses of champagne. “What on earth are you doing?” he cried to his wife of four hours. “You look like a pretzel!” Kendra rubbed her feet together and turned her head to face him. Ordinarily, he would have found the come hither look on her face, hot, but tonight it was mitigated by the fact that her feet framed it as they crossed behind her neck. “Coincidentally, this pose is called pretzel pose in English,” she smiled. “Come on, honey,” Kendra gracefully removed her feet from behind her head and floated up to a standing position. “Just think of it as prep for the wedding night.”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.22.2011 @ 7:45 pm


Angelica used fingers and toes to find the smallest crevice. She climbed steadily up the sheer face of the building under cover of darkness. Anyone below who glanced up in her direction would see only shadows and hear only silence. She wore all black. She had covered the soles of her shoes in felt so they would leave no mark and make no sound. Her midnight hair hung in a plait inside her clothes and next to her alabaster skin. She took great care to ensure that no trace would remain of her visit save the missing diamonds. After all, as a Master Thief, she had a reputation to protect.

» Posted By Izolda On 05.23.2011 @ 6:37 pm


“Fear my wrath!” Myron screamed as he brandished his older brother’s lightsaber. The lightsaber glowed blue in the ding gray hallway and everyone trembled before it. “Put the, er glowing sword down,” Mr. Richards tried to calm the sixth grader. But Myron had had enough. The day had come. No more would Steve-o Dittmyer take his lunch money. No more would Butch Archer stuff him into a locker. And from here on in, no one would make him eat paste, ever again. “Sorry, Mr. Richards,” Myron declared. “I’m going to go Jedi on their asses. And the Force is with me.”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.21.2011 @ 9:04 pm


“We have a mole,” Johnson whispered emphatically as the team prepared their materials. “There’s no other way they could know.” “Oh please,” Myerson retorted. “Your imagination is working over time.” “Oh yeah?” Johnson cried she stirred the giant pot under the “Williams County Chili Cook-Off” sign. “Then how could they know our secret ingredient was watermelon seeds?”

» Posted By Izolda On 05.18.2011 @ 7:42 pm

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