Monday Motivations

This week’s Monday challenge is to write a story/poem of any length, with the following words in it somewhere:

Dreams, stuck and van

Last week’s writing prompt was to write a poem or story with the words glasses, blaze and madness in it somewhere. Here are your wonderful creations:

A poignant poem from EDC Writing:

His glasses on the table
The blaze yet to consume
Though madness had its hold
He lay as she foretold.

Now for the continuation of Rajiv Chopra‘s amazing Mary Jane series:

Let’s leave Batman and Poison Ivy to figure out their new partnership, and assumed amorous liaison. Let’s also leave The Joker, as he attempts to manipulate his new found friends to aid him in his mission. If you like, assume that they have been frozen in time, though this, of course is impossible. Let’s leave them far behind, and we shall then be able to turn our attention to the two women who started this whole saga – Mary Jane Parker and Harley Quinn.

They were an odd couple indeed. One – Harley Quinn had been straitlaced until she met The Joker. Her affair with The Bat had made her more cunning and dangerous than before. Mary Jane, as we discover now, had been straitlaced until she came in touch with Harley Quinn. They money that they had from Harley’s adventures with The Bat gave them an unexpected freedom.

Both women, free of the constraints of their lovers now explored each other – mind, body and heart – with a hunger that was startling, fresh, deep and strong. Indeed, they completed each other in ways that their Maker did not anticipate.

It was one night, after an evening on the beach, while dining at a fine restaurant, that the madness truly began. What they did at the beach was their business, they reasoned; and, there was no reason for any boring, uppity and uptight woman to cast a judgmental eye in their direction, as they lay naked on the beach after making love.

Would that bitch and her wooden, hen-pecked husband leave them to enjoy a meal in peace? Oh no. No, no, no, no, no –no. She had to go and complain to the management in a loud, rude and self-congratulatory tone? Was she the keeper of the world’s morals?

God was on her side, she seemed to proclaim. Oh yes? Well, the Devil was on their side. Better yet, they also had Loki, that wonderful old trickster to stand with them in their corner.

Smiling sweetly, Mary Jane asked the woman if she would like to sit and talk it through calmly. She asked again, and again – and, again. The last time around, she asked a little more forcefully; and, then suddenly springing up, she caught the woman in her arms, and flung her across the room. A peal of silvery laughter broke out, and Harley Quinn got up and kissed Mary, her tongue exploring the deep recesses of her throat.

Stiff faces looked around in shock as the woman, still calling to God, crashed into the tables sending the plates and glasses flying. Goodness gracious, they seemed to think. This was not respectable at all.

‘Call the police,’ a voice seemed to scream from the bar, and Harley twisted around, a smile curling around her lips. Her tongue seemed to flicker in and out of her mouth, in anticipation.

‘Catch, darling,’ she purred as she tossed a strawberry that she had been licking in the direction of the bar.

A strawberry, was it?

‘Call the…’ the voice died away in a strangulated gurgle, as smoke filled the area, as the strawberry landed with a loud bang.

The restaurant was converted into a medley of plates, glasses, blaze and madness.

The only other sound that was heard was the tinkling, slightly insane laughter of the two women as, arm in arm, they traipsed out of the restaurant.

Turning back, they suddenly curtsied.

‘The craziness has begun,’ giggled Harley.

‘Enjoy your meal, darlings,’ cooed Mary Jane.

Holding each other by the waist, the two seemed to dance their way out of the restaurant, leaving shock, blinded minds and mayhem behind them.

Geoff Le Pard‘s story is brilliant, as always:

Phillipa knew it was madness to go with Rodney but he smiled in a way that warmed her whole being. Mother had warned her about ‘feelings’ and men and the dangers, albeit with scant reference to any detail. But Dad said ‘boys don’t make passes at girls that wear glasses’ and Rodney had proved that to be a lie so maybe Mother didn’t know any more than Dad.

The field behind their street was sun drenched and the air amongst the tall grass stiffling. Rodney led her to the middle and dropped his jacket onto the ground. He kissed her, sending a fiery glow coursing through her chest. Before she knew it they were lying on the coat, his lips eagerly seeking hers. His nose clashed with her specs and she sniggered. He smiled and eased them off her face, dropping them to one side.

The intensity of his passion began to seem overwhelming; Phillipa thought she might burst into flames, so hot did his embrace make her. It was only the smell of burning cloth that alerted them to the fact her dress was on fire, the blaze caused by her discarded glasses and the powerful sun.

Phillipa stared at the scorched hole; this was going to take some explaining to Mother.

Please visit Simon Farnell‘s blog to read his atmospheric story:

https://sfarnell.wordpress.com/2016/10/22/inferno-esthers-monday-motivations/

Jenny Coe sent in a stunning story:

She’d thought she’d known what she was getting into, just another routine appointment to pay the rent. It had helped that he hadn’t seemed like one of the creepy ones; rather he’d met her the first time in a well-fitting black suit, silver hair slicked back neatly and shoes shined to complete the image of a client who wasn’t worried about paying. The glasses had been the icing on the cake, a thick frame with sharp angles that made it difficult to see his eyes.

Now she knew better, knew what the glasses had been hiding. Those awful crimson eyes dared her to run, to breach her contract, and they lit up with mirth when she saw the deal through. Of course that wasn’t the end of it. A thick wad of notes was carefully placed into her palm, her fingers forced to close around the crisp paper, and then she was slowly guided towards the door.

She opened the door to find a fire so bright that it was impossible to see around, not that she was capable of tearing her gaze away from the sight. Seconds passed, others along the corridor screamed as they encountered the blaze, but she herself only stared.

The panic all around her grew in intensity, in tandem with the flames. The noise reached her ears, but didn’t penetrate the fog of incomprehension that had manifested in her brain. Clarity did not make itself known, in its place madness took root.

She grinned as she hadn’t in years, and stepped into a warm embrace that she hadn’t bargained for.

***

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12 Responses to Monday Motivations

  1. Simon says:

    I like the quote on writing, I think one could apply it to life. Thanks for posting my little snippet on your blog… You’re very supportive 😃

  2. DrEMiller says:

    Reblogged this on Write of Passage and commented:
    This week’s Monday Motivatins from Esther Newton…
    Thanks for another wonderful opportunity, Esther!

  3. Rajiv says:

    Great stories!! Love ’em all!

  4. Rajiv says:

    Here you go!

    The two Hobbits found themselves stuck at the back of a rickety van. This is the price that had to be paid for being small in structure. That is all that the four could afford at the time, even though The Spider claimed that this was the best way to move. A rickety van provided them with the necessary subterfuge.
    They tried to sleep, but the van’s bumpy progress kept interrupting their lascivious dreams of Mary Jane. They had, anyway, been in a long slumber since the Third Age had passed into the Fourth; and sometimes the memory of the old days merged with images of the present. Disgruntled, they opened their eyes and thought, ‘the story has finally shifted back to us’. Miffed they were, thinking that there had been too much focus on the other players in this sordid little saga.
    “But, the storyteller must be fair to all, must give proportionate weightage to all”, a voice spoke in their ear. “Who is that?”, asked Frodo sharply.
    “Who am I? I am the storyteller. I am the weaver of tales. No, I am not in your story, but just stopped by to see how you are doing, and heard your complaint. No, I am not in your story, but I felt that I must interject, lest you Hobbits rail on about being mistreated.”
    “Ah, my friends, but I must introduce myself. Call me…. Call me…. Call me Loki. Yes, call me Loki, if you may”, I said with a smile, and sat down between them, rubbing my hands. “My, this space is cramped”, I said, as I sat amongst them. “Now, what may I do for you?”
    “Give us more space in this story”, demanded Frodo. “Yes, and stop making us seem like nostalgic little wimps’, said Sam. “We did fight dragons after all”.
    “Yes, yes, yes, my Little Lords”, I said sweetly, all the time wishing they had bought a more spacious van. “I shall do what I can. And, now I shall be off…” What had that wizard said, about never underestimating a Hobbit? Damned wizards!
    “Hey little Hobbits”, shouted Spidey from the front. “Talking into the air, are you?”
    “We are talking to Loki”, said Sam proudly.
    “Crazy little Hobbits. Sometimes they talk of Dark Lords, and sometimes they talk of Norse Gods. Crazy, crazy, crazy”
    The two men sat in the front in the front, shaking their heads. An uneasy truce prevailed between them. The Spider quite fancied himself in his role as crime buster. Yet, there he was, sitting in a van with The Joker – he, who had been an arch criminal.
    “Yes”, mused the Spider. “The Joker is a has been. Once this is over, I will bust him, and once again, I will be King of My Yard. I just need this little adventure to be over, and I will once again be the top crook buster!”
    United for now, in their common chase for the two women, a question remained unanswered – one that would eventually beg to be answered – is, did they actually want the women back? If not, then what were they chasing? A mirage?
    In the meanwhile, the two Hobbits sat in the back of the van, grumbling under their breath. The disdain with which the two companions has treated them had united them again, but for what purpose? The Ring had been disposed of. Mary Jane had gone. To what purpose then?
    The Grand Picture would be revealed in due course. The van rattled on along the misty highway, threatening to break apart at any minute. Yet, there was steady progress.
    Over them, unknown to them yet, a bat like shadow was slowly starting to appear above the horizon behind them.

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