title: Give me an idea!
author: LZ

*this was inspired by something that happened to me a couple days ago and made me think ~ think on my own!*

            Nimble fingers weave back and forth between the layers of fabric, guiding the silver needle in its pre-planned course. Hours pass as she patiently sits and methodically works, and slowly an image begins to appear on the surface of the cloth.  Piece by piece the colors mesh together to create a cohesive scene, like the empty pieces of a puzzle being filled in.  But while we can only guess the pattern emerging upon the surface, her mind has seen the whole picture from the beginning. Endless hours of thought and planning have obviously gone into the intricate construction of the complex design, and the end product is so perfect it could have only been created by a brilliant genius or a very lucky fool.

            Friends and family gather around, admiring the delicate work and product of time, heart, and mind.   Astonished and admiring praise ring in the woman’s ears like a new symphony being played for the first time – she is unused to this flood of attention.  She wants to soak up their compliments like a sponge – What an absolutely wonderful idea! You are so amazing to be able to create such a masterpiece! – but instead of saying “thank you” in response, she refuses to take credit for her work.

 God gives me ideas – I cannot take credit for God’s work.  I cannot take part in his glory – I must thank him for bestowing this gift upon me, the gift of these ideas.

 Three boys fall haphazardly into the back of the car while a fourth takes control of the wheel. He slams his foot on the pedal in a burst of exhilarating energy, and the young men whistle at the women on the street, thinking more highly of themselves than would be warranted. The wind whips through their hair as the convertible turns onto the highway. Sixty, seventy, eighty-five miles per hour – the speed keeps climbing as the boys revel in their new found freedom.  They had dumb grins plastered on their faces and surely were thinking that nothing could get better than this.

They were right. It could only get worse.

            Shrill sirens pierced the evening air and red and blue lights danced over the pavement. Pain shot through the driver’s spine.

            Why did I do this? My friends – are they alright? God, how could I have let this happen! I might have killed my friends, I could have killed myself. God, how could I have possibly had such a bad idea?

Title: Still Captures
Author: JM
Notes: Yes, these are from a while ago, nearly half a year ago. I figured I met as well subject them to an audience and receive comments from my faithful best friend. Each of the little stories are separate. Ultimately, these make me think, "What the heck was I thinking?"

She woke up today somewhat earlier, and proceeded to twiddle her thumbs idly, lounging like a contented black panther after a particularly satisfying meal. '1...2...3...4....' Her thumbs circled each other ferociously, two tenacious, angry tigers assessing the other with narrowed eyes. She took three steps forward, one step backward, and hopped on one foot, landing ungracefully on her head. She inverted the world. ‘3…-1…asdf…’ That’s the order of the universe, she thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

kooo-koooo. The bird sang to me today as I pranced onto the streets, feet bound to tire shoes. The bird sang to me. Really, it did. Unfortunately, I saw it die, too. It crashed into a car, and ignited. Its feathers experienced an odd trajectory; vectors bound to the 4th dimension. My luck to have a bird. My bad luck to see its death. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   The man was a friend. He had three faces, squished together. When he frowned, his eyebrows moved in tandem. Stiffly, as if they had joints, his eyebrows would move. Every night, he entered into my technicolor dream world and painted the drab grays with his melting, colorful face. One day, a piece of his face fell off. At first, I was sad. I began to cry. The face, however, began to move. It became a ginseng-man. Ginseng-man from our shared young memories.

title: long farewell
author :LZ

            We’ve spent so much time together, and I just want to thank you for always being right there by my side these past many years.  I always knew I could call on you when I needed to talk to a friend – nobody has been more reliable. You’re so receptive, no matter where I am, how I feel, the time of day – come rain or snow, icebox or sauna – I counted on you, and you never failed me.

            So I know I’ve pushed a few wrong buttons here and there, but in the end we always straightened things out.   You know I’ve never meant you any harm, despite my temper and violent nature, and I’m glad those few surface scratches never caused any deeper, lasting damage.

            After sharing the same space with you for so long, I have to admit I’ve become reliant on you, just like my mother is on her morning coffee.  You woke me up at 12 without fail – how else could I have made it to my afternoon  classes on time?  You took my messages when I was too enthralled by Days of Our Lives to respond. You reminded me when I forgot about those damn dentist appointments – you’ve been the most amazing secretary. But these are all rather superficial, don’t you agree? A friend is so much more than that.  If you haven’t gotten sick of hearing me talk yet, I don’t know who would! Your patience, your ability to just listen while I pour my heart out, has been my saving grace. We both know I’ve been through some rough times, especially with that whole hair-dying disaster and all, and when I couldn’t afford to let my troubles fester inside me anymore, you were always there to help me relieve that heavy load.

            But now, you’ve grown older and sadly, you can no longer keep up with me and my fast paced social life. I always knew this time would have to come, but I tried not to think about it since it always brought a small tear to my eye – I never wanted to have to leave you behind.  But remember, you will never be replaced in spirit! There will always be a special place in my heart just for you. Goodbye, loyal friend!

“Ma’am, are you done yet? I have your new cell phone here to trade in whenever you’re ready.”

Title: Love Panda

Author: Unknown

Notes: Remember how a short story was labeled a little mistake? Well, this is the larger version of the little mistake. The story wrote itself, once again, requiring little thought. The main idea is that people often do things they don't enjoy for the purpose of living or just having a stable routine. Yeah, don't be too harsh for me.  

Every Saturday morning, he flooded suburban households with the chant “Love Panda”, greeting hyperactive five year olds with his pudgy suit and fixed smile. Set against an infrared neon screen, the Love Panda, a monstrous mechanism of modern marketing, felt his synthetic fur bake under the hot lights. He wondered, briefly, if it were possible for a grown man, balding and trapped in an animal suit, to catch on fire from within. With the popularity of the Love Panda, he spent more time in than out of his furry cage, to the point at which, he sometimes forgot his real birth name, choosing to go by Love Panda II or the ubiquitous “hey you”.

The form of the Love Panda swallowed him. On a good day, a surreptitious glance in the mirror confirmed that “cute” might be a possibility. On an average day, he barely mustered “gaudy impersonation of an endangered animal”. As the director made a violent slashing motion with her hand and the impossibly cheerful jingle began, the Love Panda decided that today barely qualified as an average day. Love Panda, he is your best friend…*thump*, *clap*, *bell ring*…

Inside his suit, the man crossed his eyes and gave the camera a middle-finger salute. No one would notice anyway; the tailors of the Love Panda only bothered with a square paw. Easier to repair, they told management.  

Outside his suit, the camera registered the adorable Love Panda greeting anxious children with a happy wave. He did a small jig and bounced up and down like a seasick kangaroo. The pre-recorded chorus of high-pitched children’s voices soared over the theme song. What does the Love Panda do?

The man sighed. The Love Panda drooped. The director cut the cameras.

Take 2.

What does the Love Panda do?

Spreading his arms wide and stretching himself to approximately half the height of a full-grown panda in the wild, he loudly called out in a sing-song voice, “The Love Panda looooovveees you.” The director flashed him a set of yellowing teeth and the thumbs-up sign, and the audio director pushed a few buttons, filling the studio with the delight of children’s laughter. He felt the thundering approach of a migraine.

As a professional, he earned the right to approximately three blunders before the production team demonstrated the symptoms of extreme irritation. Sometimes while screaming, the director, a tiny woman dressed head-to-toe in gratuitous Love Panda merchandise, would foam at the mouth and tear unconsciously at her hair, leaving spittle and clumps of long gray strands on his costume, which awarded him a temporary feeling of gluttonous satisfaction. The day afterwards, however, the Love Panda, dry-cleaned and hand-brushed, smirked at him as if he – it – had exacted a particularly cruel form of revenge.     

As usual, six children rushed on stage – four undefined white, one black, and one Asian. Two weeks ago, the production team held a two-hour meeting that debated the merits of adding a child of Hispanic descent to promote diversity. Although the crew unanimously agreed, the issue of adding an additional child or reducing the number of Caucasian children fueled a heated argument and several resignation threats, resulting in “indefinite postponement”. The Love Panda noticed that unlike the other children, the Asian child wore traditional clothing and introduced herself or himself as “Chinese”, though at times, the claim seemed very dubious.

The children spoke in the warbled speech common of children, not too unlike a gagged turkey. The Love Panda resignedly spread his arms, letting them take flying leaps at him, their little hands clutching at his polyester fur. As expected of critically-acclaimed shows, the Love Panda contributed to the developing sprouts of moral faculties. Now children, be gentle with the Love Panda just like you should be with your friends.

When filing his IRS report, he felt tempted to write his professional down as “teacher”. After all, the show claimed to fall under the educational category. Teacher seemed much more respectable than giant panda suit operator.

Today’s show featured the alphabet, just like everyday of the show. He droned through the lines with practice, pausing every once in a while to sing a song and profess his undying love for children, muted somewhat by the smell of sweaty synthetic fur.

Yesterday, production experimented briefly with developing a Chinese accent for the Love Panda. He quashed the notion quickly, his thin reedy imitation too much like a drowning duck.

The Love Panda and he shared two darkened eyes, a large round face, and a cavernous stomach. They both worked long hours and lived alone – he, in a nearby trailer, the Love Panda in the costume closet. Sometimes he felt like a Russian Doll and wondered if he cut himself open, would he find a furry panda suit inside?

On gray days, he realized that he was nothing more than the Love Panda. Who ever bothered with the man inside?