Check out the originator of this challenge at
http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/
The rules are easy:
- 1000 words max
- fictional tale (or true if you really want)
- PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
- Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
- Go for the entertainment value!
- State the Genre of your story at the top of your post.
- Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST
- Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story,put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
- Have fun!
~ * ~
This week’s prompt: Head
Genre: Contemporary Fiction
* * *
Grandpa Jones
The house looked more tired than a couple years earlier when I’d last driven past. I braked, tumbled out of the car and gawked. My feet plodded across the gravel country road as if drawn by a magnet.
Angry shouts rang out. Hands hammered bare wood. The racket rose from the old house across the road. I broke into a run. Old Grandpa Jones still occupied the hovel, a well-shared joke in the county, though no-one had seen Grandma in years.
It turned out Grandpa wanted out and pushed on the front door knob but it wouldn’t budge. He cussed and kicked without success. For one thing the door opened inward and he pushed out. It was also warped more than ever since the recent rain; the only door in or out of the house.
“Let me outta here. Let me out.” A gummy voice bawled inside. Open palms slapped the door.
“Calm down, old man. Step away from the door.” I expected it to crumble from the blows on the other side, but it held fast. “Stand clear. I’ll put a shoulder to it.”
The quiet on the other side yawned loud.
The warped door groaned but didn’t shift a sliver in its frame, yet I felt rather than heard disintegration within where my shoulder encountered the wood and pitched me forward. Ow. that hurt. I folded over my knees to catch my breath and regroup. Overhead, the door shattered as a chair seat bulged through a hole inches from my face. The chair yanked out, rheumy eyes stared at me through the splintered gap.
No-one knew Grandpa’s age, but for a reedy fellow with a bedraggled beard, greasy white hair and no teeth, he appeared strong and tenacious.
“I guess you didn’t need my help after all.” I had to talk though I’m a man of few words.
“I can’t get out through this here hole. Get my axe in the woodshed.” He pointed a thickened, yellow nail to the left. “Move along young man. That-a-way.”
I took one last look at what one might call his abode with kindness. I wondered what held the wood fibers together and conjured up spider spit and dirt. The weary shack had no business standing at all.
I spun round and gave the house another gander. The structure had sunk lop-sided and cockeyed. No-one had seen it happen, but I heard talk the recent hard rains were responsible for the slippage of a lot of the old properties. It’s a wonder the wind hadn’t shoved once too hard leaving a confusion of dried kindling strewn about, yet it had hung on like a drunk weaving in the elements, loose and somewhat upright.
“Stop gaping, young man. Action gets the job done. Move it.” My face burned. The old man’s impatience took me back to childhood days when everything I did was open to criticism. I forced myself forward and rushed back with an ancient, rusted axe.
“Stand back,” I said.
Grandpa Jones had other plans. “Give it to me, handle first. It’s my house and I’ll wreck it any way I must.”
I learned something that day. You can’t judge any exterior by appearance or your pea brain idea of it, man or structure. I also experienced the shock of my life.
Grandpa Jones axed the door. His vigorous thrusts shook the house to quivering. Each lunge of the axe sent the house lower, the mud still fresh from the latest rain. He’d demanded I leave with no thank you, but I sat in my car instead and watched. Why, I will never know. I laughed and laughed—thought I’d lost my head. And then, it happened.
Noise to my ears rather than pleasure, birds and crickets sounded louder and busier. I hadn’t noticed them earlier. Though mid- morning, the temperature had shot upwards. I whipped out my trusted hanky to dry my forehead and had already removed my suit jacket. The crack of the axe continued. Ticked by the old man’s ingratitude, I started the engine. I glanced back one last time. A groan and rumble stopped me. The outdated shelter collapsed, tumbling into itself. My heart plunged. Stupid old man.
I rushed towards the house.
Please don’t let the old man die.
* * *
© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.
September 8, 2015 at 8:22 am
Tess what a wonderfully written story to come back to. You create such imagery within your stories. You capture the reader with your imagination, well done lovely.
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September 8, 2015 at 9:51 am
I may have said this before, but it’s worth saying again, so glad to have you back here blogging, Tess. :0
Another excellent submission to BlogBattle, you actually make me think of trying this. 🙂
Hope this day treats you kindly. 🙂
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September 8, 2015 at 9:52 am
I loved the description of the house–favorite line: “I wondered what held the wood fibers together and conjured up spider spit and dirt.”
I wondered what brought the young man to this spot and what reason. He seems to be leaving without having done anything beyond stop to help. I know the word count limitation requires a lot of cutting, but I would like to know why he was there, just for a sense of closure.
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September 8, 2015 at 10:32 am
Oh I’ve missed you and this is why. These twisted tales that leave so much to the imagination. I’ll be back later. I’m busy creating my own ending.
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Pingback: #BlogBattle “Head” Entries & Voting | Writing Rachael Ritchey
September 8, 2015 at 11:32 am
Aww what an amazing story, Tess. One of your best, I think. I don’t remember you writing in first person before (but i get so caught up in your stories that I may not have noticed). Is that unusual for you?
I think the old guy is probably under the rubble, will get pulled out, and still be ungrateful. 😉
Mega hugs!
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September 8, 2015 at 12:19 pm
Great story Tess as always you never cease to amaze me!
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September 8, 2015 at 1:09 pm
No-one knew Grandpa’s age no living person that is: yes? great story
~B
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September 8, 2015 at 1:12 pm
Exactly. He’s the type of country folk who has no beginning nor end–no-one can recall a time he wasn’t ‘there’. “=D
Thank you for your kind comment and for reading. ❤
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September 8, 2015 at 1:14 pm
always there and you begin to think he’s immortal until the day he is no longer there
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September 8, 2015 at 1:21 pm
*sigh* Yup.
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September 8, 2015 at 2:29 pm
Really strong visuals Tess, both of the old man and his demise. The question is, can he survive?
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September 8, 2015 at 2:35 pm
I’m sure he can.He’s salt of the earth kind of Grandpa Jones…unless he knocked himself out with the axe. 😀 😀 😀
Thanks, Gilly, for your kind words and for reading and commening. ❤ ❤
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September 8, 2015 at 2:56 pm
Love this, Tess.jx
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September 8, 2015 at 3:01 pm
This was another great story Tess. Poor old Grandpa’ Jones! He sounds a survivor to me though!
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September 8, 2015 at 10:36 pm
I agree with you. He’s too fiesty to let a house fall on him and take it laying down. 😀 😀 😀
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September 8, 2015 at 4:02 pm
Good one Tess. I have to believe the old coot was the last thing standing.
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September 8, 2015 at 4:10 pm
Great story Tess
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September 8, 2015 at 10:44 pm
Thanks for reading my story, Lucy. I’ll be away for the next two.
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September 8, 2015 at 8:12 pm
This story said so much yet left me wondering so much more!!!! Because I know there is more! And I did not see that end coming.
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September 8, 2015 at 9:28 pm
You always do that!! … leave us hanging at the end wondering what happens next! It’s sooo cruel 🙂
“Spider spit and dirt” … a great description 🙂
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September 9, 2015 at 12:24 am
I’m with Joanne on this one Tess, you always leave us at the edge of our seats!
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September 9, 2015 at 7:54 am
Ha ha. Good. It’s a short and should titillate. Woo-hoo!Thanks for your kind words.
I’ll be missing in action for the next two BlogBattles… 🙂
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September 9, 2015 at 4:04 am
Another wonderfully visual story, Tess. Great stuff 🙂
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September 9, 2015 at 4:18 am
Fantastic story and a great character. You made me visualise the man and the house. They’d become one.
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September 9, 2015 at 5:55 am
You’re a wonderful writer.
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September 9, 2015 at 6:26 am
Tess, it is so wonderful to have you back and writing again. Once again you create a complete picture with your words, absolutely fabulous visually. The old man is perfect for the setting. Your imagination is expanding as you write these, love this.
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September 9, 2015 at 6:42 am
Reblogged this on Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life and commented:
An old house, an old man and an axe What could go wrong? Head over to Tess Karlinski’s blog and find out for yourself.. her usual masterful piece of fiction. Thanks Tess.
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September 9, 2015 at 8:03 am
Thank YOU, Sally. I tickled for the re-blog and that you read my stories. ❤
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September 9, 2015 at 10:15 am
Nice. Not the ending I expected, and I loved Grandpa. 🙂
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September 9, 2015 at 2:46 pm
Hi Cathleen. Thanks so much for reading. Glad you enjoyed Grandpa. ❤
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September 9, 2015 at 2:48 pm
Such a great welcome back story, Tess. You paint quite a picture. ☺ Van
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September 9, 2015 at 7:58 pm
I would have liked to have known Grandpa Jones. He’s full of vinegar.
BTW, Love seeing you back on the blogosphere. 😀
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September 9, 2015 at 8:41 pm
Thanks so much, Glynis. I away again. Fly Friday and have last minute running around and haven’t quite packed yet. I’m a ball of nerves. Won’t relax till I’m on the plane. 😀 😀
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September 9, 2015 at 9:09 pm
A whopper of story for such few words. Wonderful read! Loved the spider spit!
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September 10, 2015 at 8:11 am
Thanks so much, Noelle. 😀 ❤
On Wed, Sep 9, 2015 at 9:09 PM, How the Cookie Crumbles wrote:
>
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September 10, 2015 at 12:06 pm
Oh, this is full of sad yet beautiful images. 🙂
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September 10, 2015 at 4:06 pm
Thanks so much for your kind comment. I’m jumping with pleasure. ❤ ❤
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September 10, 2015 at 1:35 pm
I hung onto every word. I felt sorry for the old man, even though I didn’t like him. I did see the collapse of the ‘hovel’ coming – a metaphor for much in the old man’s life, I believe. Nicely done!
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September 10, 2015 at 4:05 pm
Can I jump up and down and squeal OOooOOoo? Thanks you for your kind words. I so appreciate your reading and commenting Glad you like (to not like) the old man. Perfect. ❤ ❤
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September 10, 2015 at 10:29 pm
I never know what to expect from your stories. They always draw me in…and never disappoint 🙂 Your characters are always so real, I feel like I know them with just reading a few lines. Great Story!!
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September 11, 2015 at 4:58 am
Some grandpa, reminds me of my great grandfather, what a guy! Great story.
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September 12, 2015 at 5:17 am
Good description, as always. 🙂 I hope the old man survived…
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September 13, 2015 at 9:00 am
Crotchety old goat!
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November 15, 2015 at 7:26 pm
Ended just as Grandpa intended.
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September 15, 2015 at 1:28 am
Lovely descriptions, and a sad vibe for the old house and grandpa. I admit that at first mention of an axe I wondered if this would turn into a horror tale. 🙂
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September 23, 2015 at 1:37 pm
Really nice, Tess. What a gifted story teller you are. Was there through the whole things. 🙂
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September 23, 2015 at 4:10 pm
Thanks so much, Susan. Your positive comment means a lot to me. ❤ ❤ ❤
Just back from holiday. Tired. Dragging my behind, but thought I'd pop in to see what's happening around here.
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