Wednesday Briefs: Dallas in Wonderland #15

Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, it must be time for another bit of flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers!  This week the prompt was:  "I wish I had a nickel for every time..." and then the alternate prompts were: 

Machiavelli, rain, nuance or "The first time I saw you, I...." or use a sex toy. 

In the next episode of Dallas in Wonderland, after finding himself shrunk to the size of a small boy, Dallas sees a hippie. What's going on there? Read the story and find out! Then check with the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow.

Dallas in Wonderland #15

Dallas did a double take.  A small wooden boat floated toward him, decorated with bright yellow daisies and pink and purple suns. At first Dallas assumed its strange skipper propelled the vessel by means of an oar, but he held none, neither did Dallas see one dipping into the water. When he glanced where the motor should have been, the back of the boat was devoid of that as well.

“Hello friend!”  

Dallas turned his attention back to the hippie. Electric green dreads danced about his head—literally. The locks twined together as if performing a strange mating ritual, before releasing and reforming in new configurations. He was dressed in a yellow and orange tie-dyed T-shirt, and matching bell bottoms.  A large glass hookah sat between his legs; connected to a hose he held in one hand. The other contained a bright red object. The closer he drew, the more Dallas stared curiously at it, wondering what it was. By the time he made out the object’s familiar shape, he felt himself blush.

“What is your pleasure?” the hippie asked, turning a smile on Dallas so bright, it was downright dazzling.  

“This is the Love Boat, little man, and I can give you anything your heart desires. Just make a wish, and it shall be yours.”

“Who are you?” Dallas blurted out, ignoring the “little man” comment and focusing on the hookah, rather than what some of his single female friends jokingly referred to as their battery operated boyfriend. Not that he was a prude in regard to sex toys or anything, but at the moment, his thoughts were straying too close to Dr. Levi, and looking at the dildo only reminded him how badly he wanted to feel Samuel’s own personal sex toy in his flesh.

The boat bumped against the shore and stopped. Instantly, the hippie hopped up and gracefully leapt onto the ground by Dallas. “I’m Harry Kat. You must be Dallas.” He held out one hand, and Dallas accepted it.

“Wait a minute,” he said, releasing the hand quickly. “How do you know my name?”

“Everyone in Wonderland knows who you are, dude. Everyone.”

Dallas could see now that the hookah actually hung by a leather strap about the hippie’s neck; he carried it like a child. He placed the tip between his lips and inhaled. Pink and blue smoke issued from his ears, forming a small cloud about his head. “What’s your pleasure, little man,” he repeated, sliding the dildo into a back pocket which Dallas could have sworn didn’t exist. But one moment it was in his hand, the next it wasn’t. He proceeded to pull out red and green capsules, which he held out to Dallas, displayed on his palm, along with a little tag that read, “Take me.”

Dallas wasn’t going to necessarily accept that invitation any time soon. On the other hand, he did have one particular wish—to go back to being his own size again. He glanced down at his miniaturized body, then at Harry Kat.

“Can you make me my proper size?”

The hippie grinned. He flipped his hand over and then back; the pills had disappeared. Now a large blue mushroom sat on his palm. Dallas had never seen one in that shade before, certainly not on the Food Network. In fact, he’d thought that, other than blueberries, blue food didn’t exist.

“Here, little man, take this.”

“I can’t,” he protested, “I have nothing—“

“Don’t need nothing,” Harry Kat interrupted. “Don’t think twice, it’s all right.” He held out the mushroom persistently, and Dallas took it, albeit reluctantly.

“What does it do?”

The hippie began to back towards the boat, grinning widely.  “One side makes you taller, the other makes you small…”

Perfect, but which was which?

Dallas examined the blue fungus carefully. There was no delineation, one side from the other. They looked identical to him. He flipped it over. Nothing there either, other than the back of the mushroom. He glanced up at Harry. He was sitting in his boat, contentedly inhaling, exhaling purple rivulets into the air.

“Which side is which?” Dallas asked, but the boat was already sliding back into the strawberry water, headed downstream. Dallas followed its course along the riverbank, calling out, “Which side? Which side?” But to no avail. The current must have grown stronger, for the boat picked up speed, and before Dallas knew what had happened, it was just a colorful blur in the distance. The last glimpse he had of the hippie was a hand raised in the air, two fingers split in a peace sign, a final farewell.

What to do, what to do, what to do.

Dallas walked slowly back to where he’d been, hoping perhaps the artists had returned and maybe they could offer him a bit of advice, but alas, the palettes were as lifeless as they were before. And no sign of Samuel either. Damn.

Logically speaking, the odds were fifty-fifty that if he chose a side at random and nibbled at it, it would be the correct side. The question was: did he like those odds?

Not really, but he really disliked being the height he currently was, so what choice did he have?

Reluctantly he brought the mushroom up to his lips, so close that he could see the various shades of blue that colored the surface of the mushroom. The edge was lighter than the rest, but unfortunately there was nothing to give him a sign which part to eat first.

Okay, here goes nothing.

He took a dainty nibble. It was surprisingly moist, and not at all day. And very flavorful. The first bite was sweet, t the second savory. This was tastier than he’d expected. Addictive ,even.  Then came a spicy bit, with a touch of citrus…

He stopped eating suddenly and looked about him. Where had these huge green trees come from?

His eyes grew wide. Dammit, those weren’t trees, they were blades of grass!

to be continued

Don't forget to see what the wonderful Wednesday Briefers are up to!

AJ Jarrett    m/m

Nephylim    m/m

Lily Sawyer     m/m

MC Houle    m/m

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

A Modern Twist on a classic tale: Jekyll - a Review

Jekyll  
Starring: James Nesbitt, Gina Bellman, Denis Lawson
Director/Studio/Author: Matt Kinsey, Douglas McKinnon/BBC Worldwide/Steven Moffat
American release date: September 18, 2007
Format/Genre/Length: DVD/Horror/360 minutes
Overall Personal Rating: ★★★★★


Tom Jackman (James Nesbitt) has a bit of a problem. On the surface, he seems to have everything he could possibly want—a beautiful wife, Claire (Gina Bellman) who adores him and a set of twin sons that he loves to death. But Tom’s problem lies beneath the surface. He’s just discovered that someone else is sharing his personal space, and this someone else is more than just a facet of Tom’s personality, he’s an entity all of his own that happens to also inhabit Tom’s body. And he’s a psychopath.


Synopsis:

Tom leaves his family, for their own protection, but doesn’t offer a reason, and takes a sleazy flat where he installs a chair with a wicked containment system, and a psychiatric nurse, Katherine (Michelle Ryan) to help him keep an eye on things. She helps him keep track of the comings and goings of his alter ego, who is basically an overgrown child as well as devilishly charming. He calls himself Mr. Hyde, after the character in the Robert Louis Stevenson story. Tom sets rules for him, and non-obedience has its consequences, primarily being restrained for long periods of time, which Hyde abhors. He communicates with Hyde by means of a Dictaphone which he always carries with him.

A distraught Claire hires a detective, Miranda, to follow Tom, who reports back that he isn’t having an affair, as she feared. But Miranda doesn’t tell Claire all that she’s found out. Claire confronts Tom, demanding to know what’s going on. He traces the photographs back to Miranda and her pregnant partner, Min. He tells her he knows she’s been following him, he’s seen the big black van. While Miranda admits to her surveillance, she tells him he has other problems—she doesn’t own a big black van.

In searching for the truth, Tom begins to wonder if somehow he is related to Stevenson’s original Dr. Jekyll, and that maybe the story wasn’t the piece of fiction everyone believes it to be. All roads lead to Rome, and what he learns threatens the lives of everyone around him, as a hundred year old plot is uncovered. The lines between good and evil become blurred, and it’s hard to tell which side is which, and which side will emerge victorious.


Commentary:

The entirety of Jekyll is six short episodes, which is a travesty. I could have kept watching for a lot longer, I was so intrigued by the characters. But the BBC, in its infinite wisdom, stopped there, for its own reasons. The series was penned by veteran Doctor Who writer Steven Moffat. Quite the pedigree, eh? Interestingly, when David Tennant announced his departure from that long-running series, apparently James Nesbitt was mentioned as a possible replacement, but he declined the role, saying he could not follow in the footsteps of Tennant and Eccleston. But I digress.

This show will pull you in from the beginning, from the first image of the chair in the flat. It’ll keep you guessing and speculating and trying to keep ahead of what’s going on trying to second-guess the truth. But chances are you’ll still be wrong.

James Nesbitt is brilliant as Tom Jackman/Hyde. He plays both roles to perfection, and at times you forget that they aren’t two different men. They look different, sound different, move differently and act differently. Hyde is a hedonist, an amoral child who does what he wants, when he wants, and has no interest in the consequences.  He is also quite charming, and fascinating to watch.

At first, I really didn’t like Tom’s wife Claire, and her poor me I want my husband back brand of sniveling. But as the series progressed, I saw her in a different light, and came to appreciate her as a person. By the end, I saw her as a worthy mate to Tom, and the perfect foil for Mr. Hyde. An interesting side note on the actor who plays Tom’s best friend, Peter Syme – he played a pilot in the Star Wars film, and inspired his nephew to go into acting also, and years later he too played in Star Wars films. The nephew’s name, by the way, was Ewan McGregor.

The acting is superb, the writing quick-witted and fascinating. There is never a dull moment, especially not when Mr. Hyde is around. It’s only six hours long, but it’s a fascinating six hours, and a journey I heartily recommend. In the hierarchy of films that deal with the infamous case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I place this series at the top. If you enjoy this, find the soundtrack to the musical version of Jekyll and Hyde, as sung by Robert Cuccioli. But be warned not to bother with the DVD, for that contains David Hasselhoff in the title role and is to be avoided at all costs because oh my God, he can neither sing nor act. Just saying.

Side note: I find it interesting and sometimes amusing when British actors take on an American accent. I imagine the British feel the same way when Americans attempt theirs.

Of Oscars and Paiche and a new series to watch for

So last night was the night of nights for those in the film industry, time to pass out the beloved Oscars and see whose performance/talent reigned supreme. Well, in theory, anyway. Actually, what it comes down to in essence is what most any contest of its kind does - popularity. Who can garner the most votes. Which doesn't mean the best person will win, by any means. I couldn't watch the Oscars as I was at a convention meeting last night, although I almost would have rather stayed home, but that's another story. I haven't watched the Oscars for at least several years now, the two basic reasons being they are long, and I have lost any faith in them I might ever have had. Perhaps it began the night that Brokeback Mountain lost out as best picture to Crash. I'm not saying Crash wasn't a good film, because it was. A complicated film. But complicated does not equate to better, and I think that BBM had an intensity and a heart that the other didn't have. I own BBM and would watch it again. I can't say that about Crash. I went to the theater to watch BBM with my good friend Gail. Although I'd already read the short story by Annie Proulx, and I knew what to expect, I still cried. That movie has touched me, and many people, deep down. I know of at least one writing career that was inspired because of it.

And yet it lost. Why? There are probably a number of reasons, but I think the big one was that Hollywood wasn't ready to present its top award to a film celebrating the love between two men. Bottom line. Politics played a part and continues to play a part in how these awards are given out. My favorite actor in all the world was finally nominated for one. That would be, of course, Gary Oldman, for his performance in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. He lost out to a newcomer, who had been the favorite. Do I think he deserved to win? Of course I do. Am I prejudiced? Undoubtedly. But it's my opinion, and I'm sticking with it. Am I upset that he didn't win? No, not really. Because when it comes down to it, win or lose, he did an amazing job, and that cannot be taken away from him. The fact that he won't have a gold-plated nude statue to put up on his mantel just means the maid won't have to dust it. Nothing else changes. Certainly not my opinion of or admiration for Gary as an actor, or as a person.

There are many awards out there, most not quite so high profile as the Oscars. Many writing awards. We're bombarded with them all the time. Vote for me, I'm up for ...... (fill in the blank). Some are more well known than others. But they all basically come down to popularity contests. See who can round up the most votes, get their mates together to say that they're the best. That has nothing to do with writing ability at all, and doesn't affect the ultimate truth - how well the writer writes. Neither does sales reflect a writer's worth. Some very fine writers went unappreciated and unlauded until after their deaths. Didn't make them bad writers for it. Doesn't make the winners of these contests better writers.

So what do these contests prove? Heck if I know. All I can figure is they're designed to increased one's profile on the Internet, give the author a reason to crow - for five minutes - and then it's on to the next. So Gary has no reason to be upset that he lost. There are many people who know what a fine and wonderful actor he is. The guy who won isn't necessarily better, but something in his performance struck the voters and they voted. Do I think politics of some kind were involved? That's impossible to say, I've not seen the film involved, though I'd like to. But in years past I know they've played a part, being given to actors who were considered to be at the end of their careers and had never won before, even if they were now winning with a performance that was not as good as the one they should have received one for years ago. I think you also have to consider the loony factor  - the mercurial disposition and temperament of many in the Academy - and then just resign yourself that sometimes there just isn't any rhyme or reason for what happens there.

Same with books. There are books out there that are popular and sell well, but when you look at samples of the writing, you have to ask yourself - why? Because taste is subjective, and sometimes shit does float. Enough said about that.

***SPOILERS AHEAD****This morning, I watched Iron Chef America from two battles ago, being a little  behind there. Challenger Chef Justin Boggle took on Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto. For the secret ingredient, the nimble Chairman went to South America and brought back a prehistoric fish - paiche. Chef Boggle describled it as an alligator without legs. It was huge and damn ugly, and he seemed a bit thrown at first sight. The fish itself did not have a lot of bones, but what it did have were huge, as were the scales. It was interesting to watch the butchering done on the fish at the commencement of the battle.

One interesting thing that the challenger did was to take a cucumber concoction and make dippin dots with it. Luckily, neither chef chose to make ice cream, not sure how well that would have gone over. I try to watch, as the judges evaluate each chef, to see which I think has earned more points with them. I'm usually right, and this week was no exception. I could tell they liked Iron Chef Morimoto better, and the final score reflected that. In fact, Morimoto received his first perfect score in Kitchen Stadium.

I'm excited that this week the new NBC series Awake begins. Awake stars Jason Isaacs, who is probably best known as Lucius Malfoy in the Harry Potter series, among other things. He was a damn sexy Captain Hook in Peter Pan, and he played opposite Jason Clarke in Showtime's Brotherhood, as well as a lot of damn fine BBC productions. I adore the man, I think he's wonderful and sexy and lots of fun to watch, so you know I'll be watching Awake.

And last night, if you heard my squeal of delight, which I must admit was rather loud, it is because I learned from Sarah that Sweet Genius is returning March 15th and I will once again be able to get my fill of Chef Ron Ben-Israel. Oh happy day!

A few of the shows are on temporary hiatus for varying lengths of time, not sure why. Next time I'll tell you about a series that I just started watching which has already won me over, and I've only watched three episodes. Sadly, I think there are just three left. But I'll save that for later. Tomorrow is Sarah's birthday, gotta see what I can do around the house. And think about making a cake. Oh, I forgot to mention, the name of the series is Jekyll.



Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Backlist Friday and a new contest!

Happy Friday one and all! Today we're having another Backlist Friday, another chance to win something off of my backlist. Got something  you've been wanting to read? Now's yours chance! All I ask is that you comment on this post between now and midnight on Sunday, follow my blog, and give me your email address. Simple, eh?

Have at it!

Silver Shorts Week 8: Hearts in Limbo

This week I used the prompt:  "We fell in love..." and came up with my story, Hearts in Limbo. I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget you can download the entire anthology for free at the Silver site. All you need is an account, and those are free too.  Enjoy!

Hearts in Limbo

How the hell did we ever get to this point?

We're sitting together in the lawyer's office. Well, together is a misnomer, especially considering the reason why we're here. We're occupying the same space, but that's about all.

Chaz is sitting on the large burgundy leather chair on the other side of the room. Button's in his lap. Button's our only child. And by only child, I mean our champagne Pomeranian, whom we both adore. The fact that he's sitting with Chaz means nothing; our puppy would never choose sides. He loves me just as much as Chaz does. I mean, as much as he loves Chaz. Freudian slip.

"Kent, you're not paying attention."

I jerk my head up at the sound of my name. Chaz's lawyer, D.E. Fenestra. I swear that his initials stand for dirty and evil. He's pure bastard and definitely out for blood.

"We're discussing the beach house in Malibu."

Ah, yes, the beach house. Lots of happy memories there. I've always loved that place. Without replying, I pretend that I'm studying the screen of my iPad, giving them the impression that I'm researching something important and relevant to this current situation, but in actuality, I'm sneaking peeks at pictures I've taken and stored there. Most of Chaz. So sexy. So sweet.

I remember the time we were on the beach in front of the house, playing with Button, and these two hot guys walked up and introduced themselves, and the next thing we knew, we were all back in our bedroom, getting to know one another in a very intimate way.

That was fun.

Does Chaz remember? I dart a glance at him from beneath my carefully curled eyelashes. He's not even looking at me. Damn.

"The beach house, Kent."

That's my lawyer now. Ms. Donatella Donofrio. Man-eater to her friends. Frankly, she scares the pants off of me. Not that that's hard to do. The only reason I retained her is that she's my best friend CeCe's sister. And she's good. But gruff.

"So, are we agreed?" Dirty & Evil continues, twirling his ridiculous moustaches in a Snidely Whiplash sort of way. All right, I made that part up. He has no moustaches. But I swear if he did, he'd be twirling them.

Donatella nudges me, so that means I'm supposed to say something here, but since I haven't really been listening, I don't know what.

"Um, just a minute," I mumble, as I move to the next picture. The beach party we threw last Fourth of July. Chaz buck naked, holding a snake in his hand. Not a real one, of course, don't be silly. One of those cheap ones that you light and they curl and writhe, extruding a faux black snake body. For when the real thing is illegal. Whatever.

He looks so hot, and I've caught him with the most adorable expression on his face. Like a little boy with his finger caught in the cookie jar. Just makes me want to cuddle him forever.

So, why are we here again?

I glance at him, and he's openly staring at me now. They all are. Button yips, his small pink tongue protruding in a happy pant. Little does he know.

His Daddies are getting divorced.

Ugh, I do not feel well at all. My stomach is churning, and I don't think it's because of lunch, which I had with Cece and her sister. Even though Donatella's presence was a little off-putting, the food was delicious. Pad Thai, with satay on the side. I loved it, but now it's sitting heavy inside of me, and I'm afraid if I don't move quickly, something unpleasant is going to occur. Something neither attorney will enjoy.

I stand, placing my hand delicately over my mouth to stem the rising tide. I know that excusing myself would be the polite thing to do, but I'm afraid that if I try to speak, I won't be held accountable for the consequences, so I simply bolt instead.

Now where was that damn bathroom? Oh yeah, right here.

This building has pretensions of glamour, but its biggest claim to fame is that Marilyn Monroe got divorced here. I mean, met her attorney here, who filed her divorce. At least, that's what I've heard. Right now, I don't really care. Faux marble, or the real thing, it's all one to me, as I find an open stall, and lunch comes rushing back.

When I've done all I can, I sit back on my heels, teetering uncertainly before I lose my balance and find myself sprawled flat on my back. Great. I feel even more ridiculous than I did before.

Looking up, I'm startled to find Chaz standing over me. He looks concerned. Maybe he's afraid I've barfed on his cashmere coat, the one I stole just because it still has his scent on it. I know it's too hot to wear it, but so what? I did, anyway.

He reaches for my hand, further surprising me, and pulls me to my feet. His other arm contains Button, who is trying to get to me, but he has a pretty good grip on him, and his struggles are futile.

Now my humiliation is complete. This is not the way I wish to be remembered. Not at all.

Dammit, don't cry, I tell myself, feeling tears prickling the corners of my eyes. Don't do this, don't do this…

Too late, I've done this. I can feel them leaking down one cheek, then the other. I turn away so he can't see any more than he already has. Besides, I'm sure my breath is beastly now, and I need a drink badly. Water, that is.

I charge for the sink and turn the tap, running water into my cupped hands, which I guzzle. Carefully. Well, as carefully as you can guzzle and not be considered a pig. And oh hell, I'm babbling now.

"Kent…"

He's standing behind me, I can feel his shoe bump against mine. Gucci loafers. Nice ones. We have great taste. Except when it comes to men, apparently.

"How did we end up here?" he asks plaintively.

I raise my eyes to the mirror, stare into his reflection. There's that little boy look again. It goes straight to my heart.

"How did we end up here?" I echo, turning so that I can see the real thing. Why does he have to be so handsome? And so adorable? And why do I still have to want him so badly, despite everything?

"We fell in love..."

He holds out his arm, the one that isn't holding our dog, and I curl myself against him, grateful for his warmth, pressing my face against his vest. He smells wonderful. I've missed this.

We stand there for a long while without speaking, our hearts in limbo, along with our lives.

I'd love to hear any comments or suggestions! 

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday briefs: Dallas in Wonderland #14

Happy Hump Day! Here we are again with another edition of Wednesday Briefs! This week's prompt was:   "...the trial cannot proceed" and the alternative prompts:  lily, dust pan, sugar coated or a close encounter of the (fill in the blank) kind  or Parthenon, virile, slander  or "The purple-headed monster reared its angry head."

It'll be fun to see what the Briefers did!

My story, Dallas in Wonderland, continues this week after Dr. Samuel Levi has struck again - kissed and run! What next? Find out here, then be sure to check out the  flash fiction offerings of the other Wednesday Briefers!

Dallas in Wonderland #14


Grown men don't just shrink, grown men don't just shrink, grown men…

Dallas looked at himself, down at the ground, then back again. Nothing looked different; he didn’t really feel different. He walked up to one of the easels. Placing his hand on top of his head, he moved it toward the canvas, marking his height against it, then surveyed the result critically. No way. He knew he was taller than that. That was about how tall Oz was.

Apparently, grown men do shrink.

Oddly enough, it had only happened after Samuel kissed him. Or was that some sort of ill-timed coincidence? He was feeling small, in more ways than his suddenly reduced stature. Nothing he’d just been through made any sense. This place made no sense. Where was he and how had he gotten here? Why was Samuel here and where had he gone? Why did he randomly drop in and out of Dallas’ life, without any apparent rhyme or reason? Get him all charged up and then leave him frustrated?  And why were the trees orange?

He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. What he was thinking was preposterous. Logic told him so. This had more of the quality of a demented… Dallas snapped his fingers. Of course, that was it! Tangerine trees and marmalade skies…” It wasn’t real—it was all a dream; a crazy, albeit surreal dream.  Certainly the most realistic dream he’d ever experienced. But in real life, people didn’t suddenly shrink, and neither did artists suddenly puddle into watercolors. Or acrylics. And handsome men didn’t simply appear and disappear without so much as a by your leave.

This was undoubtedly a close encounter of the bizarre kind.

Damn. Why did Samuel have to rev his engine up in that way? He’d never ached for someone so much in his entire life.

Well, if this was a dream, might as well enjoy it, if enjoy was the proper word to use. Maybe experience it?

There seemed little point in waiting about for the artists to re-materialize. He thought he needed something other than this now loose-fitting black coat to wear, although it did satisfy the basic decency requirements. He still felt odd, wearing nothing underneath it, not to mention he was almost swimming in it. Was there a psychological significance to that? Did Samuel make him feel like a child in comparison to his maturity?

Dallas shook his head to clear it. He cinched the belt on the coat, feeling less exposed. He idly eyed the palette at his feet. Bending over, he picked it up, along with the brush, and began to apply random brush strokes against the empty canvas. The lines seemed to come together, resembling a very primitive drawing of a fish. He added an eye for good measure, as well as a smile. No sooner had he finished these touches, then the fish seemed to move. It turned it’s head,regarding him, as if it were a 3-D image, rather than a two dimensional drawing. As Dallas gaped at it, the mouth opened and closed several times. Then, before his startled eyes, the fish popped off the canvas, onto the ground, wriggling through the grass.

But fish can’t do that, his logical mind protested. They need water, they need… Well, damn. He guessed dream fish could do whatever they wanted.

For something without legs, the fish moved rather quickly. He tracked its path, watching it as it beelined toward a river he’d not noticed before, with water the color of ripe strawberries. The fish stood on two fins at the edge, turned back toward Dallas and waved. Did he just hear it say, So long and thanks for… No, he surely didn’t.

Curiously, he turned back to the canvas, almost afraid to paint anything else. He had a very stray, very random thought. If he were to draw Samuel’s picture, would Samuel himself appear? Why not? His dream, his way, right?

He pictured Samuel’s face—so very handsome, so masculine, and so damn kissable. Made him hard just to think about him. He loved his long hair. How badly he wanted to unwind it from its tight plait, splay it across his face, and lose himself behind that auburn veil. He wasn’t sure he had the skills to bring the doctor to life, but he sure as hell was gonna try.

He dipped the brush into the red. Might as well start there. Lips set in concentration, he touched it to the canvas, imagining Samuel in his mind’s eye. But for some reason, what he conceived and what he painted were two different animals entirely. In fact, his painting resembled a pair of red trousers. He scratched his head, looking at it, until it burst out of the canvas, onto the ground at his feet. When he picked it up, he found a small tag attached through one belt loop:  Wear me.

Dallas glanced around him. What curious business was this? The material in his hand was soft and warm, as he rubbed it between his fingers. And it looked to be about his size. His new size, that is. What the heck, he could at least try them on, right?

First one leg, then the other. He pulled the pants up, and adjusted the belt, although he didn’t remember drawing one of those, but there it was. It fit as though it were designed for his body. Testing the waters further, he kept painting and soon found himself with a black long-sleeve shirt, matching socks, and black boots. Although fully dressed, he kept the coat, simply because it smelled of Samuel.

Now what?

Following the path the ersatz fish had taken, Dallas neared the red river. On the surface, lilies floated, resembling a painting by Monet, bobbing about on the gentle waves. Hearing a splash, he turned his head. A strange vessel was making its way in his direction.

At the helm, he saw a hippie…

to be continued

Now here are the rest of the Wednesday Briefers - check them out!

  

Sara York     m/m Elyzabeth VaLey   m/f Scarlett Knight     m/f Nephylim     m/m Eden Connor    m/f MC Houle    m/m Until next time, take care! ♥ Julie

On Censorship, Justice, and Irony - and sandwiches!

By now a lot of you know about the escalating PayPal brouhaha. This financial institution has taken upon itself the position of moral arbiter and are strong arming sites such as Bookstrand and others to comply with their fascist demands - or else. I'm blogging on that subject today at my friend Margaret West's blog - if you want join in the fray, go there. I'm going to discuss other things here.

Top Chef Texas is down to the final three, but I've been too disheartened to blog about it since the show before last when two bad things happened - as I feared, Bev was brought back into the competition via the Last Chef Standing showdown. And the chef that was eliminated was Edward. I was so pissed, especially as I felt that Last Chef second chance deal was bogus.Bev was eliminated, she should have stayed that way. But Karma came back last week and bit her in the ass, eliminating her for a second time.  Lindsay won the quick fire challenge and was passed into the last show. Then Paul secured a spot, and it came down to Bev and Sarah. Sarah came through, and Bev's gone and she'll stay gone this time. That leaves the final three - Paul, Lindsay, Sarah. I like all three chefs, so I won't be disappointed, no matter who wins, but I think I'm leaning toward Paul as the winner. In the meantime, I'm mourning Edward's loss. He should have been there too.

A brief Vampire Diaries note - the show is off again until March. I don't really care. I'm sick to death of Klaus and his family, and if it weren't for Damon, I wouldn't care if I never saw the show again. Tired of martyr Stefan - yeah, we all knew that he's being a hardass for Elena. Not that I wanted her with Damon, 'cause I don't. But I want to see him happy. Paradox.

Poor Hank! He keeps getting blamed for stuff he didn't even do! Trying to protect Karen's new hubby by claiming the stripper Richard banged as his own girlfriend just didn't work out so well. Now Karen and Becca are mad at him without reason, and he was forced to agree to read the first ten pages of Becca's handsome but no-good boyfriend's screenplay. One good thing - at least Mia isn't in the picture any more. *quickly throws salt over my shoulder*  I'm really loving the fifth season, things are always happening, and you gotta love Hank Moody, right?

In other news, the Sandwich King is back! The second season of Jeff Mauro's show premiered Sunday, and this season is already off to a good start. In the first episode, Jeff visited a deli there in Chicago, and showed us how to make grilled cheese two ways - one for children, one for adults, along with a hearty tomato soup, and then he made a meat loaf sandwich. Everything looked delicious! All the recipes can be found at the Food Network site, and I for one intend to grab them. I'm glad Jeff's back. I think he's more self-assured in front of the camera, and I really enjoy this show.



**SPOILERS AHEAD**

Things are heating up in The Walking Dead, which came back after a brief hiatus. There is growing dissension, and hard decisions are being made. When Herschel disappears, they find they need him for a girl who's gone into shock, so Rick and Glenn track him to the bar in town, where he's tying on one. While there, two men show up, one of whom is Raymond Michael James, late of Terriers and True Blood. The two draw first, and Rick has to shoot them. Unfortunately, they weren't alone, and they end up taking a wounded young man back to the farm. Now they fear to release him because he might give away their location. Shane is more and more unhappy with the way things are going, and Lori suspects he had something to do with Otis' death. Which he did. She tells Rick that Shane is obsessed with her, and is convinced the baby is his, but that she says it's Rick's regardless. That tells me it might be Shane's and she's just not going to deal with the possibility. Their son Carl is growing up far too fast, seen things he should never have seen. When Shane blurts out about the baby in front of him, he asks that if it's a girl, she be named Sophia, after his late friend.

Out of everyone, the character that is developing the most is Glenn. He's come a long way from the innocent young nerd he was at the beginning of the series, and I think there is a definite chance for him and Maggie to forge a lasting a alliance. I really do not like Lori, and the best thing would be if she and Shane ran off, but I don't see that happening, as she's starting to see him as a psycho. It's a really rough world, and I'm not sure things will ever get better, at least not in the foreseeable future.

Alcatraz keeps on delivering, this week's episode involving Johnny McKee, a guy who specialized in poison. In order to learn something about him, Rebecca wants to talk to the prisoner who occupied the cell next to his - Jack Sylvane. When she wants to go to the prison where he's being held, Hauser stalls, and says he'll bring him to her, which he does. There's a lot that she and Diego don't know about what's going on, but I predict someday it'll come out. It's coming closer all the time. For one thing, the fact that Lucy comes from the same time as the prisoners. They know Hauser worked at The Rock then, but not about her, not to mention she looks the same as she did then. Hauser has moved her from the hospital where she was at to the facility where the prisoners are housed. Rebecca is trying to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding her grandfather, but Hauser seems determined to keep her from up. Keep up the good work.

All for now, gotta get back to editing and writing. I have an idea for an open call at DSP, but I don't want to jinx it by talking about it!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie