Today's OneWord: Incense

I remembered the smell of incense from my days as a good Catholic girl. The altar server would saunter down the aisle, a limp in his step, and swing the burning bowl about on its chain. My mom would complain, sometimes loudly, about the odor, though not in a verbal way; she would wrinkle her nose and cough just so the priest could give her a look, and she would smile sweetly as if she had done nothing to perturb the Mass at all.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tonight's Poet Corner: Introspection

This introspection is certainly written far earlier than the evening, but starting from early Friday afternoon, I will be without internet until Sunday. I will be celebrating the new year up north with my family, friend, and girlfriend where there are no computers or TV. Which is nice. As a result, there will be no OneWord blog entries for Friday and Saturday. Storyteller will be a day late. I know I intended to post every day, but sometimes life demands a break or vacation from even creative outlets. So once I'm back and provided that my house hasn't been broken into during our trip (yay, irrational worrying), I will be back to posting on Sunday. A lot of things sort of blew up in my face this week. As a result, I'm back to square one in multiple ways. It's injured me mentally and emotionally, and the sting may not go away for some time. Ultimately, however, it'll make me stronger, and I'll take a step forward and continue doing what I'm good at while i...
Read more

Saturday's Storyteller: "Though it had been amusing at first, the mounted deer head's constant quoting of memes was beginning to wear on us."

by Belinda Roddie   Though it had been amusing at first, the mounted deer head's constant quoting of memes was beginning to wear on us. So was the bear skin rug's persistent singing of Parry Gripp jingles. So Ronald took out his shotgun and fired two direct shots in between the deer's eyes before sticking lead between the bear's teeth. When the distant din of shells on wood had subsided, we were greeted with the "Nom nom nom" song. "Ron," I said, "they're already dead." Groaning, Ronald placed his gun aside and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard. As he poured him and me two glasses, he shut out the incessant LOLCats references emitting from the bullet-riddled deer head's mouth. He told me he knew he shouldn't have left the laptop open for so long last night, but he had been rather busy "playing checkers" with his girlfriend. I didn't know why he had to be specific with his girlfriend, bu...
Read more

Saturday's Storyteller: "Nikolai did it."

by Belinda Roddie "Nikolai did it." "Who?" Anton rolled his eyes. " Nikolai," he repeated. "You know how he is. Always getting into trouble." "I didn't do anything!" Nikolai screeched from the other room. "Sounds like something a guilty person would say!" retorted Anton. "Anton," their mother said, "you realize you are accusing your own brother of shooting the neighbor's dog." "Oh. I thought we were talking about the missing cookies." His mother raised an eyebrow. "Who said they were missing?" " Nikolai did it!" shrieked Anton as he ran outside and into the snow. This week's prompt was provided by myself, Arden Kilzer, and Bethany Kilzer, conceived during a walk on Christmas Day last year.
Read more