It's that time of the day again!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
SHARING: L4D2 Yaoi
Sunday, October 31, 2010
STORY: Sneak Peek at "Before the Bucket"
Before the Bucket by Jayne
Buck Donahue had never been a good man.
He lay on his cousin's couch in his cousin's house under his cousin's old, unwanted bedsheets, watching his cousin's living room ceiling fan spin round and round, squeaking and shaking precariously all the while. The repetitive way-oo, way-oo drove him mad, stirring his already-dark thoughts. It had been doing so for a year and half now, ever since he'd moved here from Longstead.
Longstead: what a town. It would always be his favorite. His dad lived there. His wife lived there. All his friends lived there. His mother had lived there, until she hung herself in the kitchen and wound up buried in the Longstead cemetery soon after. It seemed like she was the only one who had ever hated Longstead. The city had changed without her around. Buck had changed without her around.
Buck tried closing his eyes. Maybe that would shake away old skeletons. But tonight was like any other night, and it was another hour before he actually drifted off. Finally at peace, a dream started forming, light blue against the black of his eyelids. The dream started swirling, started spreading, up until the phone rang.
Buck blinked in the night. Above him, the ceiling fan creaked and whined. He took a deep breath and kicked off his covers, heading in his boxers for the kitchen phone.
"Fletcher residence. Who's calling?" Buck said politely, albeit wearily, into the receiver. He had practiced this greeting frequently; Niles Fletcher was almost always out at his auto shop and was therefore unable to take any calls at the homestead.
"Buck?" came the shaking soprano of a woman. "Is that your voice I hear? This is Stacey. Stacey McDonald."
"Well, hi, Stacey," said Buck, surprised he was hearing from this piece of work. Stacey McDonald had been an impressionable, feisty young creature the last time he'd seen her, always falling for the wrong kind of man and never complaining once about it. "What're you calling for?"
Stacey didn't answer for a long moment. The phone hissed a faint static into Buck's ear until he finally heard the lady squeak, "Your father's had a heart attack. He's in the hospital, and I thought you and Niles would like to know about it. They say he's doin'...poorly. Might have another one any time. He's been in bad condition for a few years and never said anything. It's...it's just terrible. I'm really sorry 'bout this." Suddenly, Buck heard the sound of tears.
The news hit him like a bratty kid with a baseball bat and nothing else to do but terrorize the "old folks." Little Remy Hearting had been like that. Remy Hearting had been fifteen years old when Buck had left Longstead. Buck wondered what the kid might look like now.
"Buck? Buck, you hear me? I don' wanna repeat it, really, but--"
"Yeah, I heard you," said the man in the kitchen in his boxers in the middle of the night. "Thanks for callin', Stacey."
"You gonna be okay?" the lady asked, but by then, Buck had already hung up the phone.
The man shuffled half-blindly down the hallway of his cousin's tiny old house, feeling for the doors on the way. When he reached Niles' bedroom, he turned the doorknob slowly and creeped inside to sit on the edge of Niles' mattress. The springs creaked like the ceiling in the living room, and Niles woke with a start.
"Buck? Buck, what the hell are you--?"
"Dad's in the hospital."
Niles took a moment. His brow wrinkled and his jaw hung like his was a dumb animal; then he said, "Well, what the fuck's he doin' there for?"
"Had a heart attack. Stacey just called."
"Stacey McDonald?"
"The very same," Buck replied, staring through the dark at his cousin's only moonlit wall, the wall covered in old family photos from Longstead. There was even a snapshot of Rich Donahue, the man of the hour himself, holding up a fish three times the size of anything Buck had caught that day while out on the lake with him.
Niles scratched his sleepy head. "Well, what the fuck's she doin' with my number, callin' about your daddy at...whatever it is in the morning?"
"She prob'lly got it from Jeanie," Buck answered, staring into the eyes of the dead fish his father had hooked. "You know they all know each other, all know the numbers."
Niles blinked at his cousin, feeling utter concern for him. "Well, what the fuck is she expectin' us to do?"
"I dunnon," said Buck. "But I know what I want to do. I wanna go see my father in Longstead."
Niles shook his head. That was one thing he could not deal with. "Nuh-uh," he complained. "You're not goin' back to Longstead. It's no good for you."
"It's been a year and a half, Niles," said Buck sternly. "And my pa's in the hospital. I got good reasons for goin' back there."
"But, look. There is nothin' you can do for your daddy, if you go there or not, so just stay where ya are. You'll be all the better for it." Niles tried to tuck himself back into bed, but Buck's weight on the end of the mattress gnawed at the back of his mind.
"I wanna see my dad, Niles. They say it's pretty bad; that I might never see him again if I don't go back soon."
Niles didn't move, but his heart started beating faster. "That bad, huh?" he asked.
"Sounds that way."
After a pause, the cold night air pregnant with deep thought, Niles said, "All right, well...you try and get some more rest tonight an'...an' we'll pack in the mornin' to go visit Longstead. That sound all right with you?"
"Sounds just fine," said Buck from the edge of the bed. He'd sat still there, staring at the pictures for a long, long while.
"Are you gonna be just fine?" said Niles, turning only his head to face his cousin.
Buck nodded weakly. "As fine as I can be nowadays."
"Well, that ain't all that fine."
"But it's the best I got to work with."
Niles sniffed some snot back into his nose and turned his head back to rest against the pillow. "Well, all right, then. Go on and get some rest. Sorry 'bout your daddy. He's a strong man, though; he'll be fine until we get there."
"I have no doubt in my mind about that," said Buck, rising at last. He brushed his hands over his boxers, smoothing them out, then headed for the hallway.
"G'night again, Buck," Niles called after him.
"G'night to you, too, coz."
Buck Donahue felt like a zombie by the time he wormed his way back under his cousin's sheets on his cousin's couch in his cousin's living room. All sense of direction had been stripped from him after that one quick phone call. The whole world had changed again, just like it had when his mother passed. Buck settled down until his cousin's crazy ceiling fan and listened to it way-oo him into a restless sleep.
Longstead: it was just around the corner. Longstead: it was just a few cities away. Longstead: it was always right there with him, in his dreams and in his blood.
Chapter One
He lay on his cousin's couch in his cousin's house under his cousin's old, unwanted bedsheets, watching his cousin's living room ceiling fan spin round and round, squeaking and shaking precariously all the while. The repetitive way-oo, way-oo drove him mad, stirring his already-dark thoughts. It had been doing so for a year and half now, ever since he'd moved here from Longstead.
Longstead: what a town. It would always be his favorite. His dad lived there. His wife lived there. All his friends lived there. His mother had lived there, until she hung herself in the kitchen and wound up buried in the Longstead cemetery soon after. It seemed like she was the only one who had ever hated Longstead. The city had changed without her around. Buck had changed without her around.
Buck tried closing his eyes. Maybe that would shake away old skeletons. But tonight was like any other night, and it was another hour before he actually drifted off. Finally at peace, a dream started forming, light blue against the black of his eyelids. The dream started swirling, started spreading, up until the phone rang.
Buck blinked in the night. Above him, the ceiling fan creaked and whined. He took a deep breath and kicked off his covers, heading in his boxers for the kitchen phone.
"Fletcher residence. Who's calling?" Buck said politely, albeit wearily, into the receiver. He had practiced this greeting frequently; Niles Fletcher was almost always out at his auto shop and was therefore unable to take any calls at the homestead.
"Buck?" came the shaking soprano of a woman. "Is that your voice I hear? This is Stacey. Stacey McDonald."
"Well, hi, Stacey," said Buck, surprised he was hearing from this piece of work. Stacey McDonald had been an impressionable, feisty young creature the last time he'd seen her, always falling for the wrong kind of man and never complaining once about it. "What're you calling for?"
Stacey didn't answer for a long moment. The phone hissed a faint static into Buck's ear until he finally heard the lady squeak, "Your father's had a heart attack. He's in the hospital, and I thought you and Niles would like to know about it. They say he's doin'...poorly. Might have another one any time. He's been in bad condition for a few years and never said anything. It's...it's just terrible. I'm really sorry 'bout this." Suddenly, Buck heard the sound of tears.
The news hit him like a bratty kid with a baseball bat and nothing else to do but terrorize the "old folks." Little Remy Hearting had been like that. Remy Hearting had been fifteen years old when Buck had left Longstead. Buck wondered what the kid might look like now.
"Buck? Buck, you hear me? I don' wanna repeat it, really, but--"
"Yeah, I heard you," said the man in the kitchen in his boxers in the middle of the night. "Thanks for callin', Stacey."
"You gonna be okay?" the lady asked, but by then, Buck had already hung up the phone.
The man shuffled half-blindly down the hallway of his cousin's tiny old house, feeling for the doors on the way. When he reached Niles' bedroom, he turned the doorknob slowly and creeped inside to sit on the edge of Niles' mattress. The springs creaked like the ceiling in the living room, and Niles woke with a start.
"Buck? Buck, what the hell are you--?"
"Dad's in the hospital."
Niles took a moment. His brow wrinkled and his jaw hung like his was a dumb animal; then he said, "Well, what the fuck's he doin' there for?"
"Had a heart attack. Stacey just called."
"Stacey McDonald?"
"The very same," Buck replied, staring through the dark at his cousin's only moonlit wall, the wall covered in old family photos from Longstead. There was even a snapshot of Rich Donahue, the man of the hour himself, holding up a fish three times the size of anything Buck had caught that day while out on the lake with him.
Niles scratched his sleepy head. "Well, what the fuck's she doin' with my number, callin' about your daddy at...whatever it is in the morning?"
"She prob'lly got it from Jeanie," Buck answered, staring into the eyes of the dead fish his father had hooked. "You know they all know each other, all know the numbers."
Niles blinked at his cousin, feeling utter concern for him. "Well, what the fuck is she expectin' us to do?"
"I dunnon," said Buck. "But I know what I want to do. I wanna go see my father in Longstead."
Niles shook his head. That was one thing he could not deal with. "Nuh-uh," he complained. "You're not goin' back to Longstead. It's no good for you."
"It's been a year and a half, Niles," said Buck sternly. "And my pa's in the hospital. I got good reasons for goin' back there."
"But, look. There is nothin' you can do for your daddy, if you go there or not, so just stay where ya are. You'll be all the better for it." Niles tried to tuck himself back into bed, but Buck's weight on the end of the mattress gnawed at the back of his mind.
"I wanna see my dad, Niles. They say it's pretty bad; that I might never see him again if I don't go back soon."
Niles didn't move, but his heart started beating faster. "That bad, huh?" he asked.
"Sounds that way."
After a pause, the cold night air pregnant with deep thought, Niles said, "All right, well...you try and get some more rest tonight an'...an' we'll pack in the mornin' to go visit Longstead. That sound all right with you?"
"Sounds just fine," said Buck from the edge of the bed. He'd sat still there, staring at the pictures for a long, long while.
"Are you gonna be just fine?" said Niles, turning only his head to face his cousin.
Buck nodded weakly. "As fine as I can be nowadays."
"Well, that ain't all that fine."
"But it's the best I got to work with."
Niles sniffed some snot back into his nose and turned his head back to rest against the pillow. "Well, all right, then. Go on and get some rest. Sorry 'bout your daddy. He's a strong man, though; he'll be fine until we get there."
"I have no doubt in my mind about that," said Buck, rising at last. He brushed his hands over his boxers, smoothing them out, then headed for the hallway.
"G'night again, Buck," Niles called after him.
"G'night to you, too, coz."
Buck Donahue felt like a zombie by the time he wormed his way back under his cousin's sheets on his cousin's couch in his cousin's living room. All sense of direction had been stripped from him after that one quick phone call. The whole world had changed again, just like it had when his mother passed. Buck settled down until his cousin's crazy ceiling fan and listened to it way-oo him into a restless sleep.
Longstead: it was just around the corner. Longstead: it was just a few cities away. Longstead: it was always right there with him, in his dreams and in his blood.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
SERIES: Eye Candy--Part Two
Eye Candy
11. Taye Diggs
12. Ewan McGregor
13. Goku
14. Chris Pine15. Simon Pegg
16. Drake Bell
17. Alex O'Loughlin
18. Jason Dohring
19. Gary Oldman
20. Scarlett Johannson
Thursday, October 28, 2010
SERIES: Eye Candy--Part One
Eye Candy
(DISCLAIMER: The following is not based on a rating system. The order of names is completely random, like the woman who wrote them here.)
1. Timothy Olyphant
2. Adam Levine
3. Gabriel Macht
4. Jude Law
5. Robert Downy Jr.
6. Joseph Gordon-Levitt
7. Joshua Jackson
8. Hugh Jackman
9. Adam Gontier
10. Light Yagami
(DISCLAIMER: The following is not based on a rating system. The order of names is completely random, like the woman who wrote them here.)
1. Timothy Olyphant
2. Adam Levine
3. Gabriel Macht
4. Jude Law
5. Robert Downy Jr.
6. Joseph Gordon-Levitt
7. Joshua Jackson
8. Hugh Jackman
9. Adam Gontier
10. Light Yagami
Friday, October 22, 2010
SHARING: Chibi Nick
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
CLASSIC JAYNE: Coffee Shops
I'm not big on coffee shops. I've always hated Starbucks and its monopolization of the coffee industry. I mean, I've always hated coffee itself, so I'd only order smoothies and Passion Tea Lemonades anyway. Then I went to Dagny's right around the corner from Spotlight. It's totally awesome, and the smell isn't overwhelming. They have so many options besides coffee. It made me smile. And some lesbian-looking musician started singing about "Dogs Deserve Better" and I was like, "Sure, but could you stop singing about it?" I was with Michael Mejia at the time, and he's pretty much my gay idol. Not, like, my idol for gayness, but like my idol who is gay. He's as wonderful as Dagny's but I don't think we mesh all too well. He doesn't seem particularly fond of me, but I still look up to him. He's a great writer and an amazing actor. And he sings pretty! He's like the gay version of me with big tanates (not that I'd know if you're taking that in the literal sense). Yeah. Bet you didn't see Spanish coming, did you? Well, take THAT. And goodnight.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
CLASSIC JAYNE: New Month
It's the beginning of October, the start of another month here at Stories by Jayne. To celebrate, I would have hired a band of clowns to sing and dance in a Gay Pride parade all across your computer screens, but I don't have the money for something of that caliber. So please enjoy this mediocre blog entry as compensation.
Cheers!
~Jayne
Cheers!
~Jayne
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
SHARING: Phoenix and Miles
CLASSIC JAYNE: ...
You know, I really don't have a topic for this one. I just got online at the library and thought, "I haven't blogged in a while." So I typed and clicked, and here we are. I can't upload any SHARING or LIKE BUTTONS because I don't have any on my flashdrive. Oh, wait. Maybe I do. Something from last year that's very meh. I guess I'll post that. Then I'm out for free ice cream. Yeah, 'cause my birthday was Sunday and my dad got me a coupon for Cold Stone. So suck on that.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
CLASSIC JAYNE: On Sharing and Teh Interwebs
It's just about time for another Classic Jayne, but I really don't know what to talk about here. I mean, lately I've just been working on my story and going to school and rehearsing for a show and goofing off on the Internet. Hence the sudden burst of Sharing pieces. I've found so much to laugh at and to admire lately. But still I'm bored. Why? WHY? I don't know...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
SHARING: IT'S PIKACHU!
First shown to be by a good friend, this has become one of my favorite videos of all time.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
SHARING: Escape Your Mind by Ryan Heffron
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
SHARING: Hobo Companion Cube
Saturday, September 11, 2010
CLASSIC JAYNE: Is There A Ghost
"I could sleep when I lived alone. Is there a ghost in my house?"
Those are the only lyrics to Band of Horses' "Is There A Ghost", and yet it's one of the most captivating songs I know. Interesting....
Those are the only lyrics to Band of Horses' "Is There A Ghost", and yet it's one of the most captivating songs I know. Interesting....
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
CLASSIC JAYNE: Pandora Radio
Pandora Radio is one source of music for me while I write and/or explore teh Interwebs. It's pretty awesome, but they only allow you a certain number of skips per day whenever a song comes up that you don't like. This makes me sad.
Monday, September 6, 2010
STORY: One Green Apple, Please
Sal Smith couldn't find the apples. She stood in the middle of the open-air market and looked about like a lost child. There were stacks of cabbages, carrots, orange, those square watermelons from Japan, but no apples. Sal began to cry.
"Lady," grumbled a man's voice behind her, "why the hell are you crying?"
Sall pulled her head from her hands and sobbed, "I can't find the..." her voice trailed away. She was speaking with a salemas, and behind his desk and register Sal spotted a cart full of apples. Eyes glowing not with a kind of hope unfathomable to anyone who wasn't Sal Smith, the woman floated to the register and boldly stated, "One green apple, please."
"What're you talking to me for?" griped the salesman, resting his chin in his pal and pouting angrily. "I'm not your waiter. This is an open-air market; you get it yourself then bring it to me to pay. Is that so hard?"
"Very sorry, sir," said Sal, embarrassed. She proceeded to circle the counter to pluck an apple herself.
"What're you doing?" growled the salesman.
"I'm getting an apple," Sal answered, bewildered that he had stopped her.
"You don't just go behind my counter, lady. That's rude."
"Oh, then, could you hand me one green apple, please?" Sal asked nicely.
"I'm sorry," grumbled the salesman, "we don't have any of those.
"What are you talking about? I can see them right there!" Sal pointed.
"I'm sorry, those are red, lady. Red."
"No, the ones next to the red," Sal shrieked. "No, not the yellow, the...oh my God. All I'm asking for is one green apple, please!"
"I'm sorry--"
"Augh!" Sal exploded. "For the love of all that is good in the world, that's all I ever hear! 'I'm sorry, we dont' have any tables available.' 'I'm sorry, I've never heard of a trombone.' 'I'm sorry, we don't carry toys at Toys R Us.' I'm cursed, I tell you, cursed! Ever since I waslittle, the more I wanted something, the harder it was to get. When I wanted people to call me Sally, they were physically incapable of doing so and ended up calling me Sal, which I hate. I feel like a man. Or a fish. I'm a man-salmon named Sal with salmonella! Uwaaaaahhhh!" And she burst into tears all over again.
"Woah, calm down, lady," the salesman lulled as if Sal were an escaped mental patient on the verge of lighting a baby on fire. "How 'bout I give you this nice green apple, free of charge, and you go home and take your happy pills?"
"Right," said Sal, shaking. She cupped her hands and accepted the gift, stared at it for a moment, then asked, "Excuse me, could I get a bag for this?"
"I'm sorry, we don't have any bags."
"Lady," grumbled a man's voice behind her, "why the hell are you crying?"
Sall pulled her head from her hands and sobbed, "I can't find the..." her voice trailed away. She was speaking with a salemas, and behind his desk and register Sal spotted a cart full of apples. Eyes glowing not with a kind of hope unfathomable to anyone who wasn't Sal Smith, the woman floated to the register and boldly stated, "One green apple, please."
"What're you talking to me for?" griped the salesman, resting his chin in his pal and pouting angrily. "I'm not your waiter. This is an open-air market; you get it yourself then bring it to me to pay. Is that so hard?"
"Very sorry, sir," said Sal, embarrassed. She proceeded to circle the counter to pluck an apple herself.
"What're you doing?" growled the salesman.
"I'm getting an apple," Sal answered, bewildered that he had stopped her.
"You don't just go behind my counter, lady. That's rude."
"Oh, then, could you hand me one green apple, please?" Sal asked nicely.
"I'm sorry," grumbled the salesman, "we don't have any of those.
"What are you talking about? I can see them right there!" Sal pointed.
"I'm sorry, those are red, lady. Red."
"No, the ones next to the red," Sal shrieked. "No, not the yellow, the...oh my God. All I'm asking for is one green apple, please!"
"I'm sorry--"
"Augh!" Sal exploded. "For the love of all that is good in the world, that's all I ever hear! 'I'm sorry, we dont' have any tables available.' 'I'm sorry, I've never heard of a trombone.' 'I'm sorry, we don't carry toys at Toys R Us.' I'm cursed, I tell you, cursed! Ever since I waslittle, the more I wanted something, the harder it was to get. When I wanted people to call me Sally, they were physically incapable of doing so and ended up calling me Sal, which I hate. I feel like a man. Or a fish. I'm a man-salmon named Sal with salmonella! Uwaaaaahhhh!" And she burst into tears all over again.
"Woah, calm down, lady," the salesman lulled as if Sal were an escaped mental patient on the verge of lighting a baby on fire. "How 'bout I give you this nice green apple, free of charge, and you go home and take your happy pills?"
"Right," said Sal, shaking. She cupped her hands and accepted the gift, stared at it for a moment, then asked, "Excuse me, could I get a bag for this?"
"I'm sorry, we don't have any bags."
CLASSIC JAYNE: Blogs
Blogs are the perfect place to express your feelings about anything. I got one to share my stories, then I had some other ideas, and here I am, rambling on, commas everywhere, trying to figure out how this sentence in gonna end. Oh, hey. There it is. The end.
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