Tenni Tallis Treasure Trove

[tennica]

Pictures of Memories

There's a face that I see when I close my eyes that isn't the same face I see when I open them.

He haunts me.

I know his smile because I memorized it. There's a look that he gets that I love but he hates, and I know it exists because I remember it. I took a picture of it. He hates that picture. He writes differently when he needs me, and I read that writing again and again, taking his words into me, much like I would take him, measuring his breaths and the movements of his tongue.

When I read his words, I can imagine the way he moved when he wrote them, as if he'd spoken them, because I watched him. I watched him when my eyes were open even while they were supposed to be closed, and now I watch him while they are closed, and I can only stop these images by opening them.

I've had many long nights.

Now I open them and I see someone else's face. A face that I know and love, but a face that isn't his. I open my eyes to watch him while I'm supposed to be sleeping, but he's not there. So I look at that picture.

It was so much more beautiful when it was moving.

[tennica]

Quote #4

Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

She counted and gave back a copper. Her hand was shaking. "Don't mind Yates, he's got a rough manner," she whispered. "He don't – "

He knocked her sideways, sending her sprawling on the floor. Now I knew where her bruises came from. "Shut yer gob," he ordered her. He turned to me and raised his hand.

I blocked his swing with my forearm, though it jarred my teeth. While he gaped, I grabbed that wrist with my free left hand and yanked him toward me over the counter, jamming my right hip into it to steady myself. When he grabbed at me with his free hand, I seized it and twisted so he'd stop thrashing. Then I rested my weight on my left hand, using it like a lever. The problem for him was, it was his elbow on the edge of the counter at the end of my lever. If he moved, I could throw all of my weight on his wrist and see what happened to that elbow, or keep turning his other hand. If he behaved, all that he got was cramps in his wrists and his right elbow, and some shame before those looking on. If he misbehaved, he would suffer the consequences.

Page 256

[tennica]

Points

Timed writing entry.

45 seconds.

Word Prompt: Points.

Type: Story.

Ching. Ching.

The numbers increased on my HUD. "There, that is enough," I thought at last as I dropped the knife. Enough good deeds to win me enough grace points. Thoughts of pure, untainted water and streets of gold filled my head. I can move on, now, I thought happily, looking over my handiwork. The bodies lay unmoving.

Want to give it a try? Feel free to leave your own timed writing in the comments while using the same prompt! I love a creative mind!

[tennica]

Quote #3

Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

Diona went to slap him. I realized that after I'd moved, coming off the ground to grab her wrist as I rose. I held on to her as I stood between them. "You're not my lady," I told her, keeping my voice down so no one else might hear if they were close by. "You don't go slapping people's faces. Shame on you!"

"She don't mean nothin', Beka, don't hurt her." Nilo sounded like he might cry in a moment.

I let Diona go and hugged him. "I didn't hurt her. I remember who I'm dealing with, even if she don't."

Page 242

[tennica]

Quote #2

Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

I scowled at him. I'll never tell him that I like his company. The extra food is nice, of course, particularly at the start of the day. I'd bite my tongue off before I said it, but Rosto is funny.

Very well. The truth, since I am the only one who reads this.

He makes my skin, my peaches, and my other parts tingle in an agreeable way. Naught will come of it. He's clearly meant to be more than an ordinary rusher, which means that one day he and I will be on the wrong sides of an argument.

Page 198

[tennica]

Decisions

Timed writing entry.

15 seconds.

Word Prompt: Decisions.

Type: Story.

At the day's end, I will swoop in and snatch you up with my talons.

At that time, I'll let you decide whether I'm the courageous hero rescuing the damsel or the dashing villain dooming you to a very interesting night.

Want to give it a try? Feel free to leave your own timed writing in the comments while using the same prompt! I love a creative mind!

[tennica]

Quote #1

Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

"Well, you'd best take care of her. I've known her all my life, and you couldn't ask for a better-hearted gixie," said Mistress Noll. "I told her she ought to have let me make dumplings of you years ago," she told Pounce, scratching his ears.

Pounce mewed sad enough to pull her heartstrings. He might have been thanking her for the scratch with his last, starving breath. I glared at him, telling him with my eyes, You're disgusting. Tell me you didn't have a beef supper before I left. He licked his chops as Mistress Noll gave him an even bigger ball of fish paste.

Page 44

[tennica]

The Hero; The Sacrifice

Every story is tainted.

That’s how villains came to be.

The evil ones’ will has painted

The hero’s new destiny.

Some say the hero is stronger,

Or wiser, more skilled than the rest.

His or her life may be longer,

Or they’re better prepared for the quest.

What the readers simply don’t know,

Is a story’s not nearly that nice.

That our unsuspecting hero

Has become the world’s sacrifice.

Never guaranteed happiness,

Expendable but for their goal,

Victims of the world’s real distress,

Through traumas and yellow brick roads.

The villains, no matter their mission,

Would seize a tale, no thought to expense.

The hero, with their own intention,

Is the story’s last line of defense.

[tennica]

Recycled Actors, Recycled Faces

It is so easy to fall in love with characters from your favorite show. I watch BBC’s Sherlock, Doctor Who and several other shows that tend to be absorbing. But it’s always very strange and slightly exhilarating to see the actors from these shows in other movies or shows. Benedict Cumberbatch, while playing Sherlock, plays a brilliant character, full of egotistical charm (or lack thereof), and he has wit sharp enough to leave a lasting cut. However, Cumberbatch also plays in other things, such as the pedophilic rapist from Atonement. The actor who plays Voldemort in Harry Potter also plays as James Bond’s good willed superior. We see these actors thoroughly become these characters, so that when we see them elsewhere, it feels like John Watson has gone on a mission with dwarves to reclaim their mountain or like Sherlock Holmes has become a socially inept, homosexual man who built the first computer for the war.

What if real life were like this? What if same faces were just as common as same names? The person who will fall madly in love with you in college might have the same face as the kid who bullied you in high school. The person who is destined to become your mortal enemy through some course of events could have the same face as your mother.

[tennica]

Overreactions

I was scrolling through shows to watch today, and there were many good candidates. My search ended, however, when I stumbled upon this ludicrous show describing a man whose negative emotions had festered for so long that they solidified into blades that protruded from his skin. It was a silly concept (with similarly silly acting), but it’s interesting to think that one’s emotions could be so easily detectable.

Today, no one makes eye contact with a stranger, and no one can see misery until a person explodes from it. We have expressions, and we use them at our convenience. We don’t tend to use them when they are necessary, however. I started imagining a world where someone couldn’t even fake as simple an emotion as disappointment at a birthday gift, though not through quite as drastic a change as sprouting blades. When a person is sad, if they turned as blue as Sadness in “Inside Out,” they wouldn’t be ignored. It would be humiliating, but, through that humiliation, having emotions would become more acceptable than it is right now. Right now, displaying any emotion is an overreaction.

[tennica]

Eggs

There is something almost parental in the way he reaches for my hand if I walk just a little too far ahead of him. One can see it in the way he reads me his favorite books and how he tucks me into bed before saying goodbye, leaving me the perfect blanket burrito. It's there in how he makes me omelets on the few mornings that we get to wake up together.

Yes, there's something parental in the way he loves me.

But maybe there's something childish in the way I take a skip ahead just to make sure he's still uneasy. Maybe it's revealed when I ask for just one more chapter three chapters later, and how I crawl into bed as soon as I see him reach for his watch. Maybe there's something child-like in the way, after six years, I still haven't told him that I don't like eggs.