The Maid of Don Amparo

THE MAID OF DON AMPARO

By: Diego Cerveza (April 15, 2013)

There once lived a man named Don Amparo who resided in a house often frequented by guests. These guests would indulge themselves in his food and his company before staying the night in one of his magnificent rooms. In order to cope with the various persons who brought with them a most peculiar set of wants, Don Amparo hired himself a maid named Kuting – a woman well versed in the art of cooking, cleaning, and caressing. Of all her lovely traits, it was this last one of caressing that endeared her to him, securing for her a job that would never be under threat.

                Things would have been swell and the pair would have lived happily ever after but alas, like all good women, Kuting had in her a deep and wretched flaw. She had what is known as an obsession with shiny things – not just any shiny object but only those that were already possessed by another. And though in most people’s books she would automatically qualify as a thief, her master only saw her as his kind and faithful servant. True, she would pilfer rings, watches, jewelled mirrors, and other belongings owned by the unwitting guests of Don Amparo but that did not change the fact that she also cooked, cleaned and caressed – who could stay mad at a woman like that?

                And so life continued in this manner without much fuss. Food would be cooked, the house would be cleaned, Don Amparo would be caressed, and items would go missing. At times, the guests would directly complain to Don Amparo of the wretched behaviour of his most trusted employee but he turned a deaf ear and refused to do anything – as far as he was concerned, he would rather lose his guests than lose his maid.

Diamond-April 2013

Diamond photo from Tumblr. Design done with Phoster.

"There was a room where the solid, soft gold of the walls yielded to the

pressure of his hand, and a room that was like a platonic conception

of the ultimate prison--ceiling, floor, and all, it was lined with an

unbroken mass of diamonds, diamonds of every size and shape, until,

lit with tail violet lamps in the corners, it dazzled the eyes with a

whiteness that could be compared only with itself, beyond human wish,

or dream." --- The Diamond as big as the Ritz by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The toughest, most beautiful and expensive gem there is, is April's theme for The Pool Collective. I am pretty excited to see what our writers have in store for us.

An object of desire, love and a testament to the power and beauty of nature, the diamond is probably the closest we could get to having stars in and on Earth. To me, it's the closest and best any human could attain of putting a star on a ring, on a necklace, an earring and many more. But of course, there is a darker touch to it: blood diamonds, child labor, smuggling, drugs, the whole lot that fall into this category.

While TPC can't give real diamonds for inspiration, I know that the object itself will pluck from our writers plenty of stories to weave this month. 

The same rules apply. English short stories that use the theme in any way that the writer pleases. Rules will change through the course of the next months, but for April, there are no changes.

Soon our stories will be up and as we all wait for the shining short stories to come, here are some recommendations written by classic heroes for your reading pleasure: Guy De Maupassant's The Diamond Necklace, Fitz-James O'Brien's The Diamond Lens and my personal favorite (definitely an F. Scott fan) F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Diamond as big as the Ritz.

Keep reading. Keep writing.

Gerard

So Swim

SO SWIM

By Gerard Gotladera (March 29, 2013)

There was always something beyond the pool. And the tall, tall trees that stood guard around it. And beyond it, deep past the darkness I've known and somewhere farther than what I've explored. And it stares right back at you, that something, comfortably darker than the dark itself yet oddly bright that it stands out, impossible to miss...

Eyes...

Cold.

White.

Eyes with a drop of what once was some hue. It disappears when you've stared too long, like a blink or a flash of light or an idea so good, so quickly conceived it leaves the moment it comes to life.

Too fast it disappears that you'd ask yourself if you've truly seen something, anything at all...

...I swam through the lunar blue of our pool, feeling my beating heart nestled safe and warm deep in the recesses of muscle, bone and skin. As I rolled through the surface, looking up and stabling myself on the water, I could still feel and hear it. It had calmed me, this kind of stillness all over, except for the heart. It reminded me for 17 years that despite what could've been-should've been, I still am alive...

...

Girl Dynamite--Poem

GIRL DYNAMITE 

By: Emory Sato (March 29, 2013)

She gives everyone a bit of a fright

With her head full of dynamite

Nobody wanted to be her friend

She wished everyday for her end

But then one day she fancied a boy

She tried to be cool, she tried to be coy

She went to a shop and bought a new dress

Then twirled and swirled surely to impress

But the boy was completely oblivious

Hurt, she didn't want it to be obvious

So she tried again and put on bright red lipstick

This will definitely, indubitably do the trick!

Again the boy showed no concern

She got angry and sad, she wanted to burn

"Burn? Aha! I know what to do!

For the boy of my dreams to finally get a clue"

She searched for a match, put it to her head and lit every single fuse

Her detonator cords hissed and popped, the boy looked amused

With a BOOM! and a BANG! The boy was so shocked

What a brilliant plan did Girl Dynamite concoct

Drowning in darkness, he was actually blind

Oh dear, could life be really so unkind?

"What big and exciting sounds!" the blind boy said.  

But why does it matter now when Girl Dynamite is dead. (by Emory Sato, March 29, 2013)

The Devil's Five-Hand

THE DEVIL’S FIVE-HAND

By Jerry Bachs (March 6, 2013)

            The cool wind breezed through the roof deck, disturbing the calm waters of the swimming pool, snaking through stacks of used plates, bowls, and half empty bottles of liquor and spirit, and almost blowing away the playing cards on the table.  The three remaining people on the table instinctively pinned the cards under their palms, preventing the cards from following the breeze.

            “If they fly off the ledge, it’s a long way down,” said Adrian.

            “It is,” agreed Kara.  “If they do fly off, you’ll have to go all the way down to pick them up for us.”

            “Why?  It’s been an hour since your birthday.”

            “But I can tell Grace to tell you to pick them up.”

            Grace just blushed.

            Adrian gathered the cards and shuffled.  “But why does it have to be me?  Dennis is doing nothing.”

            The two girls turned to look at another boy sitting on a mono-block looking at the city lights.  That boy, Dennis, seemed unaware, or even indifferent, that the people at the table had turned their attention to him.

            “Dennis is cleaning up for us,” Kara replied.

            “Right.  All he’s been doing is emptying bottles.  For a minute there, I thought that he was going home, just like everybody else.”

            “How is he going home?” Grace asked.

            “Who cares?” Adrian said, lighting another cigarette.  “Let’s just play cards.”

            Adrian cut the cards twice, for luck, before distributing two cards each for Kara, Grace, and him.  He then set up the three community cards.

Swimming-March 2013

Stories artwork

What do you get when you combine the idea behind Stories by Neil Gaiman and Al Sarrantonio (an anthology of short stories by some of the best writers around, exploring the concept of theme and genre and producing works so different from each other yet deliciously complimentary) and a quote from my favorite writer, F. Scott Fitzgerald (All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath)?

I'd like to believe that it's The Pool Collective that you get. Taking Stories' flesh and bone--one of my favorite books of all time, and giving it life by way of Fitzgerald gave birth to TPC. Immediately, after the whole eureka moment of just putting together a solid concept for TPC, I knew I had something exciting and worthwhile in my hands.