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Carmen tried not to look guilty. “I planted a little story seed …” she held up two fingers, very close together, to illustrate her point.

“You mean you lied,” I shot back.

“I didn’t lie, per se,” she swallowed, “I just didn’t tell him the whole truth.”

“You’re an idiot. What do you think lying is??”

“Oh, shut up.”

“That’s like saying, ‘you’re a little pregnant.’ Either you are, or you aren’t. Either you’re honest or you’re not.”

“I like story seed – it sounds better.”

“Seed my foot. You have a full-blown garden.”

“Pass the hoe,” she giggled.

“You need a backhoe,” I snorted.

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Listen to the audio version.

Write up to 100 words, fact or fiction….

This is a themed writing meme hosted by Jenny Matlock. The goal is to write something that does not exceed 100 words (not including said prompt). The prompt is in bold.

“We are so busted.’

“We’re not gonna get caught. Unless you give us away with your ‘Guilty as charged’ look. Think about clouds – anything. Wipe that expression off your face.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve never used a fake ID and snuck into a bar before.’

“Shh! Why don’t you broadcast that a little louder? I don’t think the cops heard you.”

“This is so lame. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I can’t believe I brought you. Do you ever loosen up?”

“I’m a fun person. I just get a little uptight when my BFF makes me do something wacked.”

“Oh my God, that guy is so hot.”

“FOCUS”

“I’m focu– oh my God, did you see that girl’s shoes?”

“My parents are not gonna let me out of their sight after tonight.”

“Relax! Sheesh. Such a killjoy.”

“Are you seriously ordering another martini?? We are so dead.”

“You have money, right?”

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Write up to 150 words, fact or fiction….

This is a themed writing meme hosted by Jenny Matlock. The goal is to write something that does not exceed 150 words (not including said prompt). The prompt is in italics.

Mary thought he looked a little like Tom Selleck, only with blonde hair. She pressed her face a little closer to the knothole in the fence to spy on him.

She thought he had a great chest – all hairy and hard.

Mary thought it would be nice to run her fingers through all of that hair.

She thought …

Laura stopped typing. “Mary, you think too much,” she mumbled taking a moment to proofread her work.

“This is the worse romance story EVER,” she snarled while pounding on the delete key.

She placed her head in her hands and cried.

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Write up to 100 words, fact or fiction….

This is a themed writing meme hosted by The Head’s Office. The goal is to write something that does not exceed 100 words. The prompt this week is in bold.

Freedom threw her favorite sweater into her suitcase at the last minute. She hurriedly closed the lid, but was careful not to make a sound. She was sitting on top, trying to make it close that last half inch when the alarm went off.

“CRAP!” she hissed. She had totally forgotten about the automatic setting on her alarm clock. Sweat dotted her upper lip as she frantically worked to close the case.

“Freedom! Time to get up!” her mother yelled from down the hallway.

She sighed with relief as it finally clicked. Grabbing the case, she ran toward the window.

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Write up to 100 words, fact or fiction….

This is a themed writing meme hosted by The Head’s Office. The goal is to write something that does not exceed 100 words. The prompt this week is in italic.

The three words to use in a story this week are:

• Grace
• Jitter
• Thin

Thanks for reading.

Most people would be embarrassed to go to Disney World with their parents, but not me.

I had snorted a line of coke before my parents had picked me up. I felt invincible. I felt happy and confident. And I definitely felt like I could handle my parents and their sick, happy lives.

“Grace, you look so thin, are you eating enough?” my mother gently pushed a tendril of hair behind my ear as we waited for my dad to park the car.

I smiled. “Yes, mom. I’m definitely eating enough.”

“Well, I hope you’re ready to eat today because they have all kinds of scrumptious foods to eat here.”

I squelched a chuckle – only my mother would say the word “scrumptious.”

My slightly overweight dad came jogging toward us. I squelched another chuckle as I watched his belly quiver and roll against his waistband. “Looks like dad put on a little weight,” I said, my affection softening the blow.

“Oh poo,” my mother waved her hand and smiled at my father. “He’s like a big roll of squeezable Charmin.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

“All right, ladies,” my dad huffed as he joined us. “Ready to get this party started?”

“Of course!” my mom chimed up.

All I could manage was a smile. I was feeling jittery and I noticed my hands were shaking. I always got the shakes after I did drugs. But I wasn’t worried, it usually only lasted a few hours. I figured I could distract them once we got into the park –they’d never notice a thing, they were too wrapped up on being perfect.

I smirked at my thoughts.

They clasped hands and led the way to the gate. I rolled my eyes behind them. I loved my parents, don’t get me wrong, but their public affection for one another always sickened me.

For I knew what they were really like behind closed doors.

“Honey, are you coming?” my mother asked over her shoulder as she dug in her purse for the passes.

“Right behind you,” I murmured. I began running possible scenarios through my mind on how I could get rid of my parents in the Happiest Place on Earth.

_________________________________

Inspired by this Post Secret.

Hi.

Me again. If you haven’t noticed, I’m on a mission to write more fiction. I’m hoping the more I write, the easier it will get and someday, SOMEDAY, I’ll actually get that book written.

I used to participate in Three-Word Wednesday many moons ago. Here I am, participating again.

The three words to use in a story this week are:

• Figure
• Juicy
• Stress

Thanks for reading.

____________________________________________________

“Well that figures. Censorship is alive and well in America.” Sam nearly spat out his disgust.

Dale rubbed his eyes. He could feel another migraine tickling the back of his eyelids. He needed to get rid of this kid and close himself off for five minutes. “I can’t print this and you know it. Where are your facts? This is pure fluff.” He opened his eyes and looked at the newly-graduated student in front of him. “Your opinion is not news, Sam.”

Sam snatched up his report and audibly growled at his boss. “You need to run this piece, Dale. It’s juicy. It will fire people up.”

“You haven’t listed one source. You haven’t given me one concrete fact. Everything you wrote is hearsay. We’re supposed to be journalists, Sam. Journalists are supposed to remain impartial. They’re supposed to report what happened, not what we want to happen, not what other people perceived as happened, but what actually happened.”

“So I’m not supposed to have an opinion? I’m human. I’m going to naturally be biased when it comes to issues I care deeply about.”

“Did you not learn anything in Journalism school?” Dale asked. “Your job is to report the story. Sure. Use a little creative nonfiction to keep people interested, but stick to what happened. You can’t make this stuff up. It’s unethical.”

“My teacher said journalists make stuff up all the time.”

Dale blinked in surprise. He could feel his blood pressure rising. This was exactly why journalists were getting such a bad rap nowadays – because the people teaching the next generation didn’t possess a moral bone in their bodies.

“I’m going to assume that that is taken out of context,” he said slowly. “Also? This is not going to work out. I need real reporters out there covering stories, not activists using my paper as their personal podium. Get out.” He could feel his stress level rising to the critical stage. He was getting too old for this crap.

“You can’t get rid of me. My uncle owns this paper,” Sam said with a smirk.

Dale slowly opened his eyes and glared at the boy. “Your uncle also thinks you’re a pompous ass.”

He watched the boy’s shocked expression with satisfaction. He probably shouldn’t have said that, but seeing the boy’s open-mouthed trout-like face was worth the price of unemployment.

The kid stormed out of his office and slammed the door behind him. The glass wobbled with reaction.

Dale glanced at the clock – it was only 9:00 in the morning. It was going to be a long day.

0 Comments on 3WW: Define Creative Nonfiction as of 1/1/1900

The assignment was: after you have died, your daughter/son will be given the gift of seeing a single five-minute period of your life through your eyes, feeling and experiencing those moments as you did when they occurred. What five minutes would you have him/her see?

Choosing five minutes of my life to share with my boys was really hard. I’ve had so many wonderful moments in my life that settling on a mere five minutes seemed impossible at first. But I thought about it. I patiently inserted slides of my life into the projector and this was the slide that made me smile; this was the moment I knew my life had changed forever.

_______________________________________

“Grab your camera and let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” I asked while grabbing my camera. I didn’t hesitate. I was ready to follow him anywhere. I trusted him. I liked him. I looked forward to spending time with him. I might even have loved him.

“To the lake. Let’s take some pictures. I’ll teach you some techniques.”

So, we left. The day was chilly, but I was warm enough in my jean jacket. I worried that the wind would mess up my hair because I wanted to look good for him under all conditions. I wanted him to be proud of me; his opinion meant something to me.

Which was weird for me. I was confused, but it was a pleasant confusion. My entire body felt like it was standing at the edge of a cliff, my balance precarious, my arms outstretched and grappling for something to hang on to. But I wasn’t scared of falling into this relationship; it was more of an eager anticipation.

We explored the lake that day. We took a lot of pictures – most of them were mediocre, a few of them were even great. I learned a lot about photography, and about myself that day. I felt comfortable with him. I began to imagine my life with him.

We each brought different strengths to our relationship – he brought clarity, determination, motivation; I brought whimsy, nonchalance, and careful abandon. We both shared an intense imagination.

And we laughed a lot.

Though our relationship was still fairly new, it felt like we had known one another our entire lives. There was the initial awkwardness of getting to know one another, but it only lasted mere days instead of weeks and we soon fell into an easygoing, pleasant and fun relationship. We were honest with one another and after several weeks of being with him, I began entertaining the thought of maybe, just maybe, we could live a lifetime together.

They say you “know” when you have meant the right person and forgive me, but I have to agree. There simply wasn’t one thing about him that sealed the deal for me, it was so many little things and then nothing at all. He simply stepped into my world and staked a claim on the plat of land in my heart that was reserved for that special someone.

I hadn’t even known that piece of real estate existed until he came along.

This should have scared me – the thought of committing to one person had always scared me up until that point. But I think because he was able to step into my world so effortlessly, so quietly, with very little fanfare, that it caught me off guard and I let my defenses down, just for a moment, but long enough for the damage to be done.

I was in love.

I realized my feelings as we took turns posing for one another. I felt free to be myself and I enthusiastically alternated my poses: from goofy to sexy all in an attempt to make him laugh and look at me, to really see me as a person and a possible life partner.

Though my feelings had sort of taken off without my permission, I forced myself to think about the reality of our relation

Ready for this week’s prompt?

Your favorite pet jumps up onto the sofa next to you and says—with a rather distinguished accent—”We need to talk.”

So yeah. I started a fiction meme. You can find the prompts at Romantic Encounters. You have one week to write your story before the next prompt appears. There MAY be a prize for the writer who contributes the most within a certain time period. *wink-wink-nudge-nudge* I like being vague.

In the meantime, here is my story. Yo.

________________________

Carly watched her cat, Marlin, delicately sniff at his dinner before swishing his tail back and forth in satisfaction. He turned away from the meal, as if to say, “You’re simply not good enough for me to consume” before casting her a sidelong glance of approval.

She could hear his deep-throated purr of pure pleasure from her position at the kitchen table.

It was only 6:30 in the evening, but it was so pitch black outside that all she could see was her reflection in the window. She lifted her mug of chicken broth and took a cautious sip of the piping hot brew.

She idly watched the white dots of snow hit her window and explode into tiny shards of delicate ice crystals before gently sliding down and out of sight. It was a beautiful, peaceful winter night – she only wished she had someone to share it with.

She exhaled a long, depressed sigh and lifted her mug to take another sip.

A gray and white blob of fur jumped onto the table next to her. She jumped in surprise, spilling a bit of the broth onto her housecoat.

“What the …” Her eyes slid up from the stain and settled onto her cat. “Marlin, what in the world are you doing up here? You know you’re not supposed …”

“We need to talk,” the cat purred out, his voice soft and smooth, like each movement of his body as he crept up on prey.

Carly blinked, opened her mouth and then blinked again. “Did you just talk?”

The cat hung his head and sighed. “Humans are so slow sometimes.” He looked back up at her, the dark black slits in his amber eyes dilated slightly from his agitation. “I need your advice.”

“My …” she swallowed, blinked several more times before continuing. “Advice?”

Marlin’s eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than small, horizontal lines in his face. “Try and keep up, won’t you?”

“Try and –“ she began before Marlin hissed at her. She blinked, cleared her throat and forced her brain to focus … on her talking cat.

Her cat was talking to her!

“Sorry.” She murmured. “What’s the problem?” She felt like laughing. Here she was, having a real-live conversation with her cat. She bit back a smile. This was the most fun she’d had in quite some time. Who cared if it was crazy?

She just hoped no one happened to look in her window and saw her talking to her cat, especially the cute carpenter that lived in the house behind her.

“I’m having feline problems.”

“Oh?” She tried not to act too surprised. She didn’t really know what to expect for her cat to ask her, but somehow, it wasn’t about cat relationships. “I’m assuming we’re talking about a female cat here?”

“Well yes, of course!” The cat hissed at her again and she put up a hand in defense.

“Hey. I don’t judge.”

The cat lifted a paw and waved an exasperated swipe at her.

“Focus,” he said, “we don’t have much time.”

“Why don’t we have much time?”

“Because the f

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Picture, Reflected, Stop.

____________________________________

Have a Seat

“Have a seat, Laura.”

The 5’6 senior shuffled into the room, her head down and her shoulders slumped. She eased into a chair opposite Miss Clara and proceeded to look everywhere but at her high school counselor.

Miss Clara studied the girl for long moments. She was attractive, in a subtle way. She had shoulder-length brownish hair that in the overhead fluorescent light looked like moist walnuts after a fall rain. She had a rather pointed chin, a small round nose and high cheekbones. Her lips were full and well-shaped; she was currently chewing on the lower lip.

“You look tired, Laura,” Miss Clara said after long moments of awkward silence had passed.

The girl sighed and reached up to lightly rub one eye. She was careful not to smudge her eyeliner. “Finals are coming up, who’s not tired right now?”

“Do you know why you’re here?” Miss Clara asked while taking a dainty sip of her coffee.

“I think so.”

Miss Clara’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You do?”

“I graduate in two weeks, Miss Clara. I figured we were going to talk about college, or scholarships, or something.”

“We haven’t talked about that stuff yet?” Miss Clara asked, a note of panic in her voice. She placed her mug back onto her “Counselors Rule” coaster and flipped through her calendar. She didn’t see Laura Daniels’ name anywhere.

“Sure. All of the other kids have gotten called in; I just figured it was my turn.”

“Oh, right.” Miss Clara narrowed her eyes at her calendar and silently chastised herself. How could she have missed talking to Laura Daniels, one of the smartest kids in the senior class?

The girl sank lower into her chair. Her expression drooped, her eyes melted into disappointment. “You forgot about me.”

Miss Clara emitted what she hoped sounded like a chuckle, but what she feared sounded more like a strangled choke. “Of course not. I have you for next Thursday at 2:30. What, you didn’t get the email notice?”

Laura slowly shook her head.

“Well damn it,” Miss Clara said under her breath. Laura cracked a smile at the expletive. “I specifically asked Jason … well,” she waved a hand. “It’s not important. Come by at 2:30 next Thursday and we’ll discuss your plans. Okay?”

Laura nodded and sat up a little straighter and smiled. “I thought maybe you forgot about me.”

“Never,” Miss Clara said and could feel a droplet of sweat roll between her shoulder blades.

“I get forgotten a lot,” Laura said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, never mind.” She cleared her throat. “So, if you didn’t want to talk to me about college, what am I here for?”

Miss Clara blinked her agenda back into focus. She was still a bit unnerved that she HAD forgotten Laura. She felt terrible for her oversight and bestowed an extra bright smile at the girl.

Laura looked taken aback at her counselor’s expression and then immediately became suspicious. “What.”

“What what?” Miss Clara repeated, her smile becoming a bit stiff around the edges.

“What’s going on?”

Miss Clara’s face collapsed back into a normal expression. She stared Laura in the eyes, hoping to seek answers to the question she really wasn’t looking forward to asking her.

Laura stared back.

Miss Clara was the first to look away. “Have you been feeling well?”

The girl sputtered a laugh. “Of course. Why would you ask that?”

“I’ve had some reports …” she paused before starting again. “There are teachers who are concerned about you.”

“Why would they be concerned?”

Miss Clara’s eyes shifted back to the girl, Laura’s eyes immediately shifted away from her counselor.

“You’ve been going to the bathroom a lot lately. And you haven’t been as attentive in class as you normally are.”

“Oh that,” she laughed. “I’ve just been distracted. And tired. Really, really tired…” she said, the last fading gently away in the quiet office.

“Exactly. Are you not sleeping well?”

“Not really.”

“Are you not eating?” She hated that question more than any other question. She had lost track of the number of times she had been forced to ask girls that very question over the last fifteen years of her career.

“Not really.”

“What do you mean, ‘not really’.”

“I haven’t been hungry.”

Miss Clara’s stomach dropped to her pelvis region. “Why haven’t you been hungry?”

The girl shrugged.

“Laura,” she began and the girl held up a hand.

“I don’t have an eating disorder, so don’t even ask.”

Miss Clara couldn’t help it, she sighed with relief. “Then why haven’t you been eating?”

“I told you, I’m not hungry.”

“Too nervous to eat?”

“Not really.”

Miss Clara grit her teeth and thought she would scream if the girl said ‘not really’ one more time. “Laura, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Laura’s eyes skipped over the various items strewn over the top of the counselor’s desk. Her gaze stopped on the picture of a young boy, about twelve or thirteen, with the crooked smile.

“Cute kid.”

“Thanks. That’s my son. Now stop changing the subject and talk to me.”

Long moments ticked by. A bell sounded in the distance and Laura glanced up at the clock above Miss Clara’s head.

“I’m going to be late to my next class.”

“I’ll write you a pass.”

Several silent moments ticked passed. The second bell, which warned the kids they had 30 seconds to get into the classroom or be tardy, pealed shrilly.

“I’m fine,” Laura said, her voice threaded with determination.

“Okay.”

Laura spoke up the same time the tardy belled rang.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Laura looked down at her hands and taking a breath, she blurted out, “I went to Mexico for spring break.”

Miss Clara raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t sure what this had to do with her not feeling well, but she kept quiet, waiting for the girl to continue.

After several minutes, she grimaced, put a hand to her stomach and looked up at Miss Clara. “I … I had something done while I was there.”

The muscles in Miss Clara’s back stiffened and she sat straight up. “Oh?”

“I, uh,” she bit her lip and slowly, inch by agonizing inch, she lifted her shirt to reveal her belly. Three long, angry pinkish/black scars crisscrossed her abdomen.

Miss Clara gasped.

“I … had my stomach stapled so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat.” She rushed on as she noted the color draining from Miss Clara’s cheeks. “My mother, she has been really riding me about gaining weight and I figured … well, I figured I would have this done and I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. I could concentrate on my studies, you know?” She lowered her head and Miss Clara stared in horror at the top of Laura’s head. “But … I think something’s wrong, I don’t feel right, and I’ve been fainting …”

Miss Clara reached under her desk and snatched her purse. “Let’s go young lady.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the hospital, you need help.”

“I can’t get fat, Miss Clara. My mom will kill me. Don’t call my parents, okay?”

“What, are you kidding me?” Miss Clara held the door open for the girl. “I can’t wait to talk to your parents,” she said through clenched teeth.

three word wednesday

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Parallel, Bounce, Mysterious.

I hate writing in present tense. No, let me rephrase that, I ABHOR writing in present tense. But for some reason, this came out in present tense.

Bleh.

_____________________________________

Your Civic Duty

I glance at the clock: 12:10.

I glance outside. It’s a beautiful, sunny day.

I get up from my computer, go into the bathroom and before I can run the brush through my long brown hair, I hear the garage door go up.

I smile. “Right on time,” I address my reflection.

The door opens and closes with a decisive slam.

I pinch my cheeks and with a bounce in my step, I go into the kitchen to greet my husband.

“Hey you,” I say while pressing my lips to his slightly colder lips for a quick kiss. “I sort of thought you’d be home today.”

“Oh? And why is that?” my husband asks me, his arms loosely encircling my waist.

“I don’t know, I just knew it. It’s been a while since you came home. It’s a nice day and after this morning,” I grin up at him, my eyes surely twinkling with mischief, “I thought you would be feeling especially affectionate.”

He chuckles and slaps my rear end. I jump and grind myself playfully against him. “Hush vixen,” he says with a wink. He glances over my shoulder. “Have you gotten the mail yet?”

“And deprive you of that pleasure? No way.”

He chuckles and moves past me to walk to the front door. I smile, life is good today. I open the pantry door to pull out a packet of Cup ‘O Soup. I knew he would want soup with his sandwich. My husband always eats a light lunch and then comes home ravenous for dinner.

It’s just his way. It’s our routine.

I tear open the packet and pour the contents into the soup mug. I’m adding hot water from our water cooler when I hear the front door slam and my husband teasing me loudly.

“Oooh, someone got some mail today.”

“Oh?” I respond, not overly interested because really, what kind of mail do I receive? Magazines and pleas to open my book membership back up again, that’s what I get.

The book club misses me. Or so they claim.

“Oh yeah. You got some mail all right.”

I finish stirring his soup and place it on the bar, next to the keyboard, because I know he will want to listen to Rush Limbaugh on his computer.

“I’m thinking, by the tone of your voice, that I’m not going to exactly like this particular bit of mail.”

“I’m thinking you’re right,” he responds and tosses the envelopes onto the counter next to me. He moves to insert two pieces of bread into the toaster.

I avoid looking at the mail and instead, move to the fridge to take out some deli chicken and sliced cheese.

He doesn’t care for condiments on his sandwiches, this husband of mine.

“Aren’t you going to look?” he asks, his head tilted at an adorable angle, his eyes bright, his smile mysterious.

“No.”

“No?” he laughingly repeats. “Aren’t you curious?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“I’ll give you a hint -” he begins.

“How about if I just throw it away?” I cut in, the tone of my voice sounding brave, but I’m nervous on the inside. He may have only been teasing, but I sense that I truly won’t like … whatever it is.

“Oh,” he instantly sobers, “I wouldn’t do that. You’d most likely get into trouble.”

Now I definitely know I’m not going to like it. I place a paper plate on the bar and take a moment to marvel at the fact that though I feel shaky on the inside, my hands are steady.

He nabs the toast as it pops up and walks over to the bar. Tossing the toast onto the plate, he grabs two legal sized envelopes from the stack and places them so they are parallel with one another.

“Pick a card,” he jokes.

I inwardly sigh and scoop the bread crumbs that have fallen onto the counter from his toast and into my hand.

“Have to?”

“Yes,” he says, a little too firmly.

I shoot him a dirty look and reach for one. Slowly, I turn it over. It takes a split second for it to register on my brain and when it does, I smile and relax somewhat.

“You big dope, it’s a check from one of my clients!”

“Oh, that IS a bonus,” he says while taking the envelope from my fingers. “I didn’t even know you got this. I must have skipped it.” He tosses the envelope down with a small, satisfied nod and then shifts his eyes down to the other envelope before he looks back at me. “Next.”

I grit my teeth and pick up my last piece of mail. The envelope is thin and feels weightless. Slowly, I turn it over and notice that my name appears in the oblong window. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to see my husband’s name there instead. We’ve done that in the past, gotten our mail mixed up because our first names are so similar.

I stare at the typed letters of my name. I notice there is a bit of color just to the upper left of the window. And I know I am avoiding looking at the return address.

My husband finishes making his sandwich and sits down. He takes a bite and crunches loudly. He is waiting for my reaction. That makes two of us.

When my eyes finally lift to see who has sent me the letter, I mutter a harsh oath under my breath.

My husband chuckles, swallows the mouthful of sandwich and says between partially closed teeth. “Man, they must LOVE you down there.”

“I can’t believe this!” I wail and tear open the envelope. “How many times does this make now?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you’ve been picked more than I’ve been.”

I jerk the heavy paper out of the envelope and open the tri-fold. I scan the contents and then look at the calendar. “April 28th,” I spit in disgust. “Nine o’clock April 28th. That’s Monday morning. I have to take the kids to school. I can’t do this.”

My husband shrugs and quickly loses interest in the joke. He begins to click his mouse, searching for his favorite news site. “So, write an excuse.”

I’m tempted. I’m oh so tempted. After all, I have used the kids to get out of my duty the last three, or was it four, times. They had been little. And there was no one else to take care of them back then.
But now that they are in school, and are old enough to take care of themselves, I really didn’t have an excuse. And I knew I couldn’t use them anymore, I wouldn’t feel right.

Besides, it was my civic duty.

I release a long sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.” I grab a pen, check the appropriate box, print, then sign my name and seal it up to mail back.

I plop down on the bar stool next to my husband and put my chin in my hands. This was going to suck. This was going to totally suck.

“So,” I say, staring straight ahead. “How does this work?”

“How does what work?” my husband answers, his eyes are glued to his monitor, his voice is distracted and sounds far away.

“How does this whole jury duty thing work?”

My husband turns to look at me. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Slowly. Very slowly.”

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Glass, Question, Token.

I’ve had high school reunions on my mind a lot lately. Probably because my 25th high school reunion is coming up (!!).

So naturally, here’s what I came up with:

_____________________________________

Growing Pains

Theo held up his glass and flashed a grin at the people sitting at the table around him. “And here’s to Patsy,” he paused to swallow, “the biggest surprise from this whole reunion!”

The other classmates all lifted their glasses and saluted Patsy, who ducked her head and chuckled self-consciously.

“Oh, cut it out, guys. I haven’t changed that much.”

Theo sputtered a laugh and nudged the skinny man on his left. The movement caused the man’s glasses to slide down his nose. He blew out an impatient breath and pushed them back into place, his movements automatic and precise. “What are you kidding me?” Theo said with a grin. “If you looked HALF this hot in high school, I would have totally hit on you.”

Patsy’s face turned a pleasant shade of rose and she smiled at the woman on her right. “Actually, he did hit on me in high school.”

The dark-haired woman, whose hair was pulled back so tight her eyes were the shape of a tear-drop on its side, choked and coughed on her drink before succumbing to a fully developed laugh.

“AND,” Theo continued, obviously not hearing Patsy’s comment, his words slurred and thick with moisture, “to show my token of appreciation for your new, hot body, I’m going to ask you out. Dinner, tomorrow night, my place.” He winked to the table at large as if sharing a big, fat joke. He was too drunk to notice the various expressions of those around him.

The skinny man on Theo’s left was Stanford Brown. He had always been the class genius, the guy to bribe to do your algebra homework. For a measly $5.00, students could purchase the day’s problems. Even though teachers tried their best to catch students in the act of buying homework from Theo, he had never been caught. It was rumored he had earned enough money to go to space camp after high school. Theo was currently working for Microsoft and the word was he was on the verge of breaking ground on a revolutionary gaming system. He pushed his glasses more firmly onto his face and dutifully ignored Theo’s crass behavior.

The woman next to Stanford was the woman with the tightly bound hair, Fran Clark. Fran had been the tortured soul in class. She had worn dark clothing all the time, and a long charcoal gray leather trench coat with a hole in the elbow, even at the beginning of the school year when it had still been 90 degrees outside. She had dyed her hair so black that she had blended with the shadows and would have disappeared entirely if it hadn’t been for her milky white skin. She was now the CFO of a fashionable clothing chain. She simply stared at Theo – her face entirely devoid of expression.

The man sitting next to Fran was Vance, Fran’s husband. He hadn’t said much since the party began and kept a suspicious eye trained on both Fran and Theo. He was a large man with biceps so big they strained against his suit jacket. There was just a hint of a tattoo, a spider web perhaps, peeking just over the collar of his black silk shirt. His small, hard, brown eyes remained fixed on Fran as he studied her every movement.

Next to Vance was Patsy. She was a petite brunette with small breasts and big hair. Kids used to make fun of her because she was about three sizes larger in high school, had a face full of ugly pimples and so many braces in her mouth her lips never really fully closed. She wasn’t overly bright, but not terribly stupid either and could always been seen popping jelly beans into her mouth. She was now the owner of a popular beauty salon and it was rumored that she was on the hunt for husband number three. She sat up a little straighter and seemed to bloom under Theo’s attention.

Sitting next to Patsy was Carmen, Theo’s girlfriend. She was a tall, skinny, yet delicate looking woman with long, curly blonde hair. She smacked her gum loudly and had a habit of tossing her hair back every three point five seconds. She also had the annoying habit of looking just to the right of your face whenever she talked to anyone. She continued to chew her gum and examine her nails, neither bothered, nor interested, in Theo’s blatant flirtation with Patsy.

And then there was Theo Walker. The class clown, jock, brain and rich kid, the guy who everyone had dubbed, Mr. Perfect. Nearly every girl in high school had been in love with him, which he knew, and took advantage of at every turn. He made a game out of breaking up friendships and relationships just because he could. Many a fight had broken out because of Theo’s meddling antics.

“Sure Theo,” stammered Patsy. “I’d love to go out with you.”

“One problem,” Carmen said without glancing up from her bright purple nails. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Whoa.” Theo said, now ignoring his tablemates and staring at a beautiful woman crossing the room, her long reddish/blonde hair swaying gently. “Is that who I think it is?”

Fran turned around in her chair to see who he was talking about. She snorted in disgust and faced her tablemates with a scowl. “Megan.”

“Megan Adams,” Theo echoed, his voice sounding wistful.

“Oh my God, tell me you don’t STILL have the hots for Ms. Rah Rah,” snarled Fran while rolling her eyes at her husband.

Theo didn’t answer her and instead, stumbled out of his chair and walked over to her. Various conversations began to dissipate as he approached Parkview High’s class of ’88’s most popular girl.

Theo tapped Megan on the shoulder and flashed his charming grin, the same grin that had melted so many girls’ hearts back in high school. “Hey Megan.”

Megan stopped in her tracks and the tablemates could see, even from their distance from the pair, Megan’s shoulders tense. She lifted her head and slowly turned to look Theo in the face. “Well, if it isn’t Theodore Walker.” She studied him for long moments, her faded blue eyes bold and confident.

Her direct look threw Theo off stride and he stuttered his discomfort. “I…in the … flesh. Wh… where have you been all …my l…life?”

Megan wrinkled up her nose and waved her hand in front of her face. “Good lord Theodore, have you been drinking? Or is that your natural breath I smell? I always remember your breath smelling like boiled cabbage.”

A smattering of chuckles littered the vast room at her statement and Theo went into defensive mode. His eyes narrowed and his back went ramrod straight. Patsy could see his jaw working from clear across the room. “So Megan, I have a question …”

“Save it pal.”

All eyes turned to the balding man with a sharp goatee that had materialized next to Megan. Theo’s eyes remained fixed on Megan and he ignored the man.

“Theo, this is Rod, my husband,” Megan began, but Theo interrupted her.

“Why was I the ONLY guy you didn’t sleep with in high school?”

“Listen punk …”

“Theo,” Megan interrupted her husband, her voice as sharp as a piece of sheared metal. “You’re drunk. I refuse to stand here and take this crap from somebody I could care less about.” She sniffed, turned away from Theo and began to walk away.

Theo grabbed her arm, only his hand got tangled in her long hair. “Hey! I’m not through talking to you, yet.”

“Oh yes you are,” Rod said gruffly and jerked Theo away from Megan. The action pulled Megan’s head sharply and before anyone could blink an eye, a cascade of reddish/blonde hair floated gently to the floor.

A shocked gasp reverberated across the conference room.

Theo stumbled back and began to laugh, the sound nervous and uncertain. “My God, Megan. You’ve lost your hair. Shit girl,” he stared at her, his eyes wide and glazed over with shock. “You’re freaking bald!”

Megan snatched her hair off the floor and clutching the wig in her fist leaned in close to Theo, but said loudly enough for the entire room to hear, “I have cancer, asshole!” She frantically pushed Theo out of her way and quickly exited the room.

Theo tripped over the back of a chair and landed flat on his back.

Rod shot him a death glance before calmly stepping over Theo’s body. He followed his wife out of the room looking neither left, nor right.

No one bothered to help Theo up.

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Money, Tangled, Understood.

This was inspired by a very bad idea.

Here’s what I came up with:

_____________________________________

Just You and Me, Once Again.

Greg wrapped his palms around his coffee cup. He was eager to steal its warmth – his entire body was numb with cold. He still couldn’t believe everything that had happened in the past 24-hours. How could one man’s life go from gold to crap is so little time and with so little warning?

He brought the cup to his lips. He paused to allow the steam to momentarily warm his mouth before taking a cautious sip. His light green eyes scanned the bookstore crowd with little interest. So many aimless shoppers killing time and looking for … what? Information? Distraction? Happiness? The meaning of life?

He snorted in disgust at his thoughts and mumbled under his breath, “The meaning of life.” He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee before mumbling again, “Don’t get engaged. Ever.”

One of the four glass doors to the store opened and caught his eye. He glanced over at the attractive woman who walked in. She paused just on the threshold and began scanning the patrons, one by one. Her brown hair, tinged with reddish streaks, glistened with moisture under the lights and was gnarled and tangled from the wind. His eyes shifted to the oversized windows in the café, the day had darkened and small beads of moisture dotted the window.

It was raining. How appropriate.

He turned his attention back to the woman and waited for her to glance in his direction. She would find him; she had a knack of always finding him.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to talk about what happened yet. He still hadn’t fully come to terms with it himself. Perhaps if he kept quiet, he could pretend it simply hadn’t happened, that everything was right with his world, that Tara was still a part of his world.

He sniffed and was surprised to feel moisture in his eyes.

“Geez, buck up man.” He cleared his throat a second time, the sound reverberating off the pocket of silence that often happens in a room full of people.

The woman glanced in his direction.

Though he didn’t look directly at her, he sensed her intelligent, piercing hazel eyes on him. He lifted a hand that felt like lead to indicate he was aware of her presence and to signal his position.

His eyes remained fixed on the dismal scenery outside.

Blair would tell him she tried to warn him. She would gloat, she would chastise, she would scoff.
He suddenly wasn’t sure calling his oldest, and best friend, was such a good idea.

He knew she was near just by her sweet, honeyed scent. His senses welcomed the change from the stale coffee aroma.

“So,” Blair said while pulling back the chair opposite him and gracefully sliding into the small space. “What’s going on?” She placed her damp bag on the floor by her feet and impatiently swiped at the light sheen of condensation on the sleeve of her overcoat.

“Not much, what’s going on with you?” He tried to curve his lips into a smile, but knew it probably looked twisted and a tad insane.

“Well, that’s a scary expression,” she said with a smirk. “And stop trying to be cute, it’s annoying.”

He sighed and shrugged. “Life sucks, is that what you want to hear?”

“Tell me.” She crossed her legs, clasped her small, delicate hands on her lap and regarded him with expectation.

“One thing first,” he said. “You must promise me you won’t say, ‘I told you so.’”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then you’re wasting your time because I can’t hear that right now, Blair.”

She expelled a long, pent-up breath and looked around the café. “I’ve never understood how people can get any work done here,” she said while nodding to a trio of people bent over their laptops. “Who can concentrate with all of these distractions? I’d be too busy watching that elderly couple over there pretending to read but actually watching everything and everyone around them. Or that woman over there pretending to ignore the fact that her little girl is writing on the table. Or that barista over there who just blew her nose and then didn’t wash her hands first before making that customer’s coffee. Ew … so much for ordering anything.” She wrinkled her slightly crooked nose in distaste.

“Are you done?”

“Are you ready to spill the beans?” She looked calmly back at him. Her brows were lifted, her expression tolerant, yet impatient.

“It happened exactly as you predicted it would.”

“I told you she was not the woman for you.”

“Yeah well, I thought you were just jealous.”

Her perfectly plucked brows rose a notch. “I’m not jealous.”

He gave her a tired look before lifting the lid of his coffee cup. He gave the liquid a swirl or two before lifting his eyes back to her. “We both know that isn’t true.”

She huffed and waved a hand. “Whatever. Continue with your pathetic story.”

He suddenly straightened his back and stretched the sore tendons housing his ribs. “So, I bought the ring. Twelve thousand dollar ring, I might add.”

This information was rewarded with a faint look of respect. “Nice,” she mumbled. She again flicked her wrist at him. “Keep going.”

“Yeah, quite a chunk of change. I hadn’t planned on spending that much money, but you know, this ring seemed just perfect for her and it was the shape …”

“Spare me the gory details. I could care less what’s perfect for little Miss Gold Digger. Did you also buy the other ring like I told you to?” She narrowed her eyes at him. Her body had tensed and he knew she was waiting to pounce on him at the slightest deviation from the plan.

“Of course. Though I just about didn’t. I mean, how asinine of a plan …”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. “I guess if you could call what happened working, then yeah, it got the reaction you predicted.”

“Start from the beginning, leave nothing out.”

He absently toyed with the cup in his hands and quickly ran the whole episode through his head, only in reverse, like rewinding a scene from a movie on a DVD player.

“Give me that.” She took the cup from his lifeless fingers and without a second thought, took a long swallow. “I’m dying for caffeine and there’s no way I’m ordering anything from this germ hole.”

He shifted in his chair and leaned a shoulder against the iron railing next to the table. He could point out that she was not only drinking the café’s germs, but his as well, but he knew he’d just get a lecture and he wasn’t in the mood for any more grief.

“She met me for lunch yesterday,” he began. “You know, it was a nice day so we asked for a table outside. She thought I was a little crazy for taking a helium balloon in with us, but you know, whatever, right? I had been hinting around for weeks now that I might pop the question so she was sort of expecting something to happen. Anyway,” he ran a hand over his chin heavy with stubble, had he shaved that morning? He couldn’t remember. “We sat down, talked for a bit …”

“What did you talk about?” she interrupted before taking another long swallow of coffee.

“What difference does that make?”

“I’m curious. Indulge me.”

“She talked about work and …”

“And?” she prompted.

“Her stupid landlord and how her car is acting up again and …” he paused. He knew what she was going to say. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Did she ask how your day had been? What you had been up to?”

He grimaced. “No.”

She snorted in satisfaction. “Thought so. Self-centered bitch.”

“Hey,” he objected, but his heart wasn’t really into arguing that valid point at the moment.

The woman with the little girl snapped her head up upon hearing Blair’s expletive and quickly gathering her things together, she hustled the child out of the café.

Blair shrugged and without taking her eyes from Greg, nodded for him to continue.

“So, we ordered,” he said, deciding to ignore her self-righteous attitude, for the moment. “And after the waiter left, she finally asked what was up with the balloon.” He licked his lips. “I went down on one knee, felt like an ass, by the way, and proposed. I told her all about the beautiful ring I had bought, how much it had cost, the whole nine yards. Then I said if she said yes, she could pop the balloon and get her ring. You know, pop the question, pop the balloon?”

Blair’s lips quivered into a small grin. “Yeah, I know. I came up with the idea, remember?”

Greg saw her small grin and raised her a smile. “You should have seen her face. She couldn’t have BEEN any more shocked. Of course, she said yes, but before she could pop the balloon, I let go.”

Blair’s suppressed smile turned into a full-fledged chuckle. “Then what happened?”

“She totally freaked. She made a grab for the balloon, even got up on the chair and tried to snatch it before it took off.” He shook his head. “It was quite something. When she realized she had failed and the expensive ring was floating off, she totally lost it. She started screaming about what a stupid idea that was and how could I be so irresponsible to lose such an expensive piece of jewelry and …” he paused to allow his heart to absorb the next part, “and she said, in front of everyone present, that there was no way in hell she was going to marry me unless I replaced that ring. And then … she just stomped off.”

Blair nodded. “I’m sorry, Greg. I truly am.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and shrugged. “Hey, better to find out what she’s like now than afterward, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied quietly.

Greg reached into his pocket and took out the real ring he had bought. He flicked open the lid and showed it to Blair.

She gasped and gingerly touched it. “You have good taste.”

“Only in jewelry, apparently.” He snapped the box closed and tucked it back into his pocket. “I have to say, Blair, when you first suggested this test I thought you were insane. I mean, I knew Tara liked her expensive things, but hell, I never suspected she was that materialistic.”

“I know. And I’m sorry to put you through that, but I love you, Greg. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you being chained to a gold digger the rest of your life. I knew the moment I met her …”

He lifted a hand to stop her. “Let’s not go down that road again, okay?”

She nodded. “So, now what?”

He studied her for long moments before breaking eye contact. “I guess it’s just you and me again.”

Blair’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Yep. I guess you’re right.”

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Apartment, Began, Numb.

This was also inspired by this prompt.

Here’s what I came up with:

_____________________________________

The Doctor is Human After All

I felt numb and cold. I rubbed my arms up and down and glanced around the sterile examination room. Various molds of intimate female parts lined the countertop, along with a box of tissues, disinfectant, a paper towel dispenser and a box of latex gloves. My eyes quickly skipped over the gloves and landed on the waste basket tucked into a hole under the counter top, the huge red triangle stating it was for hazardous materials only seemed to pulsate under the fluorescent lights.

I swallowed and shifted on the uncomfortably hard bench. I sat up a little straighter and tried to pull the impossibly small, and thin, paper gown around my breasts. Even tugging as much as I dared, without ripping the material, still left a sizeable gap.

I slumped forward, feeling self-conscious and awkward, and tried to make myself as small as possible. This only served to bring the metal stirrups in plain view and wincing at a visual of the upcoming exam, I quickly shifted my eyes to a poster of a kitten on the wall; the words “Have a Nice Day,” seemed to openly mock me.

I could hear a shuffle of feet outside my room and then a soft clunk as someone removed my chart from the plastic holder attached to the door. I stared at the door handle as I frantically pulled the gown in closer to my body; the sound of rustling papers as the doctor went through my chart making my nerves jump sporadically.

Suddenly, the door handle slowly began to turn and every muscle in my body tensed. As the door swung inward, my teeth began to click together.

“Good morning, Ms. Ward. Are you cold?”

I felt a nervous bubble of laughter tickle the back of my throat – who wouldn’t be cold dressed in nothing more than tissue?

“A bit,” is all I managed and watched as he made a note on my chart, placed it on the counter and then turned to me.

I gave him a wan smile.

“So, we’ll just wait for the nurse to show up before we get started.” I flinched as he reached around me to press a button near the door.

He crossed his arms, and regarded me with dark, smoky eyes. “Things have been good? I think the last time I talked to you, you had just moved into a new apartment. How is that working out for you?”

I blinked. He remembered that?! “Um,” I swallowed. Seriously, how common is that? He must have had, what, 500 patients? How is it that he can remember something about me that I told him nearly twelve months ago? “It’s going well. I’m lucky enough to live by some really nice neighbors …” I paused. All color had drained from his face and his lips were an alarming shade of lavender.

“Are you,” I started to reach out to put my hand on his arm, but thought that wasn’t appropriate and placed it gently back onto my lap. “Are you alright? You look awfully pale.”

Dr. Conduff ran a hand through his reddish-blonde hair and released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to alarm you, or anything …”

Alarm? I hadn’t been alarmed until he said that. Was he about to give me some bad news? I hadn’t been sick, at least, not that I recalled. I quickly ran through the past several months in my mind. I couldn’t think of one thing out of the ordinary that could prompt such a distressed look on Conduff’s face.

But that didn’t mean there WASN’T something wrong. Perhaps it was internal. Perhaps I was sick on the inside. Oh my God, perhaps it was … I could feel a cold sweat break out on my brow, perhaps it was cancer. But how would they have known that? I hadn’t been in for an exam in almost a year. Surely, if they had found something back then, they would have told me?

I continued to stare at Conduff, without really seeing him. The only thing they had done to me since I had been here was take a urine sample and draw a little blood.

I gasped. Did my blood tests reveal something? My lower lip began to tremble and I bit it in an attempt to quell my panic. “Wh…what do you mean?” I croaked out and was a bit surprised that the voice that came out of my mouth was mine.

Dr. Conduff collapsed onto a nearby chair and patted my knee. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to frighten you. This has nothing to do with you. It’s just …” he breathed in deeply before continuing. “I just had some pretty upsetting news right before I walked in here and though I thought I had it under control, well,” he looked away and I could see tears in the corners of his eyes, “I guess I don’t.”

I sat there and twiddled my thumbs and felt tremendous relief that whatever was wrong, it had nothing to do with me. I was fine. I would be fine. I consciously relaxed my shoulders and we continued to sit there in silence save for the loud ticking of the square, black clock on the wall.

Conduff leaned forward and placed his head into his hands. He looked so dejected, so defeated, that I was afraid of moving for fear of breaking him completely. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement. What now? This was the same man who had delivered my three children. The same man who never once raised his voice, had a hair out of place or acted stressed in the least.

I glanced at the clock. Even though it had only been about a minute since Conduff had signaled the nurse, it felt like hours. And I was getting colder by the minute. I continued to study him. His hands were clasped and dangling between his legs and he was staring at his black tennis shoes. He reminded me of my middle son, the one who never quite lived up to his brother’s achievements and my heart softened.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He slowly glanced up and smiled. It was a gentle, slightly self-depreciating smile, and he shook his head. “I’m all right, really. I just needed to have a quiet moment. Things will work out, they always do, right?’

I nodded, for truly, what else could I do?

“I just have to accept the fact that I can’t save everyone. Even though I damn well try.” He issued a dry chuckle and the door opened. “Wonderful. Sally’s here. Let’s get started.”

I smiled at Sally and assumed the position. It was very hard to relax knowing that my doctor was distracted, that though he was physically present, his mind was not. This was how mistakes were made, costly mistakes. I stared up at the silly poster on the ceiling and tensed.

The examination was even more uncomfortable than usual.

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Rest, Sidewalk, Twice.

This was also inspired by this prompt.

Yes, I’m a day late with this, shush.

Here’s what I came up with:

_____________________________________

A Puzzling Message

“Hey Cal,” Donna called out, her voice sounding wobbly and confused.

An answering grunt came from the large man across the table from her.

Donna, quite used to her husband’s guttural responses, continued. “Have you ever heard of someone’s name being in a crossword puzzle?”

Cal shrugged and without glancing up from his breakfast plate, continued to shovel forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

She continued to stare at the paper in front of her. “I mean, I’ve been doing crossword puzzles for, well, all my life, and I don’t recall coming across a proper noun before.”

“Whatever. You’ve had proper names in your puzzles before,” Cal responded, small bits of food shooting from his mouth.

Donna nodded twice. “Yes, but I’ve never run across my name before.”

“Huh?” Cal tilted his massive head; a tangled mass of black hair fell over one eye. She used to think his floppy hair was cute – not so much anymore.

“Look,” she spun the paper around so he could read it and pushed it toward him. “There,” she pointed to a five letter space. “Seven down. See? Donna.”

“Huh.” Cal repeated.

Donna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What do you think this means?”

Cal narrowed his beady eyes to take a closer look. “I think you have the wrong word.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It says for seven down, ‘A woman’s name meaning Lady, woman.’ My name means that. And it fits with everything else.”

“Well, maybe the people who make these crossword puzzles are getting bored and decided to do something different. Maybe Donna is the name of the office slut.” He grinned.

She ignored his crass humor and continued. “That’s not even the weird part,” Donna said while taking the paper back. “My brother’s name is on here, too.”

“Lonnie?”

“No, Mark.”

“The crazy one?”

“He’s not crazy!” She snapped back. “He’s just … confused.”

Cal ripped a paper towel from the roll sitting on the table and swiped at his greasy mouth. “Honey. I hate to tell you this, but running away from your family, abandoning your wife and kid ain’t confused, it’s crazy. I’m betting Mark met some hot college chick and left his family to start over.”

Donna shook her head. “I don’t think so. We have a history of mental illness in our family, and I think –”

“Mental illness my ass,” Cal growled. “That’s just an excuse to start a new life. He got tired of the old one and pitched it. End of story.”

She ground her teeth and resisted the urge to throw her mug of lukewarm coffee into his face. Though one small part of her sort of agreed with Cal, she knew her brother. He wasn’t like that. Something had to be wrong.

“Besides,” Cal continued, “he’s been MIA for the past five years, give it a rest. Don’t you think if he was mentally confused someone would have found him and returned him to his family by now?”

“Not if he didn’t know who he was.”

This time, Cal was the one who openly rolled his eyes. “Donna, he’s an asswipe who couldn’t take the responsibility. I simply don’t buy that whole cock-n-bull story about him going cuckoo and flying the nest bit. I mean, I talked to the guy, I know what he was like and I can’t say, I’m surprised. He was always a little off, if you know what I mean.”

“Let’s not go down that road again, okay?” Donna pleaded. “Just hear me out. For once, listen to me.”

Cal grunted, sat back in the chair and crossed his beefy arms over his bulging chest. “Talk away, I’m all ears.”

Donna took a breath and began pointing at various points in the crossword puzzle. “In addition to my name and Mark’s name being in this crossword puzzle, there’s Lombard, which is the name of the street where we grew up on, sidewalk, 9:00 o’clock –”

“There’s a time?” Cal cocked his head to one side to see the puzzle, interest reflected out of his light brown eyes.

She pointed to it. “Yep, right here. There is also circle, block, twice and Happy.” She continued to stare down at the paper. “Happy means, well Slap Happy. That was the name of the bar our father, uh, spent too much time at,” she said with a blush. “Slap Happy is on Lombard Street.” She smacked a hand against the paper to make her point and looked up at her husband. “I think this is a message from Mark.”

Cal laughed, but the sound wasn’t entirely mirthful. “No way. That’s just too …”

“Strange?” she finished for him. “If anyone in my family did something like this, it would be Mark. He knows I’m a crossword junkie; I do them everyday, without fail. He’s been missing for five years. We were always close. Maybe he’s trying to get my attention, ask for help.” She bit her lip.

Cal was silent for long seconds, mulling over what she was saying. “So, you’re thinking …” he left the rest of his sentence dangling on purpose.

Donna snorted in impatience. She loved her big oaf of a husband, but sometimes she wished he wasn’t so thick headed. “That Mark wants me to meet him on the sidewalk in front of Slap Happy’s at 9:00 o’clock tonight.”

“What about the other part?”

She studied the words for several seconds before snapping her fingers. “He wants me to circle the block twice, probably to make sure I’m not followed.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve been pushed into a James Bond film,” Cal grumbled.

“I’m going.”

Cal’s eyes widened. “Oh no you’re not.”

“Oh yes I am,” she shot back, her jaw locked, her facial expression quite determined.

Cal ran a hand through his thick hair in exasperation. “Damn it. I know that look. Fine. But you’re not going alone. I’ll go with you.”

“No way. He wants to see me. If he sees you, it might scare him off.”

“Donna, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go to that part of town, at night, by yourself to maybe meet your crazy brother. What if you’re wrong? What if it’s not a message at all but all just a coincidence? Or,” he licked his lips, “what if it’s a message, but not for you?”

She waved his concerns aside. “Either way, I have to go. Even if I’m wrong, at least I’ll know for sure. Not going, well, I would always wonder, you know?”

Cal looked doubtful.

“I know this sounds crazy, Cal. But if it’s Mark, if he needs my help …” she swallowed. “I can’t turn my back on him. He’s family.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “What if it were your baby sister?”

Cal grunted once more and finally gave a brusque nod. “I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Exactly.”

“All right, we’ll go.”

“You have to stay out of sight, just in case he gets spooked. Once I meet him –”

“IF you meet him,” Cal interjected.

Donna ignored him and continued on as if he hadn’t said anything, “then I’ll tell him that you’re with me and we’ll go from there.” She pushed back from the table, her expression hopeful, her voice dreamy, “I can’t believe I’m going to see Mark. I hope he’s okay.”

Cal also stood up, moved around the table and pulled her against him for a gentle embrace. “Don’t get your hopes up, honey.”

“Too late.” She raised her face, offered a small smile and quickly kissed his cheek.

Here’s another writing prompt to help get through the week.

One nice thing about participating in a weekly meme at the last minute, virtually NO ONE reads your contribution. *sigh* Ah well, I’m having fun playing anyway.

Let’s get started:

________________________________

A New Outlook

“So, this blogging thing, do you think it’s worth it?”

Sally sighed and quietly sipped her espresso. Her eyebrows rose as she swallowed. “Does this espresso taste a little richer to you?”

Natalie sighed and took a sip of her own drink. She took her time savoring the cooling liquid before nodding. “Yes, a bit. I wonder if that was one of the changes they made when they closed down the other day.”

“Maybe,” Sally replied and took another sip.

“So, back to this blogging thing.”

Sally carefully placed her cup back onto the coffee stain she had created earlier. The liquid had sloshed over a bit when they first sat down, trickling scalding brew onto her fingers. The stain was drying quickly.

“I’m beginning to think, no, it’s not worth it.”

“But, you’re one of the most popular bloggers in the ‘sphere, why would you think that?”

Sally watched a young mother juggle a toddler on her hip in the Starbucks line. She suddenly missed playing referee to her two girls. “You know, I never asked for this gig,” she began, sidestepping her friend’s question. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“But,” Natalie chuckled in disbelief, “who wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. I mean, here you are, staying home with the girls, doing what you love to do and you’re making money at it. So much money in fact, you can afford a housekeeper.” This last was said with just a touch of jealously.

Sally lifted a hand toward her friend and allowed it to slap back onto her thigh. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“The whole jealously thing, it’s insane.”

“Who says I’m jealous?”

“You don’t have to say anything, I can just tell from your face, from the tone of your voice. And I know you, Nat. We’ve been friends since high school, YOU’RE the one who wanted to go on and be a writer and now here we are, I’m writing, doing something you would love to be doing, and you’re a stay-at-home PTA mom.”

Natalie stiffened. “Are you making fun of me?”
Sally tucked a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ear. “No, I’m not making fun of you. Hell, let’s switch places. I’m ready to call it quits.”

“What?” Natalie laughed and shook her head. “You’re crazy. You have the sweetest gig ever.”

“Yeah, to you. You don’t have to deal with the crazies, with jealous bloggers, with family members who now refuse to talk to you because you reveal way too much on your blog. Being popular,” she said, putting quotation marks around the word popular, “not only sucks, it’s lonely.”

Natalie’s eyelashes, heavy with mascara, brushed over her high cheekbones and temporarily hid her soft green eyes. “Lonely? How can you say that? You have your husband.”

“Who I think is cheating on me.”

“Wh … what?”

Sally issued a long-suffering sigh and sat back, her fingers idly caressing the hard plastic of her cup. “Oh, I don’t know that he is, I just have a feeling. We haven’t …” she paused and looked around at the other café customers. Most were busy minding their own business, but there was one man, a rather heavyset man with thick curly black hair, who was staring at her. She shifted in her seat and turned her back somewhat on the man to lean in closer to her friend. “We haven’t exactly shared the same bedroom in nearly three weeks.”

Natalie’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an “o” of surprise. “Really? Why?”

“It’s this damn blog!” she said. The espresso machine picked that precise moment to stop. Her words hung in the air like an early morning fog. Patrons glanced up from their activities and looked at them curiously. Sally noticed the man who had been staring, was now making notes.

She cleared her throat and tossed out a timid smile to the crowd before turning her attention back to Natalie. “I’m not sure I want to talk about this. If word gets out there’s trouble in paradise, it’ll likely spook my sponsors.”

Natalie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m confused. Start at the beginning.”

“There is no beginning, just an end. An end to this whole blogging personality. I mean,” Sally shifted, “you know me, this is NOT me. I’m a sarcastic, wild, impatient personality. Where the hell did this slightly cynical Martha Stewart person come from? Some days, I can’t even look at myself in the mirror; I’m so disgusted by the whole thing. People perceive me as one thing and I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I have problems. I have serious problems. Not the sugar-coated inconveniences I portray on the blog. My marriage is falling apart and yet, I can’t talk about it, not without pissing off a large number of people. I’m just so sick of the whole thing.”

“So, quit. Do something else.”

“I don’t think I can. Not because I don’t want to, but because my name is now synonymous with the whole mommy blogger persona. And I like what I’m doing, I just feel like I’ve become a person I no longer recognize.” She paused to take a calming breath. “Maybe I just need a break.”

Natalie nodded and took a sip of her coffee.

Sally regarded her for long moments, her expression serious, thoughtful. “I have an idea.”

Natalie groaned and sat back. “I can tell by your expression that whatever it is, I’m not going to like it.”

“Take over for me.”

“What? Take over what for you?”

“My blog. Pretend you’re me for a while.”

“But I can’t write like you.”

“Precisely.”

“Huh?”

Sally chuckled at her friend’s confused face. “Pretend you’re me for two weeks. Your style of writing is not all that different from mine, but it’ll be different enough that when I come back, I can start to subtly change my image into something a bit more … real.”

“I can’t be you,” Natalie sputtered out with a laugh. But then she paused and tilted her head. “Can I?”

“Who knows me better than anyone?”

“Well, me.”

“Exactly.” Sally squirmed in her seat with excitement. “The more I think about this, the more perfect I think it is. Here,” she grabbed a pad and pencil from her purse. “I’m writing down my sign-on information and email address. You can post for me and answer all of the email, even the nasty ones,” she grinned, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “And while you’re pretending to be me, I’m going to take a vacation. I’ll pack the family up and we’ll leave the area for a bit, for someplace with no Internet access. Oh,” her shoulders sank and her expression turned dreamy, “it’ll be heaven.”

“I can’t … this won’t … do you really think …?”

“Yes you can. Yes this will work, and yes I think you’ll be perfect. This will give you a taste of what it’s like to be a big-time blogger and it will give me the break I so desperately need. I’ll recharge my batteries and come back with a fresh ideas and a new outlook. It’ll be a second chance to get things right.” Sally folded the piece of paper into a small, neat square and slid it across the table to Natalie. “You’ll do it, right?”

“Excuse me.” A male voice sounded next to the women and they both looked up at the man who had been watching them from across the room.

He politely smiled at Natalie before turning his attention to Sally. “Sally York, right?”

Sally immediately sat up straighter and pasted on a fake smile. She hated this part. “Yes.” She stuck out a hand. “And you are?”

The man blushed and carefully shook her hand. “You’re biggest fan.”

“Oh?” Sally snuck a peek at Natalie before turning her attention back to the man. “Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“I won’t bother you, but I just wanted to come over and thank you for that last recipe you posted on your blog Tuesday. The wife and I made it and well,” he blushed and his eyes shifted shyly between the two women. “It worked wonders, let’s just put it that way.”

Sally looked at Natalie and raised her brows as if to say, “See? I’ve been reduced to Betty Crocker.” She turned her attention back to the man. “Well, I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Would you mind …” he held out a Starbucks napkin and a pen.

“Oh, sure.” Sally autographed the napkin and handed it back to him.

“Thank you so much. I won’t keep you, I know you’re probably pretty busy, but I’d just like to say, we enjoy your blog very much.”

“Well, thank you,” Sally said. Her tongue felt swollen and stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Keep up the good work.”

“Absolutely,” she nodded politely to the man and waited for him to exit the building before turning back to Natalie, her expression pleading. “Save me. I can’t take being Miss goody-two-shoes for much longer.”

Natalie put the piece of paper with Sally’s information on it in her purse and nodded. “Two weeks, and not a day more.”

Here’s another writing prompt to help get through the week.

I thought it would be interesting to reveal this woman’s life through various flashbacks - she time travels through her memories and I hope the reader realizes that sometimes, it’s necessary to examine the past before taking that first step toward the future.

Thanks for reading.

___________________________

Moving On

“What the hell is wrong with you kid? It’s a simple concept, one we’ve been working on all night. Are you stupid? Or maybe just retarded? You know what?” the man threw down the expensive calculator and stood up. “I’m done. You’re on your own, but I’ll tell you one thing buster, if you fail math, you’re losing everything, video games, computer, TV, the works. And don’t come crying to me like the baby you are.”

Claudia winced at her desk in the next room. Why did he have to talk to him like that? Why did he have to belittle him and make him feel like an idiot?

She waited for her husband to leave the kitchen before she quietly approached her son. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. “It’s okay honey, you’ll get it. The light bulb just hasn’t come on yet. Maybe you need a tutor? Would that help you?”

Her son sighed and shook his head. “No. I’m just tired. And it’s hard to concentrate when …” he trailed off and Claudia nodded, understanding what he wasn’t saying.

“Are you done with your homework?”

“Yeah.” His shoulders were slumped over and he looked utterly defeated.

Claudia could feel the familiar anger building inside her. She was married to an asshole, no doubt about it. Her husband had always been verbally abusive with her, she supposed she had hoped he would mellow by the time they had had kids.

He hadn’t.

“Okay,” she ran a hand through his hair “Why don’t you take a nice hot shower and relax a bit.”

“Stop coddling the kid, Claudia! He needs to grow up and that won’t happen if you don’t stop mothering him. Now bring me some beer. Make yourself useful for a change. I’m tired and I have an important meeting in the morning.”

The smile she bestowed on her son was strained, but she tried hard not to let him see her distress. The kid had enough problems as it was, he didn’t need to start worrying about her.

“Go on, son.” She gave him a gentle push. Her son gathered up his schoolwork and moved away.

She sighed and counted to ten. She wouldn’t lose her temper, that only made things worse. Even though her husband had never hit her, she knew that if she pushed him too far, he just might start.

She grabbed a beer and dragging her feet, she took it to him.

“Oh yeah!” Her husband yelled at the TV and then turned to high five one his co-workers next to him. “Awesome point, man! Jeffries can DUNK that ball! Yeah!”

Claudia winced and resisted the urge to cover her ears. She hated when her husband raised his voice to begin with, she doubly hated it when he started shouting over stupid basketball games.

“They’re gonna lose, man!” he gloated toward another man across the table.

“I wouldn’t celebrate too soon,” the man grumbled. Claudia didn’t know his real name as her husband only ever referred to him as the suck-up. “They always screw things up toward the end.”

“Yeah, whatever dude. You’re sweating, I can see the shine from here. You’re gonna owe me $50 bucks before this night is over so you might as well get your wallet out now,” her husband yelled while giving the man next to him yet another loud victory slap.

Claudia took a sip of her beer and carefully disguised her disgust. She hated beer, but it didn’t matter. The one time she had dared to order wine at one of these stupid sports’ bars she had never heard the end of it.

“Wine!” Her husband had snorted. “What are you, one of those queer French people? Drink something a little more American, will you? Geez, you’re so stupid sometimes.” He had rolled his eyes and had punched his friend in the arm after he said it. She had made the mistake of meeting the man’s eyes afterward and she nearly died when she saw the pity in them.

“Can you believe they drag us to these things?” the woman said next to her.

Claudia heaved a sigh of relief and turned to offer her quiet opinion about grown men acting like morons and barely stopped herself in time when she saw the gentle, amused look on the woman’s face. She was looking toward her husband, the man that her own husband had been high-fiving moments earlier. She looked almost proud of his caveman tactics and Claudia ground her teeth together. Great. Yet another person who she couldn’t really talk to.

She assumed her “game” face and sat up a little straighter. “Go Knicks!” She somehow worked up the energy to lift her fist into the air, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Put some backbone in it, son! Geez, you throw like a damn girl. What’s the matter with you? Stop acting like a sissy and throw the freaking thing.” Her husband punched a hand into the ball glove and squatted, waiting for her son to throw the ball.

She parted the blinds and watched her son’s face. He was trying so hard to be the sort of boy his father wanted him to be, but she knew, he just wasn’t interested in sports. He preferred to toss code around and manipulate software. His goal was to be a computer programmer and from what she had seen so far, he was quite good at it. He had already created two games and posted them to his website (which her husband didn’t know about, she had all of the bills sent to her parents’ house) which had quickly drawn quite an impressive number of fans. He was currently working on something bigger, something that would make him money and she prayed it would be enough to help support his desire to move out shortly after graduation.

“Hang in there, kid,” she whispered to her son through the glass. “Just two short months and then you’ll be away from this jerk.”

“Mrs. Dickens?”

Claudia jerked at the sound of her name. She quickly snapped out of her thoughts, smoothed her skirt over her legs and assumed a friendly, but professional smile.

“Your resume is very impressive. I did have one question though.” He sat down behind his desk and lifted her resume eye level. “There’s a gap in your work history … about seven years.”

She nervously cleared her throat. She had been prepared for this. “Yes. I was a stay-at-home mom. And even though I wasn’t actively working, I did maintain contact with past associates and kept on top of the industry news. If you wish, I would be happy to talk about the current trends …”

He held up a hand and smiled. “There’s no need. I was just curious.” He studied her for long moments and she forced herself to look into his eyes. Though she maintained a cool demeanor, her stomach rolled and pitched and she felt quite nauseous.

“My wife just recently returned to work,” he began with a soft smile. “Our kids are getting bigger and don’t need her around as much, so I know what you must be feeling right about now. She was extremely nervous and worried that no one would give her a chance.”

She relaxed somewhat. He understood. Finally, thank God, someone understood.

“I’m happy to say she got the job she wanted.” The pride on his face was obvious. Claudia felt a surprising stab of jealously but then quickly squelched it. She would not feel sorry for herself, not anymore. “So …” he sat back and steepled his fingers. “I’d like to extend that same chance to you.”

She blinked. Did this mean what she thought it meant? “You mean …” she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Dare she hope her life was finally going to change?

“Yep. We’ll give you the job. Let’s start you out at $40,000 and see how it goes.”

Claudia sputtered a nervous laugh and stood up. She extended a shaky hand and her eyes sparkled with renewed hope and extreme relief. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson, you won’t be sorry. When should I start? I can come in tomorrow…”

He rose from his seat and accepted her hand. He chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. Just come in on Monday, ask for Jerry, he’ll show you around and help you settle in.”

She gave a brisk nod and flashed another grateful smile. “Sounds great. I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

They exchanged polite goodbyes and she walked out of the office, her legs quivering and her heart beating so heavily she felt light-headed. Dear God in heaven, she was finally going to escape her hell.

She couldn’t wait to go home and pack.

Want to play?

Write a story, or a poem, with these three words: Punch, T-shirt, Unravel.

Here’s what I came up with:

_____________________________________

Down and Out

“Oh my GOD, that hurt!” Pam bent over and tucked her hand between her knees.

“I can’t believe you knocked her out cold,” Carrie wailed. She peered down the dark alley nervously biting her lip. “We’re gonna be expelled.” She grabbed Pam by the t-shirt and jerked her upright. “We’re going to be kicked out of school,” her voice was succinct, cold and accusing.

Pam gritted her teeth. Her hand still throbbed too much to formulate coherent thought.

“I can’t believe you punched our teacher, Pam. What the hell? I mean, she was obviously drunk. She didn’t know what she was doing. You stepped off reality, chicka, you’ve crossed over into some dark place. I’m not going down with you. I’m totally not covering for you. When my parents find out …”

“Will. You. Shut. Up.” Pam ground out between teeth that suddenly tasted like chalk. “My freakin’ hand hurts. It feels like someone backed one of those construction rollers over it. Son of a …”

“Shh!” Carrie held up a hand and both girls instantly froze. “Did you hear that?” The area between the two buildings was silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the whoosh of distant tires. “I could have sworn I heard something,”

“You’re freaked out right now, hell, I’M freaked out right about now. I’ve never hit anyone in my life.”

“Shh! There it is again!” Again, both girls simply froze in their positions and listened. Long seconds passed before the soft roll of thunder grumbled in the distance. “It’s going to rain again,” Carrie stated.

“Yeah, being caught out in the rain is one of our major concerns right about now,” Pam said with a snort and took several deep breaths in an effort to control the steady needles of pain now pulsing up her arm. “I could just spit on her,” she said vehemently at the unconscious woman at her feet.

Carrie sighed. “I have to admit, I didn’t want to believe it. I mean, you hear rumors about teachers being a little too friendly or crossing the line with students all the time, but you know, those are usually just rumors. Crap started by kids who are pissed off about a grade or something.”

Pam nodded and suddenly blinked. “Did you see that flash?”

“What flash?” Carried twisted around to look behind her.

“Nothing, lightening I guess.”

Both girls turned to look down at their teacher. “We should probably get out of here,” Pam said, though her voice was tinged with doubt.

“We can’t leave her like this, what if some bum comes along and robs her, or worse, rapes her or something? Maybe we should call the cops.”

“Oh yeah right. So they can arrest us for assaulting her?” Pam snickered. “I don’t think so.”

Carrie knelt down. “She’s still breathing, right?”

“I didn’t punch her that hard. I think she just hit her head when she fell or something. Plus, she was drunk off her ass. She most likely just passed out.”

Carrie shrugged off her jacket and placed it under her head.

“What are you doing?” Pam hissed.

“Trying to make her more comfortable, I … I feel bad, you know?”

“You’re kidding me.” Pam began to pace back and forth.

“She’s messed up, Pam, no doubt. But come on, she’s a human being.”

“That’s debatable,” Pam growled. “Did you SEE her? Did you SEE her flirting with my little brother? He’s 15 for Christ’s sake! That is just freaking nasty. I had heard she’d been doggin’ Jack, but I never thought … I never would have dreamed …” she took a breath. “This was a set up,” she said quietly, her rage barely controlled. “I thought I would test her and see if the rumors were true. When I saw her slap Jack on his ass, I unraveled, man.”

“What do you mean, this was a test?”

“Nick,” Pam thumbed back toward the doorway that lead to the small pub. “He’s a friend of my dad’s. He agreed to help me out. This whole thing was set up.”

“You lured our teacher here, got her drunk and then dangled your brother in front of her nose like bait?”

“She’s a child molester, Carrie. I may not have proof now, but I’ve been watching her. There’s something not quite right with her.”

“She was drunk, Pam! She probably didn’t know what she was doing!” She jerked back as the woman stirred.

“Shit, she’s waking up.” Pam stared down at her, suddenly not sure what to do.

“You’ve got to apologize to her.”

“What? Are you kidding me? She had it coming. No one touches my little brother like that. Especially not some 30-year old hag that should know better.”

“We’ve got to fix this, Pam. We graduate in just two months. I can’t afford to rock the boat. My family is counting on me to go on to college. If she presses charges, that’ll go on my record …”

“Maybe she won’t remember anything?” Pam asked hopefully. “I mean, she IS pretty drunk. Maybe she’ll just think,” she paused and snapped her fingers. “Got it.” She leaned down and yanked off one of the woman’s ankle boots.

“What are you doing?”

“Get your jacket,” Pam said, her attention focused on placing the ankle boot near the doorway stoop.

Carrie gently lifted the woman’s head, retrieved her jacket and just as carefully, laid the woman’s head back on the pavement.

Both girls jumped as if they had been shot when they heard a low groan.

“We’ve gotta roll.” Pam straightened and grabbed Carrie’s arm. “Now.”

“We can’t leave …”

“Oh yes we can. If we’re lucky, she’ll see her boot lying over there and assume she tripped and fell. Now MOVE!” She pushed her friend ahead of her and once they cleared the woman’s body, they took off at a sprint.

Long seconds ticked by before a shape emerged from behind the dumpster. The girl gave the woman a cursory, disinterested glance before looking down the alley in the direction the two girls had ran.

She smiled. The light from the doorway elongated that smile and it appeared predatory. She tossed the camera strap over her shoulder, carefully stepped over the prone woman’s body and silently exited the alleyway.

Here’s another writing prompt to help get through the week.

Fiction under 250 words.

___________________________

Time For a Change

I stood back in the shadows; I wasn’t exactly hiding, but the thought of subjecting myself to HIS world made me feel like I had swallowed a chicken bone – sideways.

“And who should I make this out to?” My husband said, his smile a little too bright, his eyes a little too friendly.

“Ashley,” the young woman giggled and looked back to give an “Oh my God, can you believe it!” look to her girlfriends.

I chewed the scabs off my lips. Ever since Running Scared’s first hit single made the top ten, I had picked up the bad habit of nibbling on my lips. Nerves, I suppose. How was a wife expected to adapt to the fact that nearly every female in the country fantasized about her husband? When we had gotten married, I remember saying “I will,” not “I will ignore.”

“So this is it,” mumbled Jeremy’s manager next to me.

I shrugged. Yes, but I wanted to know what “it” was.

“You must be very proud of him,” said the skinny, pretty woman.

Jeremy’s manager was another bone of contention. “Of course.” Really, what else could I say? He had worked so hard to get where he was today. And he was talented. I just never dreamed he would make it. I mean, what were the odds?

“There you go, love,” Jeremy said and slapped the girl’s buttocks as she giggled off.

I swallowed. My husband’s personality had changed. And the thing was, I hated change.