Category: Writing Stuff

Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: Painfully Shy

Karen

I’m nursing a sick husband and fielding numerous school emails today, so I don’t really have time to post anything new. Instead, I’m re-posting another flash fiction piece originally published on my self-hosted blog January 25, 2006.

Fiction under 250 words
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alone Why am I here? Why do I endure this crap every month?

Wendy pursed her lips and looked around the school cafeteria. The other mothers were milling around, quietly talking to the members of their particular clique, phony smiles plastered on their faces, their designer clothes wrinkle-free, their expensive perfume clogging up the atmosphere.

It’s too early in the morning for this.

Wendy cautiously sat down on a gray folding chair near the back. She tucked her purse in between her feet. She spent a few moments smoothing her shoulder length reddish-blonde hair before tucking soft stands behind her ears. She attempted to rub the goose pimples from her arms, was the room cold? Or was she simply reacting to being rejected, yet again?

The PTA President, a tall, thin woman with long, silky straight black hair and a light tan, took her position behind the podium. The other mothers, taking the cue from their leader, began taking their seats all around Wendy. There were soft giggles and a low hum of dying conversations.

Wendy studied her hands nervously.

As usual, no one sat next to her.

She choked back a sob and blinked back the moisture in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” a rather low, husky voice sounded next to her. “Is this seat taken?”

Wendy’s head whipped up so fast she felt a tad dizzy. “No, no please, have a seat.”

The woman smiled and sat down. Wendy swallowed her shyness and opened her mouth to introduce herself.

image by naraekim0801

Fiction Fix

Fiction Fix: One Simple Act of Kindness

Karen

“Look,” Melissa ran a hand over her damp brow and swallowed back a growing lump of desperation, “I don’t want to beg, but honestly, you’re my last chance at this point. If you don’t hire me, I’ll be reduced to …” she rapidly blinked tears from her eyes, “I’ll have to,” she continued with a firmer tone, “file for government assistance.”

She resisted the urge to shudder. She had always been fiercely independent and had always taken great pride in the fact that she had never once asked for help, even when she was homeless and living out of her car shortly after high school graduation. Her parents had tried to help her but she had refused, wanting to make it on her own. And after several long years of being hungry and dead tired, she had finally made it – she was a successful Real Estate agent.

Life had been great, she had been on top of her game … until the market crashed and suddenly, she couldn’t give her houses away or find a lender that would actually lend anyone any money.

She had earned her Real Estate license shortly after she kicked Timothy out of the door. Of course, the economy took a nosedive shortly thereafter and since she was one of the last to be hired, she was one of the first to be fired.

It was bad timing. The story of her life, actually.

“But,” the woman squirmed uncomfortably in her chair while looking back down at her resume, “you made so much money at your previous job. I’m afraid there is no way I could offer you anything even remotely close to the same figure …”

Melissa leaned forward, sensing the woman’s reluctance to turn her away. “That’s okay. I’m willing to take anything you can offer me. I …” she cleared her throat before continuing, “I have two children at home.” She shrugged lightly and appealed to her, woman-to-woman, mother-to-mother, “I don’t really have a choice. You understand, don’t you?”

She felt bad for playing the mother card, but she was beyond caring about nursing her pride at this point – her children were hungry, the mortgage was due and if she skipped one more car payment, they would likely take it away from her. She had been in difficult situations before; she would dig her way out of this one, too.

The woman smiled and Melissa allowed herself to relax, but only a little. She was making headway, but she wasn’t in the clear yet.

“Well,” the woman hedged and Melissa tensed right back up again. “You don’t really have any managerial experience.”

“Actually, I do,” she responded back with a smile. “Well, indirectly,” she hurriedly continued as she noted the woman’s brows arch. “I’m very used to dealing with people, all sorts of people. And I’m very good at reading people. I can sell them something before they even realize they want it.”

The woman chuckled and nodded her agreement. “I’m sure you can. You’ve sold me, that’s for sure.”

Melissa sat up straight and looked the woman in the eye. “Does this mean …?”

The interviewer stood up and Melissa followed her lead by also standing.

“Alright, Ms. Snodgrass, we’ll give you a shot.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Tindle. You won’t be sorry, I guarantee it.” She firmly clasped the woman’s hand and placed her other hand on top of the woman’s wrist to show her gratitude. “When do you want me to start?”

“Can you come in tomorrow? I know it’s short notice …”

Melissa held up a hand. “Done. I’m at your disposal.”

Mrs. Tindle nodded her satisfaction and pushed a fat manila envelope across the desk top. “Here is your paperwork. I’ll need you to return these to me when you come in tomorrow. I’m afraid I can only offer you $25,000 to begin with.”

Melissa could feel her grateful smile freezing at the corners upon hearing the amount, but she pushed her disappointment to the back of her mind. That was a whole $30,000 dollars less than she had been making at her previous job. She did a quick mental calculation, it would be very difficult to make ends meet, especially at first, but she would make it work.

She had to. What choice did she have?

****

“If everyone who worked for me was like you, I could retire.”

Melissa smiled before placing her pen down and glancing over her shoulder to look at her boss. She could feel a slow, pleased blush filling her pale cheeks.

“Well, thanks,” she chuckled.

“I’m serious,” Ruth Tindle took the chair at the end of the counter and stretched out her legs. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your hard work, Melissa. Hiring you was the best decision I ever made.”

With her face now burning brightly, she held up a hand and pretended to check a quick fact on her sheet so she wouldn’t start tearing up. She didn’t know what was wrong with her these days – every little thing made her cry.

“I’m just grateful for the job, Ruth. You’ve saved my family.”

It was Ruth’s turn to wave a flippant hand. “You’re smart. You would have figured something out. I’m not …” she paused for long seconds and Melissa looked over at her. Ruth wet her lips before continuing. “I just wish I could pay you more. You’re worth so much more than the peanuts I pay you now.”

Melissa also wished she could get paid more. Her life was so stressful now. She had to cut out so many luxuries and though she didn’t really mind for herself, it killed her to have to say no to the children all the time. She had never been one to spoil her children to begin with, but now, she found she couldn’t even afford to take them out for ice cream any more. Money was simply too tight. Every last cent she made went to her house payment. If something didn’t happen soon, she would be forced to sell their home and move to a different part of town. She had listed her car in the paper just that morning, perhaps that would buy her a bit more time. She would be relying on public transportation for a while.

Melissa placed a hand over her nervous stomach and pasted a brave smile on her face. “At least I have a job. There are so many more people I know who are still looking.”

“True,” Ruth agreed sadly.

The phone rang and both women jumped before giving self-depreciating chuckles.

“I’ll get it,” Ruth said and reached for the receiver.

Melissa nodded and returned her attention back to her paperwork. She heard her boss speaking, but she wasn’t really paying attention. She was concentrating on whether they would have enough food to make a fresh meal that night, or if they would need to eat leftovers, again.

“Uh, Melissa?”

“Yes?” She pushed the food worry from her mind and turned her attention back to the job at hand.

“It’s for you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the school.”

Continue reading “Fiction Fix: One Simple Act of Kindness” →

Fiction Fix

Fiction Fix: The Smell of Freedom

Karen

“Mama,” I swallowed the tickle from the back of my throat and forced myself to take slow, even breaths, “I’m leaving.”

I quietly set my bags down next to the sagging front door. It was time. I wasn’t, until this very moment, sure that I had the courage to actually go through with it.

Breathe in, breathe out, I silently reminded myself. I could feel my heart slamming against my ribs and a low squeeze in my kidneys.

I suddenly had to go to the bathroom.

My mother continued to sit on the living room sofa, a cigarette dangling from one hand, her other hand buried deep into a bag of potato chips. The room was dark save for the small, lonely light above the stovetop and I immediately wished I had thought to turn it out before making my announcement; I felt exposed and raw, like a weeping wound. The light shone directly on my face; she would be able to see my hope, my deep seated need to leave the hellhole I was forced to call home.

I wished with all my heart the light would simply flicker and die in that moment, somehow that would have seemed fitting – a perfect summary of my life.

My mother snorted and roused herself from her television-induced stupor. The bluish-gray light from the box sliced across my mother’s large frame and cast ugly shadows across her hard face. She didn’t turn around to look at me, nor move from her position on the sofa, but her voice projected so clear and sharp I felt like she was standing right next to me.

“Come here, girl.”

I had expected the summons, but I jumped, nevertheless.

I shuffled my feet across the dirty, threadbare carpet, my secondhand moccasins making a soft swishing noise as I moved to stand near her, but far enough away that she couldn’t reach me if she were to reach for me. I had learned, from years of experience, to always be on my guard around my mother.

“What did you say?” she asked as I completed my journey across the room.

I knew she had heard me, she had excellent hearing. In fact, her hearing was almost canine in nature. She could hear the slightest sigh or the softest mumble the entire length of our trailer, with the doors closed and the television volume turned all the way up. In fact, her hearing was so acute, that I used to wonder if my mother didn’t somehow have super natural powers.

“I, uh,” I mumbled and I jumped once again at my mother’s sharp tone of voice.

“Speak up, girl. You know I can’t stand it when you act like a whipped dog.”

Now there was an apt description, I thought bitterly to myself.

I stood next to the ratty, stained sofa and absently stared at the reddish-brown stain that nearly covered on threadbare arm. That stain had prompted several questions and numerous jokes over the years – the stain remained a mystery.

I could feel my mother’s coal black eyes staring a hole into my face. My answering blush only teased my sense of anxiety and small beads of sweat began lining my upper lip.

“You better answer me now, girl. You’re making me miss my soaps.”

I could feel my shoulders slump and my body curl inward, my confidence began to ebb and I forced a dry, blob of nervousness back with a swallow. My counselor told me this might happen. He also told me what to do when it did.

My eyes shifted toward the TV, now boldly airing a commercial for a female hygiene product. I wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity of the situation – didn’t they know that women like my mother would never elect to spend their precious cigarette money on something as inconsequential as feminine wash?

And as if the thought provoked the smell, or maybe the smell had been there all along and I only now recognized it for what it was, I could smell my mother’s sour body. The origin of the smell originated somewhere deep beneath the dirt, sweat, beer, smoke and oily skin – it was somewhat yeasty and not altogether unpleasant.

“Damn it!” She pounded a meaty fist on top of the mysterious reddish-brown stain and I involuntarily flinched at the movement. “Are you trying to piss me off, girl?”

Girl. I straightened at the term, for that was all my mother every called me. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time she had actually said my name.

“She will likely mock you,” my counselor’s voice rang in my ears. “Do not allow her to make you feel guilty or insecure. You deserve this. You deserve to start your own life.”

I smiled at the thought. Not because of the unkind things my mother has said over the years, but at the thought of someone having faith in me, in my future.

My mother’s brow arched at my smile. “What the hell is wrong with you, child. Are you on drugs?”

“No, that’s your thing, mother,” is what I wanted to say, but instead I simply cleared my throat and repeated my earlier words. “I’m leaving, mama.”

She stared at me for long moments. Her face was expressionless, her eyes cold and hard, her lips a thin, straight line of disapproval and then, without warning or provocation, her mouth began to tremble and a low rumbling sounded in the back of her throat.

For a split moment, I thought she was going to start choking and I quickly ran various emergency procedures through my head.

But I needn’t have worried; my mother wasn’t choking, she was laughing. The sound that squeezed past her fat lips was a cross between a squeaky wheel and a burbling brook.

“Yer what?” She repeated, gasping for air. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. You ain’t got no friends and you certainly ain’t got no man,” she stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes at me. “You ain’t got ya a man, do you?”

“No mama,” I said quietly and she nodded once in approval.

“I didn’t think so. Don’t you go and git yerself tangled up with no man. They ain’t nothin’ but trouble, hear me?” She lifted a pudgy arm and swiped the back of her hand across her nose, smearing a thin line of mucus across her upper lip. “They’ll screw you, take yer money and then leave ya high and dry.”

I couldn’t help but wonder which of the long line of men my mother might be referring to. None of them had been any better than abusive beggars.

Continue reading “Fiction Fix: The Smell of Freedom” →

Fiction Fix

Fiction: Unpredictable Destiny

Karen

whats_your_story_off Paige juggled the baby on her hip while blowing strands of sticky, blond hair out of her eyes. Her flip-flops slapped against the hot pavement as she hobbled across the parking lot while trying to keep the handle of her bag from slipping off her shoulder. She had forgotten to zip up her purse, again and she knew that if it fell off her shoulder and crashed against her leg, all of the contents would spill out onto the burning asphalt.

And that would mean she would be forced to put her daughter down so she would have a hand free to pick up the contents.

Even though it was a warm 80-degree summer day, the thought of having to chase her darling daughter through a busy parking lot brought goose bumps to the surface of her flesh.

“You’ll be a good girl, right?” she asked the chubby, curly headed baby in her arms.

The baby squealed her answer and smacked a clammy hand against her mother’s mouth. Paige could smell apple juice permeating off her daughter’s fat fingers.

“I’m guessing that’s a no?” she asked weakly and concentrated on making it through the grocery store doors and into the relative safety of the building before she lost her grip on the baby, her bag and her sanity.

Her purse slipped a few more inches down her shoulder and she bit her lip as she hurried toward the entrance; she was virtually walking sideways by the time she stepped through the doors. She snatched a nearby cart and carefully placed her daughter into the seat. As her thick, diapered bottom plopped into place, the handle of her bag slid completely off her arm and crashed against the cart. Several diapers, her wallet, a small, stuffed purple dinosaur and two tampons scattered across the floor.

Her daughter clapped her hands and chortled in delight as Paige scooped up the items while simultaneously dodging incoming traffic. Several customers walked past her, but none of them offered to help her pick up her belongings.

Paige swallowed her irritation and stuffed the items back into her bag, save for the dinosaur, which she absently handed over to her daughter. She wasn’t sure what she was more annoyed with – the fact that no one helped her or the fact that she still didn’t have this whole mommy routine down.

She sighed and looked down at the wide-eyed little girl staring back at her. Her face was perfectly still and her moist mouth was slightly open as if she were about to ask a question, only she had forgotten what the question was supposed to be.

“Destiny,” Paige sighed, addressing the baby, now happily swinging her legs at the mention of her name, “it’s a good thing you’re cute or I would be wearing a strait jacket right about now.”

The child offered a wide smile and a large spit bubble in response to her mother’s exasperation.

Paige chuckled and shook her head while carefully maneuvering the cart out of the corral and into the dark recesses of the store. She glanced at her watch – she had exactly 45 minutes to get her shopping done and drive to the elementary school to pick up her nephew. She had agreed to watch him every week day so her sister could work in the afternoons. Tony, her sister’s husband, had been laid off from work two months earlier and they were struggling to make ends meet.

She gently worried her lip. She was glad she was in a position to help her sister out, but she had her own stresses to deal with, too. Her own husband, Lane, and just been deployed to Iraq and she missed him terribly. She also worried about him, and she prayed for his safe return constantly. And she was scared, not just for him, but for herself as well.

Destiny’s quiet babbling brought her back to the present. The baby was content to hold and cuddle the dinosaur for several aisles. Whenever they passed anyone, the child would hold up the animal and proudly show it to the other patrons and babble nonsense, as if she were trying to explain what it was. Most of the customers smiled and responded, one man patted her softly on the head and an older woman gently pinched her cheek.

“She’s adorable,” the woman said with a nod in Paige’s direction, though her eyes remained fixed on Destiny.

“Thank you. She’s a handful, though,” said Paige.

The woman laughed and gave her a knowing nod and a wink before moving past them.

“Okay Destiny,” Paige muttered ten minutes later while she stood in front of the baby food display studiously studying the 101 choices of every pureed flavor under the sun. “Which will it be, prunes or bananas?”

The cart suddenly jerked and Paige turned her head just in time to see a strange woman catch her daughter just before she toppled out of the cart.

Continue reading “Fiction: Unpredictable Destiny” →

Writing Stuff

My Greatest Romance Story

Karen

HAHA! This is fun!

First comes love, then comes forgiveness…

But a widowed military man struggling during tough economic times doesn’t have much faith in either—until he meets feisty Karen in New York City at the boardinghouse they share. She’s a super successful businesswoman who could love his boy and heal his own heart. But how can Kevin trust a fiery woman in the profession he blames for his greatest loss?

Karen understands Kevin’s pain. She has her own secret anguish, and believes her dreams of a husband and child are beyond reach. Still, she can pretend when he asks her to play his temporary fiancée to protect his son. And if God would grant her one miracle, He knows exactly what her fiery heart is yearning for….

You can write your own romance story at Harlequin’s “Put Yourself in a Harlequin Romance Story.”

What’s your story?

And speaking of romance – that’s what I’m doing right this minute – writing a romance story.

Well, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing right at this moment.

Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: Security Issues

Karen

Fiction under 250 words
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Kathy leaned back in the rocking chair careful to keep her full mug of coffee from sloshing over the edge. Her eyes were trained on her neighbor’s driveway, more specifically, the van sitting in her neighbor’s driveway.

Why did Laura feel like she had to install a security system? The large white letters, ADT, loomed ominously against the blue background of the company logo; the brilliant colors were a blemish on an otherwise gray and black January morning canvas.

She took a slow sip of her morning brew, a pitter patter of small imprints, like a cat cautiously making it’s way across the back of a couch, made indents in her stomach lining triggering a nervous tingle to snake up her spine. Had her neighbor had a problem with prowlers? She couldn’t recall if the police had paid Laura a visit recently, she would have known about that. Though Kathy wasn’t exactly a nosy neighbor, she did keep an eye on what was going on around her. Did this mean she was in danger of being robbed?

She glanced around the sun room dispassionately. Did she really have anything worth stealing? The monetary value of her possessions was meager at best yet the sentimental value of her collection of porcelain figurines was priceless to her. How would she handle it if someone broke in and smashed her babies to bits? Could she handle it?

Kathy winced at the thought and picked up the cordless phone on the table next to her.

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Little Respect

Karen

Originally published on my self-hosted blog May 27, 2007.

Little Respect

“You’ll never guess what I’m doing right now,” the twenty-something woman with the long reddish-blonde hair sitting across from Lela said.

Lela shifted uncomfortably in her bus seat and directed a casual look out the window. She wasn’t eavesdropping, exactly; eavesdropping was rude, wasn’t it? But how could she not listen to the young woman’s conversation when the rest of the bus riders were relatively minding their own business and being quiet for a change.

“No, guess again,” cell-phone girl said with a smile.

Her friend, Joanne, sitting on her left, poked her in the arm. She gave Lela a sideways glance and then nodded toward the girl.

Lela answered with an imperceptive nod and tried to relay a silent message with her expression to stop bringing attention to them and not listen to the girl’s conversation.

Joanne didn’t take the hint and openly stared at the girl.

Cell-phone girl laughed. “No dope, not that … I’m on the bus for Christ sakes. Get your filthy mind out of the gutter.” The girl noted Joanne’s stare and with a grimace, twisted away from the two older women.

Lela noticed small spots of cherry red appear on the girl’s cheeks. She again glanced away and sighed. Young people nowadays … did they have no shame? Though she didn’t know what the person on the other end of the phone had suggested, she could imagine it wasn’t what a good Christian person would have said. She hated cell phones. No one bothered with privacy anymore. Cell phone users no longer cared about tact and diplomacy and treated any public venue like their own personal phone booth.

“So .. Friday night,” the girl said. “What exactly is the plan? Hang out at Brees? Or is Autumn having a party at her house? Oh, and what about Slade? He’s not hanging with us this weekend, is he?”

Lela couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose in distaste. Those names. How silly. What ever happened to good old fashion names like Mary, and Sally or even John? She issued a long-suffering sigh and leaned her head against the glass of the window. John. She missed her John.

“Hang on a sec, Trent,” the girl placed the tiny phone against her chest. Lela looked toward the girl and noticed she was glaring at Joanne. “What’s up, grandma? Hear anything exciting?” She snorted in the most rude way and continued, “A little privacy, please?”

Lela couldn’t help herself; she snickered at the girl’s words. She stiffened when she saw the girl shift her unnaturally bright blue eyes toward her.

“What’s your problem, you old hag,” the girl snarled.

Lela glanced down at her gloved hands and felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. What happened to common decency? She couldn’t imagine any of her four girls talking like that to an elder. No one had any respect anymore. It was all about them and their needs and wants.

“Yeah I thought so, bitch.” The girl brought the phone back up to her ear and said in loud and icy tones. “Sorry. I’ve got two old biddies giving me the evil eye.” She shot Joanne and Lela a hateful look before bursting out laughing. “Yeah, I should. I really should. That’d really give ‘em something to write home to the grandkids about.”

The bus suddenly lurched to a stop and the girl stood up. “Wait. Hold that thought. This is my stop. Let me get off this bus of losers so I can hear you.” The girl pushed her way through the five people in front of her and stumbled awkwardly off the bus. As she hopped down the last stair, she tripped and nearly fell flat on her face. A woman, probably in her mid-thirties, witnessed the whole thing and laughed out loud.

The girl on the sidewalk saw the woman laugh at her and flipped her off. The woman promptly returned the favor and continued to hold the gesture long after the bus pulled away from the curb.

Lela couldn’t help but smile a bit at the woman’s boldness. Joanne again nudged her and giggled under her breath.

The woman turned back around in her seat and addressed Lela and Joanne. “Don’t you hate modern conveniences?” she said with a friendly smile.

Lela returned the smile and nodded shyly. Indeed she did.