Category: Prompt Fiction

Ready for this week’s prompt?

Until the end of the conversation, I didn’t even realize who he was.

Want to play along? Check out Romantic Encounters. 😀

_______________________________________________________________

The buzzer echoed throughout the gymnasium. Jamie shifted her weight from foot-to-foot and kept an eye on her coach. She was anxious to get back onto the court and help her teammates out.

“Sit down, Jamie,” the assistant coach said and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You need to rest that ankle a bit before you can get back out there.”

“I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth and shot an anxious look up at the scoreboard. “And we’re behind. Put me back out there, coach. I can get us some points.”

“No way. You’re out until the second half. The doctor doesn’t like the look of that swelling. Sit down and take some weight off of it. Better yet, put an ice pack on it.” She nodded to one of the student go girls. “I’m serious, Jamie. We could really use you out there in the second half, but if that swelling doesn’t go down, forget about it.”

Jamie huffed in irritation and plopped down into a nearby chair. She crossed her arms and scowled with disappointment.

“Here you go, Jamie,” Tina said and gently placed an ice pack on her left ankle.

She grunted. She didn’t really mean to be rude, but she was just so disappointed – she really wanted to get back out there. Her new boyfriend was in the crowd watching somewhere and she wanted to impress him. Instead, she was stuck on the sidelines.

“This blows,” she muttered.

“Yeah. Doesn’t it?” A man’s voice sounded behind her and she twisted around to get a look. She didn’t recognize him. Even though he was sitting, he looked tall. He was rather rigid and he looked uncomfortable.

She lifted a brow at him.

“Uh, yeah.” She didn’t know what else to say and turned back to watch the game. They were down eight points. She balled her hands into fists. This was the last game of the season her senior year. She really wanted to wrap up the year with a big win.

“So, what happened to your ankle?” The man behind her asked.

She narrowed her eyes. She was really in no mood to chit-chat. But because her mother brought her up to be respectful, she took a breath, slowly counted to five, then turned around to answer him.

“I twisted it about two minutes into the game.”

“On that lay up?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. Number 32 bumped into me as I was going up and I came down the wrong way.” She shrugged. “It really doesn’t hurt. I’ve had worse.”

“Man, that really sucks.”

She nodded, her mouth set into a grim line.

“It’s not the same without the star athletic out there.”

She lifted a brow, then eased into an embarrassed smile. “I’m not the star athlete,” she sputtered out.

“I beg to differ. I’ve watched enough games this season. Plus, your stats are impressive. Are you going on to play college ball?”

She took another breath before shrugging. “I’d like to, but I haven’t heard from any scouts yet. I was hoping …” she paused, then straightened her shoulders, her voice determined. “If I don’t get recruited, I’ll figure something out.”

“I hear there’s a scout tonight,” the man said, his eyes roaming over the bleachers on the other side of the court.

She followed his gaze, her eyes skimming over the faces of the people, their features indistinguishable from that distance. “Yeah. I heard that, too.”

“This could be your last chance.”

She turned back around to face him. “Dude. You’re not helping.”

He laughed and put his hands up to indicate a silent truce. “Sorry.”

She could feel a bubble of irritation building at the base of her stomach. She turned away from the man so she wouldn’t say something she regretted and gave her ankle a gentle twist to test for pain. There was a slight twinge, but overall, it felt pretty good. She forced herself to relax. They had three minutes before halftime. She would lie down on one of the benches in the locker room for most of the fifteen minutes they had until the second half and that should do the trick. She would do her best to baby her ankle for the next 20 minutes, but whatever happened, she was going back out onto that court after halftime.

“So, is your mom here?”

Jamie blinked. What was this guy’s problem? Was he some sort of perv? Was he stalking her? She turned around and shot him a dirty look.

“Of course. My mom comes to every game.”

“I see. And your dad?”

She exhaled her irritation. “Dude. What is your problem? Stop asking me personal questions!”

“Sorry.” He looked at over the crowd once again. Jamie watched him cautiously. “So, is your mom close by? Can you see her from where we’re sitting?”

Jamie’s mouth dropped. He was seriously crossing a boundary here. “What the hell? Are you a stalker or something? Why are you bugging me?”

“Look. I’m sorry,” he said and leaned toward her so the girls on either side of her wouldn’t hear. She backed away from him as his face got closer. “Just tell me, did your mother remarry? I know this is a weird question coming from a stranger and all, but I … need to know.”

“I’m not telling you anything. And if you continue to talk to me, I’m telling the coach you’re bothering me.”

He raised his hands again in a sign of surrender. “Again. Sorry.”

The buzzer sounded to indicate the second quarter was over. Jamie felt instant relief. This guy was really making her uncomfortable.

Two of her teammates helped her off the court and toward the locker room. She probably could have walked on her own, but she didn’t want to take a chance on aggravating her injury any more than she needed to.

When she got into the locker room, she gingerly laid down on a bench. She bent both knees and rested her left leg on top of her right leg. She thought if she elevated it a bit, that would help.

“Are you okay?” Her mom threaded her way through the other girls toward her.

“Fine,” she snapped and then sighed. It wasn’t her mom’s fault this had happened. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to try and calm herself down. In addition to the whole ankle drama, she couldn’t shake off the weird man who had been talking to her. There was something odd about him.

“I saw you were talking to the scout,” her coach said.

Jamie’s eyes flew open. “What??”

“The man sitting behind you. He’s a scout for Columbia. You didn’t know?”

“Uh, no,” Jamie said and slowly sat up.

“We’ll talk later,” coach said and gave her a wink.

“Scout?” Jamie repeated and gave her mom a grief-stricken look.

“Scout?” her mom repeated. “Well. He went into sports after all.”

Jamie felt sick to her stomach. She had been so rude to the man! But why had he asked her all those questions about her mom? It didn’t make sense. She rubbed her forehead in confusion a few seconds before her mom’s words sunk in.

“What? You know that guy?”

Her mom’s face colored. She crossed her arms and took a sudden interest in her shoes.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

“This is not the time to talk about this. You still have the second half to get through.”

“Whatever. You know me. There is no way I can concentrate if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Her mom sat down next to her. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

Jamie cocked a brow. “Mom,” she said, her tone laced with warning.

She sighed and placed an arm around her. “I’m sorry. I had no intention of bringing this up now, but …” she sighed again. “I had no idea he would show up tonight. Though now that I know that he’s a scout, that sort of makes sense.”

“Who IS that man?”

“Jamie. Sweetie.” She gave her a gentle, loving smile. “That man is your father.”

Ready for this week’s prompt?

You inadvertently run an important paper through the shredder.

Want to play along? Check out Romantic Encounters. 😀

_______________________________________________________________

“I came over as soon as I could. How is she?” Donna threw her bag onto a nearby chair; her eyes remained focused on the teenage girl in front of her.

“She’s … out of it,” the girl said, her dark blue lipstick shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. “She’s depressed. She’s shocked. She’s pissed,” she suddenly poked herself in the chest. “I’M pissed. What the hell was he thinking?”

Donna had known the girl her entire life. She could see the hurt lurking behind the brave mask. She put an arm around the girl’s bony shoulders and held on tight even when the girl tried to initially throw her support off. After several long, tense moments, the girl broke down and began to cry, burying her head into Donna’s shoulder.

“I’m going to have makeup all over my blouse,” Donna absently thought as she stroked the girl’s blue-streaked hair. She continued to hold the girl for several minutes as she cried out her emotions.

Betrayal was never easy to deal with, let alone when you were a 16-year old girl.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said, her voice muffled by Donna’s blouse.

“Don’t be. You’re justified.”

She sniffed. “I need a tissue.” She pulled back and went over to an end table to snag a tissue from the box decorated with hearts all over it.

Donna suddenly had the urge to rip that box into several tiny pieces.

The girl blew her nose then spat out a bitter laugh. “This is the worst Valentine’s Day in history. Love SUCKS!”

Donna gave her a few minutes to compose herself before quietly asking, “Where is she, Alexandria.”

She shrugged a shoulder toward the back of the house. “In the office. But I warn you, she won’t come out. I’ve been trying to get her to open the door for the last hour and …nothing.”

“What is she doing in there?”

“I don’t know. I heard some crashes earlier. I thought maybe she hurt herself. But when I pounded on the door and demanded an answer, she just said to leave her alone – she needed time to regroup, or some shit like that.” Alexandria wrapped the soggy tissue around her nose again and gave a noisy honk.

“Right. Tell you what. Why don’t you make some coffee, or maybe some sandwiches –“

“None of us are hungry, Aunt Donna.”

“I know that, sweetie. But just do it, okay? I’m going to try and get her to open the door.”

Alexandria snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” She stomped into the kitchen, her combat boots heavy enough to vibrate the floor.

She took a moment to gulp in some fresh air before heading down the hallway. She passed several family portraits – Mary had always made sure they had had their pictures taken every year, without fail, even when Alexandria had vehemently protested – when she stopped in front of the door leading to the office.

She lifted a hand and rapped her knuckles sharply against the door. She paused to listen. All she could hear was the steady hum of some machine.

“Go away, Alex. I don’t want to talk right now,” her sister’s voice ground out. She could tell by the tone that she still had a tight rein on her anger.

“It’s Donna, Mary. Let me in.”

She wasn’t sure what she had expected. Mary wasn’t exactly an open book. She had always been a bit unpredictable, even growing up, so she wasn’t sure that she would even talk to her in the first place, but she jumped when the door suddenly flung open and Mary reached a hand out to drag Donna quickly inside the room.

“Hey!” Alexandria’s voice could be heard coming down the hallway. “No fair! I want to come in, too!”

“Later, honey! I need to talk to Aunt Donna first,” Mary slammed the door and then turned her tear-streaked face toward her sister. “That low-lying piece of pond scum,” she hissed. “Can you BELIEVE he would do something like this to me?”

Donna blinked at the mess in the office. Her sister was rather anal about keeping things tidy. In fact, she remembered trying to convince their mother that she was OCD when they were little and that she had needed help, her obsession for order was so outrageous growing up. But the otherwise spotless office was in complete disarray. Papers were everywhere. The cushion on the office chair had been ripped and fluffy, white stuffing peeked through the jagged leather edges. The fax machine had been pulled off the table and was lying in pieces on the floor. The curtains had been shredded and several pictures had been ripped off the walls, the glass cracked, but not broken, like she had stomped on the faces of her loved ones.

A cold chill suddenly went up her spine at the sheer destruction around them. She had never seen her sister this upset before.

Continue reading “Romantic Encounter: The Wrong Conclusion” →

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 feline in question comes out to prowl at exactly,” he glanced over his shoulder to look at the clock. “Precisely 30 minutes.”

“You can tell time?” she blinked again and this time, she allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips.

“So, I like guy cats and I can’t tell time – you think I’m a gay idiot, don’t you.”

“What? NO!” she said. Small spots of red appeared on her cheeks. “It’s just that …”

“No worries,” Marlin said. “Here’s my question – how do I impress her?”

“Impress her?” She really didn’t mean to repeat everything her cat said to her, but she was having a hard time accepting the fact that she was having a conversation with her pet.

Marlin’s ears went back – a clear sign he was annoyed.

“Sorry, sorry. Impress her.” She thought a moment. “It’s not like you can give her flowers or anything.” She thoughtfully tapped on her finger and Marlin suddenly bristled.

“Right! A gift! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Where’s that mouse fill with cat nip that you let me chew on once in a while?”

“You’re going to re-gift her something? Don’t you think that’s rather tacky?”

“Hey, it’s not like I have many resources here.”

“True. Sorry again. Okay fine, I think you pushed it under the stove, that last time I saw it. Can you reach it or do you need me to grab a –“

“Nope. I can get it. And hey, thanks for the advice.”

She laughed. “I can’t believe you asked me for relationship advice. It’s not like I’ve had any sort of relationship to speak of in the past 14 months or so.”

“Right. You really should do something about that.” Marlin jumped off the table and knocked his water dish over.

She jumped again and found herself still staring at the window. The snow was falling harder now and she could see a fine layer of it covering the banister of her back porch.

She blinked in confusion.

“Wait. What just happened?”

She looked down at Marlin, who had consumed all of his dinner and was now busy licking his paws in lingering satisfaction.

“We … didn’t just have a conversation, did we?” She addressed the cat.

Marlin meowed in response before turning away from her and exiting the kitchen.

She sighed. “I need to get a life.”

This story was also posted at my fiction blog: Fiction Fix.

“I can’t see anything!” sobbed the figure on the floor.

Daniel rolled his eyes and stuck a foot into his sister’s ribs. “You’re not down all the way.”

“Ow!” Shelly hissed and whipped her head around to glare at her brother. “Do that again and I’ll …” she trailed off.

“Right. I’m so scared,” Daniel stage whispered and nodded back toward the door. “Hurry up and look. He’s going to be here any minute!”

Shelly huffed in irritation, but did as her brother commanded. She laid back down on the floor and tried to look through the crack under the doorway. “This stinks!” She flattened her ear more firmly against the floor as she tried again to see into the room.

“Well?” Daniel snapped.

“I still can’t see anything!” she wailed and Daniel shushed her.

“We’re going to get caught and then he won’t come! I swear Shelly, if you scare Santa off, I’m gonna…” he paused. What was he going to do? What could he threaten his sister with that would show her he meant business? His slow smile indicated that something had indeed occurred to him. “If you don’t keep your voice down, I’ll tear the head off your favorite doll.”

Shelly gasped and rolled onto her back, her eyes wide with terror. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“If you scared Santa away? I totally would. Now shut up and take a look or get out of the way.”

The lump in Shelly’s throat could nearly be seen as she swallowed hard. Daniel smirked. His sister was such a sissy. She twisted back around onto her belly and with a wiggle or two, resumed her position.

Daniel impatiently tapped his foot. He mentally counted the seconds along with the grandfather clock located further down the hallway.

One … two … three … four … five … six …

“I still can’t see anything!” Shelly whined and Daniel balled his hands into small fists. He leaned over to get a look at his sister’s face.

“You have to open your eyes, dummy!”

“I still can’t see!”

“Open the other eye!” Daniel fiercely whispered and he grit his teeth in frustration. Girls were so stupid.

He again distracted himself by counting with the soft pings from the grandfather clock.

One … two … three … four … five

He jumped when the clock began to chime out the hour.

Startled, Shelly squealed and scooted herself away from the door.

“It’s midnight!” Daniel croaked out. It was so much of an effort to keep his voice low that he was giving himself a headache. “Get out of the way! Santa will be here any minute!” He used his foot to nudge his sister along the hardwood floor just a little faster.

“I’m moving! Cut it out!”

He barely waited for her to get out of his way before he dropped to his belly and was comfortably positioned before the door leading to the family room. He ignored the pressure on his ear as he concentrated on making himself as flat as his mother’s pancakes.

“I see the tree!” he whispered in excitement.

“Really? Shelly asked, her voice dipping into a pout. “I saw some pretty colors, but I never saw the tree. Are you sure you can see it?” She lowered herself to her hands and knees and leaned over him. “I think you’re lying. I think you can’t see anything.”

“Gross!” he hissed. “You’re breathing on my neck. Get away, you weirdo!” He reached a hand back to swat her away like a pesky fly. He kept his head in the same position and he could indeed see the bottom of the tree.

Unfortunately, there weren’t any presents under it. But he wasn’t worried just yet, it was still early.

“Do you see anything?” Shelly asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

“Not yet.”

Five seconds later …

“What about now?”

“No.”

Five seconds later …

“Now?”

“No.”

“Anything?”

“No.”

“What about now?”

“No!”

Daniel maintained his position but twisted his head around to look at his sister. She was sitting cross-legged near his legs and bouncing with so much energy he was afraid she was going to bruise her butt cheeks. He’d no doubt be blamed for it.

“Sit still!”

“I can’t!” she wailed in a strangled, whispered voice.

“Then go to your room and jump on your bed or something. Santa’s smart. If he feels the vibration from your butt, he won’t come!”

“Oh,” Shelly said and abruptly ceased her bouncing. “I didn’t think about that.” She lightly chewed on her lip. “Has he come yet?”

Daniel heaved a heavy sigh and with another roll of his eyes, he directed his gaze back under the door. “No, not yet.”

“He’s not coming!” Shelly cried.

“Oh my God!” Daniel growled and twisted his body around to face her.

“Omm, I’m telling mom. You took God’s name in vain.”

Daniel could feel a slow flush enter his cheeks. He was usually pretty careful about not taking God’s name in vain. He didn’t want God mad at him after all. But his sister got on his nerves so bad sometimes, he just wanted to hit something. Why couldn’t she have been a boy, instead? Girls were so stupid.

“Shelly,” he said, working to keep his voice calm. “It’s only a little after midnight. It’s only been Christmas for technically,” he glanced at the grandfather clock. The light from the moon streamed in and lit up the right side of the face. “Fifteen minutes. He’ll come. But if he knows we’re out here…” he left the rest unsaid for truly, the thought of Santa not coming scared him more than he was willing to let his sister see.

“Wow!”

He smiled. He liked impressing her. They were working on telling time at school and even though he wasn’t really sure he got it, he knew more than his sister and for now, that was enough.

“So, you’re gonna have to be patient, Shel,” he said. He felt like a grown up.

“Okay,” she said and to his surprise, she settled down.

Time ticked by slowly. It went even more slowly than school so Daniel felt like he had been waiting and watching for Santa to make an appearance for years when in fact, it had only thirty minutes. His eyes began to droop and he would catch himself nodding off and jerk himself awake.

There was one exciting moment when he thought he caught a shadow in the corner of his eye, but when he blinked the sleepiness away, it was gone.

He yawned. Shelly was already asleep, her head resting on his legs. He could feel his left thigh going numb, but he was afraid that if he moved, he would wake her up.

He had been staring at the snowman tree skirt for so long that he swore he saw the figure moving his hips from side-to-side sometimes.

His vision began to glaze over and he could feel his eyes growing very, very heavy.

“Hurry up, Santa,” he murmured in a sleep-induced daze. He fought to keep his eyes open for several more moments, but at precisely 12:52, they slowly lowered, and then closed.

At precisely 12:54, a pair of black galoshes quietly stepped into view.

---

This was inspired by:

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for December 4, 2009:

Include this in your story….“I can’t see anything,” sobbed the figure on the floor.

“I’m afraid, mommy.”

Darla held her arms out toward the little girl. “I know. It’s always scary when you first jump, but you can do it, I know you can. And look,” she smiled at her dark-haired, light skinned daughter, “I’m right here to catch you.”

The little girl tiled her head to one side and gave her mother an indecipherable look.

Darla suppressed a sigh and continued to hold her arms out toward her daughter, a tolerant smile plastered across her face. She knew that look, and she hated it. It was a mixture of confusion, doubt, distrust and fear.

Yes, fear. She hated that her daughter even knew what that emotion meant, let alone felt like.

It all started five years ago. Tillie’s father had disappeared; she suspected he took off with one of his students, but she could never prove it. She spent months trying to track him down. And though she had a few good leads, nothing ever panned out. A good friend of hers claimed that he had seen Sam at a favorite tavern just ten miles out of town, but when she went to question the people who worked there, none claimed to have seen anyone who looked like him. She had just found out that she was pregnant with Tillie right after he abandoned her so by the time her daughter was born, it had been nearly nine months since his disappearance.

Her efforts to find Sam waned. Money grew tight and when she could no longer afford to pay the mortgage, she had been forced to move back home with her parents so she could get a job and have someone to look after Tillie. She had never really gotten along with her parents, their relationship was strained at best, so when she was forced to virtually beg them to take her and Tillie into their home, it had been a bitter pill to swallow. Her parents didn’t exactly welcome her and her daughter with open arms, but she didn’t have a choice – she had no where else to go.

She had finally given up looking for him. She was a single mother raising a daughter. She didn’t have time to deal with an emotionally stunted man and she turned all of her energies and time into surviving the sleepless nights and endless diapers. But she missed him. And she alternated between anger and depression over his disappearance. She had toyed with the thought of hiring a private investigator a few months after Tillie’s birth, after all, her child had the right to get to know her father, but what was the point? Sam obviously didn’t want anything to do with either of them, why put Tillie through unnecessary heart ache?

She had talked to Tillie about her father, though. She was determined that if her daughter couldn’t come to know Sam personally, then she would come to know him through stories and pictures. Instead of bedtime stories, Tillie had demanded stories about her father. And though Darla didn’t really have that many stories to tell, they had only been dating a few years before they got married and he disappeared, Tillie didn’t care. She never tired of hearing about her father.

They got used to not having him around and before long it was as if he was a character in this great story instead of being a real person.

“I promise you’ll be safe. You’re always safe with me,” she said, forcing thoughts of Sam back down that deep, dark hole.

Tillie thoughtfully chewed on her lower lip and moved a few steps closer to the edge of the pier. Darla came up on her tip toes. The water gently pushed against her breasts.

“It looks deep,” the child whined and Darla clamped down on her irritation.

It wasn’t Tillie’s fault that she was hesitant and afraid. The little girl was insecure. And Darla had no one to blame but herself.

Well, and her father.

“It’s not that bad. See? The water is only this high,” she said while marking the water level on her chest with one hand. “Not deep at all.”

“But you’re a lot taller than I am,” the child reasoned and Darla couldn’t help but laugh.

“Smart girl. You’re right. I am taller than you. But I’m right here, Tillie. I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

“I don’t like water in my face, mommy. If I jump, I’ll get water in my face.”

Darla clamped her teeth shut in frustration.

Thanks a lot, dad, she silently fumed. Her father had thought it was funny to squirt Tillie in the face with a water bottle whenever she started whining. He couldn’t stand it when she whined.

Darla could feel her self-loathing lining the tenacious hold she had on her patience and her next words came out harsh and clipped.

“Enough with the excuses, Tillie. Just jump already.”

Tillie’s lower lip began to quiver and her dark brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “Are you mad at me, mommy?”

“No, I’m not mad,” Darla sighed, her arms beginning to ache from keeping them poised to catch her daughter. “But I am getting annoyed. I’m right here. I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you. You can trust me. And besides,” she swallowed her irritation and forced a smile. “It’s fun.”

Tillie lowered her head and gave her mother a suspicious look. “Fun?”

“Of course.” Darla nodded her head in the direction of four other children jumping off a neighboring pier. “Look at those kids.” Tillie turned to look. “They’re having fun. They aren’t whining and giving their mothers a hard time.”

Her daughter crossed her arms over her bony chest in defense as she watched the other children jump off the pier, disappear into the water and then shortly reappear, their heads bobbing on the water, their wet hair covering their smiles but not masking their laughter.

“Come on, Tillie. Enough is enough. Just jump.”

Suddenly, one of the other children, intending to jump into the water, tripped on an upraised board and fell, face first, into the water. The slap from his belly flop reverberated against the sheer rock walls surrounding the small lake. The child immediately resurfaced, coughed out the excess water and before Darla had time to walk toward the pier and shield Tillie from what she knew would come next, opened his mouth and let out an ear-piercing wail.

Tillie slapped her hands over her ears and looked back at her mother in alarm. Darla, knowing how her daughter felt about loud noises, began to head toward the ladder, clumsily using her arms to push water out of her way, her legs felt heavy and awkward with each large step forward.

The boy who fell into the water continued to cry, the sound growing louder with each passing scream.

“Tillie,” Darla soothed, reaching a dripping hand out of the water toward her daughter. “It’s okay. The boy is fine. He just tripped and fell into the water. He’s not hurt. He’s just scared.”

But Tillie wasn’t listening to her. She had turned her back on her and was staring at something on shore.

Darla turned her head to try and see what had caught Tillie’s eye, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The boy’s cries had alerted several people on the shore line and a woman, she assumed it was the boy’s mother, was running toward the pier.

She turned back toward Tillie, but the girl was gone.

“Tillie?” she asked, her voice diving into muffled and confused. “Tillie!” She repeated, her voice now emerging sharp and clear, her eyes quickly scanning the rest of the pier.

Her head spun around, her shoulders a scant few seconds behind, and studied the shoreline desperately seeking the familiar body of her daughter. Darla quickly swam the few strokes needed to reach the ladder and pulled herself up out of the water.

She grabbed a nearby towel and absently drew it around her shivering body. Her eyes continued to skim the bodies on the shore. She caught a flash of pink in her peripheral to her left and she whipped her head around in that direction to get a better look.

Tillie was wearing a pink bathing suit with a picture of a butterfly on the front.

“Tillie!” she yelled at the top of her voice. The body slowed and looked around at her. It was indeed her daughter.

Darla’s eyes remained locked on her child as she began to quickly walk down the length of the pier toward her.

Tillie paused for just a moment to stare at Darla before turning her head to look at something over her shoulder. Whatever she saw must have spooked her because without warning, she began sprinting toward the woods.

The moment Darla began to run is the moment that Tillie began to run. “Tillie, come back!”

Even though the boy’s cries were loud, they weren’t quite loud enough to mask Darla’s outburst. Several people froze in place and watched as she sprinted toward the spot that she last saw her daughter.

Darla lost her grip on her towel and it slipped off her body as she reached the spot where Tillie disappeared. She disregarded the towel as she peered into the dark shadows of the trees.

“Tillie?” she tentatively asked. “Where are you?”

She forced her panic back down her throat and consciously worked to steady her voice. “Tillie, that’s quite enough young lady. Come out here right this minute.” Though she had meant for her voice to be firm and authoritative, it came out squeaky and frightened.

Darla heard a rustling of leaves off to her left and she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to see through the dense foliage.

She opened her mouth to call out to her daughter once again but stopped when she heard Tillie give a soft giggle.

A momentary flash of memory ripped through her panicked brain of the last time she had to hunt for Tillie – it was a game of hide and seek. The girl had been good. In fact, it had taken Darla nearly ten minutes to find her stuffed into the laundry hamper. She had been surprised at her daughter’s ingenuity and quick thinking.

Relief and irritation immediately doused the flames of fear, effectively suffocating it, at least for the moment.

“Tillie Marie, you get your butt out here right this minute. This is no time for games. You scared me to death,” she said as she started burrowing her way through the brush toward the sound of her daughter’s laughter.

She ducked under several large branches and pushed her way through thick bushes, the branches scratching at her exposed legs.

Her path through the woods changed each time she head her daughter’s voice. She was moving and she was talking … to someone.

A flicker of fear lapped at Darla’s heart. Who was with her? And why didn’t she sound scared? If anything, she sounded amused and happy.

Darla was confused and the sound of Tillie’s carefree voice kept her from panicking. If anything, she was more curious than scared.

“Tillie?” she called out and was rewarded with the child shushing whomever she was with.

“Let’s play the game for just a minute longer, please?” she heard the child plead. Her request was shortly followed by the sound of a voice, a man’s voice.

Another flicker of fear teased Darla’s heart back into a quivering rhythm.

“Game’s over Tillie,” Darla snapped, her fear making her voice sharp. “You come out right …” her voice trailed off as she moved a wispy branch out of the way and stepped into a small clearing.

“Hi mommy!’ Tillie beamed, her small hand securely tucked into a man’s larger hand.

Darla’s eyes left her daughter to settle on the man. Her breath caught in her throat and she could feel all the color drain from her face. Her heart dropped to her female regions and she felt so weak she had to reach out and brace herself on a nearby tree.

“Hello, Darla,” the man said.

“S..Sam?”

(This was originally posted May 20, 2007)

Warning: Language

_______________________________

“That is a stroke of genius.”

Callie placed her paintbrush on her easel and turned to him. “Seth, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Get it? Stroke? Painting?” He grinned, the dimple on the left side of his mouth causing an indentation in his cheek.

She used to think that indentation was cute. Callie sighed, picked up her paintbrush and gave her boyfriend a sidelong glance.

“I mean, truly. That whole … summer thing,” he fluttered his hands to illustrate his lack of description, “it’s really happening.”

“It’s not a painting about summer.”

“But … the leaves. They’re all like, flapping in the wind.”

Exasperated, Callie accidentally flipped her paintbrush; dollops of red-gold oil speckled her smock. “What … leaves? What … flapping?’

“There.” Seth pointed to the canvas. “And there, and there …” His finger got dangerously close to her painting. She had spent the last week trying to find inspiration for this particular piece and she had to have it painted and turned in by tomorrow if she wanted to make an A in the class.

She slapped his hand away. “If you leave a fingerprint on my painting, I WILL hurt you,” she growled under her breath while turning her attention back to her work.

Seth glanced down at his black t-shirt. “You got paint on me.”

“Sorry,” Callie mumbled. She didn’t exactly sound sorry.

“You know, I don’t get you.”

“That’s an understatement,” she mumbled again. She kept her attention riveted to the canvas before her. She continued to dab red-gold paint at various places throughout the picture. It was almost done; it just needed that extra … something. She chewed on the end of her paintbrush, completely oblivious to the fat drops that fell at her feet. “What does it need …”

“How about structure?”

She blinked at the painting and then forced herself to focus on Seth. “What?”

“Structure,” Seth pointed helplessly at the painting. “It’s just a bunch of … blobs. I mean, no offense, but you call this art?”

Callie bristled at his words. She could feel a slow heat burning her face and she struggled to keep her voice even. “And you call the shit you make out of wood art?”

“My sculptures are most definitely art.”

“How can you say that?” Callie carefully lowered the paintbrush. “They quite literally look like piles of shit.”

“They’re dinosaur droppings.”

And to think, she used to think his vision was revolutionary. “It’s dinosaur shit, Seth. It doesn’t have any real form or shape – it’s just a brown, hard blob.”

“And you call this mess art?” Seth gestured around the room. Various sized canvases were leaning against the far wall.

“Apparently.”

“It’s crap, Callie. I’m sorry, I should have told you at the beginning but truly, you can’t paint.” He walked over to a large purple and brown painting. “And what the hell is this? I’ve always wondered.”

Callie swallowed her tears and forced her chin up to meet his defiant glare. “It’s a basket of grapes.”

“No shit.” Seth sounded amazed and shook his head. “I never would have guessed.”

“Art is subjective, Seth. It’s what you make of it. It’s what an individual sees that’s important.”

“Well, all I see are blobs.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“And I’m outta here,” Seth gathered up his backpack and carving tools.

“Don’t forget your shit.” She kicked a block of wood toward him.

He snatched up the wood, sniffed and stomped out of the door.

Callie closed her eyes and took a few minutes to get her temper under control. What a jerk! She was a talented artist. Her art teacher said so. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at her painting. She studied it for long moments, cocked her head to one side and said to no one in particular, “Actually, it DOES sort of look like leaves flapping in the wind.”
_______________________________

I am, right this very minute, starting my new writing schedule. At least, I SHOULD be. By the time you read this, I SHOULD be at MSU’s library typing my fingers to the bone working on fresh fiction. If I’m not, you totally have my permission to kick my butt – hard.