Category: Prompt Fiction

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Tell the Truth

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

This was written in response to the Three Word Wednesday challenge. This week’s words: Avoid, Class, Sticky.

______________________________

Tell the Truth

Marta took a deep breath and stared at the screen. The bluish light from the monitor bounced off her pale skin, the worry lines around her eyes and the grooves in her forehead looked like someone had traced them with a fine-point pen – the marks looked like gruesome slashes in the dim glow.

So I went to ‘Blogger’s Unite’ this past weekend and I can honestly say I had the time of my life.

Marta frowned and continued typing.

Everyone was so nice and I can honestly say, I didn’t feel intimidated in the least.

“You’re such a liar, Marta,” a female voice sounded behind her.

Marta stiffened, but she kept her eyes trained on the computer monitor. “What are you talking about?”

Marta could feel her sister leaning over her shoulder, her warm breath, which smelled faintly of eggs, brushed against her skin.

“You told me that the conference sucked. Royally.”

Marta shrugged. “It did.”

“So why are you blogging that it didn’t?”

Marta leaned back in her computer chair and lifted her arms for a deep stretch. “Because I’ve got sponsors that expect me to gush and be all … girly about what a great time I had.”

“But it’s not true.”

“Well, not entirely.”

“Your readers will see through you.”

Marta glanced up at her sister and bit her lip. She had earned the reputation for being a pretty straight-forward sort of blogger. Granted she wasn’t as popular as the “big kids” on the cyber block but she had a pretty decent following. Though she didn’t deliberately go out of her way to be offensive, she knew that most of her thoughts and opinions were often times considered brusque and yes, even cruel at times. She hated lying to her readers, but she wasn’t sure she could be completely honest – not this time. She hated the conference from the first moment she walked in and could see nothing but lacquered hair everywhere she looked, though to be fair, there were a few moments, maybe two out of 1,000, that didn’t suck too bad.

“They aren’t going to know,” Marta insisted. She laced her fingers together and proceeded to pop them one-by-one.

“What, are you kidding me?” Calla pointed to the computer screen, her tone of voice dripping disgust. “That sounds like something a suburban soccer mom would write.” She pantomimed a huge yawn. “Boring and predictable. In other words, not you. Oh, let me guess,” she held up a hand, “next you’ll be posting pictures of all of the bloggers you meant over the weekend and talk about what beautiful, nice people they were, blahblahblah … give me a break.”

Marta arched a brow. “I didn’t take any pictures, actually, and aren’t you a bitch today.”

Calla plopped down onto a bean bag chair next to Marta’s desk and leaned her back on the overstuffed fabric. “Have you forgotten how depressed you were when you got back? Have you forgotten the number of times these so-called ‘friends’ of yours openly snubbed you?” Calla shook her head. “All I know is this, if I had gone there with you, and I’m wishing now that I had, I would have kicked some major ass.”

Marta didn’t doubt her sister. She rubbed her eyes, suddenly tired of the whole subject. “I may have exaggerated a tiny bit.”

“Marta,” Calla said softly, waiting until she turned her head to look at her. “I saw your face. I heard your voice. You did not have a good time. It was like that damn sorority disaster all over again.”

“Okay fine, the conference sucked. But I have to say, a lot of what happened was my own fault.” Marta said, her voice dipping into a whisper. “I should have known I wouldn’t fit in. I’ve never been very good at approaching people, or making that annoying small talk that no one cares about or ever remembers. In fact, if I had known the conference was going to focus more on finding the biggest, or most popular parties, dancing in the aisles of a major department store and making a fool out of yourself, consuming mass quantities of alcohol or kissing my fellow bloggers all for shock value, then I wouldn’t have gone.” She ran a hand through her short, spiky hair, her movements jerky, her features twisted into exasperation. “It was like a damn Girls’ Gone Wild video. I mean, come on, grown women? I can understand getting together and having fun, even going a little nuts, but come ON! The way some of those people acted … I was embarrassed for them. And I wasn’t even that impressed with the sessions, quite frankly. I thought they were lukewarm and slapped together in a hurry – like they were a cover-up, or an excuse, to throw a huge party, really.”

“There,” Calla lifted a hand, “that’s what I’m talking about. Talk about that.”

“But no one wants to hear anything negative, or even honest. It’s all about being the most popular.”

“Who says? You?” Calla snorted. “I bet there were a lot more women there for the same reasons as you – yes, to meet other bloggers, but to learn more about the craft, or their business, as in your case. To learn how to entice sponsors and how to write compelling entries that would leave a lasting impression on readers. I’m sure the majority of bloggers who went to this thing weren’t all that interested in how many mojitos they could drink.”

“It’s … sticky. I don’t want to alienate myself more than I already have. I’d like to be a blogger with SOME class.”

Calla twisted out of the bean bag chair, lifted up to her knees and took the mouse from Marta’s hand. “Since when did you start avoiding confrontation?”

“Since I learned that sponsors weren’t all that interested in what I had to say, as opposed to how many RSS readers I had.”

Calla’s eyes narrowed on the computer screen and Marta watched to see what she was doing. “Okay, look at those stats,” Calla said while sitting back on her heels. “Those are pretty good, Marta. Contrary to what you may think.”

Marta shrugged.

Calla placed a hand on her sister’s knee. “I’ll lose respect for you if you change. I’m betting a lot of your readers lose respect, too. Is that really what you want? To write about what everyone else is writing about and not staying true to yourself?”

“If I write about my experiences, they won’t be flattering.”

Calla continued to look at her.

“They won’t be all goody-goody and nice.”

Calla arched a brow. “But they’ll be honest.” She said after long moments.

Marta shrugged and stared at her hands for several minutes. She finally nodded her agreement. She swiveled around in her chair, placed her fingers on her keyboard and with a deep sigh, began to type.

So I went to ‘Blogger’s Unite’ this past weekend and I can honestly say, that will be the last time I attend this conference. It was a waste of my time, money, and here’s why …

________________________________

Here’s another writing prompt idea:
Fiction Friday
Don’t let the name fool you – it’s a writing exercise you can use any way you wish – everyone is welcome to participate.

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Change of Plans

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

This was originally published May 16, 2007

________________________________

Change of Plans

Sherry placed the pads of her fingers just under both her eyes and rubbed gently. “If I don’t see another box in my lifetime I’ll be happy.” She chuckled and laughed up at her husband. “So, are you packed?”

Mike smiled and looped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

“Ugh, sounds good to me,” She leaned her cheek into her husband’s strong arm and allowed him to guide her toward the living room. “Can you believe the time has finally arrived? I mean, who would have thought that we would be moving to New York City?” She sighed happily and thought about the editing job waiting for her in the Big Apple. She still couldn’t believe she had landed her dream job.

“Yeah, that’s pretty remarkable,” Mike said next to her. She smiled against him, soaking in the deep timbre of his voice as it vibrated against her face. “You certainly deserve it. You’ve worked hard enough for it.” He eased down onto the couch, pulling her down beside him.

They settled more comfortably into the deep cushions, placed their feet on the oak coffee table before them and gazed into the fire. “Mmm, this is cozy,” she said.

Long moments went by, each of them hypnotized by the flame’s seductive dance and deep into their own thoughts. A log cracked and the pop caused them both to jump out of their reverie.

Sherry chuckled in response. She wasn’t sure why but she suddenly felt shy and a bit on edge.

“Are you nervous?”

“Not really,” she replied. “I mean, I’ve basically been doing this type of job for the past six years so I know I can do it it’s just …” She twisted around to get a better look at him. “It’ll be hard to leave, ya know? Our families are here. Our friends…”

Mike nodded and continued to stare into the fire.

“But,” she swallowed, “we’ll make new friends. It’s just going to be …” she paused to inhale one long shaky breath before exhaling one lone gusty word, “great.”

Mike patted her shoulder before removing his arm from around her. His wedding ring nabbed a few strands of her hair and she felt her scalp jump in protest. “Ow.” She reached back to rub her head.

“Sorry.”

She waved his concern aside and settled herself more comfortably against his side. “I lied,” she began. “I am nervous. It’s all this anticipation. I mean, what if I get up there and totally bomb this? What if I’m not good enough? A lot of people are taking a chance on me, I can’t let them down.”

“You won’t.”

She sighed in contentment. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

A crack of thunder sounded in the distance and a sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. Sherry struggled to sit up. “We better load the car before it starts raining.”

She stood up and tugged on her pants legs. She looked toward the door. “Where’s your luggage? I thought you brought it down already.”

Mike heaved a long, slow sigh and also rose from the couch. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor.

Sherry shot him a quizzical look before walking over to her luggage stacked neatly by the door. Mike’s black matching set of luggage was definitely not there. She glanced through the half-circle of windows in the front door in time to see a nasty streak of lightening slash it’s way through the sky. She mentally counted to herself …

One one-thousand … two one-thousand … three one-thousand … four one-thousand … five one-thousand …

A deep rumble rolled through the house causing the crystal clock on the foyer table to tremble.

“It sounds like it’s about five miles out. We better hurry.” She reached down and grabbed a suitcase in each hand. Mike still hadn’t moved and continued to stand in the same exact spot.

“Mike,” she said sharply. Enough was enough. She was sad to leave too, but it was time to go. Their flight was scheduled to take off in just under three hours. “Earth to Mike, hello?” She tried to keep her tone of voice even but she was rapidly losing patience. “Mike come on, get your stuff and let’s go.”

Her husband continued to stand there, only now he had turned to stare into the fire. His shoulders were slumped and his head was hanging so low it was hard to see his face.

“Mike?” She struggled to lift the heavy cases and volleyed the extra weight on the balls of her feet. “Mike, seriously, let’s go. If we leave now, we can beat the storm.”

He finally turned around to face her. His face was hard and his mouth was set into a grim line.

“Mike?” She gritted her teeth. She hated that look. She always had.

“I’m not going.”

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: How to Lose a Man

Karen

“That has got to be the stupidest title for a seminar I’ve ever heard.”

Ellie and Gina continued to stare each other down. The other customers in the coffee shop began to look in their direction.

“Can you say that a little louder, please? I don’t think the hicks in the next county heard you.”

Gina broke off the stare-a-thon first. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Seriously Ellie, who’s going to pay to hear you talk about how to lose their man? Don’t we have enough trouble keeping our men nowadays as it is without having to hear tips on how to get divorced faster?”

Ellie ran a hand over suddenly tired eyes. “You’re not listening, Gina. It’s not about losing your man, it’s about keeping your man.”

“Then why the crazy title?”

“To get people’s attention.”

Gina shrugged, uncrossed her arms and reached for her double-shot espresso. “I think it’s counterproductive.”

“And I appreciate your candor,” Ellie said, though the tone of her voice indicated otherwise. “But my sponsors love the idea and since they’re the ones who give me a paycheck every month …”

“Right. I understand having to go where the money talks ALL too well, thank you very much.” Gina said with a grimace. “I still don’t know how you do this though, given what happened.”

Ellie sighed and ran a finger lightly over the crust of her moist, blueberry muffin. “It actually helps.”

“How can giving out advice about relationships help you get over the fact that Jerry was an asshole?”

“It just re-establishes what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, girlfriend,” Gina said with a snort. “The man had one foot out the door your entire marriage.”

Ellie reached up and tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Her gaze landed on the pimply-faced barista behind the counter. The girl looked tired and tense. She also looked a bit sad as she worked alongside the bubbly blonde cheerleader-type girl next to her. She could relate to the tired girl. She knew exactly what it was like to be overshadowed and often times, overlooked, when next to more attractive people.

Ellie’s eyes shifted back on her friend and she heaved a heavy sigh. “I won’t dispute that. I think Jerry was just a restless soul to begin with. He didn’t know what he wanted, let alone what he wanted out of our marriage. But,” she held up a finger as Gina opened her mouth to interrupt her. “I did contribute to the problems.”

“Oh?” Gina cocked her head and looked dubious. “How so?”

“Come to the seminar and find out,” Ellie said with a melancholy smile.

Gina rolled her eyes. “You know I have that conference in Tallahassee that week. I can’t come. Just give me the highlights.”

Ellie sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth and looked uncertain. “It’s not exactly finished. It needs work.”

“All the more reason to try it out on me,” Gina insisted.

Ellie stared at her for long seconds before nodding. “Fine. All right.” She cleared her throat and reached into her over-sized handbag. She cracked her eyeglass case open and reached in for her spectacles.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” Gina asked in surprise.

“Since I can’t see two feet in front of me,” Ellie growled and pulled out a steno pad. She flipped to the correct page before clearing her throat once again.

“How to lose your man,” she began in an authoritative voice.

Gina settled into her seat and crossed her long, thin legs. “This outta be good.”

“I warn you,” Ellie said over her glasses, “it needs work.”

Gina waved a hand to indicate she should continue.

“Number One,” Ellie paused. A small amount of red stained her upper cheeks. “Stop taking care of yourself or,” she paused, “in laymen’s terms, get fat.”

“What?” Gina sputtered.

“Well look at me,” Ellie said with a grand sweep over her plump figure. “I’ve gained about 30 pounds since marrying Jerry — ”

“What does that have anything to do with anything? You look great. And you’re not fat for the like the gazillionth time.”

Ellie gave her a sad smile before shaking her head. “I’m not attractive anymore, Gina. I let myself go.”

“Is that what that SOB told you?”

“No, it’s what my mirror tells me.” She lifted a hand to stop her friend’s tirade. “Think of it this way,” she paused and whet her lips, “you married a really good looking guy. You found him attractive, the sex was good and then … you woke up one morning and noticed he had a beer gut. And he didn’t shave as often, or maybe he didn’t wear as much deodorant as he needed to. Would you still be attracted to him?”

“You should love each other no matter what,” Gina insisted in stubborn tones.

“True. But being attracted to one another is a component of love. And if you don’t have enough respect to take care of yourself, how can your partner have enough respect for you? Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can suddenly stop caring about how you present yourself to him or the rest of the world.”

“I still think that’s a cop-out excuse to end a marriage.”

“I didn’t say it would end your marriage, it’s just one of the steps that leads to that conclusion,” Ellie said.

Gina studied her friend for several seconds, “Jerry didn’t leave you because you’ve put on a few pounds, Ell.”

“Actually, he did.”

Gina blinked.

“He told me,” Ellie said. “But,” she continued, “I can understand where he’s coming from.”

“You shouldn’t have to change yourself for anyone.”

“That’s right. I agree. You shouldn’t change yourself — for better OR worse for anyone.”

Gina gave her a hard stare before saying, “We’re never going to agree on this point. Let’s skip this and move on.”

“Fine,” Ellie’s eyes went back to her notes. “Number Two, nag him. Men have a fantastic ability to completely shut us out in the best of times. Start nagging him and he’s sure to shut you out.”

“Well, I can certainly understand that one. My boss nags me all the time and I want to throttle the man.”

“Imagine living with someone who thought everything you did was sub-standard or simply not good enough. How do you think that affects your self-esteem after a while?”

“Not to mention how utterly annoying,” Gina shot back. “What’s number three?”

Ellie consulted her notes. “Number three, belittle him.”

“How is that different than nagging?”

“Nagging is always reminding him he needs to do something, or not do something. Belittling is when you make that person feel like dirt as a person. Men have huge egos, belittling them, or emasculating them, makes thim think less and less of you. Who wants to be around someone who makes them feel bad, or not good enough all the time?”

“Oh come on, you didn’t do that.”

Ellie sighed. “Didn’t I? I used to joke all the time how Jerry couldn’t cook a meal to save his life. Or how I was so thankful for Triple A because if I had to rely on Jerry to fix my car, I’d still be stuck in Iowa.”

“But you were kidding. It was funny..”

“He wasn’t laughing,” Ellie said, her facial features set into a humorless mask. “Number four,” she continued, her eyes still on Gina, “become his mother.”

Gina burst out laughing. “Now that’s just plain sick.”

Ellie allowed a small grin before continuing. “It sounds like that, but you’d be surprised by the number of women who are at their husband’s beck and call whenever he’s in dire need of guidance. While it’s great to make sure he has a good home-cooked meal or clean socks, it can get a little overbearing when it’s starting to look like he married his mother and not the woman he fell in love with. Women need to show their men they have their own talents and that they’re the sexy women they married in the first place.

“Number five,” Ellie continued and rubbed her nose. “don’t trust him. Unless he’s given you a reason NOT to trust him, then chill the hell out. To learn how to trust is to learn how to take attention off of him and focus it on yourself. Do what makes you happy and before you know it, unless he gives you reasons to feel otherwise, everything will fall into place.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Gina said with a confident nod of her head.

Ellie reached across and gave Gina’s hand a reassuring pat. “You had every reason to distrust Walt, Gina.”

Her friend shrugged and stared off into the distance.

“Number six,” Ellie continued, “Stay silent.”

Gina’s eyes shifted back. “What do you mean?”

“If you can’t say what’s on your mind without your man going off the deep end, something is definitely wrong. Repressing your thoughts and opinions is stifling your self-growth and before long, you’re resenting the fact that you CAN’T speak your mind. It feels like he’s controlling you because you can’t be yourself around him.”

“I agree with that to a certain extent.”

“How so?” Ellie asked and took a sip of her latte.

Continue reading “Fiction: How to Lose a Man” →

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Missing Youth

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

This was originally published May 2, 2007

________________________________

Missing Youth

Clara glanced at her watch and frowned. It was nearly time to get back but she just couldn’t force herself to move. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the children were having so much fun playing and chasing each other in the park.

She sighed. She missed having little ones under foot. She missed her grandchildren. She missed her family. Lifting a hand, she shielded her eyes from the afternoon glare. The man on her left shifted a bit and caused the park bench to groan in protest.

Clara looked over at her companion; Ben was asleep and snoring softly. She shook her head in disgust and turned her attention back to the children. How could he sleep on a day like this? There was so much activity, so much life, to appreciate and soak in before going back. There would be plenty of time to sleep, later.

A black and white checked ball bounced off her foot momentarily startling her. A little boy, not more than five, walked shyly toward her. She offered an encouraging smile, careful not to show her teeth; she didn’t want to scare the boy.

“ello,” she croaked in a throaty voice.

The boy hesitated. His eyes darted back and forth between the ball and his friends, he was clearly debating on whether it was worth confronting her to retrieve the ball or simply run back to his friends and forget about the toy.

Clara bent slowly from the waist and tried to pick up the ball, but her bones protested loudly and her muscles locked and refused to stretch. She sighed loudly and lifted one bony shoulder into a shrug. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I can’t pick it up. Can I kick it to you?” The croak had worked itself out of her voice and the sound came out soothing and friendly. She was pleased at the change and smiled again; this time, the smile reached her eyes.

The boy visibly relaxed at her smile and nodded eagerly. He ran back several paces and Clara laughed softly. “No my child. I can’t kick it that far. You’ll have to come a little closer.”

Ben suddenly twitched next to her and emitted an abrupt snore. The boy jumped and Clara laughed again. “Don’t mind him. He’s just dreaming.” She blinked to bring the ball into focus. “Okay, ready now?”

The boy’s face stretched into a wide grin and he clapped his hands to signal he was ready. Clara summoned what little strength she had, brought her foot back and kicked.

Only she missed and the ball remained near her feet. She glanced up at the boy. The boy stared back at her. Suddenly, they both erupted into giggles. “I’m sorry,” Clara struggled to say past her amusement. “I guess I’m out of practice.”

The boy approached her and placed a small hand on her bare arm. His smile was beatific and his eyes sparkled with life and innocence. “S’ok,” his voice tinkled out. “My mom’s not a very good kicker, either.” He gave her arm little reassuring pats before picking up the ball.

A lump formed in Clara’s throat and she felt an overwhelming sadness surround her heart. She missed her grandchildren. Dear God, she missed them.

A soft rumble eased its way past the sounds of the park and caught the boy’s attention. Clara nodded off into the distance. “It sounds like rain’s coming.”

The boy nodded in agreement. “Yeah. My dad said it was gonna rain today.”

“Your dad is a smart man.” Clara said.

“Yeah,” the boy responded. “’Cept when it comes to fixing things. Mom says he’s not a very good fixer.” He grinned. Clara’s heart jumped at his expression and she noted, for the first time, one of his front teeth was missing.

“Mark!” A voice called toward them.

“Oops. That’s me. I gotta go.” Mark patted her arm again. “Thanks for trying to kick the ball.”

Clara’s eyes began to fill with tears at the boy’s kindness. Her throat closed up and she found she couldn’t speak. She simply nodded and smiled at him in return.

She watched Mark run off, and with each stride of his chubby legs, her smile dissipated until finally, it disappeared altogether.

“Mrs. Stevens?” A deep male voice sounded next to her right ear, a large hand rested on her shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

“But,” she glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist. “It’s not time yet.”

“There’s a storm coming, we should go. Are you ready?”

She swallowed a sigh and sadly nodded her agreement.

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: I Had a Problem

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

This was originally published March 23, 2007

These prompt fiction pieces were all written in a hurry and haven’t been edited (much). I’m using these prompts to free / speed write – just some warm-up exercises.

You can find a ton of writing prompts at Write Anything. Click over today and write YOUR version!

Writing Prompt:

You’re behind a car in traffic when you notice part of a trash bag sticking out from the closed trunk. What’s in the bag?

___________________________

I couldn’t help it. I had a problem. I knew it, my husband knew it, my friends knew it, hell even my neighbors knew it.

I worried the inside of my cheek and continued to check the traffic in my rearview mirror. I kept driving. I had no idea where I was going, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. I had pushed the envelope too far this time. I had lied so many times in the past I had forgotten the truth even existed.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. It was painful and yet strangely comforting. I was alive! Finally, thank God, I was alive.

I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew there would be repercussions. But I simply couldn’t stop. I had an impulse, a need to do this. It was strong. It pushed me. It was like being stuck in the middle of a parade. The people kept pushing against me; I tried to fight my way through the masses, but somehow, they always won and I ended up being twirled around and pushed ahead of them.

I finally stopped fighting them. What was the use? This was who I was. This was the only thing that kept me breathing, kept me functioning from day to day, kept me from tearing my hair out night after night and kept the demons from clawing my insides to bloody ribbons.

I pulled off the highway and onto the exit ramp. This section of town was dark, mysterious and dangerous. It was the perfect place to dump the contents of the trash bag in the trunk of my car.

I continued to check my rearview mirror. I didn’t think I was being followed, but I couldn’t take the chance. I drove around several blocks, taking side streets and weaving in and out of back alleys.

I released a small sigh of relief when I was finally convinced no one was tailing me. I lifted a shaky hand and removed a fine sheen of perspiration from my brow. The hard part was over. Now it was time to dump the contents.

I couldn’t help but smile at myself in the mirror. This was my favorite part.

I pulled up to the small security building outside the Greenback Storage Facility.

“Hey Ms. Winter. How’s you doin’ tonight?” The large, burly black man smiled at me from within his cubicle. His teeth glowed brightly in the dim light.

“Hi Max,” I replied in what I hope was a normal voice. I sounded breathless, guilty. I cleared my throat and smiled. “Slow night?” I could feel my heartbeat decrease with each heavy thud. It had a tendency to do that whenever I found myself in dire straits.

Max chuckled and pressed the button that opened the security gate. “The only people out are the punks who’s got something to hide,” he said.

I blinked instinctively as if he had taken a swing at me. I swallowed hard and recovered quickly. “Really. Well, then I better not look too guilty, eh?”

The breath caught in my throat as I waited for his reaction. I nonchalantly placed my hand over my purse just in case he asked any more nosey questions.

“Yeah, right Ms. Winter.” He grinned and waved me on through the gate.

I relaxed my death grip on the steering wheel and drove into the facility. I forced myself to drive slowly though what I really wanted to do was tear around the storage buildings on two wheels.

I finally parked in front of door number 414. I slipped out of the car and made a show of stretching my legs. It hadn’t really been that long of a drive, only 45 minutes, but I knew Max was probably watching me on the security monitor. I fished the storage keys out of my purse and walked to the trunk. I jabbed the key into the lock with perhaps more force than was necessary.

I broke a nail and swore softly under my breath.

I popped the trunk and grabbed the heavy black trash bag. A very distinctive and not altogether unpleasant smell wafted up my nose. I took deep breaths and using every ounce of strength I had, I hauled the bag out of the trunk. Using my elbow, I snapped it shut.

I stumbled a few times but was careful to keep my walk regular and steady. I wanted to run as fast as I could to the shed, but I didn’t want to arouse Max’s suspicions. When I reached the door, I unceremoniously dropped the bag at my feet and unlocked the door. I switched on the light and keeping the door open with my rear end, I dragged the bag into the building. It was only after I shut the door and caught my breath did I relax.

I stuffed the fake ID and credit card into the mail pouch next to the door. I wouldn’t need those again for a few weeks.

I turned and feasted my eyes on the mound in the corner. I could feel myself salivating with anticipation. I glanced at my watch. It was 4:15. I had just under an hour to “play.”

A giggle gurgled up inside my throat and I allowed it to surface. The sound reverberated off the walls and sounded scratchy and … evil.

I frowned and dragged the bag over to the mound. I was determined not to let anything spoil the moment, for these indeed were the happiest moments of my life, the trips to my storage container.

I grabbed a corner of the bag and tugged. The contents began to spill out and mix with the mound. The colors were spectacular: blue, red, pink, yellow, green, black, and white.

I rubbed my hands together and kicked off my boots. I began to try on the various pairs of shoes I had just emptied from the bag. I admired myself in the full-length mirror tacked to the far wall.

I sighed happily at my reflection.

“Now THIS is what life is all about,” I said to my flushed, animated face.

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Hell Freezes Over

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

This was originally published March 23, 2007

These prompt fiction pieces were all written in a hurry and haven’t been edited (much). I’m using these prompts to free / speed write – just some warm-up exercises.

You can find a ton of writing prompts at Write Anything. Click over today and write YOUR version!

Hell Freezes Over

“So, this is what I’m thinking,” Cyndi whispered. She glanced toward the tall, lanky, dark-haired boy in the corner of the hallway talking to his other geeky friends and pushing his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

Stephanie impatiently tugged on her cheerleader skirt while trying to juggle her stack of books looped under one arm. “You, think? Brace yourselves girls, this outta be good.”

Cyndi ignored her friend’s waspish tone of voice and continued. “I’m thinking of asking Lane to the dance this Friday.” She clasped her notebook tightly to her chest and warily watched for her friends’ reactions.

She wasn’t disappointed.

“Girl, you have lost yer min’.” Missy said under her breath.

“You can’t be serious,” Stephanie squeaked.

“With Lane?” Tina chimed.

Nell’s eyes simply blinked, owl-like, behind her round glasses.

“But … why him?” Stephanie asked. “You could pick from any of the more popular guys and – ”

“– and be bored out of my mind,” Cyndi finished for her. “Look,” she leaned in closer to her circle of friends. “I have Lane in English class. Ya’ll know I hate English, right?” All four girls nodded in unison. “But Lane,” she suppressed the urge to sigh, “he makes it fun. He helps me understand stuff. He cracks jokes. He’s a really nice guy. And you know what else?” Her head popped up from the group for a mere second to look toward Lane before lowering once more. “He has really nice eyes.”

There was a long pause.

“But … aren’t you afraid of what people will say?” Stephanie asked.

Cyndi shrugged. “Who cares? I want to have fun and it’ll be nice to actually be myself for a change instead of someone I think everyone wants me to be, ya know?”

Again, all four girls nodded emphatically.

“Okay then,” Cyndi took a deep breath. She shoved her notebook into Nell’s arms and stepped out of the circle. “I’m going to go ask him. Wish me luck!”

“Uh … good luck?” said Missy.

Cyndi squared her shoulders, threw back her long reddish-blonde hair and began to walk toward Lane and his friends.

One of the boys, catching sight of Cyndi heading their way, was so astonished at seeing her that his gum fell out of his mouth. The other boys moved instinctively away from Lane to make room for Cyndi to join their group.

“Ladies,” Stephanie said from the corner of her mouth, her eyes trained on Cyndi, “Hell hath frozen over.”

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Digging It Up

Karen

null

I actually began this story with the intention of using the following three words from Three Word Wednesday: Change, Dizzy and Key. However, it came out so fast that I completely forgot to use the words. lol

____________________________________

“Mom, come here and look at this.”

Hope continued to evaluate herself in the mirror. “What about this one?” she asked her 17-year old daughter while nodding at her reflection and staring at the peach sleeveless turtleneck she held up against her torso. “This one looks dressy.”

“That color is all wrong for you, mom. It makes you look like an albino,” Edie responded without taking her eyes off the scene outside.

“Really?” Hope’s voice trailed off in disappointment. “But I thought this looked good on me.”

“Nope. And you’re whining again.”

“Well, thanks for shattering my self-confidence.” She threw the top onto the bed in a fit of temper and moved to rummage through the rest of her closet. She had lost nearly twenty pounds in the past three months and nothing in her wardrobe appeared to fit her anymore. She wasn’t sure she had very many more clothes she could try on.

“Seriously, mom, you need to see this.”

“I’m sort of busy right now! I need to meet your father for lunch in 45 minutes!” Her voice was laced with tension and she felt a twinge of disgust at her desperation. Since when had she become so desperate to be someone she wasn’t?

Since her husband had been working longer hours and was home a lot less, that’s when.

The children weren’t aware of how shaky things had become between her and William lately. She wanted to look drop-dead gorgeous for their lunch date and remind her husband, if not verbally, then subliminally, how good he really had it.

“There are strange men with bulldozers crawling all over our yard,” Edie said in a breathy timbre.

“What?” Hope continued to grab handfuls of clothes and toss them out of the closet. She felt a bubble of a giggle percolate deep in her belly as she pictured someone walking into the bedroom and seeing various articles of clothing being tossed into the air and no one visibly throwing them. I’m hysterical, she thought. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown and then where will I be? “On my own with four children to support and a medicine cabinet full of prescription drugs, that’s where,” she mumbled under her breath.

She continued to empty her closet and felt like screaming in frustration. She’d have one hell of a mess to clean up later, but she didn’t care. She NEEDED to find something, anything at this point that would accentuate her weight loss. Maybe Edie had something she could wear …

“MOM!”

Hope jumped and issued a small squeal of surprise. She paused, her arms over her head, to glare at her daughter. “WHAT?” she yelled back.

“Come here, now.”

“Don’t talk to me like that young –”

“These guys are ripping up our driveway!”

“WHAT?” Hope repeated, only this time, the lone word was yelled in confusion.

Edie disappeared from view and Hope followed her to the window that overlooked the back of the house. Her daughter stood to one side and with one hand, flicked a grand gesture to the scene outside. “Our driveway is gone.”

Hope looked out of the window and her soft blue eyes, the color of aged denim, widened in shock. “What the heck are they doing?”

“Ripping up our driveway,” Edie shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“I can see that, Ms Smarty-Pants. I mean, why are they doing it?”

“Because it’s their job?” her daughter offered helpfully.

Hope ignored her and wracked her brain for an explanation. She didn’t remember talking to anyone about coming out to dig up their driveway. And she didn’t recall William saying anything to her about setting something like this up. Maybe they had the wrong address?

“Um mom,” Edie fidgeted nervously next to her. “You might want to find out what’s going on?” She gestured to a huge backhoe that was positioning itself just before her asphalt driveway, the claw-like scoop lowering slowly toward the edge of their property line.

“Crap!” Hope whirled around and stuck her feet into her floral flip-flops and rushed out of the bedroom.

“MOM!” Edie called after her.

Hope whirled around in a huff. “Edie! You’re seriously getting on my nerves.” She stuck her hands on her hips, “What now?”

Edie smiled and Hope bristled. Her daughter gestured to her bra and panties. “You’re sort of underdressed for a confrontation, don’t you think?”

Hope glanced down at her body and growled. “Damn it. WHERE is my head today?” She hurried back to her bedroom and hurriedly shrugged into a t-shirt and old gym shorts. “I’ll be right back.”

“What, are you kidding me? I’m coming with you. Those guys are hot.”

Hope rolled her eyes and brushed past her daughter. She ignored her as she stopped to primp in the hallway mirror before hurrying to catch up with her.

Hope threw open the doors and half walked, half ran, toward the small cluster of dark, tanned men gathered around her driveway.

“Excuse me!” She said, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the bulldozer’s engine. “Excuse me!”

One of the men, a heavyset man in his 50’s caught a glimpse of her and motioned for the man in the bulldozer to cut the engine by making a slicing motion across his throat. The noise abruptly stopped and Hope skidded to a halt, Edie so close behind her she nearly stumbled into her.

“Hi.” Hope said, her voice overly bright and cheery. “Um, what are you doing?” She gestured to the large chunks of dirt, gravel and asphalt three feet from where they were standing.

The heavyset man took off his construction helmet and ran a hand over his sweaty brow. “Uh, digging up your driveway.”

Hope felt like screaming. “Yes, I can see that. But WHY are you digging up my driveway?”

A mixture of emotions skidded across the man’s face: annoyance, alarm and confusion. “Because we were hired …” the words came out in a halting flow of Irish brogue. “Tom!” He turned to bark at the impossibly thin man behind him. “Check our work papers.”

He continued to smile and shift his bulk awkwardly from foot to foot as he waited for Tom to walk back to the truck and retrieve the work order. Hope flashed a polite, but tolerant smile and Edie batted her lashes at the cute, dark man who looked like he might be of Latino descent.

Hope gave the man Edie was oogling the once over and a warning look. When the man noticed her glare, he coughed and quickly got back to work. Edie huffed in irritation next to her.

“Okay, here we are,” the man said while taking the work order from his employee’s hands. “Is this 421 N. Pickwick?”

“Yes,” Hope confirmed quietly. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed. “Who authorized this?”

“Uh,” the man squinted to read the name. “A William Stone.”

Hope’s heart sank and she nodded. “Right. That’s my husband. Okay, I’ll call him and see what’s going on. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No problem,” the man shrugged and waved for his guys to get back to work.

“What’s the big deal, mom?” Edie asked as they walked back into the house. “So, our driveway is being repaved, big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” said Hope.

“Then why are you getting so bent of out shape?”

Hope didn’t answer her and instead went right for the phone. She dialed her husband’s office and impatiently tapped her manicured nails against the kitchen countertop.

“Mom?”

“Ssh. … hey, it’s me.” Hope said as soon as her husband answered.

“What’s up?”

“Did you authorize some guys to come out and repave our driveway?”

There was a long moment of silence before he responded. “Yeah. It needed it.”

He sounded defensive. Hope softened her tone. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“Why?”

“Why?” she sputtered. “How much is this costing?”

“Why do you care? I’m paying for it.”

She closed her eyes and absorbed the barb. Her lack of financial contribution to the family had been a sore spot between them for the past several months. “It would have been nice to have been consulted, that’s all.”

She waited for him to respond. When the silence stretched out for long seconds, she cleared her throat and asked, “Do you really think it needed it?” Though they had lived in their house for the past 20 years, they had been vigilant in making sure everything was properly maintained. And in her opinion, the driveway had been fine.

Several long, silent seconds stretched between them again before he answered, “It adds value to the house.”

She blinked. “Why would that matter?”

His answer was cold and hollow, “Because I just put the house up for sale.”