A to Z Letter D

Claire glanced over her right shoulder as she walked down the dark street. It felt like someone was following her, but she could hear nothing. This residential part of town had street lights, but the city hadn’t gotten around to upgrading them to the kind of lights that actually cut through the black of night. As she walked under one, she passed through a cone of light, then back into shadow.

The brownstones and fake colonial facades were quiet at this hour. Just a few lights glowing through window shades of random upper-story rooms. A horn honked on some major street nearby, cutting through the eerie silence. It shouldn’t be so quiet, should it? Cities were usually noisier than this. Then again, she was in a different neighborhood, trying to find Emil’s new place.

Claire stopped near a stoop leading up to a brownstone labeled “2492”. There was that feeling again. Like a cold shadow hovering a few paces behind. Trying to look natural, she squinted up at the door, reaching into the pocket of her leather jacket and palming the blade she carried for safety. She turned her body to fully face the building’s entrance and leaned on the railing as if to get a closer view. Her head inclined to peer at upper windows, meanwhile she was scanning her peripheral vision for any movement on the sidewalk behind her, any shadow. She listened intently and was rewarded with a coo – like a dove or a pigeon purring in its sleep. She stood there for what seemed an eternity. At least 30 seconds.

Nothing.

Finally, she kept walking. At the next corner she’d cross to the other side. She had to be getting close.

As Claire approached another light post, the bulb suddenly burst, with a loud popping noise that made her jump. A dog in the closest building started barking, then abruptly stopped with a yip. She leaned with one hand against the light post, bending at the waist and clutching her chest. What was so scary about a lightbulb?

From her half-crouch, she looked around the street. Everything seemed darker than moments ago. The few trees along this street were black in the night. The buildings lost all color and lights faded in windows. No traffic sounds penetrated the dark anymore.

Claire noticed her breath. Trying to suck in more and more air, her throat and chest were tightening. She dropped to a squat, gripping the light-pole for balance, and fell to sit on the pavement under the blackened streetlight. What was happening?

As she peered straight up into the inky heavens, the shroud enveloped her and she collapsed. Death rose from where he had bent down to touch her. His mission was complete. He hated to use extra power by popping the lightbulb, but if he hadn’t forced her to stop, it might have turned into a chase and he hated that. She had good instincts, he’d give her that. Most people wouldn’t stop to explore a feeling when there was no accompanying noise of footsteps.

Satisfied, he disappeared back into the night, and the crickets and frogs began singing again.

Thank you for visiting my #AtoZChallenge! My theme is "Audience Participation" (read about it, here) and now it is your turn. Each day will be a new story based on suggestions from your comments. Suggest anything: a word, scenario, character, location... I will be keeping a list of suggestions, so if yours isn't used tomorrow, it may show up later. 

Today's post was inspired by the prompt "leather jacket and blade", suggested by 50Plus Teenager, given in comments on my B post (here). 

WITH APOLOGIES: During the first week of A to Z, I have a house guest. I am already taking time out each day to read/reply to comments and write a fresh post. Please forgive me for not visiting your blog until next week. I will visit the blogs of every commenter when my house is empty again.

A to Z Letter C

A to Z Challenge C Link

"I like your new house," Mom said after one slow amble around the living room.

"Thanks." I continued filling the bookshelves from the open box at my feet. She wasn't here to help. She was here to scrutinize, perhaps to judge. Her validation of my home was not required, but it was welcome, as would be a unicorn. Something negative would come out of her mouth soon enough.

Mom continued her self-guided tour, on into the kitchen and dining area. Her voice trailed in toward me as she moved. "I mean, I know divorce is messy and awkward. Thankfully I never had to go through this kind of ordeal." Coming soon, a zinger about my failed marriage, veiled behind pride in her own 40-year success. "If your father had lived, this year would be our 40th anniversary. I was so lucky to be married to such a wonderful provider." There it was. "But this is a nice place you've got. Or, you know, it will be when you're done." That was almost a compliment!

I had watched her touching all the furniture and poking around in some of the open boxes in the living room. As she spoke, I could hear cabinet doors open and close in the kitchen, but not one box top opened. Heaven forbid she start unpacking now. Finally she called out, "Where's your cocktail shaker?"

"Probably at Martin's new apartment. It was his."

"Well, I notice you've stocked your liquor cabinet. How can we mix a drink?"

"Just stir it, Mother. Take a tumbler and a spoon, and stir it." Of course it was a drink she was looking for.

"Cosmos, darling?"

"What about them?"

"Want one?"

I looked around the cluttered living room. Why not. She wasn't usually my favorite person to drink with, mostly because of all the guilt and judging, but my mother could mix a drink like a pro. "Sure. I'll be in in a sec."

In the kitchen, Mom was buried in the fridge, with the door hanging wide. Two Cosmopolitan-filled cocktail glasses stood on the island. "What's missing now?" I asked with a sigh. Her head popped up to face me. "Limes. We need garnish." Her hand flipped toward me in a gesture universally translated as "obviously". I had just moved in a week ago. Just how much of a lush did she think I was?

I joined her at the fridge, pulled a small glass jar out of the door and closed the fridge, hip-checking Mom out of the way. I placed the jar in her hands and moved to a yet-unopened storage box sitting on the counter. "Try these for garnish."

As I began unwrapping more pots and pans from the dish towels and washcloths they were wrapped in, she read the label. "Vodka-infused cranberries? Nice find." The vacuum sealed jar opened with a loud "pop", followed by a rustle as she shook a toothpick from the box on the counter. "Not very vodka-y, but they'll do."

Two hours later, I was sitting on the kitchen island, laughing with my mother about all the irritations my ex had foisted on me and my parents during our marriage. The things you learn when you finally let a parent get real with you! I hadn't even noticed some of the problems with our relationship that Mom had tried to warn me about at the time. All I'd ever heard was her judging Martin, not a concerned parent giving advice.

Looking around at the kitchen boxes yet to be opened, I leaned over and put a hand on her shoulder, swaying slightly with the buzz. "Mom, I'm glad you came over. Helping me to NOT unpack was more help than I thought I needed."

Thank you for visiting my #AtoZChallenge! My theme is "Audience Participation" (read about it, here) and now it is your turn. Each day will be a new story based on suggestions from your comments. Suggest anything: a word, scenario, character, location... I will be keeping a list of suggestions, so if yours isn't used tomorrow, it may show up later.

Today's post was inspired by the prompt "closed storage box", suggested by Isa-Lee Wolf, and the prompt "Cranberries", suggested by J Lenni Dorner, both given in comments on my B post (here).

WITH APOLOGIES: During the first week of A to Z, I have a house guest. I am already taking time out each day to read/reply to comments and write a fresh post. Please forgive me for not visiting your blog until next week. I will visit the blogs of every commenter when my house is empty again.

A to Z Letter B

Disclaimer: My formatting is off today for some reason I can't fix. Sorry if it's hard to read. Will fix soon.

Maggie threw back a slug of whiskey as she stared at her dark reflection in the window over the kitchen sink. The blackness outside showed her face clearly. Her brown hair was pulled back neatly, except for the thick bangs that she now regretted. What little makeup she wore was neat, even if her skin was blotchy underneath it. Her plain ivory blouse showed a splash of color with a green and yellow bow tied at the neck.

Fine. She always looked "fine", never fashionable. Her eyebrows knitted in consternation as she pulled faces at the dark face staring back at her. Finally her mouth turned down in a disgusted grimace as she tsk'ed at herself. 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She punctuated each word with a head shake. Maggie wished she hadn't agreed to be set-up with her co-worker's boyfriend's friend. Why did she ever say yes?

At 35, Maggie now understood she'd be single for life. It wasn't so bad, but she didn't like the pity she got from her married or partnered friends. That was the real reason she'd agreed to this.

One last look in the mirror, then she shook her head and turned away. She'd never be a great beauty. That was an established fact. She knew it as well as she knew she'd be single for life. It wasn't that Maggie was unattractive. Her average looks could have used a little splash, that was all. And confidence. When Maggie walked down a hall, or stood in line, or sat in a meeting, her body was slumped in on itself as if she was trying to hide behind the air. And on the off-chance that she made eye contact with someone, her brown eyes looked hunted and cautious.

Tonight she was to meet Gary in the bar-lounge attached to one of the nice restaurants in town. Drinks first, so they could decide about dinner before committing. That was at Maggie's request. There was nothing worse than committing to a meal and being stuck at a table with someone who was clearly anxious to leave.

Pulling on a shapeless canvas jacket, Maggie locked the door behind her. She had a lovely slim figure, if she'd ever let anyone see it, but her baggy, pleated khakis coupled with that oversized coat did not flatter. 
Which was fine. 
She wasn't trying to show off a "hot bod."

Gary was supposed to choose a table in the lounge and would bring a purple balloon to show her where he was seated. It was no surprise to those orchestrating this set-up that Maggie was uncomfortable at the idea of arriving first and hanging out in a lounge waiting, so Gary agreed to go early.

Maggie walked past the glass windows of the lounge, slumping into her coat as the butterflies in her gut grew more active. Mentally, she was ready for rejection. You get used to it. Even so, she hesitated at the heavy door. Glancing at her watch, she nodded to see she was exactly on time. It was now or never. She drew in one long breath and blew it out.

Maggie's hunted eyes scanned the tables from the doorway. There were two tables with individual men seated at them, and neither table had a purple balloon hovering above. She turned and left. Walking past all the windows as she headed back home, all she saw was her reflection. She couldn't see the popped purple balloon sitting on the last table she passed.



Thank you for visiting my #AtoZChallenge! My theme is "Audience Participation" (read about it, here) and now it is your turn. All month, I will write daily flash fiction based on suggestions from your comments. Suggest anything: a word, a scenario, a possible character, a location... Suggestions don't have to coincide with any letter of the alphabet. I will fit it where I can. Have fun, but keep it clean!


Today's post was inspired by Liz A.'s suggestion "popped purple balloon", left in a comment on The Arrival (here). (Sorry Liz, I just re-read and noticed by your punctuation that "student with" was part of your suggestion. That's a totally different story! Maybe I'll write that one later.)

WITH APOLOGIES: During the  first week of this challenge, I have a house guest. I am already taking time out each day to read comments and write a fresh post daily. I will reply to comments as I read them, but please forgive me for not visiting your blog until next week. I will have time to visit the blog of every commenter when my house is empty again.

The Arrival #AtoZChallenge

Where was she?

Trey walked the length of the baggage claim one more time, then texted into his phone. I'm here. Don't see her.

Kelly was supposed to arrive at 8:15. That was all the information he was given. "Go to the airport and collect your cousin." He was in the dark as to her purpose, or why it was so urgent. It all seemed secretive. No flight number provided, just "She's supposed to land at 8:15."

Keep looking. The text came back from his mother.

It was already 8:45 and Trey was annoyed. No one ever told him anything. He didn't go to college like his older siblings, and because he still lived in their hometown and drove for Uber, his family acted like he was their personal chauffeur. It was all annoying.

Now Kelly was randomly showing up? If she ever arrived. He didn't even have a number to call her, but had to go back and forth through his mother. Did they think about what a headache that would be for him? Of course not.

A flight number would help. Really Mom, not like it's classified. Unless it was. What was Kelly doing these days?

Can't say. Aargh! Maybe it really was classified?

Airline?

Sorry. Be patient. Typical Mom words. "Be patient." He could be out in the city, getting an actual, paying fare, but no. Trey found a seat on a bench across from the baggage carousels, where he could easily see the three central ones, and the two on the far ends were just a stretch and a squint away.

Fine. Leave it to Kelly and Mom to sort out where she was and when. He opened a game on his phone and started playing.

A text pinged. He ignored it while he finished that level, then looked. Where are you? She's been looking for you for 20 minutes. It was Mom. Ah crap. Trey let out a sigh. He had just lost an hour on that stupid game.

On a bench across from baggage carousel 3. Great. She could come to him.

It took 10 minutes for a reply. She doesn't see you. This back and forth was killing him. Trey turned around so his back was to the baggage carousels, held up his phone and took a selfie of himself in front of number 3. He refrained from flipping off his mom. Hopefully this would end it. A picture was worth a thousand words.

This time a faster reply came. Trey, you are at the wrong airport! Go home. She'll take a taxi.

Thank you for visiting my first #AtoZChallenge post! My theme is "Audience Participation" (read about it, here) and now it is your turn. All month, I will write daily flash fiction based on suggestions from your comments. Suggest anything: a word, a scenario, a possible character, a location... Suggestions don't have to coincide with any letter of the alphabet. I will fit it where I can. Have fun, but keep it clean!

Treasured Tomatoes

As I prepare to write flash fiction every day for the month of April (my #AtoZChallenge commitment) I am practicing by using Sunday Photo Fiction. Check them out here.This is a weekly challenge. They provide an image, and we write a story of 200 words or less, inspired by that image. The picture is posted on Sunday, so I am incredibly late to join the party. 

(UPDATE: The Sunday Photo Fiction website changed their requirements to make it impossible for me, an anonymous blogger, to join the official link party. I'm EXTREMELY disappointed by this, but whatever. Their blog, their rules.) 
 
Here is the picture from Sunday, March 24:

Photo credit: pensivity101

Treasure stared at the tomato plants in front of her. It was just a row of plants along the side of the house. She liked the spots of red among the tall greens. She could breathe when she came out to the garden. Treasure squatted down, holding her little plastic bucket with both hands between her ample bosom. She felt a couple of the reddening tomatoes. They were quite hard still, not yet ready to bring in. Her eyebrows knitted in consternation. He wanted tomatoes! What could she do?

From the squat, she dropped onto the ground and sat cross-legged in front of the plants. She would wait. For riper tomatoes or for an idea. Her husband’s shouts into the phone came through the window above her. Gingerly, she reached up and touched the bruise on her cheekbone. She hated when he yelled. It never meant anything good for her. He had to have tomatoes.

Inspiration struck. She rose back into a squat and plucked a few of the larger, green tomatoes. Fried green tomatoes. That would satisfy his appetite. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

With four tomatoes in her bucket, Treasure headed back inside, cringing at the volume of his anger.

Word count: 199

#AtoZChallenge Audience Participation!

For better or worse, I have registered for this year's A to Z blogging challenge. It will be my 3rd time, and I've always successfully completed it.

click here to sign up!

But this year, ... well, my April problems are not theme related. Suffice to say, April will be a busy month. (for more reasons than are mentioned in that blog link)

THEME: Fiction (with Audience Input)
 
In order to try to coordinate my blogging with Camp NaNoWriMo, I will do individual stories each day. I'm trying to hone my fiction skills, whatever that means, so each day I will make myself do something different.

Honestly, some stories might turn out to be fragments of stories, unfinished. I'll go where the muse takes me.

HERE'S WHERE YOU COME IN:
I will start with one story for A, but in the comments each day, I want YOU to offer a suggestion. It could be a word or a phrase, a hint of a character, a setting, an event, ANYTHING. It doesn't specifically have to begin with the next day's letter, either. Hopefully there will be enough comments that I can build a stockpile for days when no one offers anything that inspires words.

If there are several prompts that work for my brain, I may add a voting question to the following day. So on Day C, if I like 3 prompts given in the comments, then on Day D you may find yourself voting for one of the 3, the winner of which I will write on a subsequent day.

Note that the story will not continue on the next day. 
I want to keep this as spontaneous as possible.
Also note, that my blog is not "Adult Content" so please stick to that in your comments, or your comment will be deleted.

Any questions? I hope to see you all during my VERY BUSY April! (what am I getting myself into?)

How Bad Can It Get?

Ha! Did I say April will be busy?
As soon as I published that post, they began work on the house next door. 
By work, I mean tearing down the house and building new.
By next door, I mean we share a wall.

Our house and their pile of rubble.

Apparently, when building, two columns of bricks go up - one for each house - but then they are encased in mutual cement. Or something.

The house is down now, but while they were pulling their wall away from ours it was loud. Like, earthquake shaking, jackhammering loud.

The day they started with the actual deconstruction (there were a couple days of prep-work), I had swept and mopped all three floors of our house that morning. Big mistake. So much dust floating around in the air that I don't think there's a point to mopping again until the new house is built!

(Not true. I'm pretty anal about my floors. I'll probably mop again next week.)
 

The living room. Later that day, after sweeping AGAIN!

 

Our stairs. After their house came down.

Dusty floors bother me but, we had a choice. They gave us advance warning and we opted to stay through the construction. I love our house and am not ready to move so soon. Dust isn't the end of the world.

I think the worst of the deconstruction noise and dust are over for now. We were forewarned the project will take 5 months. It's actually quite interesting to watch the process up close and personal. A little noise and dust is a minor inconvenience.

Would you stay, given the option? A lot of expats complain so much about construction, I wonder why they came to a developing country in the first place. Are we so strange to stick it out?