Monday, August 15, 2011
I am disappointed with the result. I am a very sarcastic person, and sometimes a Captain Obvious. But I couldn't write anything I liked. You need to witness my sarcasm in person. But I needed to submit something before deadline, so here goes.
Setting: A living room on a blistery, gloomy afternoon. Two young men are looking out the window.
CO: It's raining.
CO: Yeah - it certainly looks wet out there.
MS: I actually was pretty dry on my way in.
MS: Can't you see the dry spots all over my pants?
CO: Those look wet to me.
MS: No shit, Sherlock.
CO: Why are you being so rude?
MS: Because you're a genius today.
CO: I can tell you're being sarcastic.
MS: What? Get out of here.
Monday, July 25, 2011
I challenged Stillie with "Heat advisory," in honor of the Northeast heat wave.
I took advantage of her. She would do anything for me, and I took advantage of that. And now, she is sitting in jail. For something I did.
I thought I'd had the perfect marriage. Dinner was always on the table when I got home from a long day at work. The kids had their baths and often were asleep, all tucked away in their freshly cleaned sheets. But something wasn't right.
It wasn't always physical, but the verbal abuse started to make me wish for the physical pain. At least that way, I could ice it and fall asleep after a few vicodin. I knew I had to get out. But it's the same story all the time. What if he finds me?
Of course, there was only one solution. It could be an episode of Law and Order, let's be honest.
I called my sister and told her I'd had it. It needed to end. She tried calming me down, but I hung up the phone to shut out her protests. I crept quietly into the bedroom. He was snoring. I hated his snoring.
I knew enough from watching crime dramas to wear gloves. I hovered over him with his own nine iron. It was over before I knew it. Blood everywhere. I ran downstairs, still clenching the club. I don't know how much time had passed - minutes? Hours? - before she walked into the kitchen.
"What the hell?" she cried, rushing toward me, grabbing the club out of my hands.
I just looked up at her, speechless.
She hugged me, rocked me back and forth. When she backed away I saw the blood smears all over her shirt.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"I'll help you," she replied, helping me to my feet.
The kids were still sound asleep. We tip toed into the bedroom, and she gasped. But that didn't stop her. She helped me roll him up and carry the heavy body down the stairs. She insisted we put it in the trunk of her car.
"I know a place," she said.
With that, she drove away into the foggy, chilly night. I ripped off my clothes and burned them in the wood stove. A convenient thing to have.
I don't know how long I slept. I woke up on the couch to my youngest son poking me.
"Where's daddy?" he asked quietly.
"Daddy took a trip."
Clever. I bet that one hadn't been used before.
The morning passed by slowly. The phone rang.
"It's me," my sister said on the other line. "I've been arrested."
"Oh," I said, twisting the phone cord with my fingers.
The evidence had been overwhelming. Her car. Her fingerprints. Her clothes. Her knowledge of our abusive marriage.
She would go to jail for second-degree murder. In the crime dramas the guilty is usually found out. In this case the accused kept her mouth shut.
And I sat idly by.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
This is my third Indie Ink Writing Challenge. It's a welcome vacation from pharmaceutical copywriting! My prompt, this time listed at the end of the post, comes from Ixy. I challenged Joelyn with: "Overachiever."
The house rumbled with the bass of grind-worthy music. The floor was sticky with jungle juice and cheap beer. Half-naked co-eds drunkenly leaned up against equally drunk frat brothers, slurring their words, sucking back the liquid in red plastic cups.
Kenna peered around the corner and pulled down on her mini skirt, which was again, riding high. She tucked back her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ears and looked around for a familiar face. Her roommate Beth had invited her out to an Honors party, but Kenna didn't want to be pegged as a nerd just weeks into her freshman year. No, she had decided to venture out to her first frat party, which a Spanish classmate told her about just before class let out.
A tall, thin, orange sorority sister walked by with a tray of Jello shots. Kenna grabbed one and then one more before the sister turned the corner. She quickly threw them back, shuddering from the cheap vodka aftertaste. Now the pre-game beers were starting to kick in.
Kenna loosened up and started dancing. Still no sign of her classmate or any familiar face. This would be a night of liquid courage. Just as she was getting into Lady GaGa's new song, she felt someone brush up behind her. She turned her head and smiled at the tall, dark handsome looking down at her as he started dancing, moving with her.
The second Jello shot kicked in. Tall, dark handsome turned Kenna toward him and kissed her mouth. She felt the alcohol rushing to her head as she followed him up the creaky, winding stairs. He pushed open the bedroom door and lowered Kenna onto the bed. She was excited but scared. Excited because this is what college was supposed to be, right? But scared because a frat boy is a frat boy. She heard the stories. But maybe this was her rite of passage.
They kissed sloppily as he fumbled to take off her tank top. Reality kicked in.
"No, please don't," she said quietly.
He stopped and looked at her. She couldn't read him. Did she upset him? Was he going to hurt her?
He rolled over and gently caressed her sun-kissed arm. He kissed her shoulder before he stood up.
"I'll sleep on the couch once the party dies down," he said, closing the door.
Kenna curled up under the scratchy sheets.
"I never expected you to be so kind," she whispered as she fell asleep.
Prompt: "I never expected you to be so kind"