The Center of Things

The Prompt:  
Ah the freedom of flight, the weightlessness of free-fall. Doesn’t it feel wonderful? Well it would if you weren’t launching at maximum velocity towards a gaping hole that leads to the center of the earth. Why are you going there? What’s going on?


Revenge. That’s what is on my mind as I sit in a shuttle moving at a rapid speed along the tracks that would lead me to Final Stop, a facility designed to take place of death row. Instead of taking a dirt nap, prisoners were taken deep into the center of the earth. Gone were the days of appeals and second chances, once a jury declared a guilty verdict, it was all over. I don’t even get the luxury of looking out the window. The shuttles are encased in some kind of super-metal, stronger than titanium and forty-eight inches thick. Not that it would matter, all I would be able to see is the cold steel structure of the tunnel I’m traveling through. Instead, I stare at the back of the girl in front of me, Prisoner 98745622, the black numbers emphasized against the bright yellow jumpsuit. She’s crying loudly and keeps tugging at her tangled blonde hair, mumbling something about injustice. I feel the same way, but I don’t let the others see me cry and I don’t voice my own opinions about our system of justice. I suspect the weeping sops are the first to go down at Final Stop, I need to prove myself right away if I hope to survive. No one has ever come back. I will be the first. I have to find the doppelganger who took my life from me. I flex my fingers, thinking about that day that changed my life. I was there when the bank was attacked, standing in line to make a credit withdrawal. I was lying on the floor with the rest of the customers when my twin walked in and shot the President in the head. They caught it all on film and when they were interviewing all of us, they assumed I was playing a trick on all of them. The trial was over in under an hour. In a matter of three months, I went from living the dreams of a hopeful college student to wearing a jumpsuit as bright as a lemon and hurtling towards a condemned life working in the diamond mines. I won’t waste time thinking about the unfairness of it all, I have to find a way to escape this alternative to a death sentence. The man next to me grunts and kicks the back of the chair making Prisoner 98745622 jump and hiccup and start sobbing louder. I look over at him, meeting his hard stare with one of my own, daring him to say something. He nods and breaks eye contact. Message received. The wheels of the shuttle start screeching as the brakes are applied and we all lurch forward. A guard at the front stands up and waves his rifle as he turns to face us with a sneer. “Welcome to Final Stop, I will be your tour guide”, he is laughing now at his own pathetic joke. I meet his gaze and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I will make a special effort to find him and make him stop laughing.

The Old School House

The Prompt :  The tires on her SUV crunched over the gravel as she pulled into the curved driveway.  She hopped out of the driver seat quickly and the closing of the car door echoed in the eerie stillness.  “Finally,” she thought to herself, “Finally you are right in front of me.”  A small smile crossed her face as she gazed upon the old schoolhouse on the hill.  She couldn’t wait to get inside.

The tires of the SUV crunched over the gravel as pulled into the curved driveway.  Callie put it into park and shut the engine off, her eyes of walnut brown peering out the windshield in wonder.  She hopped out of the driver’s seat, the closing of the door echoing in the eerie stillness of the afternoon. 

“Finally.” Callie thought to herself. “Here you are, right in front of me.”  A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gazed up at the old brick schoolhouse on the hill.  It was everything she imagined it to be with an arched entrance, multi-paned windows trimmed in white and a little bell tower complete with a bronze bell.  The steps leading up to the door were made of granite, solid and sure under her feet.  She took a deep breath, and reached for the door.  She couldn’t wait to get inside! 

“You made it!” A man’s voice exclaimed as Callie stepped into the front hall, her feet soundless on the dark hardwood floor.  She bit her lip anxiously as an older gentleman tottered towards her, his cane making a thumping sound with each movement forward.

                “Mr. Devins?” 

                “Call me Alan.” He said in his shaky voice, “We’re related after all.”  

Callie’s nervousness began to fade.  She wasn’t sure what to expect from her mother’s estranged brother.  She had not known of his existence until just a few short months ago. “That’s what I’m told.”

                Alan nodded, “You look like Mae-Belle.” He waved his arm around the wide foyer, “She ever tell you much about Hilltop?”

                “A little.” Callie was loathe to share with her Uncle that she virtually nothing about this property or the family that had established it.

                “She hated it.” Alan stated. “Couldn’t wait to get out of here and out there in the real world, as she called it.”  He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter now, she’s gone so Hilltop belongs to you.”

                Callie followed him from the all into a larger room that had been renovated into a spacious living area.  A dark suede couch and chair were set up facing a large brick fireplace.  Various scenery photos had been framed and hung up tastefully around the room, and heavy drapes had been pulled back to allow sunlight to flood in through three tall windows.   “It’s beautiful”

                “This was the commons room when it was an operating school.” Alan gestured to the fireplace, “It was a private school, of course, quite fancy in its day.”

                “And your family… I mean ‘our’ family ran it?”  Callie still had trouble remembering that this was part of her heritage.  Her mother had never spoken of Hilltop or her brother in all the years of Callie’s upbringing in the mountains of Colorado.  When Mae-Belle had the skiing accident, it caused brain damage and Mae-Belle had reverted to her sixteen year old self.  She thought Callie was her best friend, Sue Randolph and she talked in length of Hilltop and her adventures with her family in mid-Missouri.  Until that time, Callie had thought her mother was her only family.

                “Your Great Grandfather Malcom established it.” Alan said with a sniff, “He made his fortune in the shipping industry along the Missouri river and retired here.  He opened the school as a good will gesture to the community and it flourished.”

                “Why did it close?”  Callie asked curiously as she started down another hall to see where the bedrooms might be.

                “Your mother left.” Alan’s words caused Callie to stop and turn in surprise.

                “The school closed because Mama left here?” She shook her head, “That doesn’t make much sense.”

                Alan looked at her for a long moment, “What exactly did she tell you about the family, Callie?”

                Callie flushed and glanced down at her hands, “Honestly, she never told me… not really.  All I know is the ramblings of a sick woman.”

                “There was a scandal.” Alan said abruptly, no pity showing in his face for the pain that Callie had surely suffered.  “Your mother got mixed up with one of the professors.  There was a big investigation, the professor was fired, your mother ran away and the school’s reputation never recovered.”  He said like he was reading it off of a cue card, no feeling, just a simple recitation. He lifted his cane towards the hall, “Down that way is a music room, and a library.  Up on the second floor are the bedrooms, just three of them but they all have their own bathroom.”   The subject change was abrupt and obvious. He appeared to lose all of his energy and he turned and moved slowly towards the front door.

                Callie recovered from her stunned stance and made a move towards him,  “Wait… “  she reached him and offered a supportive arm for him to lean on.  “What am I supposed to do?”

                Alan looked at her with a soft sad smile, “I think it’s time for you to start your new life, Callie.” 

BE CAREFUL OUT THERE

The Prompt:

 "Be careful out there," your mom said as you grabbed your duffel bag and headed on a camping trip with friends. "You know that tonight is the anniversary, don't you?" You nodded, then shut the door behind you before getting in the car and taking off.

            Nora wrestled her way into a blue pullover hooded sweatshirt, as her mother stood at the counter stirring a bowl of cookie dough with a wooden spoon.   Pop music played from the boombox radio on the counter and cool evening breeze trickled its way into the room through the open kitchen window.

            “It seems silly going camping this time of year.” 

            Nora rolled her eyes and zipped up her ragged duffel bag, “Its not that cold out.”

            “it is with the rain.”  Nora’s mother quipped and stopped stirring.  She pulled a cookie sheet from the cabinet and set it on the counter.  “Did you pack extra socks?”

            “Yes.” Nora hefted the duffel up on her shoulder, “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. I promise.”

            Her mother pulled a spoon from the drawer and scooped up some cookie dough.  She plopped it on the cookie tray, “I just worry.”  She got another spoonful of the dough, “I want you to be careful, tonight is the anniversary of…” she dropped the dough on the cookie sheet next to the other dough and shrugged, “well, you know.”

            Nora pushed back the stray curls of brown hair that fell across her forehead and let out an exasperated sigh, “Seriously?  You’re going to keep bringing that up like I don’t know?  Like it isn’t common knowledge in this entire town?”  She opened the back door, “I’ll be fine, mom, you worry way too much.”  She shut the door and trounced down to her truck, tossing the duffel bag unceremoniously in the back.   With her hand on the door handle, she paused, her green eyes flicking to the bushes on the side of the cement porch.  That was where she had hidden, her shoulder screaming in pain, her clothes soaked crimson from the blood.  Inside she had heard more shot gun blasts and she had curled into a fetal position, making herself as small as possible. She had no memory of the events that led up to her bleeding and cowering in the bushes. 

            A wave of guilt washed over her.  She may not remember that fateful night, but her mother did.  She let go of the handle and walked back to the house.  Her gaze fell on the empty sleeve of her mother’s shirt and moved to the ugly scars that trailed from her mother’s forehead, over her now misshapen skull. 

            “Did you want help with the cookies, mom?”  

A Karaoke Love Story

THE PROMPT =  A promotion at work has you head out with coworkers to celebrate. While at the bar, you decide to sing karaoke. As you belt your way through the song (fill in the blank), another member of the crowd starts harmonizing with you. Is it someone you know? Is it not? Either way, this is the moment you fall in love. Write this scene.

Submitted :  May 12, 2015



The Moment I Knew

“Here’s to my baby!” Ben slid a shot glass of clear liquid over to me with a grin, “I’m so proud of you!”
I took the shot glass and tentatively sniffed. Patron Silver Tequila. “This is so expensive.” I protested weakly, my mouth beginning to water in anticipation.
“We’re celebrating your promotion, damn the costs!” Ben lifted his glass, “On the count of three?”
With a grin I lifted the glass to my lips, “Three!” I downed the tequila, relishing the smooth burn as it made its way down my throat. “You know they have karaoke here, right?” I personally despised the idea of getting up in front of a bunch of drunken strangers and warbling out a song, but Ben liked it and had been pushing me to go to a karaoke bar for months.
Ben’s eyes lit up, and he spun his head towards the stage, “Are you serious?”
“Go! I know you want to.” I encouraged him. I already knew he would sing off key and probably mess up the lyrics but I wasn't going to stop him from having some fun.
Ben shifted in his chair, “But this is your night.” He put one calloused hand over my own, “What do you want to do?”
“I want you to let me have another shot of Patron and watch you sing.” Truthfully, I didn't even like being in a bar. Twenty years ago when I was breaking free from a disappointing marriage, I couldn't stay away from the bars and the nightclubs. The music, the smoke, the dancing.. it was all a release for the pain I was feeling from failing so horribly at what was supposed to be a lifetime commitment. Now, middle-aged, kid in college and job going well, I didn't need any of it.
Ben leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, “You should come sing with me.”
I reached up and tugged on his short beard, “Ha ha ha, if you want small animals to go into hiding and children to cry, I will get up there and sing.”
“You have a good voice.”
“I have a crappy voice from smoking for 20 years.” I pulled my smart phone out of my back pocket, “Besides, I want to get you on video.”
Ben looked at me and then rolled his eyes. I knew he was going to keep pressuring me, but he was backing off for the moment. He pushed his shot of Patron over to me and grinned, “Wish me luck.”
I gave him a thumbs up and watched as he threaded his way through the crowded table, his bright orange shirt like a beacon bobbing in the ocean. He stepped up on the small stage and picked up the microphone. I lifted my phone and fumbled to find the record button, silently cursing the fact that smartphones just made me feel like an idiot. I thumbed through a few screens until I found the camera application and pressed it. The music began and my head shot up in recognition, my jaw dropping in dumbfounded surprise. Before Ben and I were anything but friends, I had once told him about an Elton John song I had just loved as a kid. I liked it so much my mother had bought me a 45 with it on it and I had played it over and over again. It was one of those obscure off-the-cuff conversations; the kind that I never seriously thought about as I plunged ahead into my future because it wasn't a game changer in any form.
I started to laugh and I stood up, trying to clap my hands but I was still holding that smart phone. The crowd was calling out now and whistling, some were singing along and my heart was beating fast. I dropped the phone on the table and it tumbled into the shot glass of Patron, sloshing liquid all over the screen. I didn't care. I started singing along too, I couldn't help myself. Crocodile Rock would always be my go-to song and I knew right at that moment, Ben was always going to be my go-to partner.

Anyone But Me

THE PROMPT =  You’ve had a rough day at work. You head home and go straight to bed, mumbling, “I wish I’d wake up tomorrow and be anyone but me,” before dozing off. When you wake up in the morning, your dream has come true, as you quickly realize that you are not you—you are someone else that you know! Excited to live the day in that person’s shoes, you set off, only to find a day in the life of that person isn't as easy as you imagined.

Submitted :  April 23, 2015

Be Careful What You Ask For

There she was. She looked amazing in the pink floral print sundress, her long dark hair plaited neatly down her back, the sun casting a nice warm glow on smoothly tanned skin. I knew when I bought the dress it would look great on me. But that wasn't me, not any more. I looked across the room and saw the other girl. She was at least fifty pounds overweight, dressed in a over-sized t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail and she was frowning causing deep furrows across her brow. It was a girl I had looked at with disgust fairly often over the past few years, I even made a point of pointing out her every flaw to those who would listen and laugh about it with me. I absolutely detested that woman with every fiber in my being and now I was trapped in her body.
I've been this way for two weeks now. After a harrowing day at work I had gone to bed saying “I wish I’d wake up and be anyone but me.” When I woke the next morning, I was no longer Brittany, the Administrative Assistant to the President of the company; instead, I was Rachel, the fat girl who worked in the tech department and smelled like peanut-butter fudge and cigarettes. I should have been more specific with my wish.
Rachel lived in an apartment building that was constructed in the 1960’s, her furniture was all things you would find in garage sales, just like her very unfashionable wardrobe. Every night since the swap, I get a call from a very drunk man named “Paul”, professing his love for me and apologizing profusely for running around on me. In the mornings, a very sober Paul calls to tell me to quit calling him. I eventually put the pieces together and figured out that Paul is the handsome Loan Officer I've often heard in the office bragging about the women he has slept with. Paul is a piece of trash. Rachel could do so much better, she’s actually quite pretty under all those extra pounds and lack of self-esteem. I have decided to help her, but I keep craving sugar and fast food no matter how hard I try to stick to a diet of salads and low-calorie foods. I continue the weird craving for cigarettes even though I have tossed out all the ashtrays and cleaned the dingy apartment from top to bottom. I try to go walking in the evenings, but this body tires easily and it’s harder to move it like I did with my old body. Yesterday a car of young teens drove by and shouted out fat jokes as I made my way down the block. I admit I cried when I heard it, I've never had anyone do that to me before.
I don’t know how long this is going to go on. I miss Brittany. I don’t like the way people look at me with judging eyes, they don’t know me! I hate the way I’m out of breath from climbing a set of stairs, I hate the way my hair always looks a mess, and I really despise the fact that I really want Rachel to like me.