TBD on Ning
Parts
This thread is for those parts of tales we’ve written – inspired beginnings (or middles and endings) and flashes of brilliance that came out of nowhere – only to mysteriously disappear as quickly as they came- leaving us stranded at our keyboards.
Good writing, but orphaned without a “rest of the story”.
Check your files…show off some of that stuff. Who knows? Maybe now is the right time to complete it.
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Westerly_2 on
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Ha! (BMike): But not the gin & tonics & the chocolate squares?
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Hmm... CT:That leash is pretty flexible; the wild thing could change direction at any time. And a swirling storm of drama threatens every time the barometer drops.
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Permalink Reply by Bmichael on
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“Oh Roger, let’s step in here for a moment, shall we?”
Roger stopped, raised his head and lifted his hat a bit as he regarded the sign flapping slightly in the chill wind.
“What’s this, then? Village Fine Spirits and Wines - must be new – I don’t recall seeing it before, do you?”
“No, dear…that’s why I think we should investigate.”
“But Madeleine, we have a good supply of wine back at the house, and…”
“Yes, yes…of course. But I’d like to take a look around. You never know…we might find something…umm…interesting. Follow me.”
Inside the store, the young clerk behind the counter barely looked up from his IPad, smiled weakly at them, and quickly returned to his game.
Looking around the shop, Madeleine hesitated.
“Didn’t this used to be Sculley’s Shoe repair?”
“No, dear, afraid not. Sculley’s is back in Charleston, and as far as I know, is still repairing shoes.”
Madeleine stiffened. “Oh, yes…you’re right. I forgot.”
Damn! There it is again.
“No, no, Maddie. I think you’re partly correct, though. I think this used to be a shoe store…Second Step Shoes…or something like that” he lied.
“Ah yes…I remember now. Of course.”
“So…what are we looking for?”
“Whiskey.”
“I beg your pardon. Did you say whiskey, dear?”
“I did.”
“But Madeleine…I don’t recall that you’ve ever had …”
“Quite right…never tried it.”
“But why…?”
“Something different, I suppose. Something new…interesting…exciting.”
Roger paused. First it was the gun last week, then that godawful sushi yesterday…and now whiskey, today. He made a mental note to call Dr. Charles first thing in the morning.
“Excuse me” she called to the clerk. “Where is the whiskey, please?”
Looking up from his game, the clerk quickly pointed to the back corner of the store.
“My goodness, Roger! Look at all of these choices! I’m afraid I don’t know where to begin. You must know something about this, don’t you?”
“Well, no Maddie. Actually, not very much. It’s not one of my favorites, though I’ve heard somewhere that whiskey made in Kentucky is supposed to be good.”
“Oh…ok then…help me find whiskey from Kentucky.”
Roger put on his glasses and began to point.
“Here’s one…and another…over here … and…”
There was a loud crash at the front of the store. Roger turned to see what appeared to be two young boys with ski masks and baseball bats confronting the store clerk.
“Well, I’m torn between these two bottles. This one has a picture of a buffalo on it – I like buffaloes, and this one is named after someone named Ezra. Ezra – I’ve always liked that name, but you don’t hear it very often. Hmm… which one do you think we should get?”
“Madeleine…shhh! I think there’s a problem.”
“Really? What problem?”
“Well, I think the store is maybe being robbed and…”
“ROBBED?”
The two assailants whirled around and one quickly ran down the aisle towards Madeleine and Roger, brandishing a metal baseball bat.
“Money! Now!” He swung the bat at a row of bottles – spilling several varieties of Portugese Port on the floor.
“Yes, yes…no problem” said Roger as he pulled out his wallet and began to retrieve his cash.
“Gimmee the wallet!”
Roger quickly tossed the wallet to him.
“Look…we don’t want any tr…”
The robber looked towards Madeleine.
“MONEY!”
“ Why, young man…this is NOT the way…”
The robber took another swing at some more bottles and then poised his bat towards Roger.
“MONEY!” he screamed.
Madeleine quickly began digging in her purse when the sound of gunfire erupted from it.
The robber suddenly dropped to his knees – a blood spot appearing from his thigh.
Uttering a stream of obscenities, he tried to get up and run, but collapsed into the blend of port, sticky sweet cordials, and broken glass on the floor.
At the front of the store, his partner grabbed what he could from the register and ran – followed by the clerk who was not chasing him, but rather escaping with him.
Roger looked at Madeleine and the hole in her purse.
“Maddie…was that your gun?”
“Yes, dear…I’m afraid it was.”
“But you said you hadn’t purchased any bullets for it.”
“Yes, I did. However, I’m afraid I wasn’t being quite truthful with you. I purchased a small box of bullets, but only loaded one in the pistol…you know, just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“Well, you know…just in case of something like this.”
“I think we should leave.”
“I agree…but I’ve decided on the Ezra whiskey – would you be a dear and get one please?”
“Maddie, I really don’t think this is the time…”
“Oh Roger, really, don’t be such a stick in the mud – or I’ll fill ya full of lead ”.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Hahaha! Sorry, dear…I heard that on television this morning – an old western movie.”
Madeleine turned towards the fallen robber laying on the floor and retrieved Roger’s wallet.
“And let that be a lesson to you, young man. Crime does not pay! Roger, I think it best that we find a back door and head home. Will you lead the way, please?”
As Roger led them in search of the back door, he didn’t notice as Madeleine slipped a bottle of Buffalo Trace into her purse.
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I totally forgot about the gun until it went off. Good misdirection in the service of suspense. Living with Maddie is a true magic carpet ride. How did she ever pass the back ground check? (Oh, wait...we don't have back ground checks. How could I forget?)
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There’s another storm coming… the third in the past 24 hours.
Fourteen years ago … weather radar shows a massive, ugly thing coming dead on to my part of town.
Gotta go.
Jak needs me.
Racing down the interstate… fast, black swirling clouds coming from the southeast…we’ll intersect a little further… stomp on the pedal…get past this… go little GTO…ha…no…make that little Toyota pick’em up…
I get ahead…but only by seconds … up the gravel…out of the truck…strange silence…
Crap.
I want rain…thunder, wind… normal stuff… not this…
Inside, Jak walks up…head down…not smiling…Jak always smiles…
It gets darker…feels funny…kinda like that hurricane in Miami…
Grab hundred pound dog…
Shove him into closet…fall on top…never heard a sound like that before… hope my boy makes it…
Remember first jump from an airplane… loud… chaotic…step off the strut…throw out arms …sail away… the jolt from the chute opening… yeah baby…made it…except for the fact that you’re twisted…look up… not a Mae West… must’ve tumbled…about to unwind…the checkerboard quilted pattern below starts to spin… quickly figure out (from my Duncan Imperial yo-yo days) that if I don’t do something, I’ll be spinning/puking my way back to you, babe. Problem is …they didn’t cover this in jump school.
Okokok…when we reach the end, do something… like extend arms outward, maybe? The choices are limited at 2500 feet.
Everything’s ok…the binoculars on the ground are breathing easier…at least for me, though I’m sure they’re now focused on the other guy who caught a wind and is heading rapidly towards the …power lines and black skies.
Oh baby, oh baby!
Whatever it was came through quickly. No freight train sound…just a feeling…a pressure change… and weirdness as the brain tries to connect with something it’s never felt before.
Suddenly it was over. Jak headed for the door.
Gotta pee. Me too.
Outside, some of the trees have been damaged in the lot next door…and there’s a faint trail of destruction that leads across the road to the park.
Other than that…we be fine.
Wonder if this stuff happens in Minnesota?
If not, we're going.
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Liked the jump from the plane - description put me there - my stomach dropped right on cue.
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7:58 am.
Bleary eyed and groggy, stumble into living room.
Notice person on balcony. (Expletive deleted)
Retrieve short, pistol grip Mossberg…advance shell (double ought buck…bad mofo… can kill your car)
Person on balcony notices…squeals like little girl … goes fish-eyed… and launches over the railing.
This is the third floor.
Phone! Where is it? Probably in truck.
Crap.
8:12 am.
Hard knock on the door.
“Whoozit?”
“Manager”.
“April?”
“B?”
“Holon.”
Find pants, eject shells…open door.
“Whazzup, beautiful?”
“One of my maintenance guys said you pointed a gun at him.”
“No dollface, it was a broom. I was afraid for my life. What was he doin’ on the balcony?”
April looked at the door and ripped off one of many taped notices. Here, look…we’re pressure washing today. Jeez, B… don’t you ever read this stuff? Good grief! This one is from last year – when we replaced the roof…
“I’ve been kinda … uh… busy…”
“Can I come in?”
“Only if you let me feed you.”
April is a young mother of two beautiful young daughters with a physical build that makes Twiggy look like a heifer. At first I thought the woman was anorexic…or bulimic… or both. I even made plans to abduct her and force feed her pizza and mashed potatoes, but no, it turns out that the child is just skinny and ok.
She walked past me, stood in the middle of the living room and looked around.
“Huh…this is nice, B.”
“Thanks.”
She’s used to renting to tattoos – who’s only visible means of furniture is a big screen TV and a pony keg.
“What’s that smell?”
“It’s called food. Ya ever try it?”
She’s used to this.
“Once. Didn’t care for it. The police are coming.”
“Why?”
“The gun.”
“It was a broom.”
“My guy is pissed.”
“So am I. Maybe he should wear a freakin’ nametag or something. Or hold up his hands. I don’t know. What if I was naked? I would have been severely traumatized if he had seen my…”
Rolling her eyes, “Oh please, B…I get it. I’ll fix it.”
“Speaking of fixing… the paint on my counter top is peeling. Can you send someone to…”“No. Call maintenance.”
“Uh uh. I’ll call the Health Department.”
Smiling slightly as she leaves, “Whatever.”
“Let me fix you a doggy bag…”
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☺ I know these people!
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Permalink Reply by Carol T on
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You must led an interesting life, BMichael, if this is your fantasy life. Or vice versa.
::grin::
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