“Barnaby! You burnt my steak again!”
“But Sir… you won’t turn the grill down.”
“You don’t like her?”
“No. She rubs me the wrong way.”
“Which way does she rub you?”
“Oh you know. Side to side.”
“Do you prefer to be rubbed up and down?”
“From top to bottom, actually.”
“Hmm. I like the tummy.”
“OOh, and behind the ear is good too.”
“What is the most romantic gesture you can think of?”
Sitting behind the desk in her best business suit, legs crossed, she tapped the pen on the bridge of her nose and stared at the question.
All she could think was, What kind of secretarial job am I applying for?
I can’t take the directions with me, or rather I can’t see them once I’m there. I must concentrate, memorize, go over them again and again as I prepare myself for my task. The most important task of the day.
I’m ready. Buck up my courage, and…
Wash
Rinse
Repeat.
This 50 word story is inspired by Bee’s prompt, at Just Fooling around with Bee, which is in conjunction with Mindful Monday, a prompt by Colleen, at Silver Threading. Unfortunately my story doesn’t have much to do with this week’s actual prompts, but it was the best I could do at 11pm. Tryin’ to stay healthy by going to bed at a decent time! 😛
Thanks, ladies, for your inspiration. 🙂
Aloha Grace envisioned a place
with palm trees and white sandy beaches
In her room was a poster; she sat and imagined
the sea and the man she would meet there
For Aloha Grace lived in the arctic,
where the sun shone an hour a day
From this frozen tundra she needed escape
the moment she came of an age
Aloha Grace stepped off of the plane
and she breathed in the smell of the ocean
A half hour later her toes in the sand,
in the shade of a palm tree she stood
Then Aloha Grace, with the sun in her face
met the man she was destined to fall for
But a one-night stand left her colder than ice
and she realised the beach and the palm trees had lied
Aloha Grace went home in disgrace
pregnant and husbandless too
Down came the poster and down went the sun
for the grass is no greener than snow.
having the Dickens of a time
with chipped nail polish
of a night in
crazed expectation
The stage is set, the players, all fifteen of them, stand in the wings, waiting to go on. All are naked; some are bold, most are nervous. Among them, Armand is one of the youngest at twenty-one tender years of age. As he follows a woman of forty out onto the platform, he wills his body into submission, not wishing to show more of himself than he must. He wishes briefly that he had cut his hair so as not to be as conspicuous. He is aware of the soft strands brushing against his buttocks as he takes stage left.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Notes in hand, textbooks tucked under her seat, Zelda sits in the audience among one hundred and fifty of her colleagues. Pen poised, her eyes drift over the bodies on stage, coming to rest upon the lithe, shy man at stage left. He scans the front row not lifting his gaze, probably lest he realizes just how many eyes are upon he and his fellow subjects. It never seems to matter to them that their audience is comprised of physicians whose interest in them is entirely clinical. It was, for Zelda, until today.
She shifts to the edge of her seat, staring at him. Willing him to look up to her fifth row seat. She has fallen in love, for as much good as it will do. Contact between physician and subject in this particular venue is forbidden. Getting backstage would be more difficult than breaching security at a rock concert.
Ignoring the rest of the class she stares only at him. When it is his turn to step forward she gasps involuntarily.
He looks up at her and a faint smile crosses his lips.
Perhaps in the next lifetime.
This post is part of SoCS. The prompt today is Scene/seen. Please join in! http://lindaghill.com/2015/01/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-january-3115/
badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions
And… AND… JusJoJan!! http://lindaghill.com/2015/01/20/jusjojan-day-21-30-prompt/
The facts are unshakable. Incontrovertible. I saw him with my own eyes, laying in the coffin, eyes closed, hands crossed on his chest. They had him in a black suit and a white shirt, with a boutonniere; a red carnation. He could have been going to the prom. Only he wasn’t. In fact he prevented my sister and so many others from going to their proms. He was a killer. And I’m glad he’s dead.
As they nailed down the lid of his coffin I laughed a little on the inside. Maybe it was nerves. I have them now – a week later. I got a call from the police, in fact I just hung up – contacting his other victims’ families wasn’t fun. He’s gone missing from the grave. Did someone dig him up? Or did he get out himself?
What I didn’t mention to the police, nor to the other families was the damned red boutonniere I found taped to the outside of my living-room window. Even after a week it still looked fresh. Alive, even.
This post is part of SoCS: http://lindaghill.com/2014/11/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-november-2214/ Join in the fun!
badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions
“And so, Mr. Lennon,” said the Chairman of the school board’s committee on Bringing Healthy Foods into the Cafeterias, “you need to work on introducing more meats and vegetables into your school. As Chief Cook and Bottle Washer, you are the man in charge of obtaining the groceries, are you not?”
“I am,” said Mr. Lennon. “I am also responsible for making sure I buy groceries the children are likely to eat. You have on the list,” and here Mr. Lennon unfolded a sheet of paper and propped up his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, “pork chops, chicken, carrots, corn, and broccoli.” He looked up from his paper and frowned at the Chairman. “And now there is another thing you’d like me to add to this horrendous list?”
The Chairman cleared his throat and leaned his elbows upon his desk.
“All we are saying, Mr. Lennon, is give peas a chance.”
This post is part of SoCS! Find it here: http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/09/12/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-september-1314/
Badge courtesy of Doobster @ Mindful Digressions
How should I lace you up? Should I tie your feet as well as your hands? I should probably strip you first. It will make it easier.
What is that? I can’t understand you with that gag in your mouth. Why are you moaning? We agreed to this.
Am I hurting you?
Fine, I’ll loosen the gag. Is that better?
Excellent.
First I’ll slip off your tie. Mmmm, silk. I love this tie. Now give me your hands and lean forward so I can tie your hands behind your back. What, you want them at the front. I… don’t think so. And lift your ass so I can pull down your… oh yes, you’re into this, aren’t you?
Stop struggling or I’ll truss you up like a pig. You don’t like that idea? No, I didn’t think you would.
First your hands. There we go. And then your feet. So nice of you to take off your shoes and socks at the door. Ah, yes, that’s right. You were expecting sex, weren’t you?
So glad we agreed that if I caught you cheating again I could do whatever I want to you.
Your lovers? I think I might have tripped one of them up on her way out the door. There were three of them after all, waiting here in my bed for you to get home from work, weren’t there? Apparently none of you were aware that I was home sick but still doing your laundry in the basement.
So where shall I begin?
Did you get the garden sheers back from being sharpened like I asked you to? I was getting blisters from trying to cut the hedges with dull blades. You did? No? I think you’re just saying that.
Never mind. I just emptied the water out of the high-powered Shop Vac I bought you for Christmas last year. It took me only three hours to empty the basement after the flood last night while you were out with the boys. I tell you man, that thing sucks so hard you could use it to pull the dandelions out of the ground, roots and all. What, not the sucking you were looking for this afternoon?
For God sake stop trying to scream. We agreed to this, remember?
What’s that you’re saying? You’re sorry? You certainly look sorry.
Just a minute, there’s someone at the door.
….
….
….
Good news. It’s your mother!
Originally posted in 2013 on The Community Storyboard.
Linda G. Hill 