07-23, 07-24-2009

More entries from exercises...


Start Fiction:


07-23-2009
     Tom has been gone for almost two hours. What could be taking so long? He was just suppose to go and gather some recon; nothing more, nothing less.
     Was he really up to the task?
     Maybe I should have gone with him. Not that he should need anyone to hold his hand; working in military intelligence should make him the prime candidate, however he drinks like a whole fleet of sailors. His mind is not as clear as it used to be. He confused things more easily; more forgetful.
     Damn it.
     What is taking so long? It was a simple task.
     Two hours.
     Her place is only ten minutes from here. I gave him perfect directions. I did give him those directions, didn't I?
     He wouldn't have run into her or talked to her for some reason? I mean, she's hot, but she's technically still my wife. He wouldn't, would he? I know she would.
     Fucking bitch.
     Two and a half hours; something is wrong.
     Damn it! This is a catastrophe.
     I am going to lose everything in this divorce; she deserves nothing, but justice is blind bitch and I am going to get bent.



07-24-2009
     At ten thirty on a Friday night, Jerry's parents were usually popping popcorn and drinking Pepsi on the rocks getting ready for Letterman. The farm was never this quiet, or this dark. The porch light wasn't on; no lights were on in the house, period.
     He continued to walk up the lane slowed by the silence, the darkness. As he eventually reached the house he noticed the front door was wide open. Jerry paused at the steps and wondered if he should get the sheriff. That could take a lot of time, and if anyone was hurt, time was something they didn't have considering town was ten miles away.
     Jerry filled his lungs with the fresh summer air and began to make his way up the stairs. Stepping carefully across the porch, he tried to miss all the creaks. He had danced this dance hundreds of times sneaking back in to the house. However, those times he knew who was in the house, and where.
     Halfway across he porch Jerry peered into the doorway. He began to second guess himself, touching his toes down gently and then snapping them back up. Halfway across the porch he realized that whoever was in the house was probably watching his every move thanks to the flood light on the machine shed.
     He decided to retreat; hastily he moved off the porch and ran across the yard to the machine shed. Hiding from the flood light, Jerry made his way to the far side of the shed, stopped and closed his eyes.
     Listening to the night, something rhythmic caught his attention. His neck quivered, throbbed with the beat. It was his heart, injected with adrenaline. His stomach twitched with each beat; his throat tightened, is ears rang and his vision was shaky. Drawing several deep breaths, Jerry regained some composure and made his way through the back door.
     He needed a weapon, just in case. Too bad all the guns were locked up in the cellar. He would have to improvise with something in the shed; that is if no one was already in there, waiting.
     He had to risk it.
     A surge of power rolled over him, smoothing out his shakes and wiggles: there was a phone line in the shed, one separate from the house. Help was just a few digits away, even though what and how much help was uncertain.


07-24-2009
     A pink envelope could only mean one thing: a party. Shelly stuck it in the back of the pile of mail. It could wait; it could even get lost as far as she was concerned. She scoured over all her mail, even the junk mail, avoiding the pink envelope.
     Reaching the bottom of the pile, Shelly stood the envelope up on the table. She didn't recognize the sender, or the return address. Damn; either a baby shower or bridal shower. Nothing like an event to stab her in the heart to remind her she is single, alone, lonely. Elvis' 'Return to Sender' went through Shelly's head.
     Could she get away with sending it back, making them think it was the wrong address? It is a option worth considering, she decided.
Shelly stabbed her letter opener in the the envelope and ripped it back exposing the inside. A pink invitation with a ivory bow; hand written calligraphy, beautiful; embossed pacifier in the corner - bitch stole my idea!
     Shelly studied the invitation for twenty minutes. I was perfect. Now that she knew it was an event being held in Wendy's honor in less than a week, return to sender wasn't an option. She was going to have to face the large group of women, most mothers or wives, and be bombarded with questions always asked of spinsters, with pity in their voices.
     Shelly flung the card across the kitchen and spring out of her seat. She began pacing in her small kitchen and became dizzy.
     It had been two years since she had to face the relatives. No dates since then? Same job? Same routine? Still alone? Is everything okay with you?
     Aunt Florance will make her ticking noises every time she walks by me.
     Cousin Ellen will tell her she is so beautiful, followed by 'such a nice girl'; Shelly wished she would just come out and ask why she was alone.
     Her sister Melony will go on and on about her latest tryst in some exotic part of the world, always asking Shelly if she had ever been there; of course she knew Shelly hadn't been there, and had no one to go there with, either.
     Shelly went in to the bathroom and sat in the tub. Hot, sweating and nauseous, she breathed in and out, short breaths, in and out; hot, sweating and nauseous. Shelly cranked the cold water handle; the cold water took her breath for a few seconds.
     She began to breathe again; in and out, longer breaths. Still warm, nauseous.


End Fiction.