Tag: creative writing

Posted in Fiction, Life, Uncategorized

‘Tis The Season–Or Another Update…

Posted on by jennrae

Life is now getting kinda hectic with work getting heavier and heavier. Just checking in so that you all know that I am breathing and writing the new novel. Have actually written over a dozen pages and have more mapped out. Still trying to decide on a couple different endings. One is bittersweet and the other perhaps a trifle ambiguous. And, then there is the third more saccharine  sweet option, but unless the characters pull me in an unusual direction it won’t be that one. I rarely do sweet.

Maybe because sweet doesn’t feel real to me. My actual experiences may have started off sweet but they rarely end so. Endings that I enjoy writing and reading are the ones that make you stop and go hmm. They make you think or question yourself, maybe teach you something new or make you look at something in a different light. I also love the ones that make you cry or laugh. The ones that tug at the heart strings. Simple and sweet just doesn’t normally make the cut, but maybe I will take pity on my heroine and give her some love for once.

There’s enough death and destruction in the real world, do I really need to punish my fictional people with it too? Like my other novel, I find I have a plan to follow but the passion takes me in new directions making me question some of the planned ideas. The end result will be a mix between the two as I am determined not to let this one derail. I have some handwritten notes to type up and some decisions to be made and I have to write around work and the kid, so, it will be slow going but I will get there. Thanks to all for the support. I hope you are all writing well and had more success at NaNoWriMo than I did.

I will be returning in January for a profile on J.R.R. Tolkein. I will post a short post around the 18th or try to, to say happy birthday to Michael Moorcock, another of my fantasy finds a la thrift store. I will also do a post around the 16th, I may make them the same post, for Philip K Dick. One of my favorite sci-fi authors, I will probably touch on Blade Runner, and Total Recall as they were based on his short stories, as well as Minority Report.

January birthdays that I will cover also include Edgar Allen Poe on the 19th, and Philip Jose Farmer on the 26th. Both pioneers, one  in horror/suspense, the other in sci-fi. Whew, going to be a busy couple of months! Happy Holidays to any that pass this way, and good fortune to you and your loved ones! *hugs* JenRae.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Sci-Fi Writing Prompt #2 – The Eyes Have It

Posted on by jennrae

Sci-fi writing prompt #2- People have their eyes removed at the age of fifteen and replaced with recording devices that allow the government to see everything they see.

I opened my brand new eyes and looked around in wonder. Everything was so clear and concise. I could even zoom in on details. “I’m so jealous!” Stephy says petulantly stamping her foot in frustration.

“You have to be at least fifteen to have the surgery, sis. You know that. That’s when the sun’s radiation has damaged the eyes and the sockets are finally fully formed. That’s what they say in Miss Miller’s class anyway. “

“Isn’t it just amazing? You can do so much more with these eyes than your natural ones. You can memorize images you can take a copy of what you see for later. But, there is one thing you must do to keep them in working order. You must download them every night on this special platform. You can’t miss a single night or you might experience a glitch. It is very important. So important, your mom has to sign this special government form saying she will ensure that you do so.”

The eye doctor holds out a fancy pen and a long document to my mom with a nod and a smile gesturing to his desk. She sits down takes the pen from his hand and scans the document. Her eyes are also artificial but an older kind, the kind that first came out couldn’t do as much as this model.

She signed carefully printing her name so it could be read. Only a handful of people could read cursive so it was decided that printing had to be used on government forms exclusively when typing wasn’t possible. Once the document was signed the man put it in a machine which sent it to the government offices instantly.

“There, now we are all done. I can’t wait to do the surgery on little Stephy in a few years. Now, remember, every year I have to examine them to make sure they are in working order and that everything is processing normally. And, you must download it every night. Okay?” He smiles and opens the door for us and we file out of the office, the sunlight is bright and I feel my robo-eyes adjust to the lighting instantly.

It feels a little weird. Everything is so different but the same. I can clearly see in the distance. Sometimes my eyes seem to be drawn to particular sights. Like it has a mind of its own. It is a little unnerving because I can intentionally focus on something, but I just get the feeling that the eyes are saving something else.

“Mom, you have these eyes, do you ever get the feeling that they are looking for something on their own?”

“What? That’s nonsense dear. They can only look at and focus on what you are seeing.”

“I know that, but you can see a lot without really thinking about it, you know. What if they are saving details for their own agenda?”

“They are simply eyes, Cathy. They don’t have an agenda.” She sighs and pulls me along shaking her head in irritation. My mom was a committee member of the local government. They had to report weekly on anything unusual in the neighborhood. You know, in case of terrorism. Terrorists were all around trying to destroy the country from the inside out and you just had to be aware of what was going on. So, they would get together and go over reports.

My mom was very pro government. It was the duty of every citizen in her view to assist the government in any way they were able. She had the download device in her purse. It was a thin long black rectangle with a couple small jacks that plug into the eyes and download the data of the day. I am guessing it sends the information much like that machine sent that document. Straight to the Government Office of Internal Thought Processes.

There were government offices for all sorts of things and committees at every level so people could feel involved and a part of the process. It was important to feel like you belonged to something. And since religion was banned, the government tried to make people feel as loved and safe and included as before without all the unnecessary unscientific stuff that religion had.

My teacher said religion made people stupid. Sometimes I would occasionally see my mom get a bible out at night and read a passage or two before she hurriedly locked it in her safe. She seemed embarrassed, or ashamed of it. But I know it gives her something I do not have. Some kind of feeling, because afterwards she seemed calmer or less anxious.

I often have trouble sleeping despite the soothing sound machine and the temperature being set to the ideal sleeping conditions in my room. Sometimes I would surprise my mom at night because I simply felt lonely. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t alone in the house. That despite all the gadgets and machines, I needed to see something human.

I would check on Stephy too. She would be snoring away clutching her teddy bear Graham Cracker the Great, toys put away, circular rug askew in the otherwise neat environment. She had no trouble sleeping. I envied her. She looked peaceful, happy. I wasn’t sure there wasn’t something wrong with me. I didn’t feel like that. I am not sure I ever did.

It was at these times that I would catch my mom and dad doing unpatriotic things, or less than patriotic things, Miss Miller would say. I know they need to be corrected but something about them not being perfect made me feel better. So I let it go. Even though we are supposed to report things to the school about suspect behavior at home. The fact that my dad often leaves in the night and I don’t know where he goes. Stuff like that that I know the government people would want to know.

I say nothing because I secretly like the fact that they aren’t robots. I like being human. I like them being human. Sometimes I doubt I am human. Sometimes I don’t feel human. I feel like I am pretending and watching the humans, trying to learn how to be human and failing. I feel so disconnected and just wish I could find the right plug. Maybe if I change somehow I would feel more a part of things. Maybe I should join my class committee and become a part of the government machine. Maybe that is what I was missing.

When we got home the first thing my mom does is put my download platform next to hers and Dad’s, three little black platforms in a row waiting to charge and download our eye’s data. “There, now isn’t that nice? We have just enough space for Stephy’s when she is older. There was one empty spot on the counter, waiting for my sister. Stephy ran to check on Graham who was sitting on her bed propped up just like she left him.

“Where is Dad?”

“You know Cathy, he is working. He has a very important job. He isn’t allowed to talk about it. But it can take him away for a long time, but if it wasn’t vitally important, he would be right here with us. You know he loves you, right?”

Her expression was one of concern, but the artificial eyes couldn’t show it. When my sister was being comforting, you could see it. Something in the eyes showed it. In these eyes, you felt nothing. Maybe this is why I feel disconnected. How can you connect to something so cold, and empty?

“Of course,” I say automatically. Part of me wondered how Dad could drive away at night if his eyes were charging in the case. True, cars drove themselves, but he wouldn’t be able to record any events, how could he know what was happening? Who he was doing business with? What kind of business would he be doing that the Government wouldn’t be able to download? Or is he not downloading his eyes? I wondered about what the eye doctor said about a glitch. What would that be like?

Night came and I took my eyes out like the Doctor had showed me to, and placed them carefully on the connections on the platform. My parents hadn’t downloaded yet, but they went to bed later they explained, and I went to my room with its perfect temperature and the soothing noises and the window with the artificial picture of trees on it.

We were on the 37th story of the building but the window was made to look like I had a garden waiting outside, a beautiful dream-like paradise I could visit. But none of it was real. I could no longer see it without my eyes and I still had trouble sleeping. I heard dad leave in his car. Not many ventured out at night. Except for special exceptions there was a curfew. Terrorists and people up to no good were up past curfew. I hoped my dad was an exception but it was hard to say. Terrorists were supposed to blend in with us, and be trained to fool us.

I got up carefully, feeling around my bed and the wall making my way to the door, blind. I managed to get to the platforms where the eyes were. I knew mine was the closest to me, being the most left of the three. I casually felt the other platforms and the eyes weren’t there. They weren’t being downloaded. My own parents were lying to the government and breaking their contract! I was horrified. How could they do this? I grabbed mine carefully putting them in.

My eyes adjusted to the low light, and suddenly I saw flicker and static and saw an Eastern Yellow Swallowtail butterfly superimposed on my vision, for just a second. A logo for the Government Science Department of Robotics flashed and a stream of words scrolled up and then they went dark again. My eyes crashed. Maybe they weren’t done downloading? I had no idea what time it was.

They came back online in a flash; the butterfly made one more appearance and then it was gone. I went quietly to my parents’ room and peeked through the keyhole. I saw my mom kneeling down below her bed, her bible in hand in her nightgown, alone. Her back was to me, I could only assume the bible was in her hand, but I knew it was likely. I crept back to the hall way and decided to go back to my room with my eyes in. I didn’t like not being able to see. It was scary and I hated feeling isolated. I got under the covers and held my blankets around me like a cocoon to try and feel safe. Not sure it worked but day happened eventually.

I got up and drank my breakfast meal and started getting ready for school. My parents were all ready up looking at their screens reading and watching the news while Stephy drank her breakfast pretending to share it with Graham.

“Good morning everyone.” I say cheerily and tired.

“I see you got your eyes back in. Didn’t have any trouble did you?” Mom asked hardly looking up from her coffee and screen.

“None at all.” I say with a smile. I could pretend too. I could pretend everything was normal. The door bell rang with a calming chime. I got up, “I’ll get it.” I go to answer the door and three men in Government police uniforms consisting of bullet proof vests, black masks and assault rifles storm in.

“Freeze. This household is in lock down for further investigation for unorthodox behavior and failing to download eye data. It has been brought to our attention that you break curfew and are continuing to do religious observance. The Government Health Agency has expressly forbid religious observance and the offending book will be confiscated and destroyed. Also, the car is being taken to our offices and is being downloaded to see where it has been going and to whom. You have the right to remain silent, anything you might say will and can be used against you in a court of law.”

None of us moved, knowing that the police were given free rein to shoot on provocation. Stephy started to cry, and Mom went to comfort her, but one of the men gave her a shake of the head, his visor and mask making it so his expression couldn’t be read.  My mom sat back down slowly.

I could see her desire to comfort Stephy in her face, but her eyes were devoid of feeling, recording the information coldly, disconnectedly. There was no soul in our eyes. Stephy was the only one whose eyes had that weird quality. That could show what was going on inside her. Something the robo-eyes could not and would never be able to do.  One of the men grabbed the teddy bear from her, Stephy screamed and clawed toward the bear, tears flowing from her eyes, yelling “no, don’t take Graham, he is my only friend!”

The man elbowed Stephy and she fell down hard, looking up confused, my parents frozen, unable to move. The man looked in the back of the teddy pulled out a machine. Graham had been a sort of eyes for Stephy too apparently. “Confiscating this for evidence.” The man says unconcerned. “Leave a guard at every exit, make sure they stay in lock down, no one here goes anywhere until the investigation is complete.”

My mom looks at me with her machine eyes. I would say accusingly, except the eyes didn’t show it, they showed no humanity whatsoever, but the rest of her expression was hurt, or what I must guess was hurt. I am not very good at reading people’s faces or expressions. It is always the best guess for me, and I am wrong as often as I am right.

“The eyes see what they see, and they report what they see. I can’t help that you were betraying the Government. You are at fault for being unscientific and secretive.”

“Oh Cathy, you have no idea what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done my duty. We must all do our duty. Isn’t that what you said so many times before?”

“I wish I could cry right now.” My mom puts her hands on her face but no tears will come from the artificial eyes, no release from the pain, she holds Stephy and rocks her, and examines the bruise on her face. My dad stays in his chair, in total shock, not moving, not saying a thing. Stephy grabs what’s left of Graham, the machine part gone out of his back, his black glossy eyes hidden camera machines. How many more were there in the house?

Her tears got his artificial brown fur wet and messy, she clung to him more than Mom, who tried to be empathetic, but it is hard to project that without the windows to the soul. All of our windows were fake throughout the house. They were all windows to no one leading to nowhere.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt #15- Ocean Tears

Posted on by jennrae

Bonus Day 1

Sinking Ship

You realize the boat is sinking, but that’s not the worst thing that could happen. The worst

thing happened last night.

 

I bailed water as fast as my frozen fingers would allow with the metal bucket. The rain bashed me in the face taking my hair and putting it in my eyes. I knew the boat was sinking and fast. But that was not the worst thing I had to deal with at the moment. I was in the middle of the ocean, and pirates had boarded us last night leaving us with nothing but a gunshot wound to the stomach for my poor lover.

 

I had no phone, I had no food, and I had no way to hail anyone. They took all our supplies and I had to watch as my love continued to bleed out all over our cabin using my first aid kit to try and stop the flow.

 

I knew they had shot the controls and the radio. Perhaps they damaged the boat in some other way. We hadn’t had a lot but it was foolish perhaps to think we could safely traverse this area of the ocean alone. It was the adventure of a lifetime and we had both left our families behind and all the scandal that goes with that.

 

I remember the pirates with masks hiding their features speaking in some kind of French language that I could only understand a little of. They looked African, but from which country I had no idea. They made demands swinging guns around with urgency but we did not understand. And then they shot Greg. I put my hands up shakily shaking my head not knowing what they wanted from us.

 

They rummaged through our cabin knocking things to the floor noisily, taking the food and whatever else seemed to have value, and then they disabled our communications and shot up the boat. Meanwhile, I tried to make Greg comfortable. I hefted him onto the bed the best I could while he groaned in pain. “I’m so sorry.” I felt his brow, his face was so pale. So much blood.

 

I shoved all the bandages I could into the wound and used the first aid tape not knowing what else to do. I put pressure on it with my hands, I watched him pass out, looking strangely peaceful. I heard more gunshots and then some splashing and finally silence.

 

They were gone. It was just the two of us and the ocean. Suddenly my feet felt icy and wet. I looked down at the water streaming in slowly. “No, this cannot be happening.” I left Greg and went to the radio. Completely gutted. Flares taken as well. I knelt and prayed not knowing what else to do. Finally, with the water growing in a pool, I grabbed the bucket. I took to bailing as much as I could, feeling the tightness in my arms after a while but ignoring it. I had to keep going. I did not know how else to keep going.

 

I check on Greg, he is asleep; blood is still seeping into the bandages. Tears come to my eyes unbidden. I don’t have time to cry. I need to somehow signal someone. I grab the lighter out of his pocket and find some papers on our desk, I take it to the deck and that is when the storm starts to lash me and I realize there is no way I can start a fire as the rain is too intense. The wind rips the paper out of my hands scattering it away, I feel the lighter drop to the deck and disappear leaving me with the metal bucket in one hand. I can taste the salt water or maybe it was my tears mixed with the rain? I start yelling at the storm, at God and at myself.

 

I recall how we were eating breakfast and planning what port we would go to next on our adventure, not a care in the world. I could watch Greg eat an orange all day and be perfectly happy. He made it seem almost sensual. We shared a look and smiled. We felt the boat shift we saw the other vessel approach but didn’t think much of it. Boats pass by each other on occasion it wasn’t until we heard the shouting and saw the guns that things turned ugly. If I could go back in time and warn myself I would say, “Get to the radio, call for help!”

 

The pirates took our cell phones first, holding us at gunpoint while they did so. This wasn’t their first ambush apparently. And most likely wouldn’t be their last. I think of my soon to be ex husband and the kids. Would they even know or find out what happened to us out here? Would I see their faces? I only meant to go away for a year or so. Not forever, no,not forever.

 

I dropped the bucket, my hands going completely numb. I listened to the rain and wind and waves crash against the boat tossing us around like a toy. I feel the water creep up to my knees, feel it splash me, and soak me making me feel so very cold. I grab the railing, but I can’t feel a thing. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. I shiver and try to think of the happy moments I had before all this. If I am to die out here I want my last thoughts to be happy. I feel the boat start to sink at last. One side starts to lower and I let go feeling the water rush over me and into me.

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt #14 – The Meeting

Posted on by jennrae

Day 14

Matchup!

Write a story featuring a Ouija board, a search engine, and a self-help book.

 

I sat in a circle all of us with our Camp Fire Girl vests on sharing ghost stories and gossip, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. The meeting was officially over, minutes recorded but there was always that little bit of time at the end before the parents came and picked us up.  This meeting was at Susie’s house and her house was one of those old meandering type of houses.

The kind that were meant for ghost stories like Bloody Mary. There was a spooky old mirror in a quaint hall way that led to this little half bathroom. It was creepy because there just was no reason to have a bathroom there. It made me think of the Winchester house but less cool. No stairways with dead ends and upside down stairs. Just a weird old bathroom and an antique mirror.

“So, guys, what about trying to contact Bloody Mary? I mean, we could say her name like 100 times in front of the mirror. You know the mirror. The one near the end of the hall. Or, we could do something even creepier. We could use a Ouija board.”

“A what board? It isn’t satanic is it? My mom wouldn’t be okay with anything like that.” Isabelle looks worried, feeling her crucifix in her hand absently with one hand.

“I know,” says Becky. “I will look it up on Google with my smart phone. She pushes her glasses up her nose slightly punching keys lightly in her phone. “How do you spell it, Susie?”

“One moment,” Susie runs out of the room excitedly, arriving back a few moments later holding a board game in her hands. She sets it down carefully in the middle of the floor, while we stare at it.

“Wait, it is some kinda board game?” Isabelle sounds disappointed, wrinkling her nose.

“This ain’t no Monopoly. I can tell you that. My parents had a séance once. With lit candles and a bunch of people over. They made us kids go to bed, but I tell you, it was something. You could see the candle light dance and I heard strange voices.” We all leaned in a little, faces going “oooh” in unison.

Becky calmly looks at the board, typing in O-U-I-J-A in her phone.  “Awh, a game put out by Milton Bradley Parker Brothers that is typically used to try and contact spirits on the other side.”

“The other side of what?”

“Isabelle, the other side, where people go after they are dead. Like your dog, Rover. When he got hit by that car last summer?” Susie explained with a malicious glint in her blue eyes.  Susie enjoyed freaking Isabelle out. It was too easy.

Becky rummaged through her bag and pulled out a self help book titled ‘How to Deal with Fear of the Unknown.’  “My motto is always to come prepared.”

“Isn’t that the boy scout motto or something?” Isabelle says uncertainly accepting the book gingerly, looking a bit confused. “I hope my Aunt is here soon, “she eyes the clock uncertainly.

“So, what do you say girls? Wanna try it?”

“Bloody Mary was the daughter of Henry the Eighth and was known for her reign of terror against the Protestants.” Becky added helpfully still looking at her phone typing away.

I had sat quietly this whole time taking it all in.  “Sure, let’s do it.” I say suddenly feeling brazen. All this talk with little action was beginning to bore me. “You got candles and a lighter?”

Susie jumps up and runs into the other room again coming back with some birthday candles and some matches. “Hey, Suse, where’s your mom at?” I ask wondering why the rest of the house was so quiet.

“You know, I don’t know. Probably outside in the garden. Maybe she is watching my baby brother.” She made a disgusted face. “I hate babies.” She added as clarification. “I’ll like him better when he turns five and goes to school.”

Susie lights the candles on a little metal box, melting the bottoms so they stay upright. “ouch,” she sucks in a finger from holding one of them a little too long.  We watch the little flames dance, they won’t last long, these candles were pretty small. Susie carefully sets up a little card table and moves the tin on top of it, putting the board in the middle and we each pull up a chair from the other room, rickety mismatched chairs from random places.  She put the device in the middle and there was the alphabet all too familiar to us written in big letters across the board.

“So we have to spell out a question that gives a yes or no answer.” Susie sits down carefully watching the expressions of the other girls as they fidgeted in their seats. “Shouldn’t we turn the light off too?” I add wanting it to be as scary as possible.  Becky comes back in with some Mountain Dew. “Your mom wouldn’t mind, would she?” She looks toward Susie.

“Naw. “ Susie replies. “Now what should we ask?”

“I’m scared. I want to go home.”  Everyone glares at Isabelle; I roll my eyes, cracking the can of soda open with a loud crack that makes her wince. “Sorry,” I say unapologetic, shrugging my shoulders.

We go silent for a minute looking at each other and the board. Finally Susie says, “Let’s ask the spirit if it is Bloody Mary.”

“Considering we are not in England, any spirit here would be unlikely to be Mary. I suggest we ask a better question.” Susie glares at Becky, sticking her tongue out in annoyance.

“You got a better question, Becky? What do you think we should ask then?”

“We should ask it if it is a friendly or malevolent spirit.”

“What’s malevolent?” Isabelle stammers out, shaking.

We all look at her, and she is rubbing her crucifix in her hand looking nervous. “It means, real bad, real bad, Isabelle. Like mean, only worse.” I add smiling.

“Oh.” She says hiding her head in her hands. “Come on Auntie.”

“Let’s all hold hands.” Susie suggests and we all comply for once.  We then all put a hand on the little pointer device and spell out the question are you bad or not, because it is easier to spell than what Becky said.  We wait a moment that seems like forever with one hand on the pointer. Then it starts to move. I hear Isabelle whimper.  It goes slowly toward the Y. Then an E, then a S. Y-E-S.  “Yes, what? Yes you are bad? Or yes you are not bad? That was a crappy question.” I say annoyed.

“I think it means, yes it is bad. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Isabelle lets go of the pointer abruptly and leaves the table almost tripping on her backpack. “Oh come on, Izzy, it is just a game for Christ’s sake.”  Susie shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Hey she spilled my soda.” Noticing the green fluid all over my things and the floor.  Suddenly a breeze gusts through and all the candles go out at once. “Uh, did someone leave a window open?”  I say, suddenly feeling creeped out, feeling all the little hairs on my arm stand on end.  “Susie?” I say when no one answers me.  “Hey guys, this isn’t funny. I know I was kinda mean to Isabelle. But so were all of you.”  Still silence.  I look around, feeling the sticky soda with my hands.

“Come on. Turn on the light so I can clean this up at least.”  I start to feel a little panicky. I feel sweat on my brow. “Guys? Guys!”  I feel the chair near me as I stand up, I can feel the table in front of me. “Where are you guys? Why don’t you answer?”

I feel the pointer but don’t feel anyone’s hands but my own.  I run into the tin with my hand and the candles are all knocked over and warped from the melted wax. I go away from the table feeling for the wall, looking for the door or the light switch.

I keep my hands on the wall, and eventually realize I am in the hallway.  I can feel the mirror. The old style frame. The cool glass. I went the wrong way. But I knew there was a light switch by the bathroom.  I kept feeling for the switch, and then I heard a noise.  I turned my head. I called out again, “Guys, this isn’t funny.” It was totally dark here.  And then I heard it.

Footsteps. Coming closer.  “Uh, Guys? Susie?” I say, voice trembling. My hands were shaking now. I felt cold. So very cold. I put my hand on the glass again. Still at the mirror. Where was that switch?

The footsteps were getting loud, the person was stomping. “Hey, whose there?” I shout.  No answer.  I feel a cold breeze again only this is more of a gust, it pushes me. My back is now against the mirror. I can feel the cold glass through my clothing.  I felt as though I could go through the wall. Like it was nothing. I suddenly felt trapped and truly afraid. I found myself looking out of the mirror into the dark hallway arms pulling me into the mirror, weird long dark arms. And then I was in the mirror looking out trying to call out to my friends but nothing would come out of my mouth except more darkness.

 

Posted in Life, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt # 12 Good Bye Self Doubt

Posted on by jennrae

My Resignation

After years of unhappiness, you’ve finally had enough and have decided to quit—but

we’re not talking about your job. Write a letter of resignation to someone other than your

employer—your school, your family, your favorite sports team, etc.

 

I, Jenny Rae, am herewith writing my resignation notice to my inner critic. After many years of letting you hold me back, tell me I can’t do this, can’t have that, or that I am not good enough. I am finally done. I can do it. I can do whatever I set my mind to. I am the happiest I have been, in the best shape I have ever been in, and am living life, taking risks and not living in fear of what if, or worry.

There is a place for criticism but I will no longer tolerate negative self talk, or artificial limits placed on my abilities. I can publish that novel or another one. I can get an agent. I can live anywhere. I can and will have financial freedom to do what I want to do. I want to experience life without being chained by self doubt, anxiety and worries. I am no longer going to live in fear or doubt.  I will call on you as needed on a freelance basis to improve my writing, but will no longer be a slave to you.   I quit being employed by my self-doubt and disbelief. I can no longer blame any failings on others, and no longer will I be allowing myself to get in my own way.  Good bye self doubt, shut the door on your way out.

Sincerely, Jenny Rae.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt #11 Strange Things

Posted on by jennrae

The Stranger

You’re walking home from work one night and taking shortcuts through a labyrinth of dark

city alleyways to meet someone on time. Suddenly, a stranger parts the shadows in front of

you, comes close and asks you to hold out your palm. You oblige.

 

I got off the bus reluctantly. I just left my shift at the video store and it was all ready getting dark.  I had agreed to meet a friend at a nearby bar just to say hi. I regret not saving up for a car. I hate walking in the dark. I had only lived in Tacoma for a couple months so there were still a lot of unknown territories and unknown places filled with unknown people with unknown motives. I was alone in the darkness seeing figures raiding the garbage in front of the McDonald’s. I jokingly called them zombies but now in the darkness it didn’t seem so funny.  In all truth it was a sad affair. They were homeless hungry people so terribly hungry that they would lick the used wrappers of an Egg McMuffin for sustenance and here I was making it into a joke.  I felt bad but at the same time a little scared because desperate people can do desperate things. I didn’t want to find out just how desperate they were.

So I heard the bus make its whoosh start up sound and creak away to its next destination up the hill. I started walking, mace in my pocket. I came from a small town, and so had a natural paranoia about the city. And this city wasn’t shiny like Seattle.  This was Tacoma, gritty real, dirty, urban, blue collar. People worked here, lived and died here. Sometimes in the streets sometimes elsewhere.  It had an appeal to it. It wasn’t phony. The city knew what it was. It’s industrial past glory was there for everyone to see; the old factory buildings, the constant jokes about the aroma of Tacoma. The Tacoma Dome, the largest wooden dome in the world or at least in North America was one of the highlights. It had the Glass museum with that fabulous bridge of blue rock candy thingies overlooking the busy highway. Sometimes I would get a bagel and eat there watching the traffic. All those people hurrying about not seeing the beauty. Just in a hurry to get someplace else.

Now I walked briskly past the zombies not looking them in the eye holding my coat tightly across my body.  Cars would occasionally slow down and the driver would call out, “Hey baby, why don’t you get in, I will give you a ride…” Cheesy wink and all. I said no thanks, and kept walking, making sure I wasn’t on the edge, within grabbing reach. I was a woman alone in a strange city full of strangers, trusting no one.   I walked by a policeman arguing with a Puyallup Indian man about how he can’t light the grass on fire, both arguing about rights and who can do what. I kept walking not wanting to get involved. It was none of my business if the fire was lit or not, if the man had a right to religious freedom or not, if it was public property or not.  I just kept walking.  I approach a local convenience store.  Maybe I would get a soda, or some gum. Nope, I saw the man put the metal gate out and turn his sign off. Must be past 10 o’ clock.  Oh well I think. It was getting pretty dark, my keychain had a flash light on it, but still I thought maybe I should cancel and go home, when out of the shadows a man approached me quietly, slowly.

“One moment. Miss Rae is it?”

“How do you know my name? “ I look around behind me; see the store owner was no longer in his window.  I was all alone.

“Hold out your palm.”

For reasons I did not understand I felt a strong compulsion to comply, and held out my hand, palm up.

“That’s better.”  The man drops a beautiful sapphire amulet into my hand. The chain looked old, and heavy, the stone shone in the streetlight, looking black in the darkness except for the gleam of the light which was almost like a beacon in the darkness.

“Are you a friend of Amy’s?” I ask weakly, thinking maybe this had something to do with my friend.

“You won’t be meeting her tonight. Take this home right away. And do not mention this to anyone.”

Now I am thinking this is some criminal enterprise.  An item from a burglary perhaps? I nod to the man. He tips his hat, a greasy baseball cap and goes back into the alleyway, blending into the shadows.  I am left alone on the streets hearing an occasional car and the scurrying of something or someone nearby.  I decide to cross the street and start running, my heart pounding. I just want to go home.  I live in a small building that has a card key required to enter. I swipe it wait for the beep, let myself in, shut the door and race to my room.

This building is old, maybe from the twenties. You could feel it in the creaking of the floor boards, see it in the small rooms. It was an old hotel so the place was a hallway of doors. Old fashioned arched doorways and hints of yesteryear in the wall paper and the feel of the place.

I thought to myself if this place was haunted, I would not be shocked, but that was part of the appeal. It had a hidden ethereal beauty. Like a lot of Tacoma it had a past, and looked back more than forward but it had a history that couldn’t be replicated.  I saw other buildings being torn down and replaced by new condos. Gentrification. It was encroaching, and someday might swallow my beautiful old haunted hotel.  Almost made me cry to think of it. How would the well-to-do condo dwellers deal with the zombies? Would they have them relocated, or locked up? Shoved up the hill into Hill Top? I am sure that community would love that.

Everyone just wants a safe place to raise their kids. I recall the empty yard where the girl was abducted and killed up there. The bus would go by and I could see the memorial grow.  White picket fence and all, and it couldn’t keep the girl safe.  In her own backyard.

I generally bused straight through Hill Top. It was a largely African American community; MLK Street went straight through there.  No doubt in my mind the condo dwellers would push the zombies up there. Not their neighborhood, not their problem. I felt an overwhelming sadness in my heart. For the poor little black girl I didn’t know. For the Zombies who had lived normal lives once, had families, mothers, and fathers. I even felt bad for the condo dwellers, at the same time hoping they would be haunted by the people they were displacing.

People are made out of energy; it cannot be destroyed, merely transferred or moved elsewhere. It has to go somewhere.  It was very common to run into someone on the street or the bus that would be talking to people that weren’t there.  At first I thought I had entered another dimension where Schizophrenia was more commonplace than the flu. But no, it was that Western State Mental Hospital in Stillicum, right next to Tacoma, couldn’t maintain and take care of a lot of its denizens, so the harmless ones were released to fend for themselves. And they ended up on the streets and the buses.

Surely these people had families once, were members of society? At first they were scary like the zombies. But after awhile, I wasn’t afraid anymore.  I realized that what they were experiencing was as real to them as my reality was to me. The old lady who stared at me on the bus. I thought she was staring at me.  When she got off the bus, she started yelling at her invisible friend. That was who she was glaring at. Not me.  I wonder if her friend’s name was Harvey the White Rabbit? Whoever it was, she was angry with it.  And there was the lady who sat on the bus bench rocking back and forth with a radiant smile on her face. I always wondered what she saw that was so amazing. Her reality must be spectacular. She always looked like she was next to heaven. I wouldn’t want to leave that for this reality either I don’t think.

I shut my door, bolting it. I turned on the light and looked around my studio apartment. I sat on a kitchen stool carefully untangling the necklace.  In the light the blue was more noticeable, but it was still a very dark blue, looking at it was how I imagined it would feel like to peer into a black hole. I could feel my soul getting sucked in. The chain had a silvery color to it, and old fashioned silver filigree surrounded the stone which was an oval shape. It was large and heavy. Heavier than the eye felt it should be. Like something magical.  I felt a wave of paranoia strike me, I got up and checked all the windows, rechecked the door.  I even looked under the bed. I was still all alone. What was I going to do with this?

This had to be worth a fortune. I looked at Pooka the Goldfish conspiratorially. He was rescued from the video store, someone dumped him off in one of those Petco bags, and it was warm and filthy. I thought for sure he was a goner. But, even though I knew nothing about fish, and put the poor guy in Tacoma City water, he flourished, and came back to life. It is amazing what a little love can do; especially to the downtrodden and abandoned.

It occurred to me that I completely stood up Amy and this wasn’t the first time. I was a horrible friend. Easily distracted, and painfully anti-social.  I should text her, or maybe even call her. Eh, not now. I had to find a place to put this thing. It almost felt like someone handed me a stolen loaded gun used in a crime. This necklace felt like that, full of dangerous energy.  I do not know why or how, but it was all I could think of. Pooka jumped up and hit the metal grate I was using as a lid for his glass bowl which made a distinct ding. He was telling me, “Feed me.” Only goldfish I knew that demanded food.  I absently put some flakes in and went back to the necklace. I glanced at my phone.  3 missed calls, and a text. “Where are you? Not Again. GGRRR.” Yeah, Amy was used to my unreliableness.

I hear a sudden loud knock at the door. I jump, put the necklace into my pocket and approach the door slowly, looking out the peephole.  It was late, and it was a secured entry apartment building, so who could it be? A neighbor out of milk maybe?

I see the stranger with his baseball cap and tan trench coat.  He had an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth, and a steely blank expression in his grey eyes. He looked mean in the hall light. I liked him better in the dark.

“Who is it?” I say trying to project calm into my voice.

“I think you know. You have the item? I’d like it back now.” The man glanced toward the front door of the apartment building with concern and agitation.  “Can we hurry this up? I got someplace I got to be.”

I looked at the man through the peephole, and I knew what he wanted, and I knew he wanted in. I stared at him a while, watched as he got angrier and more anxious. He started pounding on my door demanding entry with a sudden urgency. Then I heard the door to the building open. I heard steps come down the hall. I saw the man go a pale white. All the blood draining from his face.  The next thing I saw I will never forget. It was like the man disappeared before my eyes and I heard a whoosh like the bus going by and he was gone.

The lights flickered for a moment like a giant power surge just happened. I felt something inside me go cold. My left hand was in my pocket, feeling the necklace.  I looked out the peephole again. Everything seemed quiet. I didn’t see the other person nor did I hear steps leaving. Strange. I slowly opened the door after unbolting it. I peeked out into the hallway. I saw an unlit cigarette lying on the floor. Nothing else remained.  I shut my door and re locked it. My heart pounding I pushed the couch against the door, adding as much furniture as I could move. I had to feel safe. Whatever that was it wasn’t going to come in here.

I finally laid down on the bed feeling exhausted. I woke up to my alarm the next day still in my work clothes, looking around at my trashed apartment. Everything was shoved against the door. I felt my hand in my pocket. I felt my other pocket. I checked my jacket. The necklace was gone. But there was no way anyone could have gotten in here.  I retraced my steps. I started moving things back in case it slipped out while I was moving things. I heard a knock at my door again. I looked out the peephole over my couch which was still blocking the door. It was the manager looking concerned. “I am getting complaints about moving furniture in the night, and loud noises. Are you okay in there?”

“Has someone been in here? I mean, this is a secure building right?”

“Miss Rae, you know this is a secure building. You have a key. Sometimes people will let people in when I tell them not to, but otherwise, yes it is. Now what is going on in there?”

“Oh nothing,” I tell her. I couldn’t trust her, I decided. She had a key to the apartment, maybe she took the necklace for all I know. She looks worried but finally leaves. My phone starts ringing; my cell phone also starts going off. I just start yelling stop, stop calling me! I look at the time. It is work; I am supposed to be at work. What is wrong with me? Where did the time go? I have to move this couch out of the way.  I go to move the couch and remember the necklace. Where did it go? Why can’t I find it? I start looking for the necklace again, moving the furniture. It must be here somewhere.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt #10 The Dollar

Posted on by jennrae

I wandered the mall trying to find that elusive unique gift. You know that one that no one thought they really needed, but after they have it they can’t live without it? That unique I know you better than you know yourself type of gift. I roamed Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, Kohl’s, and several little boutiques. Every time something called out to me, at the last second it just didn’t seem to fit.  I knew Charlee loved colors. Especially colors that made her think of spring. Fresh flowers and that sort of thing.

I was thinking maybe scarf, you can’t have too many of those and you didn’t have to worry about sizes. Or maybe a hat, or a belt. Or maybe a perfume? But, then maybe that is too personal. I could be way off on the scent and then I would experience that awkward, “You really shouldn’t have…” With the expression that says, yeah, like, you really shouldn’t have…” Literally, not tongue in cheek.

Same with dresses. So much could go wrong. I would save the receipt, no matter what I decided. No repeats of last year. The silence was deafening as she looked at the egg plant colored rain coat. Yeah, you shouldn’t have…thought I would ever, ever wear that. Lesson learned. Don’t go too quirky, don’t go too boring. Remember the beige sweater? Who could not like a neutral sweater? Apparently Charlee.  Another year I got her a coffee mug. Problem was, so did her best friend. The year of the coffee cups taught me to try to find something no one else would think of. But at the same time not to go too far off in left field. Remember the rain coat became my new mantra.

Finally I settle on this tiny shop next to the perfume store. It looked like As-Seen-On-TV mixed with random nick-knacks like hello kitty clocks and waving animal solar powered dealies. You’ve seen them in windows and on car windows. Dancing daisies and stuff like that.  I see one of the Felix the cat clocks give me the side eye as it was ticking reminding me I was running out of time.  I went to a corner that had fortune stuff, lucky bamboo shoots in little porcelain jars next to banzai plant kits. Hmm. She would probably kill that poor plant before the month was out. I couldn’t have that death on my conscious.

My eyes went to a little book shelf. One book stood out. It was a dark purple color, kind of a velveteen material. In gold lettering it said Be What You Want to Be. Hmm. Sounds self-help-like. But she likes that sort of thing. It looks good to have a few books like that lying around. Makes you seem like you are working on yourself.  It was risky though. What if the purple is too much like egg plant? What if she reads it and hates it, and then decides she hates me? I am terrible at this. So I decide to open the book and see what it says inside.  I flip through it. To my amazement, it is empty. So, it is a journal maybe? The future is unwritten sort of thing? I decide she would like the soft velvet cover; maybe it would inspire her to journal.

I pick it up and take it to the counter which was a long glass affair with random porcelain figurines inside.  Future thrift shop memorabilia I think. Isn’t that where all this stuff ends up in the end? If it doesn’t go straight to some giant land fill somewhere of forgotten treasures. I briefly am reminded of the land of forgotten toys from the old clay-mation holiday cartoon. Was it Rudolph or one of the others? The thought is gone as quickly as it came. Dancing Jack-in –the-Box and all the other misfit toys. Gone. Half remembered but not important enough to keep in the movie, or my memory.

I hand the cashier, a grey haired lady with thick glasses, a twenty dollar bill. She opens the register with a bell ring and gives me the change, a ten, a five, and two ones plus miscellaneous change.  She reminds me of the old lady on the packages of Grandma’s cookies. She just seems like that sort of old lady. I take my change and notice one of the ones has something written on it. I figure it is one of those “Follow George” from this website and don’t think much of it. I put them hurriedly in my pocket and leave the store. I go to my car, place the little lavender bag with the book on the passenger seat as I start the car up. I sigh, just enough time to get to the party. Charlee all ready hates it when I am late, and I am late most of the time. Time management is not my strength.

I pull up to the nice three bedroom house with perfectly manicured landscaping. A house I helped pay for but rarely spent time in. I could see the balloons from here and the other cars lining the drive way. Last but not least I hope. Purple is still her favorite color isn’t it? Kids grow up way too fast these days. It used to be so easy, My Little Pony and Strawberry Shortcake or something like that. Maybe it was Carebears and Rainbow Brite?  The years tend to run together now, and now I am unsure of my present.

I get out of the car, clutching the bag, oh crap. I didn’t wrap it. I’m an idiot. I rummage in my glove compartment, find a gift bag for just such emergencies and at the last second, maybe I should put money in the card I all ready bought and signed. I get out my change, and look at the one dollar bill again.  The words on the bill gave me a chill. I looked out my open car door uncertainly.  The bill said in carefully boxed letters, “I am watching you. If you want Charlee to get her present meet me at 4th and Pine. “It didn’t say when. The party was about to begin. I couldn’t help but wonder how this ended up on this bill. Charlee was a fairly unique name for a girl with an uncommon spelling. What would be the chances and how would the person know about the present?

I wrapped the present, and left it on the door step. I had to figure out what this was about. I looked around suspiciously.  Was I being watched? How was this possible? I shakily got back in my car, a beat up old Honda Civic from the nineties and backed out of the drive way. Charlee will hate me. But if there is a psycho following me I can’t have them around her. I should go to the police. There has to be a logical explanation. I drive to 4th and Pine Street. It is quiet. There is a small park there with a few derelict swing sets and playground equipment. It looks creepy empty. Like the pictures of the Chernobyl Ferris wheel years after the nuclear meltdown but not in such bad shape. Just frozen in time, waiting for the ghosts of children to come and play.

I had missed my share of birthday parties but never for such a bizarre reason. Usually I missed them because of work, or stupidity. Yes, stupidity. I always regretted it.  I sighed. I got out slowly looking around. I walked to the fence, checking my cell phone. I saw the missed call and text messages. ‘Where are you? Don’t you know how important this is to her?!?! Whats wrong with you???’ It was a valid question.  I kept one hand on it, so I could hit the emergency button. I didn’t know what I was walking into, but I had the uneasy feeling it was like Alice in Wonderland. And I had no idea how deep this rabbit hole was going to be.

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing prompt#5 Moments in the rain

Posted on by jennrae

American Graffiti

You’re downtown, and see graffiti in an unlikely place—graffiti like you’ve never seen

before, concerning someone you know.

 

I left the small independent theater, hands in pockets, zipped up hoodie casually looking at the old brick buildings wondering just how old they were, knowing for certain they are much older than I.  Some of them had old advertisements, cigars, beer, and industrial signage of a bygone age. And then I saw it. At my eye level an obviously modern invading piece of graffiti. But it wasn’t some gang signage or random cussing. It was a work of art. It was covering the door of an old shut down book store, windows boarded up I could see dust and cobwebs on the edges and broken glass shards whether through violence or neglect it would be hard to say.

The graffiti itself was colorful, a caricature of a girl with big eyes, sad eyes and long hair. Done in reds blues and greens, it looked almost alive, reminding me of the waif in the logo of Les Miserables but older. This girl wasn’t a child. She looked very familiar, too familiar. But it couldn’t be her; she had left town years before to start a new life in LA, or New York, or someplace giant and epic. Anyplace but Tacoma. I could see her smile; I could see the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her dreams and how she would be rich and famous and never come back. This town was too blue collar for her, too dirty, too real.

She needed castles in the air the way some needed air to breathe.  Reality was the dream killer, and reality was everywhere here, it was absorbed in the bricks in the old advertisements, in even the air, in the streets themselves.  What startles me more than the picture making me think of her, was that there were dates painted below in red, 1983- 2015. Of course I knew it must have just been a coincidence, a picture reminding me of her, reviving an old memory. It wasn’t actually about her. It couldn’t be. But I felt a chill go down my spine. The dates seemed like birth and death dates.  What else would make sense?  I searched my phone thinking perhaps I still had her number. She had probably changed it over the years, but on the odd chance that I could reach her, and put my mind at ease about these dates. Boy, was I being ridiculous. How could it be her? That made no sense.

I recall seeing her before she left; I gave her a ride to the greyhound, her bags packed with a one way ticket, short blonde hair dancing in the breeze, a silly hat on her head, askew, scarf around her neck and vintage blazer with jeans. Of course the jeans had holes in the knees. That was in at the time, although the hat was her own quirk. Her family was distant, she was a free spirit, and coming and going as she pleased and no one batted an eye or thought it crazy that she would quit her waitressing job one day, invest in a ticket and go to a town where she knew no one. It was just a Sherri thing to do. I remember the look in her striking green eyes, a look of just try and stop me, defiance, determination, and a youthful but hard look. I gave her a tight hug; I could feel her heart beating fast, adventure filling her lungs. I whispered in her ear, “Good luck. Break a leg, or whatever they say.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m not an actress. I want to model, remember?”

She was only 5 feet 2; I didn’t have the heart to tell her most models were tall. I didn’t want to be the one to bring her castle crashing down to earth. I figured life had a way of doing that on its own. I thought I was being a good friend, and maybe more, but she was never in reality enough to catch. She was more like a ghost, if you caught her in a moment, she would fade out the next. She couldn’t be nailed down. Maybe that was part of the appeal. You couldn’t own her; you could only hope she shared a moment with you.

I tried to write her over the years, but the letters always came back return to sender, no such address. I guess she moved a lot, which sounds like her. I must have tried calling. I believe I usually got her chipper voice mail, “Hi this is Sherri! I will get back to you when I can, Love ya!” She shined a little on everyone. Maybe she was just a little too bright for this world. Maybe she made it into her castle after all. I found her old number, I never deleted it. Maybe I had let hope live on in the recesses of my mind. Maybe this was all much ado about nothing. I hit the button, waiting for a ring.

“I’m sorry but the number you called has been disconnected…”  My heart sank. I looked back into the strangely hypnotic sad eyes. Was she ever sad? Why would I think of her being sad? I tried and I could only recall one time.  I walked up to her at school and she was sitting on a bench looking pensive. I sat down casually next to her, and said “Hey.”

She looked up, tears in her eyes. She showed me a paper about something. It started to rain, and I remember the big splotches on the news print. I guess it was an article about something, someone? Why couldn’t I remember? I recall the rain mixing with her mascara, making it dribble down her face making her face even sadder.  I offered her my coat; she didn’t have one on for some reason. Her bag was slouching next to her. Books just peeking out the top. “What’s this about? I said, taking her chin and lifting it slightly so I could see into those eyes. Greenish blue, you could get lost in them and not come back.

“It’s over. My life’s over.”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

She paused, crumpled the paper, and threw it in a nearby garbage bin.  She sniffled, and breathed out dramatically. “It’s okay. I’m sure I am being silly. We should go in now before I’m late to class.” She got up, picked up her bag, and walked away from me. I was left there in the rain wondering what that was about. Now, I will never know. I do not know why I didn’t follow her. Why didn’t I follow?

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt 4,Office Work

Posted on by jennrae

Sent to the Wrong Printer

You’re at work and you print something personal (and sensitive). Unfortunately, you’ve sent

it to the wrong printer and, by the time you realize it, somebody else has already scooped

it up.

 

The sound of the laser printer winding down and the swish of a paper swiftly being grabbed startled me from my reverie. I looked at my computer suddenly spilling coffee on my mouse pad. Oh crap! I looked and sure enough my embarrassingly bad diatribe venting about the futility of reaching out to a co worker crush went to the manager’s printer. More physical evidence of wasting work time on personal endeavors because I was bored; great just great, that was exactly what I needed.  The gray walls of cubicles surrounded me, my little local printer sat empty and quiet. I looked at the printer options on my screen, yep; the manager got my embarrassing letter not meant for anyone’s eyes but mine in his hand as I sit here with coffee on my desk. How to explain this? I look around the cubicle assessing my possessions thinking about the time it would take to pack up my things and do the walk of shame out of the office.

I reluctantly get up to get a paper towel. Might as well pick up my mess. The next victim to be placed here might appreciate it. I all ready was feeling sorry for my replacement when my phone rang in its shrill obtrusive way. Here we go, I sigh resigned.

“Minerva Abrams, how can I help you?”

“In my office, now.”

“Oh, okay, so, what’s this about, Doug?” I say trying to pour the innocence in my voice like honey. They say the people on the other end of a phone call can hear if you smile when you’re talking to them, I was smiling, hopefully that will count for something.

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Yeah, don’t think that fooled him at all. Was my name on the document? Was he computer savvy enough to figure out it had come from my machine? Maybe I can pass it off as somebody else? I picked up my current portfolio of sales prospects that I was to cold call later today and a notepad. Got to look professional even if I feel like a fraud. Fake it till you make it, right?

I breathe in deeply, and let out a breath slowly, trying to be calm and collected. I want to walk in confident, and worry free, strong steps in imperial high heels. If I got to go, I want to go out like I came in with my head high, at least on the outside, on the inside I can be mortified and small as long as no one else sees. Appearances are everything. I am sure in a week everyone will know every embarrassing detail. But today, right now, I can escape the shame.

I take confident strides high heels thudding on thin carpet passing rows of cubicles that all look the same, some people looking up, others not. I walk by the secretary with the flowers on her desk, and a smug smirk on her face, her eyes saying, “uh oh, you really did it now. Hehe.” I think to myself, what goes around comes around, you smug #@#*&*@.

I knock on Doug’s door with authority the secretary looking at me open mouthed looking surprised and horrified that I bypassed her.  I saw her pick up the phone to let him know I was there, even though he called me to come over, and I am sure knew it was me.  I stood up straight as he opened the door and motioned for me to take a seat with a white paper in his hand. I couldn’t see the writing on it, and wasn’t sure if it was my infamous letter or another paper.  I bravely perched myself on the edge of the chair, not sure I would be sitting for long. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, blood pumping in my ears. Please, God, just get this over with, this other shoe is taking forever to drop! I breathe again deeply as he takes a seat across from me after shutting the door. I hear the door click shut. Yep, this is serious. He only shuts the door when you are in trouble. I try to keep a brave face, but feel it slipping a bit as the toll of pretending to be brave is getting harder and harder every passing moment.

“Minerva, I have a paper in my hand that I believe may have come from your computer.” Crap, I think silently, so much for him being computer illiterate.

“Oh really? How can you be sure?”

“Well, let’s see. You want me to read it aloud, or are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“What is this about? I haven’t the foggiest.” The foggiest? Really? My mind has obviously melted. Who says that? I look down, nervous. He has found me out for sure.

“Okay. You want to play this game.  All right then. Here we go, you tell me when you want me to stop, okay? ‘ To whom it may concern: I am tired of your games. You are friendly and flirty one day, and ignore me the next. My mom says I’ll be an old maid because I’m still unmarried at 30 but I keep hoping you will ask for my number, and ride off in the sunset. I am so angry at you right now for not asking me and for offering lunch that one day and then forgetting about it while I sat at I heart Burgers all by myself like some pathetic person eating all by myself like an idiot. Oh and the person next to me keeps forgetting to wear deodorant and it is totally gross. And why does Sharon keep getting roses? She is such an ugly pig and terrible at her job.’ There’s more, a lot more, in a similar vein.  It also goes on to say ‘management here sucks and Doug has no idea how to work a computer if it was unplugged he would call in tech support. Ps the tech support guy is kinda cute too.’ I think almost everyone is mentioned here, except you of course, and Al the maintenance guy who works at night. So, I am guessing despite my lack of computer skills, that this is yours. Am I correct, or do you want me to call tech support and get it officially confirmed?”

I squirmed in my seat, “Well, so what happens now? I am sorry for that, it shouldn’t have ever happened.”

“You don’t say? Well, this isn’t the first time I have caught you using company time unwisely. What do you think I should do?”

“hmm. Let me off with a warning? Got it. Won’t happen again, sir.” I give my winning smile. He looks concerned, brow furrowed, looking at me like he wasn’t sure what to do with me like I was a two headed giraffe with purple spots.

“So, who is this unfortunate guy you are so mad at?”

“Don’t worry, it isn’t you, Doug.” Maybe I should’ve lied, might have helped my case. My darn mouth going faster than my brain again, oh well. Time to take your medicine. I am tempted to close my eyes and just wait for the hammer to fall.

“Tell you what, Minerva, I understand how these office romances can start, and I know it can be frustrating working here calling people who don’t want to receive your calls. It isn’t a fun job, and I know it can be boring. I am willing to give this to you on one condition.”

My eyes open wide, hmm, what’s this? “Really? Say it, and I will do it.”

“You need to go up to this guy on your lunch break, or after work, not on work time, and tell him how you feel. Not on work time, understand? On work time, you will be working, or I will have to take other measures. I know this will be embarrassing for you, and possibly painful, oh, and don’t ever, ever do this again, okay?”

“Okay. But why are you being so nice?”

“Let’s just say I might have a regret or two. But first, do we have a deal?”

“Does Sharon know all about this, because I know she talks and I don’t think I can come back here with everyone snickering.”

“Sharon always acts like she knows more than she does. I do not share confidential information with her. That would be very unprofessional.” Doug smiled and held the paper out to me and I grabbed it from him hastily. In that moment I realized maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. If he took some computer classes he might even be an okay manager.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt 3 The Donut Shop Mystery

Posted on by jennrae

One Day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously placed on your desk. Grateful

to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you eat it. The next morning you come in and find

another cookie. This continues for months until one Day a different object is left—and this

time there’s a note.

 

“Hmmm. What’s this? A note on the desk. It is sealed, doesn’t say who it is from? Hmm. Could this be from the same person leaving the mysterious oatmeal cookies with white chocolate chips and dried cranberries? My favorite. A close call between the classic peanut butter cookie to be sure. There is a small locket by the note. One of those old time classic heart lockets that you can swing open the face and put a little picture, a super small picture in if you have one that small. I open it slowly looking around to see who was nearby. Maybe the cookies weren’t for me? Maybe I was eating something meant for someone else? But the whole secret admirer thing was way more romantic and titillating than a mistaken identity. Besides, no one had said, hey what are you doing eating my cookies?

Curious, I looked into the tiny locket. It had initials in it, no picture though. It simply said E.B. I looked at the sealed note. Plain envelope, no mention of who it is for, or whom it is from. The seal was a smiley sticker, a simple sticker that was yellow with a silly face, tongue hanging out with silly eyes. It was placed in the middle, it would be easy to open and reseal, I thought to myself. Curiosity killed the cat, good thing I’m not a cat…seems almost like the type of seal one would use for a child’s card.

I looked around one more time, and carefully peeled back the smiley face, and opened the envelope, inside was a small piece of thin parchment like paper. In delicate handwriting, cursive scrawl not typed, was a simple letter. I took it out, and looked at the words wondering who was leaving this here and why. The letter simply said, “ Dear whoever has been enjoying my cookies,

I hope I added some spice to a boring work day. Meet me for coffee at 2pm at the Donut Shop. Don’t be late, and bring this letter.”

Hmm. Should I go to the the Donut Shop at 2pm? What if it is a crazy stalker type? What if it is a person who is into something violent and I get kidnapped and kept in a basement for years? Okay, how often does that sort of thing happen? But, what if this is one of those times? Arrgh, who is EB?

I knew what I would have to do. I would have to discreetly go to the Donut Shop which was located across the street from my workplace. The person is either a co worker playing a prank, highly likely, or a secret admirer who is also most likely a coworker playing a prank. Or, an unknown creepy stalker guy who has been watching me come and go from the Donut Shop.  But then how would he get this stuff in here? Only employees have access back here? Nothing to do but go and find out.

I pull my long black wool coat close to me in a virtual self hug as I leave the office carefully. I say good bye to people at their cubicles who grunt without looking up as I walk out at the unusual time of ten til 2pm. I walk with purse clutched tightly in one hand, other hand in a pocket with a small canister of mace. You know, just in case. I hit the button to use the crosswalk, traffic lulls to a stop to the loud beeping of the pedestrian green light, and I walk with purpose, one foot in front of the other, like I have all the time in the world, attempting to project calmness, confidence, like I don’t have a care in the world. Just going to go grab a coffee, and possibly some coffee cake, and enjoy a break out of the office. I’m not meeting a random stranger from an anonymous note that would be foolish in this day and age. Downright reckless! Nope, not me!

I open the door slowly, here the tinkle of the door bell move as I did so. Looked into the eyes of a bored cashier by a long counter, her eyes lidded and glancing at me while texting someone on her phone. I look around at the tables, see people scattered here and there. Someone was sitting in the corner, with a newspaper over their face, all by themselves.  They had a long coat on and a hat, like some old time detective from a Bogart movie. The newspaper hid the face, but from the body language of the crossed leg and the build, I would say this was a man, old or young hard to say. I looked at the other tables, because I didn’t know who this person was. I still had the chance to change my mind and leave the shop. The cashier was still texting, and hadn’t said hi.

I went to an empty table, pulled out a chair and sat down, placing my purse on the floor next to me, glancing at a paper menu on the table. Drip coffee 1.99, refills 50 cents. Donuts 2.49 each, or 5 for a dozen. I get the letter out, resealed with its smiley face, and put it visibly on the table thinking the person might take it as a cue to come over and reveal themselves. The man in the corner adjusts the paper noisily, moves his legs as well, but doesn’t get up. Hmm. If not him, then who is it? I look around casually, or trying to make it appear casual, noting other people sipping coffee and reading or talking. No one especially stood out as suspicious except the weird guy in the corner. The cashier comes over noticing me for the first time and says, “Hon, you know what you want?” What a question! I don’t even know what’s going on here, let alone what I want.

I say simply, “A cup of coffee and a small piece of coffee cake. I’m on my break from work.” She gives me a look like if you think that will make me hurry you are mistaken, and walks back to the counter. The man puts his paper down now, and I take a peek to see if it is someone I know. The face doesn’t seem too familiar, but it does seem like I’ve seen it somewhere before.

“Excuse me,” I say loudly, “Sir, are you waiting for someone?”

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone, actually.” He says voice kind of gravelly. Sounds like maybe a smoker. Maybe early 50s.

“Does it have anything to do with this?” I hold up the note in its smiley envelope. His face turns into a smile and he walks over. “Can it really be you? My little Junebug?”

“What? I want to know what this is about? “

The man seems sad all of a sudden, and I see a tear form in his eye. “I have missed you so much. I haven’t seen you since you were 5 years old, and you moved away. Your mother wouldn’t tell me where you were, disconnected your number.  I have tried everything to find you for so long. I had all but given up hope when I saw your name in the paper for helping out that family through your work. I knew it had to be you even though the last name was different. I hoped it was you, but I was scared about what you would think of me, what you had been told possibly. I am sorry. I didn’t know how to reach out the right way. So, I had the waitress here send cookies over and she agreed to leave the note and locket for me.”

“Who are you supposed to be again?” I said incredulous.

“I’m your father. I know your Mom remarried, and you probably don’t remember me. I was working all the time back then, and I didn’t spend enough time with you. But surely, you remember?” The man looked hurt, and confused.

“What was your daughter’s name? Who do you think I am?”

“June. My little Junebug.”

Suddenly it all made sense. June was the person who used to have my desk. She had moved on to another office, into management I think. I had inherited a lot of pens and things left behind from her, but this had to be the saddest of them all.

“I’m so sorry. But I am not June. I am Tina. I think she used to have my desk.” I added lamely, holding the note out to the man. “Thanks for the cookies though.” I smiled awkwardly, looking at my watch. “Oh, looks like my break is over, good luck with the search.” I picked up my purse, left a couple dollars on the table for the cashier who was back looking at her phone, and briskly walked out of there. Darn. Mistaken identity after all.