The Game

1) Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story
2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.
3) You have until next Tuesday to link up your post.
4) Link up with your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Tena or Leanne) when you’re done via the inLinkz linky below.
5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

Your photo:

Your (randomly generated) mandatory words:

                                                                            prank
                                                                            printer
                                                                            profit
                                                                            capsicum
                                                                            goal


With the sun going down Allison reached in her backpack for a sweater. Spotting the can of pepper spray tucked on top she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.  She was only there because Jenny had cajoled her in to watching the game.  Recently relocated from her hometown in Tennessee the move had been an act of desperation with a goal of putting distance between her soon to be ex-husband and herself.  As usual, thoughts of Perry produced a pang of regret.  She missed him, missed being married and the security of knowing someone loved her.  "Knock it off," she chided herself, "if a man can cheat on Halley Berry what chance do the rest of us have?"  With a little shake she turned her attention back to the game.

"Come on Ali, it will be fun," Jenny wheedled, "we'll order pizza, make a pitcher of Margarita's, and have some good old fashion girl talk."  Ali had begged off explaining she had to finish preparing for an early meeting.  Now, driving home, she began to wish she had taken her friend up on the invite.  Navigating through dark streets her nervousness increased.  "Damn," she thought, "those prank calls are really getting to me."  Spotting her driveway, she used the remote to open the garage and was relieved to see the interior light come on.  Pulling in she quickly closed the door behind her and feeling a little foolish grabbed the can of pepper spray. "Better safe than sorry," she thought, "capsicum may not stop a maniac but used correctly it would slow him down." 

Keys in hand she hurried to the service door.  As she entered the house she paused, surveying the dim interior.  All was as she had left it, "See, no boogey-man here," she said loudly flicking on the kitchen overhead.  With some trepidation she walked over to the phone and was happy to see no new messages.  Recently someone had been calling and then hanging up when she answered.  She didn't know if they were trying to frighten her but if so they were succeeding.

 She kicked off her shoes, poured a glass of red wine and proceeded to the spare room that served as her home office.  With a sigh she sank on to an oversize chair and began to review Trans-Continental's profit and loss statement.

An insistent ringing penetrated her sleep addled brain and feebly she groped for the offending phone. She heard a click and then a dial tone. She had fallen asleep in the chair but was now wide awake and unsure what to do.  Peering at the clock she saw it was just after 3:00 a.m.  Suddenly the printer whirred to life as it spit out an incoming fax.  Shakily Angie reached for the single sheet of paper on which was a hand written note, "I'M COMING FOR YOU".  Unexpectedly she smiled.   The writing was Perry's.  He had been the one calling and he was coming to get her!



     

Hair Raising Tale

You would think by now I would give up on fairy tales and happy endings but being the eternal optimist I keep searching for that special stylist who can magically transform my hair from frumpy to fierce.

Granted they don't have much to work with.  My hair is fine and stick straight so I'm not expecting miracles but just once I'd like to walk out of a salon without thinking, "Oh God, what have I done?"

Unfortunately yesterday was one of those days.  I had taken in pictures of styles that I like and even some I didn't so there would be no misunderstanding.  After donning a smock and settling into the chair I proceeded to show her my carefully selected photos.  She took one quick glance and said, "Sure, no problem, we can get that look,"and she proceeded to go to town.

As she razor cut my strands my hopes grew.  Then came my favorite part, the hair washing/head massage with heavenly smelling shampoo.  That done we move back to the chair and she whips out her blow dryer faster than I whip out my credit card at Bloomingdales.  And that's where the dream died.  The pictures I had brought were all of textured dos, piecy and flipped back away from the face and she was using a round brush smoothing my hair forward. 

"Oh," she cooed, "So pretty, this looks so good on you."  "But," I sputtered, "this isn't what I want at all," pointing at the picture I brought.    By now she is getting the idea I'm not happy so she goops a punch of pommade on her hand and starts scrunching.  "See," she says, "you just have to work with it."   Now I'm in a catch-22.  Dig a deeper hole by asking her to try again or cut my losses (literally) and get the hell out of dodge.  I chose the later.  And then I went home, washed my hair and styled it myself.  But I refuse to accept defeat, next time I know I'll find The One

Queenie

1)Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story

2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.

3) You have until next Tuesday to link up your post.

4) Link up with your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Tena or Leanne) when you’re done via the inLinkz linky below.

5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

This week's photo:

The Words:  Carriage, Gym, Poster, North, Bar

Her carriage was that of a queen, head held high, shoulders thrust back, eyes straight ahead.  Long black hair and blunt cut bangs showed off high cheek bones.  Stephanie St. Clair was a poster child for black royalty.  Known through out Manhattan as Queenie, her Harlem neighbors respectfully called her Madame St. Claire.

Queenie was a rare breed of woman, a female gang leader in 1930's New York who ran her business with an iron fist.  Walking north on 5th Avenue, her heels making a sharp staccato in the night she passed a park that in daylight would be filled with kids playing on the jungle gym, the merry-go-round, and the monkey bars.  Now, devoid of people, it was a menacing dark hole but she gave it no notice.

 She had just left a meeting with a  mobster named Dutch Schultz.  His clumsy attempt to intimidate her was nothing short of insulting.  "Go to hell," was all she said before turning her back on the gangster.  She wasn't paying him, or anyone else for protection.  This was her territory and she'd damn well make sure they all understood who ran the neighborhood.   The walk would do her good, give her time to cool off.    "As ye sow, so shall ye reap," she muttered to herself.

Someone peered out their window but quickly retreated behind a curtain when they saw the lone figure.  Trouble was no stranger to Harlem.




   
    

Thoughts and Prayers

The clock reads 1:45 a.m. and I can't sleep.  I tried reading, I tried a glass of wine, I tried counting sheep, I tried concentrating on breathing in and out, I even took a Xanax.  I checked for a full moon but that wasn't the culprit.  The harder I tried to fall asleep the more agitated I became.  Finally, after two hours of tossing and turning I was forced to face what had me in a turmoil.  A delayed reaction to the the haunting images of the Oklahoma twister.

When I first saw the footage, the scope of the disaster registered but in a subdued way.  We are constantly bombarded by news coverage of horrific events, and as I watched yesterday's carnage on TV I felt somewhat detached, as though the cumulative viewing of these type of scenes have left me desensitized.  At least that's what I thought until I lay in bed, tossing and turning.  In reality my mind was trying to come to terms with what it had seen.  The images of the elementary school that was destroyed, the first responders sorting through demolished buildings, the total obliteration of houses that once lined city blocks.  Laying in the dark it was all to easy to imagine the panic as the tornado bore down, the desperation of parents searching for their children, the aftermath the survivors saw after the tornado had passed.  The numbness I had felt was an illusion, a protection mechanism to shield me from the horrors that fate can lay at any of our doors.

To the victims and their families please know that hundreds of thousands like me are sending you our thoughts and prayers.

Spring, Spring, Wherefore Art Thou?

Inertia has a hold of me and my mojo has deserted me!  Maybe it's because yesterday was sunny and 75 and today it snowed all over my beautiful daffodils.  How is that even possible?   They say to make hay while the sun shines but what is one supposed to do when it doesn't?  Last year's leaves are still waiting to be raked because we skipped fall and went right to winter.  It appears we are also going to skip spring.   You would probably like to ask me if I'd like a little cheese to go with that whine right about now.  Ooh, now there's a good idea ... wine!  Think I'll go pour a glass and hopefully lift my spirits.  Besides, anyone who lives in Michigan knows, if you don't like the weather wait five minutes and it will change.       

Lethal Library

This is the first time I've joined in this bloghop.

 

The rules are simple: there is a photo prompt and five randomly generated words

1) Use the photo and the 5 words provided in your story

2) Keep your word count 500 words or less.

3) You have until next Tuesday to link up your post.
4) Link up with your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Tena or Leanne) when you’re done via the inLinkz linky below.

5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow.

 

(Randomly generated) Mandatory Words:

mole

napkin

poison

concert

neck

Come on Mickey, quite screwing around," Ben said in a raised whisper. He had searched the entire library for his younger brother and was now making a second round.

"Mom is going to wring my neck," he muttered to himself. Ben's mother was a concert pianist with the Minneapolis Symphony and she had rehearsal this afternoon. Her last words when she dropped them off were, "Be waiting out front at 3:00 p.m. sharp and don't make me have to come inside." It was now 2:45 and Mickey was no where to be seen.

Ben was walking down one of the aisles when a scrap of white paper caught his eye. It was sticking halfway out of a book and he could see writing on it. Curious, he pulled out the book and glanced at the cover; The World's Most Deadly Poisons." The white paper proved to be a McDonald's napkin and hand written in blue ink were the words "Mole Hole, full moon, die sinners." Underneath that someone had written "Kr"in big bold letters. Ben wasn't sure what he was looking at but it seemed vaguely ominous and he wondered if he should show somebody. Conscious that he only had a few minutes before his mom arrived he stuffed the napkin in his pocket and made a bee-line for the front desk arriving there just as his brother came around the corner. "Where have you been jerk, I've been looking all over for you?" Mickey started to protest but Ben gave him a shove and told him to go wait outside while he checked out the book that he'd found the napkin in.

After getting dropped off at home, Ben pulled the paper from his pocket. On a hunch he got out the phone book and looked up Mole Hole. Sure enough listed in the business section was Mole Hole along with a street address and phone number. Going to the internet he googled, Mole Hole - Minneapolis and then clicked on the link. A picture of a large building with no windows and a neon sign that said live dancers, adult entertainment came up. He then did a search for dates of full moons in 2013 and the closest one was Saturday, May 25th. Ben's uneasiness ratcheted up a notch. "Don't be stupid," he told himself, "killers don't go around writing their plans down and then leaving them in library books." Remembering he had brought the book home he started looking through the pages and he realized with a start that that the chemical symbols on each page were similar to the two letters on the napkin he'd found. Holding his breath he leafed through until he saw "Kr - Krypton". "Krypton a colourless, odourless, gas is classified as a simple asphyxiant. Inhalation in excessive amounts can result in dizziness, loss of consciousness and death, which may occur in seconds without warning ." He felt a chill run through him as he grabbed his cell phone to call his mom.

Time Travel

Junk shops, or as some more kindly call them antique stores, hold endless fascination for me.  Filled with objects from an earlier day and crammed to the  rafters with every conceivable gadget I'm captivated as soon as I walk in.

Perusing the cluttered aisles, I'm on a treasure hunt with no shovel required.  Castoff items patiently waiting to be rediscovered, their years of service evident in the small chips and missing paint.  They are tangible links to a past generation far removed from laptops, Ipods, and Smartphones.

These shops have their own unique odor, a combination of  disuse and mustiness that seems apropos.  I breath in deeply and wonder if my appliances will last long enough to attract future buyers?  We live in a disposable world so I have my doubts, but it's fun to imagine what items might fill these shelves long after I'm gone.