For Bev, who wanted more of the story:
Exodus
Her backpack rested on the seat beside her, claiming the space from possible interlopers. Unlikely, as the bus had dropped off what seemed to be a horde of itinerant workers chattering away in Spanish in Bakersfield. There were a few passengers left, none who had started as far east as she. At every stop she'd watched the ones who got off, most embraced by smiling families and friends. Not always, though. Some left slump-shouldered and shuffling; the ends of their lines a solitary exodus.
Hers wouldn't be one. She hugged the paper-wrapped cookie jar against her rounded belly, her family.
Thank you, Sail! Nice. I love the formatting. You can write a whole novel this way. Like a scrapbook of snapshots. Lovely.
Very nice, Sail!
The "embrace" challenge is now closed.
This week's prompt is "addiction".
I'm standing in for Lee, today. Be glad I didn't give you "porn".
If anyone has time to beta the first few chapters of a mystery, I'd appreciate it.
Hit me, erika. Profile addy good.
The "addiction" challenge is now closed.
This week's prompt is "two people in a dark room."
Standing in for Lee again. Last time, I promise.
Written in about five minutes, just for the laughs.
---
"Ow, fuck, what the--"
"Honey?"
"I’m over here."
"Okay, great. Man, it’s dark, I can’t see a thing."
"Look, just stand still and I will come over--damnit!"
"What?"
"Nothing, just this fucking coffee table."
"Ooh, I hate that. Look, just move really slowly."
"Nah, I thought I’d sprint. Oh, motherfu--"
"What?"
"Nothing, just going to die. A roller skate? When did we even get roller skates?"
"Baby, I haven’t owned roller skates since 1985."
"Well, something’s on--damnit!"
"Honey?"
"Look, I’m just going to stop moving, all right?"
"All right. Here, I think I have…ohh, the lights!"
"Jesus wept."
I like that, Ailleann!
Here's mine, going for the most obvious interpretation of the topic....
---------------------------------
“Ahh, Rebecca...”
She loves her name in his accent.
Joel always called her Becky--Joel who was alive this morning. Tomorrow she’ll despise herself, but she cannot bear to weep alone when she can assuage her grief in this man’s arms.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
He goes absolutely still. “Don’t you...you do know who I am?”
“I mean your Christian name--no one ever uses it, and I’ve forgotten. I cannot call you ‘General’ here!”
Amusement ripples through him. “You could.”
“You’d like that!” she accuses.
He laughs and tells her his name. But she wishes she hadn’t spoken, because this isn’t only grief now--it’s this man, and this moment, and knowing she’s wanted this since the day she met him.
Drabbles! Awesome, ladies.
