True Love

A story written in dialog alone. I did this piece a few years back from a writing prompt. I like the way it turned out.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, honey.”

“I’m so tired, Jake.”

“I know you are, honey.”

“Lay here with me?”

“Of course.”

“Umm, it feels good to have your arms around me.” 

“Shhh, don’t cry, honey.”

“I’m so sorry, Jake.”

 “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be here to go RVing around the country with you like we planned."

“I’ll probably never retire anyway.”

“I’m sorry I’ll miss your Christmas ham, and your terrible rendition of White Christmas.”

“The doctor said I have to cut down on sodium, so there’ll be no ham this year, and I’m sure everyone can do without my singing.”

“Oh, no, you have to sing the song, Jake! Promise me you will!”

“Calm down, honey. I promise to bust everyone’s ear drums again this year.”

“Thank you. I don’t want anything to change just because, because…”

“Things have to change, darling. My heart will no longer be whole without you.”

“Oh, honey, don’t cry. I need you to be strong for me. I can’t do it myself.”

“I’m here, honey. I’ll always be here.”

“You always were my rock. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have done just fine. I’ve always told you that you are stronger than you think.”

“I wish I’d been strong enough.”

“You were! You are! There is nothing you could have done to prevent this. The doctor’s told you that, honey. Stop beating yourself up.”

“I know. I just feel so useless, defeated. Why me, Jake? Why me?”

“I don’t know, honey. I just don’t know.”

“Promise me you’ll go on with your life, Jake. Meet someone new.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Mary.”

“We need to talk about it, Jake. You don’t need to be alone. You have a lot of life ahead, share it with someone. I want you to be happy.”

“How am I supposed to be happy without you?”

“You can. In time. I’m not saying I want you to meet someone at the funeral.”

“Hush, woman. This is no time for joking.”

“Oh, there’s always time for laughter, Jake. Do you remember at Timothy’s graduation? That bee landed on your nose and you couldn’t get it to move no matter what. I got so tired of you fidgeting around that I smacked you with my program. The look on your face was priceless.”

“I don’t remember it being so funny.”

“Oh, quit your grumbling. You always were a grumpy Gus.”

“And you were always my angel.”

“I worry that I haven’t shown you, or told you enough, how much you mean to me.”

“Oh, honey, I know, because I feel the same. We were made for each other.”

“Two halves of a whole.”

“Two peas in a pod.”

“Now we’re getting silly.”

“Silly is ok. You were always good at silly.”

“Hey! I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”

“You know it is. I needed your silliness to counteract my stubbornness.”

“You are stubborn, that’s for sure.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to agree with me!”

“Hold me closer.”

“Are you cold, honey? Your hands are like ice. Let me get you another blanket.”

“I don’t need a blanket, Jake. I just need your arms.”

“You got ‘em, babe. I’m right here. Snuggle in close. That’s right, I’ve got you.”

 

 “I’m so tired, Jake.”

“I know you are, baby.”

 “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know, baby. I know, but I’ll be fine. You go rest now. I’ll see you again before you know it.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I love you, baby.”

Blind Allegiance

 I wrote this story today off a writing prompt from a friend. I'm not sure I got it exactly right, but I hope y'all like it. Here is the prompt:

Third person, short story about someone who recently became blind; but you can't say how they became blind.

Blind Allegiance

Chance awoke with a throbbing headache. The slightest movement caused excruciating pain. Even lifting his eyelids required more effort than he was able to muster. 

He lay still and tried to remember what had happened, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t help that he couldn’t hear very well, either. Without eyesight and hearing, it was hard to figure out where he was or what caused all the pain. One thing he did know was that he had to move. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t just lay there.

He forced his eyes open. Total darkness greeted him. He couldn’t see even a glimmer of light anywhere. Did somebody push me down a well, he wondered. 

He quickly dismissed that idea. His enemies would have found a more creative way to rid the world of him. He thought maybe someone had buried him alive. He hadn’t been able to move enough to figure out how big the space he was occupying actually was.

He decided to worry about where he was after her regained the use of his body. 

Tentatively, he moved the fingers of his right hand. All seemed well so he tried the left hand. The pain that shot through his hand and up his arm brought tears to his eyes. 

It was a while before he worked up the courage to try and move any other limbs. The toes of his right foot worked, but the ankle was another matter. He didn’t think it was broken, but definitely sprained.

When he tried to move the left foot, scalding hot spikes of pain shot through his body. His screams filled the air. 

Chance had no idea how long he screamed. He hadn’t felt pain like that in years. The last time, he had almost lost his hand. If his ankle was in as bad a shape as his wrist had been back then, Chance knew he didn’t have long to get it worked on. It had taken the doctor thirteen hours to reconnect all the tendons and repair the damage. Chance hadn’t believed he could do it. His hand was literally hanging by threads of muscle and tissue. He only hoped modern medicine could come to the rescue again. If he ever got out of whatever hole he was in.

If the extent of his injuries were as bad as Chance thought, he knew he would need help escaping from wherever he had been stashed. From the vibration of his screams earlier, he knew the space wasn’t small enough to be a coffin-like structure, but wasn’t a huge room either. If he could trust his hearing. With his ears still clogged up, and the total darkness, he couldn’t be sure of anything.

He kept trying to remember what he was doing before, but the hit to his head seemed to have scrambled his brain. He would get snatches of memories but that was all, and they didn’t make much sense. 

He kept seeing himself with another man, one he couldn’t quite place. They were standing in front of a village. Just before the vision evaporated, Chance saw the man hand him a briefcase. 

No matter how hard he concentrated, Chance couldn’t remember anything else. He could surmise, however. He had received briefcases in the past. Briefcases full of cash, diamonds, guns, and bombs.

He just had to figure out what was in the one he kept seeing in the vision, and where the briefcase was. The contents of any case he had received could never be allowed to be traced back to the owner.

First things first, he thought. I have to get out of here before I can find anything.

He tried to sit up. The world spun crazily, but Chance toughed it out. He used his good hand to brace himself and sat still until the room settled. 

His stomach threatened to rebel. The taste of bile in the back of his throat urged Chance on. He reached into the darkness, trying to figure out where he was. He pushed what felt like a piece of concrete, which he was sure caused the damage to his ankle, off his left leg.

He tried to push himself with his right hand and leg, but the pain from his sprained ankle wouldn’t allow it. All he managed to do was wear himself out. 

He collapsed back onto the floor and considered his options. Chance had been in some hairy situations before, but nothing compared to being broken and battered beyond movement in a dark hole. He had always had a plan before, but as far as he could see, there was no plan for his current predicament except getting help.

To that end, Chance screamed. 

He screamed until his throat was raw. He screamed until his chest hurt. He screamed until he couldn’t scream any longer because the saliva in his mouth had dried up.

Once his own screams died down, Chance thought he heard others. He pushed back up and tried to find something to throw. Anything that would make enough noise for someone to find him. He threw rocks and a can of some sort, all the while trying to scream some more, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate. 

He blindly searched the area he could reach, frantically trying to find something that would help. He was getting desperate. Chance knew he didn’t have long. His strength was draining as surly as the blood from his ankle. 

His hand found a small, cylindrical object. He inspected it the best he could in the dark. The object was slender with a button on one end and wires coming out of the other. Chance was sure he knew what it was. It was on the tip of his tongue. He just couldn’t quite place it. He tried to trace the wires, but could only reach so far. 

He was still holding the object when he heard someone approach. He called out, hoping they would find him wherever he was buried. 

Chance was confused when he heard footsteps behind him. He tried to turn, but his broken body wouldn’t move. He listened to the steps as they walked toward him and heard someone say, “Poor bastard.” 

“Hello,” Chance said. “Who’s there? Can someone turn the lights on?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the man replied. 

Chance was still trying to figure out the pity in the man’s voice when another man interrupted.

“His hand!” the man yelled. “Get back!”

Chance figured out, right before the first bullet struck, what the object he held was.

Dracula's End

It was a dark and stormy night when Dracula met his end. 

I’m still sketchy on the details, but I do remember leaving the bar and walking along the waterfront. Well, I say walking, but it was probably more like stumbling if my knees are any indication. I had been to my brother’s bachelor party, and unfortunately, for me and Dracula, when I party I really party.

I have no recollection of the actual event, but people say Dracula swooped in and bit me when I tripped over a lose board. They watched him do his business and then leave me in a heap. What everyone found most shocking was that when Dracula started to walk away, he was staggering.

Accounts report that he kept trying to take flight, but couldn’t seem to get it together enough to do more than shamble along. Everyone watched, astonished, when he drew close to the end of the pier. With only a few feet left, he started running. People assume he was getting a head start to rise and fly off into the night, but things didn’t quite go as planned. Instead, Dracula jumped and promptly fell.

Unbeknownst to him, a portion of the pier had been damaged in a recent storm. A few posts were broken in half, leaving jagged spikes in their place. 

Dracula fell on one such spike. 

The newspapers are all abuzz with the demise of our most feared resident. I read them and I laugh. I know it won’t be long until they find my first victim.

Zealous

It’s the last day of the A to Z Challenge. I was very zealous when the challenge started. I loved thinking up each day’s story. I will admit some letters were harder than others, but it was a challenge after all. 

I’m proud to say I enjoyed the whole experience from start to finish, and I completed every letter/day on time. (Good thing blogger has the scheduling feature.) 

One thing I didn’t expect was that my writing would improve because of the challenge. I usually write micro fiction pieces for my storyboard blog, but with the challenge, I found my stories were getting longer. People responded to the change as well. I received great reviews of the stories included in the challenge.

I will definitely do the A to Z Challenge next year…if I know about it in time. My memory is awful, so I’ll hope people talk about it to remind me. 

I hope everyone else enjoyed the challenge as well. Now, I will leave you with a story for the letter Z. Thanks for reading, y’all.

Andrea picked up the pace as she rounded the last bend in the twisting, winding road. She knew the finish line was around the corner and she was definitely ready for the race to be over.

When she started out, Andrea was over zealous. She bought new running shoes, shorts, and a sports bra that was supposed to hold up anything. She trained every day, sometimes twice a day. Her dog, Charlie, got tired of running with her and refused to leave the house. If she wanted his company, she had to forcibly put his leash on him. She gave up after a while and just ran on her own.

Her friends tried to tell her she was overdoing it, that she needed to pace herself, but Andrea hadn’t listened. She knew she had to train or she’d never make the thirteen miles. She’d only been running for a  few months, but was determined to finish the half marathon. 

No blisters, cramps or sore muscles were going to keep her from accomplishing her goal. And on the morning of the race, she had all of those and more.

Still, Andrea donned her gear and headed to the starting line. She remembered the excitement of the moment, the exhilaration the crowd shared. 

The first few miles went well. Andrea kept her pace steady, her head up and pushed forward. At the five-mile marker, she tripped. Andrea pulled herself back up and continued on, blood dripping down her knees and her palms on fire. 

At mile marker 8, her side started cramping. Andrea held her side and tried to keep running. She made another mile before she had to slow to a walk. After another mile, the pain subsided and she started to run again. 

She reached the ten-mile marker and her bladder started complaining. Andrea looked around for a port-a-potty, but none was in sight. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and took off into the woods. 

Andrea had just pulled her shorts down when she looked over and spotted two men, mouths agape, watching her. She noticed the golf clubs as she fell face forward onto the ground. The men quickly turned around, but not before she heard their laughter.

Gathering her clothes, and her dignity, Andrea resumed the race. Her face was blazing, but her feet felt like they were stuck in molasses. She trudged onward, determined to make it to the end. 

At mile eleven, Andrea decided she’d been out of her mind to enter the race. By mile twelve, she was cursing everything from the sun, which was boiling, to her new sports bra, which wasn’t holding anything in check, but letting her boobs bounce around like basketballs. 

Still she ran. She wasn’t about to make it that far and quit. Andrea was going to finish the race if it killed her.

The finish line was in sight when Andrea fell. She clutched her chest and doubled over in pain. The other racers, who had already finished, rushed to her side. They told Andrea to lay still, that help was on the way. 

Andrea wouldn’t listen. She pushed at those trying to help her, yelling for them to get out of the way. 

Nobody knew what to do, and they couldn’t get her to calm down, so they moved away from Andrea and watched as she turned over and started to crawl.

Andrea finished the race, although nobody was sure she knew it. She crawled over the finish line and collapsed. Her friends had ‘Never Give Up’ etched on her headstone.