Soul Searching

(written for the [Fiction] Friday prompt on March 20, 2009.)

It had been a dark and stormy night.  The rain had finally stopped but the wind still blew coldly against his face on the dark road as he stood there, staring at the opened hood of his car, the only light being the thin beam of his flashlight combined with the periodic flash of the car’s hazard lights.  Occasionally there would be a brief glow from the full moon as it peaked through the thinning cloud cover only to be blanketed again as the winds pushed the clouds around like a bully.  He had tried to call for help but his cell phone was out of battery and he had left the car charger at home after taking it out of the car for some reason that escaped him at this moment.  It had been an hour since the last car had gone by, speeding past him and his blinking car as if they weren’t even there. 

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Voodoo Stew’s New Stimulus Package

(written for the [Fiction] Friday prompt on March 13, 2009, which was to write about a businessman who finds a voodoo doll in his hotel room on the third night of his stay.)

“May I help you, sir?” asked the young woman dressed in the neatly pressed hotel uniform and standing behind the desk.

“Uh, yeah,” said Stewart hesitantly.  “I think someone delivered a, uh, package to my room today and it was not for me.”

“Oh, sir, I am very sorry for the inconvenience,” said the woman whose nametag implied that her name was Melody.  “What is your room number?  I’ll have someone come up and get the package and we’ll see if it can be delivered properly.”

“Oh, um, three thirteen,” said Stewart quietly.  “But there’s no need to send anyone up, I brought it with me.” 

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(written for the [Fiction] Friday prompt on March 6, 2009)

“You did… WHAT?” demanded Justin.  He rubbed his hand across the thick hair on his head as he paced angrily to one side of the room and then to the other.

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Broken Promises

(written for the [Fiction] Friday  prompt on January 2, 2009:  write about a New Year’s resolution that’s broken in the first 24 hours)


“I am so disappointed in you,” she said in her most disappointed voice and with That Look on her face. 

Oh no, not That Look, Fred thought.  I hate That Look. He shuffled his feet and looked away, then he said, “Oh, not That Look, SaraYou know how much I hate That Look.”

“I’ll give you whatever look I feel like giving you Fred,” she said.  “You blew it, dude, not me.”

“I told you,” Fred said with a touch of pleading in his voice.  “It was totally not what you think and not what it looked like.  It’s not my fault, either.”

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The Gift

 (written for the [Fiction] Friday  prompt on December 19, 2008:  write a scene involving exactly two characters that involves a terrible holiday gift)
Tim stood there holding the package in his hands, unsure of what to do.  He looked from the package to the crumpled up wrapping paper that was on the sidewalk, to the beaming, radiant smile on Debbie’s face and back again.


“I—” he started, then stopped.  He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.  “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me you love it,” said Debbie, excitedly.  “Tell me it is what you were hoping for.  Tell me it is just what you always wanted.”

Tim opened his mouth to speak and then closed it when he found no words coming out of it.  He held up the clear plastic bag that was the package and examined the items contained within it and licked his lips nervously despite the cold winter wind.  He was truly at a loss for words. 

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A Holiday to Remember

Sally walked down the sidewalk that lined the quiet street, chatting happily with the five fellow carolers she had come out with this year.  They were talking about work, the kids and what they were going to do for the rest of the holiday.

“Did you watch the tree lighting on TV the other day?” she asked the man, Bill, walking next to her?

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