Waitress Linda was Athena to busboy Joe. But she called him Jim, if at all. Her heart with Victor, the waiter.
When the Fuscos dined at the crabhouse, Mr F. smashed away at the crustaceans with bib and hammer. Rolled up his sleeves and took off his Rolex.
Joe pocketed it clearing a pile of shattered shells and empty breadbasket.
To everyone’s surprise, except Joe, the timepiece was found in Victor’s locker.
Joe’d filled his last water glass. Squeezed into the tailored jacket, stripped from Vic before his perp-walk. Tight in the biceps. “It’s Joe, right?” said Linda, watching intently.
“Sometimes the thrill is gone,” observed Paul as he and Alison finished planning their wedding.
Everything that could possibly happen had been dealt with. They plowed through all the significant details, taken in the parent concerns, waded through catering, flowers, photographers, venues, and music selection.
“I concur,” replied Alison. “We are both working while this planning has been going on.”
Alison woke, startled from her dream. “We’ve only been engaged a few hours,” she said, reflecting on her dream. “Paul, we need to seize the moment. Let’s get married as soon as possible. Just us.”
He stifled the curse his aching bones elicited. It was dark, though a glimmer of dawn’s promise whispered at him, piercing the fug of exhaustion. The air was musty, sweaty exhausted bodies littering the single room in the overcrowded bothy. He’d lost the fight for bedspace but glowing embers had offset the chill of a slate mattress. He had room to move, to pack without rousing the others. The hairy blanket was basic but it could be discarded. He mounted his bike excitedly. The view from the top of the first climb would be a winning one, his lead unassailable.
Battlefield Promotion
Waitress Linda was Athena to busboy Joe. But she called him Jim, if at all. Her heart with Victor, the waiter.
When the Fuscos dined at the crabhouse, Mr F. smashed away at the crustaceans with bib and hammer. Rolled up his sleeves and took off his Rolex.
Joe pocketed it clearing a pile of shattered shells and empty breadbasket.
To everyone’s surprise, except Joe, the timepiece was found in Victor’s locker.
Joe’d filled his last water glass. Squeezed into the tailored jacket, stripped from Vic before his perp-walk. Tight in the biceps. “It’s Joe, right?” said Linda, watching intently.
It’s All In The Planning
“Sometimes the thrill is gone,” observed Paul as he and Alison finished planning their wedding.
Everything that could possibly happen had been dealt with. They plowed through all the significant details, taken in the parent concerns, waded through catering, flowers, photographers, venues, and music selection.
“I concur,” replied Alison. “We are both working while this planning has been going on.”
Alison woke, startled from her dream. “We’ve only been engaged a few hours,” she said, reflecting on her dream. “Paul, we need to seize the moment. Let’s get married as soon as possible. Just us.”
Paul smiled. “I'll arrange it.”
Early Bird (100 words)
He stifled the curse his aching bones elicited. It was dark, though a glimmer of dawn’s promise whispered at him, piercing the fug of exhaustion. The air was musty, sweaty exhausted bodies littering the single room in the overcrowded bothy. He’d lost the fight for bedspace but glowing embers had offset the chill of a slate mattress. He had room to move, to pack without rousing the others. The hairy blanket was basic but it could be discarded. He mounted his bike excitedly. The view from the top of the first climb would be a winning one, his lead unassailable.
This is masterful story telling, Barrie! I love the imagery and how you used it to create contrast and pull us into the cyclist’s world.
That’s so kind. It was such a good prompt. Lovely to feel some words flow.
Thank you kindly for the mention!
Thanks so much for the mention, Caro! Your story is inspiring!
The early morning sun bathed the garden with its majestic light. A beautiful tree stood in its centre, long branches reaching up towards the heavens.
The woman stood before the tree, eyes looking up at the tempting fruit hanging from its branches, like rubies.
The morning breeze blew through her long, black hair and dew from the lush blades of grass wetted her bare feet, like tears.
She had been told that they could eat fruit from any other tree but this one.
But the serpent’s voice won out in the end.
Eve reached up and picked an apple.
Good one, Jason! Love the tension and the symbolism in the retelling of this familiar story.
Thank you.