Hello everyone! I am happy to say it is time to read and vote for your favorite short story of the August Challenge. As you may remember, part of the challenge was to include the following five words in the writing: pink, pasta, boobs, apparition, and wink.

Located in this EWAC Awards section, there will be a poll for members to vote. Click here to access it. I will leave it open for approximately two weeks, deadline is September 16th.

A big thank you to everyone who participated! I am quite pleased with the turn out.

So, without further adieu, here are the short stories!

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Submission 1
Rating: PG-13
Words count: 3,198

Stranger in the Night

“Wow, isn’t this gorgeous?“ Billy exclaimed in admiration. “What do you say? Isn’t this exactly the right location for my belated birthday party?” He looked at his friends. Dom let out a low whistle and Orlando nodded approvingly.

“You’re right, mate.”

Elijah looked up at the ancient Scottish castle in front of him. He had to crane his neck to see the tops of the large towers. Billy was right, it was gorgeous indeed.

“How did you manage this?” he asked Billy as they carried their suitcases up the broad stone steps to the front door.

“Oh, my grandfather knows the owner of the castle. As you can see it is unoccupied, but he’s planning to renovate and turn it into a hotel for rich tourists”, he explained. “But he agreed to let us stay here for a few days under the condition that we won’t damage any of the ancient furniture.”

“And you think it was a good idea to agree to this?” Dom asked, giving him a wink.

“Well, now that you mention it… I shouldn’t have agreed knowing that you were going to stay here, Dom.”

***

“Okay, you can choose any bedroom you want.” Billy put down his bag. “Just go on and look around.”

Elijah sat down on his suitcase and tried to catch his breath. They were only on the first floor, but damn, these old buildings were so high and possessed such long staircases! He wiped his forehead and spotted Orlando, who was standing nearby and looking at something very intensely. Elijah got up and walked over to him.

“Hey, what are you looking at?”

Orlando looked up and pointed at the picture on the wall. It was a painting of a woman with dark hair in a pink dress. She seemed to be around 40 and had a stern expression on her face.

“Who’s this?” Elijah asked and tried to make out the signature of the picture. Orlando shrugged.

“I’ve no idea. She probably was once the owner of the house.”

“She doesn’t look very… nice”, Elijah finished.

“No, but I like the dress”, Dom interrupted them. “These old clothes were awesome. Look at how the dress pushes up her boobs, amazing. I wish modern women would wear such dresses.”

Orlando snorted in amusement and Elijah just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever Dom. I hope your therapy is going well”, he said and went to search for his bedroom.

***

He chose the room at the far end of the corridor that faced the huge park-like garden belonging to the castle. It owned a fireplace that appeared to have been deserted for centuries – which was probably true – and a huge four-poster bed. Elijah lay down on it and felt like he was drowning in a sea of down feathers. Incredible. He got up again with a little bit of difficulty and began to unpack his bags. Having finished, he went downstairs to look for the kitchen, while he prayed not to get lost in this massive building.

“Lij man, there you are!” Orlando yelled when he entered the room. “We thought you had got lost somewhere… or that maybe one of the house ghosts had kidnapped you.”

“Ghosts?” Elijah acted like he was shocked to death. “Billy, why didn’t you tell me that there are ghosts in here? I never would have come!”

Billy just grinned and put the pasta into the tin pot on the old kitchen stove. “Actually, there are some stories of ghosts in this building”, he said thoughtfully. “But I forgot to ask the owner what exactly they are about.” He shrugged.

“Never mind, we’ll have some glasses of this” – Dom put two bottles of old Scottish whisky on the kitchen table – “and we’ll make up the ghosts stories on our own.”

“Where did you find these?” Billy asked and took one bottle in his hand to examine it more closely. “This is really old stuff.”

“Well, I guess it’s because this is a really old house. I found them in the store room.” Dom nodded to a narrow door at the other side of the room. “Pretty dusty in there”, he added and brushed off his jeans.

“Guys, we can’t drink it, this is antique.” His best friend looked at the bottle admiringly and stroked it as though it was a pet.

“Oh come on, we’re honouring your birthday with these”, Orlando argued. “It’s the best reason we can have to get drunk.”

“You will get drunk after one drop of this stuff”, Elijah murmured and loud laughter filled the kitchen.

***

It was a great night. The food was delicious and soon the whisky fulfilled its purpose – they were slowly getting drunk. They explored the castle, beginning in the cellar and then moving upwards throughout all rooms. Finally, they entered the attic. A naked light bulb hung from the ceiling and provided only little light. It appeared as if the dust swallowed all light except for the small circle of yellowish gleam right under the light bulb. A mass of different boxes and some pieces of old furniture covered in white sheets filled the low room. Orlando blew the dust off one box and opened it, coughing slightly as he did so. Elijah leaned against the door frame and briefly closed his eyes. He didn’t quite trust his legs to carry him after so much whisky. Orlando leaned over the box and pulled out some old records and a pile of papers, both things not very interesting to him. He kept on rummaging around.

“Hey, look at this. Some old photo albums. Maybe we’ll find the woman on the portrait in there.”

Dom – who had flung himself into an armchair – looked up and frowned. “Why would she have herself painted when there was the possibility of photographs?”

Elijah was astounded at Dom’s bright-headedness. His own head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Due to the increased level of alcohol it took Orlando a while to get the point. “Oh… yes. Right. But it’s still worth a look, isn’t it?”

He pulled one album out, opened it and squinted at the photos in the dim light. Billy grinned at him.

“Can you see anything at all?”

Finally, Orlando gave in, shaking his head. He shut the album. Elijah yawned.

“I don’t know what you guys are going to do, but I’m going to bed. Tomorrow we can take some of this stuff downstairs and have a closer look”, he suggested.

The others agreed – everyone was getting tired by now – and went into their rooms after a short ‘good night’. Elijah more stumbled than walked down the dark corridor and with a little luck found his room. He fell onto the bed fully clothed and fell asleep almost immediately.

***

Elijah awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed. It took his confused mind a few seconds to remember where he was. He rubbed his eyes; his head still felt a little heavy, but much better than before. The weird thing was that he had no idea what had woken him. He sighed, leaned back and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness while he listened to the unknown sounds of the old building.

It had started to rain, a weak storm whistled around the corners and every now and then a lightning illuminated the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance. Other people would have found this atmosphere creepy, Elijah liked it. His eyelids were becoming heavy again when suddenly another sound reached his ears, very faint, but still clear. Elijah sat up again and listened. It sounded like a wail, as if someone – a woman – was crying out there. And then he heard the soft call “Help!”. He shook his head. No, this was surely an effect of the alcohol; his mind was playing tricks on him. He was about to lie back down again when the crying started again. God, this cannot be true. But nonetheless Elijah got up and walked over to the window. He would never forgive himself if there was someone outside in need of help and he just slept peacefully in his bed.

He looked out into the garden, not really expecting to see anything – and stopped in his tracks, utterly surprised. He briefly closed his eyes, his heart bumping loudly in his chest, and looked again. And again, there she was, illuminated by lightning the moment his eyes fell upon her. Drenched to the skin, she looked up at him, her wet hair glued to her face, and when their eyes met, Elijah knew that she needed his help. He took a deep breath and tried to motion to her that he would come down. Apparently she understood what he meant, because she nodded.

Elijah turned and ran across the room to his massive cupboard. He tore open the doors and frantically rummaged until he found two jackets and a torch. Thanks for reminding me of this Hannah, he thought. He didn’t even think of switching on the light, but used the torch to light his way and jogged down the corridor and down the stairs as fast as he could, silently cursing his shortness – Orlando would have been faster – and fearing that once he got outside she would be gone.

Finally, after what seemed like half an hour to him, Elijah reached the front door and fumbled with the key for some seconds before he pushed it open. Cold rain and wind hit his face and instinctively he held up his arm to shield his eyes. He jumped down the stone steps and ran around one of the towers to the garden. She was still there, the light of his torch dancing over her slim body that was clad in a thin white dress.

Elijah ran over to her and without hesitating flung his jacket on her shaking shoulders. She looked up and smiled thankfully.

“Come on, I’ll get you inside”, he murmured and carefully guided her to the door. She didn’t refuse, but stayed silent until they had entered the house and the door was locked behind them. This time, Elijah switched on the light. He combed his wet hair with his fingers and took the girl in for the first time since he had seen her. She was pretty – her freckled face was framed by long dark red curls, and two bright blue eyes moved over the entrance hall uncertainly. He cleared his throat and gently took the jacket off her shoulder again.

“How long have you been out there? It’s freezing.”

He had only spent five minutes outside and was wet to the skin. According to her shaking body, she had been out there for much longer.

“I… I don’t know”, she stammered. “I don’t know how I came here, I must have got lost, and it was dark, and I was so scared…” She trailed off, close to tears.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Elijah put his arm around her shoulders. “What’s your name? I’m Elijah.”

“M… Mary.” She could hardly speak, her teeth were chattering so badly.

“Okay Mary. Now we best get you out of these wet clothes.”

Together they went upstairs, his arm still around her shoulders. Elijah took her to the bedroom next to his own and gently sat her down on the bed. Then he fetched a towel and some of his clothes that might fit her. They were probably still too large, considering her shape, but these would have to do for the moment.

“Here, you can wear these”, he said to her as he placed the clothes next to her and handed her the towel. “I’m gonna try to light the fire while you change. I promise, I won’t look”, he added in an attempt to ease the tension between them. Mary inspected the clothes with raised eyebrows, but she kept quiet. Elijah squatted in front of the small oven, lighted a match and tried to get a fire burning.

“Where do you come from?” he asked conversationally in the hope of making her a bit more comfortable. There was a pause.

“Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh? A good friend of mine lives there, he’s actually staying here, too. But that’s quite a long way from here. Are you here for holiday?”

“I… yes, I’m on holiday and… I went to explore the nature”, she finished with a stronger voice.

“On your own? Didn’t you come with some friends?” Elijah had managed to create a small flame and put some pieces of wood onto it.

“No… I like to travel alone”, came the muffled answer as she was obviously putting his sweater over her head.

“And what about your luggage? You must at least have had a rucksack if you went on this trip, right?”

Again there was a pause. The bed creaked as Mary sat down again.

“I had a ruck… a bag. But I must have lost it somewhere.” The tone in her voice made it clear that he was asking too much, so he dropped the subject and turned to telling her why he and his friends were here instead.

“Have you finished?” he asked and stood up. A cosy and warm fire was crackling in the oven by now.

“Yes.”

Elijah turned around and sat down next to her. Mary smiled at him. She looked better now, her hair was almost dry again and shining in copper shades. Ghostlike shadows danced over her face.

“Thanks a lot Elijah. You’re a good person. Nothing’s going to happen to you and your friends.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?” She appeared to ignore this question, so he went on after a while. “Do you want to call someone? Your family maybe to tell them you’re alright?”

Mary shook her head and got up. Elijah quickly followed suit.

“I bet you’re tired, so I guess I’ll let you sleep and we can think about what to do tomorrow”, he suggested and pulled the sheets back. She slipped into the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“Could you light the candle for me? I don’t like sleeping in the dark”, she whispered and gestured to the candle in a holder standing on the bedside table.

“Sure.” He bent down and took the matchbox out of his pocket again, noticing the thick layer of dust on the wooden plate. He wiped it away with his sleeve and lighted the candle.

“Thank you Elijah.” Mary took his hand and squeezed it. Elijah smiled and admired her eyes, they seemed like they possessed the wisdom of ages. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something fascinating. She radiated an aura of wisdom and put him into a kind of trance, he would have done anything for her in this moment; her small, soft hand enclosing his. It was almost as though a stream of warmth flowed into him right then. Then, suddenly, she broke the contact and withdrew her hand.

“Good night Elijah. Thank you for everything. And don’t forget, you’re a good person.”

She turned around and obviously fell asleep at once.

“Good night Mary.” Elijah stood up and went to the door. “If there’s anything wrong, I’m in the bedroom next to you”, he said to her back, but he had a feeling that she already knew this.

***

The next morning, sunlight tickled Elijah’s face and a peaceful silence lay over the castle. He groaned and looked at his watch. 9 am. The others were probably still asleep. He rubbed his eyes, yawned heartily and got up to check on Mary. He hoped she had had a good night.
When he carefully pushed open the door to her bedroom, he found it deserted. Elijah frowned and walked in. The bed looked as though no-one had touched it, the fire and the candle he had lit the night before had both extinguished. He sighed. It would have been too good if she had stayed.

Still, something about this place seemed odd to Elijah, although he didn’t know exactly what it was. He went to the oven and opened the little door. No ashes could be seen inside, no leftovers of a fire. Well, maybe she cleaned up after herself, he mused and got up again. When he sat down on the bed his gaze fell upon the candle on the bedside table. It was new. The wick had never been lighted before, just like last night. Elijah’s frown got deeper. She even changed the candle? He shook his head. Weird… Suddenly another detail caught his eye and made him forget to breathe for a moment. He stared at the table, not really believing his eyes. A thick layer of dust covered the dark wooden surface; there were no signs that anyone had touched it in decades, although Elijah was sure that he had cleaned it last night when Mary had asked him to light the candle. It was like no living person had ever been here.

Had Mary even been here at all or had he been so drunk that he had just dreamed all this? Was he getting insane? He jumped up and ran into his room as fast as he could, anything to get away from this creepy place. He leaned against the closed door, breathing heavily. Okay, it was just a dream, calm down man!

But then his eyes fell upon the two jackets on the chair, both still damp from the rain, and he was scared like never before.

***

“Elijah, you don’t look too good”, Dom informed him cheerfully during their breakfast. “Too much alcohol? Or have you seen an apparition?” he joked, and Billy laughed.

“Considering the colour on his face, you might be right.”

***

After the breakfast Elijah told his friends something about a headache and that he was going to lie down, but wandered around the castle in his own instead. Eventually, without noticing, he got up to the attic again. He opened the door hesitantly and found shelter in the dusty comfort of the stuffed room, where he fell into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. God, this can’t be true. I cannot tell anyone, I’ll end up in a mental hospital. I just have to forget her.
Elijah kneeled down and pulled over the box Orlando had opened the night before to distract himself a bit. He randomly took out one of the old photo albums and started browsing in it, though his thoughts were a million miles away. A few minutes later, however, one picture brought him back to reality.

He knew this face, these bright eyes and long curls, as if her image had been burned into his memory. And although this photo was black-and-white, Elijah knew that her hair was copper red and her eyes bright blue. She even wore the same dress he had found her in. It was Mary. Under the picture was a caption and when Elijah read it, he knew he had not dreamed at all. It was the 10th October.

Mary Wilkins, housemaid since April 1909. Died of smallpox on October 10th, 1912.

The End


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Submission two
Rating: PG13
Words count: 1413

The best and worst day ever.....

Today, so far, has been the worst possible day. It started off deceptively well; you woke up just a few minutes before your alarm to the warming sight of sunlight streaming through the orange/yellow curtains. For once, the first time in months, that nagging pain that has been squatting belligerently behind your eyeballs appears to be gone. Your neck doesn’t ache as you turn your head and dare to think that, maybe, today will be a good day.
Then you swing your legs out of bed and put all of your weight down on the upturned plug of a broken stereo that still needs fixing. You make it as far as the door before stubbing the other foot on the doorframe. Tears spring to your eyes and it becomes clear that today, just like every other day for the last year-and-a-half, is going to be a great sodding let down.
Upon reaching the kitchen your mood is lifted somewhat by the rather exuberant greeting received from the only other living thing capable of surviving in your flat, and sometimes, the only one on this whole bastard planet that actually cares when you tread on something sharp and pointy. At least until it has been established that a can of Whiskers can still be opened while limping.
The sink is filled with last nights dinner and the remains of the over-cooked pasta have, as you knew they would, attached themselves quite determinedly to the inside, and outside, of the saucepan. Nothing a long soak and a god scrub wouldn’t fix. The saucepan goes in the bin.

It is despite your best efforts and eerily punctual tube-tube trains, that you arrive at work ten minutes late. Not normally a great problem but today there is a staff meeting to which you were expressly asked to be punctual. You slip in quietly and mutter something concerning your cat and a vet. A sympathetic colleague silently pushes a latte in your direction and you focus on paying attention as your boss brings everyone up to speed on a new load of clients. One of which is passed on to you, as if you don’t have enough work to do as it is.
By the time it’s lunch you are seriously considering treating yourself and executing the secret plan that has been forming silently your mind for some time: Turning up at work one day and announcing your pregnancy, taking the three or four months paid maternity leave before revealing the tragic news of a miscarriage to explain the lack of baby and to indulge in the inevitable chocolate/sympathy to follow. Terribly immoral but awfully tempting.
You pick up the file in front of you and, reluctantly, open it up to reveal which hugely wealthy twat needs you to tell him how to spend his money today. A Mr. J Flanigan. Profession – Actor. You can’t help but start; there is no way that this is the same J Flanigan that you curl up to watch on television every Friday night as an integral part of your closet science-fiction dependence. It can’t be.
Whoever he turns out to be, he is due to meet you in just over half-an-hour. Quick, to toilets, away!
You have learnt through bitter experience that it is always a good idea to keep an emergency top in the drawer of your desk for minor emergencies involving spilt coffee and printer ink. The current standby is a good choice that, while it emphasises your boobs, remains both smart and tasteful.
An appraising look in the full-length mirror reminds you to buy a pair of shoes with a slightly higher heel. Back to your glassed office with just under ten minutes to spare, a quick tidy of your desk before there is a knock at the half-frosted door and your assistant sticks her head in to inform you that your two o’clock appointment has arrived a few minutes early and do you want him to wait?
You assure her that it’s fine and she opens the door to reveal the most heavenly apparition you have ever seen in the flesh.
“Mr. Flanigan, good afternoon.” You greet calmly. “Please, come in.” Never let it be said that you aren’t professional. He does so and smiles as he shakes you hand.
Shaking hands with and being smiled at by Major John Sheppard!!
“Please,” he speaks. “call me Joe.” You smile back and try not to giggle like schoolgirl.
“Then call me Regan.” You reciprocate, taking you chair and gesturing for him to do the same. He sits down and pulls his chair right up to your desk. Terrified that you’re blushing furiously you pick up his file and try to look intellectual.
“Shakespeare fans?” you glance up.
“Pardon me?”
“Your parents, I mean. Regan, that’s King Lear, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, yes. Both of them , in fact.” He laughs at you.
“Don’t look so surprised! As an actor you really have to know Shakespeare.” He’s so clever! There is a pause.
“Money!” You announce. “How to invest your money.”
The next hour is spent mapping out the various different routes he could go down with his potential investments. Once you fall into the familiar routine followed with all new clients you are able to forget who he is and avoid making any horrible mistakes or stuttering like an idiot.
It’s not until afterwards, when talk turns to his career that you finally pluck up the courage to admit that you watch him on T.V.
“I have to say,” you manage. “I know that this is terribly unprofessional but I really enjoy ‘Stargate Atlantis’. He grins broadly and laughs. The messy brown hair and dark eyes, coupled with a slightly stubbly chin really let him carry over the ruggedly-handsome look.
Before he can respond, however, there is a brief knock the door and your boss enters. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone tipped him off that there was a television star in his offices; he usually likes to keep them to himself.
Joe shakes his hand and smiles a smile that you tell yourself isn’t as warm as the one you received.
“I hope everything is going alright for you in here, Mr. Flanigan.” He looks away from you and you throw daggers at his head. “I probably have to apologise for Regan, here. You know what women are like with men on television.” He laughs and slaps Joe on the arm. You scowl murder, feeling pink rising in your cheeks.
“The only context my work has been discussed in, Mr. Saunders, in the financial.” The boss looks disgruntled and Joes smiles and throws you a wink.
You can hardly believe it but manage to maintain your composure until he has left, escorted by Saunders.
Sitting at your desk , you concentrate on not grinning like an idiot and stare studiously at the blank screen of your computer, glancing up every few seconds to track his progress across the floor until he reaches the lift, stopping briefly at the reception desk before finally disappearing.
The second that the lift doors close, you lean back slowly in your chair and sigh wistfully. Before you can descend into a busy afternoon of daydreaming, however, the opportunity is shattered as Rose one of the receptionists comes scooting into your office beaming and clapping her hands silently in excitement.
“Oh. My. God!” She exclaims, taking the chair opposite you and smiling conspiratorially. “I don’t know who that guy was but he was fine!” You nod serenely.
“You should see him in combats.” She looks bemused for a minute before dismissing it and continuing.
“Anyway, my point is, he digs you!” You snort derisively. “Then why did he stop at the front desk to ask if you’re attached?” You frown questioningly. And why,” she goes on. “did he ask me for your number?”
“Rose,” You reply patiently. “I am his financial advisor, it is a well documented fact that men find it physically impossible to be attracted to their financial advisors.” The woman sighs dramatically and shakes her head in disbelief before getting up and running back to her desk to answer a ringing phone.
Alone again, you deliberately pick up a pen and drop it to the floor. Once safely ensconced behind the desk you smile the biggest smile and do a small dance usually reserved for X-BOX victories.
This has officially been the best day ever!!

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Submission three
Rating: PG 13
Words Count: 1157

The Apparition

He sat bolt upright in bed, sweat running down his body and looked around the dark room. He could see the apparition floating in the doorway of the room. As always she was beautiful. Suddenly she was gone. He got out of bed and made his way downstairs. Maybe a glass of milk would help him get back to sleep. To his suprise his sister was already there. "What's up Lij you look terrible" Hannah said. "Another nightmare." "Maybe you should see a doctor about this. I mean it has been going on for several weeks." "Han, I don't need a doctor. I just need some sleep, yeah undisturbed sleep." He poured himself a glass of milk and sat down. "Would you like to talk about it." "No not now" Elijah replied. They sat on in slience for awhile and then went up to bed. "Sleep well Lij." "You too Han."

The next day Elijah went to see his brother Zach. "I keep having this same nightmare where I am running from these crazed fangirls and then one reaches out and catches me and I wake up. Then I see her floating in the doorway. It is always the same and she is gorgeous. She has auburn hair and is wearing a pink dress that floats around her ankles. I know it sounds weird but I have been having this dream for two months." "Does she ever say anything to you?" Zach asked. "No she just floats there and then disappears." "I don't know Lij, this kind of thing is not within my sphere of knowledge but maybe you should talk to a doctor or something." "Hannah said the same thing but the truth is I don't believe in ghosts and what am I gonna tell him,
Oh! listen Doc I am having this strange dream followed by a ghost that I don't believe in but I keep seeing it every night for the past two months. I can see it now, ELIJAH WOOD COMPLETELY CRAZY AND COMMITTED TO AN INSANE ASYLUM." Zach was laughing so hard he nearly fell over. "I am so glad you find my situation so funny." "It's not that Lij, its just that I don't believe any one would ever think you are crazy except maybe Mom if you don't show up at the restaurant tonight with a present for Grandma." "No problem man I have got that covered. I bought her a beautiful shawl and set of combs for her hair while I was in Italy. I think she will love them."

Several hours later as Elijah was looking for a parking space near the restaurant where he was having dinner with his family. He finally found one about a block and a half away. He began walking toward the restaurant and all of a sudden he heard a very high pitched squeal "It's Elijah Wood." He turned and saw about ten high school aged girls beginning to run in his direction. They were being joined by some more from across the street. He took off running as fast as he could for the restaurant. This was just like in his dream. All of a sudden an arm reached out and grabbed him and pulled him into a doorway. "Well son its nice that you could join us for dinner. " Debbie gently pushed Elijah into the restaurant. They proceded to the table where they joined the rest of the family.

"Well mom what do you think you want for dinner?" Debbie asked her mother. " I think I'll have Chicken Marsala with pasta." The waitress approached the table and said "My name is Randi, I am your waitress tonight . Can I take your order ?" Elijah looked up and jumped up throwing his drink all over Randi's boobs. Randi gasped and grabbed a napkin from the next table and begin wiping her shirt. "Ah excuse me please while I go change." "Oh gosh I am so sorry I was just startled. I did not mean to throw that drink on you." "It's okay I'll be right back." Randi hurried off to change her shirt. She could not believe it. Elijah Wood in her restaurant and he doused her with alcohol. Well she certainly had made an impression. He probably thought she was the ugliest girl he had ever seen. Well she just had to bite the bullet as she was going to have to wait on him.

Meanwhile....
"Elijah what in the world is wrong with you ? You threw that drink all over that poor girl." "Mom I know and I am sorry really but she is the apparition." "Oh my God, Lij, that's her. Are you sure it's her ?" Zach asked. "What are you two talking about?" asked Debbie. "It's this dream I've been having and the ghost I have been seeing after I wake up every night." "Okay son tell me all about it." Just then the bar maid came to the table with another drink for Elijah. "But I did not order another drink" he said "Randi, asked me to replace the one you spilled” she said. Just then Randi came back to the table. "Good you got your drink, I am sorry for the delay can I take your order now?" Everyone ordered and she left to go and get their dinner while Elijah explained to his mother and the rest of his family about the dream. All through dinner Lij kept his eye on Randi. She really was beautiful. She had long auburn hair that hung to the middle of her back and was slim with out being stick thin. He guessed that she was about 5'3 maybe. She had the greenest eyes he had ever seen. As dinner drew to a close he was desperate to get her number but was a little embarrassed to ask in front of his mom. She brought the check at last and he had an inspiration. As he slipped the cash into the leather folder he put in a napkin asking for her number. He handed her the folder and she went to get his change. When she came back with the change he found the napkin still in the folder with her number on it.

He went home that night knowing he would not have any more nightmares and he did not. He did however have a really erotic dream featuring a certain auburn haired waitress. When he awoke at about 2 am he was not sure at first why he woke up. He sat up in bed and saw the apparition floating in the doorway. She floated there for a few minutes and then with a wink of her eye disappeared. As she floated off she realized her work here was done. It sure took him long enough to find Randi. But now that he had the rest was up to them.

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Submission four
Rating: PG 13
Words count: 1823

My heart

I walk into the restaurant and look for my friend. I spot him by the bar, talking to a tall curvy lady that I take to be his new girlfriend. I can’t see Lucy with them and presume that her rehearsal must have over run; she is playing Eliza Doolittle in The National Scottish Theatre production of Pygmalion. I walk over to the bar, between the tables, dodging the waiter that is coming towards me.

“Hey! Long time no see.” I interrupt their conversation, as I am within hailing distance.

“Billy,” Dom cries my name, enveloping me in a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m great” I answer smiling.

“This is Amanda.” He introduces the young woman standing next to him, she has long light brown hair, which is pinned back with a clip, and is wearing fitted jeans and a green halter neck top, which brings out the colour of her eyes.

“Amanda this is my good friend Billy Boyd.” I smile at the young girl, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss on her knuckles.

“Nice to meet you, at last. Dom has been raving so much about you.” I tell her. She gives Dom a look and I smile, it feels good to be teasing Dom again.

At that moment a waiter appears and asks, “Are you ready to be seated?”

Dom answers yes, informing the man that we are waiting for one more. The waiter nods politely, and leads us to a table at the back of the restaurant. I order a beer and sit down opposite Dom and Amanda.

“Where’s Lucy?” Dom asks.

“She had a rehearsal for her new play. I guess it just run a bit late.” I shrug, and Dom takes the hint and moves on to a different topic of conversation.

Time passes and we chatted about this and that and everything. I find myself liking Dom’s new girlfriend, she is a truly amazing lass. The waiter came for the third time and my apprehension grows, there are only so many times you can say that a rehearsal ran late with any conviction.

I excuse myself from the table and go outside, and turn on my mobile phone. I check to see if there are any messages before calling Lucy’s mobile. I press the phone to my ear, biting my lip nervously. The line goes to recorded message.

“Sorry. The number you are calling is unavailable please try again later.” The cold clinical voice of woman repeats over again. I hang up the phone. What can that mean?

I push my worries aside; it must mean she has no signal. I reassure myself, but I still have lingering doubts as I rejoin Dom and Amanda, at the table.

“Any luck?” Dom asks.

I shake my head, wondering where she could be. My thoughts drift from the conversation as I remember how we had first met on the set of ‘The Odd Couple’. How we had bonded over a scene where she had to get her boobs out. I smile at the memories.

“Billy?” Dom calls. I jump out of day dream and start listening to him properly.

“Do you think Lucy will mind if we eat. I’m starving.” I shake my head, in answer.

The waiter comes over and we order our food. I keep looking at the entrance, willing her to come through the doors. Our food comes and I find myself ignoring the pasta I had ordered. I am not hungry anymore. Just worried about Lucy, she has never been this late before.

Dom and Amanda finish their meals. I excuse myself, and say goodbye. I head out of the restaurant, and to my car, getting in, I drive to our house hoping that Lucy has gone home. My sense of foreboding grows as I pull up to our house, and search for her car.

I enter the house. All is silent. “Lucy?” I break it. “Lucy?” I wait. There’s no answer, just silence, cold and pressing down on me. Where is my wife? I wonder as I try to call her mobile again. I listen to the same message, and yell in frustration. Then it hits me to try our home answer machine. I run down the hall to plastic box and see that there are no new messages. I take a deep and calming breath. It just over run, she forgot and went to the pub and has no signal, I say again and again in a chant that I just wish to be true, knowing that Lucy doesn’t forget things like meals.

I move around the house. Trying to keep my mind off Lucy, watching T.V, reading, even going on the internet, but nothing holds my interest. Time creeps by, and my imagination supplies horrific images of what could have happened to her. I decide to go to the theatre and see if she’s there. I am in the hall grabbing my car keys when I hear a car crunch on the gravel outside. I run to the door. It has to be Lucy. I open the door smiling

“Lucy?” My happiness and relief plummet into a sea of dark despair when I see a police car.

Two police offices get out of the car, one a woman the other a man, they take of their hats and then walk over to where I’m standing on the door way.

“Mr. Boyd?” the man asks. I jerk my head in acknowledgement. “Can we come in?” I nod and open the door wider, leading them to the lounge. Why are there policemen in my house? I wonder as I watch them sit down.

“Can I get you tea, coffee?” I ask nervously.

“No thank you.” The lady answers. “We are here about your wife.” She states. My fears grow. I look into the calm and passive face it betrays nothing of the reason for her visit. Just let me know what’s happened to my wife! I cry out inside. On the outside I’m calm and composed, as I sit in silence dread filling me.

“It is our belief she was in a car accident, this afternoon.” The man says, and I feel like I’ve caught a blow in the chest, I can’t draw in breath. Is Lucy okay, please God let her be okay! “Unfortunately she didn’t make it.” The man continues cold and clinical. I sit there and it’s as if I have been deflated. It’s incomprehensible to me that she is dead. That I’ll never see her smile again.
“No, she is not dead.” I say aloud, stubbornly I don’t want to believe that it’s true, it can’t be true! I was going to have my kids with her. We are going to start a family we have talked about it. She was the one I was going to grow old with, she can not be dead.

“Mr. Boyd, I’m afraid, she is. We need you to identify the body.” The woman says, interrupting my thoughts. “Will you come? Do you want to ring anyone?” She asks, and I shake my head.
“I’ll come.” I say, “It won’t be her.” I state walking into the hall and getting my jacket. I pick up my keys and follow them outside, and into the police car.

The journey is over in a wink, and soon we are pulling up in front of the morgue. I get out the car, and follow the policeman up the stairs. It won’t be her, I reassure myself, she’s stuck in rehearsal.

We are guided by a little man with grey hair, down corridors, the room gets colder and I pull my jacket tighter around me. The man stops, and pulls out a key to a room and leads me to the side where there are multiple draws. It hits me then that I’ve never seen a dead body before.

My nerves mount as he unlocks the draw, and pull out the table, a cloth covers the body, which he slowly lowers. I look down at the face I immediately recognise. My resolve breaks and my eyes fill with tears, which blur my vision of my once beautiful wife, who’s smile would light up a room, her brown eyes that were always full of mischief are cold and staring, her once pink face, that now holds tinges of grey. There is a cut along her face and her nose is broken, but there is no mistaking her.

I feel my energy being sapped from me, as I looked at her, laying there. I try to control my raging emotions of anger, disbelief and absolute loss, but to no avail, the tears keep flowing.

“Mr. Boyd,” the little man says in a reedy voice. “Is this your wife?” I am unable to speak, but manage to nod my head. The man bows his head before making to pull the cloth above her head again. I find my voice, which is broken and strained as I cry out. “Can I have sometime alone with her?” The man nods and lowers the cloth again, before joining the two policemen walking out of the room.

I walk over and take her hand into mine seeing her engagement and wedding rings and remembering when I put them there. I sob as my grief over takes me. I can’t believe that it’s the end.

Suddenly I’m aware that the hand I’m holding is bathed in golden light, making it look almost alive again. The coldness of the room disappears. I look up squinting in the bright light. Through a shimmer of tears, I see a figure, an apparition of a girl in white on the other side of the table. I try to focus on her, but it is impossible, it’s like seeing her through a misty window, the features are indistinct, but I feel sure that it is Lucy, watching over me.

“Lucy?” I whisper. The figure smiles, as tears run down her face. “Lucy don’t leave me.” I choke out collapsing onto the hard stone floor. “Please.” I beg.

“I’ll never leave you Billy.” The words appear in my head and I know the ghost-like figure in front of me is saying them. “I love you.” I hear the words as if they are whispered. The light fades and I’m left alone on the cold hard floor.

“Mr. Boyd, are you alright?” The lady policeman asks. Unable to say anything, I let myself be led away by the lady as the small grey haired man puts the cloth over Lucy’s head.

As I walk back through the corridors, my thoughts dwell on the meeting. “I’ll never leave you.” But she had, she was gone. I’ll never hear her voice again, never share intimate moments with her, never share jokes and laughter. As tears flow like rivers down my face, it hits me that she will live on, in my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Submission five
Rating: PG13
Words count: 1608

Tomorrow’s headlines

Fidgeting on my seat, I uselessly try to fix the button dangling from the wrist of my shirt; I cannot help it, I am not used to classy outfits, but I am sure all the guests that are now crowding out the Church won’t be pleased to see me show up at one of my friends’ wedding in my favorite sweat suit, or wearing boots and a cowboy hat.

Tapping with my hands on my knees, I glance impatiently at my wristwatch; there is a weird tension filling the air, not just the regular anticipation that proceeds a ceremony: behind me, I see people talking in hushed whispers, darting eloquent glances all around. I am seriously making up my mind about scampering off for a cigarette, when the vague apparition of a man pops up in the corner of my eye. When he stops before me, slightly bending down in a hushed move in the long void of the aisle, I cannot help but agree with all the fashion victims out there: although we have been compared in many ways because of the profession we share, Mister Johnny Depp has not the faintest problem wearing a suit the way I do.

“Viggo?” he whispers softly, a jeweled hand on my forearm, “got a second?”

I nod and get up, causing a bit of turmoil in all the people sitting all around me, but Johnny, bless him and his charms, needs only a reassuring wink to dissipate their curiosity, leaving him free to usher me to one of the hidden corners of the Church.

“What…?” I begin, but he cuts me off with a nod of his head, shoving me into one of he back rooms.
His eyes hold a very worried expression, and I can feel the same worry start creeping on me like icy water. I so hate weddings! They’re calculated havoc, if you ask me.

Johnny turns towards me, folding his arms against his crisp shirt.
“I have no time for polite turnabouts, so I’ll go straight to the point if you don’t mind.” He begins in a low tone, his eyes never leaving mine.

Sure enough, a hundred questions are crowding in my head, but I find out the best answer to be a sheepish, agreeing nod.

He takes a deep breath.
“You must talk to him, Viggo. They cannot get married.”

My jaws drop open in a shock. What does he mean? This is maybe one of the few couples that still make sense together, and he is actually doubting they should get together for good?
My confusion must be more than eloquent, but I reckon, not stronger than Johnny’s determination. Seeing I am on the verge to speak, he goes on at a mad speed.
“I feel personally involved,” he says, and his composure breaks. He starts to pace quickly up and down the small room, “but not in the way you think! There’s no fling going on between Kate and me, if that’s what you were thinking about. It’s just, I have been having this uncomfortable feeling in a while, and I should have done something before… just, I cannot do it! You must talk to him, Viggo.”

I cannot see the end of his crazed monologue, so I simply shut his pacing route by moving aside and putting my hands on his forearms.
“What on Earth are you talking about?”

His eyes find mine.
“I think he is… you know… he cannot marry her. He… doesn’t like her… kind. Her… gender, you know?”

I feel a relieved, incredulous laughter churn in my throat.
“You think he’s gay?” I let go of his arms, scrolling my head in a scolding fashion, “Johnny! I knew you were a pranker, but don’t you think that’s just too much?”

“Ever wondered why they kept on chunking each other in the past three years?” he snaps at me in a pitched voice, “it’s always like this: they get together, and then dump each other; always the same nerve-wrenching rut; and, wait, what about his renewed chivalry? Come on, buddy! You spent a year and half in his company. Never saw him getting sanely chauvinist? He can’t drink. He was a vegetarian. He would not check a pair of boobs openly to save his life. And the way he dresses… Jesus!”

I slightly scroll my head.
“Johnny, that’s all misconception. Orlando is not gay.” I join my hands in a pondering gesture. “He’s just a shy lad, and all the fame he has will never change this. It’s like… food. Some people were born with spice inside, and some are added when they get out the oven, but it’s not the same. See, you’re hot pepper pizza and you think like hot pepper pizza, and to you, I can look like…” I wreck my mind to follow my pathetic example,
“I am a plain ham sandwich, and Orlando… I don’t know, he’s pasta. Pasta tastes damn good with some spice in, but it will never turn into something else than pasta… and if you’ve been eating hot pizza for all your life, you’ll never be fine with the scrap of spice in it.”
I must be looking like a total idiot, but I cannot help it. I try and finish my funky philosophical theory.
“Don’t freak out just because he’s living his life in a way you would never do.”

Johnny scrolls his head like a stubborn child. But, I see an amused smile on his lips.
He checks his wristwatch.
“I didn’t get much out of your words, man, beside the fact you don’t believe me. That’s fine.” He nods towards the way we came from, “go back inside. If you don’t want to talk to him, I’ll do it.”

I try and stop him, but he scampers out the room before I can do anything.

***
I am back to my former seat, back to playing with the dangling button, my eyes glued to the standing figures of the bride and the groom. I am glad that, despite anything Johnny might have told him, Orlando didn’t listen to his words. The wedding ceremony is almost through, and it has been flowing smoothly so far. Beside my friend, Kate is smiling and nodding at the words of the priest, the living symbol of a fairy-tale bride. Behind her, three bridesmaids are waiting; I don’t know them, they must be Kate’s friends. The first one, a gorgeous brunette in a delicate pink dress, seems to be struggling to fight the tears of emotion that gleam in her eyes.

“…speak now, or forever hold your peace.” The voice of the priest echoes solemnly to the vaults of the Church. Like in every love story, the audience holds their breath. I am keeping my eyes fixed on the crying brunette, until…

“I have something to say.”
Like in a nightmare, Orlando’s voice resounds, like the last moment of lull. All around me, the guests start to murmur, but he waves a hand to silence them, turning towards Kate.
She is looking at him with wide eyes, and I could swear she is mouthing frantic “no’s” into his direction.

“Kate, you know how much I love you,” I see Orlando taking her hands into his, his voice sweet and cracked by emotion,
“but, it cannot work between us. We have always known it, and now…” his sad eyes survey the crowded church, “we belong to different worlds, love. We made different choices… the people we love… they must know about it.”

Taking a deep breath, he turns his back to the priest, facing us.
“I cannot marry this woman, because our sexual preferences differ. I am sorry.” Said so, with one last look at his crying bride, Orlando strides down the hall and nobody, so frozen we are in our common shock, does nothing to stop him.

My feet move without my command. I run out the church, and when the doors slam closed behind me, I hear the crowd explode in a howl of surprise. My head fills with a hummed mingle of cries, screams, and stomping feet, as I turn it in all directions to spot the running groom.

“Looking for someone?” Orlando appears before me, his suit jacket hanging carelessly from his shoulder.
The relaxed light in his eyes seems to be almost mocking me, when he nods towards the church behind us, and chuckles.
“Tomorrow’s headlines will be hot, I’ll tell you.”

“Why you never told me you were gay?” I blurt out in a muffled hiss, too overwhelmed to mind my composure.

I see him freeze, and burst out in a clear laughter.
“Gay? Me? Viggo!” he folds an arm under mine, dragging me away down the stairs. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

“But, you said…” I babble, confused.

Orlando turns serious, as we proceed slowly towards the parking lot.
“I said our sexual preferences differ, and that’s what I meant.” He looks at me expectantly, but when he sees I don’t get his point, he lets out an exasperate sigh.
“The maiden of honor,” he spells slowly like he was talking to a child, “did you see her?”

“You mean the one with brown hair? Yes, I have… she has… been crying all the time.”

He nods.
“I bet she was. She and Kate have been together for years! I think she was persuaded this was the end, poor thing.”

I stop dead on my tracks.
“Kate? You mean Kate is…?”

He scrolls his shoulders in a very British manner.
“I told you, tomorrow’s headlines will be smoking hot!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Submission Six
Rating: PG...maybe PG-13, if you don't like tear-jerkers..walk away
Word Count: 1,760

Don't Take The Girl

Elijah Falsken had memorized the tile-work of the hospital floor in the last few hours he’d spent pacing it. His wife, Margaux, had been in one of the back rooms of the Oncology Ward for those hours and the doctors had kicked him out. It would be the third child for the couple, and, though they’d been taken my surprise, they were expecting to accept this little bundle of joy with open arms, and that much more. When the nurse had ushered him out, he had almost shoved his way back into the room and demanded to stay, until he’d seen the grave look on her face.

The doctors had warned Margaux about the possible effects of another pregnancy after she had a little trouble with their second-born, Carter. She, apparently, would endanger, not only herself, but also her unborn child if she risked having another baby.

This information had left Mrs. Falsken absolutely heartbroken. Even before they’d gotten engaged, much less married, she’d always been passionate about children and had said how she wanted at least four or five little ones running around. The thought that she could only bringing two into the world devastated her. Elijah hadn’t been without his share of regret either. The only thing he loved more than Margaux were their sons, Adam and Carter.

A few months after Carter was welcomed into this world, Elijah and Margaux were to plan their fifth anniversary, and sent the boys to stay at Mama and Papa Falsken’s house. Elijah prepared a delicious dinner of pasta, bread, wine and ice cream. And, with a suggestive wink, the uneaten pasta went cold, the wine was abandoned, and the sheets of their bed were used to their best extent.

And, with the Falskens' wondrous luck, Margaux started to be motion sick when she wasn’t moving, her boobs were sore, and she’d been long overdue. Slowly, she pondered whether or not to enlighten her husband on their visitor. But, by seeing the look on Adam’s face when he gazed at his baby brother, she knew she couldn’t abandon her values and abort her child for her health. This was the first time, however, that Elliot didn’t jump up and down for joy at the thought of bringing another child to life.



“Elijah,” Margaux had started, the uneasiness obvious in her voice, “I … I need to tell you something.”

He looked worriedly back at his wife, picking up his glass of water, “What is it, baby?”

She held up the bag of groceries she’d just walked in with, and pulled out an EPT box, “I don’t really think that this is necessary, but I want to be sure.”

There was a loud crash as the glass slipped out of his hand and shattered on the tile floor, making Margaux instinctively recoil.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah. Or at least, I definitely think I am…and don’t you think a mother of two would know by now the symptoms?” she joked.

“This isn’t funny, Margaux.”

Just the look she gave him was enough to make him want to crumple into a million pieces and float away with the breeze, like specs of dust. It was a look of almost betrayal, but showed him that she was thinking exactly the same thing. Then, because he didn’t know what else there was to do, he pulled her into a hug and began kissing her cheeks, trying to dry her tears.

“Em, do you remember when you said you’d never… terminate … a pregnancy?”

She pulled her head back away from his chest, and replied sadly, “I still hold to that, El. I won’t ever, ever, have an abortion willingly.”

“But Em!”

Margaux knew exactly what he was thinking. They’d gone over this. They’d decided to not have any more children. The risk of her life was too great for him to handle, “No, Elijah. We don’t even know if this baby is truly threatening me. For all we know, it could work out perfectly fine.”

“YOOHOO!!!” came a shout from the foyer. “Your most favorite-ist person is HEE-EERE!”

Elijah's best friend walked in the kitchen door.

“Hi Trevor,” Margaux said timidly, greeting him with a friendly embrace and a peck on the cheek.

“Well,” Trevor stated, “you two look like you’ve seen some sort of apparition or something…” he would have rambled on if he hadn’t seen the look on Elijah's tear-stained face.


And so, now here they were. The doctors and nurses, fretting over her health. Elijah, memorizing the sound of his feet touching the floor. Margaux, trying to endure the agony of childbirth. Adam and Carter, anxiously awaiting the arrival with their grandparents.

“Excuse me?” a female voice jolted Elijah out of his reverie, “Mr. Falsken?”

“Y-yes?” he stuttered in reply. Was it good news? It had to be good news. Didn’t bad news always come with blood-stained shoe coverings?

“Please come with me. We’re preparing your wife for a Caesarian Section and she wishes to see you.”

The moment the word ‘Caesarian’ reached Elijah's ears, he’d flinched. That meant that the birth was not going as planned. It meant that there was something wrong. It meant that, through all the precautions they’d taken, through every little detail they’d planned for, something went wrong.

As he walked towards the hall, Elijah nodded towards the petite nurse, as if saying he knew the way, which he did. But, never before had the hallway seemed so long. Were the doors always spaced this far apart? If he didn’t know any better, he would have said it was yards, miles even from door to door. Then, finally.

Room 316.

He slowly turned the knob and nudged the door open. There she was, his angel. He’d always thought Margaux was the most beautiful, the fairest of all if you will. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it was “love at first sight” because both of them knew that, as romantic as it sounded, it was far from being true. He hadn’t even asked her for a date until they’d known each other for a couple years. But, no matter what, he’d always found her somewhat attractive, whether that be when she’d just rolled out of bed after a sleepless night, or having just finished getting ready for a night on the town.

And now, she was still, his beautiful angel.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the doorframe, smiling at her, before the doctor behind him muttered, “Excuse me. You’re Mr. Falsken, I presume?”

Elijah quickly slipped out of the doorframe and into the room, allowing the man to cross the threshold.

“Is a C-Section really necessary, Doctor…” he looked for the doctor’s nametag, “Witten?”

They both gazed at the woman sleeping on the hospital bed. The doctor gazed at her husband pitifully, “I’m afraid so.”

Elijah knew what the doctor would have said had he not stepped over by his wife and grasped her hand, but the good doc simply slipped out of the room and quietly closed the door, leaving the couple in peace. Elijah plainly laid his head down next to her sleeping form and closed his eyes, silently weeping. He didn’t know when she did it, but he soon realized that she was playing with his hair, her way of trying to help him to calm down. When he looked into Margaux’s hazel eyes, he’d always been able to see what she was feeling, but now, all he saw was understanding. Not pain, like were mirrored in his own cerulean, but understanding and sympathy.

She knew, and yet she didn’t feel any remorse whatsoever. Elijah was in disbelief. How could she be doing this and not feel any pain or grief over leaving him? Too many similar thoughts ran through his troubled mind before he reprimanded himself. She knew what she was doing nine months ago. They had both known the risk, and, much to the dislike of doctors everywhere, they’d gone through with it. And now, … he didn’t even want to dwell on the thought.

Margaux lifted her hand from atop his head and wiped his tears away, before smiling, “I love you, Elijah.”

“I love you, Margaux,” he replied instantaneously.


Hours later, how many only God knew, Elijah and Margaux were both back in Room 316, adoring their newborn baby girl. The two would point out everything from how cute her little pink bracelet looked, to wondering what color her eyes would eventually turn.

Eventually, the family came and went, but the doctor had broken the news to them, and they wanted to give Elijah as much time as possible. He’d insisted they pull in a cot for him to sleep next to her, and his demands had been fulfilled.

Margaux fell in love with her baby girl the moment she felt the softness of the blanket touch her arms.

“Charlotte Jane Falsken,” she whispered softly a moment later. “That’s her name, Elijah.”

“You know I always loved the name Charlotte,” he stated, before silently singing a stanza from an old song he remembered.

Same old boy
Same sweet girl
Five years down the road
There’s going to be a little one and she says it’s time to go

Doctor says the baby’s fine but you’ll have to leave
’cause his momma’s fading fast
and Johnny hit his knees
and there he prayed

Take the very breath you gave me
Take the heart from my chest
I’ll gladly take her place if you’ll let me
Make this my last request

Take me out of this world
God, please don’t take the girl


Two weeks later, a dark brown box was being lowered. He could see her there, inside. The procession had been painful, but not overly-exerting. Elijah kept thanking God that he had such a wonderful group of people aiding him in this. He still wished that Adam, Carter and Charlotte had their mom here instead of him. He could just see, ten years down the road, one of them needing something (especially dear Charlotte Jane) from him that he couldn’t give.

He wished that God really had traded him places with Margaux, but they kept telling him that he had to stay strong for his kids, and that’s what he did. He didn’t know when he’d hit his breaking point, and he knew he’d hit it eventually. But he wasn’t going to hit it now, not when she was depending on him to pull through for their three.

And he wasn’t quite ready to disappoint her yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Submission Seven
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,491

The Voluptuous Kind

Orlando was once asked by an old girlfriend of his why he enjoyed boobs so much. She constantly would explain to him how they weren’t anything special and how much of a menace they really were, especially while running or if a room got particularly chilly. It didn’t matter what she said anyway, boobs were one of his favorite things on earth. It didn’t matter what kind they were either. He enjoyed the voluptuous kind, the medium-sized and the itty bitty ones where he could put an entire hand around. His reasoning behind the boobs were simple. They were cushy and fun to play with. Plus, they doubled as a pillow when needed.

“I swear, the girl in the old record store, must have had water balloons in her bra because I’ve never seen a pair jiggle so nicely.” Orlando explained to Dom, a friend who he’s known for many years.

Dom was a good guy, really. Yes, he did have a friendly relationship with alcohol, which often made him babble like a baboon on crack. Orlando could swear on it that, while drinking, Dom didn’t have enough brains to fill a measuring cup. He became strangely friendly and ridiculous, which isn’t saying much, since Dom was a natural lunatic in his sober state. However, Orlando couldn’t help but love the guy. He couldn’t talk himself, however, since he could hold his alcohol about as well as an ant could. It wasn’t something he was proud of. All of his friends seemed to pick on him during all the drinking games which is fun at the time, but a bitch in the morning.

“We should head out for a drink on the town tonight,” Dom said. His eyes lit up with excitement. Orlando rubbed his hands together and licked his lips as if he could already taste the alcohol.

“I almost forgot what it was like to actually have time off. Work can make you so stupid sometimes that you forget to enjoy the real pleasures in life,” Orlando stated.

“Like boobs,” Dom commented quickly. Orlando chuckled and ran a hand through his deep brown locks.

“You know I can’t get enough of them,” Orlando stated, pointing a finger at Dom. “No work to hold us down…”

“No chicks to hold us back,” Dom finished. He bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement as Orlando gave him a friendly rap on the back.

“Nothing like a Saturday night to bring out the best in two strapping young men such as ourselves,” Orlando said, puffing up his chest. “I wonder how many fine young ladies we can charm into our bedrooms tonight.”

Orlando gave Dom a suggestive wink which in turn made him light up brighter than a Christmas tree. His smile spread from one ear to another as he clapped his hands together. Orlando laughed at Dom’s bit of boyish behavior as if he was two and was told he could jump in the mud and get as dirty as he wished. But, be that as it may, picking up women was a man’s job not a boy’s job and both were nothing but up to the task.

A few hours had gone by and Orlando and Dom continued to converse about random things that guys talk about, boobs of course being top of the list with sports and cars in a close second. They drank their way through half a case of alcohol and ate a pasta dinner that Orlando whipped up in about twenty minutes. ‘It’s not good to drink on an empty stomach,’ Dom always said. ‘And, especially you.’ That always earned him a sadistic look.

It didn’t take long before the two guys were ready. Dom used up half a bottle of hair gunk to give his hair the greasy, yet sexy, style. Orlando just combed a hand through his thick curls and he was set. He also chose to wear a faded out pair of blue jeans and a green tee-shirt. He almost grunted with laughter when Dom came out of the bathroom wearing a pink button down with his jeans.

“Pink’s never been your color man,” Orlando chortled.

“The ladies like it. Plus, I don’t think they care what color it is so long as it’s laying on the floor by their bed by midnight!” Dom said. He wiggled his eyes brows while he checked himself out in a mirror on the wall. He left a few buttons undone to accent his chest. Orlando sprayed a thick amount of cologne in the air which caused the mirror to mist slightly.

“Getting a bit cocky before hand are we?” Orlando questioned.

“Why don’t you have a bath with that?” Dom coughed after it got into his mouth. “I’m not sure the people in China can smell you yet. And no, I’m not cocky, just confident.”

“Sure.” Orlando pulled on a shoe and shook his head at Dom who was now checking out his backside.

It was in no time that the two had found themselves comfortably seated between two women each on a couch each with four over-stuffed pillows. Orlando had one arm around a tall brunette with pin straight hair falling close to her backside and a blonde with a crop haircut which rounded her face nicely. Dom had a red-head and a blonde. The brunette had a skirt on that was so short Orlando had a hard time looking anywhere other than her legs that seemed to stretch on forever. His other partner didn’t seem to notice or care anyway. She was too busy sipping on her martini.

“So, what is it you girls do?” Orlando asked just to make conversation. He really didn’t give two hoots what they did but, it would be rude to invite them to take their clothes off at that moment.

“Advertising,” Dom’s blonde said. Dom rose an eyebrow pretending to be interested. Orlando was slightly jealous of Dom. His blonde had the biggest jugs of any of the four girls. Dom made a point of pointing it out to him by making eye contact with him and then to her chest.

“Advertising.” Orlando nodded his head and took a long swig from his rum and coke. “All of you do advertising?”

“No,” said the red-head. “I do modeling. Mainly for lingerie companies. It gets a bit boring walking around in my bra but, what can a girl do?”

Orlando and Dom exchanged looks while the four girls giggled. Orlando tried to think of something gross, like kissing his sister, so his obvious turn on wouldn’t be apparent. He noticed Dom shift in his seat probably doing the same thing.

“I work for a banking company, as does my friend.” Orlando turned sideways to look at the brunette at his right. She bopped her leg up and down a few times.

“Listen, do you girls want to get out of here?” Dom asked. “Maybe find some place quieter, have another drink.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Orlando continued. “You see, I’m not really into hanging around the bars too much. Gets stuffy from the smoke.”

After much debating and discussing Orlando and Dom were finally able to convince Dom’s two girls to go along with them. The blonde and the brunette that Orlando was entertaining didn’t want to leave. They said they never go home with guys they meet right away.

“I get the redhead,” Dom demanded at once after both were in the car. “I find them to be beasts in bed!” He gave a wolf-whistle and growled with excited. “I’m in the mood for kinky sex.”

“I’m in the mood for boobs,” Orlando said nonchalantly.

“When aren’t you?”

“Good point.” Orlando turned down the street to his house, a pair of head lights right behind him. Dom checked his hair in the mirror and began to bounce in his seat.

The girls became visible just as they were making their way into the driveway. They exited their car a little ways down the drive. The moon silhouetted their bodies giving them the look as if they were just an apparition rather than solid. Their heeled shoes clapped the driveway getting louder as they got closer. Dom moved forward a few steps to offer an arm to the redhead. She smiled and took it graciously.

“My dear,” Orlando said trying to sound proper to the blonde before he ripped her clothes off. Though, what she was wearing left no imagination what so ever to what was underneath. Her pants were thin and hugged her curves like a second skin. Her top was bare back and sheer through the front, leaving only the breasts completely covered.

Dom looked back at Orlando when his date wasn’t looking to give a wink. Everything had turned out as they planned; Saturday on the town, no work and best of all they had found their nightly dose of round, voluptuous boobies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Submission Eight
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,750

PromDom

Mayfield High School, 1993

“Stupid tux, I don’t understand the point,” Dom grumbled beneath his breath, while tugging on the, in his opinion, far too tight collar. With slumped shoulders, he crept along his pathway to the school gymnasium, ever aware that his mother’s watchful eyes were on him from her position in the car. His legs felt like limp pasta noodles, dwindling along as slowly as possible, trying to delay the inevitable.

Of all the bad luck, Dom pondered to himself, kicking a rock along with his rented black shoe. Why had his mother been a past prom queen? It just wasn’t fair! Maybe if she had been a geek, she wouldn’t have been so insistent that Dom attend his own prom; but, oh no, she had to be Miss Popularity, and hassle her son until he finally gave up and agreed to go to the bloody stupid dance. For some reason, she actually thought he would regret it the rest of his life if he didn’t make an appearance.

Which really was ridiculous, for Dom could care less about a high school dance. He just wasn’t the type to get all excited about dressing up, dancing/getting drunk, and then trying to feel up your date in the limo on the way home….well, maybe the feel up your date part wouldn’t be so bad.

But, it was kind of hard to feel up a nonexistent date; although, if worst came to worst, Dom felt he would be up for the challenge. There was no girl in his life he had romantic inclinations towards, unless you counted Demi Moore aka sex goddess, and he pretty much guessed she had plans for the night.

Nonetheless, when Dom realized his mother would truly sentence him to Prom Hell, he had tried to ask his best friend, Marie, to go with him. With a laugh and a toss of her jet black dyed hair, she had stated, in no simple terms, that she would rather pull off each of her fingernails than attend that school function. Funny at that moment, not so funny in the present, as Dom gazed around to see the majority of his classmates flitting about in their finery, the dance floor a sea of pink, purple, and yellow dresses.

“Pastels,” Dom muttered under his breath with a shudder.

Stalking to a dark corner of the gym, he figured it was best to stay under the radar. No doubt, if the preps saw him there, he’d never hear the end of it! So, Dom stood there, a tiny figure leaning against the wall, taking it all in. It was about the time he saw the football coach wink at the sixty year old librarian that he knew he could take no more.

With a gag and a quick pace, he stomped towards the doorway, pushing ridiculous streamers out of his face as he went. Yet, upon swinging the frame open, he was met with a rather welcome, albeit surprising sight.

“Holy Hell,” Dom blurted out, his grey eyes growing wide as saucers. For, there was Marie, decked out in a puffy white prom dress, looking like a sort of sweet pixie apparition who had escaped from someone’s pleasant dream. And, this was shocking, to say the least…for Marie was definitely not a fairy girl.

“Save it,” Marie barked at him, before grabbing his arm and jerking him back inside. The pair stalked over to the original hiding spot Dom had found for himself, and then just stood there, silence creeping in.

“What are you doing here?” Dom asked, at last, running a hand through his spiked hair, “And, are your fingernails still in tact?”

Marie made a disgusted face, and fiddled with the netting on her dress, “I’m here to support you, dorkwad. I figured it was cruel and unnecessary punishment to let you stay here all by yourself, so I borrowed my sister’s old dress at the last minute.”
“It looks nice,” Dom stated shyly, feeling awkward to be giving Marie a compliment like that, but yet knowing it was the right thing to do, all the same.

“Oh God,” the girl stated with a roll of her brown eyes, “Don’t even play that game!”
“Huh?” Dom questioned stupidly, staring at her with a patented slack jawed expression.

“Are you about to be the quintessential teenage boy from the movies,” Marie prattled on sarcastically, “You know, the one who sees his best friend in a dress and then is suddenly captivated by her beauty, and can’t believe that for so many years he never realized it! Because, by all means, warn me now so I can go puke on the prom queen.”

Chuckling with a rueful grin, Dom only shook his head at the girl before him. She had an answer for everything, there was no doubt about that; and, that was probably why he liked her so well. Things were never dull when Marie was around.

“Come on,” she ordered, moving towards the floor, “If I’m forced to attend my high school prom, I might as well get one dance out of it. Just, you better not look down this dress at my boobs!”
“And risk castration at your hands?” Dom asked with a shake of his blonde head, “I think not!”

Earning a tiny giggle for his efforts, Dom let Marie drag him forward, and promptly waited as she wrapped her arms about him and began to lead the dance.

“I’m the man,” Dom said, “Shouldn’t I lead?”
“Shut it, Shortie,” Marie snapped, “I’m taller, so I lead!”
“Yeah right, we’re the same height and you know it,” Dom protested, getting all flustered as he always did when someone questioned his rather small stature, “You probably have heels on, that’s why!”
“Whatever,” Marie muttered quietly, and Dom knew something was up.

Reaching down, he gently tugged Marie’s long skirt up a bit to reveal her shoes. With a loud laugh, Dom realized she had worn her raggedy old black boots to the prom; totally things that didn’t fit with her princess dress, but definitely matched her hardcore attitude.

Glancing at her with a grin, he could tell Marie was embarrassed, for her face shone a red color even in the dark lighting of the gym. With a quick tug on her arm, he leaned in and whispered, “You wanna get out of here?”

“Hell yes, Prince Charming,” Marie snorted, “Cinderella is not having fun in her strapless bra. Who came up with the idea for these things, anyway? Hitler?”

And, his girl was back, that teensy little bit of feminine weakness stuffed down by her sharp words and scowling face. With a shrug, Dom led Marie outside and under the starlight sky. The two friends walked over to a picnic table, and carefully sat down, Marie’s dress spilling all about them.

“My sister must have been on crack when she bought this,” Marie said so softly, Dom barely even heard her. The two gazed up at the sky, as the time slowly drifted by them. Neither really wanted to go home, but traipsing back inside the gymnasium was not an option…it would be like dead men walking.

“So, I guess my mom will be happy now,” Dom commented uselessly, “I went to the precious prom, and I even had a date! Thanks for showing up, you know…it helped me fight the urge to claw my eyes out.”
“You owe me big time, Monaghan,” Marie said, “Yet another time I save your sorry ass.”

Dom shook his head at her with a grin, and suddenly realized that Marie wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were staring off into the distance, and a look of something similar to sadness was lingering on her features.

“What’s wrong?” Dom inquired, nudging his friend in the side. The girl turned to him, biting the inside of her lip, as though trying to keep the words from leaking out. And yet, they exploded forward in the next moment.

“You’re not a very good prom date!”

“Huh?” Dom stated eloquently for the second time of the night.

“You didn’t get me a corsage, you didn’t say I looked beautiful,” Marie babbled at a frantic pace, “And…and…you made fun of my shoes! Don’t you know anything? You never make fun of a girl’s shoes!”

“And again,” Dom exclaimed, “I say, huh?”

Sighing heavily, Marie blew her dark hair from her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Dragging a boot clad foot along the ground, she shrugged her shoulders.

“I dunno,” she muttered quietly, “I guess every girl wants to hear nice things about herself sometimes…even a girl like me.”

Now, Dom wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box, but he did realize that his friend needed some affection. With a kind smile and a gentle touch, Dom reached out and brushed his fingers against her bare shoulder. When Marie looked over at him, he clucked her beneath the chin.

“First, I told you how nice you looked, and I meant it. You know you are a beautiful girl,” Dom said sincerely, “Second, I didn’t get you a corsage because: a) I didn’t know you were meeting me here, and b ) I figured you would have thrown it to the ground and crushed it with your boots.”

With a soft giggle, Marie nodded in agreement, “Probably.”

“And, to finish it up,” Dom continued, “I did not make fun of your shoes! I thought it was hilarious and very Marie-ish to wear boots to the prom. That is the sort of thing I love about you…you’re so unique and you don’t give a rat’s ass what other people think about it. I admire that more than you’ll ever know. And, well, uhh…I’m not really sure what else to say besides you’re the funnest/best friend I’ve ever had!”

With a timid smile, Marie shook her head, black curls bouncing about. Leaning closer, she told Dom in a secretive fashion, “You know, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. If you weren’t you, I would kiss you right now.”
With a self-satisfied smile, Dom sat back, rubbing his hands over his knees, “And, if you weren’t you, I might just kiss you back.”

Laughing, the two friends headed away from the shaded area, jostling each other and throwing out teasing insults as Marie’s white dress trailed in the dirt behind her.

It was nice to know that some things never change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Submission Nine
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 1,406

The Uninspired Smartass


Pink. Apparition. Boobs. Pasta. Wink.

WTF???????

She stared dully at the computer screen, as aware of the silence in the room and the electronic buzzing sound from the computer itself as she was of the silence in her brain. How the fuck was any person in her right mind supposed to look at those five, meaningless (although oddly humorous) words and make anything at all out of them, much less a full-blown, properly constructed short story? “Assholes,” she whispered, her voice only just audible above the soft buzzing from the computer. She wasn’t only cursing the words themselves, but the evil mastermind who’d come up with the bloody things in the first place. “You’re all assholes.”

But, a bet was a bet and a challenge was a challenge. “I shall kick your asses!” she yelled out loud in a victory cry, shattering the precious silence and making herself jump. “Or maybe not.” But first things first. Start with a word, any word. Doesn’t have to be from the list above, but maybe that would help.

Four characters appeared in rapid succession on the screen, the cursor stationary and blinking after them. Four characters, meaningless out of context, and stupid-looking all alone on that blank white screen. Just four lonesome little letters, that did make up a word until you stared at it for long enough, and then it became just a jumble of sounds that made no sense. The word no longer made sense to her.

There was a word limit, too, something she wasn’t sure about. Three thousand, two hundred words max. She had no idea how long that would be. About two pages, she guessed. Just as she was about to do a word count, she remembered that she’d only entered the one word, and since that word no longer meant anything to her, it didn’t exactly count. She was back at zero, and was growing more frustrated with every passing second.

“Music,” she whispered, remembering her cry from before, and how she’d scared herself to death. This time she was careful not to raise her volume too much. But maybe music would help, maybe the rhythms and lyrics would soothe her mind long enough for the beginning of an idea to grow. She only needed a little push – the rest she could do just fine by herself – all she needed was somewhere to start. The radio was just above her head, on the ledge of her desk that was designed to hold a printer, not a CD player, but money was tight and a printer was a luxury she couldn’t afford. ‘And even if I had one,’ she thought to herself, ‘then where would I put the CD player?’

A soft melody drifted out, familiar and comforting. She sat back and allowed the glowing white of the screen to wash over her as she listened.

And there's no cure
And no way to be sure
Why everything’s turned inside out
Instilling so much doubt

She could write a story about heartbreak; about love found and lost…surely she’d seen enough of that to scrape together a two-page story. Hell, if she was really stuck she could even write the true story of what had happened with that asshole Johnny - the angst, the heartache, the desperation. Nah, it had been done. Everyone who would read the story already knew the story, and it would be nothing more than self-indulgent bullshit for her two write it again, in all it’s poetic glory. And besides, she only had three thousand, two hundred words to play with. This was supposed to be a short story, not a fucking epic novel serial.

Her thoughts turned back to the song, searching for inspiration. The song was about finding love, not losing it, the uncertainty of whether the significant other would return those feelings.

It makes me so tired
I feel so uninspired

And with only two lines of lyric, every ounce of possible idea that had been forming drained away. She vocalized her frustration the only way she saw fit.

“Ah, fuck it.”

A cigarette. My kingdom for a cancer stick! That’s what she needed right now, despite the slight protest her lungs gave at the thought. It had been a long day; a stressful day and she’d already smoked more than she usually did during the daylight hours, but what the hell. What was a challenge if you didn’t push your own limits a little bit? She lit a cigarette, inhaling the bitter smoke deep into her lungs. Into her diaphragm, even. Diaphragmatic breathing, as her singing teacher had drilled into her head. It’s the only way to get proper control. So she inhaled all the way into her diaphragm, marveling at the humor in the word diaphragm, wondering if it worked for singing, would it work for writing too? Probably not, but what the hell, right? No harm in trying something a little different, a little unusual.

You’re a fuckin’ retard, said the Voice of Reason inside her head. Just fuckin’ write, you tool.

Easier said than done, fuckstick, replied the Voice of Unforgotten Teenage Rebellion. But no matter what, she was old enough and mature enough now to know that the Voice of Reason was usually right.

Okay, she needed an idea. Stubbing out her half-smoked cigarette, she pondered.

Those words, those five crappy little words. The instructions read clearly that all five were to be used at some point during the story, and were to be in bold print so they were identifiable. Well, she could print them across the top of the page, bolding them as instructed, and then simply go on to write a story of a completely unrelated topic. Problem was, she didn’t have an idea of an unrelated topic. She didn’t have any ideas at all.

Or… The Voice of the Inner Smartass was addressing her now. There was that word limit, three thousand, two hundred words max. But there was no minimum. She could simply type out those five words, bold them as instructed, save the file and send it in. For a moment she was tempted, but again the Voice of Reason struck out, in all its glory. Why waste the energy, screwball? Nobody except yourself is going to find it remotely amusing, so what’s the point?

She pouted as Unforgotten Teenage Rebellion struck up a chord. I hate you. Leave me alone.

Pink. Apparition. Boobs. Pasta. Wink.

I was wearing a pink top when I saw the apparition of a ghost that had nice boobs and was eating pasta and she seemed nice so I gave her a wink.

Before she’d even typed the full stop at the end of the sentence she was pressing the Backspace key to erase the atrocity.

“Why am I even entering this stupid competition anyway?” she asked herself, again mindful of the sound of her voice in the quiet room. Talking to yourself was the first sign of madness, or so the saying went. She wasn’t a competitive person. She didn’t care for sports or betting or trying to outdo anyone else. In most cases, she’d found as a child, she tended to lose, and so had given up on organized competition altogether. “And what do I have to prove?” There was another good point. What did she have to prove? Writing was a hobby, not a way of life, she didn’t adhere to deadlines and restrictions on her imagination. If she didn’t want to write, why the hell should she?

But why the hell not?

Pink. Apparition. Boobs. Pasta. Wink.

Made as much sense to her as Grass. Disk. Photo. Chair. Amaze.

She soon realized she’d been sitting in front of her computer for an hour, and her shoulders were starting to stiffen from her slumped posture. Screw it! screamed Unforgotten Teenage Rebellion, and for once, Reason was agreeing. You got nothin’, babe. Just quit while you’re ahead.

Good idea. She took one look at the word list again, a small smirk crossing her face.

Pink. Apparition. Boobs. Pasta. Wink.

Fuck it.

She turned the computer off without even closing down the Word document, watching the screen go from brilliant white to shiny, dull, reflective black. She could see her own image in the screen now, a tense jaw and tired-looking eyes. Maybe tomorrow those words would make sense to her.

For now, they could go to hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Submission Ten
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 1,430


Confessions of bartender



What can I say about a girl like me? It’s not that much, I must admit. I have blonde hair and deep sea mixed with green algae’s eyes. I’m not that tall, but I’m not short either. Like I told you, I’m average. I go to college though. Not a big deal if you know that I’m trying to be a writer in New York and I have to work at a bar so I’d be able to pay my bills. Not big deal there either. I work at a bar where I have to use sexy clothes even if I’m just the bartender. Think about Coyote ugly, without the dirty dancing and the hot boyfriend behind and you’ll have me.

Every weekend’s night I get to see how many men just spill out their secrets in front of me, the bartender, like If I’d be able to helped them somehow, or even more, like if I’d be able to realize how awful their life is without even know them, and they without even knowing me. Sometimes although, I get to know them; even somehow, I get to know their secrets and fears without even realizing that I get to be part of them after they leave.

So that night wasn’t a different. My turn started at 9, even if at that hour the place is pretty empty I love to get there early so I get to clean and put in order what the last bartender got messy. While I was cleaning up this little man came to the bar and sat down in front of me. I’m used to lonely men sitting in front of me and sometimes even flirting with me. When you work at these places you get to learn how to ignore them all.

‘Can I have a scotch on the rocks, please?’

He asked me. I nodded like a robot and took a glass from down the bar and putting some ice on there I pointed the different bottles with scotch that I had.

‘Johnny it’s fine. Please, make it double’

He begged me. And I nodded. I noticed his accent but I’m still too shy to start a conversation. Maybe they tell me things I don’t want to know. But still my curiosity over took my shyness and I asked him. He responded me that he was English. I smiled.

‘You don’t look like Prince William’

‘Thank God I don’t’

He smiled and I laughed at his answer. Now my curiosity was fed by this man who sat in front of me with his piercing green eyes and messy hair. He didn’t look like Prince William, and even less to Prince Charles. He looked like a rock star. Maybe one of Oasis, I thought in that moment. I still smile at my thoughts. I was so silly!

‘Give me another one. Double again, pretty’

‘Calm down cowboy, if you keep doing this, I won’t be able to listen your sexy accent’

I told him with a smirk and all I got was a shy smile from my client. I sighed. I work at a bar but I hate drunken people. Great.

‘Hard day?’

I asked as I gave him the next glass with scotch. He nodded and sighed.

‘Care to tell me? I might help you somehow, I bet even more that Johnny Walkers’

I smiled and sat down in a bank in front of him. The place was pretty empty and I had the time of my life to talk to this little man that had me hypnotized.

‘It’s the same that all the time. I bet you’ve heard it all the time’

‘Well, maybe I have, but if you tell me your name, then it’ll be different than the others’

I smiled and he smiled too. I felt proud, I made him smiled.

‘Smart girl, I already like you. I’m Dom. Care to tell me your name too?’

‘Sure Dom, I’m Natasha, but please, call me Nat’

‘Well, Nat, I love women, but hell, they make our world a little bit harder every day’

I smiled and nodded my head. Well, what can I say, we’re pretty bitches sometimes.

‘Who’s she?’

‘She? She was an apparition in a white dress and deliciously tasty pink lips.’

‘Oh my I got a poet here’

He smiled and continued his story; I realized that he wouldn’t let me interrupt him. That’s what happens with drunken boys, once they start, they never stop, in every moment you can imagine.

‘Well, I saw her in the other side of the room, just talking. And I swear that I was left without breathe. It was too corny to be true. But you have to believe me dear Nat, she looked amazing right there.’

I nodded and started daydreaming by this stranger in my table. He was talking with this English romantic accent about how literally he fell over heels at love at first sight. I couldn’t help but graph the image in my head. And to pray that some time, some day someone would talk about me like that.

‘She had eyes like yours. Like two lakes in a sunny day. And she had dark blonde hair that fell in her back with perfect curls. And she had the perfect body: the right amount of boobs and legs to be just desirable. She looked like a goddess to me’

I looked down to my clothes and sighed. I was wearing a mini skirt and a sleeveless t shirt, somehow I was wishing I was that woman, so gently and elegant like a Greek goddess. I wanted to be adored. I wanted to be remembered like immortal, not like an average girl.

‘She finally saw me, I already had stopped listening to my friends as I was staring at her, I bet in a very uncomfortable way, but you had to comprehend me, she just bewitched me. And it seemed like every man in the party felt the same way. And she was happy for the attention, she enjoyed the awareness of the entire male in the room, she felt their eyes, my eyes… But I was the one she chose to send a wink and a smile.

‘She got all your attention, I see.’

I told him while he asked me for another shot of scotch. I nodded and gave him another one. It’d be his last one.

‘Oh yes she had it, all the way’

‘So, Did you had the pants to go there and talk to her?’

I feared I’d not be able to listen to the entire story. The clients started arriving and even if they didn’t come to my table, I panicked they would. And I would hate to not hear the end…

He laughed.

‘Oh yes I did.’

He said with a smile and a sighed. The beam lights illuminated his face and a flash of hope and melancholy was seen there.

‘I asked her what her favorite food was. And she told me that pasta. I got excited for the thought that maybe she was going to accept my date. I barely knew her but I felt like I knew her for a lifetime.’

I smiled. I never thought I was really a romantic, until that moment.

‘Did she?’

‘No, she was married. She told me that her husband made her pasta every Saturday’s night. I smiled and asked her for permission to say that he was so lucky to cook pasta for her. She smiled and I walked away. It was pretty natural, that kind of woman is always taken.’

With a smile he took out his wallet and put a 100 bill on the table.

‘Wait! Did you ask her for her name?’

He shot his head.

‘I didn’t need to. I knew her name was Natasha. Keep the change doll’

And with a smirk, the little man walked away, not only leaving me with more than 50 dollars in change, but with some romantic thoughts that would make me daydream for days and days. The thought of his words were left in my memory like a tattoo. I just wished I’d be adored like she was in his mind.

One night I saw him in the distance, he was surrounded by friends and he didn’t recognize me. But I smiled at him and he smiled at me. It was enough to bring me back memories and words and to make me write this letter to myself: about the man who once walked through that door.



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