There's the #CampDuctTape crew, and LasVegasRWA ladies - @CRMoss, @nae0309, @rmsotera, @KayPhoenix_, @TheLVWriter, and the #NaNoWriMo Breakfast Bunch - @caramichaels, @ShoshannaEvers, @nara_malone, @JenD_Author, @TamiCat76, and the FlashFiction Aficionados - @WakefieldMahon, @dryadsgarden, @AntonioAngelo21, @MAKozlowski, @redshirt6. These people are terrific writers and so fun to talk to. If you want to read some great writing (and tweeting) look them up on Twitter. :)
Now back to our regularly scheduled programing. :)
I've been editing like crazy so I haven't been writing much #flashfiction lately, but on Monday I managed to write two short stories. For #MenageMonday, we had the following photo, the phrase "thanks for sharing", and the judge's prompt of what's found in the toe of Christopher Walken's Christmas stocking to create a 200 word story. Mine is entitled, "Chinese Run."
The round man leaning against the counter grinned at Lisa as he waited for his order. It was late and no one else was in the Last Wok except her.
“You know, you have beautiful eyes,” he said, his own twinkling. “I’ve only seen that color of brown in hot cocoa.”
That was his best line? Lisa retreated to the back to scoop out some pork chow mein and two egg rolls into the to-go box.
“Did you know they found a mummified elf in the toe of Christopher Walken’s Christmas stocking?” He tsked. “Frightfully shocking.”
“Thanks for sharing.” She shuddered a little as she set the food in the white paper bag and carried it to the counter. “That’s creepy, even for Walken.”
“Ah yes. Nothing but coal for him this year, I’m afraid.” The twinkle-eyed man shook his head sadly.
“Twelve seventy eight please, sir.” Did people still put coal in stockings?
“Here’s twenty. Keep the change.”
“Wow. Thank you, sir. Happy Holidays.”
“Thank you, my dear.” He winked and laid a finger aside of his nose, then disappeared in a puff of sparkles.
Lisa gaped, then heard hoofbeats on the roof and someone laughing, “HO HO HO!”
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! ;) Also on Monday, I participated in #MotivationMonday with the following photo, 500 words, and the beginning prompt, "I don't know how to tell you this," she said. My story is part of a larger story coming in 2012 and connects with this post and this post.
“I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she said.
Senator James William Stanton glared at his secretary as she hovered uncomfortably by his office door.
“What is it, Rosalie?” he snapped. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a debriefing?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” she squeaked, but held up the creamy envelope with a red blob of wax sealing it. “But it’s from the President, sir. I thought you’d like it immediately.”
Stanton gestured for the envelope impatiently, but turned his attention back to Stephen. “Have you found my daughter yet, Captain?”
The secretary scurried out of the office before he answered. The Senator had dropped his eyes to the envelope, scanning its contents.
Damn, could this guy be any more of an asshole?
“No, sir. Preliminary search of the estate and the surrounding forest has turned up nothing.”
“What about her horse?” John Coolidge asked worriedly
“Yes, every time that damn girl gets in a snit she takes her horse and rides out to “find herself”, or some such nonsense.” The Senator waved a hand dismissively. “Find the horse and you’ll find her.”
Stephen gritted his teeth. “Her horse is missing as well, sir?”
“Yes. That’s when we realized Bethany was missing. She’s never without her mount,” John soothed, a theatrical expression of worry etched on his pinched features.
“I made it clear to the grooms and servants to cooperate with all the investigators. They didn’t tell you?” Stanton grumbled, releasing the letter. “Damn that girl! Why did she have to do this now?”
Stephen stood at parade rest, but he wanted to grab the Remington statue on the desk and throw it at the pompous bastard. “What breed of horse and what color is it, sir?”
“She has a champion bloodline Quarterhorse gelding, sorrel in color, and goes by the name of Killian Ford’s Tenpenny,” John replied as Stanton sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin.
“Can either of you recall any other details about Ms. Stanton’s behavior that might suggest where she could have gone, sir?”
“She seemed no more upset than usual,” Stanton mused, suddenly turning on the ‘doting father’ persona he’d first showed the Team.
“She sometimes gets her back up about things, but she always comes back after a ride.” John’s concern oozed through the room. “Please, Captain, find my fiancée and bring her home.”
“You should go with them, John.”
“Of course, sir! Anything for my dear Bethany," the younger man blurted.
“I must protest, sir.” Stephen felt his guts drop into his feet. “My team is highly trained in search and rescue and we work as a cohesive unit. While Mr. Coolidge is capable, you brought in the best for just that reason.”
“John knows this estate best, Captain. You’ll need his help.”
Stephen swore inwardly. “Yes, sir.”
As he left the office, Coolidge in tow, he caught the eyes of his SIC Staff Sergeant Circe Bryant and rolled his own. They were so screwed they’d need a DeWalt to get them out of this.
Thank you for stopping by and happy reading!