I'm very late since the next one is posted already but in my defence, my subscription for Microsoft ran out and they gave me a hassle with renewing.
Postponed Dreams
Kenzie pulls her car to the side of the highway as a police car flies by, breathing a sigh of relief the sirens aren’t for her. She’s not quite sure how she would explain her friend in the passenger’s seat to the officer. She could make a joke and hope for the best, she could lie and say it’s a present, she could tell the truth and tell him she’d bedazzled the mask she’d worn during her radiation treatments. It’s weird, she knows, but it had felt right.
She has her plan, the same plan that had kept her going through her treatments. Her parents aren’t a fan of her solo road trip, but after months and months of them, family and friends, doctors and nurses, all hovering over her every move, she really just wants to be alone. She has her list of places to visit, some popular tourist places with a lot of underrated gems, at least according to the internet; she has a tank full of gas and a car that just recently passed inspection; her cell phone fully charged; her wallet with her ID, credit and debit cards. This trip will cost a lot but that’s a problem for a later day.
She’s open to her plans changing. She’s actually hoping they change. She wants to arrive in some of the small towns, talk to the locals, and get guided to their favourite spots if they’re willing to share with her. She wants those little hole-in-the-wall cafes no one but locals know, has many months of not being able to eat her favourite foods to make up for, wants to try new foods in her travels.
Right now, she’s on the road to one of her cousin’s place. She had tried to plan her trip to stay with as many friends and family along the way to save money. After so many days in a hospital bed, one night on some couches will be a breeze. As much as she does want her alone time, she has to be practical about her money. Plus, these are people who will report back to her parents that when she tells them she’s doing well, she means it.
This trip is special to her, more than anyone knows. After high school, she’d wanted to take time before college to travel but her parents had talked her into postponing those plans. After graduation, she’d begun working and never really slowed down until she became sick. It’s part of the reason she’s refused to allow her parents to talk her out of it this time. She might leave her jeweled mask in the car though, just in case people think it’s weird.
After last call — drunk, buzzed— but she wanted to keep dancing. Swirling and swaying in the center of the floor …
Others were exiting and going to the curb to wait for an uber.
She looked up at the disco ball. As if looking up into the sun and she saw, looking down at her thru the mirrored glass a laughing skull …she was under a spell. She tried to stop dancing, but nothing worked.
Her skin went numb as her soul lifted out of her body to join the others … taking her place in a tile of the mirrored skull.
Also...once I'm done with this draft and ready to pitch again--the next 30 or 60 days, I've got a story that is VERY different for me that I want to give a go. More of a short story/novella. Seeing you post these short stories has helped give me confidence to very quickly write this next story--to have fun with it--before I get to perfectionistic or "precious." So thank you! !
Ooooh this gave me happy chills for you. I feel creativity coming off you in waves. I am really happy to hear that you’re reconnecting with the joy of writing!
“It’s the new South,” Jared said. He awkwardly balanced a salad bowl on his knees, doing his best not to tilt it over with his fork.
“But I don’t like it,” Becca said. “Just because they put an old cannon in the middle doesn’t bring me back. Actually, the cannon is offensive on so many levels.” Becca sipped her coffee.
The two sat on a bench near the cannon.
“And look at the golf cart,” she added. “What the hell?”
Jared laughed. “It’s not a golf cart. And just because your doctorate was on Southerners sympathetic to the Union doesn’t that mean everything has bring us back to the 19th century to be authentic.”
“The 1930’s would do. Old houses, surrounded by trees, with big old front porches where people actually sit and talk. This all looks so…faux. Even the General Store has a Starbuck’s counter. I mean, come on.”
“At least it’s got wood counters. And not everything pertaining to the Confederacy is offensive. It’s part of history.”
“Even if it offends anyone who might not want people to align in favor of enslaving Black people?”
“People revise history in their minds, to forget the ugly stuff.”
“Yeah.” Becca smirked. “You mean like people want to forget Auschwitz and Dachau?”
“I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”
“You don’t stand a chance.” She smiled at him. “Well, Professor Allen, should we get back to our classes? Student are in need of teaching.”
Jared sighed. “For me, it’s grading a bunch of statistics tests by liberal arts students who take the class only because they have to. C’s and D’s await me—and them. Ugh.”
“Who’s turn is it to cook tonight?”
“Mine, Professor Kincaid. I thought I’d grill some salmon. How does that sound?”
“A lot better than your idea of sitting here for lunch. Can’t wait.” Becca reached over and kissed Jared on the cheek. “Later alligator,” she said.
“In a while, crocodile.”
As Becca walked away, Jared watched her with so much affection it burst through his chest. How could he be so lucky? He then turned to the view in front of him again. “Dumb cannon,” he muttered. “And that does look like a golf cart.”
A cannon rests in the town square near a tree. The tree has been there for over a century. A younger couple walks past and stops. They say they could live forever, but in the back of their minds, they know someone was lost. Someone was lost in a dirt field. They hope that he didn’t die alone. They picture a man trying to stop the bleeding and calling out for help. That man would give his life for the man, like a brother would. Like anyone would. Such valor. They walk hand-in-hand as the image takes them to another time and place. They are new to love. They walk toward the sun.
Your story was wonderful. In fact, I was intimidated to even try to write something. But how often do I get the chance to write about a disco skull? (hee hee):
Sixty-five dollars! That’s all? Why I was a disco king! Back in the day my friend and I topped the Billboard charts. If you knew my history, I’d be selling for a fortune!
There we were, it was 1976, my best friend, Disco Duck, and I were at a party movin’ to the disco beat. The next thing we knew , we were an American cultural sensation. It’s not well known, but the original lyrics were Disco Skull, but I was cool with my best buddy. Duck, getting all the attention.
I’ve lost touch with everybody from the old days, what with being stuck on this shelf and all. It’s okay, I’ve got my memories to tide me over. But sixty-five dollars! C’mon now! Let’s dance!
I'm very late since the next one is posted already but in my defence, my subscription for Microsoft ran out and they gave me a hassle with renewing.
Postponed Dreams
Kenzie pulls her car to the side of the highway as a police car flies by, breathing a sigh of relief the sirens aren’t for her. She’s not quite sure how she would explain her friend in the passenger’s seat to the officer. She could make a joke and hope for the best, she could lie and say it’s a present, she could tell the truth and tell him she’d bedazzled the mask she’d worn during her radiation treatments. It’s weird, she knows, but it had felt right.
She has her plan, the same plan that had kept her going through her treatments. Her parents aren’t a fan of her solo road trip, but after months and months of them, family and friends, doctors and nurses, all hovering over her every move, she really just wants to be alone. She has her list of places to visit, some popular tourist places with a lot of underrated gems, at least according to the internet; she has a tank full of gas and a car that just recently passed inspection; her cell phone fully charged; her wallet with her ID, credit and debit cards. This trip will cost a lot but that’s a problem for a later day.
She’s open to her plans changing. She’s actually hoping they change. She wants to arrive in some of the small towns, talk to the locals, and get guided to their favourite spots if they’re willing to share with her. She wants those little hole-in-the-wall cafes no one but locals know, has many months of not being able to eat her favourite foods to make up for, wants to try new foods in her travels.
Right now, she’s on the road to one of her cousin’s place. She had tried to plan her trip to stay with as many friends and family along the way to save money. After so many days in a hospital bed, one night on some couches will be a breeze. As much as she does want her alone time, she has to be practical about her money. Plus, these are people who will report back to her parents that when she tells them she’s doing well, she means it.
This trip is special to her, more than anyone knows. After high school, she’d wanted to take time before college to travel but her parents had talked her into postponing those plans. After graduation, she’d begun working and never really slowed down until she became sick. It’s part of the reason she’s refused to allow her parents to talk her out of it this time. She might leave her jeweled mask in the car though, just in case people think it’s weird.
Never late, and always wonderful! 💛💛💛
After last call — drunk, buzzed— but she wanted to keep dancing. Swirling and swaying in the center of the floor …
Others were exiting and going to the curb to wait for an uber.
She looked up at the disco ball. As if looking up into the sun and she saw, looking down at her thru the mirrored glass a laughing skull …she was under a spell. She tried to stop dancing, but nothing worked.
Her skin went numb as her soul lifted out of her body to join the others … taking her place in a tile of the mirrored skull.
I ADORED this story. It was pure perfection and it made me very happy. 💜💜💜
Oh my goodness, THANK YOU, Diana!!
Also...once I'm done with this draft and ready to pitch again--the next 30 or 60 days, I've got a story that is VERY different for me that I want to give a go. More of a short story/novella. Seeing you post these short stories has helped give me confidence to very quickly write this next story--to have fun with it--before I get to perfectionistic or "precious." So thank you! !
Ooooh this gave me happy chills for you. I feel creativity coming off you in waves. I am really happy to hear that you’re reconnecting with the joy of writing!
Sorry mine is late; I'm in California right now.
“It’s the new South,” Jared said. He awkwardly balanced a salad bowl on his knees, doing his best not to tilt it over with his fork.
“But I don’t like it,” Becca said. “Just because they put an old cannon in the middle doesn’t bring me back. Actually, the cannon is offensive on so many levels.” Becca sipped her coffee.
The two sat on a bench near the cannon.
“And look at the golf cart,” she added. “What the hell?”
Jared laughed. “It’s not a golf cart. And just because your doctorate was on Southerners sympathetic to the Union doesn’t that mean everything has bring us back to the 19th century to be authentic.”
“The 1930’s would do. Old houses, surrounded by trees, with big old front porches where people actually sit and talk. This all looks so…faux. Even the General Store has a Starbuck’s counter. I mean, come on.”
“At least it’s got wood counters. And not everything pertaining to the Confederacy is offensive. It’s part of history.”
“Even if it offends anyone who might not want people to align in favor of enslaving Black people?”
“People revise history in their minds, to forget the ugly stuff.”
“Yeah.” Becca smirked. “You mean like people want to forget Auschwitz and Dachau?”
“I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”
“You don’t stand a chance.” She smiled at him. “Well, Professor Allen, should we get back to our classes? Student are in need of teaching.”
Jared sighed. “For me, it’s grading a bunch of statistics tests by liberal arts students who take the class only because they have to. C’s and D’s await me—and them. Ugh.”
“Who’s turn is it to cook tonight?”
“Mine, Professor Kincaid. I thought I’d grill some salmon. How does that sound?”
“A lot better than your idea of sitting here for lunch. Can’t wait.” Becca reached over and kissed Jared on the cheek. “Later alligator,” she said.
“In a while, crocodile.”
As Becca walked away, Jared watched her with so much affection it burst through his chest. How could he be so lucky? He then turned to the view in front of him again. “Dumb cannon,” he muttered. “And that does look like a golf cart.”
After the War
A cannon rests in the town square near a tree. The tree has been there for over a century. A younger couple walks past and stops. They say they could live forever, but in the back of their minds, they know someone was lost. Someone was lost in a dirt field. They hope that he didn’t die alone. They picture a man trying to stop the bleeding and calling out for help. That man would give his life for the man, like a brother would. Like anyone would. Such valor. They walk hand-in-hand as the image takes them to another time and place. They are new to love. They walk toward the sun.
Mike Bayles
Your story was wonderful. In fact, I was intimidated to even try to write something. But how often do I get the chance to write about a disco skull? (hee hee):
Sixty-five dollars! That’s all? Why I was a disco king! Back in the day my friend and I topped the Billboard charts. If you knew my history, I’d be selling for a fortune!
There we were, it was 1976, my best friend, Disco Duck, and I were at a party movin’ to the disco beat. The next thing we knew , we were an American cultural sensation. It’s not well known, but the original lyrics were Disco Skull, but I was cool with my best buddy. Duck, getting all the attention.
I’ve lost touch with everybody from the old days, what with being stuck on this shelf and all. It’s okay, I’ve got my memories to tide me over. But sixty-five dollars! C’mon now! Let’s dance!
Disco Dan danced more than the night away...
Ooh, I have the biggest grin after reading your little story! Thank you!
aww THANK YOU!!
Thanks for hr book recommendation. Sounds cute and I’ve gotten on the library list for it.
You’re very welcome! Hope you enjoy it, Mira!
"Load the cannon, boy"
The cast iron balls are cold to the touch.
And using them is heavy work, like a judge's gavel. There's no going back.
Still, it's us or them. Or so I'm told.
"Hurry, boy, man your battle station".
I'm not the one to light the fuse, I tell myself. But I can't help but wonder if my soul will still be torn in two.
"Hurry boy, or-". Bang.
I guess it's settled; I won't load the cannon now that I'm cold to the touch, too.