September 2012

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Early Sep 2012
The prompts were:
1. That’s what happens when you ___ …
2. What is that smell?
3.  It was her favorite ___ until…

Begin writing
It was her favorite drink until the accident.  It was a Tuesday about three or four weeks ago.  She was driving east on the boulevard.  The day was clear and warm, not a cloud in the sky.  Traffic was almost non-existent.  A beige Buick station wagon was moving west on the other side of the divider. A delivery truck was about half a block in front of her.  There had been quite a few cars parked along the curb back by the high school where people were enjoying the tennis courts and running track.  The baseball field is on the other side of the school and there were probably people there too but she couldn’t see them when she drove by.
The truck in front of her had the back open and she could see some barrels and canisters loaded inside.  There was a bit of bluish smoke coming from the tailpipe of the Buick.  “Probably burning a little oil” she thought to herself as she passed the firestation.
Looking ahead she saw the delivery truck pulling away from the stop sign at Main Street and head into the dip on the other side.  She did not see the strap come loose, perhaps it had been loose all along.  Maybe the loader had carelessly not even fixed the strap but, as the truck began to climb out of the dip she definitely saw the barrels and canisters slide to the back and fall onto the boulevard in front of her.  She heard the noise as they clattered to the asphalt and split open.  She could smell the sweet aroma of the liquid pooled into the dip just in front of where she stopped behind the mess.
The truck driver has also heard the crash and pulled quickly to the side of the boulevard to assess the situation.  Five hundred gallons of root beer syrup lay pooled at the bottom of the dip.
Time passed, police came, streets were closed and traffic diverted.  Decisions were made and the Fire Department was called to clean up the mess.  They were just down the street after all.
High pressure hoses directed a stream of water on the mess and the root beer foamed up, and foamed up more, and foamed up more.  The ensuing tsunami of foam engulfed her car, still parked behind the dip and filled the windows.

Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper.

15 September 2012

Root Beer II

I was unable to attend on the 8th of September but made it on the 15th.  Much to my dismay I learned that we were going to try something completely different.  The idea was that for the month of September we should attempt to continue to story we had started earlier.  I had to keep going with the root beer story.

The prompts were:
1. This time she had gone too far
2. The garden was overgrown now
3. It’s my favorite place to be
4. A flourish of hate

Begin writing
Months later life had almost gotten back to normal, sans root beer. Her insurance company had made arrangements to clean the car although occasionally the faint, sweet smell of sarsaparilla would waft from the air conditioning vent.
She suffered through all the jokes and teasing that she had anticipated.  Most of it came from her sister Cindy.  Most had been good natured, coming from friends and family.  Occasionally an anonymous can of Bargs would appear in the mail box.
Last night she had loaned the sedan to Cindy.  PTA meetings waited for no man or woman and Cindy’s car was in the shop.  About noon, she heard her car pulling into the drive and knew Cindy was here.
Glancing out the front window she froze. This time Cindy had gone too far.  From all appearances Cindy had gotten her car painted.  The candy apple red was now a red umber metal flake.  It looked just like root beer.
The front door flew open and Cindy burst in, she was beaming and laughing so hard that tears were running from her eyes. “Do you love it?” she asked.  “Doesn’t it make you thirsty just to look at it?” Cindy kept talking but most of what she said was not registering.  A closer inspection was warranted.
It was a wonderful paint job. Very well done. Good quality paint.  This seemed like the ultimate practical joke.
“Cindy,” she said “don’t you have anything else to spend your money on?  Let’s go for a drive!”
The got in the car and headed east on the boulevard. Past the fire station, through the dip in the road, where she still fancied that she could hear the rubber of the tires sticking just a bit more to the asphalt than they had a block back.
Wheeling into the strip mall she guided the freshly painted vehicle into a parking spot in front of the market.  “Wait here Cindy,” she ordered her sister and she ran into the store.
When she returned she placed a bag in the back seat, slid behind the wheel and started the car.  Back on the boulevard she continued east, ignoring the flourish of questions about “What’s in the bag?” from her sister
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper. 

22 September 2012

Root Beer III

The prompts were:
1. The old room reminded me of ___
2. I wish someone had told me
3. It was a tempting offer, but…

Begin Writing
“What bag?” she came back. “The bag from the market.” Cindy said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
They drove for about an hour into the countryside.  Cindy had given up trying to learn more about their destination, or the bag.  They rode in silence for most of that time. Smooth jazz emanated softly from the door speakers of the root beer car and it was a pleasant day.  The silence between the two was not awkard or pensive.  It was natural.  She and Cindy were sisters after all, often they could intuit what each other were thinking.  Often they did not even bother to try.
That is the thing about siblings.  Familiarity and love could replace a need to entertain or fill silence with blather.
Just about the time that Cindy was going to demand a pit stop she pulled into a narrow lane that disappeared into the trees.  She put the car in park and set the brake, got out and went to open the gate.  Too late Cindy realized she had missed her chance to peek into the mystery bag.
They left the gate open and drove about 1/4 mile further up the lane.  As they crested a rise there appeared a ramshackle old cabin with a couple of small outbuildings.
“What is this place?” asked Cindy, previous urges for a rest stop now completely given over to curiosity.
“This is Mr. Wilson’s hunting cabin,” she answered.  “He doesn’t hunt much anymore and he loaned it to me for a few days.  Hope you don’t have any pressing appointments.  Mom agreed to take care of the kids.  You and I are going to spend two days in the country, no TV, no newspaper and no distractions beyond what is already here.”
“What is already here?” Cindy asked.
“A forest, a stream, fresh air, sunshine and quiet.” she replied. “What more do we need?”
“Maybe a root beer colored car and some ice cream” Cindy quipped.  “We have the car but, if that was ice cream in the bag it is undoubtedly liquid by now.  We’ve been driving forever.”
“Not ice cream, something better.” She reached for the bag and smiled.  ” Come on, I’ll show you the cabin.”  They went into the cabin and it was a single room shack.  The old room reminded her of one of those western themed restaurants with all the old stuff nailed up on the walls.  These things
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper.

29 September 2012

Root Beer IV

The prompts were:
1. I’d give anything for the chance to …
2. It didn’t seem right to anyone to be so…
3. The sound of footsteps behind him/her caused him/her to shudder

Begin Writing
After a quick tour of the hunting cabin, Cindy looked in the fridge and grabbed a couple of root beers.  Opening hers she took a long draught and wiped the back of her sleeve across her mouth.  She handed the other to her sister who politely declined.  “Sorry Cindy, I still can’t imagine drinking root beer ever again.”
They sat at the table and Cindy said, “As excited as I am to spend the rest of the weekend with you it is now time to show me what’s in the bag sis.”  Cindy reached for the bag and peeked in the top.  Her eyes widened and she turned the bag over, spilling the contents on the table.  Lots of green banknotes piled up.  Mostly 20 dollar bills although she could see several 50’s and quite a few 100’s as well.
Also clattering onto the table was a large butcher knife.  Looked brand new, not even scratched. Cindy looked her sister in the eye, “Tell me you didn’t rob the grocery store” she admonished.
“I can’t tell you that, I did rob the grocery store.  Lets see how much money we got.” she smiled.  It didn’t seem right to either of them that it would be so easy to rob a grocery.  “The beauty of hitting a market is that you don’t need to bring anything with you to succeed.  The butcher knives are on the rack in the kitchenware department.  You can just help yourself and there are bags at every check stand.  “I meant to get some cookies too.  Must have forgotten them.  I was so excited.”
They counted almost 9000 dollars on the table.  Most of it in small bills, easy to pass. The butcher knife went into Mr. Wilson’s cutlery drawer.  She looked at Cindy, “I haven’t had that much fun in years” she said. “It reminded me of when we used to hit the photomat on 17th Street.  Those guys never realized that all we had was a water pistol and the thrill just got better each time.  Sometimes I am amazed that we actually robbed the same photomat 5 times in two weeks.  Lets stop at the grocery store again on our way home.”
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper. 


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