OLWG · writing

OLWG#56- Flight 1710 to Dallas

Another word picture
Written for OLWG#56

Wayne baltered to the counter and smiled sheepishly at the olive skinned, dark haired girl he found there. She reached out her hand, but he lifted his suitcase up and placed it on the scale before handing her his ID and ticket. Tapping on the keyboard she found him in the system.

“Would you prefer a window or an aisle, Mr. Tupper?” she asked politely.

Wayne looked at her name tag, “Uhm, Ms Bustamante,” he replied, “could I get a middle seat, please?” He flicked some of the green blue and gold glitter from his shoulder. There was a lot there. He wiped a bit more from his lapel as he waited for her to answer then he closed his eyes. He was so drunk still. He was so tired.

At the gate, waiting to board Wayne napped till the gate agent woke him so he could board and then he made his way to seat 13B. An older woman; grey hair with a blue wash occupied 13A, she was thin and frail. She and Wayne exchanged smiles as he waited for the large man to step aside from the aisle seat so that he could move in. He raised his eyebrows as Wayne scooted past.

“Dude… wish I’d been with you. Looks like you’ve been having a good time.”  The big man said.

Wayne nodded and collapsed into his seat. He leaned towards the old woman at the window to make room for the big guy’s shoulders and closed his eyes hoping for slumber.

This weeks prompts:

  1. covered with glitter
  2. playing pirates
  3. life can end in the middle of a sentence
OLWG · writing

OLWG#55- Détente

a word picture – written for OLWG#55

The short summer night brings no respite from the oppressive heat that cloaks this god forsaken corner of the earth. No breeze to offer absolution. Klemper, a big man, sits across the table. His enormous head takes up too much space in the room. Sweat builds on his brow and runs down, it follows his jagged scar. A scar that begins just beneath his hairline traverses below the patch that covers his right eye only to disfigure the corner of his mouth and fall off his face at the chin. It is barren where surrounded by his rough scrabble beard. I study his eye above the candle flame and wait for him to break the silence.

“I’m here, Dalgaard,” he curls his malformed upper lip as he sneers; “I’ll hear what you have to say before I kill you.” He wiped the sweat off his face in a downward motion, shook his hand and slapped it loudly on the table top.

With no delay I unsheathed my Puukko and drove it down hard, pinning his hand to the table. It was the same Lappland blade that had scarred his face and taken his eye.

“You’ll have to kill someone else today, Klemper; but you should know that Göran is back and he hasn’t forgotten.” I pulled my knife back and wiped the blade on my sleeve.

“I’ll kill Göran first then. Before I come for you.” he said. He raised his freshly cut hand and lifted his glass. In response, I re-sheathed my weapon and turned away.

This weeks prompts:

  1. limpid pools
  2. look at these scars
  3. when the boys arrive
OLWG · writing

OLWG#54- Haibun

written for OLWG#54

The time was now. He had to go. He gathered up his few meager possessions paid his few debts and divided his land equally amongst his children. On the way, he stopped beneath the old tree to say a final goodbye to his wife, Lenore, gone these many years. He lingered to bid farewell to friends who remained and he paused to make peace with his adversaries.

With his affairs in order he turned his face to the sun and set off. In his heart he knew he would never come back.

Failure is not allowed,
they anticipate your return and,
your word is your bond.
It has been years since you were there,
it matters not; if they’ve gone.



Who’s to Say What Normal Is?

Thanks to Ms Rose for the inspiration. It’s kind of silly but I couldn’t resist.

Bettie, a genuinely overweight, middle aged woman stands at the pharmacist’s counter waiting for someone to tell her why she was given the wrong prescription. While she waits, she does what she can to put off horrible thoughts of what might have happened should she have gone ahead and taken the wrong drugs.
A woman’s voice behind her says, “Your ass looks really good in those pants!”
Stunned, Bettie turns and confronts the other woman. “Well…I have a lot of it…”
“No, I mean it! You look great in those pants! Who are they?”
“I don’t know. I got them at Macy’s; on sale.”
“Seriously, you look great!”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“Well, thanks.”

The woman held her hand out to Bettie, “I didn’t introduce myself,” she said, “I’m Wilma Stokes. I’m new in town. Fred and I bought a house near the corner of Third and Carlisle.”

“I’m sorry,” Bettie replied, “you and your husband are Fred and Wilma?”

“I know; it’s horrible; isn’t it? At least our family name is Stokes and not Flintstone!”

They both laughed and then lapsed into a silence there in the queue. Bettie was fidgeting a bit, seemingly uncomfortable. Finally she spoke up, “Is that the grey and white house near the east end of the block?”

“Yeah, yeah, with the flat roof.”

“OMG! I live just over your back fence on Cobblestone Way. I’m right behind you! I’m Bettie, by the way. I’m so glad we met.”

“Oh, me too! Hey listen, Fred and I are planning a housewarming this weekend. Maybe you could come?”

“We’d love to! Can I bring my husband along?” Bettie asked, smiling.

Wilma got a serious look on her face, “His name’s not Barney, is it?”

“Oh, heaven’s no, his name’s Steve.” she said, “Steve Rubble!” she kind of mumbled afterwards.

“Get out. It is not – NO FUCKIN’ WAY! I need to buy you a drink!” she looked at her watch. “Look, it’s almost noon – where can we find an open bar?”

“There’s the Martini Lounge. It’s downtown. I think they open for breakfast.”

They both stepped out of the line, spun on their heels, linked arms and marched out of the pharmacy.


OLWG · writing

OLWG #53 – Games

Written for OLWG #53

Pamela wore a white ski jacket and trousers. She sat in the snow; behind a pile of deadfall wood, in dappled sunlight, on the side of the slope. She was almost invisible to the naked eye. Only her gun contrasted with the surroundings but she minimized that with light coloured netting that covered most of it. She watched as Drake moved slowly toward the house through the trees. She hadn’t seen him arrive. He must have come in via the lake.

“Oh, he’s good,” she thought to herself as she watched through her scope and waited patiently for a better shot. For almost twenty minutes she followed his movements as he made his way from tree to tree.

Something was nagging at her subconscious. Then it hit her, Drake would never be that slow on approach to a target. It would be a helluva shot, but he was within her range and she knew she could make it. Her breathing slowed and her finger tightened on the trigger. She waited for the target to pause again; with a tree trunk between himself and the kitchen window.

Then it hit her again, right in the middle of her back. Green paint spattered up and over her shoulders. She watched it land on the clean white snow in front of her. Slowly Pamela turned her head. Drake stood less than 15 feet behind her, his paint gun held low and ready.

“You’re getting better,” she said.

“I just got lucky,” he replied.

“Who’s that, then?” she asked. “Who’s that sneaking up to the back of my house?”

Drake came the rest of the way down and sat next to her; a quick embrace.

“That’s Stanley,” he told her. “You remember him?”

“The ginger haired one from the islands? Of course I remember him. He’s getting slow.”

“No, I’m getting slow. I asked him to give me plenty of time so I could out flank you.” He looked her in the eye, “We need you again, Pamela. We need you to clean up the mess we made in the jungles.”

She shook her head, “I’m not that kind of girl. Well, not any more anyway.”

“Right,” he nodded his head as though he was expecting the refusal. “I’ll tell the minister.” He stood and took two steps back before turning. With an ease of motion he glided halfway to the top of the slope, paused, “It’s OK, you know. I still love you anyway.” Then he was gone.

Pamela turned to look at Stanley. He was gone too.

This week, the prompts were:

  1. we need you again
  2. I love you anyway
  3. I’m not that kind of girl

Don’t think! Write!
You have 25 minutes but if it takes longer – just don’t tell anyone.