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