In the comments, use the 10 random words below to create a cohesive, creative short story tying all the words together. And remember: after you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words (if you’ve missed some challenges, go back and try those too).
- Doughnut
- Philosophy
- No-Brainer
- Apartment
- Heaven
- Premiums
- Trucker
- Freedom
- Every other Friday
- Scaffolding
{ 5 trackbacks }
{ 109 comments… read them below or add one }
EVERY OTHER FRIDAY
Ah, the donut; Heaven in my mouth, but Hades in my tummy.
I used to stop at TGIFri-dough, on the corner of Western and Santa Fe, every other Friday on my way to work. I’d slap the alarm and leap from bed, do the happy dance and fly from the apartment. I was practically willing to run red lights on the way to my fix.
“Can I help you, sir?” the dude with the stretchy thing in his ear and the metal crap in his face would always ask, even though it was a no-brainer. “One apple fritter and one French crueler, please.”
My philosophy was simple – the best days were built on a scaffolding of dietary freedom. Namely donuts. And I could afford to live this way every other Friday.
But it wasn’t long before every other Friday wasn’t enough.
Soon it was every Friday. Then, I’m embarrassed to admit, every single day.
On Christmas, I drove around for hours looking for an open shop. Then spent New Years rifling through the dumpster.
The premiums I’d once felt were no more. While a fritter and a crueler used to be enough, now I needed a sack of donut holes as well.
Every. Single. Day.
My stomach is now as bloated as a trucker.
My wife says it’s either TGIFri-dough or her.
I sure am gonna miss that woman.
@Sean, Man, you keep outdoing yourself. I’m guessing this one is now your favorite. It is mine!
)
I never would have thought to use the word “premiums” as you did.
Great write. And the end! Even better (Just don’t let Cindy read it
I’m not sure. I think this one is tied with the last one. I still really like the whole, CUT! thing.
Kristy was new to this city. She had been offered a prestigious position at the university, but was not sure how well she could adapt to the grittiness of urban living. Back home there had been blue skies, clean air, green grass and room to breathe. She hated to leave her little heaven, but given the opportunity for financial premiums that would never be available in her backwoods little home town, the move was a no-brainer! This career choice would give her the financial freedom that would someday allow her to return to her home town and make some changes to the crippled educational system that seemed to be getting worse every day.
She had been a volunteer at the community center and it was her philosophy that if everyone would just contribute a little of their time and their skills, the world would certainly be a better place. She would miss these every-other-Friday visits with the locals. They had become her family.
So here she was, living in a cramped apartment over a doughnut shop, heavy smell of grease eternally in the air. The view consisted of scaffolding, billboards and dilapidated tenaments rising up to meet the sky. Instead of butterflies, puppies and bunnies she would have to live with the mother-trucker roaches that were an everyday greeting to her as she began her day. She had to remind herself that this was very temporary and though it was a personal sacrifice, it would ultimately enable her to make some much needed changes back home.
Doughnuts and freedom were my Heaven back in college. That and base-jumping every other Friday from scaffolding set up over the New River Gorge Bridge in West Virginia. So, I should have studied to be a cop maybe… or a trucker perhaps… possibly even a parachute tester.
But, no, I decided to get that philosophy degree my 8th-year fraternity brother recommended. “Yeah, what an easy, no-brainer degree,” I nodded.
Today I’m prisoner to a one room apartment on the wrong side of Hellville. I’m singing backup vocals with the FreeCreditReport.com Band, wondering how I’ll pay my health insurance premiums, and dreading my third basement request to mother.
Shane, I’m sorry, I’m a techno-dinosaur and could not figure out how to make the bold-type work!
Hay Margaret.
“heavy smell of grease eternally in the air” is my favorite line. And mother-trucker is my favorite word! Great write.
To blold text you have to use <b> before the word and </b> after it.
Every other Friday I take my almost weekend freedom feeling away from my apartment because my local doughnut shop offers premiums on their products. Given my sweet tooth and my self-indulgent philosophy it’s a no-brainer to get a trucker-sized bag of doughnut holes seemingly from heaven. Imagine my surprise and disappointment when construction scaffolding prevented me from my bi-weekly treat!
Wow, Anne. That’s excellent! So neat and tidy. You nailed it in three sentences!
Cut my writing teeth on well tracked classified ads paid for by the word. Sometimes I still remember.
(blushing here)
That’s what makes you a Twitter rockstar!
Anne, welcome to the party! Wow, I thought I had the crown for neat and tidy. I wanna’ rematch on Challenge #7.
And, you’re rocking the Thesis Theme. You are smart!
you’re on… when does it happen?
I got here for the first time from a tweet.
Check out the about page. We go into some detail about frequency and such. Until that time, please, by all means, do the others.
It’s alright, Ma. I’m too lazy to do the bold type. : )
Maybe later, I’ll go in the back end and bold things for the both of us.
Hey, do you guys like the comments all in a row, or would you prefer threaded comments which allow for individual responses?
Considering the nature of what we’re doing, perhaps threaded comments would be better, so that people could respond to individual pieces?
It’s as simple as a flip of a switch, and we could always go back.
I like the threaded style.
@Sean, I’m telling you! I don’t think there is ANYWHERE on the entire Internet that allows writer’s to practice creative writing so…well..creatively (AND FAST) as this site does. I’m blown away by the submissions and talent, and we don’t even have that many people in here yet. Amazing.
I agree. It’ll be fun to see what happens when there are a few dozen writers tapping their pens to the list of ten.
threaded comments! thanks, Sean.
We’re good to go, Ma. Comments are now threaded.
In my tiny apartment I sat in my comfortable recliner and watched the scaffolding across the street. As I watched, I ate a doughnut, comprised mostly of chocolate and cream. My philosophy about life is simple, I don’t get nervous; I simply enjoy the freedoms that surround me, especially the freedom to enjoy food and look forward to me stay in Heaven. To me it’s simple, a no-brainer, that if I see a trucker who is working hard and who is handsome and available every other Friday, I flirt a little and enjoy the premiums that come from flirting such as attention, happiness and a chance for love!
Doughnut
Philosophy
No-Brainer
Apartment
Heaven
Premiums
Trucker
Freedom
Every other Friday
Scaffolding
{ 21 comments…
LOL! Awesome. Brevity and wit and a chance at romance combine! Awesome, Toni. Nice to have you.
@Toni Welcome to our tribe! Truckers need loving too. Good one. And the fact that you are an author makes it even sweeter to see you here. Thanks.
you may have started something else
not so creatively named Friday Fun for Freelance Writers (sigh)
http://www.aboutfreelancewriting.com/2010/01/friday-fun-for-freelance-writers/
and I love threaded comments
and I love this: “… We’ll wait until we are happy with the amount of comments we get. Once we reach this subjective number, we will create another post where we’ll list our favorite contribution from the comment section and provide a link back to your site if you have one. After that, we’ll do another post with a new list of 10 random words. Rinse, repeat. Pretty simple huh!” Just love it.
@Anne. You’re awesome. Thanks for the blog post about this.
ps. Check out the UPDATE! on our about page.
pps. These words are indeed random. I use several random word generators online, and sometimes pick the first words I see in a paper, book, dictionary, or road sign. That’s what I believe brings the magic to these things. I look at them and say, “There’s no way I’m going to think of a way to tie these together. But, each time I find a way.
Shane, I meant the comment as humorous, not an accusation… lol, glad you like the post I did. Curious to see what’s next.
Hey Anne. Oh, no. I didn’t think it was an accusation at all. Really. I just wanted to throw the specifics out there, because on several occasions I myself thought there might be people down the road who wondered if we collaborated before hand to come up with suitable words to make our own submissions easier.
This is so much fun! I’m new here so please be nice. Here’s my attempt!
I don’t know if it was the doughnut itself or the tired looking woman in her sixties that handed it to me across the finger-print smudged glass counter, but I started thinking about holes. The hungry trucker in line behind me was growing impatient but I found myself lost in thought.
I’m no Philosophy student but holding that sweet cakey treat, wide open in the middle, made me think of what gaping hole there must be in the life of a seemingly sweet woman the same age as my mother, who should be enjoying the freedom of a jobless life, that forces her to work a minimum wage job she obviously hates.
It’s probably something simple. Something normal – a no-brainer. My mind drifts to the woman poring over the bills that keep piling up. Every other Friday when rent is due on her tiny apartment that boasts a view of a brick wall, some scaffolding that never goes away and a dumpster, her small retirement check won’t allow ends to meet. It’s hard for her husband to contribute from Heaven, where presumably he went after that massive heart attack he suffered as a young man. Now she wishes they’d decided to take that life insurance package, despite its high premiums.
But just as its characteristic hole is what makes the doughnut, the hole in her life is what makes the woman. Or is it? Seeing the misery on her face as she hands me my change, I find that hard to believe as I go on with my day.
Wonderful, Jamie! You don’t have to ask us to be nice. That was simply perfect. My favorite line was, “her tiny apartment that boasts a view of a brick wall.” Great job!
Loved it Jamie. I love stories with deep, deep emotions involved. I think that’s why I love the movie Rudy to name just one. You made me feel sorry for this woman you created out of thin air. That writing! That the power of it! Thank you.
You guys are awesome.
Shane, surprisingly enough, while I’m a very upbeat and happy girl, my creative writing has always had an undercurrent of sadness. Maybe that’s why I’m happy, cause I have writing as an outlet.
Thanks so much for doing this guys, it’s so nice to work my creative bone in a public place like this without really having to do any work!
Jaime
Ditto back!
Great to be here and thank you Sean and Shane for your sweet words! This is great fun…
Toni
I enjoy regular, street-smart, existential conversations. So every other Friday morning after paying my insurance premiums, it’s a no-brainer to take the freedom to drop into a little place called Doughnut Heaven, a hole-in-the-wall just below the scaffolding of my apartment that’s frequented by a trucker with a degree in Philosophy.
THE END
Dude. I have never commented on your blog, but I’ve known of you for some time. It’s awesome you stopped by. Good, short-and-sweet write.
Thanks, dude. Cool little jammy exercise you’ve got going on here. Keep me in the loop.
Sign up for our RSS man. I’ll follow you on twitter too so you’ll see the tweets about new posts.
Done/cool! @jaced
Ditto, Jaced. Nice to see you round here. By the way, I was in San Pedro yesterday! Had to go to an auto body shop down that way, over on Gaffey. I love San Pedro. It’s like SoCal’s tiny little San Francisco. Kinda sorta.
Cool, Sean. One of these weeks we should carve out a couple hours to grab a few beers and talk about words. There are some secret corners to Pedro I know you’ll dig; places that inspired Under Angels. I can also jump over to LB as well. I hit my favorite restaurant bar there all the time.
No shit! That PF Changs is 9 blocks from my house. I live in the historic district. Yup, one of these days. Would be cool. It’s awesome that you finished Under Angels. You made it happen!
Then I guess that’s settled!
You know where to find me. And thanks! A loaded conversation to be had for sure.
Thanks to Jaime for tweeting about such a great site to hone writing skills, allow a creative outlet and have some fun! I hope that this submission is ok and thanks for allowing me to take part. Also, thanks for letting me read some great stuff, way to go guys!
Three years have drifted by since I last left my overstuffed but immaculate apartment. “A place for everything, everything in its place” Benjamin Franklin said. That’s also my philosophy in life. You see, my place in life is right here, with my two cats, my books and my computer. It will probably be that way until I die and hopefully go to heaven. My link to the outside world is through a simple dial-up modem. This is my freedom from a life of what some say is a self-imposed solitary confinement. Every other Friday (this is done every 2nd week at 3:00 sharp), I make myself a treat of warm cocoa and a plain doughnut cut in 8 bite-size pieces while listening to the clicks, beeps and hums of that comforting little modem, as it dials me to the outside world. But this freedom also comes with the great cost of feeding my fears. On the edge of my seat, I routinely read about that big world outside my apartment door; a trucker falling asleep at the wheel killing 12 people, construction scaffolding breaking and killing 6 workers, the tragedies are endless. Is it any wonder insurance premiums are so high? For me it is a no-brainer, happiness is an inside job and that is just where I’m going to stay- inside where it is safe.
Welcome Lisa. “Happiness is an inside job” That one Im stealin’.Thanks for doing this.
Things had changed. She didn’t find his irresponsibility mildly amusing anymore. She didn’t think his eccentricity was cute. She was tired, pissed off and ranting. Crumbs from her doughnut shot from her mouth into the air, arcing like missiles as they landed on his unkempt desk.
“Your freedom-first philosophy is killing us. What happened to your promise to make a deposit every other Friday? What happened to paying the insurance premiums on time? This whole thing… It’s bullshit.”
She sat. She washed down the last dry chunk of day-old doughnut with a swig of his coffee. For a split-second, he thought it was over. She was just catching her breath.
“Your business sense… I don’t even know where to start. You said buying that apartment building was a no-brainer, but the whole damn thing is redefining urban blight. That scaffolding is still sitting there, un-assembled, and we don’t have the money to do the work. We don’t even have the money to pay the trucker who delivered it in the first place. I’m fed up.”
She stopped. She stood and half-turned, as if she was planning to walk out forever.
She gave him her meanest glare. “This is hell.”
He leaned back, pretended his Bic was a pipe and nodded. Then, in a voice he thought might sound like Mark Twain he responded, “My dear lady, you go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company.” He smiled. His best smile. He knew it would work.
“My dear lady, you go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company.” WHAT!!!!!!
I love that. Is that your own? Welcome aboard.
Unfortunately, it really is Mark Twain. Except for the “my dear lady” part.
Happy to be here!
You can never, ever go wrong by lifting from Twain. : )
“stop” = “stopped” in paragraph 5.
Not a proofreader,
Carson
Fixed.
I just received my bill for my medical and dental insurance. Surprise, surprise, the premiums went up again. Since my new philosophy for 2010 is to focus on the doughnut and not the hole that life gives us, I left my apartment in search of a something better, a little slice of heaven.
As I strolled along, I wondered what I would find that would bring a smile. Then it struck me. Every other Friday was “buy one, get one free” day at my local bookstore. Today is the “other” Friday! Since my favorite weekend escape is reading a new book, my next step was a no-brainer – get thee to the bookstore!
Today was definitely looking up. I confidently walked under scaffolding with no fear of bad luck and even had a trucker whistle at me. When was the last time THAT happened? Yes, today is a good day and I have the freedom to make it a really good day. I think I’ll do just that.
Focus on the doughnut and not the hole – awesome! Thanks for playing, Cathy. It’s great to have you.
Hey Cathy.
Sean beat me to the punch. That was my favorite line too. Thanks for posting and welcome to the club.
Thanks, Sean. It was fun. Like the great governor of CA, “I’ll be bock”
P.S. Not sure how great–maybe as a governor, he makes a great actor.
His skills in both are about equal – hit and miss. : )
Every other Friday, at precisely six o’clock in the morning, I am awakened by the retired trucker who lives in the apartment below me.
I used to live in a high-rise building, and in spite of the owners’ premiums and incentives to try to keep their tenants, I was miserable. My tiny flat is a slice of heaven–the renovated attic of a big old house with tons of character. After I handed in my notice at the other apartment, I watched this place for two months as painters and carpenters wove their way through tarps and scaffolding. When they finished their work, it was a no-brainer. I had to live here. I finally got my freedom from the world of oversized concrete and glass filing cabinets that so many poor souls call home.
Right. My neighbour. At first I was enraged at his thumping around downstairs so early–I’m not exactly a morning person. One day, when I was in particularly poor humour, I stormed down to complain. He surprised me by not only apologizing profusely, but offering to buy me breakfast as compensation.
So now, every other Friday, shortly after six o’clock in the morning, we go to the local doughnut shop to talk about music, philosophy, road trips and the joys of unexpected friendships.
I love it, Stacey. Thanks! Totally scrape-worthy. : )
Stacey. I could have sworn you were going to kick that trucker’s ass. Great story.
Shane, I thought I was going to kick his ass, too. But I know better than to get bossy with the writing. Just get out of the way and let the story happen.
Thanks, guys, this is great fun.
HA, isn’t that the truth!
One of my favorite writing quotes of all time is Tarantino, who said, “I just put the characters in the same room and get them to talking.”
“Although I don’t believe in such a place, working home is my idea of heaven. All those clouds? An outrageous philosophy. Without a secretary, office or filofax there is so much freedom. Meeting clients requires escaping to a cafe, to divert them from my shabby high rise that is currently covered in scaffolding.
The accident was two weeks ago now. Police say it was an overtired trucker that crashed into our building… But you know how they are always sitting around, eating doughnuts. They hire PI’s and disappointingly lonely people, with near superpowers to solve crimes. Like the telebox.
This was a no-brainer though, obvious foul play.
Every other Friday the same truck went rattling past to deliver coffee to my favourite meeting cafe. As clockwork, the alarmingly old truck shuddered past my apartment. It would always cause the whole building to vibrate when I was sipping my third coffee of the day. I often thought the windows would shake out of their off-white flaky frames.
Except that one time, he smashed straight into our building, must have been a new driver, a frustrated kamikaze pilot taking out Brian downstairs… Either that or the guy had something to run from. You know the type.
I still can’t believe that our landlord added 20% to our rent though, just to cover his repair costs. I’m sure if he had just paid his insurance premiums… the stingy bastard….
All because of this tired caffeine delivery man. Ironic isn’t it? I…..”
*Sigh*
“Yes Mum…… I didn’t mean to swear……. No, no….. No…. I’m fine…. Ok then, bye…”
Hey Charlie. Thanks for stopping by. Good write.
Thanks, Shane! It was fun. I found you through Anne Wayman.
Sean-His skills in both are about equal – hit and miss. : )
LOL! spot-on analysis.
It was a few minutes to midnight and Elijah was he was instructed to wait for his friends.
“Go to the old apartment building and wait for us.”
Is what the last instant message said. He climbed out his window after he knew his parents were asleep. He hid in the shadows of some rotting scaffolding. Was it safe? He stopped caring about his welfare a few months ago when his mom and her husband brought home another baby. It was their fourth in five years.
Can’t these people get cable or something? Why do they have to keep making babies?
Life at his father’s wasn’t any better. He got remarried after he left his mom and they had three more kids as well. Every other Friday, he’d go to their house and stay in his room all weekend. His dad was working on his boat and his step-mom cared more about her kids than him. His dad even dropped Elijah off his insurance because with the additional children, he couldn’t cover the child support and the medical premiums.
Here Elijah was, the oldest of eight and he felt most neglected. He was no longer her momma’s little boy. The other kids saw to that. Only his friends knew what he was going through.
He hated the rules, the chores, the restrictions, the requests to look after the kids. He hated having to ask to go somewhere. He couldn’t go to the mall or someplace with his friends. It was like they took away his freedom when he became a teenager.
So when the option to run away and get out from the oppressive rule that were his parents, the fourteen year old Elijah knew it was a no-brainer. He had to leave.
At this time of night only a few cars would pass this place. Usually it was a motorist or random trucker looking for a place to park for the night. Elijah looked at the time on his phone again. It was a couple minutes past twelve.
Where are they? I came out here for nothing, didn’t I? Just someone else breaking promises in my life.
“Hey Madman!!” Came a soft voice from the tree line.
Elijah squinted to try and pierce the darkness. From the shadows came Saul, Alex and Heaven. Three kids he knew that had everything they wanted. Most importantly, their parents didn’t tell them crap. Elijah liked Heaven. Ever since she walked into his class in the fourth grade, he had a crush on her. She was the main reason he was out here.
His mom and Dan didn’t approve of him dating until he was sixteen. It was their philosophy that if they prevent him from being in the same situations as his mother, he won’t end up a teenage parent as well.
They gathered near the scaffold. Heaven and Elijah exchanged glances partnered with a smile. He noticed they were all wearing some sort of metal bracelet. Almost like a knight’s gauntlet.
“What are those?” Elijah asked Alex.
“These are the answers to all your problems, Elijah.”
“What do you mean?”
“You hate your life right? What if we had the means to change that?”
“I don’t understand.”
Before Alex could answer, a beam of light came from around the corner.
“Elijah!” called the voice.
It was Samuel, his step-dad.
“Sam?”
Elijah’s three friends took defensive positions when Sam approached.
“Elijah, I don’t know what you’re doing, but we’re leaving now.”
“How did you know where…”
“It doesn’t matter. Your mom doesn’t know we are not home. We need to get back before she wakes up for your sister’s next feeding. Let’s go.”
“He’s not going anywhere with you, man. Just turn around, get a donut and a chocolate milk, I don’t care what and leave Elijah alone. He doesn’t live with you any longer.” Alex threatened.
“It’s going to be a cold day in hell before I’m scared of a Twilight and Jonas Brother wannabe.” Sam’s quick wit retorted.
Sam went to grab Elijah’s wrist and Elijah pulled back. At the same time Saul pulled a gun out and pointed it at Sam.
“What the hell are you doing with that thing? Put that away now and I won’t file a report.”
Elijah was confused. Sam was out here, how he found him he didn’t know, but he was out here none the less. He seemingly did not tell his mom about it either. Now he’s seen a side of his friends he never expected.
“Elijah, let’s go home.” Sam said softly holding out his hand.
“You don’t have to Elijah, we can show you how life will be different.” Heaven’s angelic voice pleaded.
His head was spinning. He felt dizzy. Was it his anxiety? Migraines? Elijah needed to rest on something or he was going to eat pavement. He leaned against the scaffolding. Sam went to help Elijah. A few steps away from his son, Sam was pushed from behind by Alex into the structure. Elijah backed away and stumbled into Heaven’s arms. Sam’s shoulder clipped a support pole. Trying to regain his balance his head struck the side of the building and he fell to the ground.
The scaffolding started to sway back and forth. The kids backed up. Within seconds Sam was buried in a mess of metal and wood. Elijah couldn’t speak. His head hurt. He didn’t know what to do. He was about to say something when he heard Alex talking.
“Chrono slide. Three Rogues plus one. Engage!”
What was he doing?
Before he could take his next breath, they were engulfed in a blue flame and were gone.
Eric, Wow, I love this. The step-dad gave me a tear in my eye. Nicely done!
Thanks for the encouragement.
You’re on a roll now Eric. Another cliff hanger. What happens man?! Damn you.
I thought about that. I’ve started three stories. I figure I could make another chapter on other challenges?!?
I also realized that I end up killing someone every story. o.O
“Freedom is just another word for nothin’ left to lose.”
Cecily sat in her cell reflecting on the lyrics. Was it true? She didn’t believe so. Freedom meant so much more to her now that she had a sentence to serve.
Joe was a trucker who hadn’t paid his insurance premiums. She didn’t know it when she hitched a ride with him. She thought she was just getting a ride to the doughnut shop for work. It was innocent enough, but he showed back up to take her home that day, and many other days when he was in town. She was flattered by his interest and figured it was a no-brainer to hook up with someone who had a job.
When Joe came to spend the night in her apartment, it was heaven. He was tender and loving. Her philosophy was about relationships was simple: if a guy didn’t hit you, you were one step ahead. They fell into a routine. He came over every other Friday for a while and then eventually just moved in.
Cecily didn’t think much about it when they started drinking together. But one night he asked her to drive for him and the scaffolding of their lives together fell apart when she wrecked the truck.
Another Cliffhanger. What happens next Loran! That’s why I love this site. Where else can someone’s comment get people to crave to know the ending of something? Know what I mean. Comments on other sites are just that. Simply comments. These are adventures and I love them all.
South Boston, 1962.
The apartment was sweltering hot that August day. Ordinarily Miss Gallagher kept the windows open after work, letting in the sounds of stickball and the scents of a thousand boiled cabbages, and trying to let out the heat.
Today she came home to scaffolding clawing at the brick front of her building and men working their way up and down, carrying supplies and a large pane of glass to the floor above her. The intense heat was preferable to the conversations she imagined… The philosophy of sweaty laborers on how to get their wives to tow the line more like Bertie’s or Vinnie’s or Joe’s wife. No thank you. She’d open no windows tonight.
She’d chosen her own path, but she knew that Bertie’s and Vinnie’s and Joe’s wives wouldn’t envy her freedom. They’d pity her for missing the biologically-destined boat. Six years ago, she was the only woman in her small New Hampshire town ever to go to college. Heck, only a few men had ever gone, and like her, they could never come back.
Even though her life now was no heaven, her small home town became infinitely smaller the minute she received her baccalaureate. A town bursting with once-familiar strangers was far too small to hold a girl scientist. The tragic smiles of city housewives and the catcalls of grimy truckers were far preferable to the clacking tongues of family and dreamless friends.
As she entered the kitchen, the cat skittered out between her feet, nearly causing her to fall. Disaster avoided, she headed to the kitchen counter. A large glass jar held the last doughnut from a batch she’d made two weeks ago. The inner edges, she noticed with a sigh, were starting to mould. Well, maybe the cat would still eat it.
She placed her cloth bag down on the counter. At the grocer’s, she purchased only carrots and onions; at the fishmonger’s, one bluefish to last her the weekend. He looked at her with that familiar glance of misunderstanding, then threw in a dozen clams and a tiny herring. Her premiums for appearing lonely. Protesting that she couldn’t possibly eat it all only made that appearance worse, so she gave in before he filled her bag with pity-fish. Now the bluefish would have to wait; if she had a potato left in the cupboard it would have to be clam chowder for dinner.
Turning on Rawhide on the television just as soon as she’d finished cooking was a no-brainer. Upstairs, her neighbor’s husband came in from his fishing boat only once every two weeks. Between the excitement of the babies to see their Da, the fighting of the explosive young couple, who seemed to need each other and abhor each other in equal measure, and the making up after the babies were a-bed—when their need was on brash display, sometimes for hours—a lady who lived alone had made a decision to indulge in a television set quite soon after moving in to this building.
The onions were soon sizzling in some leftover bacon fat. She stirred absentmindedly. If Miss Gallagher was thinking about it, she’d have asked God’s forgiveness for using bacon grease on a Friday, but her mind was on those noises. Those noises that had plagued her for two years, since she moved in.
Those noises weren’t there.
Carrots, potatoes, milk, a little water from the tap… finally the silence was killing her. It seemed absurd to knock on another woman’s door to ask about them not making any noise, but she couldn’t stand it. She walked up the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron as she ascended, and knocked on the door to number 4.
No answer. She tried once more, then began back down the steps. She didn’t know of any family for Anne or Martin in Southie, but they must have gone visiting somewhere. The milk was probably scorching downstairs.
“Yes?”
One of the workmen had opened the door and was looking around.
Miss Gallagher hesitated on the dimly-lit stair. “Anne—I mean, Mrs. O’Brien—I was going to ask her…”
“Mr. O’Brien came home early today, lady. From what the other guys was telling me.”
“That’s right. Every other Friday.”
“Yeah. He and the missus had a fight about something.” He lifted his cap and scratched his head, perhaps imagining the fisherman’s life. “That’s probably every other Friday, too, lucky him.”
Miss Gallagher stood on the step, still only half-turned back toward number 4, frozen.
“I guess he pushed her too hard. Right through the window, she went. Landlord says, come fix this right away cauz the wags are going to feast on the news enough as it is, y’know. He don’t want a hole in the wall over the weekend to remind ‘em. It’s overtime for me, so okay.”
Miss Gallagher leaned back against the wall, searching for her lost breath.
“You okay, Miss? Jeez—I mean gosh—I maybe could have said that better.”
“Every other Friday,” she whispered. She made her way back down to the burning chowder without hearing his stumbled apology.
That was fantastic Kelly! What an opening too.
When I read shorts like this I have to imagine that if some literary agents are reading these things they are putting names into their files for future ghost writers.
Really, there’s some talent in this community that’s too good not to consider.
Again, fantastic.
Aw, shucks! Thank you, Shane. Glad you liked it.
Simply wonderful, Kelly. My favorite line was, the scaffolding clawing at the brick wall. Just awesome.
Hehehe.
This afternoon. Me, flopped on bed, writing by hand as I always do:
Reach out, make a bunch of hand motions, try to decide how to describe what I see the scaffolding doing. Scrape wall, get chip of paint under my fingernail, and finally I know what the word should be.
I looked like quite a goofball. Glad it was worth chipping the old wall for.
Wow, you put a lot into the writing. Me, I just eat. Which is why I’m probably heavier than I’ve ever been in my life. : (
LOL, then I’d best not switch careers to be a professional writer. Food and I are too good buddies already.
It’s peanut M&M’s. They are my ultimate foe.
Say no more, say no more. Can’t let ‘em in the house, here, or they’d call to me all night. “Ke-lly, you didn’t fi-nish us….”
Little demons, those peanut M&Ms are.
JUST A QUICK STATEMENT
I’ve been having some weird health issues lately. Actually started last year, happened again on Christmas eve, and happened today. Put me in the emergency room the first time. Doctors don’t know what it is, but it feels like a cross between a heart attach (I’m only 37), an ulcer, broken rib, and torn back and shoulder muscles all combined at the same time. Long story short, if for some reason you notice I don’t respond to some posts for a day or two, you will know why. It hurts to breathe and move, so I can only do computer stuff for a short bit. Anyway, this should pass in a day (or an hour. It really all depends) and I’ll get further tests done. Just wanted you guys to know this.
Regards,
Shane
Oh, how awful. Rest up, and I hope it all gets straightened out for you quickly!
Regards,
Kelly
Oh dear Shane. I hope your symptoms disappear quickly! And no worries about commenting. You are so encouraging! At first I felt creative, then I felt intimidated by all the talent, then I felt inspired to keep trying.
Now I’m worried about you. What site has cliffhangers indeed–you’re the biggest one!
Dude, that’s no bueno. Rest up and take care. Be here when it’s fun. Don’t be when it’s not. : )
yuck… when it hurts to breathe that’s probably the worst… had a bout of pleurisy once… it passed, but geeze… sending my kind of sorta prayers to you, AKA well beams.
A
Funny you should say that. My father had plurisy, and I’m having all of the symptoms so that’s the first thing I’m going to bring up to my doc on Friday. Thanks.
Shane:
Sending good, healthy thoughts your way. Take care of yourself!
Will do. Thanks Cathy.
Every other Friday Angela’s trucker husband did his pan-European route to Warsaw. Although she missed him terribly her philosophy had always been that clouds have golden linings. Without the scaffolding of normality holding her up, she could finish the doughnut six-pack, invite over her girl friends and watch a chick flick with a cold case of Premium’s Budweiser – what heaven.
But to Angela this was a no-brainer. This weekend she was getting intimate with Chekhov as her essay was due in by Monday. This freedom gave her 48 hours of uninterrupted study time. She settled down contentedly with Uncle Vanya.
Late Sunday evening she scattered some cans around the apartment, left the DVD she had carefully bought but never watched out in full view, and carefully hid her books.
“How was your weekend, Babe? Missed you.”
“I hope you aren’t cross – the girls came over to watch a DVD and we drank a little more of your Budweiser than we meant. Sorry”
“I forgive you”
She breathed a sigh of relief – her guilty secret was safe for another fortnight.
Katy, you little devil you!
Good one.
Shane – really sorry to hear your health isn’t so good. Sounds like you need to worry more about figuring out what the problem is, and less about comments here. Sending all best wishes across the pond for a speedy recovery.
This is a copy and paste from Selfish @ SelfishBlogger.Com. He left it over at Writer Dad and I thought it was too good not to share.
Not for the first time Shane had taken the last doughnut from the plate. This would be the last time though, Javid would make sure of that. Javid wasn’t much into philosophy, indeed, thinking wasn’t his strong point at all. He didn’t care to understand why he felt like he did, he only knew he needed to do something about it. Javid was a slave to his emotions and his emotions were screaming at him to resolve this situation once and for all and gain freedom from this one sided relationship. But it wasn’t just about the doughnuts, this was just the incident that exposed the raw nerve.
He knew what he had to do, it was a no-brainer. As soon as they left the coffee shop Javid would suggest to Shane that they go back to their apartment to discuss content ideas for their website, “Corrective Pink Gel Dot Com”. Shane would surely agree as this had been their routine every other Friday since Shane first barged his way into Javid’s life and began to control it. Shane controlled everything in their lives. He did the interesting and exciting things leaving Javed to do all the paperwork and administration. This wasn’t the way Javid wanted to live his life.
Shane licked the frosting from his fingers and fixed Javid’s eye as he sighed, “Ah, heaven.” This was more than Javid could take. He felt the anger burning inside of him, an anger he could barely contain. But he had to contain it, at least until they got home and then he would unleash it on his unsuspecting partner.
As they entered the apartment Javid began to feel the emotion boil over. Javid closed the door behind them and reached down for the short length of scaffolding pipe they kept behind the door for protection. It felt heavy in his hand as he raised it up to put an end to the misery. Shane turned to see the end of the pipe swing toward his face and felt the full force of Javid’s fury as he shouted through it like a megaphone, “STOP EATING THE LAST DOUGHNUT YOU GREEDY SHIT – AND IT’S YOUR TURN TO DEAL WITH THE INSURANCE PREMIUMS, YOU LAZY MOTHERTRUCKER.”
Is there some kind of latent partnership hostility going on here?
Hmmm… I think maybe. The author is an odd, odd man. : )
My philosophy is simple: “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth over doing.”
My heart beats a little faster, every other Friday, knowing that today is a day of dietary freedom. Our apartment is a hop, skip and a jump from the premium pleasure.
We amble up to the landmark; a giant rose colored circle missing its center, so tall that it grazes the skyline and teases the truckers on the highway. Painters are perched on the scaffolding, touching up the pink paint of the giant doughnut that looms over Seventh Street from the top of Doughnut Heaven.
It’s a no-brainer. Of course doughnut would be the first word my daughter could ever read.
Awesome cuz it’s true!
Doughnut really was the first word our daughter could read.
Awesome to see you here Cindy.
My philosophy is simple: “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth over doing.”
I’ll modify your statement by saying, “If it’s worth stealing, I’m stealing this quote.”
Being an over the road trucker gives me the freedom to join other like minded CB philosophy majors who also grow weary of their tiny apartment. We are out here not only to transport goods, but also to pay the life insurance premiums that we will surely need someday. It`s a no-brainer that we live a very unhealthy lifestyle. The doughnut and Mc Double are the basis of our diets. Transporting everything from scaffolding to scarves is how we make our living until every other friday when it`s time to go to our little piece of heaven we call home.
Delimac, welcome to the fun. Great 1st submission. A trucker lives next to me. I admire what they do and what they must go through. Your submission relayed that quite well.
Hope to see you do the other challenges. It’s a fun place we have toing on here.
ps. Are you a real life trucker?
It’s a no-brainer that when you leave the apartment every other Friday you walk around the scaffolding, not under it. Otherwise your insurance premiums might be needed. As you meet the trucker to discuss philosophy and freedom over a doughnut and cup of joe, you find a bit of heaven.
Back to the short form Cleve. You’re the man!
LOL. Just playing around. I thought of a longer story for this challenge, but decided to try short form again… The thought comes to me of trying to take the first 25 challenges together and do a longer story including all 250 words/phrases… I haven’t really found a cohesive story yet like Kenn’s Bayou Billy or the Homecoming series. Still searching I guess.
That would be super cool. The idea of doing all 250 words together would be something to behold.
I was surprisingly hungry after eighty-sixing the Astronaut. The Cracker Jacks Song had given me hit the spot. I deposited the prize in the front pocket of my trousers and turned to the pocketbook.
The next two characters on my list were a trucker and a doughnut maker? Like the astronaut before them, they were utterly boring. Writing off each of them was a no-brainer—not at all askew of my own personal philosophy on character development.
Then I found my thoughts drifting back to them—those I had written off. I wondered if these characters were truly soulless, and if not, where their souls might have gone. Was there a heaven for flat characters or only a hell?
I wondered how I might have saved them—rewritten them—given them freedom from the fate thrust upon them—the fate I had delivered.
I imagined erecting scaffolding around their pitiful frames and rebuilding them, giving each of them an apartment, a wardrobe, and an interesting dinner companion every other Friday night.
As I wandered back to the corner of my mind where I had deposited their residue, I wondered if in this world there were premiums on character traits.
Troy, if you have not done so yet, please write books, man! This is such a trip to read. Well done indeed.
Every other Friday, the doughnut boy hid in his apartment, picking at the scaffolding as he listened to truckers on the CB he’d stolen. His philosophy was a no-brainer; for him, the freedom of Heaven came not in the salvation of his soul, but the premiums paid by hookers who wanted the inside skinny on who, when, and where.
Soon, he’d be out of this dump.
Damn that was good! So short, but very powerful.
Thanks Shane!