by Naomi L. | February 28, 2014 | J.C. Wolfe's Writing, Short Stories |
Joanne stood idly by the water cooler in the break room, staring blankly at the opposite wall as she held a small plastic cup filled with water in her right hand while using her left to lean against the counter. She sighed as she brought the cup to her lips, her thoughts drifting off into the same disheartening flashback of her life story that they always found at this hour. How exactly had she ended up here? She’d had such high hopes in her youth. A 20-year-old Joanne had dreamed of becoming a successful businesswoman, of traveling across Europe, of marrying a decent man with whom she could someday spend a golden anniversary. Now twice that idealistic age, she found herself divorced, lonely, and answering phones for a living. What had become of her life?
The middle-aged receptionist checked her watch. Her break was almost over. She might as well return to her desk; Heaven forbid the temp should screw something up and she would have to take the heat for it. After all, what else did she have left to hold on to but her menial job?
Just as she threw her empty cup in the wastebasket, however, there came a knock at the open door.
Joanne looked up to see a handsome man stepping into the break room. He was tall and well built, probably in his mid-to-late thirties. He sported a plain brown uniform, and in his arms he carried a large box, no doubt containing the office supplies the staff had ordered a week ago.
The man asked to whom exactly he had been sent to deliver the box. Joanne smiled awkwardly, suddenly flustered. What nice eyes this man had. She had never noticed how attractive hazel eyes could be, almost like little topaz stones. After a few quiet seconds, the deliveryman repeated his question, and Joanne snapped out of her trance to answer that she was the receptionist and she could sign for the package.
The man nodded once with a smile and entered the room. Joanne asked if he would like some water, and turned around to face the water cooler after he accepted her offer. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice how quickly he made it to the table to unload the box; the moment she turned around, the two collided, and the gentleman’s outfit was splashed with water spilt from the cup.
The woman apologized profusely for her clumsiness and quickly reached for the paper towels on the countertop as the man insisted it was quite all right. Joanne helped him to wipe most of the excess water off the box and his shirt, and as she dabbed at the brown fabric covering his shoulder, she caught sight of the name tag sown into the clothing over his chest. Henry. What a perfectly nice name, well suited for such a nice man.
Henry grabbed another paper towel, pulling his sleeves up a little as he wiped his hands. That was when Joanne caught sight of a pair of tattoos, one on each of his arms. The left arm had a plain evangelical cross over the wrist, while the right arm bore a Latin phrase: “Carpe diem”.
The man smiled at the sight of the woman looking curiously at his tattoos. Seize the day, that’s what it meant. He had been trying to live his life by those words ever since he found out an ex-girlfriend he once loved was marrying another man. Maybe he should have proposed to her when he had the chance. As for the cross, it had been there for 15 years, since he was 21, as a constant reminder of his unfaltering faith in Jesus. After all, what was life without faith? The receptionist smiled, fascinated.
Joanne offered Henry some more water. He accepted, on the condition that this time it come inside the cup. She chuckled. A handsome face and a good sense of humor. How charming! The woman handed the refilled plastic cup to the man, who gladly took it from her in exchange for the clipboard holding the paper she needed to sign to receive the package.
The deliveryman handed the receptionist a pen, catching a glimpse of her hand as she reached for it. No ring? Not possible; she was an attractive woman. A closer look, however, revealed a faint tan line where a wedding band must have been for some years.
Henry inquired about his discovery. Joanne blushed. Yes, she was recently divorced, having only just signed the final papers last month. Her ex-husband didn’t respect her enough, so she explained. Turned out he wasn’t the man she thought he was. He put her down, made her feel like her dreams were hopeless fantasies, so one day she left him. Moved to a new city, got a simple job as a receptionist, and that was that.
Suddenly realizing she was rambling to a complete stranger, the receptionist hastily apologized, but the deliveryman smiled brightly. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to turn her life around like that in the hopes of finding something better. Carpe diem.
Joanne handed the pen back to Henry. He paused as his fingers closed around the pen and touched hers. Carpe diem… He might not see this woman again, but he was certain he wanted to. Maybe she’d like to get coffee sometime? Joanne laughed, a cheery melodious sound she hadn’t heard herself make in a long time. Yes, that would be lovely. She eagerly took the pen back to write her phone number at the bottom of the clipboard, then handed everything back to the deliveryman.
Henry tossed out the empty cup and smiled as he took the clipboard and pen, looking down at the former to read the name scribbled in neat cursive handwriting. Joanne, a pretty name to match a pretty face. With a polite nod and farewell, he was out the door. Still blushing profusely, Joanne picked up the package and carried it back to her desk with a broad grin on her face, somehow feeling that a lot more than a box full of office supplies had been brought into her life that day.
This short story is the first half of a two-part writing exercise I gave myself a few years ago. The exercise is to write the same story twice: once as a narrative with no direct dialogue, and once as a script for a stage play. The idea is to explore the differences between narrative and pure dialogue, in order to get a feel of how writing in one format differs from writing in the other. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. Thanks for reading!
Be sure to check in next week to read this story again as a scene in a play!
by Naomi L. | January 31, 2014 | Flash Fiction, J.C. Wolfe's Writing |
(What If? Exercise: Read the description here.)
That game always took me anywhere I wanted to go.
I couldn’t remember a time when I was happier.
Capturing the clouds was all I ever wanted.
So now I’m following those lifelong dreams.
I will discover the real world.
With a camera beside me.
The sky’s the limit.
Follow the sun.
Look up.
Click.
This is another piece I wrote based on What If? Exercise 93: “Ten to One”. The exercise is to write a 55-word story in which the first sentence has ten words, the second has nine, etc., until the last sentence has only one word. The objective is to show that precision and thrift in writing can produce surprisingly powerful results. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. Thanks for reading!
Dedicated to a good friend of mine, whose dreams always called him to two things: photography and the sky. Happy Birthday, man! Love ya!
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by Naomi L. | January 24, 2014 | Flash Fiction, J.C. Wolfe's Writing |
(What If? Exercise: Read the description here.)
In my backpack is a fifth-generation iPod Nano. Its casing is a shiny cobalt blue, and its design is thin and sleek. The glass screen is partially cracked, and its click wheel is slightly worn from hours of flipping through its hundreds of songs. On the back is a personalized engraving, etched in by laser over the Apple logo and the camera lens: “Don’t ever stop singing.”
The iPod was a Christmas present from my boyfriend and best friend in the world. He and I met through our common interest in creative writing, but one of the passions we share is our love of music. Interestingly, we both generally dislike the modern mainstream pop that constantly blares on the TV and radio stations, but he was the one who introduced me to the Indie genres. The sweet sound of music layered with true emotion opened me up to an artistic world that I didn’t even realize existed. For the past few years, my boyfriend has been sharing so much new music with me, and I can never get enough. He even shares some of his own compositions with me, songs that really showcase his musical potential. In turn, he can never seem to get enough of my voice, ever since I first sang for him. He and I agree that music is a gift, a passion best experienced with someone you love.
The Christmas before we became a couple, my friend sent me a present through the mail. I was shocked to discover an Apple iPod Nano inside the box, intended as a replacement for my four-year-old iPod Mini, which was on its last legs. I couldn’t thank him enough. Now I would once again be able to enjoy hours of music at a time, the music he loved to send me. He had asked me to open the box in front of him over Skype, so that after he saw my reaction, he could tell me to turn the iPod over. It was then that I saw the engraving. I was so moved; it was such a personal and thoughtful gift.
To this day, I cherish my iPod. I carry it with me whenever I go out, and I listen to it every time I take the bus to college. I was disappointed in myself for letting its screen break when I dropped it once. Still, I take care never to misplace it, for if I ever lost it, it would be like losing a special connection to my best friend.
Between his home in the United States and mine in Brazil, my boyfriend and I currently live over 6000 miles apart. But as long as we have music, we’ll always be close. All I have to do is turn on my iPod, and wherever I go, he’s right there with me.
This piece is based on What If? Exercise 73: “Things You Carry”. The exercise is to choose an object you carry in your pocket or your bag that’s special to you, describe it in detail using less than 100 words, and then tell the story behind it in at least 200 words. The objective is to demonstrate how much emotional attachment and significance can be connected to everyday objects. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. Thanks for reading!
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by Naomi L. | November 22, 2013 | Flash Fiction, J.C. Wolfe's Writing |
(What If? Exercise: Read the description here.)
I was a fool to think we could slay it.
She trusted me with her life, and I failed.
I was so sure we had it cornered.
I heard the growling before she did.
But she saw the teeth first.
I tried to save her.
It was too fast.
I blacked out.
She vanished.
Forever.
This piece is based on What If? Exercise 93: “Ten to One”. The exercise is to write a 55-word story in which the first sentence has ten words, the second has nine, etc., until the last sentence has only one word. The objective is to show that precision and thrift in writing can produce surprisingly powerful results. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. Thanks for reading!
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by Naomi L. | September 13, 2013 | Flash Fiction, J.C. Wolfe's Writing |
(What If? Exercise: Read the description here.)
I don’t know what’s wrong. They used to play with me all the time. They used to pat my head and talk to me. Now they don’t look at me at all. What did I do?
Mom looks down, the way I do when I’m sad. She sits in the chair and looks at a bone in her hands. My bone. She knows I like bones. It must be for me. Can I have it? She won’t give it to me. She just stares at it. She just looks sad.
I wag my tail. Please smile, Mom! Look at me! I can take the bone. You don’t have to be sad now. I put my head in her lap. She still won’t move.
Dad comes down the stairs. I walk to him, but he walks right by me. Dad, what did I do? Was I bad?
The girls walk in the room. They have a frame with them. It has small girls just like them in it, and a dog too. They’re all sad when they look at it now. They used to laugh when they saw that frame. Please laugh. I don’t like when you’re sad. I like when you smile and pat my head and scratch my side when I lay down. I like when we run and play and swim. But they don’t want to do that now. I must have been bad.
Wait, I hear my name. What do they say? They all sit on the floor. I walk to them and sit down to hear.
They say they miss me. How can they miss me when I’m right here? They talk of how I was sick and it was hard for me to walk. Was I sick? Now I can walk. Now they talk of when they took me to the vet. Yes, that’s right. My heart hurt, and Mom came to see me. I was still with the vet when it all went dark. So how did I get here?
I know now why they’re sad. I was bad, sort of. I left them when my heart hurt too much. But I came back.
My heart still hurts when I see them all sad. Please, talk of good things. I know I have to make them smile. I walk to the box Mom left on the stand. I try to push it with my nose, and it falls on the floor. The top falls off, and small frames spill out in front of Mom. She gets scared, but Dad picks one up, one with the dog and the girls in the pool. He starts to smile. He starts to laugh.
They all grab a frame. I can see them smile now. I hear them laugh. The frames make them think good things. That’s what I want. I wag my tail, the way I do each time they laugh. I know they’ll be fine. Now they’ll smile when they think of me.
I see a light. I know I have to go to it. Not yet, though. First, I look at them all one more time. Then I lift my head up and bark. I don’t bark much, but I feel I should now. I can tell they heard me. They look up from the frames, and they smile. I walk to each of them and lick their face. I know deep down they can feel me.
I don’t want to leave now, but I have to. Mom, Dad, girls, I will miss you too. Thank you for the life I had with you. I love you all!
This short piece is based on What If? Exercise 52: “Practice Writing Good, Clean Prose”. The exercise is to write a short story using only single-syllable words, the objective being to develop a consciousness of word choice and learn to avoid writing flowery prose. The story I wrote is told from the perspective of a dog who has passed on, but doesn’t realize it until she spends one last day in her family’s presence as a ghost. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. Thanks for reading!
Dedicated to our beloved family dog, a gentle and loving chocolate Labrador who literally had a big heart. Though she passed away a few years ago, her memory will stay with us forever. We love you, Hershey!
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