Too Soon?

Sometimes I can't control my boundaries. I don't deny that I needed to be in court. One of the first steps in fixing a problem is admitting that there is a problem. At least, that's what they told me the last time I had a mix up with the cops.
I was ready for court. I had done it before, no problem. People will try to say that I was trying to get out of it. The way they say I did it though is so stupid, no one would really do that. Come on.
All I did was try to tell a joke.
The doc's say that I have a condition. Wizteluschuttes or something like that. Anyway, it means that I tell bad jokes at bad times. For example, telling a joke about Ebola in the middle of being asked questions by an, honestly, uptight judge. That man had no sense of humor.
It wasn't my fault. I have a condition. But did the cops see it that way? Hell, no. They treated me like a risk to the public. And because I embarrassed them so much, they said that I said I had Ebola. They're deaf as well as humorless.
Instead of blaming me for something I can't control, maybe you should get me to a doc. I have a condition after all.

Florida Man tries to avoid court appearance by claiming he has Ebola. - Washington Post

Stuck on You

                It’s just a coincidence that today she broke my heart. It has nothing at all to do with me showing up to apologize without any offering.

                Pure coincidence.

                I met Brita my first week at college, and though a lot has changed in the last four years (my major six times, my roommates three), Brita has always been there. We met in the Reitz Union building; she was buying a bag of chocolate chip cookies from a vending machine, and it was love at first sight. Over time, we occasionally argued, and we soon fell into a pattern:

                I would scream, and she would start to cry, then throw a textbook at me (gently, but it always reached me). I would stomp out of the room and she would slam the door behind me. Then, after fifteen minutes, I would knock on her door with a bag of chocolate chip cookies from the vending machine where we first met; the best cookies on campus. We would make up and watch Iron Man 2, and then everything would be back to normal.

                Except today.

                Today, I knocked on her door after the allotted time and tried to open my mouth to explain that I didn’t have cookies because I was down to the very last dollar to my name and the package got stuck on the coil, but she slammed the door in my face before I could say a word. This isn’t how it is supposed to work.

                All my anger at her for intentionally breaking my Taylor Swift vinyl gone, I reflect back on the years we have spent together. I know in my heart that I can’t live without her, and even though I am now flat broke, I will get those cookies for her if it is the very last thing I do.

                I run to the union building, flying past groups of high schoolers on tours and pushing my way through a drum circle. I see them now- the cookies. Really, they’re not so stuck… a gentle push should send them tumbling down to me. Glancing around to make sure nobody is judging too harshly, I sprint to the machine and shove my hand through the slot. The cookies taunt me just millimeters from my fingers. I consider giving up, but thinking of a life without Brita hurt worse than the damage I was doing to my shoulder trying to reach up just a little higher. I decide to stick my head in to give myself more room to reach, and now I have them in my hand- the cookies are mine! Brita will soon be mine! My future is entirely in the palm of my hand!

                My euphoria soon fades as I realize I can’t pull my head back out. I don’t remember how I managed to get this far into the machine, but neither twisting nor pulling is helping me get back out. Students passing by stop to take pictures as I glare. Someone nearby is on the phone with the police describing that everything from my shoulders up is stuck inside a vending machine. I imagine laughter on the other end and dread the headlines that I know will soon be coming to The Independent Florida Alligator:

                Florida Man Rescued from Vending Machine.

Round Up: Week 21

Last Week’s Prompt:

For the group of words, write around them to create a scene, story, or poem:

Bag, Handle, Glass, Date, Black, Walk

Kylie

I finished my story first this week! It's a Christmas miracle!

This week was dark, yeah, but really liked it. Since we had such a specific list of things to include, I wanted to focus pretty heavily on language rather than story, and I wanted to use the list of words in (possibly) unexpected ways. And without the benefit of a chorus of voices telling me whether or not they liked what I wrote, I will hesitantly yet strongly say that I think I did a good job. I really love my language in this one, and I feel like a success.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Amanda

As often happens close to finals week, I was in the midst of an existential crisis when I thought up the idea for the story. I watched Eat, Pray, Love a few weeks ago and decided it was a good enough movie to inspire you to do stupid, spontaneous things. So my character does just that; gets fed up with our society where you work so hard at a job you hate to keep living and working at the job you hate and decided to run off with a disappointingly non-Italian young man.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Korrin

Only one day late! Whoo, this is good.

Going on a date seemed like a normal way to think about the list of words. So that’s what I wrote, except with the twist at the end. I haven’t had the opportunity to write a spy story yet and I was really happy where the story went. For once I actually started the story knowing where it was going. Because I knew what I wanted I was able to be more vague and misleading in the beginning. At least that’s how I think it reads. Maybe I’m predictable.

I also intentionally made sure to not let the reader know who was the good guy. My character murdered a man, but maybe he was a terrible human being. Maybe she was an assassin. It is up to the reader to decide.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Next week’s prompt:

This week, we’re really getting into the spirit of Thanksgiving by writing about something I’m very grateful for: my favorite super being, Florida Man.

Find a news story/headline about the ever-entertaining Florida Man and write the true story behind the headline.

For those who are unaware of Florida Man, simply google the two words “Florida” and “man” next to each other and then read about all the crazy people that get in trouble in Florida. And if you choose a Florida Woman story instead, I won’t be angry.

Little Black Dress

                I was so nervous.  Tonight was a big deal and if I messed up, not only would I be completely embarrassed, but my future would be stalled. Again.

                I had so many chances before now. Austin, Mack, Patrick, all failures. I did not want to go through that again. I had to succeed.

                My heels clicked on the street. I was walking towards the gallery that I was supposed to find my date in. It was one of those standard things “I’ll be the one wearing a blue cravat.” And I am supposed to find him with just that. Who wears a cravat anymore anyway? My brown coat was not enough to keep the wind out. It was late March, and winter clung to the wind, refusing to leave. I could feel my black dress flutter where my coat wasn’t long enough to cover the whole thing. My legs were freezing and I couldn’t even feel the ball of my feet where the thin bottoms of my shoes didn’t quite keep the cold from oozing up through the cement.

                As I continue my walk down the long city block I pass a skyscraper with giant glass windows. I think it was some kind of hotel, I could see a lobby through the dark glass. I could then see my reflection in the windows. I was dressed nicely, for my date. My dark green heels stood out against the dark night. I clutched my purse handle tight. If my bag got stolen, I wouldn’t be able to make it through tonight.  I was in a nice part of the city, but creeps can be anywhere. Just because a place is nice, doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen. I knew that better than most.

                As I climb the stairs to the gallery I start to undo my coat. Someone would end up taking it from me anyway. Which was a shame, I really liked this coat. I give my coat to the staff at the door and move in to find him. I came towards the end of the gallery’s open times. It should close in about 30 minutes. I move through the displays, half glancing at the art, searching the room for the man I came to find. He was the owner of this gallery, so I knew he would be around here. I kept moving, I saw the office door in the back corner. It was strategically placed. All the best, and most expensive art, were in this area, so that anyone who had business with the gallery had to go past the art they wanted most to sell.

                He was standing outside the door talking to the last customer in the building. I slowly moved forward, not wanting to interrupt the conversation, but anxious to be with the man. I held my bag closer.

              When the customer left, I put on my best smile and moved toward the owner.

“Well, hello my dear,” he softly said. Apparently, even though we were the only two people in the gallery, a quiet voice was still necessary. He looked me up and down. I couldn’t blame him, this dress was particularly alluring, just like it was supposed to be. I smiled back at him as I reached my hand into my bag and clutched at the instrument that was my last chance.

                The man moved closer, reaching to put an arm around my waist. No personal space this one.

                “Can I help you?” His voice held what was obviously lust for me.  Prick.

                I smiled at him anyway, I had to keep it together. “You most certainly can.”

                I drew my hand out of my bag quickly and pulled the trigger. The shot was quiet thanks to the silencer on the barrel. He collapsed and I started walking towards the office door. I pulled out my cellphone from my bag as I placed my gun back in it.

                “Target eliminated.” I spoke into the phone. There was a back door out the office that would be my exit.

                “You have finally not disappointed me. Come back and we will discuss the next mission.” The manly voice said in my ear.

                “You owe me a new coat.” I said as I hung up and walked away. My heels click echoing in the alley.