Proof of Life

 

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Parallels

Prompt Response: first of a set of promotional writings for re-launch of writing accounts!

 

 

Prompt: “Photographers and filmmakers use a technique called depth of field. So do fiction writers. Write a scene in which you move back and forth between two “fields of action.” Have two things going at once – one involving your characters in the foreground and a second having to do with the background. For instance, you might give us some dialogue among the characters on a picnic, then a paragraph about that storm brewing on the horizon, then back to the picnic, and so on. Don’t worry too much about making explicit connections or creating transitions between paragraphs. In time, the two strands will figure out their own way of interweaving.”

 

Marie and Janet had stopped in the foyer to greet Mrs. Banks, the hostess of the party. Both of their dates had gone ahead into the main room, merely saying a polite “hello” as they passed off their coats to staff. The three women, once they were sure they were apart from curious ears, had eventually stumbled into a conversation about Janet’s new boyfriend.

“He certainly seems like a nice young man,” Mrs. Banks commented approvingly, looking behind herself through the opened double doors, as though she could spot him in the crowd at a glance.

“He’s incredibly sweet,” Janet assured her. Marie had only known him for a bit, her and Janet being comfortable friends but not so close that she’d heard much about him before they started dating.

“And how are you and Robert?” Mrs. Banks asked, clasping her clutch in both hands in front of her as she turned her attention on Marie.

“We’re doing alright,” Marie answered. She winced. The phrase hadn’t come out as confidently as she’d hoped it would. “I mean, I don’t have any complaints.”

“Oh, darling, you never say that unless you do.” Mrs. Banks discretely looked around a moment. “Perhaps Janet and I could help you figure out what’s wrong.”

Beyond the double doors, Robert and Janet’s boyfriend, Fred, were chatting by a table of crackers and cheeses. Neither of them were too familiar with other people at the function – or each other, for that matter – and were banding together until their girlfriends made it past the hostess.

“So, I hear you and Marie are going to a jazz concert this weekend,” Fred commented, latching onto whatever relevant topic came to mind. “Up in New York, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Robert glanced down at his feet, scuffling a shoe over a spot where the corners of the tiles didn’t quite line up right. “She’s been really excited about it.”

Fred watched the toe of Robert’s shoe catch in the space between the tiles. “You don’t seem to be. Jazz not your thing?”

In the foyer, Marie finally admitted to the heart of the problem. “I mean, Robert’s really great. I like him; he’s nice, he’s attentive, he’s affectionate… More affectionate than I am. But he gets upset when I ask for some personal space every once in a while.”

“Uh oh,” Janet commented, the realization of doom dawning on her face.

Next to the crackers, Robert was sidling a little closer to Fred, lowering his voice by bits so no one overheard. “I mean, yeah, it is. We’re both pretty big fans, and I have been looking forward to it, it’s just…” He ran a finger over the embossed edge of the silver-colored plastic platters the crackers sat on. “I’m getting a little nervous now that it’s closer.”

“Nervous about what?” Fred asked.

From beside the umbrella stand, Marie was fidgeting with the little silver ring on her right hand. “It’s getting a little overbearing, and I’m not sure I can put up with it long-term.”

Mrs. Banks nodded sympathetically, even if she looked a little disappointed to hear it. “You think you and him aren’t going to last.”

“Probably not,” Marie answered. “Unless something changes.”

“Have you guys talked about it?” Janet asked.

Marie shrugged a shoulder. “I mean, yeah, but I don’t think there’s really a compromise for it.”

The conversation by the crackers paused as a couple of event-goers stopped by to collect tiny plates of snacks, laughing together about some story. When they moved away, Robert took a deep breath.

“I plan to propose to Marie.”

Fred froze for a moment, caught off guard and scrambling to find the appropriate script for the situation. Finally, when he had it in mind, he smiled and patted Robert on the back. “That’s a big step, man. I haven’t known y’all that long, but I’m sure she’ll say yes, dude. You guys always look so happy together, and I look forward to congratulating you on your engagement next week.”

Robert gave him a nervous smile back. “Thanks, Fred. And don’t tell Janet, she doesn’t know either. I don’t want her to accidentally drop hints to Marie.”

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The Ski Trip

The second installment in a series of celebratory promotional posts for the re-launching of my writing accounts! This one is a 500 word flash fiction story. 

 

“The ski lift,” Mark suggested, shouting over the sound of flesh pounding against the barricaded cafeteria door with no restraint. The sounds of splintering wood and bone were almost inseparable. “We won’t outrun them, but maybe they’ll freeze outside.” He was pointing out the window to the benches calmly gliding past in the midst of chaos.

            To the soundtrack of monstrous growls, howls, and groans, Mark and I dashed for the front door. The lift wasn’t far, but without the proper shoes, our feet sunk in deep, and each step through the snow took ages. Too soon, but still later than I’d expected, there was a resounding crack behind us, the sound echoing through the still air. They’d either broken down the front door, or an entire wall, and their hunting calls were got louder as they poured out of the building and into the mountainside air.

As we hit the packed snow around the turn-around for the lift, Mark and I gained speed, and, hopefully, an extra second to get to a lift bench before they could catch up. There was a bench just about to head back on its way upwards, but by the time we got to it we’d have to jump to get up onto it. The next, following at a sedate pace like a revolving door, was only just entering the turn. I didn’t want to waste time looking, but I had to know how close the horde was.

I glanced back and stumbled, paralyzed by amazement and terror that struck colder than the snow that had slipped in around my ankles. Like moose plowing through four-foot-high snowdrifts, the zombies didn’t even seem to notice it as they sprinted towards Mark and me. Snow was thrown in towering arcs to either side of the horde’s path, lingering like a dust cloud. At the front of the horde, only a dozen yards away, I saw a glimpse of the bright pink puffy jacket that my girlfriend had bought specifically for this trip.

“That one, that one!” A hand hit my shoulder, and I could just barely hear Marks footsteps as he kept running, but I couldn’t look away.

The woman in the pink jacket was at the head of the horde, and as she grew closer, I could begin to make out the angry reds of infection and the dark black veins of rapidly decaying skin. From somewhere else, Mark was calling my name, but the horde was quickly drowning him out.

For the second time in my life, I was frozen by the sight of Meredith coming towards me. This time, however, there wasn’t the mutual feeling of love at first sight. Instead of sweating from nervousness, I was literally shaking in my boots, physically numbed by sub-zero temperatures and paralyzed by a heart beating too fast.

Meredith, however, only looked hungry, and not conflicted in the least, even when I screamed as she bit down into my arm.

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Fluff and Omelets

A character-driven prompt response, the third and final short promotional piece as part of a celebratory re-launching of my writing accounts!

 

 

At the sound of the front door closing under its own weight, Alicia burrowed deeper into the corner of the couch to keep herself from being seen. Judging by Isabel’s note that morning, a clipped and pointed reminder about the eggs that had been sitting untouched in the fridge, Alicia’s roommate woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She was starting to think Isabel didn’t have a right side of the bed.

Something slammed down onto the counter, and, right on cue, Lionel came trotting out of Alicia’s room, his cloud-like fur gracefully tracing every movement. “Go cheer her up, Lionel,” Alicia whispered, more for herself than the cat.

Isabel’s sigh carried all the way into the living room, followed by the tell-tale mrow of a satisfied Lionel. “Hey, Lion boy,” Isabel said. “Where’s Alicia, hm? I didn’t think she had plans tonight.”

“I don’t,” Alicia reluctantly piped up from her hiding place.

“Oh, I couldn’t see you.”

Alicia sat up from her slouched position against the couch arm, popping her head over the back of the couch so that she could see Isabel standing in the kitchen, her messy hair poking out from underneath her Domino’s hat. “How was work?”

Isabel shrugged, pulling off the hat and setting it down on the countertop with her keys cradled inside. “Same as always,” she muttered. “Are you cooking something tonight, or should I just order takeout?”

“I guess if we did the second you wouldn’t want pizza?” Alicia asked. The look Isabel gave her almost physically stung. “Alright, fair enough.”

As she got up from the couch, she stretched her arms over her head, twisting just a bit to the side to pop her back where it was sore from sitting curled up for several hours. Alicia picked up her book from the couch cushions, setting it aside on the coffee table where it wouldn’t accidentally get sat on and bent out of shape, particularly by an oversized cat.

She thought about the egg note Isabel had left her that morning, and the implication that if anyone was going to cook dinner that night, it’d have to be her. The resigned and despondent look on Isabel’s face told her all she needed to know about the cause of her bad mood: she probably still had a ton of homework to do, and at least one paper due the next morning.

“So, how about breakfast for dinner?” Alicia suggested. “Maybe some omelets to use up those eggs? I think we’ve got some bacon bits and cheese.”

“And mushrooms?” Isabel asked, already perking up at the thought. “I know I bought salsa last week, too.”

“It was two weeks ago,” Alicia reminded her, “but yeah, it’d still be good.”

For the first time in three days, Isabel didn’t have a frown anchored into her expression, and she grabbed her bag and hat, headed for her room. “I’ll take care of the dishes afterwards?” she said hesitantly, pausing in the doorway to her room to wait for Alicia’s response.

Now that her room door was open, Alicia could see that Isabel had at least two open textbooks, two notebooks, and three separate stacks of papers with a rainbow of markings on them all spread across her desk and bed. She couldn’t remember the last time Isabel had left the house with her bed unmade, or that Isabel’s schoolwork had migrated beyond the confines of her desk.

“Nah, I’ll get the dishes afterward,” Alicia assured her. Isabel didn’t look convinced. “I promise. Really. Stop giving me that look.” Isabel kept staring. “Go take a shower, I’m gonna make you an omelet.”

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