No yolk, Ms. Neidelson

Maureen at the Nook came up with the idea of doing a rolling post. Each person who has volunteered to participate gets to add 3-4 sentences as their contribution. The participants are:

Moe

Red

Goinglikesixty

Cris

Poseidons Muse

Writer Chick

Karen

Evyl

Reg

Michael

Cowgalutah

Moe tagged the Muse and the Muse tagged WriterChick (Annie).

From Moe:

The curtains were drawn against the chill of an early winters evening. The only sound to be heard was a sigh as she poured over one of her interminable lists, this being for the coming weekends dinner party.

She was concerned how she would keep them apart after the recent unpleasantness.
It was unthinkable she not invite them both, but in doing the right thing by them, had created a problem for herself…..

From Poseidons Muse:

Drawing a soothing draught of red wine from her glass, she looked up from her list and stared across the room. A distant memory, like the transient flash of ‘his’ handsome smile, spurned her inner turmoil. She had developed feelings for Steven during her initial tenure at the University. Their first encounter seemed almost cliche. A fateful walk across an autumn campus, a stack of books falling upon golden autumn leaves, polite words spoken, lucid eyes meeting hungrily. Butterflies.

What had begun as an innocent friendship between colleagues (for Amy would later be introduced to Steven as a contemporary) later spurned into a brief, but torrid, romantic affair. When the couple resuscitated themselves from their grey moral vortex, they realised that they would make better friends than bed-fellows and had decided to remain in each other’s lives. Now, Amy had the task of playing chancellor and counsellor to her friend, as he struggled for a sense of equilibrium in his failing marriage. Once again, she sensed the butterflies.

From WriterChick:

Amy sealed both invitations, one for Steven and one for Margo, his estranged wife, and adhered a lovely tiffany art stamp to each. “I hope to God, they aren’t still arguing over custody of the dog or the chimp – helluva a dinner topic that will make.” She put the invitations aside for the post office run she would do in the morning and pondered the menu for the party. “Now what dish would both please Steven and compliment his lovely golden curls by candlelight – of course, curry!”

From Me:

Amy sat on the couch contemplating the difficult intricacies of the seating arrangement when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Neidelson, thank God you’re home. This is Dr. Shotzendach. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“No, doctor. I’m just sitting . . . Is everything okay?”

“Well, I do believe we’ve found the source of your equilibrium problem and I’m glad you’re sitting down. You’re two months pregnant. And here’s the best part: You’re having twins! Congratulations! Ms. Neidelson?”

“Uh . . . I don’t understand doctor . . . I mean, I understand but . . . how do you . . .”

“Your lab results and the CAT scan images told us all we needed to know. Ms. Neidelson? Ms. Neidelson, are you still there?!”

Amy began to laugh hysterically. A bit too hysterically . . .

Okay, so I’m tagging Evyl to pick up this little ditty where I am leaving off. An email will be off to him shortly to inform him of his duty. Let the xtra cheesiness continue!
(Annie, you introduced this so brilliantly I had to copy and paste!) 😉

BTW, if any of you would like to participate, just contact Moe at the Nook and she’ll add you.

~m

Back Seat

I tried to write some “flash fiction” on the train today while limiting myself to less than 200 words but still telling a tidbit of a story story. {alright, actual count 202}
I’m posting it but still not sure if I actually like it.
You be the judge.
At any rate, it did make me write.
And sorry, it doesn’t end well.
***************

Fingers of moonlight caressed the deserted roof parking lot as she hurried to her car, the clip-clop of her stiletto heels blending seamlessly with the hum of the city below.
She’d stayed late, perhaps too late; a vain attempt to alter her nightly routine.
He was mean and jealous these days and she had the cigarette burns and bruises
to prove it.
After he first saw her dance, he immediately called her over.

I want you, was all he said.
He always got what he wanted.

She fumbled with her keys, hands shaking and out of breath, the tip-off call to the police still fresh on her mind.
He would be looking for her soon . . .

Once inside the safety of her car she pushed the ‘lock‘ button and let out a brief sigh of relief.
Turning the key she heard the incessant whirr of an engine that would never start.

God damn it, she thought, what the fuck do I do now?

The last thing she heard was the metallic click of a Zippo lighter from the back seat.
And people on the street looked up . . . listening to the steady sound of some distant car horn.

~m