Hope or Hormones?

It had been a few months since the attack and consequent demise of her relationship when she had finally started to feel like herself again. There were times, when she sat very still, she felt his fingers around her neck and felt the air leave her body. There were other times when she missed him so much she could convince herself that she imagined the whole scene. She knew she did not miss him nor did she imagine what happened but the mind tends to play tricks when you are alone at night.

He has tried to talk to her since it happened, phone calls, texts apologizing, and flowers even but she sent the flowers back and the calls went unanswered. It was better this way. She felt broken and did not need a reminder or a repeat. How is it I always pick the worse guys, she thought to herself.

She had settled into a routine, coffee shop, work and then home again. She stopped going out with her girlfriends because she did not want to discuss what happened and she avoided her mom because her mom liked him and thought she should give him a second chance.

She had also taken to eating lunch at her desk. The noise and the gossip of the break room had been more then she could handle when she went back to work a few days after the attack and she had gotten into the habit. Months later and she still won't eat lunch anywhere but at her desk.

“Hey there!”

Startled, she turned to see those blue eyes that she has been crushing on for a year. She avoided him the last few months as well. It was his phone call that had led to the fight but more then that it was their friendship that had led her to the realization of just how unhealthy her and her ex-boyfriend had actually been together.

“Hey,” she choked a little on the word.

“You are not eating at your desk again.”

“I’m not? And where would you suggest I eat?”

“With me,” he snatched up her sandwich, put it back in the bag and gently pulled her up from her chair. They stood there for a moment, bodies touching and for the first time she felt something other than self-pity. Could that be hope or hormones?

“I know something happened with you and you needed time but I miss hanging out with you. We are going to get out of the office, have lunch and enjoy the outside until we have to come back to our dark, dank cubicles.”

“Well since I don’t have a choice, let’s go” she giggled for the first time in a while. With a little reluctance she took her hands back and followed him out into the world.   

Move forward, she thought, move forward.



According to Dante, the gates of hell are inscribed “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” I challenged you to be inspired by such a warning, in 500 words or less.   Read more here from others who did the prompt.

I am not sure if I lived up to the prompt but the story before this was her hell and the rest of the stories are here.

An Empty Beer Bottle

“Am I still here? What does that mean?” he demanded. Anger and confusion waged a war on his face.

“I thought you would take off,” she said with a shrug.

“Why would I do that?” he snarled.

“Because that is what you did last time and the time before that. Look, I’m tired; I don’t want to do this anymore.” She gestured to him and back to herself as she spoke. “I don’t want to be us anymore.”

“There’s someone else,” he growled accusingly.

Before she could answer, he had her off her feet and pinned against the wall. She struggled but gave in; she willed the sheet to keep her covered.

“You better not be fucking someone else,” his words came out slowly, deliberate, it was a warning.

As if on cue her cell phone rang. Shit, she thought and closed her eyes.

“Who the fuck is calling you?” his hands found her neck and started to squeeze. She gagged and gasped for air but he continued to choke her. She felt the night get even darker. He had her off her feet and in the time it took for her to realize that she might die she remembered that she was still holding the empty beer bottle.

The bottle made a loud thud as it hit his skull. He dropped her like a rag doll. As he stood over her, little droplets of blood appeared on the white sheet but they were not hers.

He stumbled to her phone, looked at it and threw it at her.  Before he could question her again she was on her feet.

“You don’t get to say another word and if you come near me again I will kill you.”

“Bitch,” he spat as he left.





Use a Gandhi quote to inspire you to throw a little conflict at your characters in the name of strong plot development.

It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence.
Mahatma Gandhi

The word limit was 300.  Click here for more.

Better Leave Tonight

He rolled off of her with a grunt, the sheet barely covered his naked, sweaty body. They had seen each other for two years and were no closer to walking down the aisle much less living together then they were the first time they went out. She stared at him trying to remember the last time they had even slept in the same bed.

“I’m hungry,” he grumbled, looking at her with what was once his cute, puppy dog look. That look only annoyed her more.

This would be her cue to go make something for him. This has become a burden. He has become a burden. She slid out of the bed and took the sheet with her, leaving him naked. He did not seem to notice, or care.

Wrapping the sheet tighter, she headed to her kitchen, opened the fridge and stared into the space.

She decided what she was going to do as she started pulling things from the fridge and putting them on the counter next to the stove. Reaching for the frying pan, her vision blurred a little thinking about the future but stopped herself and turned the stove on. Opening the package of bacon, she peeled off three slices and placed them in the frying pan. She watched the grease crackle in the hot pan.

Sliding the knife from its place, she started to feel a little stronger and with each slice into the juicy, red tomato, her confidence grew. She put two slices of bread in the toaster and turned the bacon over. The smell of bacon filled the kitchen and her stomach growled.

She grabbed the toast as it popped out of the toaster and slathered on the mayo. She did not bother with a plate as she layered the lettuce, tomato and bacon on top of the thick layer of mayo. He hated mayonnaise.

She grabbed a beer from the fridge and took the sandwich out on to the balcony. Her view was nothing more than the tiny courtyard and the back of some apartment buildings but there was always a nice breeze.

As she took the last bite of her BLT, he finally came out of the bed room. He looked at her, confused and irritated.

Looking at him she swallowed the last of her beer, “You still here?”




This week we showed you a picture of a delicious BLT and then asked you to write, in 400 words or less, a post inspired by it.

If it Kills Me

“You want to go where?”

She turned down her iPod as Jason Mraz crooned, "And baby that's a case of my wishful thinking..."

“Happy hour,” he replied, “with you.”

It’s about time, she thought but was trying to stay calm.

It was, technically, a company event, not a date. But, an event that she had emphatically said she would not attend when another of her co-workers had asked if she was going.

“I suppose we could hang out,” she said slowly, tilting her head to look up at him, trying to gauge his intentions.

“I think we are obligated to go.”

“Obligated? Really?”

“Yes, obligated. We need to represent those outside the cliques.”

He was starting to lose his nerve. He had been practicing for an hour on how he would ask but he had been working up the nerve for about a week to go through with it.

Her iPod sang on, "As the feeling inside keeps building and I will find a way to you if it kills me…"

“Would that not make us our own clique?” she said coyly, trying not to let her enthusiasm show, yet.

“I suppose,” he suppressed a grin and as he spoke his eyes lit up.

Have his eyes always been so damn blue?

She knew she was going to say yes. How could she not say yes when he was looking at her like that. He always looked at her like that and it was not her imagination. She felt her cheeks grow red but would not break his gaze.

“Okay”

“Really?”

Sure, she might have to explain to her boyfriend why she changed her mind. On the other hand, it is work related and she should really attend. Anti-social people never move ahead. Then again, he might not even wonder at all.

When was the last time he took notice of her comings and goings? She often wondered if he even saw her when they were together. She felt invisible with him and looked forward to the nights she slept alone.

Her iPod keep singing, “And all I really want from you is to feel me...”

To hell with my boyfriend.

“Yes, I will go to happy hour with you.”

And as they walked into the bar, all they heard was Jason Mraz… Hello, tell me you know, yeah, you figured me out.

We’ve asked you to show us in 400 words or less how your character reacts to a piece of music. Did music advance a story line or flesh out a character–or both?

Ordinary Office Romance

When you see them talking in the hallway you may think that you are watching a secret rendezvous, maybe an elicit affair, a glimpse into something special.

They do appear to have a secret but the truth is - it is only a secret to them. Their friends know the truth but others see and others gossip, but it is just gossip.  They think that they are just two ordinary people, stopping to talk to each other in an ordinary hallway, in an ordinary office. However, they are far from ordinary and maybe they are even fated to be together.

It is funny how fate whispers when it really needs to be shouting.

Our ordinary couple consciously stands a little closer then necessary when they chat.  They tend to speak softly to one another so the other must lean a little closer to hear. If you looked hard enough, you would swear you could see the spark form between them as they chat about nothing in particular.

If only they could see it.

Oh, how badly one wants to reach out and touch the other, but won't. How they plot and plan for their paths to cross and make up absurd reasons to see one another but they just don’t see that the feelings are mutual.  They only hope that they are, too scared to find out.

Those close to them see but keep their thoughts to themselves.

“It’s just gossip,” their friends say behind their backs, “What if it did not work out? Maybe they are better off as friends.”

They tend to have lunch at the same time, get coffee from the same shop and even leave the building together, but always separate. It is as if the other is waiting to make a move but keep missing that moment.

Maybe fate is not ready to show them the way.   Could it be that the moment has past?

You can see they have been alone to long. He goes from bar to bar, leaving with the pretty, young bartender knowing that he will never return to that bar again nor the bartender. She is passing time looking across the table from the man who will never marry her.

If only fate would intervene. 




This week's challenge - to try a piece using one of the writing tools you’d like to polish a bit. Some examples we talked about in our twitter chat were writing from a different point of view, engaging our characters in conflict, or improving descriptive writing.

There were no subject restrictions, but a photo was provided in case you needed a little push. 400 words.

There is Nothing Sexy About Vodka and Sauerkraut

I wonder what he would taste like, she thought trying not to stare as he walked by her desk. As if he heard her thoughts, her crush looked right at her and she blushed.

What is wrong with me? she thought as she watched him walk away. Stop, she commanded herself, but it was too late her imagination had started to wander.

What would he taste like? Honey and cinnamon comes to mind for some reason or maybe vanilla and orange.

She was thinking of ways to get close to him when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and instead of saying hello she said, "Why is it we use food to describe sex?"

"So, I take it you have seen him already today?”

Was that an accusation?

"Seriously, why use food to describe sex? Virgins lose their cherries, good girls have vanilla sex and who really wants a tossed salad?"

"Are you done?"

"For now"

"Well, I hate to disturb your fantasy."

"Did you want something?

"Nope, just wondered how long it would take you to have dirty thoughts about your co-workers."

"Are you implying that I am acting like a love struck teenager?"

"No. You are acting like one; I don’t have to imply anything."

With that she hung up and the sound of giggling could be heard coming from a cubicle not far from where she sat. Mistake number one was confiding in a co-worker about lusting after another co-worker. Mistake number two was answering the phone.

I bet he tastes like vodka and sauerkraut. Sauerkraut?  I must be hungry because there is nothing sexy about vodka and sauerkraut. Well, maybe vodka.

Would it be to obvious if I asked him to lunch? Will he ever make the first move? Why does sex and food seem to go hand in hand?

He walked by again and again she blushed.

Christ, I am acting like a teenager, she reprimanded her self, Maybe I should just write him a note and pass it to him during study hall.

Four hundred words or less, fiction or creative non-fiction, linked up on Friday morning’s post, based on one of the following definitions:

flavor |ˈflāvər| ( Brit. flavour)