I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
‘I said I would come.’
‘You said that last time.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘I said I’ll be there.’
‘You’ll probably want to take the 5:30…’
‘I know how to get home,’ Larry growled. ‘I gotta go.’ He hung up.
Melissa and Larry watched as Chuck shut his door and departed for the evening.
‘Can you believe him?’ Melissa barked. ‘I’m here till 10 every night, and he waltzes out at 5:30.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Larry responded.
‘What time are you leaving?’
‘6.’
‘Oh, so now you’re slacking,’ she mocked.
He chuckled uncomfortably. ‘You know me.’
He guiltily sat in his office until 6 and missed most of his son’s game.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Bouquet
I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
Bill coddled the bouquet in his right arm. He considered saying ‘You’re my density’ to pay homage to their favorite movie but decided instead on the always effective ‘I love you.’ He walked into the east entrance of the park knowing that Molly would be facing west, engrossed in a novel. As he approached, he spied, among others, a man standing by Molly. In the man’s arms were flowers arranged very similarly to those in Bill’s. And the man’s clothing matched Bill’s exactly. Bill started to jog. Molly turned. The man extracted a gun, shot Molly, and inexplicably disappeared. The surrounding crowd, perplexed, stared at Bill, who felt paralysis overtake him.
Bill coddled the bouquet in his right arm. He considered saying ‘You’re my density’ to pay homage to their favorite movie but decided instead on the always effective ‘I love you.’ He walked into the east entrance of the park knowing that Molly would be facing west, engrossed in a novel. As he approached, he spied, among others, a man standing by Molly. In the man’s arms were flowers arranged very similarly to those in Bill’s. And the man’s clothing matched Bill’s exactly. Bill started to jog. Molly turned. The man extracted a gun, shot Molly, and inexplicably disappeared. The surrounding crowd, perplexed, stared at Bill, who felt paralysis overtake him.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Takeout
I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
A busy signal.
He slammed down the receiver, picked it up, dialed another number. Voicemail.
He listened into his cell. ‘Hello? Hello!?’ He heard muffled coughing.
He searched the junk drawer, tossed the takeout menus aside, found his mother’s address book, called his old neighbor’s numbers at random. No answers.
‘Hold on!’ he yelled into the cell. And then, ‘Why the hell did you move?’ to himself.
He paused, thought, dialed.
‘Takeout or delivery?’
‘Do you have a cell phone?’
‘What?’
‘I’m Ron. I’m on the phone with my father. I think he had a heart attack. He lives at 204 South Main. Please call 911. Just say what I say.’
A busy signal.
He slammed down the receiver, picked it up, dialed another number. Voicemail.
He listened into his cell. ‘Hello? Hello!?’ He heard muffled coughing.
He searched the junk drawer, tossed the takeout menus aside, found his mother’s address book, called his old neighbor’s numbers at random. No answers.
‘Hold on!’ he yelled into the cell. And then, ‘Why the hell did you move?’ to himself.
He paused, thought, dialed.
‘Takeout or delivery?’
‘Do you have a cell phone?’
‘What?’
‘I’m Ron. I’m on the phone with my father. I think he had a heart attack. He lives at 204 South Main. Please call 911. Just say what I say.’
Friday, February 17, 2012
Missed Connection
I give to you a Missed Connection in eleventy-one words...
I met you last Friday at a bar. You were surrounded by friends, drinking cheap wine. We made eye contact. You came over to chat. We talked about Glee and Marx and how we both hate those people who walk and text in busy intersections. I suggested we grab a meal, but your friends stole you away to go to that birthday party for your mortal frenemy.
I thought about you a lot over the weekend; I even went into the bar to see if you’d come back. I did see your friend; she started crying when she told me what you did.
I guess this really is a missed connection.
I met you last Friday at a bar. You were surrounded by friends, drinking cheap wine. We made eye contact. You came over to chat. We talked about Glee and Marx and how we both hate those people who walk and text in busy intersections. I suggested we grab a meal, but your friends stole you away to go to that birthday party for your mortal frenemy.
I thought about you a lot over the weekend; I even went into the bar to see if you’d come back. I did see your friend; she started crying when she told me what you did.
I guess this really is a missed connection.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Waves
I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
The ice jangled in the amber liquid. He let fly a belly laugh at some expertly told joke. I approached unseen, caught him by surprise. Hello, I humbly offered. Albert, how are you? Well, sir, and you? No complaints. How goes the singing career? I could hear both admiration and condescension in his tone. Well enough as long as I have a day job. He chuckled at the quip. I once had aspirations, he stared into the whisky. To be a surfer if you can believe it; the waves. He paused. But no matter, I’d rather be managing director over riding waves any day, he laughed. I didn’t quite believe him.
The ice jangled in the amber liquid. He let fly a belly laugh at some expertly told joke. I approached unseen, caught him by surprise. Hello, I humbly offered. Albert, how are you? Well, sir, and you? No complaints. How goes the singing career? I could hear both admiration and condescension in his tone. Well enough as long as I have a day job. He chuckled at the quip. I once had aspirations, he stared into the whisky. To be a surfer if you can believe it; the waves. He paused. But no matter, I’d rather be managing director over riding waves any day, he laughed. I didn’t quite believe him.
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