The Old Lady

This story was the result of a writing prompt I pulled from a prompt book. I hope you enjoy.

The Old Lady

     “Oh, you can go ahead of me, ma’am,” Oliver Brooks said politely. The lady was old and was struggling with her packages. The crowded post office was abuzz with holiday spirit.

     “Oh, that’s quite alright.”

     “I insist,” Oliver replied.

     “You’re too kind, sonny.”

     “Well, ’tis the season!” He stepped aside as the lady passed by him slowly. The line was crawling, but he was in no hurry. Patience was always a a strongpoint of his. As he stood behind her, a faint memory came to him. One from his childhood, long ago, when he would wait at the grocery store line behind his mother while she picked the items to remove until her total was affordable. Those memories were few and far between now, lost with the passage of time. He was abandoned at the age of twelve, tossed through the foster care system, and bounced around from house to house until he was 18. Now, he was a successful fast-food chain owner, having worked his way up from the bottom while surfing his co-workers’ couches. 

     “Lots of gifts to send?” He decided to strike up conversation to pass the time.

     “Oh these are just sweaters and scarves,” she said with a warm gentle smile. “I enjoy knitting, been doing it since I was much younger, oh probably around your age.”

     “How nice,” Oliver said, as he reached into his warm winter coat, feeling the scarf that he was wearing. It was the one thing that stayed with him through his foster journeys. She saw him doing this and smirked. That fact, it was familiar to him. No, it couldn’t be, he assured himself. “So those gifts, they’re for… your kids?”

     “Just my friends,” she said, still smirking. “I don’t have kids.”

     “Well that’s sure nice of you to knit for all of your friends,” Oliver said, now slightly relieved that his curiosity had been resolved. She wasn’t who he thought she might be.

     “Well,” she paused, “’tis the season.” Oliver chuckled and they shuffled again, now at the front of the line. “What’s your name, sonny?”

     “I’m Oliver,” he said.

     “Well, Oliver, happy holidays.” Her smirk had disappeared. Her face was mostly flat, almost as if she was disappointed upon hearing his name. 

     “Happy holidays to you as well, ma’am,” said Oliver, as the sweet old lady gathered her packages and headed for the front counter.

     “Here,” Oliver jumped in, “I’ll give you a hand.” He grabbed a bundle of her gifts, the return address catching his eye, and helped her to the front. 

     “You have got to be the most respectful young man I have ever met.” she said, giving Oliver a gentle pat on the shoulder.

     Her touch ran through him and made him shiver. It was something he hadn’t experience in a very long time. “Well,” he paused, “I was taught to be at a very young age.” She smiled at him one more time and thanked him as she turned to send off her many boxes. As Oliver went to fetch his items to bring to the next open helper, he grabbed a small box and a greeting card. He carried everything up to the front, “I’m sorry,” he said, “can you just give me one more minute? Last second gift I just remembered.” 

     Oliver filled in the card, took off his scarf, threw it in the box, and added it to his pile.

_______________________________________________

The Angry Man

This story was the result of a writing prompt I pulled from a prompt book. I hope you enjoy.

The Angry Man

It was the first time I killed a man, but I held no reservations. I executed my plan to perfection, like a seasoned veteran. Of course, so much planning had gone into it that at this point I actually did feel like a veteran. Months of scheming and plotting, and now here I was, standing over his cold lifeless body like a lion claiming his prize. I knew from the start that I would have to do it with intelligence. I couldn’t just barge in and go all Rambo on his ass. So I dressed up to look the part, so nobody could see my face. I wore gloves to prevent fingerprints. I even looked into what kind of shoes he wore and got the same ones. This way, if they decide to search for footprints, nothing alarming will show up. My research taught me that he always showers when he gets home from the bar. Bingo. I found the spare key where I knew it would be, and entered slowly, making sure not to bump anything. The quietness of the house with the sounds of a shower in the distance was invigorating, pumping adrenaline through my veins. Pictures on the wall showed his wife, 2 kids, and dog who had recently been hit by a speeding car, dead. Funny how foreshadowing will just present itself. He had a beautiful family, so what was driving him to ruin mine? To sleep with my wife? Why was he so unhappy with what he had here? Either way, onward I went. I couldn’t let pointless thoughts distract me, not when I was this close. Their house was built wonderfully, nothing creaked or moaned as I floated through, as silent as a dense, drifting fog. His wife took the kids out for dinner, I watched them leave before I parked the truck around the block. It was just me, him, and a shower. He basically set it all up for me to make it look like an accident. I left as quickly as I came, and headed straight home, where it would be the first time I killed a woman.

_______________________________________________

A bit of background before the fun begins...

Firstly, thank you for visiting. 

I enjoy writing, (a lot) and have had a number of people encourage me to share some of my stuff with the world.

Some background on me: Writing is not my profession. It's strictly a hobby and at times a coping mechanism for the struggles of every day life. Some of what I write will be a pure adventure. Some of what I write might pull some emotions out of you that you weren't expecting. All of what I write comes from my heart. Every word you read has been pored over by myself, analyzed (sometimes over-analyzed) and heavily considered before appearing here. My writing will range across many genres, topics, locations, and scenes. Some will be funny, some will be sad, hopefully all of it will be enjoyable to you in some way.

My long term goal is to spread my writing as far as possible, and hopefully this can begin that extended reach. If you're reading this, now, I want to thank you for taking the time to read the words of a stranger. I welcome any and all feedback, whether good, bad, or neither here nor there. If you leave here after reading a post thinking, "eh, that was cool I guess," then I'm happy. Hey, at least you read it! But please, I encourage you to leave a comment. If you think I'm shit, tell me I'm shit! If you loved it, I'd love to hear what you loved specifically! Also, a lot of my work will be coming from prompts, although I do have many original ideas as well. I'll be sure to highlight which is which on each post.

If you have an idea you think would be interesting, leave a comment and I'll do my best to fulfill your idea to it's maximum potential!

Once again, thank you so much for taking the time to visit and read. Words are powerful things, and I hope I can stir up some emotion with mine.

"One must be careful of books, and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us."

     -Cassandra Clare, The Infernal Devices         

   

_______________________________________________