In 55 words or less, give us a scene (or even a flash story) based on the picture above. Have fun!
17 thoughts on “Reader Friday: Make a Scene”
Sandra raised an arm. Although she knew no one would stop. In fact she didn’t want a hitch. She wanted a fast car. To end her life.
But no luck for her today, because the deputy Nickolas Perra, on the way to work, spotted her. What was this woman in white doing here?
VE Day in Times Square. Everyone celebrating, cheering, kissing. That sailor had been so cute, Esther couldn’t resist going back to his room. Won’t he be surprised this morning to wake up and find his Navy uniform gone, only her unmentionables and red dress on the floor? Better catch that bus before he catches her.
You stole me idea, Debbie! I was going to write this same scene. 🙂
“Taxi, Taxi!” She could hear her own voice shouting out but everything was merely a blur. She felt invisible. What is going on? she thought. Then, suddenly, her head cleared and she was looking up towards the sky when a man kneeling at her side came into view. “Miss, are you alright?”
She was a Texas Longhorns cheerleader, but missed the team bus. Still, she wished them well. Unfortunately, they were on their way to play Iowa State.
She had never really told him, never spoken the words she had wanted so badly to say for the last six months. Three little words…why had she always found them so hard to say? But now he was leaving, maybe never coming back.
His bus was leaving. She could see his profile there in the window.
Turn around…please look at me.
He did. And she raised her hand and found her voice. She just hoped he remembered the sign for “I love you.”
Love this PJ. And your columns never fail to inspire too. : )
Bullshirt! Scummy son of a–
The cabby had looked right at her, grinned, and driven away. Gypsy cabbies. They don’t have any conscience at all.
Kayla was enraged, but she still couldn’t say the bad words. She’d had been raised in a home full of Southern Baptists. That was a good thing, though her upbringing did leave her somewhat at odds with the whole rest of the world when it came to expressing herself, to let everyone, or herself, know she was piffed off.
Well, she’d have to wait for the next cab. If he didn’t stop, then she’d do what she’d have to do. She’d pull out the baby .25 caliber pistol Mac’d given her, and she’d shoot the . . . darned cabbie in the back of the head.
Never turn your back on a Baptist, I say…
Here’s my attempt:
She stood there, wearing his sailor hat and white dress shirt that bore his scent. She waved, squinting through tears that blurred her vision, as the bus wended its way through the Chicago traffic, taking him away from her.
She rubbed a hand across her rounded tummy. “Well, little one, it’s just you and me now, until…if…Daddy comes home.
He knew the red wig would hide his identity. Finding it discarded in the hotel stairwell was pure luck. He lifted his arm for the taxi, admiring his svelte arm and fingers. His skin shimmered in the late afternoon sun. He anticipated his next victim and wondered when the sailor would be found.
She’d spent half her rent money on a new coat and hat, hoping they would disguise her desperation. But if anyone had been paying attention – which was doubtful – they would have recognized the desperation in her eyes as she counted at least seventy-five other beautiful redheads, all in pursuit of that big break on Broadway.
“Look! Up in the sky!”
“It’s a bird!”
“It’s a plane!”
“It’s…”
Before Andrea could finish her thought, the white streak exploded, shattering windows and setting off car alarms for as far she could hear.
People ducked and scurried for some sort of cover, and the three fifteen Lindbergh bus careened into a light pole.
Dressed in a white cashmere coat and his sailor hat, her thoughts were pure satanic. The hat was a souvenir to remember their one night stand. In return, she packed a surprise in his bag. He wasn’t to peek at it until he saw her signal to him.
She watched the bus merge into traffic.
He appeared at the back window of the bus and saluted her.
She raised a hand and counted down the seconds.
The expression on his face was priceless.
The explosion was spectacular.
Sailor hats were her thing.
Okay, sailors were her thing, the hat was just the memento she got to keep most often. Something to remember them by. The one thing that was usually not stained with blood by the time it was all over. Yeah. She remembered them a lot longer than they remembered her.
Jeannie tried with all her might, but despite spending weeks burning her pale redhead skin on the shores of Waikiki, couldn’t quite remember how to make a shaka sign.
It took courage, courage he never knew he possessed, but the chance encounter with the Navy SEAL at the comedy club had opened his eyes to the possibilities… of adventure, of a life dedicated to service, and especially a chance to kick some ISIS ass. As he raised his hand to hail the cab. Carrot Top knew there was no turning back now.
Sandra raised an arm. Although she knew no one would stop. In fact she didn’t want a hitch. She wanted a fast car. To end her life.
But no luck for her today, because the deputy Nickolas Perra, on the way to work, spotted her. What was this woman in white doing here?
VE Day in Times Square. Everyone celebrating, cheering, kissing. That sailor had been so cute, Esther couldn’t resist going back to his room. Won’t he be surprised this morning to wake up and find his Navy uniform gone, only her unmentionables and red dress on the floor? Better catch that bus before he catches her.
You stole me idea, Debbie! I was going to write this same scene. 🙂
“Taxi, Taxi!” She could hear her own voice shouting out but everything was merely a blur. She felt invisible. What is going on? she thought. Then, suddenly, her head cleared and she was looking up towards the sky when a man kneeling at her side came into view. “Miss, are you alright?”
She was a Texas Longhorns cheerleader, but missed the team bus. Still, she wished them well. Unfortunately, they were on their way to play Iowa State.
She had never really told him, never spoken the words she had wanted so badly to say for the last six months. Three little words…why had she always found them so hard to say? But now he was leaving, maybe never coming back.
His bus was leaving. She could see his profile there in the window.
Turn around…please look at me.
He did. And she raised her hand and found her voice. She just hoped he remembered the sign for “I love you.”
Love this PJ. And your columns never fail to inspire too. : )
Bullshirt! Scummy son of a–
The cabby had looked right at her, grinned, and driven away. Gypsy cabbies. They don’t have any conscience at all.
Kayla was enraged, but she still couldn’t say the bad words. She’d had been raised in a home full of Southern Baptists. That was a good thing, though her upbringing did leave her somewhat at odds with the whole rest of the world when it came to expressing herself, to let everyone, or herself, know she was piffed off.
Well, she’d have to wait for the next cab. If he didn’t stop, then she’d do what she’d have to do. She’d pull out the baby .25 caliber pistol Mac’d given her, and she’d shoot the . . . darned cabbie in the back of the head.
Never turn your back on a Baptist, I say…
Here’s my attempt:
She stood there, wearing his sailor hat and white dress shirt that bore his scent. She waved, squinting through tears that blurred her vision, as the bus wended its way through the Chicago traffic, taking him away from her.
She rubbed a hand across her rounded tummy. “Well, little one, it’s just you and me now, until…if…Daddy comes home.
He knew the red wig would hide his identity. Finding it discarded in the hotel stairwell was pure luck. He lifted his arm for the taxi, admiring his svelte arm and fingers. His skin shimmered in the late afternoon sun. He anticipated his next victim and wondered when the sailor would be found.
She’d spent half her rent money on a new coat and hat, hoping they would disguise her desperation. But if anyone had been paying attention – which was doubtful – they would have recognized the desperation in her eyes as she counted at least seventy-five other beautiful redheads, all in pursuit of that big break on Broadway.
“Look! Up in the sky!”
“It’s a bird!”
“It’s a plane!”
“It’s…”
Before Andrea could finish her thought, the white streak exploded, shattering windows and setting off car alarms for as far she could hear.
People ducked and scurried for some sort of cover, and the three fifteen Lindbergh bus careened into a light pole.
Dressed in a white cashmere coat and his sailor hat, her thoughts were pure satanic. The hat was a souvenir to remember their one night stand. In return, she packed a surprise in his bag. He wasn’t to peek at it until he saw her signal to him.
She watched the bus merge into traffic.
He appeared at the back window of the bus and saluted her.
She raised a hand and counted down the seconds.
The expression on his face was priceless.
The explosion was spectacular.
Sailor hats were her thing.
Okay, sailors were her thing, the hat was just the memento she got to keep most often. Something to remember them by. The one thing that was usually not stained with blood by the time it was all over. Yeah. She remembered them a lot longer than they remembered her.
Jeannie tried with all her might, but despite spending weeks burning her pale redhead skin on the shores of Waikiki, couldn’t quite remember how to make a shaka sign.
It took courage, courage he never knew he possessed, but the chance encounter with the Navy SEAL at the comedy club had opened his eyes to the possibilities… of adventure, of a life dedicated to service, and especially a chance to kick some ISIS ass. As he raised his hand to hail the cab. Carrot Top knew there was no turning back now.