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Person of Your Dreams

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts Tags: creative writing exercise, creative writing prompts, writing prompt.

The person of your dreams shows up on your doorstep, asking if you’d like to go out for coffee. You are surprised and confused, but you say yes. At the coffee shop, as he/she is talking, you discover that he/she thinks that you are someone else. Instead of coming clean, you go with it—only to be foiled by an unexpected twist that reveals your identity.

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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164 Responses to Person of Your Dreams

  1. laurentravian says:

    (Sorry, I just felt like another story.)

    Elaine sighed. This feast with Sir Lancelot wasn’t going well. He was feverish and hallucinating. For instance, he thought she was Queen Guinevere. And that her horse groom was his majesty, the High King of All England, Arthur! Imagine! However, when Elaine looked at Sir Lancelot, she knew she could not bear to let him go. And besides, they were already married! And she was pregnant! Elaine blanched when she thought of what might have transpired if she were really Guinevere. Suddenly, Lancelot was out cold, fainted dead away on the table. She ordered several of the strongest men to carry him up to bed. Elaine was about to make sure he was alright when the messenger from the King and Queen of all England arrived. He had an enormous nose and an extremely thin body. “On behalf of King Arthur, congratulations. He now hopes that Sir Lancelot will stay away from his own wife. A joke, of course. On behalf of the Lady Queen Guinevere, you are both condemned to each other and Camelot now shuns you. Please tell me if I am not clear.” he recited in a nasally voice. Elaine sighed. “Please thank their majesties most graciously for their congratulations.” That was all she could say. She sent off the messenger right away, and went off to Lancelot. He was lying on the bed, eyes closed, but when she closed the door he murmured, “You’re not Guinevere, are you?” Elaine’s heart sank. “No.” She confessed. “But the court messenger was just here, and apparently we are condemned to each other and Camelot now shuns us.” He opened one blue-green eye. “You’re not serious?” “No, I am perfectly serious. Just as serious when I say that I am pregnant and we are married.” The other eye shot open and he tried to sit up. “Sacre bleu! What have I done!” he cried, falling back into the pillows. She regarded him closely. “Why is this a problem? You can have an heir, and someone who actually loves you instead of someone who just decides that the minute you displease her she can override the king and banish you from the great city of Camelot!” Lancelot was shocked. “Wench!” he thundered. “Why do you insult your queen?! She is the height of perfection! I- I- I…” he had nothing else to say, and Elaine knew it. She sat down next to him on the bed, and took his hand. “Just because someone you look up to loves someone, doesn’t make them perfect. You know I was right, and you know that-that…” He seemed interested in what she had to say. “Go on.” “That I love you.” she said quietly. He regarded her for a minute, then nodded. She lay down next to him, even though they were both still fully clothed in evening wear. She didn’t notice him get up an hour later, as she was fast asleep. He regarded her again. He reciprocated her love, but his duty was to his master and his country first. He was never so feverish that he thought her youthful beauty and lively personality were anything like Guinevere’s stony personality and looks to match. He would undoubtedly miss her -and the child- but he had to protect Arthur. And the best way to do that was distract the loathsome Guinevere. And so, the tiptoed off to the stables and rode off into the night.
    -Fifteen Years Later-
    Galahad was another Lancelot. Therefore, he wanted to find this father of his, who had hurt his dear mother so. Perhaps he could challenge him to a duel, though Mother wouldn’t allow that. He had long since decided to see when he got there. Unfortunately, he had to turn around half-way. Elaine had suffered a stroke and had died. At the funeral, there was a man there, who looked like Galahad’s reflection. A man who cried and cried, unashamedly. He also stared at Galahad a lot. After the funeral, the man approached him. “I really did love her.” he said flatly. Galahad regarded him coolly. “Then why weren’t you there? Ever? You could have visited. You could have taken us to Camelot. You could have done SOMETHING.” Galahad was weeping now. “She died so young. Just past her thirty-third year. And for the last fifteen years, you have been hiding out in a tower with a queen who was trying to destroy England and his Majesty.” Lancelot looked slightly deflated. “I had my reasons…” “For abandoning us? For making a mockery of his Majesty’s marriage? For breaking her heart? She died, because I left to find you, because I wanted you to atone for this. She couldn’t bear the thought of you- or someone who reminded her of you- going away and never coming back. Again.” Lancelot stared at his son. “I’m here now.” “She never saw you again. So why should I?” “I was on my way back…” “Really? Or did you just come to make excuses? Or ask for a place to stay after Camelot fell? You. Never. Deserved. Her. A woman who could put any to shame, with her never-ending love, and patience, and sorrow. You broke her heart. And you made me break it every time she saw me.” That was the last Galahad ever saw of Lancelot, the brave knight.

  2. Red Tulip says:

    Ding dong!

    “Ok! I am coming!” I shouted from my kitchen. While wiping my hands on my apron, I ran towards the door.

    Ding dong! My doorbell rang for the second time. I grabbed my door key and hurried up to the door.

    “Hi.”

    “Hi?” I was completely shocked and stunned for a minute. “It’s that him? Adrian Adams?” I asked myself.

    “I understand that you are completely in shock to see me just show up in front of your doorstep,” he said.

    “Yes, I am very shocked. Well…I am Annabelle,” I said.

    “I know. Would you like to have a coffee with me?” he asked.

    “Sure. That’s a nearby Starbuck over here. Let me grab my bag,” I said yes because I want to know is that him.

    He came back with two Cappucinos on his hands and handed one for me.

    “How do you know I love Cappucino?” The question was lingering in my mind but somehow I just keep to myself without asking him.

    “Well…I know it is a bit shocking that I just show up in front of you after 5 years I left you and I am very sorry for…dumping you. I always regret for what I have done to you,” he said.

    “It’s ok,” I said. I know it must be some kind of a prank. I mean how could that possible that the person that I always idolize was actually my ex-boyfriend? They must be having some kind of tv reality shows and they pick out some celebrities or well known public figures to do some pranks to their fans. Adrian Adams is a well known author and I am a big fan of him. I love his books especially the one he wrote about his ex-girlfriend.

    “It’s ok?” he asked.

    “Yeah,” I said. I decided to go with it.

    “Well, you are very forgiving. I can’t believe for all those years I have been thinking that you will never forgive me and that’s why it took me so long to have the gut to come to you,” he said.

    “What make you to have the gut finally?” I asked.

    “Because I love you and I don’t want to express it anymore on a piece of paper,” he said.

    “Ok,” I said.

    “Oh my god! You don’t actually remember who am I, don’t you?” he asked after he saw me giggling.

    “Come on, man! I know it is some kind of a prank. Where is the camera?!”

    “Anna, it is not a prank. We dated 5 years ago before you have a tragic car accident and suffered from brain trauma that makes you forget everyone.”

    “How do you know about it? Oh my god! You are actually my ex-boyfriend and you….dumped me just because I forget you. Why don’t you try to make me remember you? My family did it. Why don’t you?”

    “I was so scared. It is scary when your loved one don’t remember who you are. I admitted that I am a coward and I very regret about it for every single second of my life. That’s why for all these years I have been writing about you in my books.”

    “So, the ex-girlfriend that you wrote in your books and I have been reading for all these years is me myself?”

    “Yes, indeed,” he said.

    “…..” I am totally speechless.

  3. JennY77 says:

    That’s actually a funny story, sounds like it might actually happen to somebody.

  4. laurentravian says:

    I groaned as the buzzer rang. I tried pulling my pillow over my head, but the buzzer pierced it. I groaned again and stumbled to the door. I opened it a crack, just so that I could see who was out there while they couldn’t see my crazy bed-head. It was Cormac, the Irish hottie from down the street. We had had one date a few weeks ago but I didn’t think it ended well. “Yes?” I whispered. My voice always sounds weird in the morning. Cormac tried to peer through the crack, but I was ready. Giving up on that, he said, “I think our last date went well, don’t you?” He smiled uncertainly at the door crack. Weirdo. But hot. I mentally flipped through my schedule. Paul had dumped me, and Nick’s college graduation was next week. I’m so proud of my baby brother! I was brought back to now with Cormac going, “So, what about tonight?” Just imagine him with an Irish accent. I agreed readily. He smiled again. “I’ll pick you up at 7.” He called back to me as he walked away. I shut the door and switched on the lights. I went full hog. Manicure, pedicure, waxing, hair appointment. By 7, I was ready, in a tight red dress. Cormac was very punctual. As we drove to the restaurant, he started chatting away to me, about my dress shop. I looked at him like he was crazy. Hello? Didn’t he know that I was a civil rights lawyer? I was about to remind him of this fact when we arrived at the restaurant. He helped me out of the car, and we walked in. After the maitre d’ had seated us, he said, “Elaine, I really enjoy spending time with you-” he was interrupted, but not by me. I was going to wait until he was finished talking. I felt like an idiot. Not for the reason you think. I felt like an idiot because I hadn’t figured it out sooner. Anyway, Cormac was interrupted by a shout. “Lauren!” I turned to see my baby brother striding towards us, with his sweet girlfriend Myra, on his arm. As he strode over to my table, Cormac took a closer look at me, and narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute, aren’t you that git I took to ‘Hearts Ever After’?” I rolled my eyes. “Yes. That was me.” I added sarcastically, “And by the way, it was obvious Tara was going to choose Blaine.” Cormac’s eyes widened, and as I strode towards my brother to join his group, Cormac caught up to me and said, “Great. I’ve been meaning to ask you out again. Elaine is a bit of an idiot.” And that is how I met my husband.

  5. nicmac3546 says:

    I bit my straw as he talked. My head tilted down slightly toward my drink but I kept my eyes locked on his in an attempt to make myself reminiscent of a porn star in a position of worship. I pulled my head up gracefully after taking a sip with two manicured fingers dragging down the straw. My eyes, full of possibilities, stayed engaged on his, locked on target.

    “Wow, you’re gorgeous.” He said before he drank deeply from his glass.

    I grabbed a strand of hair and twirled it around my finger. Looking down as if I was ashamed of my beauty I let out a coyish “Thank you.”

    Seduction was my art. I had just been given a blank canvas and I was about to create my greatest masterpiece; my own personal “piece de resistance”. I could hear my family and friends praises and looks of amazement and utter jealousy. Everyone, that is, except my parents…they never understood me.

    I knew exactly what I was doing that night wearing designer and diamonds that suggested I was no stranger to the finer things in life. Besides, I was a natural beauty. Supermodels couldn’t touch me on their best day. My goal in life was to marry a guy like the one that sat across the table from me. It was all I ever dreamed of.

    “It’s weird that I was just watching the news in my hotel room and saw you talking about that murder case that just ended.” The excitement in his voice was apparent. “I thought to myself I have got to meet this lady. She is so attractive and smart and I come here and you walk in! Talk about wishes being granted.”

    “Oh my god!” I said in my head “This idiot thinks I am District Attorney Connie Porter! What an insult!” Connie Porter and I were cousins, daughters of identical twin sisters, and yes, we did favor but goody-two-shoe Connie had never been as pretty as me! Not in middle school, not in high school, and certainly not now! She had taken the intellectual road in life and went to law school while I indulged in entertainment and making a living off of my two best assets, my looks and body.

    “If its Connie he wants then its Connie he gets.” I said to myself “No problem Kim you got this!”

    We spent the next hour engaged in conversation.

    “Connie?” He said

    “Yes?”

    “I’m having such a great time with you that I hate to leave tomorrow.”

    “Yes!” I squealed inside my head but I let out a calm “Awww, It won’t be the last time we see each other, right?”

    “That’s just it. I was gonna ask if you could come visit me in LA. But…”

    “But what babe?” I said staring lovingly into his eyes.

    “…If you’re Connie Porter. How is she giving a live press conference?” he said staring at the TV.

  6. aikawah says:

    She paused outside the door to compose herself. She couldn’t believe he was here; that he had actually come like he promised. I could hear her breathing across the door, and then she opened it. She never opened the door for anyone when she was alone in the house. Her sister was out now, that’s why I had chosen this time. I didn’t want anyone knowing I’d been here.
    ‘Come in sir’ she said moving her walking cane out of the way.
    I walked in quickly. There were too many people walking by who might have seen me.
    ‘It’s a beautiful place, your sister’s a great decorator,’ I said closing the door carefully. I watched her feel her way to the couch on the other side of the room. There was a half eaten sandwich on a plate on a table between my chair and the couch. A butter knife lay on the plate.
    ‘There’s more bread sir’ it was almost as if she knew what I’d been looking at, ‘would you like a sandwich?’
    ‘No, but can I finish this one?’
    ‘Yes sir’ she said smiling. I watched her face keenly, studying her eyes. The lids were fused together on one eye and the other was blank white. The entire right side of her face was a black rough scar and yet she smiled so radiantly. The accident at the flower farm must have been nasty.
    ‘Can I make a request?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes sir.’
    ‘Please stop calling me sir. Just Willis will do.’
    She looked towards me for a while, and then burst out laughing. ‘But sir, what if I call you Willis during braille class, won’t it be strange for the others?’
    ‘Well then you must be careful not to.’
    ‘You’re funny, Willis. Much funnier than in class,’ she paused for a moment. ‘I wasn’t sure how you’d take my invitation. I thought maybe you’d have a problem paying a student a personal visit. I guess I worry too much.’ She stretched out her arm and flicked on a transistor set on the couch. The news was on: “… the disabled woman’s body was found dumped in a ditch just outside Uhuru Park yesterday evening by a couple of streetchildren. Eye-witnesses describe the scene as gruesome and say the body bore several puncture wounds probably caused by a knife or a similar object. It’s unknown whether this woman is the latest victim of the…” the ringing of her phone interrupted the news. She flicked off the radio and answered it.
    ‘Hallo.’
    I could hear her braille teacher’s voice over the receiver from where I’d moved, ‘I’m sorry Mary but I can’t visit like I promised. How about I take you and the other students out for lunch after Monday’s lesson?’
    From behind her, right next to her ear, I whispered, ‘I sound just like him, don’t I?’
    My hand covered her mouth, stifling most of the scream as I plunged the butter knife deep into her back.

  7. Deb says:

    Imitative Identity

    Prominent Paul was a particularly picky person, and his playmates had to possess peculiar properties. Now, me, I’m Cryptic Carrie. My secrets are sewn between the seams with silken strands, and I hardly appear to attract the attention of anyone.

    Then one day, Prominent Paul popped up on my porch, and asked me to join him for a cup of coffee. Of course, I was wary, but I went.

    We took a seat at the table. Prominent Paul’s beady bright eyes beamed on me. “I’m honored you joined me. Of all the women in the world, you’re the one I’ve been longing to be with.”

    My thoughts traveled to the back of my brain to reserve a response. “I chose to come because first and foremost, I’m fond of you, too, and …”

    Prominent Paul placed his pointer to the fleshy folds around my mouth. “I’m thrilled. Let’s enjoy this moment to rebuild our memories.”

    Does he know me? I wanted to leave, but fate kept me in my seat.

    Just as we, the jovial couple, were jubilant, along came Nosy Nick. He approached us like we were an apple about to be smashed into juice. “I see you’re keeping yourself up, Prominent Paul, but why in the world are you with this Cryptic?”

    Prominent Paul leaned low, lounging over the table with his hands nearly in my lap. “She’s not Cryptic.” He snuck in a subtle smile. “She’s Sassy.”

    I froze. Coffee dripped off the side of my face, and my emotions slipped into the cup.

    “Sassy, my foot,” spoke Nosy Nick. “She’s Cryptic.”

    “She is Sassy,” Prominent Paul stated sternly. “I can see! I know who I’m with! You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, but I’ll continue to calculate my closeness to Sassy Sally. This should’ve happened a long time ago.”

    I couldn’t make a sound. I didn’t want to give up the ghost since Prominent Paul was easy on the eyes, and men like him didn’t come a dime a dozen.

    “You’re making a big mistake,” Nosy Nick announced openly.

    “No, you are mistaken.”

    I started to smell sweet success until Mighty Mouth Mike presented himself.

    “What are you guys doing here?” Mighty Mouth Mike murmured.

    “I’m trying to tell Prominent Paul he’s with Cryptic and not Sassy.”

    “Prominent Paul, what’s wrong with you?” Mighty Mouth Mike asked. “Can you not see?”

    Prominent Paul reached into his britches and brought out his bifocals. He looked at me. I was cornered. I was a snail, trying to sneak away from salt.

    “So, it’s true,” Prominent Paul spoke sadly.

    Nosy Nick and Mighty Mouth Mike laughed like lazy hyenas.

    I stood to my feet and delivered a smirk of success. “I may not be Sassy, but I can hold water. Nosy neighbors have mighty mouths, but when you’re cryptic, you can seal secrets. Some things aren’t seen with the eyes.”

    Prominent Paul removed his bifocals and said, “I see clearly.”

    I smiled.

  8. Bumblebee83959 says:

    The doorbell almost never rang this early in the morning. When I say almost, I mean never. I answered it anyway, curious as to who could be on the other side. My twin sister had already gone off to the coffee shop, so I was alone. “I’m meeting someone special there.” She’d said before the door closed behind her. Why didn’t I have anyone special? We were twins! If a man liked the way she looked, they were bound to like the way I looked. Life was just so unfair sometimes.

    “Hey. Are you ready to go out to get some coffee?” A rumbling voice asked as soon as I opened the door. I gasped. It was… him. My lifelong crush since high school was asking me out to coffee. It was a dream come true! I nodded eagerly.

    “O-Of course! Just give me a moment…”

    After bustling around the house into a casual but cute outfit and straghtening my wild red hair, I opened the door again. “Ready.”

    The coffee shop was a mile away from my house, situated a little bit near the outskirts of New York City. It wasn’t as loud as downtown, but this part of town still liked to have fun every now and then. There were a lot of elderly people living in this area, so the party always ended short. But they never stopped trying.

    I felt a light tingle on my fingers and looked down to see him lightly grasping my hand. I stiffled a girlish scream and settled for a mild blush. When you’re a red head, blushes are much more noticable. Especially when you’re sickly pale like I am. But he didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled at me with those kind eyes, the same eyes I fell in love with all those years ago.

    We entered the coffee shop, hand in hand, and walked up to the counter to order. “Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino, please.” A new novelty in the quaint little coffee shop that I was eager to try. He gave me an odd look but ordered the exact same thing as me. We took a seat near the counter, him still holding my hand.

    “I never knew you liked that kind of stuff, Audrea.” I shrugged lightly, looking towards the counter. That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I clutched my throat, as if choking. Audrea? My name wasn’t Audrea. It was Marcie. Which couldn’t only mean… oh, crap. He thought I was my sister.

    So this must be the special someone Audrea wanted to meet. I couldn’t blame her, but still. I had a crush on him since my freshman year in highschool. When did this lovey dovey stuff happen between them? I turned back to him, only to see him looking over my head. I turned around and saw Audrea staring at the two of us. “Um… I have to go.” I mumbled, scrambling for my things as I ran out.

  9. zebrapod says:

    It really sucks when someone catches you lying, especially if you are a good liar. I must be honest, I am a good liar. But even so, I don’t tell lies, for the most part. Not because I regret lying, I mean, sometimes I do. But really it’s because I hate getting caught. The shame, the red face, getting tongue-tied. Ugh. I hate that.

    It all comes down to a calculation. One needs to weigh the pros and cons and come up with a cost-benefit scenario for justifying a lie. If I lie, I can get caught, which I already told you I hate. But if I don’t, Oh, the reward!

    I am about to be caught. Obviously, I’m not so good at calculations.

    Right now, I’m sitting in front of Brenda who thinks I am a guy who is interviewing her to become a financial analyst at the bank we both work at. I know Brenda. She’s a college intern, and I see her often in the hallways.

    She is the gal of my dreams.

    On the other hand, Brenda doesn’t know me. If she did, she would know that I’m just another intern, an older one, and that I know nothing about financial analysis. I have no idea why she thinks I can hire her. All I know is that she showed up to my door this morning, asked me for a cup of coffee, and then said she would do anything if I could help her get hired full-time at the bank.

    Anything

    I think it was when I said that Facebook was a good company to invest in right now that she started to sense something was wrong.

    “Do you own shares of Facebook?” She asked.

    “Yes, I bought 1,000 shares.”

    “At what price?”

    “Uhm.” I was about to get caught. “At 20 dollars a share.”

    “That doesn’t make sense. Facebook has never had that low of share price, yet.”

    “Oh, I meant that I would only buy Facebook at 20 dollars a share. Sorry, I didn’t hear your question right.” I thought that was a good save but it wasn’t. She sat in front of me quiet and stared, like a parent does at a child who denies stealing any cookies.

    And then she asked me the question I dreaded hearing. “You’re not Tim Gaitknerg, are you?”

    Ugh. The shame. I could feel my face becoming red. I was tongue-tied and couldn’t say anything.

    She stood up and walked out of the coffee shop.

    I guess, in the end, it doesn’t matter. I’ll have more chances to make things right and try again at the bank where I can practice my lying.

  10. The doorbell rang. The keyhole showed a tall, handsome man. Judy knew that face from a pic on FaceBook. She had written a series of articles he had edited a year ago. Judy never expected him to show up at her door.
    “Hello, Guillermo. Who, what, when, how and why are you here?” babbled Judy as she opened the door. It suddenly hit her to protect her privacy she had used a different name. Not wanting to be boring she had used parts of her mother’s life and times just to spice things up.
    With a grin Guillermo says, “Janet. I am here to invite you to StarBucks. I wish to discuss some things. If you have time.”
    Judy thought to herself. It is just coffee, “Certainly, Guillermo let me grab my coat and I will meet you there.”
    Within minutes Judy pulled into StarBucks. The place was empty and so they were served quickly.
    Guillermo now sitting says, “How was your trip to Greece? I did not see pics on FaceBook. I hope it went well.”
    Greece was a trip her mother took so punting Judy made up, “Interesting, enlightening, and educational.”
    “Oh, I am glad it served your needs. I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” said Guillermo.
    “Life is full of surprises, Guillermo. I expected a gmail, but I never would have guessed a knock on the door,” quipped Judy.
    “We conversed by email, but I have been following your FaceBook page. It seems earlier you were having many adventures and now that seems to have faded away. I hope it is a large assignment that pays well, but I hope you have some time for what I propose,” stated Guillermo.
    “Yeah just have been busy—writing, editing and then rewriting,” said Judy.
    “Our start-up company is expanding and we will need a few content writers for information articles, and chronicling conferences. Would you consider a position with us. I like your work,” offered Guillermo.
    Judy was about to answer when her neighbor came through the door waving and calling her name.
    “Judy, Judy. Did you get that sink problem taken care of. My husband will be available tomorrow if not. Who is your friend?”
    “This is Guillermo and can I talk to you later about it,” said Judy using her eyes to direct here neighbor elsewhere.
    “Judy? I thought it was Janet?” said Guillermo.
    Thinking quickly Judy stated, “It is. It is. Janet is a pen name I use you know to keep my privacy—private. Yes I am interested in the position.”
    Judy thought please believe me, please.
    “Yes of course that makes sense,” said Guillermo rising from his seat since he finished his coffee.
    “I will not keep you since it looks like you have business to attend to. Here’s my card. Give me a call and we will discuss the position. Good day to you.”
    Taking the card Judy thought in my life serendipity rules more often than plans.

  11. MCKEVIN says:

    Doug Revised

    “Hi may I help you?”
    “Two Buttermilk Twists please.”
    The clerk placed the fritters in a bag and handed it to me.
    “I know you from somewhere.”
    “Well I’ve been somewhere before. How much?”
    “Two fifty. I can’t remember where.”
    “Here’s three dollars keep the change.”
    I walked back where Doug was seated.
    “Doug I…”
    “Tracy Eugene Warren that’s your name. We were locked up together for lying to a judge.”
    “You are mistaken this is Jaylin. Tell him Jaylin.”
    “Yeah Tracy tell us.”
    “ Well you’re both right; My name is Tracy Eugene Jaylin Warren. I was locked up overnight for lying to a judge.
    “I gotta get back to work. Nice seeing you Tracy.”
    “You’re not jaylin are you?”
    “No I’m not but I have been wanting to meet you for a long time and..”
    “You lied and led me on.”
    “I was going to tell you.”
    “When?”
    “At the right moment.”
    “The right moment was the beginning.”
    Doug got up and walked out without looking back.
    “Doug wait!”
    remember it like was yesterday. We went to the comedy club and laughed all night and sipped Long Island Iced Teas. I invited you to my place and you said no, but said it would be okay if I followed you home because that was different”
    “Need more sugar for your coffee?”
    “No I would like to get out of here and do what we did years ago when I first met you.”
    “You have a really keen memory Doug.
    “I will never forget your smile Jaylin or the way you laughed. I feel like I died and went to heaven twice in one lifetime.”
    “So where you living now and what are are you doing with yourself?”
    “I told you I was going to be an independent film maker and my ninth film will be out next week. I would love for you to see it Jaylin. Can you get away next weekend? I promise to make up for lost time.”
    Doug looked as good today as he did five years ago at ISU. I can’t believe the times I prayed for this moment. Now its happening and he doesn’t have a clue who I am. I would be crazy to clear up his confusion and even crazier letting this continue on. Who am I fooling?
    “Get away to go where Doug?”
    “My film is opening at Iowa State film school. I’d love for you to be there.”
    “What’s the name of the film?”
    “When you tell the truth you never have to remember.”
    “I am going for another doughnut. Would you like one Doug?”
    “No I’m good. Good coffee and good company what else could I ask for?”
    I stood up to go back to the counter for an apple fritter with a lot of sugar coating.
    “Doug you are just too much. I’ll be right back.”
    “I’ll be right here.”
    I could see they were out of Fritters but they did have Buttermilk Twists.

  12. mjsca07 says:

    I open my eyes for another boring day. As I lay in bed, I hear a knock on the door. Probably another salesman or someone is attempting to save my soul. No money or sinner here; you need to have a life for either. Another knock, and I decide to answer it.

    I open the door and realize my boring existence suddenly took a turn. There she is, the girl I’ve been seeing in my dreams. Whatever magic or other unexplained forces are at play to bring her here, I don’t care. She’s here.

    “Hi! Look, I know we were supposed to wait for lunch to finally meet, but I was in the area and thought you’d want to grab some coffee.” She nervously puts out her hand. “Sorry, Tessa, nice to finally meet away from the internet.”

    “Uh..no worries.” I barely get the words out.

    “You look like you just woke up. I’m sorry, I can leave.” she says reluctantly.

    “No, no, give me a second to get dressed.” I dart inside and throw some clothes on.

    I’m out the door and following her down the walkway. She points her hand towards a car and the lights flickering tell me it’s hers. I get in the car, and we’re off. We exchange some small talk to break the ice during the drive. I’m still clueless as to how I got here.

    We pull up to the coffee shop and head inside. We’re standing in line and I tell her I’ll get the coffee and she can grab a table. She insists on paying for hers, but then I insist on making a good, gentlemanly impression. She thanks me, says she wants a double-grande-coca-macchiato-latte, and heads for a table. After waiting in line, I place the order, and sit down at our table to wait.

    “I’m sorry again for just showing up!”

    “Don’t worry, I’m glad you did.” I reply.

    She smiles at me and says “Your place was hard to spot at first, but the Giant’s flag in your window made it easy.” Suddenly my liver tries to leap into my throat. So, there’s another Giants fan in my apartment complex. God bless them.

    “Glad you found it. Guess it pays to be a baseball fan then huh?”

    “Guess so. I’m a football fan myself, but we’ll still get along.” She smiles warmly and I mentally make a note to shout in the streets later on how lucky I am. We’re sitting there smiling when my name is called to grab our coffee. I quickly get up, grab the coffee’s, and sit back down at the table. She has a very troubled look on her face.

    “I thought you said your name is Adrian.”

    I stop breathing for a second and realize the gig is up. Guess I better come clean. Too bad I’m not psychic; I would’ve read her mind, realize who she thought she was with, and told the cashier his name.

  13. MCKEVIN says:

    “I remember it like was yesterday. We went to the comedy club and laughed all night and sipped Long Island Iced Teas. I invited you to my place and you said no, but said it would be okay if I followed you home because that was different”
    “Need more sugar for your coffee?”
    “No I would like to get out of here and do what we did years ago when I first met you.”
    “You have a really keen memory Doug.
    “I will never forget your smile Jaylin or the way you laughed. I feel like I died and went to heaven twice in one lifetime.”
    “So where you living now and what are are you doing with yourself?”
    “I told you I was going to be an independent film maker and my ninth film will be out next week. I would love for you to see it Jaylin. Can you get away next weekend? I promise to make up for lost time.”
    Doug looked as good today as he did five years ago at ISU. I can’t believe the times I prayed for this moment. Now its happening and he doesn’t have a clue who I am. I would be crazy to clear up his confusion and even crazier letting this continue on. Who am I fooling?
    “Get away to go where Doug?”
    “My film is opening at Iowa State film school. I’d love for you to be there.”
    “What’s the name of the film?”
    “When you tell the truth you never have to remember.”
    “I am going for another doughnut. Would you like one Doug?”
    “No I’m good. Good coffee and good company what else could I ask for?”
    I stood up to go back to the counter for an apple fritter with a lot of sugar coating.
    “Doug you are just too much. I’ll be right back.”
    “I’ll be right here.”
    I could see they were out of Fritters but they did have Buttermilk Twists.
    “Hi may I help you?”
    “Two Buttermilk Twists please.”
    The clerk placed the fritters in a bag and handed it to me.
    “I know you from somewhere.”
    “Well I’ve been somewhere before. How much?”
    “Two fifty. I can’t remember where.”
    “Here’s three dollars keep the change.”
    I walked back where Doug was seated.
    “Doug I…”
    “Tracy Eugene Warren that’s your name. We were locked up together for lying to a judge.”
    “You are mistaken this is Jaylin. Tell him Jaylin.”
    “Yeah Tracy tell us.”
    “ Well you’re both right; My name is Tracy Eugene Jaylin Warren. I was locked up overnight for lying to a judge.
    “I gotta get back to work. Nice seeing you Tracy.”
    “You’re not jaylin are you?”
    “No I’m not but I have been wanting to meet you for a long time and..”
    “You lied and led me on.”
    “I was going to tell you.”
    “When?”
    “At the right moment.”
    “The right moment was the beginning.”
    Doug got up and walked out without looking back.
    “Doug wait!”

  14. George33 says:

    Life is unpredictable, and full of surprises. When Tom, perfect, tall sandy haired sparkling blue eyed Tom stood at my door step, it was definitely a delightful surprise.
    “Want to go out?” His slight Australian accent was even more perfect then usual in my dreams. “I thought we could go grab so coffee down the street but if your busy,” He never said that in my dreams. With a shake of my head, why did I do that, I remembered this wasn’t a dream and I was standing there like an idiot.
    “No.” I said to quickly. I flashed him what I hoped was one of those perfect cute smiles that can magically make men forget your recent stupidity, and shrugged. “I’m not busy, let’s go.” I said. Never mind the stack of things I was supposed to do today that rivaled Mount. Everest in height. I moved forward.
    “Umm, are you going to wear your slippers to the coffee shop?” Tom asked. I glanced mortified at my feet. Another quickly magically forget smile and I spun around, spun back and said.
    “No, I’ll be just a second.” I ran to my room and changed my clothes as well as my footwear, refusing to catch my reflection, he’d already be wondering what was taking me so long so I decided it was better not to know, and we left.
    “Sorry I didn’t take you up on your offer sooner, I’ve been a bit bogged down with work.” He said reaching for his latte. He had great taste in coffee drinking. Lots of whip cream, lots of sugar.
    “You have great taste in coffee, I love sugar.” My mind absently wonders how many feet I can fit in my mouth. Although my brother is fond of telling my how big my mouth is, I can’t imagine fitting many more.
    “Thanks. My boss tells me it’s kind of unmanly to have so much sugar so lets keep it a secret between us.” He winked. Oh I could die now and be happy forever. Tom leaned back in his seat. “Your surprising Beth, I have to admit. Its rare people surprise me.” Hold the presses, he just called me Beth. I’m often unsure of a lot of things but my name is not one of them. I listen to him talk. He thinks I’m Beth. After a lot of serious contemplation lasting three seconds I decide to go with it, it’s Tom, who wouldn’t. That’s when it happened. Dark suit approaches. He excuses himself, glances at a picture and then at me.
    “Ms. Sarah Arthur, I need you to come with me.” There goes my cover.

  15. Laura S. says:

    Tuck was sitting in the cafe nose deep in a book. Never had I dreamed of meeting up with him. His dark brown hair was cut short and his bushy beard left ungroomed. Sitting at my usual table I couldn’t help but glance over at him every ten seconds. Our eyes suddenly met and slowly he smiled at me. To my suprise he got up and joined me at my table.

    In his smooth sexy voice he said,”Hi, how are you?”

    “Good. How bout you?” Noticing how shaky my voice was I lowered my head and nervously smiled from ear to ear.

    Tuck sat back in his chair with a smile on his face. “Well, I am happy to see you here. Let’s just say I’ve seen you around but was a little nervous to approach. It’s hard with my schedule to get out and I’ve noticed how much you’ve been working.”

    Confused as to how he could have known anything about me I took a sip of my coffee. This encounter was what I have always dreamed of; a private moment to just speak to him. So I went with it.

    “You have noticed my work, huh. That’s great.” I began playing with the corners of the table with my index finger and thumb. I felt hot and could feel my face was flushed so I took off my jacket.

    “Oh yeah, I saw that you have been working at WNYX5. Your specials on the proposed tax hike was great.”

    That’s the moment I realized he thought I was Veronica the new anchor on Channel 5. For the next ten minutes I sat stunned. What should I do? I sipped more coffee and looked around the room while Tuck complimented me about “my” work. How horrible would it be to just go with it for a little longer. After all I could just walk away after our conversation and avoid the cafe for awhile. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and asked if I would join him for dinner at Francesca. I hesitated but said yes. After all who was I hurting?

    We left immediately for Francesca’s and was seated in a private booth he requested.We ordered white wine had calamari and what seemed to be an endless buffet of food. As we talked I studied his body and mannerisms. He was so smooth. A few times I had to catch myself. I managed to keep the conversation off of work explaining to him I wanted to get to know the real him and him me. That was not a lie.

    After two bottles of wine and three hours later a waiter approached carrying a note for Tuck. He read the note sent from another table carefully. I was beginning to panic. Had someone heard who he thought I was and was whistleblowing? I waited to see if his expression would change to disgust or anger. It didn’t. He wrote on the note chuckling to himself and gave it back to the waiter. I looked back to see where the note came from when to my surprise there was Veronica smiling at Tuck. Feeling both guilty and embarassment I began to apologize explaining that I had long since admired him and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to speak with him.

    I tried to retreat from the table but Tuck gently grabbed my arm and urged me to relax and sit. He explained that he realized I was not Veronica when I took off my jacket and revealed my nametag back at the cafe. The note was simply an invite to thier table. He was embarrased at first, he explained, but was curious about this beautiful woman sitting in front of him. We took up the offer to sit at Veronica’s table but first set another date for next Tuesday.

  16. rob akers says:

    A Captain Bill Rimes Story

    The orders were clear. Clean the base because the President was coming and the Yeager ANG in Charleston WV was going to be perfect. Bill and seven other pilots were painting the downstairs bunkroom that would never see the President; it almost never saw anyone except the semi-random hook-up between the Squadron Administrative Assistant and whoever her chosen boyfriend of the moment was. It was one of the worst kept secrets in the Squadron and the source of many jokes.

    During one of the jokes, the Squadron Commander walked into the small room that he had visited several times in the past. Ignoring the comments he asked Bill to follow him.

    In the hallway, stood a tall imposing Secret Service agent. “Agent Matthews, this is Captain Rimes, he is at your disposal.” Turning to the pilot in his paint stained flight suit. “You now work for her.” He left and went to put out another fire.

    The Agent spoke. “Do you have a business suit that fits and shoes that match?”

    He answered yes.

    “Do have a driver’s license and is your record clean, meaning no DUI or reckless driving convictions?”

    Again he answered yes.

    “Go home and be back at 6AM wearing your Sunday best.”

    The President landed at 11:00 AM. While he went through the required receiving line, Bill and the rest of the Presidential convoy pulled up behind Air Force One and began to receive the entourage. Bill’s van filled up with the Press Pool including Colonel Oliver North. Bill’s heart skipped a beat when Ollie climbed into his van. Ollie was one of his personal hero’s, three years earlier, Bill’s crew flew Ollie to Baghdad and then stayed with him for two hours because the idiot Major in charge refused to escort Ollie’s team to their secret meeting. Bill spent that time working the phones and pleading with the Major in a futile attempt to get Ollie to his meeting. Unable to do anything, they flew the dejected Ollie back to Kuwait.

    Being the last into the van, Ollie was forced into the passenger seat. A look of recognition came across Ollie’s face.

    “I know you.”

    “Yes Sir. I flew you once in Iraq. You were very kind and even took a picture with my guys. I am sorry that you missed that meeting, I wish I could have done more.” Ollie nodded and sat in silence the rest of the trip.

    An hour later, Agent Matthews walked up to Bill. “Get out of the van. I heard about what you did to Ollie in Iraq. Do not go anywhere near this van and after we leave, find your own way back.”

    “Ma’am what are you talking about?”

    “Ollie told me that you refused to take his team to an interview with Saddam Hussein. He missed the interview because Saddam was executed while you hid behind Army regulations. I am done with you.”

    Refusing to speak to Bill, Ollie left Charleston never knowing he confused Bill with the Major.

  17. slayerdan says:

    “Please don’t go”,she said in hushed tones, grabbing his arm as he started to walk away from the table,” Im sorry Im not the one…..I would give everything, EVERYTHING, to be her,” she finished, sobbing quietly.

    His exit halted, he looked down at her as she cried, her face unseen in her hands as her head shook and body trembled. An ever so brief moment of pity crept into the pit of his being, poking at what he used to call his soul. He reached down and caressed her hair, pulling her head toward him. Cradling her for a moment, his oversized hand giving a moment of hope, he quietly replied,” so do I my dear. So do I.”

    Guiding her gaze to his with those same hands, he grabbed a handful of her curly, auburn hair and pulled her forward, his other hand grabbing the side of her open jaw before she had a chance to make a sound, yanking violently.
    A small spasm followed and her body went limp, her face still alive with the fear of her death. Gently releasing her hair as he guided her head down to the table, he turned her face to the wall, left money for the coffee on the table and turned and walked quietly out of the shop.
    “ I really do wish it had been her,” he serenely said to himself as he disappeared into the city.

  18. Mittens1326 says:

    Four Years

    In four years he had never once entered her office. But there he was, cool blue eyes fixed on her expectantly as he unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them casually up his tanned arms.

    She met his gaze uncertainly. Maybe he needed a lowly associate to fix a paper jam. Or maybe men did notice the ring.

    “Ready to get out of here?” He slipped his hands into his pockets, drawing her eyes with them.

    She stood hastily. They were probably cracking down on overtime. But she couldn’t slow her pulse and it annoyed her. “Big plans for the holiday weekend?”

    She waited for him to answer as they approached the elevators, but his mouth twisted into that crooked grin, the one she’d spent four years memorizing.

    She cleared her throat. “I’m heading to the shore.” She didn’t mention with whom.

    The doors eased open and he steered her the wrong way up Lexington, one palm ghosting over her back.

    She ignored the thrill that ran through her and pulled up short. “Where are we going?”

    “You got my attention today. I think you know that.”

    “Oh?” He’d never acknowledged her work before. Was this about a raise? A promotion?

    He smirked. “Let’s get some coffee.”

    They ended up facing each other in a tiny corner booth. He placed his phone down without preamble and pushed it towards her.

    “I wasn’t expecting this from you.”

    Adrenaline flooded her body as scanned the screen once, then again. She hesitated for a moment, then slid the phone back to him.

    “How’d you know it was me?” She whispered.

    “Lucky guess.”

    She toyed with her ring under the table. She didn’t fight it when her gaze drifted to his full pink lips.

    Four years…

    “I’ll meet you outside. Just give me a minute.”

    He shook his head. It was always the prim and proper ones. Four years of the ice princess act and then this.

    He scrolled through their conversation again.

    -All work and no play?? You know what they say, Paul…

    - So I’m dull, am I?

    - You need to get out of that office or you will be.

    - Says the workaholic.

    - You could play with me…

    He’d nearly fallen out of his chair. They’d been alone in the building. She must have pranced past his door ten times in that skirt making sure he knew it. And now here she was, feigning innocence. Like she hadn’t started this.

    His phone buzzed again. He eyed Casey pacing out front, phone pressed to her ear. He sighed. Probably Sandra, then. Some crisis with the kids. Thank God he wasn’t meeting them until tomorrow.

    He glanced down at the incoming message.

    - Still there?

    He froze. It was a continuation of his conversation with Casey, but… He stared out front again. She was still on the phone, absentmindedly crossing and uncrossing those long legs.

    He typed a quick reply that his plans had changed and threw a few bills on the table.

    Goddam, life was good.

  19. Icabu says:

    This is a follow-up story to my second posting for the 4/3/12 prompt about a letter from a favorite toy. This prompt offered a natural continuation to that story …

    ###

    Still smiling, the incredibly handsome man slid into the seat across from Carol. His choice of dress and the surprise factor appeared to have the desired effect on the beautiful woman.

    “Giovani?” Her voice was barely audible.

    Shock and disbelief were the most prominent emotions in her gorgeous honey-colored eyes. Something else sparked in her gaze and it was that which he most desired to pull to the forefront. He’d known it would be there.

    “You recognize me?” He cocked his head slightly. Her sharp inhale brought a tingling along his spine. She was more beautiful than he’d imagined.

    Unable to help himself, he reached his hand across the table to touch hers. The snap to his nervous system from their touch surprised him.

    It had terrified Carol. Her hand jerked away from his so quickly it sent the papers she had on the table to the floor, nearly toppled their coffees. Fear looked back at him now, paled her lovely face.

    No! He didn’t want to frighten her. He needed her. He’d seen so many pictures of her at his grandfather’s house. Most of them with the doll his grandfather had made for her – the doll made to look just like his only grandson.

    “Not Giovani,” he answered her. He had dressed exactly like the doll in a desperate attempt to capture her attention. He’d succeeded too much.

    “Who are you?”

    The fear in her voice cut him deeply. His plan was backfiring. He had to tell her the truth.

    “Soffio Veglione,” he said with Italian flair. “Usato Affetto was my grandfather.”

    “The doll,” Carol whispered.

    “Yes, he made the doll in my likeness.”

    “I don’t remember you ever being there,” Carol stated.

    “No, my mother, his daughter Signorina, sent me off to dance school at an early age. My grandfather missed me a great deal.” Soffio shrugged. “I teach dance at the university now.”

    “The letter?”

    Soffio hung his head. “Yes, I wrote you the letter as if from the doll, Giovani.”

    “But, why?”

    “The pictures my grandfather had of you fascinated me.” Soffio smiled. “I wanted to get to know you very much.”

    “All you had to do was say ‘Hello’.”

    She smiled at him, finally. The spark he’d glimpsed earlier now glowed within her eyes, over her face, in her smile. His heart stuttered with his dream come true.

    “Hello,” he said.

  20. Mittens1326 says:

    Four Years

    In four years he had never once entered her office. But there he was, cool blue eyes fixed on her expectantly as he unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them casually up his tanned arms.

    She met his gaze uncertainly. Maybe he needed a lowly associate to fix a paper jam. Or maybe men did notice the ring.

    “Ready to get out of here?” He slipped his hands into his pockets, drawing her eyes with them.

    She stood hastily. They were probably cracking down on overtime. But she couldn’t slow her pulse and it annoyed her. “Big plans for the holiday weekend?”

    She waited for him to answer as they approached the elevators, but his mouth twisted into that crooked grin, the one she’d spent four years memorizing.

    She cleared her throat. “I’m heading to the shore.” She didn’t mention with whom.

    The doors eased open and he steered her the wrong way up Lexington, one palm ghosting over her back.

    She ignored the thrill that ran through her and pulled up short. “Where are we going?”

    “You got my attention today. I think you know that.”

    “Oh?” He’d never acknowledged her work before. Was this about a raise? A promotion?

    He smirked. “Let’s get some coffee.”

    They ended up facing each other in a tiny corner booth. He placed his phone down without preamble and pushed it towards her.

    “I wasn’t expecting this from you.”

    Adrenaline flooded her body as scanned the screen once, then again. She hesitated for a moment, then slid the phone back to him.

    “How’d you know it was me?” She whispered.

    “Lucky guess.”

    She toyed with her ring under the table. She didn’t fight it when her gaze drifted to his full pink lips.

    Four years…

    “I’ll meet you outside. Just give me a minute.”

    He shook his head. It was always the prim and proper ones. Four years of the ice princess act and then this.

    He scrolled through their conversation again.

    -All work and no play?? You know what they say, Paul…

    - So I’m dull, am I?

    - You need to get out of that office or you will be.

    - Says the workaholic.

    - You could play with me…

    He’d nearly fallen out of his chair. They’d been alone in the building. She must have pranced past his door ten times in that skirt making sure he knew it. And now here she was, feigning innocence. Like she hadn’t started this.

    His phone buzzed again. He eyed Casey pacing out front, phone pressed to her ear. He sighed. Probably Sandra, then. Some crisis with the kids. Thank God he wasn’t meeting them until tomorrow.

    He glanced down at the incoming message.

    - Still there?

    He froze. It was a continuation of his conversation with Casey, but… He stared out front again. She was still on the phone, absentmindedly crossing and uncrossing those long legs.

    He typed a quick reply that his plans had changed and threw a few bills on the table.

    Goddam, life was good.

  21. theastrt says:

    Ding Dong! The doorbell rings at 7am in the morning. I roll over wondering who could it be ringing my bell so early in the damn morning. The sun peeks in on me through velvet colored blinds. I grab my favorite pink Terry cloth bath robe and head downstairs.
    The ringing has become to get more and more persistent. When I open the door it takes me a few seconds to adjust to the bright summer sun.
    Standing before me is a handsome man mid 20’s, cinnamon colored skin. His eyes reflects the sun in such a way that I can’t help but smile although I am wondering who he is and how he got to my doorstep.
    “Chelsea it’s so great to see you,” He exclaims grabbing me in a tight bear hug.
    Although my name is Chelsea I am very confused because I do not know this handsome man.
    “I think you have the wrong person I respond, my names Chelsea but I don’t know who you are” I stumble with my words because I wish I was this sweet hunks Chelsea. I want so badly to be her at this moment.
    For a moment I see a flash of disappointment in those brown eyes, or was it anger. It happened so quickly that I can’t really tell because the glimmer comes back instantaneously.
    “You always were such a jokester; Chelsea Lets go for coffee girl. For old times’ sake.” He replies.
    I just can’t bring it in me to turn down coffee with such a charismatic guy. After all I am a Lawyer with many contacts so maybe he is an old associate that I don’t recall.
    As we near the coffee shop my head is spinning as he talks about all the wonderful things we have done over the years.
    I order a caramel macchiato and he orders a white chocolate mocha. He tells the Barista his name is Cedric. I take note of this as I intend to research him because if it’s Chelsea he wants than its Chelsea he would get.
    As we go to sit we bump into a woman and I nearly spill my coffee, not because of the bump but because of the woman’s striking similarities to myself. From the shoulder length brown hair to the milk chocolate skin and round shaped eyes like a baby. This woman is a mirror of me.
    “Cedric” she exclaims loudly, “remember me Chelsea.”
    I look from Cedric to the copycat Chelsea and back again. If my head wasn’t spinning before it sure is now! At this moment I am wishing that this was a bar instead of a coffee shop. I am really in need of a drink. This coffee just isn’t going to make the cut.

  22. Dean Kutzler says:

    What’s my name?

    “Oh—my—god—Janet! Can you believe that?” Katy shouts into her cell phone. She punched out twenty minutes ago; she’s worked at the bookstore for years. “I just ran into him on the street yesterday on my day off. Uh huh—yup! He stopped me—me! I saw him on the corner of 33rd and 17th. I was scramblin’ for a pen in my purse for an autograph and he stopped moi! He thought I was some chick from high school named Lora! Yeah—can you freakin’ believe that?” Shaking her head she continued, “What? No! I didn’t tell him I wasn’t Lora. Are you crazy! He asked me out for coffee. Uh-huh, tonight—after work! I’ve been watching him for years on that soap opera! No way in hell, am I missin’ this. I’m just gonna play along and see what happens.” She switches ears and cradles the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she throws her lunch trash. “Huh? I don’t know. You know me—I’ll just go with the flow. He didn’t have a clue that I wasn’t this Lora chick. Nope—none! At least I’ll be able to say I dated Willy Biller from All My Stepchildren.” Glancing at the microwave clock she said, “Listen Janet, I gotta get back to work. I’ll call you tonight and fill you in on the juicy details. What? NO—Funny girl! I’ll call you tonight, not tomorrow…

    The smile on Katy’s face couldn’t have been bigger as she went about the rest of her day at the bookstore. Not even the lookie-loo’s at the magazine rack could rob her of that smile; nor the ton of books on all the trash bins waiting for her to put them away.

    It was about a quarter to five, quitting time in fifteen. She was meeting Willy at the Starbucks down the street at five. No worries. A fashionable girl is always a little late. Best not to seem too anxious, even as an impersonator.

    The coffee shop was swathed in the aroma of rich brew and local art screamed for attention on each wall. Willy was waiting for her at the back table. He stood to greet her, “Lora, it’s great to see you again. I was getting a little worried,” glancing at his wrist, “I thought I got stood up.” He chuckled, pushing her chair in for her.

    “Ah—you know me. Never on time for anything!” Did he just check out my breasts? Throwing her shoulders back, she made a silent prayer to Victoria’s Secret. “But I’m here now!”

    “It’s been so long, Lora. Gee—how many years has it been?”

    “Geez—I don’t know Willy. I never was the best in math class, remember?” Wow! My sweater puppies must be on point, he’s still staring.

    “I just have one question,” he said ogling her chest, “Who is Katy?”

    Katy’s body went cold as she followed his gaze to her chest. Sitting proudly atop sweater puppy number one was her name badge from the bookstore.

  23. Chilo says:

    I still can’t believe Jerry showed up on my doorstep just a few minutes ago and asked me for coffee. He seems so excited to finally find me after four years.
    Oh, now, I’m in his car. His car! We’re cruising along the streets where a burst of people seem to come out of nowhere. Coffee! Jerry!
    He was the ultimate High School crush. I can’t believe he remembers me. Maybe he feels bad for standing me up for the dance. His skin looks so good.
    At the coffee shop, his voice fills my ears with music, until he calls me Gwen. Gwen? Maybe it’s a slip up. Oh, I hope he’s single. His gray eyes sparkle with each note.
    That’s odd. Jerry has called me Gwen three times already. Does he think I’m Gwen instead of Ronda? Why mess with fate? I’ll just go with it. It might turn for the better.
    “Ronda?” I felt a hand on my shoulder. Jerry’s forehead creased.
    “Ronda, how are you? Long time no see, huh?” It was my colleague from my previous job.
    Dog gone it!

  24. DMelde says:

    Feeling like Odysseus, Quinton fell powerless to the beckoning call of the Siren standing before him. He followed her to the café. Hell, he’d follow her anywhere. The who, what, and where didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about was the want. His soul cried as he looked at her, and for a moment, time itself stood still as it struggled to catch its breath in the presence of her lethal beauty.
    “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here Mr. Hogg.”Keira said.
    “I must admit, I was surprised by your invitation, Ms. Knightley.”Quinton replied.
    Keira seemed nervous. She kept her gaze fixed downward while she repeatedly folded and unfolded her napkin as she talked.
    “Please, call me Keira. Would it be okay if I called you Quentin?”
    “You can call me anything you like. I’m glad you contacted me.”
    “Thank you Quentin. I’ve heard of you, everyone has. They say you’re the best detective there is.”
    Quinton sat back and did some fast thinking. She thinks I’m Quentin Hogg, he thought, the celebrity private detective! I should tell her the truth.
    Quinton was a tall, strong man, but try as he might he was no match for the Siren’s call. Channeling his inner gumshoe, he became Sam Spade, and succumbed to her song.
    “What is it that you want from me?”
    “Quentin, I know we’ve just met, but I understand you’re very discreet. I was wondering if you’ve ever heard of,” her voice dropped down to a hush, “…the Academy.”
    “What kind of sap do you take me for? You want to play me against the Academy? What’s your con sister?”
    “They have something that belongs to me, a small golden statue. I’d like you to retrieve it and return it to me. Will you do that for me Quentin?”
    “Aaah, the stuff that dreams are made of. Your statue’s name, it wouldn’t be Oscar, would it?”
    “Yes, but it’s mine! I was cheated.”
    “Life cheats us all Kitten, some worse than others. How do I know you’re being square with me? If I get copped by Hanks I won’t be dancing by myself, your pins will be hanging up there alongside mine.”
    In that instant the doors of the café blew open as a gust of paparazzi came swirling in. They were surrounding a tall, handsome man and shouting at him. “Look this way Quentin!” “What’s your next big case Mr Hogg?”
    Keira stood and faced the stranger. “You’re Quentin Hogg, the detective?”
    “Keira Knightley! Come join me for a picture. Yes, I’m Quentin Hogg.”
    She glanced back and glared at Quinton, who in self defense could only produce a weak smile. Between poses for pictures, Keira looked at Quinton and put a finger to her lips, and then she made a slicing motion across her throat. He caught her drift. He knew that Keira would get her Oscar, by hook or crook, and if he ever talked, it would be his final curtain call.

  25. lauranliz says:

    You only live once. I’ve heard people say it all the time. You only live once. It’s something I use to make excuses for all sorts of things. Eat cookie dough ice cream straight out of the tub. Why not? You only live once. Jump off that terrifyingly high cliff into the water below. For what reason? Because you only live once. Do it. This might be your only chance.

    Those words were the foundation that carried me along when I had second thoughts about anything. Those were the words that slid across my mind as I opened my mouth to answer the man standing at my doorway. Go to coffee with me? He’d asked.

    I hardly knew this man. He was a semi-stranger I’d never officially met. The one I’d heard whispers about from the other people who lived on my floor. I’d just moved in the other day. I didn’t even know his name. He didn’t know me. But as he looked in my eyes, I knew I wanted to learn more, even if it seemed a little risky. So I thought to myself, you only live once, and I said to the man, “Sure. Why not?” And so we went.

    But when I met him at the table, something seemed off. Maybe it was the fact that I had dressed up in a red sundress and he was wearing a hat pulled low and sunglasses. Maybe it was that he had picked the booth back in the shadows where no one could see us from the front. Or maybe it was the tension I could see in his shoulders as he looked over the menu and stared without really seeing as I slid into the booth next to him. I think, most of all, it was the surprise as he looked me up and down, like I wasn’t what he was expecting.

    “Hi,” he said. “that’s a nice outfit. Not your usual style, but I like it.”

    How did he know my usual style? “Thanks. I guess you haven’t had many opportunities to see me in anything nice.”

    “That’s debatable,” he answered “, you look nice in just about anything.”

    Hmmm. He must have been watching me closer than I thought the past few days.

    “Now let’s get down to business. I know you know the real reason I’ve asked you here.” He stared at me quietly “, we’ve got a job.”

    The real reason he asked me here? A job? Huh?

    “Micha?”

    And that’s when I got it. He thought I was my older sister, Micha. It made sense, since it was her apartment that I had been moving into and we looked pretty similar.

    But before I could say anything to him about it, two guys walked to the back of our booth and he was saying. “It’s time. You know what to do.”

    And before I could say a word, before I could even think, he was getting up, grabbing one of the guys arms and swinging him around to the floor. That’s when I saw the black butt of a gun in the second mans pocket.

    “Get him, Micha!”

    But it was too late. One man was down, but the second had his gun trained on us both. And I suddenly got a little dizzy. As the floor came up to meet me, I saw my date, or Micha’s date now, I supposed, knock the gun out of the man’s hand. Then everything went black.

    When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a the gray ceiling of some sort of van. When I tried to sit up, I couldn’t move my arms. Something was holding them down to the seat.

    “You’re not Micha.” Said the man who had been my date. “Who are you?”

  26. jincomt says:

    This had a lot of elements; I almost had a hard time following it. But I can totally see it being fleshed out and given a full life– I can see where you wanted to take it!

  27. Knight says:

    Not In The Infomercial

    I answered the doorbell, expecting my father.

    “Forgot your keys?” Instead, the greatest cover girl who ever lived was framed by my door.

    “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I’d love a glass of wine.”

    “Ms. Crawley?”

    “Oh, we are going to be formal, Mr. Gomez.”

    “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Come in, please. I didn’t mean to be so ceremonial; it’s just that I am surprised to see you here.”

    “Yes, it’s been too long.”

    Candy glided in and floated down into my couch. MY couch. What was she doing here?

    “Too long?” I echoed.

    “60 years at least”

    60 years? That bitter melon was really doing wonders. So maybe she was not Candy at all, but a beautiful, crazy look alike.

    “You look wonderful” I managed to say noncommittally. I excused myself and went to the kitchen, where I prepared a tray with cheeses and a bottle of wine with two glasses. She accepted the chilled wine, her perfect fingernails making a silvery sound when she grabbed the crystal goblet.

    I was at a loss as to how to proceed. She took a sip of her wine, declared it good, and said something about me always having a good taste. I had the nagging feeling she was confusing me with somebody else. She stood up and sashayed toward me, sliding smoothly by my side.

    “I’ve missed you. I’ve never stopped loving you, you know?”

    Now I was sure she thought I was someone else. There she was, the girl of my –everyone’s—dreams, but she was not really talking to me. I thought, “who cares, I’ll see where this takes me,” but I was curiously put off.

    “Why are you here?” My question came sounding harsher than I intended.

    “No beating about the bush, I see. OK. I want him to come live with me. It’s time he knows his heritage”

    Heritage? What is she talking about, I thought, more and more convinced some insane god was playing with me.

    The door opened and closed, and a pair of brown bags came in, my father behind them. He greeted us, as if the presence of supermodel Candy Crawly was a common occurrence in my apartment. He came back into the living room with a glass, and poured himself some wine. Candy stood up, looking from one to the other.

    “I see you forgot that the rest of us grow old,” he said. “This is my son.”

    “He looks just like you did…”

    “Sixty years ago,” He finished for her. “Yes. That is precisely his age. Why do you come for him after all this time?”

    Sixty? I am sixty?

    “I am sixty?!!!” I said displaying all my powers of eloquence.

    “And I am your mother”

    I sat down, missing the chair by this much. I hit the floor with a thump. It kinda explained why I had not felt attracted to Candy Crawly, but opened up a lot of questions. Such as how was it I did not know I was Candy’s son, or that I was sixty, for that matter.

    “Does this have to do with the melon?”

    They both laughed.

    “The melon thing is a ruse to explain the obvious fact she is no ageing. It all has to do with your Carpathian heritage and a certain cousin known as Dracula.”

    It was all explained to me in dizzying detail. Now I work for my mother as a “beauty consultant” just like my older half-brother. But we need to start planning how to disappear into our next life. Women are buying the melon thing, but people’s gullibility extends just so far.

  28. Amy says:

    Miss Understood
    By
    Amy Hadley

    He stood there, right outside the wrought-iron gate that fronted my home, one immaculately trimmed nail poised over the buzzer.

    Who was this demigod? He was everything I’d ever dreamed of. Flowing over his shoulders, his mane would have made Fabio jealous. Lively golden-brown eyes perused his surroundings and his physique was perfection. Taut muscle rippled beneath his skin, his stance suggesting a barely controlled impatience. He looked ready to pounce.

    I approached the gate, wishing I’d taken more time with my grooming that morning. I nibbled on my lips, hoping to give them some color.

    “Hello Handsome,” the words came from low in my throat, soft and husky.

    “Hello yourself.” He spoke with a low growl. Sexy.

    I batted my eyelashes at him.

    “Come and have a drink with me.” He extended a massive paw to open the gate’s latch, beckoning me outside.

    How could a girl refuse? I didn’t know the guy, but I’d like to remedy that.

    “I’d love to,” I purred, slinking past the gate.

    “Let’s go to that place by the fountain,” he suggested.

    I followed this stranger willingly, admiring his stealth as he moved along the shaded pathway.

    We got our beverages and settled in a cozy spot near the fountain. The splash of the water and the cool mist made it the perfect place for an intimate conversation.

    “You look different today,” he said with a low rumble, squinting. “Did you do something with your hair?”

    I reached up to touch the soft, sleek strands. They were the same as always—I was a creature of habit.
    Realization dawned. This was a case of mistaken identity. I wasn’t who this kingly brute thought I was. I decided to play along for a while.

    “I styled it a bit differently,” I fibbed.

    He visibly relaxed. “You look lovelier than ever,” he told me, his gaze myopic.

    How would I find out his name? Who did he think I was?

    “Simba!” a snarling voice proclaimed. Running footsteps approached.

    “Oh no, here comes trouble,” I growled, realizing who he’d mistaken me for.

    She came into view, ears laid back and teeth bared.

    “Simba, you fool,” she roared. “You were everything to me! I treated you like the king of the jungle and now I find out you’re nothing but a lowly cheetah!”

    “Kitty—give a guy a chance to explain!” Simba was cowering.

    I rose from where I’d been comfortably crouched, enjoying the altercation.

    “Not so fast Tabby,” she spat the words. “What are you, a cougar? Simba’s practically a kitten!”

    “I was confused, okay?” Simba interrupted. “I knew there was something different about her, but you jaguars and leopards are hard to tell apart! So this must be Tabby, the friend you’re always rumbling on about.”

    “She’s not a friend anymore!” Kitty pounced on me, fangs bared. I unsheathed my claws.

    “Let the catfight begin,” I heard the penguin intone, ever the formal ringmaster.

    The fur went flying.

  29. resnyder says:

    There she was. I couldn’t believe it. Was I dreaming?

    As I stood there at the door, I couldn’t believe the gorgeous cheerleader from my high school even remembered me, let alone showed up unannounced, 20 years later, in a different city, at my front door.
    I’d always had a crush on her. But we were in different crowds in high school. I was in the academic classes, you know, college prep, the “nerd” group. She was in with the popular kids, the “cool” kids. I did play sports, and was on the football team, so though never a full-fledged member of the “jocks” group, maybe that slight crossover of status was how she knew me. Cheerleaders and jocks were usually seen together.

    After my brief (solo) trip down memory lane, I realized she had been talking to me, and had invited me out for coffee to catch up on old times, and continue where we’d left off. I was caught off guard for sure, but I knew there was a Starbucks just down the road. In kind of a daze, the next thing I knew, we were there, talking and laughing and enjoying the day.

    As we talked, (okay, she did most of the talking, I was still extremely confused) she exclaimed how happy she was to have reconnected after all these years again on facebook.

    I admit, I had joined facebook to keep up with family as I now live in a city about 100 miles from my home town. My sister had been friending lots of high school acquaintances, so I did also with maybe half a dozen or so myself. One of those friends had this cheerleader as a friend, and I used that as an excuse to friend her. To my surprise and utter joy, she had accepted the request. Then came the disappointment. When I saw she had 576 other friends, I realized I wasn’t really all that special, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought.

    Apparently, she thought we had been carrying on a relationship on line that was at first friendly and casual, but rapidly became very personal, and a bit steamy! “Continue where we’d left off” began to take on all sorts of new meanings in my head. She must have noticed my smile at that point, because she returned the smile in kind. It was a beautiful, sexy smile, the kind that lights up a room, and draws everyone in, with thoughts maybe not all that pure.

    Dreams were about to come true.

    As I held the door for her, ready to leave and begin a new adventure, her cell phone came to life. She checked, and it was a facebook message. One that made her blush and smile. At first. When I had no reaction, her face turned ashen. I had lost my chance. The message was from her intended, wondering why their rendezvous had fallen through.

  30. Icabu says:

    Taking a letter from her mailbox, Loretta couldn’t help reading over the address. Beverly Hills. She sighed with satisfaction, happy with her trust fund purchase. Her salary as a doctor paid the taxes like a regular mortgage. Maybe it was selfish, but she felt the comfort deserving after putting herself through medical school – with honors, she should add.

    “Helloooo!”

    Loretta turned at the greeting to see a small group at the sidewalk, waving. The neighborhood welcoming committee, she wondered. One woman separated from the group and walked up Loretta’s short drive.

    “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said, holding her hand out to shake.

    Recognition hit Loretta like a brick. “Ma’am, Surgeon General Benjamin, ma’am.” She had been so pleased to see this caring woman appointed to the nation’s top medical position.

    “We were in the area visiting,” Regina Benjamin explained. “Would you have a few minutes to join us for a break at the coffee shop down the street?”

    Shocked, Loretta knew there must be a mistake but an opportunity like this was just too good to miss.

    “I’ll get my keys and be right back.” With a smile, tank top, shorts, and flip flops, Dr. Loretta Chan joined the Surgeon General for coffee.

    “I don’t get to see your show as often as I’d like, you know, but I enjoy what you bring to the character.”

    Loretta swallowed her suddenly too-thick coffee. Now she knew the mistake – mistaken identity. It happened often so she should have guessed it sooner. It broke down some barriers with patients at the downtown clinic she worked at, so looking like an actress that portrayed a female doctor on a popular television show had some upside. Sometimes it got her better seating in restaurants, too. But, right now, she wished she looked only like Loretta Chan.

    Smiling, she tried to remember what she could about the three episodes she’d seen of her look-alike’s show.

    Before she could answer, a woman seated across from them screamed and the man with her fell to the floor. Without thought, Loretta sprang to the man’s side and, finding no pulse, began CPR. Paramedics arrived quickly and the man was on his way to the hospital.

    Sweaty and post-adrenaline shaky, Loretta dropped into her chair. Gratefully, Dr. Benjamin had seen to the wife who was bordering on hysterics.

    “You performed quite professionally … doctor?”

    Loretta gave a quick grin, knowing her TV persona identity was busted.

    “Dr. Chan!” The coffee shop owner swept her into a big embrace. “Thank you for being here to help that man. It is my pleasure to pay your bill.” He kissed her cheek and shook hands with everyone at her table before visiting the other tables, calming and reassuring the customers.

    “Dr. Chan?”

    Loretta stood. “Dr. Loretta Chan. Real physician, not an actress.” She held out her hand to properly greet the Surgeon General.

    Dr. Benjamin also stood, took Loretta’s hand. “It IS a pleasure to meet you.”

  31. jincomt says:

    It’s tough, with such a low word count, to work in description. You always do such a good job of working it in and keeping the story flowing. I can just imagine your writing without these restrictions!

    • Ishmael says:

      Thanks! I consider that to be quite a compliment, coming from you – your story above was a seductive read, with an excellent twist. Yeah…the word count restrictions are a BEAR! I just write away, keeping watch on the word count, but not letting it hinder me. Then, when I’m done (which averages about 200+ words over!) I go back and shave it down, which unfortunately seems to be some of my best lines (albeit extraneous, which is why they end up on the cutting room floor). Thanks again for your input. :)

      • jincomt says:

        That’s exactly what I do– just write the story then shave, shave and shave again. I rather like the challenge of word economy. How to be descriptive, semi-develop the character, and maintain a story flow within 500 words. It’s a good discipline of identifying essentials. I’m assuming you’re published– your stories and writing are consistently good.

        • Ishmael says:

          Precisely! The word limit is an excellent exercise in self-control and discipline. It forces me to be concise, focused, and really tests my word choices.

          I saw that you are a member of the forum and have sent you a PM, as not to continue lengthening this thread with my boring personal stuff. :)

  32. Ishmael says:

    “I know it’s been years…and I hate showing up out of the blue like this…especially at this time of night…b-but I really needed to see you.” I stood at the door, flabbergasted at the sight of a tipsy Trey Wilson standing there with flowers, hair slicked back, and as nervous as the schoolboy he was when I last saw him fifteen years ago. This was definitely NOT what I expected when I opened the door on my way to work tonight.

    “Well…as you can see, I’m in a rush to work,” I managed to squeak out after picking my jaw off the floor.

    “Here,” he sheepishly mumbled, shoving the bouquet in my hand, “these are for you. Maybe you have time for a cup of coffee or something?”

    “Wait here,” I said. “I’ll put these in water and be right back.”

    I closed the door and leaned against it. Damn! Trey Wilson was here to see me. And he brought flowers. And he was HERE…to see ME! I pinched my arm. “Get a hold of yourself, girl,” I thought aloud, quickly putting the flowers in a vase and scrambling back to the door, breathless.

    “Let’s go,” I piped, slamming the door and grabbing his arm. “I only have about an hour.” After a few steps, I suggested, “There’s a quaint little pie shop a block away—sound good?” He nodded, so off we leisurely strolled down the sidewalk, both of us beginning to relax a bit.

    “It’s amazing how great you look; glamorous—like Marilyn Monroe,” Trey remarked, just as we arrived at the eatery. We were quickly seated and ordered pie and coffee.

    “So…what are you doing with yourself these days? The transformation you’ve made is incredible!” Trey seemed to be genuinely interested, which, in itself was a surprising change from the old days.

    “I sing at a few of the lounges around town—a kind of torch song cabaret show. It’s…” I trailed off while the waitress served our pies.

    “Peach?” she spat out, barely keeping the cud-like wad of gum in her mouth.

    “That’s me,” I motioned, raising my finger. “Then you must be the apple,” she continued, setting the other plate in front of Trey triumphantly, like she had just calculated the physics behind cold fusion.

    “Look, Suzy…” Trey began, “…I know I was a real creep to you in high school—picking on you all the time and calling you names, but I’ve done some real soul-searching over the years and I hope you’ll forgive me. Maybe we can even go on a real date sometime.”

    I was trembling with excitement. “Trey, are you actually saying that…” Wait a minute. Suzy? As in Suzy Watkins, the girl whose apartment I sublet? He thinks I’m HER?

    I started to explain, but was abruptly interrupted by my boyfriend, Brian, standing there fuming. “You two-timing BITCH!”

    “BRIAN!” I gasped, clutching my pearls.

    “TRAMP!” he continued, yanking the wig from my head.

    “FRANK?!” Trey exclaimed, looking rather pale.

    “Check…PLEASE!”

  33. metaman321 says:

    There she stood, the girl who had haunted the dreams of my high school years. She was older but more beautiful. Maturity had brought an elegance to her face that youth could only promise.

    “Stacy!” I said, surprised and delighted.

    “I heard you were home,” she said, her voice a deep, throaty sound that sped my heart and made my stomach flip. “How about dinner tonight?”

    We agreed to meet that night at the restaurant in town.

    As she walked away, she turned to see if I was still watching her. I was.

    “By the way,” she yelled over her shoulder, “how’s your brother?”

    “Good, I guess.” I hadn’t seen Alex for years.

    I was always envious of my older brother. He was strong, handsome and athletic; a star shortstop on the high school baseball team. I was short, skinny and uncoordinated, viewing the world through a pair of thick glasses.

    I had only one date in high school; Stacy. During our senior year (Alex was a sophomore in college by then) Stacy and I went to a dance. I had dreamed about kissing her. I walked her to her door but, when I leaned in to kiss her, she had a sneezing fit. I gave her a tissue and she walked into the house holding her nose.

    College had changed me. I learned how to speak and act with confidence. I learned which wine to choose and which fork to use. Best of all, I put on thirty pounds and grew seven inches. Even though I was the same uncoordinated non-athlete I’d always been, you couldn’t tell it just by looking at me.

    “Arnold,” Mom said, “with your contacts in, you look just like Alex!”

    While seated in the restaurant, Stacy took my hands in hers, smiled and starred into my eyes. She made any excuse to touch me on the hand, or the leg.

    When dinner was finished, I asked her if she would like to go to a new club I’d heard about.

    She said. “I’d rather pick up where we left off.”

    I felt in my pocket to see if I had a tissue.

    But instead of sneezing, she squeezed my leg high on the thigh and said, “I’ve missed you, Alex.”

    I was disgusted. While I was dreaming of her, Stacy was doing the horizontal nasty with my brother. I’d learned a lot of things in college, but morality wasn’t one of them. I decided to go along and see where it led.

    As we left the restaurant, Stacy slid her arm in mine, nuzzled my ear and said, “Let’s go to my place.”

    A group of boys were playing catch with a base ball in the parking lot. One of the boys called, “Hey mister, catch!”

    “No!” I yelled, but it was too late. The ball was in flight, on its downward arc. I put up my hands to catch it but it hit me on the forehead.

    “Arnold!” screamed Stacy. “How could you?”

    • jincomt says:

      There were a couple parts in this that made me chuckle. I love these lines: She said. “I’d rather pick up where we left off.” I felt in my pocket to see if I had a tissue. And I loved the way she discovers who he really is. Funny. I could “picture” the story, which I love when I read.

    • Ishmael says:

      BwwaaHaaaHaaa! This was GREAT! Like jincomt, I could picture the whole scenario by your wonderful choice of adjectives and idioms. That’s TOPS on my criteria of a good story. And yes, the “I felt in my pocket to see if I had a tissue” line was priceless! Although I could see midway through that she thought it was Alex, instead of Arnold (and knowing the “assignment” gave me an advantage), the way you revealed his true identity was another priceless moment! Call MasterCard! :)

    • metaman321 says:

      Thank you for the kind words, glad you enjoyed the story. I am a beginning writer and your feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

    • Icabu says:

      Loved the story. Arnold’s character was delivered well, very believable – I really felt badly for him at the end.

  34. PadawanWriter1 says:

    Just My Luck

    “Hi, Cam,” he said shyly. I couldn’t believe he was nervous to talk to me. He was playing with the white, spongy stuff in the door frame. It was adorable.

    “Hi,” I managed to respond.

    “Um, I was wondering, if you might wanna,” a piece of the white sponge came off between his fingers as he picked at it, and his face reddened. He was fully aware he was vandalizing my house. I didn’t care. “If you want to, I mean, we could get a cup of coffee…”

    Aww, I thought. Inarticulate, too. “Sure,” I said. “Do you like SuperBean?”

    He grinned. “Love it!”

    Fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t believe my luck, as we walked into SuperBean together. There were a few people in front of us, and we were making pleasant small-talk while we made our way through the line.
    “So, Cam, how do you like Mrs. Bruester?”

    I had never had Mrs. Bruester, but I had heard plenty about her. “I don’t.”

    He laughed, and I felt pleased with myself. “Yeah, she’s just awful as a Science teacher,” he stated. Then he elaborated, reminiscing over something I was evidently supposed to remember.

    I wanted to gasp, and my smile now felt plastered. Does he think I’m in his class? Humiliated, I didn’t know what to do, so I played along, nodding and responding as appropriately as I could.

    We got up to the counter, and he ordered his coffee. Acting chipper, I said without thinking, “Nothing for me, thanks. I don’t drink coffee.”

    “Wait,” he said, his face turning red and ashen in turns, “you aren’t Camber?” My eyes widened and I internalized a self-rebuke as he said, “She loves coffee…”

    I looked at my feet. “Camery. Nice to officially meet you, Josh.” I just couldn’t believe my luck.

    • Ishmael says:

      I enjoyed your writing and choice of details (playing with the white spongy stuff, vandalizing my house – both are great – and MANY others!), but I was left asking a bunch of questions that seemed obvious. Other than the same nickname (Cam – short for Camery and Camber), what else did the two have in common that would confuse the guy? Why would he show up at Camery’s house instead of Camber’s? Did he get the address by asking someone, “Where does Cam live?” Are they twins? He seems to know Camber well enough to know she loves coffee and reminisce about moments. Just a few extra lines to put those questions to bed would make this first-rate. :)

    • DMelde says:

      Good take on the prompt. Poor, shy Josh–too shy to even look at her perhaps? With her sweet and tender personality, maybe he met the right Cam after all.

    • Icabu says:

      Not sure how he got the two Cams mixed up, but I hope he gives Camery a shot. You made me root for her.

  35. JulieJ. says:

    Seriously?
    How should I respond? The image of me in his mind is of a blond. The way he unmistakably put it, my hair was as golden as the sun’s rays. But mine is black. No doubt he had me confused with some human female he met on the streets…. And yet his eyes said otherwise. “Come on.” I say as I notice my answers don’t comprehend with whatever his past experiences is. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he only has eyes for me. For so long I have dreamed of him and never said a thing, him looking into my eyes this second gave me more delight than whenever he would come around for a normal chat. “Just shoe me the way.”
    And sadly enough, that was exactly what he did. Come morning like, the man that I assumed invaded my dreams turned north upon the road with his gallant steed then left me in the hands of the king’s knights to fend for mine own.

  36. jren says:

    Whoa, Good story line. Should I feel freaked, my name is Jane. LOL

  37. Eli_13 says:

    Jane opens the door to find a stunningly handsome man standing there with flowers in hand and a crooked quirky smile on his face. Before Jane has a chance to say a word the man grabs her hugs her tight.

    “I am so excited to finally meet you in person.” He says holding her at arms length looking her over.

    “I’ve enjoyed our online chats but nothing beats meeting in person.” He asks handing Jane the flowers.

    The look of shock on Jane’s face is evident as the man says “It’s me, it’s Kevin. We have plans tonight, remember?”

    Jane is completely taken back this but she’s had so little excitement since the divorce and he was handsome.

    “Of course I remember.” Jan says setting the flowers on the table.

    “Get your things beautiful. I’d like to stop for coffee before our big night.”

    Jane grabs her purse and glances in the mirror. Not perfect but pretty good, especially for a coffee date with a handsome stranger.

    Jane and Kevin sit in a corner of the coffee house.

    Kevin takes Jane’s hand, looks into her eyes, “You are so beautiful. I have been waiting so long for this moment Susan.”

    Jane is caught of guard being called by another woman’s name. A name that sounded too familiar but it was a common name. She smiles and squeezes Kevin’s hand.

    “Your fingers are slender and lovely.” Kevin says as kisses each one tenderly. Jane flushes and looks away.

    She says “They say you can tell a woman’s age by her hands, so I try to take care of them.”

    “It definitely shows.” Kevin says as he gently caresses her hand.

    Jane excuses herself to the ladies room. Waiting behind Boho-Barbie, Jane looks at the bulletin board loaded with flyers of all sort. From under a want-ad for a hemp-braiding-vegan-yoga roommate is a black and white flyer of a woman. Jane pushes the mass of junk out of the way and stares at a local named Susan, mid-30’s, missing for three months, last seen at the coffee house with a man. The bathroom door opens Boho-Barbie walks out. Letting the missing woman’s flyer fall back into place Jane heads into the bathroom.

    Returning to the table Kevin is waiting for Jane. “I don’t want to miss out on our plans so we should get going.” Kevin says slipping Jane’s coat over her shoulders.

    As they walk out a disheveled man shoves a flyer into Jane’s hands. It’s a black and white MISSING photo of another woman named Susan. Kevin takes the flyer and says “Hey Susan, this looks a lot like you.”

    Jane looks up at Kevin, gets a chill. “You know, I forgot have an appointment I can’t miss. I should get home.”

    Kevin’s smiles “I was really hoping we’d get to spend the evening together.”
    Jane says “Me too but I really need to go. I can just catch a cab.”
    Kevin takes Jane’s hand and pulls her toward the alley where the car is parked
    “I can’t let you do that.”

    In the car Jane is nervously looking around realizing that no one can see them. Kevin reaches across Jane and she’s jumps.

    Kevin laughs and says “I’m only helping you with your seat belt Susan.”

    Kevin takes Jane’s face into his hands and gently strokes it, slowly moves both hands to her neck and he begins to squeeze. Jane struggles and claws at Kevin’s hands. With all her strength she says “I’m not Susan! I’m not Susan!” Still fighting, Kevin smiles at her and says “That’s what they all say.”

  38. jincomt says:

    Close Call of Mistaken Identity

    Every time I closed my eyes, his face wavered in front of me like the invisible heat waves above the hot desert. He was stunning. His lips were full and his hair was black and thick, so thick I wondered if I ran my fingers through it if they would get tangled and woven forever in the strands. He always wore black Puma high tops, black jeans, dark sunglasses, and a black hoodie sweatshirt. I was drawn to him like the proverbial moth to the flame.

    Now I sat across the table from him, sipping the foam off a double vanilla latte. The fact that he was here, the man of my dreams, solid and real, overwhelmed me. I had vastly underestimated his allure. I was quite sure I’d follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond.

    “Enjoying?” He smiled.

    “Yes, I am. I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you were just, you know, my imagination.”

    He laughed. It was deep and earthy and echoed inside my head. “No, I assure you Peggy, I’m quite real. And I’m here. For you.” His gaze was penetrating. I could feel it. It was as if his breath joined mine. As long as he breathed, I breathed.

    Except.

    Except I’m not Peggy. I’m Viva. Viva Tango. I looked down at the table. Suddenly the latte curdled in my stomach. He wasn’t here for me, after all. Maybe it was for the best. I looked up at him, ready to confess my true identity.

    “Peggy? What’s wrong? Are you afraid?” He covered my hand with his, stroking the back of my hand soft and gentle.

    “No. I’m not afraid.” Right then I realized I wasn’t going to tell him the truth. I wasn’t going to tell him my name or that he’d made a mistake. We had come too far. I met his gaze steady and sure.

    He smiled, not quite showing his teeth. “Let me kiss you, and we can leave here together.” I was barely breathing with anticipation.

    Just then Father Paul, walked in, “Viva! Viva Tango!” He rested a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want to look up and acknowledge his presence. But he squatted down so I couldn’t avoid his gaze.

    The spell was broken. The man of my dreams leaned back sucking in air. He knew I wasn’t Peggy. He stood up to go. I felt my heart thudding inside my chest, hurting my rib cage with its rhythm. He pulled his hood up over his head and put on the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes from me. “My mistake…Viva. Another time.”

    “Wait,” I called out, blood and life rushing into my face. “At least tell me your name.”

    “Thanatos,” he said glancing at Father Paul. I knew that name. I knew his name all along. Thanatos, the Greek god of death.

    I leaned back against the cool metal bars of the white café chair. Father Paul smiled at me gently. “Viva, let me buy you a fresh cup of coffee.”

    • Ooooo…a Date with Death, how creepy! Makes you wonder, too, what kind of tension exists between Father Paul and Thanatos (has the priest foiled Thanatos’s intentions before? hmm…) Cool story!

      • hillsworth says:

        I’m wondering if Father Paul even knew Thanatos was there, or was it a case of Divine Intervention? If he saw him there, surely the priest would have ‘cast’ him out, right? Great story, Jincomt. You’re very talented.

        • Knight says:

          Yes, it seems, by his reaction, that Father Paul knows. It is a very interesting story. It could even work like the beginning of a novel, elaborating on the relationships that began here. Maybe Viva changing as a result of the close call. Loved it.

    • Ishmael says:

      WOW! Thank God (in the form of Father Paul) her true identity was revealed! This story was absolutely EXCELLENT. Your descriptors were spot on (thick hair in which your fingers could get forever woven; he leaned back, sucking in air) and I could definitely envision the whole scene. What an ending!

    • Icabu says:

      Great read, creative story.
      Peggy was also lucky to not be in Thanatos grasp.

    • jincomt says:

      Thanks all for the feedback– just thoughts about how we probably flirt with life and death without even realizing how close we get to it, how much we may even desire it sometimes, and what will pull us back from the brink. Maybe it just isn’t our time.

    • DMelde says:

      Wonderful descriptions. Great story with layer upon layer of meaning.

  39. Scott B. says:

    I opened the door to my room and was pleasantly surprised to see that Helen from down the hall was standing there, smiling and primping her hair. She was wearing a collared white blouse (she looked best in navy, but who was I to complain) and asked if I would join her at the coffee shop. She spoke along the way, but all I could think about was quietly taking her hand in mine and hoping that she would smile at that and forget her words for a moment, then continue on as if we had been holding each others hands our entire lives.

    “Here we are Stanley,” she gestured to a small table in the corner and told me that she would get my usual drink. Only problem was my name wasn’t Stanley and what if I didn’t like my…I mean Stanley’s usual drink. Helen must be confusing me with someone else; perhaps someone else from our building, but I couldn’t risk spoiling our time together, so I played along.

    Helen returned with the drinks and sat across from me staring out the window for a moment. I called her name twice before she took her eyes off the rain outside. She looked through me at first and then smiled her usual smile.

    “I think we should go back to Catalina. Just one more time, don’t you think Stanley?”

    “Remind me about our last trip, would you? What was your favorite part?” While I was fishing for information and felt bad leading her on like this, I valued the opportunity to spend time with such a beautiful and intelligent woman.

    Helen looked down at her drink and answered, “Stanley, it was the first time you kissed me. We walked along the beach after dinner and you told me that you would take care of me for the rest of my life if I gave you the chance.” Helen reached over and placed her hand on top of mine, squeezing it as if to say I had taken care of her, just like I’d promised.

    But it wasn’t me she was thanking. It was another man, from another time who probably did love her to the ends of the earth. I looked at her hand and felt guilty for having even taken a simple conversation this far. It wasn’t fair to such a lovely woman and I had to come clean.

    A young woman approached our table as I was about to tell Helen the truth. “How is he doing today Mrs. Jensen?” Then, before Helen could answer, “How are you Stanley? Are you having some coffee with your wife this morning?”

    I was dumbstruck.

    “Stanley,” Helen interjected, “this is Maggie, your nurse. Stanley?”

    Maggie had that same, uncomplicated smile as Helen, and I looked at the two of them wondering how they could both possibly be confusing me for the same man. I sipped my coffee and decided to play along.

  40. bmadsen says:

    Rockstar.
    The door opened, creaking all the way to a soft landing on the wall. There she was her red shirt was resting just barely above two perky contours of greatness; she smiled, but just for a moment, then her lips turn nervous, innocently inviting for conversation. Rob stood there silent, wishing his next phrase would not be plagued by idiotic mumbling and low IQ.
    “Hey,” he said and felt a sudden rush of heat surround his insides.
    “Hey,” she replied with a muted whisper. She nodded to the side just once, “let’s go. I’m in the mood for coffee and carrot cake.”
    “Ok…” the mumbling had returned.
    He walked behind her and analyzed her every step. They were confident, even for a slender, fit body like hers, and lured him slowly. He robotically opened the door to his car and they both drove off to the city.
    The energy of the urban jungle seemed to stick onto them; with every inhalation he grew more and more confident, the mere thought of getting closer to those lips rendered him a brave man. He exhaled just once and began to talk.
    “So, what brings you around here?” he asked. She stood elegantly facing him, her slender, feline eyes stared directly into his, her dark skin radiating a shiny glow of lust. She smiled.
    “You don’t remember?” She asked, raising her brows.
    “Well…” he fixed his position within the chair, trying to make himself taller.
    “I tried looking for you that night but you were gone in no time. I think you left even before the concert ended,” she smiled only to hide her disappointment. “I wanted to talk to you just once more. I loved how you played.”
    The concert. That must’ve been a couple of weeks ago. Oh, crap.
    “I wasn’t feeling well, I was too tired.”
    “I would’ve woken up with you,” the sudden arousal, evident by the tightness all around his body, caused him to twist his neck just barely. He then smiled and leaned forward.
    “There’s still another chance,” he replied confidently. She replied his motion and got close to his ears. The warm, moist breath wrapped around his neck, pulling it closer, slowly inching its way to his back, already riddled with Goosebumps.
    “Excellent,” she whispered.
    Only once in my life have I played a musical instrument. I got to admit, I’m pretty good in Guitar Hero, but I don’t think that counts here.
    “So? Shall we go?” she slowly got up and walked towards the door. He nervously got up and rushed to open the door. He swung it open with the same confidence he had emanated all morning until he felt a powerful blow stop the door.
    He gasped and looked at the floor.
    “What the hell? Why don’t you look before opening the door?” the man screamed as drops of thick blood, the color of her dress ironically, dripped on his shirt.
    “Rob! What the hell are you doing here? You’re late! Get your sorry soul back to the station! We’ve got work to do!”

    • Aww, poor Rob…(and poor guy who got smacked in the face). Every guy’s fantasy, gone straight down the tube. I think you could expand upon this story, there is a good beginning here.

    • hillsworth says:

      You did a good job with the story, but you slipped back and forth between tenses a few times (she smiled, but just for a moment, then her lips turn nervous, innocently inviting for conversation). This is also my downfall. It is so hard sometimes to keep in the same tense, especially when it’s flowing out at a rapid pace. Keep at it though.

      • bmadsen says:

        Hey, guys, thanks! Want in on a little secret? I did this at work, just needed to vent some stress and write, just write. No polish, not even a reread! It’s funny how hillsworth landed on the money about my writing because, since Spanish is my native tongue, I still struggle with some tenses. Thanks for the reads and this will definitely be a future expansion. One learns ever day!

        • Ishmael says:

          Tenses are my greatest obstacle, too. It’s takes practice and a LOT of proofreading/editing. But your “tense issues” weren’t the problem for me. It seemed like nothing was fully explained, and by the end of the story, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. With English as your second language, your story was quite admirable! Keep it up! :o)

    • Icabu says:

      Enjoyed the story. There are a few rough spots. Keep writing!

  41. “Spooning Over You”

    “I can’t believe that I’m finally on a date with Mack the Knife!”
    I almost spat the coffee as I pulled my head up out of it. Miss Tea Cup was giggling. “I mean, here we’ve been in the same kitchen for, like, ever, and only now are we finally having coffee. The sugar bowl will be soooo jealous!”
    I paused, not sure what to say at first. She thought I was Mack the Knife, the sharp-witted playboy of the silverware drawer? Granted, she hadn’t spent much time around the common dinnerware—she was the high society china, only for “special occasions”—but it seemed difficult to confuse me for a knife, given that I was stirring her coffee with my head. Then I thought about it…the only silverware she had ever truly interacted with were spoons; perhaps she thought all flatware looked alike? (That seemed a bit utensil-ist.)
    But she was so delicate and pretty…To be on a date with a china cup, who only let the snobby, pure-silver spoons stir their drinks and their feelings…this was a big deal for a lowly stainless steel guy like me. Besides—knife, spoon, what’s really the difference?
    “I can’t believe it!” shouted a voice from behind us. Spinning around, we saw a small dish, one of the saucers from the china cabinet, heading for us. “We’re sisters! We were designed as a pair! And here you are, sneaking away with some…common-ware! This is a disgrace!”
    “You can’t tell me what to do,” replied Miss Tea Cup. “After all, you’re always beneath me.”
    “If you won’t come willingly, then my associate here will help me convince you!”
    My steel turned cold as I saw her “associate” approach us. Mack stopped short when he saw me. “Stanley? What are you doing here?”
    “Stanley? No, this is Mack the Knife.” Miss Tea Cup beamed. “And I’m his new girlfriend.”
    The dish was clearly confused. “No, that’s a spoon. This is Mack, and he’d have no problem chipping a disobedient tea cup, if she doesn’t come to her senses quickly.”
    “A…spoon?” Miss Tea Cup looked back and forth between me and Mack, finally recognizing the difference. But rather than get flustered, she merely turned towards Mack. “Well, I need to salvage this date somehow. How about we get better acquainted, Mack?”
    Immediately the knife was caught up in her enchanting china spell, as I had been. “I would love too, Miss Tea Cup. Perhaps I can show you my superior skills at salami-slicing?”
    And on that not-too-subtle innuendo, Mack and Miss Tea Cup hobbled off, leaving me alone with the fuming dish.
    “Uh, would you like some coffee cake?” I asked lamely. “We could share it. It’s soft enough for me to cut into.”
    The dish gave me a long stare, until she abruptly answered, “Do you want to run away together?”
    Don’t ask me why I agreed to elope with her, but hey, I guess sometimes there is a rhyme and reason to everything…

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