Writing Exercise ... 2018

Sarah McClure's Short Story using the words:  lopsided, hoodwink, strawberry, planet, shoes, worship, spurn, miniature

If she had a weakness, it was her complete and consuming worship of all the wrong things. Fast cars. Expensive clothes. Shiny, glittering jewelry.

Men.

It was the latter that always got her in trouble. And this time was no different. Another lover with a lopsided grin and dreamy bedroom eyes. He’d reeled her in with those good looks and bad-boy attitude.

Hoodwinked. She liked the sound of the word. Old, nearly forgotten words were a favorite of hers. And this one fit, the way a good pair of jeans hug you once you’ve broken them in. Yes, he’d hoodwinked her, blinded her with lust and what she’d so naively thought was love.

The tall, thin stilettos she favored clicked with each slow step across the gleaming hardwood. She was going to miss the house. Possibly more than the man. He was nothing to her, now. What was the saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned? No, scorned. Like a woman scorned. That was it.

And oh, how her fury had burned, bright and fast, consuming everything in its path while it raged. Until she was emptied out, cleansed by the heat and destruction.

She stepped over the miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower laying on its side. A souvenir from a whirlwind trip, where she’d confused his extravagance with love. It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again. Or so she told herself.

She wandered from room to room, already feeling nostalgic for the place she’d considered home for a short while. It might do her some good to get away. Surely there was somewhere on this miserable planet where she could spend some time alone. Recharge a bit.

There was that little resort tucked away in the mountains of upstate New York. The one where they made their own strawberry wine. She’d spent a week there a few years back with her sister. Her sweet, boring sister who’d fretted the entire time over the decadence of it all.

So, she’d go alone. She’d treat herself to a week of indulgence, drink too much wine, and let herself be pampered by people who knew how to make a woman feel brand new again.

Forgetting all about wreckage of the once beautiful home, and the body facedown in the middle of it, she headed for the stairs. To the bedroom she’d shared with the man she’d left on the living room floor. Not that she was concerned with such things, when she had a trip to plan.

She didn’t noticed the red spots on her shoes until she stepped into the bright lights of the master bath. Frowning, she slipped them off to inspect the stains marring the gorgeous cream suede she’d coveted. Dammit, they were her favorite pair.

With a sigh, she tossed the designer heels aside. No matter. After her little getaway, she’d find herself another man and replace the ruined pair. And in a few months, she’d be in the same place, picking up the pieces from another tragic affair.

She had a weakness, after all, for worshipping all the wrong things.

Writing Exercise ... 11/2018

Chris' story using the words:  strawberry, lopsided, worship, spurn, planet, miniature, hoodwink, shoes


OK, here you go, no title yet but all the words are used...

Its hard to say how it happened or who caused it. Even now I can't quite wrap my mind around the events involving that damn planet, or how we lost the commander. Joe Levenwith was the kind of guy you couldn't help but have hero worship for. Not only did he know his stuff, but he had a way of being humble about it, he would never hoodwink you into doing something it was always right up front. Joe was a family man, his with Christie a good looking Strawberry blonde who even though in her mid 50s looked 20 years younger. She always wore shoes with a little minature replica of our flight insignia, she said it would always bring us luck. She was wrong.

Beta Strongrin was just another star, planet four seemed like nothing special at first. The survey that was first done said it was not suitible for colonization saying weather conditions were too erratic for a colony even though sensors at long range told a different story. Usually we would spurn such a mission as it would seem not only lopsided but ass backwards to use a ship like the Ventura to look at such an unpromising world.....

Writing Exercise .... 11/2018

My short story using the words:  strawberry, lopsided, spurn, planet, shoes, worship, hoodwink, miniature

My Sam

I closed her eyes.

Excuse me.

After she died.  I closed her eyes.

Oh.

When she died, her eyes remained open.  I closed them.

I see.  (I listened to his story but had nothing to add.)

I took my hand, placed it over her eyes and gently closed the lids.

He grew silent. Paused.  After a bit, he continued. As his story unfolded, he spoke slowly. Tenderly. Quietly.

 The love of his life, although they had known each other since childhood, they had been “officially” together since she was sixteen, and he was eighteen.  The only girl he kissed.  The only girl he dated.   Initially she was not interested.  He would have to win her over.  And he did. 

He discovered her love for strawberries. He often brought her the fruit.  He pretended to grow them.  He pretended to love them.  He did not. 

He learned of her love for astronomy. He would often watch the night sky with her.  Scanning the universe. Discussing the stars. Occasionally they would see a planet.  He pretended to care.  He pretended to be interested.  He was not. 

He wanted her, and if he had to hoodwink her, so be it. 

He loved her. Absolutely.  Unconditionally.  Perhaps to the point of worship. 

A lopsided affair.  She so full of beauty and grace.  Refinement.  Kindness and courage.  His courage had been of a different nature.  He was rough.  Tough.   He had a bristly temperament.

As he spoke, remembering her, he gazed past me to a time only he could see. 

Occasionally he looked at me to add an explanation.  “One didn’t get to be a full colonel by being nice.”, he rationalized.    

Their relationship had been rocky in the beginning. He had even been spurn(ed) by her a time or two.  But, with time and perseverance, he won her over. 

They had a daughter.  Just one child.  She was all they needed.  She was perfect.  A miniature version of her mother.

Again he looked at me.  He remembered how as a toddler, their daughter had become obsessed with wearing her shoes. He chuckled.  “Even in the house.  Even when napping.”  He smiled with the memory.

He returned to his story.   Their story.

And now she lay dying.   The love of his life. He was there for her last moments.  Her last breath.

He gently took his hand and closed her eyes. 

He had grown, over time, to love her favorite fruit.  He would think of her each time he ate a strawberry.

He had grown to love the night sky.  The stars.  The planets.  He would think of her each time he looked up to the heavens.

 And he would recount his story. 

To anyone who would listen. 

Because he could not let her go.