Weekend Quickie #200

Weekend Quickie #200

Saturday, October 8, 2016

One Image, One Prompt, One Emotion



a character who’s implacable


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3 thoughts on “Weekend Quickie #200

  1. Michael had reached the apotheosis of his career, New York Times Bestselling Author three books in a row but he felt deflated. Stuck in an apartment on the nice side of Vienna with money in his bank account, he still didn’t have want he yearned for so deeply – fame. He was an implacable character in one of his crime mystery books, unable to be appeased by the finest of rewards, the greatest of achievements.
    As he looked out of his open window to the beginnings of a wet autumn morning, he reached for his coffee and missed, knocking it off the windowsill, out of sight.There was the sound of breaking glass, but dulled, as though it had hit something… he looked over the edge to see a fallen pedestrian on the pavement. Some people went to the person’s aid and soon two Policemen appeared. One of them looked up and Michael dived inside.
    Some minutes later, his doorbell rang. “Sir! This is the Police. We would like to ask you a few questions,” said a voice from behind his door.
    Could this be it? Fame at last? The Police, an arrest, a court appearance? The headlines? He smiled with ecstasy.

  2. As they watched the sleepy trees dropping their colorful blankets, preparing for a winter of slumber, the worst was apparent. The whiskey trembled in his hand as he set it down, preparing himself to say what needed to be said.

    “You just can’t.”

    She was irritated, and he knew it.

    “But why?” she whined, openly. She didn’t need to hide her true feelings – her true self – any longer.

    “You’ll hurt people. You’ll hurt yourself. You’ll hurt me.”

    She softened as she pondered her reply. “I’m sorry it didn’t happen for you. I don’t know why you didn’t get it, but it’s not my fault. I have to do this.”

    The emotions were visible on his face, moving in ripples and waves, a language she was familiar with. Her transformation complete, he was left alone in a world where he didn’t belong. She couldn’t stay with him and he couldn’t live without her.

    Knowing she could save him, he flung his drink out the window and vaulted up and over the windowsill, expecting nothing and hoping for everything.

    She could save him from death, but never from himself. With a sopping thud, her decision was final.

    She had to seek another.

  3. Counting the Minutes

    I sat in the kitchen window enjoying the fall colors and listening to the gentle rain. Melancholy had seeped into my mood since I relinquished my position as designer of the weekend writing exercises. I had thought it would be a good change to let someone else take over, but what I hadn’t anticipated was the impact this decision would have on my daily routine. For over a year I was implacable getting the assignment posted as near to 6 AM as possible so it would be available to the early risers who relish their priceless morning quiet time; when their muse is most active, and their households were quiet. I felt that the project had reached its apotheosis under my management, but now I wanted to be on the receiving end where the assignment would become a complete surprise to me. It’s different when you’re the one designing them; you attain a level of foreknowledge and lose the element of surprise.
    It’s the price one pays for assuming the responsibility.

    But this is the second week in a row I’ve had to wait until mid morning or afternoon before the assignment was posted. Now I am at a loss to restructure my habits and expectations.

    I looked at my watch. It was 10:30 AM as a cold breeze blew in the window and made me shiver. I pulled the window closed, and took my coffee into the living room.

    Maybe I could watch a movie.

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