Wrong Side of the Tracks…


“Are you sure this is the place?” Maria looked out the driver’s side window at the rundown building.

“It’s where the car told me to go.” Brett jabbed at the GPS screen on the dashboard. “It’s a smart car, it knows where we should be.”

“This just doesn’t–” Maria stopped as she saw three hooded men walking toward them, one of them grabbing something from his waistband. “I think we should go.”

Brett didn’t look up. “This is where we are supposed to be. 128 North… oh, crap. I put in south. Let me just fix–”

“Drive. Now!”


PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Friday Fictioneers

The Drive…

She was angry. I knew it. She only ever got quiet like this when I had done something to piss her off, and for the last hour of the trip, she looked out the car window, arms folded across her chest, and stared at the landscape that blurred by.

“Hey,” I finally said, “want to talk to me? I could use the distraction.” She didn’t move her face at all. Yep, she’s pissed I thought to myself. “Honey.” I reached across and laid my hand on her leg. “Honey, what’d I do wrong?”

You know those moments when you aren’t sure whether or not you did the right thing but you know you just have to do something in order to move. Forward, back, sideways. The direction doesn’t matter, but you just know you can’t stay where you’re at. Yeah, this was one of those moments because as I placed my hand on her leg and she continued to ignore me, I squeezed her knee.

“Why do you have to be such a child?” she said and reached down to slap my hand away.

“Ow!” I yanked my hand back as the sting turned to a burn. “Why did you do that? What did I do wrong?”

She turned to me, her eyes smoldering a wicked heat toward me. Her words came out measured and paused like slow drips from a faucet. “You know exactly what you did wrong.”

Ok, I’m an idiot, I get that. Apparently, it’s what we guys do, but I’ll be damned if I will ever understand women. This was just going to further prove my theory that they are all irrational beings driven by emotional bouts of craziness.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

I would tell you what her face looked like, but to be honest I was too busy trying to make sure I didn’t wreck the car. After all, crashing at 80 miles per hour will end an argument really quick.

“Really? So, you are just going to sit there and pretend that you didn’t eat all my Twizzlers?”

Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Yeah, it’s because I totally forgot I did, too. While she was sleeping. But hey, she left the package open and I got hungry.

“I… uh…” I did my best to smile a sheepish grin. “Sorry?”

“Yeah. You will be tonight.”

“Oh, come on….” Who knew she liked Twizzlers that much?

This is a story I had to write for my college class using indirect, direct and summary dialogue. As that last line says, who knew there were so many types of dialogue.

The Kiss…

My first week's response from my college class where we had to use the above famous photo from Life Magazine as a prompt. The instructions: 250 words, max; tell the story behind the kiss. Seems simple...


Sarah’s alarm clock had failed and now she sat on the bus, running her sweaty hands down her nurses uniform. The ship would have pulled in over thirty minutes ago. He was going to think she forgot. He was going to be standing on that pier, looking for her, and she wasn’t going to be there. Tears began to form in the corners of her eye as she wished the bus to move faster.


Billy stood on the bow of the ship looking sharp in his dress blues. He looked at the crowd of people gathered on the pier. Continue reading The Kiss…