Day Twenty-seven: Creepy


It looked like Nessa’s blind date was choosing to just not show up. She had arrived barely on time (her specialty) but was still sitting alone slowly stirring the ice around her drink thirty minutes later. The restaurant was a moderate size, with a long ball along the right side as you walked in and a neatly organized floor filled with booths and tables far enough a way that nobody felt crowded, but spaced to fit as many customers as possible.

She had watched people file in and out, meet for dates or for get togethers or a after work drink, all while tucked in the front corner by the window alone. Luckily the waiter hadn’t given her any sad looks or offered to pay for her drink in pity, so she would could that as a win. As she was about to down the last of her beverage she caught sight of a couple people standing at the bar.

To most people it would seem like they were together, chatting friendly enough, but Nessa could identify the woman’s posture as uncomfortable from a mile away. She had been in that situation more times than she cared to keep track of and could tell the tense shoulders  and itch to back away in any direction. And the guy was completely oblivious to how creepy and aggressive he was being, leaning more and more into her space, buying her another drink when she tried politely decline.

Without hesitation Nessa downed the rest of her drink, left a nice tip on the table, and then made her way over to the bar. She made sure to approach them as if she had just walked in the door and snuck up next to the woman and placed a hand on the back of her chair, “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I’m late. Work emergency kept me late, and then I hit some hella annoying traffic.”

Both people turned to her, the man immediately annoyed at her intrusion, but the woman gave her a grateful smile and knew to play along right away. She waved a hand at Nessa and said, “Oh don’t worry, I’m just glad you made it. It’s been to long since we caught up!” Then she turned to the man, “Sorry if you don’t mind, my friend has arrived.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Well I’ll just let you go, you’re welcome for the drink.” he mumbled as he slowly pulled away from the bar, unsure where exactly he was to go now.

Again Nessa and the woman locked eyes and shared an understanding before she kindly said, “Uh huh, have a nice night.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with this reaction so he just nodded his head and backed away, then moved on to the other end of the bar. When he was gone the woman apologized and offered to buy Nessa a drink for the save and since her blind date had ditched out and she had no other plans she accepted.



Day Twenty-six: Box 

Bonnie sat and glared at the object taking up residence at the center of her counter. It had arrived three days ago, just sitting on her doorstep when she got home from work. No return address or postage so it hasn’t been delivered by anyone other than the sender. 

She had automatic assumptions about who could have placed the mystery box upon her porch, but she knew she couldn’t confirm her suspicions if she just kept living her life in avoidance of it. Taking A sip of her wine she set down the glass and walked around the kitchen island to grab a scissors to cut through the tape. 

Reaching out her fingers wrapped around the edges of the small, plain cardboard box and slid it closer to her. It was slightly smaller than a shoe box in length but just as deep so it could hold a good pile of things. Putting it off for a few seconds more Bonnie tapped her fingers on the top, the sound a bit hallow letting her know it wasn’t filled to the brim. 

With a deep breath she lifts the scissors and bends the hands all the way out, creating a knife to slice through the last barrier between her and the inside contents. The three sides give away with ease and quickly all she has to do is slide her fingers beneath the tabs and lift. 


Day Twenty-five: Tired. 


Over confidence was normally not a trait Penelope embodied, but she had been sure that given her talent for running on little to no sleep she wouldn’t have to worry about jet lag upon landing in Paris. She’d even managed to grab a small couple hour nap on the plan, so she figured she would be golden to make it until the end of the night no problem.

However on the cab ride to the hotel it hit her like a cold wind on the neck after you’ve just chopped off a bunch of hair. She was thankful that Ivan offered to get them all checked in at the desk, because all she wanted to do was drop to the floor and pass out. Tired wasn’t even a concept to her, she was beyond tired, beyond even exhausted somehow.

And the worst part was she knew that they needed to go and eat before they even considered taking any sort of nap. Luckily Ivan was not yet affected by this horrid effect and he had spotted a little cafe not more than a block from their hotel on the ride in. So once they got into their room, dropped off the bags, splashed some water on Penelope’s face they headed off to grab a quick bite to eat.

The food helped, she felt a small amount of life come back into her at least, enough to agree with Ivan when he suggested a walk around the area. The weather was perfect for a brisk walk through the smaller streets just off the common tourist areas. They could see the tall spire of the Eiffel Tower, but they knew they would have plenty of time to see her in all her glory in the next week they were staying.

Ivan was fluent in French so occasionally when they passed people speaking to each other he would translate for her as they walked hand in hand down and back up the streets. After a while the pick-me-up from the food began to fade and Penelope could barely keep her eyes open. She spoke softly and asked Ivan to walk them back to the hotel so she could crash.

She doesn’t remember much of arriving back at the hotel other than Ivan taking her coat and shoes off for her and tucking her into the plush bed. Thirteen hours later she woke up to the heavy breathing of his deep slumber and the sun was already high in the sky. It might be a late start to the day for them, but she didn’t think the magic of Paris was specific to a certain time of day.


Day Twenty-four: One-dozen




“Pretty please?”


“Pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top?”

“Preston, I have one-dozen and one things to accomplish today and making you cupcakes is not one of them.”

“Not just any cupcakes. Your super secret, super delicious, red velvet cupcakes Nobody makes baked goods for a depressed soul like you do.”

“While that is all very flattering, you’re not depressed. You’re mopey. There is a difference.”

“Yeah sure, but still your red velvet cupcakes can cure any bad or foul mood and that’s what I need.”

“No what you need is a swift kick in the ass to get over yourself and your hurt ego. You didn’t get this pitch, but you have three more coming up this month, and they are all great.”

“While that is all very flattering, I still want cupcakes to soothe my pride.”

“You can’t see it but I am rolling my eyes so hard right now. What if I pick you up one of those monstrosities of a cupcake at the bakery on 33rd? I have to stop by that stationary shop nearby for Leon so it’s like two things at once accomplished.”

“Fine. I prefer the peanut butter chocolate coma if they have it. You’re a good friend Zoe.”

“Tell me about it. See you in twenty minutes.”


Author’s Note: I have a fascination and fondness for ‘dialogue only’ prompts so I love to try them out at least once or twice during this activity.


Day Twenty-three: Slow


On most nights the noisiness of the bar would drive Deaton crazy, but after his long day he enjoyed how all the conversations and music and games of darts and pool jumbled together creating a sort of white noise surrounding him. Slowly he twisted his mostly full tumbler of scotch round and round on the coaster and let the buzz of the atmosphere wash over him, allowing him to tune out his own over active thoughts.

To his left the stool pulled out from the bar, scratching the floor with a heavy drag, and his trance was broken for a moment. A woman with long, curly red hair draping over a sharp black blazer took the seat and waved down the bartender, “A Slow and Low whiskey on the rocks please.”

A curt nod left Owen and down the bar he went to find the bottle to pour the woman her drink. Both Deaton and the woman watched on as Owen set the glass on the counter, drop a few ice cubes into it, and then pour with a long drag of his arm in the air, giving the pour a dramatic flare. When he brought the drink back to their end of the bar a generous bill was laying on the wood counter for him and she waved him off with a perfectly manicured hand when he asked about getting her change.

Rather than take a sip right away she reached out and gave the glass a little jiggle, forcing the liquid in inside to sway around the sides in quick motions. Deaton watched as she repeated the motion for a couple of moments, and a small smile formed on her face as she caught him watching. Their eyes connected and they held the gaze for a few seconds before she finally raised her glass up to the space between them and said, “To long days.”

Deaton let out a chuckle and reached over and clinked his glass against hers, after they both took long pulls from their respective drinks and went back to enjoying the busy silence around them.


Day Twenty-two: Little


They say less is more.

Though she’s little, she is fierce.

And they are correct.


Author’s Note: I like to throw in haiku’s and poetry when I am doing writing prep, so while this is not a lot I was in a funk today so I had to break my current routine and venture down a slightly different route.


Day Twenty-one: Big.


After thirty-three days straight Julia had finally scored not just one but two whole days off from work. Two days for her to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Turns out all she wanted to do was sleep late and stay in her pajamas as she made her way to the kitchen for a late dinner and eat said dinner on the couch in front of the TV.

Rain softly hit her window repeatedly signaling she had made the right choice to stay in and avoid the outside world. Her DVR was full of shows she had missed in the last thirty-three days due to work or the exhaustion gathered at work that meant she went pretty much straight to bed most nights, but that seemed like too much focus to muster. She needed a mindless movie or show that she could have on but not need to pay much attention too.

Flipping through the channels felt fruitless at first, nothing caught her eye or seemed right for the mood she was in. Reality TV seemed too dramatic, and possibly annoying, there was a Law and Order marathon but she prefered SVU to the regular, and HGTV was all House Hunters and whiny buyers did not sound like a pleasant afternoon. Julia was about to give up and go search her shelf of movies for a good one when upon a second run through of the channels she heard a classic line.

“You people work on commission right?”

She instantly dropped the remote and watched the sales lady reply and then said the next line along with Julia Roberts, “Big Mistake. Big. Huge.”
Yes, this would most definitely do. Even if she had missed a good chunk of the start, she believed that it was always a good choice to watch Pretty Woman if it was on. Perfect day off activity indeed.