Bits and bobs

Below are the starts to three separate stories, each inspired by a writing prompt. I apologize for the unfinished nature, but one of my earliest goals with the blog is to just keep the writing momentum flowing. Thanks for reading, and please drop any thoughts or favorites in the comments section.




Apocalypse just sounds so final


“Apocalypse just sounds so final, you know? It’s not the end. Everything will just be different now,” Cat said.


Jillian shrugged. “The end of life as we know it has always ranked pretty high in the List of Undesirable Things.”


The two women sat on opposite ends of a designer knockoff couch, tastefully upholstered despite its discount origins. Covering the ground was the cheapest rug from a middle class pricey home decorating catalogue. The sunlight was taking a turn for the dusk. In the dim light, it was easy to overlook the ever thickening layer of dust accumulating on the carpet and the sweat stains growing on the sofa cushions.


Cat pushed up off the couch, an elderly Bucket taking her first creaky steps after years abed. “We still have electricity. And hot and cold running water. We better shake a leg. We’re burning daylight here.”




Jess and Vicki


Jess tapped her fingers on the desk in front of the keyboard. There were dozens of mandatory questions remaining to be answered before her dating profile could go live on the site. She ticked off answers to several multiple choice questions, then turned to Vicki.


“Vick, would my body type be curvy or a few extra pounds?” Jess asked. Although she had half turned to face her friend, her left hand maintained its insistent tapping.


Vicki shook her head. “Other options?”
Jess glanced back over her shoulder at the monitor. “Nothing else seems appropriate. I guess curvy is a positive spin, at least.”


Leaning over Jess’s shoulder now, Vicki read through the options. “Not that I don’t think you’ve got some delightful curves, but I recommend you click average and move on. You’ll have photos. Get to the interesting bits.”



Captain Cassie


Cassie cursed her carryon, doing its best impression of a grocery cart with one wonky wheel, as she made her way to the arrivals area. The bag at least had the virtue of weighing next to nothing. After all, what does one pack when traveling internationally to meet one’s anonymous sidekick and start a life as a superhero.


Patting her pockets, she located the passport tucked into a back pocket. I curse you too, she thought. The little blue book, with its inspiringly patriotic design, was a one-way ticket to the epic non-EU line at passport control. Cassie came to a stop near the luggage carousels to put her passport in a more secure location.


Looking up from her shoulder bag, she made eye contact with a man across the arrivals hall. He waved and her shoulders sagged. Oh, great hairy balls, she thought. Her father started moving toward her, revealing a teenage girl trailing behind him.


“Oh, great hairy balls,” she said.


As he reached Cassie, her father started and then curtailed a handshake. A hug, some 18 years after their last meeting, was never on the table. He smiled, looking older- of course, 18 years! than Cassie remembered, but not old. And so familiar.


“Cassie,” he said, his shoulders moving in an uncertain shrug.


The teenager popped up a hand in greeting. “H’lo,” she said. “I’m Cassie.”


Cassie, the older Cassie, the original Cassie, looked back to her dad. After a moment of open-mouthed indecision, she said, “Are you frakking kidding me?”


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