Today's Writing Prompt: Mail

Tomorrow you get the mail, and in it you find the best letter you can imagine. What does it say?

From The One-Minute Writer

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Dear Dad,

All is forgiven. Here's my phone number. Call me...

Your Daughter

Ernie remembered that storm well.  He'd been on his way home from school and the weather was oppressively humid with low clouds.  That's when the wind picked up, showing the backs of the leaves on most every tree he saw.  He heard somewhere that when you could see the silver or backsides of leaves in the wind, a storm was coming.  He didn't know as it was true, but it sure smelled like a storm.

He decided to speed up and get home before a storm broke.  Being a few miles from home on a bicycle didn't make him feel very comfortable at the moment. So he pedaled furiously, did Ernie.  His books from summer school shifting back and forth in his back pack, developing a rhythm all their own.

Flying through house after house, he cleared neighborhood after neighborhood passing little landmarks on his mad dash home.  The sky continued to darken, and the wind rose in its fury.  Whipping everything around Ernie in to a fine frenzy of scary.  Grit from the road pelted Ernie, driven by the wind. swirling around, getting in his eyes, causing him to tear up (or was that the speed he was going?).

He reached a point on his way home where he could go to the left, and be forced to climb a long, steep hill on his bicycle, or take the longer way and not have nearly as arduous a climb facing him.  It was at this moment, that calamity struck.  The cuff of Ernie's pants on his left side got caught in the front sprocket of his bicycle.  Ernie crashed.  Hard.

He lay on the ground, dazed for a couple of minutes.  He looked around, seeing his bike still attached to his pants leg.  His pants were torn at the knee, his hands and elbows bloodied from scrapes, and the right strap on his backpack had broken.  He sighed heavily, flopping back down in disgust.  He thought to himself, "No beating that storm now..."

To all indications, he was right.  The day had taken on the cast of late dusk.   Midday sun was hidden behind an angry sky, that was turning a sickening shade of pale green.  It make Ernie think of corn shucks. 

He reached over, righting his bicycle, and after mucking about, got his pants cuff out from the sprocket and chain.  He stood up, and wished he hadn't.  He hurt all over.  Too much to ride very far or very fast.  He wasn't more than a mile from home, but Lindenwood Road was a bear to climb under the best of circumstances.  These were hardly the best of circumstances.

With the broken backpack over his left shoulder, Ernie elected to walk his bike up the hill and if he got soaked, he got soaked.  He was in too much pain from the wipe out for any other options.  So he trudged up Lindedwood Road, the looked of a whipped puppy about him.

With large rain drops starting to pelt him, he reached the top of the hill.  He climbed back on his bicycle, pedaling slowly the last few blocks home.  He had to put a bit more effort into it than usual due to the wind blowing right in his face.   He finally made it to the drive-way, around the small pine tree by the house and to the side door.

Which was locked. 

This didn't stop Ernie for long.  To the right of the door was a milk box built into the wall.  With a door on the inside and outside of the wall, it made for a spiffy emergency entrance route.  With a stiff arm, Ernie hit the inner door with the heel of his right hand, causing the door to fly open creating a clatter.  He reached inside, and unlocked the side door.  As he stepped inside, the heavens loosened and the fury of the storm was upon him.

He grinned, he'd made it home.

Yeah, Ernie remembered that storm.  It's a big reason why he became a meteorologist.

Today's Writing Prompt: Trust

Who do you trust?

(From the One-Minute Writer)

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We all speak of trust as in the trust of people in our lives that we trust with thoughts, secrets, feelings, our hearts and so forth.  These are important feelings to have, the trust of friends and loved ones.

However, I've come to realize that we trust complete strangers as much, if not moreso, than friends and family.  Think about it for a minute.  You trust the drivers of other cars to not cross an intersection when the light is red in their direction.  That's why we get so bloody angry when one to three more fools run red lights and keep you waiting whilst they do so.  They've broken a societal trust.

The laws that govern us are based on the presumption that others won't or shouldn't break them.  We trust that others will play by the rules, which again is another reason we get all wound up when somebody violates those rules.  Or why we should.

Just a thought....

From the One Minute Writer:

Friday Fiction: Breakfast

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He sat there pushing his cup around, the coffee growing cold.  Jim was wondering where Larry was.  For 17 years, they'd had this running breakfast "thing" at the Broadway Diner.  They never formalized it, but it was a part of the routine of both men.  With rare exception, Saturday mornings found them where Jim was, waiting for Larry.

It had all started quite by accident.  Jim had been a regular already.  Took his breakfast by himself, reading the paper.  Larry started coming in regularly and as such, Jim would nod at him either on his way in or out.  That became a brief, "How ya going?" which graduated to, "Mind if I join you?"  Jim still brought the newspaper, but never touched it.  Always left it behind when they left.

They'd never discussed the way things had happened.  That might have changed things between them.  They talked about their lives, dreams, families and solved the problems of the day.  The only nod to the arrangement would be a mention. "I'll be on vacation, so I may not be in next week" and that was it.  They never said "goodbye" but parted with, "See ya..."

It was with this in mind that Jim sat there wondering what was keeping Larry.  His reverie was deeper than he thought because the gentle hand on his shoulder startled him.  It caused him to slosh his coffee.  He was grateful it has gone cold at that moment.

Looking to his right, he saw a woman about his own age.  She looked at him with a sad smile on her face, "You must be Jim."

"Yes..." he allowed.

"Well Jim, I'm Norma.  Larry's wife.  He has spoken of you often over the years such that I feel as if I know you and you're my own dear friend.  Which is why it pains me to tell you..." and here her voice caught.

"Why don't you sit down, Norma."  Jim invited, waving to the vacant seat. 

As soon as she was seated, and had a cup of hot coffee in front of her, she looked a Jim with that sad smile. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jim interrupted, "Larry won't be coming down here anymore, will he?"

"No. He won't" a small voice responded.

Jim thought for a moment, "Let's order us some breakfast, alright?"
 

Today's Writing Prompt: Belief

Write about something you believed as a child, that you no longer believe.

(from the One-Minute Writer)

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I believed silly things, things that hurt nobody and today make me smile because of how ludicrous they are.

I believed that my Grandpa tossed my Grammie out the window of a morning as a signal to fix breakfast.  I believed that when somebody told me they were going to knock the tar outta me, I had tar in me.  I believed that when my nose was running my brains were leaking out of my head.

I believed you could play basketball without a hoop because I did it.  And I believed that Grandparents were a true gift.  Something I still believe.

Today's Writing Prompt: Apprentice

You are given the opportunity to be an apprentice for one year. Under whom will you apprentice?

(from The One-Minute Writer)

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Were I to apprentice under somebody for a year I would have to say that person would be Van Reid, writer of the wonderful and marvelously written Moosepath League books.

The things I would hope to learn from Van would be a deeper love of words, how they sound together, how they flow together and how to use them more effectively.

Today's Writing Prompt: Summer

Write about a memorable summer activity you enjoyed as a child.

(from the One-Minute Writer)

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Summertime was a time of bicycles and boredom.  The bicycle was my escape pod, my way out of the creeping angst and solitude that came with it.  A way to simply escape the pain, by focusing on the wonder of where I found myself, the details of how I got there and the game of trying to discern who was doing what to whom behind the closed doors and windows of homes and apartments I rode by.

The dreams of "showing them all" were usually accompanied by nothing so I never did.

And baseball.  I enjoyed dreams of baseball and Ernie Harwell on the radio.