FIVE-MINUTE CHALLENGE: Our writer’s group had five minutes to see pictures or words and come up with a short story. These are my entries. Be kind! 

 

Character A – has the Nightmare Job

Character B – has the dream job

 

Verb:  Reunites

 

Nightmare job reunites with the character with the dream job

After having been apart (literally or figuratively) A reunites with B.

Sylvia sat down on the edge of the tub. If she had to clear one more hair clog out of a dirty bathtub, she was going to punch somebody in the face. She looked around the hotel’s bathroom. There was beige make up smeared on the counter and smudges of mascara on the hotel towel.

“People are pigs,” Sylvia thought. One day, she added to herself, one day she’d get out of this dump of a job. She’d be living the high life, shopping on Fifth Avenue, having a driver pick her up and drop her off at the high-end stores. She wouldn’t be shopping at the thrift stores any  more, no sir, not her.

Right then, she heard the doorknob turn. At first, she was scared. Nobody was supposed to come into this room. It was midafternoon, and check-out was at 11. Her heart started beating faster, and she looked around for a weapon. The toilet bowl brush in her cart was out in the bedroom area. Fat good it would do her here.

A blonde woman walked into the room. She was tall and her clothes reflected someone with outstanding taste. The woman glanced toward the bathroom and saw Sylvia now standing in the bathroom.

“Sylvia Tate, is that you?” the woman said in surprise.

Sylvia looked closer at this Amazon. She did look familiar, but she couldn’t place her.

“It’s me, Pat!” she said excitedly. “I haven’t seen you since high school! I remember the last time I saw you and you told me you were going to New York City to be an actress.”

That’s when Sylvia placed her. Pat Brown. Miss Perfect. Now here she was still Miss Perfect while Sylvia, the girl with the big mouth, big dreams and zero luck was cleaning toilets in a hotel room in New York City, the place she’d bragged she’d own one day.

“Oh, yes, I remember you,” Sylvia said. She admitted, Pat had been nice in high school, and she still seemed nice.

“What job do you have?” Sylvia said.

“High-end prostitute,” Pat replied.

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(The challenge – connect two pictures. The first picture is of of an older woman sitting down at a table with a book in front of her. A younger girl is covering the older lady’s eyes. The second picture is of a girl dipping her fingers into water.)

“Guess who,” the young girl said.

Her hands were covering her grandmother’s eyes. This was a silly game Brittany played with her Nan. The elderly woman had been blind for 20 years. Complications from diabetes had been the silent culprit. By the time Nan knew what was going on, she’d lost her right foot and eyesight to the disease her father called “the sugar.”

Nan smiled.

“Sam,” she said, knowing full well the cool, small hands belonged to her favorite granddaughter.

“Not Sam,” the girl said laughing. “Guess again.”

“Brittany, I’d know you anywhere,” Nan said.

Brittany glanced at the book her grandmother was reading.

“Grandma, I never have figured out how you can read with your fingers,” the young girl said. There were so many talents her grandmother had – singing and playing the piano came to mind.

“It’s memory, sweetie,” she said softly. Even though Nan couldn’t see with her eyes, she explained to Brittany how she saw with her fingers. The softness of a kitten’s fur was something she felt but knew instantly how that fur looked. Dipping her finger in water brought back memories of seeing ringlets radiating out from her finger, the water cool and green. Those memories were etched in her mind, and she didn’t need her eyes to bring them back. Just the touch of fingers – all she had to do was remember how calloused her late husband’s hands felt to recall how he smelled – Old Spice aftershave – and the low timber of his voice.

“Our hands have eyes, my dear,” she said. “You just have to figure out how to let one of your senses take over for the missing one.”

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(Challenge – connect two photos. The first photo is of a girl holding a small gift-wrapped box. The second picture is a gray kitten lunging at the camera.) 

 

“Kibble, kibble, kibble,” Big Eyes the cat thought greedily.

Her owner – well, let’s be clear here – the person she allowed to exist in her world – was holding a small box. The box was wrapped in burlap and tied with a pretty ribbon. Big Eyes knew this gift was for her. Burlap was her favorite material to mangle, and she loved clawing ribbon to shreds. The human – people called her Olivia – often showered Big Eyes with gifts. Of course she should, Big Eyes thought. She was the princess, the ruler of the domain.

“Give it, give it, give it,” Big Eyes thought she was saying but the only things coming out of her mouth were loud, demanding meows.

The human laughed.

“Okay, Big Eyes,” she said. “Go ahead and open it.”

The human put the box down on the table and Big Eyes immediately pounced on it.

“Mine, mine, mine,” she was thinking.

In seconds, the burlap and ribbon were destroyed. Big Eyes clawed the box open and inside was a collar with a silver tag.

Big Eyes was furious. There should’ve been kibble in there, catnip, a new toy, something she’d like. Not this stupid collar with a stupid tag.

The human picked up the collar and patted Big Eyes on the head.

“Now everyone will know your name and your medical history,” she said, scratching her cat behind her ears.

“Tomorrow’s the day for the vet – no kittens here,” she said. “You’ll forever be the queen of the castle.”

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(The challenge – connect two photos. The first photo is of an older brick mansion with a brick balcony. The second picture is a young man, tie loosened, with a portfolio on his lap, looking out to his left.) 

 

Jacob looked over the papers in his portfolio.

Will signed. Check.

Power of attorney signed. Check.

Deed to house signed. Check.

He turned and looked at the old house. The 200-year-old castle had been in his family for generations. At one time, it was the center of the county’s celebrations. Townspeople paid his great-grandparents for the privilege of getting married in the castle’s grand foyer. Hundreds of brides and grooms had stood behind the stone balcony in the front, waving to family and friends, waiting for the horse and carriage to take them off to faraway lands for their honeymoons.

Now the house was falling apart. Mold, rot and neglect had taken its toll. But the property and surrounding woods were worth a fortune, Jacob knew, because he’d had the property assessed when his father became ill. All he had to do was wait for the old bastard to die and the property would be his. He’d started a campaign years ago to dissuade his cousins from wanting the property. Alicia had been the last one he had to convince. The script he’d memorized was impeccable.

The taxes. Astronomical.

The upkeep. More than $20,000 a year.

The rats. That was it – Sylvia was the last one to relinquish ownership in the old place.

And now it was going to be his. All his.

Jacob smiled and loosened his tie a bit more.

All he had to do was wait for the old man to die.

That or kill him.