Sunday's Surprise: Open the Envelope (m)
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Sunday's Surprise: Open the Envelope (m)
| Sun, 02-24-2002 - 12:22pm |
Sunday's Surprise: Open the Envelope (m)
What was the last song you heard on the radio? Use a lyric from that song as the beginning sentence of your short story. Any subject, any word limit.
Happy writing,
Mac

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here it is...
“Everybody said you'd make it big someday, And I guess that we were only in your way. But someday, I'm sure, you're gonna know the cost; Cause for everything you win, there's something lost. But, oh, sometimes I think about you, and the way you used to ride out. In your rhinestones and your sequins, with the sunlight on your hair; And, oh, the crowd will always love you, but as for me I've come to know. Everything that glitters...is not gold.”
The song blared on the radio as I turned off the interstate into a gas station. As I put gas in the song seemed to haunt me. Shaking it off I grab a few snacks, and pay and head back out to the truck. I eased back onto the road as I headed out to who knows where.
The radio goes to static as I cross through that long barren stretch of Wyoming.
“Damn it, why did I not get a CD player with this thing,” I mutter.
This is going to be a long drive now. Here I am traveling the circuit with my horse, catching rodeos here and there for the chance at the money. I have no kids and no man in my life but still I seemed to be missing something. Sure I have had my share of men but none that I would care to share my life with.
I glanced around at the brown barren land that went on for miles just like this rode I was traveling, not a car in sight. I was hauling when I came to the bottom of the hill. Better slow down, crossed my mind. The miles seemed to drag on and on. I thought I had heard a strange so I looked back at the trailer everything seemed ok. I looked back at the road ahead to see the largest antelope that I had ever seen standing in my lane.
“NO!” I screamed as I jammed on the breaks, and started to skid.
I jerk awake to bright lights. I sit to fast and my head starts to spin.
A voice comes out of nowhere, “Easy miss, you are at the hospital.”
My eyes tried to focus but everything was a fuzzy mess. Raising my hand to my head I could feel the bandage.
“Oh my, where is my horse, is he ok please tell me?”
“Your horse is being checked out by my vet at my place, he had some nasty cuts but I think that he is the better off then you are.”
It took a moment for his words to register, “Thank you Sir.”
“No problem, Miss. By the way my name is Mitch.”
“Oh sorry, I'm Jess.”
“Nice to meet you I will go get some coffee and tell the Doc that you are awake.”
I heard the door shut. The Doc appeared a few moments later telling me that I had given everyone a scare and that I had a broken leg, a cracked vertebra, a serious head wound. I asked how long I would be here. Mitch had came in as the Doc told me it would be long while before I got out.
I felt the tears welling up in me as the Doc left. Mitch came over and sat on the side of the bed. He took my hand in his and caressed it.
“Jess it will be ok, I promise you. I will be here.”
I looked up at him for the first time I thought I had seen an angel. He was the sexy looking cowboy that I had ever seen. His eyes where a deep brown that was endless. He was just the perfect male. I thought I had died and went to heaven. Men like him are only found in dreams.
“You don't even know me, Mitch.”
“Well Jess I guess that we will have to start, cause I am not leaving your side.”
After three weeks of being cooped up in the hospital I was ready to leave. If Mitch has not been there daily I would have lost my mind. Mitch had helped me to his truck. The Doc said it would be a while before I could do a lot of the things that I used to do. He started the truck and headed to his place before I had the chance to object.
We pulled into a very large valley that was full of lush green grass. There was no house or fences in sight. He stopped the truck and whistled. A dull roar grew louder as the truck seemed to shake. Then a large herd of horses appeared. And leading then was my General. They followed us almost to the house before they turned and ran with the wind.
“Welcome to the McCoy Ranch, Jess, I hope you like it here."
"Well it has been three years since that the day, I am still on the ranch but now as Mrs. Mitch McCoy."
Have a mystical day,
Jade
Please Pray and Support O
My SS: A Bottle of Wine and Two Dixie Cups (m)
Okay, I don’t know who sings this song but it’s a country singer and I heard it on the way home from the grocery store yesterday.
Mac
* * *
A bottle of wine and two Dixie cups scattered near the black and red checkered blanket that covered the young girl’s body were the first things that Detective Thomas Callahan noticed. “Be sure you dust that bottle for any possible prints,” he said to the uniformed officer who’d been first on the scene.
“Yes, sir.”
“And lift some fibers from that blanket. They might come in handy later when we get a suspect."
After nine years of detective work, Callahan could pretty much tell within one scan of the crime scene what his chances of solving the case would be. This one had a thirty, forty- percent chance at best. From what he could tell, she was late teens to early twenties. Her neatly piled clothes and the fact of the empty wine bottle initially lead Callahan to believe the sex had been mutual. Yet one thing that puzzled him were the marks on the girls arms. The abrasions were made from rope -- perhaps her and her partner had been into kinky sex -- Callahan guessed.
But kinky sex couldn’t explain the tracks in the sand, tracks that almost appeared as if someone had dragged the girl’s body onto the beach. He leaned down and examined the direction of the tracks. They definitely moved towards the blanket where the victim laid sprawled out, faced down.
He walked over to the victim and removed her left tennis shoe, and then placed it in the track. Next he angled the shoe in the direction of someone stumbling along -- perhaps drunk and in need of assistance when walking. And then the opposite. The latter was a perfect fit. This girl hadn’t walked onto the scene by her own free will. More than likely she’d been unconscious when her killer brought her onto the beach, Callahan thoughts suggested. “Sergeant?” he called to the man following him closely.
“Yes, sir.”
“Make a note to have the Medical Examiner check the girl’s blood alcohol level.”
“But Lieutenant, there’s two cups -- ”
“My guess is they were planted there, as was the bottle.”
Leaning closer for a better look, he asked, “Why’s that?”
Bending down, Callahan placed the end of his pen into the neck of the bottle. “Take note of the end of this bottle. There’s no ridges, it’s not the screw on type. So it had a cork, right?”
“I guess so, sir.”
“Now, I ask you. Would a person open the wine and take with him the corkscrew as well as the cork, yet leave his blanket?”
“Probably not,” he answered.
“I’m sure of it. He wanted to throw us off the track. He set it up to look like a lover’s quarrel gone wrong under the midnight moon.” Callahan stared up at the dark sky.
“What made you suspicious?”
Callahan turned towards the young officer and pointed to the empty bottle. “A person that would appreciate a ’91 Caymus ‘Special Selection’ wouldn’t drink it from a paper cup.”
Jade, nice work!!! (m)
I loved your cowboy -- Mitch McCoy (cool name, btw), especially with descriptions of his eyes, "a deep brown that was endless.” And when The General leads the team of horses, I was touched. Although I don’t personally have any horses, there are several horse farms near where I live. I think they’re special animals. (The Horse Whisperer was one of my favorites).
Thanks for the great story, Jade.
Mac
Mac....
Well that was great make I loved the ending.. I have question though do you remember any more of the song? I have been tring to think of it and I won't get a wink of sleep tell I figure out who sings it. (I'm strange that way!)
I loved your story you did a great job!!! Makes me wish for more.
Nice Job
Jade
Have a mystical day,
Jade
Please Pray and Support O
You're Going To Get Sick Of This Story...
I haven't listened to the radio in so long I couldn't tell you the last song I heard so I'm posting "It's Been Awhile." It fits the assignment and it's the short story I'm totally consumed by right now. I can't get it out of my head. I've developed it a bit more and would love some feedback of the nitpicky sort.
******
"And it's been awhile since I could hold my head up high..."
Sloane Peterson silently sang the line from the Staind song over and over as she thought about the interview.
Maybe, Sloane thought, this will be the last one. She wanted solitude.
The reporter accepted a glass of tea and sat on the faded floral sofa across from Sloane. She was a slim woman with auburn hair and large penetrating eyes. There would be no mercy, Sloane saw. She would have to watch what she said as carefully as if she were back in court.
"Do you mind if I use this?" the reporter asked as she pulled a small tape recorder from a large Gucci bag. "It's only for accuracy."
Why not, Sloane thought, the last two years of her life were public record anyway. Sloane shivered as she remembered the three-column photo. Frank, dressed in a dark suit with a worried expression on his pale face, seated next to her at the defense table.
"No, I don't mind."
"Tell me, what has your life been like since you were released?" the reporter asked, having already produced a notebook.
Sloane looked around her shabby apartment then gazed out the window behind the reporter. She should have known she would never live in Frank's world.
She saw clearly, not for the first time, she drove him to it with her lies, deceit, and obsession. This was her world; a world of her own making.
"Miss Peterson?"
"I'm sorry," Sloane said. "What was your question?"
"Let's try something else," the reporter said. "Your attorney, Frank Kline, argued in court that you panicked, but some people still have difficulty understanding why you didn't go for help."
It was the one question Sloane didn't want to answer, but she knew it was coming. She wrapped her mahogany-colored arms around her thin body to brace herself. Her stomach cramped and her jaws ached, but she fought to keep her voice even.
"I wasn't even sure I was pregnant until that day," Sloane said, trying to remember how Frank worded it. "I had some bleeding early in the pregnancy and believed I'd already lost the baby. When the labor began I was alone and scared. I panicked. I was afraid I would die right there in that dorm room."
"But you didn't," the reporter said.
"No, I didn't," Sloan responded. "My baby did."
"Miss Peterson, I am a mother myself and I can only imagine how horrible it must have been for you to deliver your baby alone in a university dorm room with no one to turn to, but after you realized the baby was dead why did you not call a doctor, a friend, or the police?"
Sloane felt as if the woman's eyes were peering into her soul. "I don't know," she whispered weakly.
"But you wrapped the baby in a garbage bag and put him in a trash can. You were a pre-law student, you knew you could be charged with abuse of a corpse," the reporter said.
Somehow the events were more real now than when she lived them. Curled on her side, she had fallen asleep; awakening to pain. She called Frank. He was furious. "You told me you were on the pill," he had said. The words stung, but he was right. She should have known he would never leave his wife, his pretentious house on Magnolia Hill, and his career for a mill worker's daughter.
"Frank don't," she had pleaded. "I'll raise him. I'll go away and you'll never hear from me again."
"You can't be trusted," was his angry reply.
He had shown her Heaven and sent her to Hell.
"Miss Peterson? Are you alright?" the reporter asked.
Sloane felt the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Excuse me, please," she said.
She walked to the bathroom; the sound of a wailing newborn growing louder and louder. There was only one solution. She needed solitude; silence.
Her little saviors: an impressive array of bottles beckoned her.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It took her a minute, but she found the courage to pick up the bottle of anti-depressants.
"And it's been awhile since I said I'm sorry..." Sloane sang the last line as she swallowed the last pill.
I got the name!!! Just don't happen twice by Kenny Chesney
Have a mystical day,
Jade
Please Pray and Support O
Cool! A female rodeo-er...
What would you call a rodeo person anyways? lol. I love the ending. I guess her horse was fine at the vet and got to run with the others on the ranch?
Nice story, Jade, it felt refreshing.
Happy writing, Eyewrite
Aha, that smart detective...
Very well done, Mac. Skillfully you wove the song, detective work, and intruigue into few words. Very good job. And nice ending sentence: "A person that would appreciate a ’91 Caymus ‘Special Selection’ wouldn’t drink it from a paper cup."
So why were the girl's clothes all folded neatly? Was that to indicate the consensual sex? That perp doesn't really know much about how people disrobe for some consensual hanky panky, lol.
Excellent job. Really really good. Do you give lessons?
Eyewrite
I'm not sick of it...
No way. And I'm really coming to know your characters now with each time I reread your story. I think it was so different a topic than I ususally read that it has taken me these number of reads to wrap myself in the story. I'm truly liking it more each time I read it.
What are your plans for the story?
Eyewrite
Comments below:
"And it's been awhile since I could hold my head up high..."
Sloane Peterson silently sang the line from the Staind song over and over as she thought about the interview.
*** This part makes it sound like the interview is not in present time, that she's recalling the interview from earlier in the day or week, or that she's mentally preparing for an interview that's to come in a few hours, not seconds. Also maybe can show she's in her kitchen adding some sugar to the teacup and singing mentally, to lend continuity for when the reporter accepts the tea below.***
Sloane looked around her shabby apartment then gazed out the window behind the reporter. She should have known she would never live in Frank's world.
She saw clearly, not for the first time, she drove him to it with her lies, deceit, and obsession. This was her world; a world of her own making.
*** That she drove him to what? What did she lie about? And what was she obsessed with?***
Somehow the events were more real now than when she lived them. Curled on her side, she had fallen asleep; awakening to pain. She called Frank. He was furious. "You told me you were on the pill," he had said. The words stung, but he was right. She should have known he would never leave his wife, his pretentious house on Magnolia Hill, and his career for a mill worker's daughter.
*** Interesting that she's a black girl, in undergrad/pre-law studies, and she's worried about social class such as mill worker's daughter? So, just for a backgrounder on the story, was her her prof? Did they have a one time fling or a month-long or longer affair? Was he happy with his wife or did he like to wield power over single women?***
Her little saviors: an impressive array of bottles beckoned her.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It took her a minute, but she found the courage to pick up the bottle of anti-depressants.
"And it's been awhile since I said I'm sorry..." Sloane sang the last line as she swallowed the last pill.
*** did she sing silently now or out loud?***
hmm let me see....
Ok I think you are looking for the term Cowgirl or barrel racer. Yes the horse was fine and got a clean bill of heath and was leading Mitch's herd.
Does that help any?
Thank you for reading it!
Jade
Have a mystical day,
Jade
Please Pray and Support O
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