He wrote, she wrote.

Vote for Your Favorite – Week 2 Poll is Open!

by Christine Hawks

Another week, two more prompts and two more stories.  One week for you to vote for your favorite…starting NOW!

A Hairy Tale for Grown-Ups (She Wrote, Week 2)

by Christine Hawks

He checked his reflection once more in the mirrored panel of the elevator as the floor indicator moved upward towards his destination.  He pushed a stubborn dark curl, back into place.  “Perfect”, he said with a wink to his reflection just as the “ding” of the elevator signaled his arrival at floor 33 1/2.  He took a deep breath before stepping out of the elevator.

“You can still back out of this,” he thought to himself.  “No one has seen you, yet.  Just turn right back around and head out of here.”  He shook his head, dislodging that curl he had moved back into place.  “No,” he chastised.  “The truth must be told.”

With one smooth glide of his hand, the curl was back in place and he strode into the double glass doors of MFGN – Entertainment News Division.  He approached the cluttered receptionist’s desk.  Amongst the reams of paper strewn about, he spotted a name plate indicating that this desk belonged to, “Agatha”.  As he cleared his throat to announce his presence, up she popped from whatever she had been busy with under her desk.

Flustered, she asked, “And, just who might you be?” Read the rest of this entry »

Games We Play (He Wrote, Week 2)

by Dave Smith

Selwyn Street, known as simply Sel to his friends and coworkers, was a creature of habit. In the big, bad chaotic world outside, his habits gave life some semblance of predictability. They comforted him.

“Hi! Welcome to Burt’s Diner. How may I help you today?” said the clerk. She was new there, probably barely out of high school. Burt’s was a mishmash of pastry shop meets sit-down greasy spoon. They took pride in their “fresh” homefries. Sel was sure they were actually frozen, just covered in enough grease and salt to hide the freezerburn. He’d only ordered them once before and vowed to never touch the vile things again. Instead, he ordered doughnuts, which they were remarkably good at.

“I’ll take a cream-filled doughnut, please. Large.” It was his usual; $2.99 plus tax.

He watched other office workers on the sidewalk as he made his way to work from the pastry shop. They all looked so happy, at least happier than he was. He always wondered what they did and liked to speculate on his own way to work.

“I’ll bet she’s an accountant,” he thought, as he passed a young woman, dressed practically, but neatly. The man behind her struck him as an engineer, and the man behind him was obviously a designer. The stylish glasses, messenger bag, and white iPhone were dead giveaways.

He took a bite of his doughnut and a tart, sweet syrup erupted from the airy dough. “Dammit! I asked for cream, not raspberry! Incompetent fucks! Can’t even train the new kids right,” he thought. He wasn’t fond of surprises. Read the rest of this entry »