She had been at the convention hall since early this morning and now, as dinner time neared, it was good to get back to her hotel room. She opened the door and stepped inside, tossing her purse onto the bed. Food sounded good, but first she needed a nice hot shower.
She peeled off her clothes and dashed into the bathroom on bare tip-toes. She glanced behind her. That same feeling had returned. Every time she came into this place she had that vague feeling that eyes were probing her nakedness. She saw no one and as usual thought she was just being paranoid.
She turned on the water and ran her hand under the stream, testing it's temperature. When it felt warm to the touch, she eased her body under the gently falling water. She felt the tension in her muscles being swept away by the warm drops as they first landed on her skin and then slid down toward the drain. She closed her eyes and lingered on the feeling for a moment before reaching for the bottle of body wash.
Once again that unsettling feeling came. Someone is watching. She opened her eyes and looked around as she squirted liquid soap over her breasts. A chill went up her spine as the feeling intensified. Then her eyes landed on something shiny in the air conditioning duct.
She turned the water off and snatched the towel from the rack, holding it in place over her naked body as she wrapped it around her. Then she stepped out of the shower to investigate.
She ran a finger along the inside of the vent until it bumped into a small square object. Her finger hooked behind it as she pried it loose. It fell into her hand and instantly she recognized the device as a miniature camera. She screamed as she ran for her clothes. Someone indeed was watching.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Another Writing Excercise
The sky was bright with only a spattering of small fluffy clouds. The temperature was perfect for bare arms – one of those days when you do not sweat and do not get goose bumps. The trees were just beginning to put on new leaves. It was a wonderful day as I strolled along Collier Street in the downtown section of a small berg named Newton, Indiana.
There was a tiny trailer parked near the curb about a half a block from me. As I approached, I saw that it was a little traveling store. It had a window on its side which hinged up and made a kind of covered patio where one could stand in the shade and make a purchase.
“Coffee, please.” I was not one to pass up a fresh cup of caffeine. The lady inside handed me a paper cup full of fine Columbian java and with a smile she took my money.
The park bench near the trailer was beckoning me and I sat back with my ankles crossed while I sipped my coffee. As I sat there, an old man emerged from the Plasma Center two doors away.
His clothing was out of date by at least a decade. His shoes had cracks and holes. His steps were somewhat unsure and I wondered if he had been drinking. But as he walked past me, it was not alcohol I smelled. I struggled to recognize that smell for a moment, but then it came to me. It was the distinctive aroma of a Goodwill store. It was the smell of clothing which had hung in a closet for a very long time.
In his hand, he clutched a crumpled ten dollar bill – precisely the fee paid by the center when one allows them to extract a pint of plasma. “Poor fellow,” I thought as his steps took him from one side of the walk to the other.
He stepped up to the trailer store and said something to the clerk which I could not understand. Then there was an exchange of a package of Marlboros for his ten spot. He took his change and turned to look at me and the bench. Then he began to stagger in my direction.
It seemed certain that he wanted to sit down next to me, but his journey was cut short. When he was about ten feet from his mark he came to an abrupt halt and began to cough. He bent over at the waist as he hacked and chocked. A spurt of blood came from his mouth and nose, landing at my feet.
Gasping, he grabbed for his chest. He fell to his knees and I stood up to help him. His chest gurgled and rattled as he collapsed onto his face. By the time I managed to travel the two steps between us, he was dead.
There was a tiny trailer parked near the curb about a half a block from me. As I approached, I saw that it was a little traveling store. It had a window on its side which hinged up and made a kind of covered patio where one could stand in the shade and make a purchase.
“Coffee, please.” I was not one to pass up a fresh cup of caffeine. The lady inside handed me a paper cup full of fine Columbian java and with a smile she took my money.
The park bench near the trailer was beckoning me and I sat back with my ankles crossed while I sipped my coffee. As I sat there, an old man emerged from the Plasma Center two doors away.
His clothing was out of date by at least a decade. His shoes had cracks and holes. His steps were somewhat unsure and I wondered if he had been drinking. But as he walked past me, it was not alcohol I smelled. I struggled to recognize that smell for a moment, but then it came to me. It was the distinctive aroma of a Goodwill store. It was the smell of clothing which had hung in a closet for a very long time.
In his hand, he clutched a crumpled ten dollar bill – precisely the fee paid by the center when one allows them to extract a pint of plasma. “Poor fellow,” I thought as his steps took him from one side of the walk to the other.
He stepped up to the trailer store and said something to the clerk which I could not understand. Then there was an exchange of a package of Marlboros for his ten spot. He took his change and turned to look at me and the bench. Then he began to stagger in my direction.
It seemed certain that he wanted to sit down next to me, but his journey was cut short. When he was about ten feet from his mark he came to an abrupt halt and began to cough. He bent over at the waist as he hacked and chocked. A spurt of blood came from his mouth and nose, landing at my feet.
Gasping, he grabbed for his chest. He fell to his knees and I stood up to help him. His chest gurgled and rattled as he collapsed onto his face. By the time I managed to travel the two steps between us, he was dead.
A 15 Minute Writing Exercise
It had been raining for nearly a week and the pasture was soggy, but he had to go out and check on the sheep. It seemed to him that sheep were the dumbest animals on the planet, but these particular sheep were his charge. He could not neglect his duties any longer.
He slipped under the fence and looked around, trying to get a clue where the flock had headed. This was a big pasture and it would be easy to miss them if he went the wrong way. He sniffed the air a few times but smelled nothing. He decided to climb the small hill to get a better look around and as he slowly climbed to the top, mud squished between his toes.
Once at the top of the hill, he sniffed again. Turning his head he caught the unmistakable scent of dirty wool. “That way,” he exclaimed to himself and took off running through the pasture toward the smell of sheep.
Soon he began to hear bleating. “Bahhhhh! Bahhhhh!” It caused some kind of primal alarm in his mind. There was trouble. He ran faster. He bounded over another hill and he could see the herd. He yelled at them and they turned to look at him. They seemed afraid, but they were sheep and sheep were too stupid to run from danger.
When he got within about thirty yards of the herd, his nose told him why the sheep were afraid. A wolf was near by. He knew had to find it quickly before it got to the herd.
He turned to the west, instinctively heading into the wind and began to run as fast as his legs would carry him. A few moments later, he saw the thing. It was large and grey and looking for a meal -- one that it would not be permitted to take.
His feet dug into the mud as he screamed ferociously at the wolf. Running down hill, his speed increased as did his heart beat. Faster – he had to chase it away.
Suddenly, he awoke with a start. His master was bending over him in the middle of the living room, stoking his furry head. “You alright, buddy? Looks like you were dreaming.”
He licked his master’s hand lovingly as his heart began to slow its pace. Then he ran off to the bathroom for a quick drink from the toilet. Life was good.
He slipped under the fence and looked around, trying to get a clue where the flock had headed. This was a big pasture and it would be easy to miss them if he went the wrong way. He sniffed the air a few times but smelled nothing. He decided to climb the small hill to get a better look around and as he slowly climbed to the top, mud squished between his toes.
Once at the top of the hill, he sniffed again. Turning his head he caught the unmistakable scent of dirty wool. “That way,” he exclaimed to himself and took off running through the pasture toward the smell of sheep.
Soon he began to hear bleating. “Bahhhhh! Bahhhhh!” It caused some kind of primal alarm in his mind. There was trouble. He ran faster. He bounded over another hill and he could see the herd. He yelled at them and they turned to look at him. They seemed afraid, but they were sheep and sheep were too stupid to run from danger.
When he got within about thirty yards of the herd, his nose told him why the sheep were afraid. A wolf was near by. He knew had to find it quickly before it got to the herd.
He turned to the west, instinctively heading into the wind and began to run as fast as his legs would carry him. A few moments later, he saw the thing. It was large and grey and looking for a meal -- one that it would not be permitted to take.
His feet dug into the mud as he screamed ferociously at the wolf. Running down hill, his speed increased as did his heart beat. Faster – he had to chase it away.
Suddenly, he awoke with a start. His master was bending over him in the middle of the living room, stoking his furry head. “You alright, buddy? Looks like you were dreaming.”
He licked his master’s hand lovingly as his heart began to slow its pace. Then he ran off to the bathroom for a quick drink from the toilet. Life was good.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Back to the Fiction !!!
Here it is! The blog I woulda, shoulda, coulda done originally. Now I will finally get back to writing fiction. It's much more fun that political commentary.
Look for short stories, writing exercises, lists of my favorite authors, and more, more, more !
Be seeing you right here.
J S Williams
.
Look for short stories, writing exercises, lists of my favorite authors, and more, more, more !
Be seeing you right here.
J S Williams
.
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