Prompt No. 29 : Red Illusions

I was washing dishes the first time I saw it.

Out of my peripheral view, a small dark pool of brick red, slowly fanning out across the kitchen floor. By the dishwasher.

I shut my eyes tightly and counted to twenty. Slowly, painfully saying each number out loud. 

My eyes fluttered open and I slowly turned my head sideways to look again. 

Nothing.

All I saw was my perfectly clean, white tiled floors. They even seemed to sparkle a little. I worked VERY hard to keep those floors clean. 

My husband (rest his soul) was quite adamant about getting white tile in the kitchen. He was all about those clean simple lines. But who was the one cleaning those floors?? I digress. 

I got down on my hands and knees and ran my fingers slowly across each tile. Completely dry. 

Standing up, from the corner of my eye, I saw a fleck of crimson. Quickly dropping back down, I reached out a shaky pointer finger and pressed it to the spot of liquid.

My mouth went dry and my heart began to quickly speed up. I sprang to my feet and pulled the bleach from my linen closet. 

That was just the first time.

Always in the same spot. By the dishwasher. 

Every night, before bed, I reminded myself that it was not real. It couldn't possibly be real. 

Maybe I needed to get my eyes checked. 

At this rate, I was cleaning my floors obsessively. Sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. The smell of Clorox permeated the air. 

But there was always one spot. One lone spot. I could smell it too. That sickly sweet scent of blood. Fresh blood. 

I considered the possibility of leaving this house. But I could never. I had just planted my herb garden in our backyard. Even adding some wild flower bulbs to the mix. I would have a wonderful garden when it bloomed. 

---

I woke up feeling great. Perhaps I would visit the farmer's market this morning. I was in the mood for some fresh vegetables. Maybe I could make a ratatouille for dinner.

I slowly made my way downstairs to brew a fresh pot of coffee. My eyes still sleepy, I didn't see it until I stepped into my kitchen. My foot sliding on the slippery liquid. 

Puddles of blood covered my entire kitchen floor. I tried to turn and run out. Instead I fell.  My mouth forming a silent O as I tried to scream. But nothing came out. 

I was wearing my favorite cream colored silk robe. I looked down and saw the blood dripping from my hands and arms. These stains would never come out, that's for sure. 

And that's when it finally happened. 

That's when I shut my eyes tightly, opened my mouth and screamed. 

Prompt No. 28 : Oyster Shucking

The young man rolled up his shirt sleeves to begin another day's work. He felt lucky to have a paying job. 60 cents an hour and he was pretty boss at saving. He liked taking his girl places.

He shucked oysters down at Joe's place by the bay. It was a decent gig. Joe was a cool cat and always let him take a few home after his shift.

He was sure fast at shucking so Joe always gave him the hours. Plus, he had an unreal view of the bay. Can't beat a gig with a view like that.

He could hear the gulls screaming, flying near. Smell the saltwater through the open windows.

It was a prime day for the beach. Maybe he'd take his girl out for a swim later.

As he shucked, it became automatic. They slid open with his knife and he tossed the top shell in a pile while arranging the others on a plate with ice.

He was about to signal the water to come grab a finished tray when something caught his eye.

Pulling the tray close, he noticed an iridescent color on one of the half shells. Using his finger, he touched the soft oyster and felt something hard underneath.

He moved the oyster flesh to the side, and there, sitting pretty, were not one, but two pearls.

They were small to be sure but cherry.

Slightly purplish-grey in color, their size was irregular. But that gave them even more beauty.

He picked the pearls out and slid them into his pocket. He knew a guy who could set them, no sweat. His girl could use a nice set of earrings.

He wiped his hands, signaled the waiter, and kept shucking.

Prompt No. 27 : Beach Days

It was almost Spring Break and the weather was too good to be inside studying. Speeding down Highway 100, four friends rode with the windows down. 

The breeze felt amazing as they drove towards South Padre, the smell of the beach permeating the air around them. 

They were supposed to be in school but every once in a while they would skip class and head to the beach. It was fun to be bad every once in a while.

Best friends since they were 8, these girls had stuck together through thick and thin. Practically sisters. They even looked like sisters from afar, dark hair and petite frames.

Almost like they had read each others minds, each of them had packed a swim suit that morning. As they neared their favorite beach access, they began peeling off their tank tops and pulling off their shoes.

They stepped onto the sand, feeling the soft granules between their toes. It was still early morning, and the fog was just clearing from the beach horizon.

The tallest girl spread a blanket out on the sand and started passing out breakfast. Someone had stopped by Tapia's and grabbed tacos. Crispy flour tortillas, freshly made that morning. Filled with savory pieces of bacon and cubes of soft potato. Tossed with scrambled eggs and melted cheese. The best tacos in town, it was their favorite. 

Eating on the beach was an experience. You got sand all over the place and the wind blew your hair every which way, but they loved it. 

They grew up by this beach, it was in their soul. As they got older, these girls would travel and leave their home but this beach would remain forever in their hearts. A place they would never forget.

Someone always had a disposable camera on hand. They started doing cartwheels on the sand, feeling the sun on their tan bodies, warming them.

A gentleman was walking his dog and offered to take a picture of the four of them. 

They arranged themselves by the waterline, so the beach would be in the background, another character in their story. 

Linking arms around each other's backs, they smiled for the camera.

As the man snapped the picture, the tide suddenly rushed in, crashing around their feet. Their reaction to the cold water was immediate. 

They each screamed out in surprise, laughing and jumping away from the frigid beach water. 

The man smiled, knowing he had captured a moment. A photo they would treasure for the rest of their lives, into adulthood.

Four beautiful friends, making a memory.

Prompt No. 26 : Rainy Day

I walked out my front door and felt a large drop fall on my cheek. I looked up at the sky and felt another rain drop slide down my forehead.

Damn. It's raining. And I don't even know where my umbrella is.

I looked down at my phone to check the time. Only 20 more minutes until I was supposed to meet him. It takes thirty to get to our place.

I began to swiftly walk towards my car, forgetting about the umbrella, thinking I had to make it on time. He hated when I was late.

The sky was dark and stormy. Shades of slate, blue and gray. The clouds rippling in distress. There was a storm coming.

I turned my car on and began driving towards my destination. Large raindrops coming down onto my windshield, harder and harder as I drove faster down the highway.

My favorite song came on, it always reminded me of him, so I turned it up even louder. Singing the words to myself as I sped down the exit.

"He said to be cool, but I'm already the coolest..."

Only ten minutes away now, I checked my reflection in the visor mirror. I had great cheekbones, so I liked to pull my hair back. He would pull it down anyway, but I think he enjoyed doing that himself.

The music swelled up even louder in my speakers, I could hardly hear the rain pounding on my car as I drove through the red light.

I felt this amazing pressure as the truck hit my car from the driver's side. So hard, I was lifted off my seat, my seat belt unable to contain me.

Nausea hit me as the car rolled over three times. It was no ordinary truck that hit me. It was a semi, driving rather fast on an early Sunday morning. He must have been running late like me.

I felt a sharpness across my head and arms as my body flew out the broken window. It was a weird feeling, flying through the air. For a moment, I couldn't feel anything but cool raindrops on my body and the wind rushing around me. It was a refreshing rainy day, no humidity at all.

My body rolled onto the grass and I landed, stomach up. I'm not really sure how long my eyes were closed but when I opened them, I saw the sky.

Gorgeous stormy colors swirling up above me. Bluish grays and and silver streaks across the overcast sky. You never really appreciate a rainy day until you look up at the canvas the sky creates.

It was beautiful. And I admired that beauty as I lay in the grass, feeling the rain sprinkle every inch of my body.

For a moment, I tensed up, wondering what he would think now that I was already late. Would he be angry? Would he come find me? What would he think once he realized I was not going to show up?

But then my errant thoughts were forgotten, as I felt myself fall away.

Into the gray.

Prompt No. 25: Breakfast- A love story

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. When I go to bed at night, I know that when I wake in the morning, I get to have a cup of coffee. Maybe some eggs. And that makes me happy.

Rich, full bodied, medium brews are perfection. When I grind my coffee beans, because I am a firm believer in the whole coffee bean, a chocolatey scent permeates the air, enticing me.

There is absolutely nothing, I mean NOTHING, that smells better than a brewing pot of coffee.

The bold flavor of a coffee bean grown in Guatemala, harvested in rich dark volcanic soil, is my absolute favorite. Notes of caramel and mocha in my coffee cup, soothing my mind before the day begins.

I can't think of anything that goes better with a flawless cup of coffee than a plate of eggs. But not just any ordinary eggs. There are so many different ways to cook an egg. Sometimes its hard to choose what to begin your day with.

There are creamy scrambled eggs. Perfectly fried over easy eggs. 5 minute eggs that you crack open and spill over on toasted bread. So many options.

But today, poached eggs called my name.

Poached eggs are divine. Cooked in simmering water, the white completely encases a smooth, velvety yellow. Served over a medley of caramelized onions and crisp fingerling potatoes, the eggs spill over the vegetables like a creamy cheese sauce. Flavors melding all together, satisfying every inch of your taste buds.

Yes, breakfast is the quintessential meal in my book. Without it, what would one's day be like?

That's a question, I would not choose to explore.

Prompt No. 24 : Unsent Love Letter

Dear Kate,

I don't really know what compelled me to write this letter. Or maybe I do. I drove past your favorite tree the other day. Do you remember that huge oak tree in your park? You used to spend hours there, reading books. And I would spend hours just sitting next to you, watching you read. We didn't even have to talk, all I cared about was being with you.

We have not seen one another in years. Specifically, 10 years and 8 days. That was the last time I set eyes on you. The date was May 24th. We were saying goodbye and I let you walk out of my life forever.

I wanted to run after you as you turned away that afternoon. Holding your graduation cap in one hand and your diploma in the other. I wanted to grab your shoulders and gently turn you around, plant my lips on yours and tell you I would follow you wherever you went.

Except I didn't. I did not do any one of those things. I simply held it all in and let you go. To be honest, I am still uncertain why.

You were perfectly imperfect. Always with a book tucked into your handbag. Your dark hair piled up top, messy strands falling everywhere. I used to watch you pull your hair down, falling in cascades down your back. The scent of your shampoo filling the air around me. Sweet and floral. What was it called again?

You had this half smile. I could never tell if you were laughing at me or with me. But it didn't matter. I loved you anyway. Your eyes would crinkle on the sides as you tilted your head sideways and slightly giggled at the things I said. I felt like you could read my every thought. Could you?

I remember spending hours just talking. About music, and movies and friendships and life. I wanted to be on your level. Prove to you I was worthy of your time and intelligence. I read more books that year than any other year of my life. Only because I wanted you to think I was smart.

I could never get over the fact that you chose me out of everyone. I was the lucky one.

And I let you go.

Like I said, I'm not really sure why I'm writing this. I don't even know where you are now. Or where I could even send this to reach you.

But I'm thinking of you.

- John

Prompt No. 23 : Road Trip Continued

As I drove along I-40 towards Nashville, my sister asleep in the passenger seat, memories drifted in and out of my mind. Ideally, it would have been nice to talk these out with my sister but we were still not speaking civilly and I wasn't in the mood for another argument.

I mostly thought about our mother. She died when we were 22. Becca and I stopped speaking shortly after. 

I wouldn't say our mother held our family together. She was not that type of person at all. Frankly, I'm not sure my mother really wanted kids to begin with. There were moments where she simply could not deal with us.

But then, there were other moments. Dance parties in the living room together while our father was at work. She would pull out all her colorful scarves and we would twirl around together, dancing until we fell into a heap of laughter. 

Becca sat up and looked over at me. "Why are you smiling to yourself?" she asked sleepily.

I glanced at her briefly and looked back at the road as I responded, "I was just thinking about Mom." 

She rolled her eyes, "Jesus, that woman was a piece of work."

"Becca!"

"What?!" she said as she pulled her long hair up into a bun. My sister could grow her hair longer than anyone I knew. I was obsessed with cutting mine, shorter and shorter every year, but my sister never cut hers. Ever. And it was beautiful.  

"Mom was sorta nuts and you know it."

I don't know why I always got defensive about our mother. Especially with Becca. Because I know exactly how our mother was. 

As an adult I realized that my mother was not like the other mothers. She was definitely there for us in all the important things. Ballet recitals and classroom parties. Losing our teeth and being afraid of the dark. 

But, there was also a part of my mother that was missing. She would retreat for days into her room, windows darkened, vodka in hand. On these days, my mother would be nonexistent. And my father would helplessly watch as she retreated into her darkness. 

Even though my sister and I were the same age, I assumed the position of older sibling and made sure she was fed and we were both put to bed at an appropriate hour. Part of me feels like that has a lot to do with my sisters resentment. But she won't speak to me about it so I suppose its hard to tell. 

"Mom, had some.... issues... But she did the best she could with what she had. Becca, you know this." 

She laughed sarcastically. "Yeah. whatever. Do you remember the time she was on one of her crazy episodes and I dropped her favorite perfume on the floor and it broke?"

I paused, searching for the memory, "Oh my gosh, yes! I thought for sure she would be completely furious."

Becca nodded, " Me too. Except... she wasn't."

Our mother had walked into her bathroom, to find us huddled on the floor trying to clean up the remains of her favorite perfume. We had been so terrified to tell her because she had been locked up in her closet for the past hour. We weren't entirely sure what she would do.

Instead of reprimanding us in her usual shrieking manner, she had scooped us both up and carried us to her bed. Instead of a smack on the hand we got tickles. We laughed until we almost peed in our pants. Then she scooted us out of her room and cleaned up the mess herself. 

We were beyond shocked. But, then again, we had grown accustomed to our mother's antics. This was what she did. 

She was just crazy that way.