Boy Meets Girl

The best part about a boy-meets-girl story is that, while it's all been done, there's always a new flair to be had.  (Or maybe it's my own Guilty Pleasures indulgence, that I love a cheesy romance now and then ...)

The prompt for the week:  Boy Meets Girl

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My response:

I saw the car as I pulled up to AutoZone.  It was an older chevy parked under the street light, just across the parking lot from the front door.  A small figure bent over the engine, obscured by the thick flakes swirling down from the clouds.  The car wasn't running.

I brushed aside my first twinge of sympathy.  Whoever it was, they were lucky enough to make it to AutoZone, and the fact that they'd stopped here, rather than a mechanic, meant they were probably fine.  I dashed into the store. 

It should have only taken me thirty seconds to grab a new air filter, but they'd apparently done a remodel since I'd last been in.  I hate when stores move things around.  Then I got distracted by the mudflaps in aisle three.  The pair I had were getting a little rough around the edges, and I'd always loved the Yosimite Sam ones.

I headed back to the front desk, air filter in hand. 

"Thanks!"

A mass of wet, blond curls stuck out from beneath a green beenie.  The small woman snatched a can of WD-40 off the counter and headed towards the door.  Her boot cut jeans flared out over her cowboy boots, a stark contrast to her cute little pea coat.  Then I had to laugh at myself.  What kind of man even knew what a pea coat was? ... the kind whose last girlfriend had broken up with him because he'd accidentally smeared grease on her beloved, white pea coat.  It wasn't the only problem, but it was the last straw, and that had been the end of her.  Then again, I was pretty sure Lela had never worn cowboy boots with her pea coat.

The attendant at the desk smirked as I looked back at him.  He'd seen where I'd been looking.  I grinned sheepishly and handed over my air filter. 

I had made it back to my truck when I heard a muffled clatter coming from the other side of the parking lot.  It was followed by an exasperated word or two, in that same sweet voice I'd heard inside.  The small figure bent over the hood of the chevy dropped to the ground, arms moving around as if feeling for something.

I blamed it on my second twinge of sympathy, but it might have had something to do with those cowboy boots.  I grabbed my travel tool box from behind my seat and headed over.

"Um, Miss?"
The curls flew up and over her should as a pair of blue eyes looked up.  Even with the scowl, I stood at a loss for words.  She was cute.

Smile.  Remember to smile.  My sister's advice. 

I felt like an idiot, but I smiled.  "I'm sure you're capable, and you don't need my help at all ... but if you dropped your wrench, I've got one you can borrow."

Her scowl cracked.  Then she laughed.  With one last look at her feet, particularly at the grating just in front of her car, she returned my smile.

"A screwdriver, actually, just a flathead."

In moments, I had one in my hand.  She took it with red, bare hands and leaned over the headlight.  "I should have done this last month, when the first one went out, but I didn't get around to it, and now the other one's out.  I got the other one done just fine, but this one's stuck."

"How'd you get here in the dark?" I asked.

She flashed a guilty grin.  "High beams."

Clever.

"Can you put some of that WD-40 on this bit while I wiggle it?" she asked. 

"You single?"

She stopped.  "Excuse me?"

I tried the smile again.  "Well, I'm just trying to figure out if I'm chalking this up to 'good samaritan' or if I might try for taking you out to dinner.  Best to have it figured out from the start."

"Single.  And my favorite resturant's just around the corner."

Just then, the latch popped up.  Her face lit up, and she reached down, wiping her dirty hand on on the hem of her pea coat.

"Perfect."

Fan Fiction

We've all read a book now and then where we aren't quite satisfied with how the story goes.  Sometimes, we wish we had a little bit more elaboration.  Sometimes we wish for more character interaction.

Enter Fan Fiction.

I need to admit that I only became aware of Fan Fiction a few years ago, and my pile of "to-read" has been too big to allow me time to see what's out there.  But I can understand the motivations of people who write fan fiction.

Our prompt for the week:
Write a piece of  fan fiction.  Choose something that either wasn't in the book that you would have liked to see or change something you didn't like.  (Remember to tell us which book it is, so we know where you're coming from.)

Enjoy!

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My response:

There are two lives I would save in MOCKINGJAY, by Suzanne Collins.  Here is where Finick, having survived the revolution, comes back to Annie.

Annie sat in the corner in just a shift, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking and muttering incoherently.  Her hair hung in tangles to her shoulders and covered her face.  Johanna walked in, carrying Annie's breakfast tray.

  The whole compound was buzzing with news of the victory, and half the people had already left, heading for the Capitol any way they could get there.  In the control room, monitors played footage of the fighting.  Johanna spent as much time in there as she could stand.  Still, even with rolls and rolls of video, she hadn't caught sight of Finick.

Johanna sat down next to Annie, set the tray down, and carefully pulled her hair back, tucking it behind her ears.  Her initial gentleness faded as she tried to get Annie to eat, and ended as Johanna gave up and kicked the tray across the room, leaving a trail of tea as the cup spilled.

At that moment, the door swung open.

Finick stood in the doorway in a tattered uniform.  His right leg was missing below the knee, bound only with a quick field dressing and drenched in blood.  He leaned heavily on a metal rod.  Behind him came a medical team, shouting and pulling at him.  Johanna wondered that he'd gotten this far before they'd been able to stop him.

She didn't know how he got from the doorway to Annie's side.  It wouldn't surprise her at all if he'd flown.  Then he was there, cradling Annie in his arms, singing softly in her ear.

Annie stopped her own mumblings and looked up with wide eyes.  She reached out a trembling hand and traced the lines of Finick's face, as if testing to see if he were real.  Then her body shook with a soul-wrenching sob, and she threw her arms around him.

Johanna sighed, standing up.  There was nothing left for her here.  She felt the crunch of the Styrofoam cup under her boot as she strode out.

Gotham Garden

Let's go with a photo prompt again.  (Honestly, I've been so caught up with NaNo that I didn't have a clue what I was going to do for this week's prompt until I sat down. Maybe it's better this way, as it's a surprise for me, too.)

Digital Blasphemy has a free page where they rotate through some of their wallpapers that you can download without even being a member.  That's where I got the picture for this week:

"Gotham Garden - Autumn"
(I hesitated to put the title here - I hope it doesn't influence what you think of the picture.)



Enjoy!

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My response:

The crisp autumn breeze caught my hair as I stepped out the front door of the building.  I slowed my steps as I lifted my hands, catching the long, silky strands in my fingers and slipping them into an elastic.  My feet started on their way home while I was distracted, but when I finished securing my hair, I looked around. 

I liked working late shift.  I got to sleep in early, I didn't have to show up to work until 2pm, and I got off at 11pm, when most of the city had already gone to bed.  I loved walking home with the streets all to myself.  I could pretend it all belonged to me.  My city.

The glass and steel buildings gleamed in the moonlight, lights off in most of the windows.  If my history classes were right, that was a huge accomplishment.  Cities like this used to buzz all night, first with the after work crews, then with those who didn't know when to stop, and finally, the people who preyed on those who didn't know when to stop.  Those were trecherous days ... or so they told us.

But I had a hard time seeing my city as anything different than it was.  Clean, quiet, peaceful. 

That was about to change.

(This is where my mind launches off into "How are they all peaceful now?  Genetic modification?  Implants that zap them whenever they have violent thoughts?  Is it a Matrix scenario where the people in charge unplug anyone who causes trouble?  Or maybe they're just all afraid of Batman?  So many possibilities, so little time.)