October 2014 Issue of
The Scribblers Newsletter
Welcome to the October issue of The Scribblers. In this issue we have new writing prompts, part 6 of Sisters by Jamie Baker, Sir by John Matthews.
September Writing Prompts
Each month we try provide prompts for you to use to generate stories. Pick one or more and write 500 to 1,000 words using the prompt/s as the basis of your story. Above all, have fun with it.
to
1. Max stepped off of the train bumping into another passenger. When he looked up, it was like looking into a mirror. Who was this guy?
2. Ben slammed the door as he left the house for the last time and all Ann could think about was how glad she was that he was gone.
3. Fourteen year old Kellie was on her way home. It was dark and there was thunder and lightening all around her. Through the sounds of the storm, she could hear footsteps getting closer to her. She began to run.
Sir
by John Matthews
(This story was written as an entry to the iStory contest sponsored by Narrative magazine.)
John never addressed anyone as “Sir.”
Not doctors, not
ministers, not even traffic cops in the process of giving him a speeding
ticket.
He was a polite
person otherwise, and was often addressed as “Sir” by waiters, bank tellers,
and even traffic cops in the process of giving him a speeding ticket.Nano
But the use of the
term always seemed to John as part of an insincere script. He never considered it a term of
respect.
His feeling began
during his stint as a Navy officer. At
one duty station each morning he passed by the desk of a sailor who was
awaiting orders for his discharge.
“Good morning,
Abbott.”
“Good morning,
sir.”
“Get your orders
yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
Each day, the
exchange was the same until one day,
“Good morning,
Abbott.”
“Hi, John.”
“Got your orders,
then?”
“Yep.”
Nanowrimo is Almost Here!
National Novel Writing Month is almost upon us so now is the time to start thinking about what our novel-in-a-month is going to be about. To sign up go to: nanowrimo.org and get started November 1st. You have 30 days to bring your novel to life.
Sisters
Part 6 by Jamie Baker
After the Christmas holidays, my life suddenly got a lot
better. My brothers started going to the
Boys club after school and Mom got a waitressing job at Sizzlers. While the boys did all their yelling and
screaming at the Boys club, I had the apartment to myself. Mom left notes for me almost every day,
chores she wanted done and instructions for simple dinners. Dad picked up the boys on his way home from
work and helped me make dinner. After
dinner I cleaned up the kitchen and then I could do whatever I wanted until
10:30. That was when Mom usually got home.
One evening, down at Marci and Ginger’s apartment, Roy Brown
was there and another guy everyone called Cartwheel. Marci said she needed to go grocery shopping,
so we all went down to the Safeway a few blocks from the apartments.
Walking across the parking lot to the store entrance, we
stopped to get a cart.
“I feel like having a steak.” Roy said, yanking a cart out
of the cart corral. “I think I’ll get
one. Maybe a nice New York strip. Anybody else want steak for dinner?”
“Carol,” Ginger said, hanging back with Marci and Cartwheel,
“stay with us.”
Cartwheel was holding up a package of foot long hot dogs and
waving it at Marci. We were all
laughing. Roy was at the other end of
the meat case. His cart was almost
empty. He picked up a wrapped steak,
checked the label. Glancing down the
length of the case, he saw me and winked.
He put the package back in the freezer, picked up another one and shoved
it down the front of his pants, where it was hidden by his flannel shirt. An involuntary bark of laugh chirped out of
me. I was both shocked and
thrilled.
We were still in line when Roy Brown sauntered to the exit,
his near empty bag swinging from his hand.
A beefy guy in a sports jacket stepped up to him, gesturing towards the
back of the store. I could hear his
voice, a low buzz, but I couldn’t make out the words. Roy glanced towards the exit but the man
stepped in front of him. Roy’s face got
red and then he walked towards the back of the story, the beefy guy on his
heels. I turned back to the
others. Cartwheel looked at me and shook
his head slightly. We stayed quiet until
we were back outside in the parking lot.
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Cartwheel said, “Fucking
Roy Brown. Always thinks he can break
the rules and get away with it.”
“He wasn’t always like that.
Not when we were in school.”
“His Dad’s lives in Reno, he’s a pit boss there. Mostly, Roy grew up here, lived with his mom
and his grandparents, over on Seven Hills Road. We went to school together. Third grade right through high school.” Marci
answered.
“Kind of a late bloomer, huh?” Ginger laughed.
“Yeah, but I think he’s gonna peak early.” Cartwheel
said.
Roy ‘Reno’ Brown let himself be corralled by the store
cop. At the door to the manager’s
office, he glanced back and watched while the others left the store.
The store security man crowded him into the office, shut the
door hard and then pushed Roy down into a chair in the corner furthest from the
door. Keeping his eyes on Roy, he
stepped around the desk and picked up the phone. Neither broke eye contact while the store cop
dialed the phone.
“Mrs. Petris? This is
Gerald, at the store. Sorry to bother
you, Mr. Petris left for lunch, any chance he’s at home?”
After a short pause, Gerald spoke into the phone again.
“Hey, Mr. Petris, this is Gerald. I’ve got a shop lifter here. He’s got a steak shoved down his pants. Took it out of the freezer case. Must be freezing his balls off by now.”
Another short pause and Gerald turned away from Roy and
lowered his voice a notch.
“Of course, I’m sure, I watched him through that one-way
glass right over the freezer case.”
Gerald continued speaking into the phone. “No Bernie didn’t see it. He was wrapping some meat at the back
counter. You want me to call the cops?”
Another pause. “Ok, then, I’ll wait for
you.”
He hung up the phone and sat down at the desk, pulled open
one of the drawers and propped his big shoes on it. Leaning back, he fished a pack of Winstons
out of his jacket pocket. Roy and Gerald
sat looking at each other while Gerald smoked.
Finally, Gerald spoke.
“Yeah? That’s cool. I guess if you think you’ve got a righteous
bust, you do what you gotta do.”
“Your package must be shriveled up like a salted slug.”
“No, my package is just fine, but thanks for asking.”
“Don’t try pulling
that out of there, we’re waiting for the cops.
The boss likes to have an official witness.”
“Sure, I understand, you need to follow evidentiary
procedure.”
Ten minutes later, the door opened up and the store manager
stepped in. Mr. Petris was a first
generation Greek, with a ruler-straight part in dark thinning hair. His white short-sleeved dress shirt was clean
and crisp, his tie solid black to match his pants. Gerald stood, sliding the desk drawer
closed. Gerald had begun to worry about
this bust. The shop lifter hadn’t shown
any discomfort, not even worry. With a
piece of frozen meat shoved down the front of his pants, the guy should be
shivering by now. But he’d just sat
there, relaxed, even friendly in a quiet way.
Hadn’t tried to make conversation or even bum a cigarette.
“I’m Mr. Brown, the store customer.”
“Let’s call the cops now, Mr. Petris, this wise acre has wasted
enough of my time.”
Mr. Petris held up a hand to Gerald, a gesture to stop. He addressed Roy.
“Mr. Brown, have you taken something from this store that
you have not paid for?”
“No, Mr. Petris, I have not.
My purchases are in this bag. I
have nothing else.”
Roy stood up and pulled his shirt up to show the front of
his pants and his bare torso. A leather
belt and a silver buckle in the shape of an up-ended horse shoe cinched his
jeans tightly at his hip bones, 3 inches of white jockey shorts exposed above the
belt.
“Please do call the police, Mr. Petris,” Roy said, “so that I
have an official witness when I can press charges against Gerald here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gerald stepped past
Mr. Petris and bolted at Roy, stopping only when his face and chest were only
an inch from Roy’s. It was Gerald’s face
that was red now, a purplish beet red that flared from the back of his bull
neck, up across his throat and face and into the short hairs of the greased
flat top above his high forehead. Roy stepped back as far as the chair would
allow and reached up to the torn shoulder of his shirt. Pulling the flannel fabric down, he exposed
a tattoo on his upper arm. It was of
small cartoon worm, standing upright on its hooked tail. It had short little stick arms that ended in
white stubby hands, one holding a fat cigarette, the smoke curling up around
the worm’s top hat. The hand held the
ace of diamonds. Underlining the worm
was tattooed ‘Reno Brown #21.’ This
tattoo was red and inflamed, obviously infected and painful.
“Gerald shoved me around in here. He tore my shirt and irritated this fresh
tattoo. Call the cops and we’ll both
tell our sides of this story. But I’ll
be the only winner.”
“This is bullshit. I
never touched him.”
Mr. Petris opened the door and gestured to Gerald. “Gerald, take your lunch break.”
“But Mr. Petris, I’m telling you, I know what I saw. Check his pants for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s ok Gerald, I’ll handle this. Go get lunch.”
Gerald grabbed his cigarette pack up from the desk and glared
at Roy as he passed him.
“I better not see you in here again, asshole.”
“You probably won’t.
But that’ll be my choice, not yours.
Have a nice day, Gerald.”
Five minutes later, Roy was strolling across the parking
lot, two $20 bills folded into the coin pocket of his jeans.
“For the inconvenience, Mr. Brown, and for a new
shirt.” Mr. Petris had said.
A few watery red drops were just starting to splatter onto
the pavement with each step of Roy’s right foot, where the 12-oz New York strip
was fastened to his cowboy boot with 2 thick rubber bands.
“By the time I get back to Ginger’s place,” Roy thought, “my
dinner should be defrosted. Perfectly.”
Welcome to the October issue of The Scribblers. In this issue we have new writing prompts, part 6 of Sisters by Jamie Baker, Sir by John Matthews.
September Writing Prompts
Each month we try provide prompts for you to use to generate stories. Pick one or more and write 500 to 1,000 words using the prompt/s as the basis of your story. Above all, have fun with it.
to
1. Max stepped off of the train bumping into another passenger. When he looked up, it was like looking into a mirror. Who was this guy?
2. Ben slammed the door as he left the house for the last time and all Ann could think about was how glad she was that he was gone.
3. Fourteen year old Kellie was on her way home. It was dark and there was thunder and lightening all around her. Through the sounds of the storm, she could hear footsteps getting closer to her. She began to run.
Sir
by John Matthews
(This story was written as an entry to the iStory contest sponsored by Narrative magazine.)
John never addressed anyone as “Sir.”
Not doctors, not
ministers, not even traffic cops in the process of giving him a speeding
ticket.
He was a polite
person otherwise, and was often addressed as “Sir” by waiters, bank tellers,
and even traffic cops in the process of giving him a speeding ticket.
But the use of the
term always seemed to John as part of an insincere script. He never considered it a term of
respect.
His feeling began
during his stint as a Navy officer. At
one duty station each morning he passed by the desk of a sailor who was
awaiting orders for his discharge.
“Good morning,
Abbott.”
“Good morning,
sir.”
“Get your orders
yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
Each day, the
exchange was the same until one day,
“Good morning,
Abbott.”
“Hi, John.”
“Got your orders,
then?”
“Yep.”
Nanowrimo is Almost Here!
National Novel Writing Month is almost upon us so now is the time to start thinking about what our novel-in-a-month is going to be about. To sign up go to: nanowrimo.org and get started November 1st. You have 30 days to bring your novel to life.
Sisters
Part 6 by Jamie Baker
After the Christmas holidays, my life suddenly got a lot
better. My brothers started going to the
Boys club after school and Mom got a waitressing job at Sizzlers. While the boys did all their yelling and
screaming at the Boys club, I had the apartment to myself. Mom left notes for me almost every day,
chores she wanted done and instructions for simple dinners. Dad picked up the boys on his way home from
work and helped me make dinner. After
dinner I cleaned up the kitchen and then I could do whatever I wanted until
10:30. That was when Mom usually got home.
One evening, down at Marci and Ginger’s apartment, Roy Brown
was there and another guy everyone called Cartwheel. Marci said she needed to go grocery shopping,
so we all went down to the Safeway a few blocks from the apartments.
Walking across the parking lot to the store entrance, we
stopped to get a cart.
“I feel like having a steak.” Roy said, yanking a cart out
of the cart corral. “I think I’ll get
one. Maybe a nice New York strip. Anybody else want steak for dinner?”
“Carol,” Ginger said, hanging back with Marci and Cartwheel,
“stay with us.”
Cartwheel was holding up a package of foot long hot dogs and
waving it at Marci. We were all
laughing. Roy was at the other end of
the meat case. His cart was almost
empty. He picked up a wrapped steak,
checked the label. Glancing down the
length of the case, he saw me and winked.
He put the package back in the freezer, picked up another one and shoved
it down the front of his pants, where it was hidden by his flannel shirt. An involuntary bark of laugh chirped out of
me. I was both shocked and
thrilled.
We were still in line when Roy Brown sauntered to the exit,
his near empty bag swinging from his hand.
A beefy guy in a sports jacket stepped up to him, gesturing towards the
back of the store. I could hear his
voice, a low buzz, but I couldn’t make out the words. Roy glanced towards the exit but the man
stepped in front of him. Roy’s face got
red and then he walked towards the back of the story, the beefy guy on his
heels. I turned back to the
others. Cartwheel looked at me and shook
his head slightly. We stayed quiet until
we were back outside in the parking lot.
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Cartwheel said, “Fucking
Roy Brown. Always thinks he can break
the rules and get away with it.”
“He wasn’t always like that.
Not when we were in school.”
“His Dad’s lives in Reno, he’s a pit boss there. Mostly, Roy grew up here, lived with his mom
and his grandparents, over on Seven Hills Road. We went to school together. Third grade right through high school.” Marci
answered.
“Kind of a late bloomer, huh?” Ginger laughed.
“Yeah, but I think he’s gonna peak early.” Cartwheel
said.
Roy ‘Reno’ Brown let himself be corralled by the store
cop. At the door to the manager’s
office, he glanced back and watched while the others left the store.
The store security man crowded him into the office, shut the
door hard and then pushed Roy down into a chair in the corner furthest from the
door. Keeping his eyes on Roy, he
stepped around the desk and picked up the phone. Neither broke eye contact while the store cop
dialed the phone.
“Mrs. Petris? This is
Gerald, at the store. Sorry to bother
you, Mr. Petris left for lunch, any chance he’s at home?”
After a short pause, Gerald spoke into the phone again.
“Hey, Mr. Petris, this is Gerald. I’ve got a shop lifter here. He’s got a steak shoved down his pants. Took it out of the freezer case. Must be freezing his balls off by now.”
Another short pause and Gerald turned away from Roy and
lowered his voice a notch.
“Of course, I’m sure, I watched him through that one-way
glass right over the freezer case.”
While Gerald was turned away, Roy reached up and with a
sharp tug ripped open the shoulder seam on his flannel shirt. When Gerald’s head swiveled back at the sound
Roy was sniffing and scratching at his nose.
Gerald continued speaking into the phone. “No Bernie didn’t see it. He was wrapping some meat at the back
counter. You want me to call the cops?”
Another pause. “Ok, then, I’ll wait for
you.”
He hung up the phone and sat down at the desk, pulled open
one of the drawers and propped his big shoes on it. Leaning back, he fished a pack of Winstons
out of his jacket pocket. Roy and Gerald
sat looking at each other while Gerald smoked.
Finally, Gerald spoke.
“Yeah? That’s cool. I guess if you think you’ve got a righteous
bust, you do what you gotta do.”
“Your package must be shriveled up like a salted slug.”
“No, my package is just fine, but thanks for asking.”
“Don’t try pulling
that out of there, we’re waiting for the cops.
The boss likes to have an official witness.”
“Sure, I understand, you need to follow evidentiary
procedure.”
Ten minutes later, the door opened up and the store manager
stepped in. Mr. Petris was a first
generation Greek, with a ruler-straight part in dark thinning hair. His white short-sleeved dress shirt was clean
and crisp, his tie solid black to match his pants. Gerald stood, sliding the desk drawer
closed. Gerald had begun to worry about
this bust. The shop lifter hadn’t shown
any discomfort, not even worry. With a
piece of frozen meat shoved down the front of his pants, the guy should be
shivering by now. But he’d just sat
there, relaxed, even friendly in a quiet way.
Hadn’t tried to make conversation or even bum a cigarette.
“I’m Mr. Brown, the store customer.”
“Let’s call the cops now, Mr. Petris, this wise acre has wasted
enough of my time.”
Mr. Petris held up a hand to Gerald, a gesture to stop. He addressed Roy.
“Mr. Brown, have you taken something from this store that
you have not paid for?”
“No, Mr. Petris, I have not.
My purchases are in this bag. I
have nothing else.”
Roy stood up and pulled his shirt up to show the front of
his pants and his bare torso. A leather
belt and a silver buckle in the shape of an up-ended horse shoe cinched his
jeans tightly at his hip bones, 3 inches of white jockey shorts exposed above the
belt.
“Please do call the police, Mr. Petris,” Roy said, “so that I
have an official witness when I can press charges against Gerald here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gerald stepped past
Mr. Petris and bolted at Roy, stopping only when his face and chest were only
an inch from Roy’s. It was Gerald’s face
that was red now, a purplish beet red that flared from the back of his bull
neck, up across his throat and face and into the short hairs of the greased
flat top above his high forehead. Roy stepped back as far as the chair would
allow and reached up to the torn shoulder of his shirt. Pulling the flannel fabric down, he exposed
a tattoo on his upper arm. It was of
small cartoon worm, standing upright on its hooked tail. It had short little stick arms that ended in
white stubby hands, one holding a fat cigarette, the smoke curling up around
the worm’s top hat. The hand held the
ace of diamonds. Underlining the worm
was tattooed ‘Reno Brown #21.’ This
tattoo was red and inflamed, obviously infected and painful.
“Gerald shoved me around in here. He tore my shirt and irritated this fresh
tattoo. Call the cops and we’ll both
tell our sides of this story. But I’ll
be the only winner.”
“This is bullshit. I
never touched him.”
Mr. Petris opened the door and gestured to Gerald. “Gerald, take your lunch break.”
“But Mr. Petris, I’m telling you, I know what I saw. Check his pants for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s ok Gerald, I’ll handle this. Go get lunch.”
Gerald grabbed his cigarette pack up from the desk and glared
at Roy as he passed him.
“I better not see you in here again, asshole.”
“You probably won’t.
But that’ll be my choice, not yours.
Have a nice day, Gerald.”
Five minutes later, Roy was strolling across the parking
lot, two $20 bills folded into the coin pocket of his jeans.
“For the inconvenience, Mr. Brown, and for a new
shirt.” Mr. Petris had said.
A few watery red drops were just starting to splatter onto
the pavement with each step of Roy’s right foot, where the 12-oz New York strip
was fastened to his cowboy boot with 2 thick rubber bands.
“By the time I get back to Ginger’s place,” Roy thought, “my
dinner should be defrosted. Perfectly.”
And Finally...
We're always looking for articles and short stories to publish, as well as suggestions for the newsletter. Please send any ideas, stories, etc. to Colleen. We'd love to see any contributions you'd like to make to The Scribblers.
If you no longer wish to receive this newsletter, please email Colleen with the word 'unsubscribe' in the subject line and we will remove you from our mailing list.
We're always looking for articles and short stories to publish, as well as suggestions for the newsletter. Please send any ideas, stories, etc. to Colleen. We'd love to see any contributions you'd like to make to The Scribblers.
If you no longer wish to receive this newsletter, please email Colleen with the word 'unsubscribe' in the subject line and we will remove you from our mailing list.
