The Things She Writes

She sat in the chilly darkness, the strange twinges of disappointment ruffling in her stomach. The film had ended and the credits were rolling, scrolling up and off the screen. Soon it would be completely gone and she would have to go. For a moment, a split second of indecision, she thought about the forbidden. Of staying and watching it again. The tugging yearn for the days of cinema gone by replaced the impulse. Double features, nickelodeons and silent films. She longed to be the damsel, rescued by Scott or Valentino. Ilsa, she thought, you shouldn’t have let Rick go. She wondered as a shiver raced down her arm what awaited her beyond the marquees, lights, and the ornate golden doors of the Brunson Cinema. Would the hero wait there or would it be the villain? Fantasy, reality, here in the cool shadows of the theater, it all blended. She picked her way to the aisle. Littered with stale popcorn, it led her from the rows of stadium seats to the garish hallway.  Tiny c...

A ridiculously long fan fiction piece.  I wanted to examine redemption and grief, so I know that this is only a beginning, but it also isn't really mine to write, so it is just an exercise.      The green grass of the pitch was lush and cool beneath his fingertips.   Sitting quietly on the field, so long after he had left school, he tried to remember the wind rushing through his hair as he sped over the greenness.   It was difficult to remember the good things without a bitter tang overwhelming the sweetness. Though the sky was a bright and cloudless blue, somewhat rare here in the north, shadows seemed to be his constant companion, dogging his steps and forever at his heels. It was especially quiet this afternoon, the children tucked into their classrooms poring over their work and teachers pacing quietly up and down the aisles, checking answers and coaxing out stubborn bits of thought.      “May I sit?” The feminine voice be...

I own no characters or their names or their backstories. I make no claim to them, well not exactly. This was a result of a prompt challenge, the names only because I needed to borrow a couple names and then, well, I could not resist a little fan fiction.             The redhead at the end of the bar ordered another vodka, fiddling with her pen.   The bartender hovered nearby, wiping the bar, then a glass while slyly checking her out.   Random people approached and retreated, most with drinks in hand.   Occasionally someone would scrape up enough courage to engage the redhead in the blue dress.   However, no one got far, and were turned away, monosyllabically rejected.   She was never rude and the high-end clientele attracted to SideLines would never push too far, so the rejection was merely shrugged off.             From a spot mostly hidden, the ...