It doesn’t rain but it pours. Here’s a second Six for this week’s “connection” prompt, kind of a prequel to my January 13th Six, entitled The Usual. Thanks again to our host Denise and to all the Sixers.
“Only thing hotter than this weather is you, little lady, but my rig’s fully air-conditioned; you and me could get real comfortable.”
Flirting with the regulars that she had rapport with made a big difference in the tip jar, but this guy was just plain hitting on her so Deborah gave the paunchy truck driver the cold shoulder, was terse and monotone in reeling off the specials while she took his order. He ate his meal in silence and didn’t order dessert.
When another driver Deborah didn’t recognize asked her, “What’s a nice gal like you doing in a place like this?” she was about to shut him down too, but at second glance Deborah smiled back, shrugged, and said that it was a long story.
“Well,” the other woman said, “I’d really like to hear it.”
Deborah had a new regular, one that she immediately felt a strong connection to.
The word from Denise at GirlieOntheEdge this week is “connection”. The rules? Write a story, (or poem or memoir), that is Six Sentences, exactly, and includes some form of or connection to the word “connection”. Read and comment on your fellow Sixers’ Sixes, a great way to connect with other writers.
He crept out of bed, careful not to wake her.
He noticed she was sleeping later and later these rainy days, though upon awaking she would badger him about silver linings and rainbows and being your own sunshine— her usual Kumbaya crap.
He was as fed up with her and her sunny disposition as he was with the incessant clouds and drizzle.
He quietly got dressed as rain drummed grayly at the window.
Reaching again into the dresser drawer he flushed as his fingers grasped ahold of it and he drew it out, held it, almost reverently at first, the metal as gray and cold as the damp dawn.
She couldn’t tell him that there wasn’t a connection between weather and state of mind.
Insufferably fair, he hadn’t made the divorce difficult. “We’ll split everything right down the middle.”
She went away with a dog and $12,334.89 of their $24,669.78 savings. She was glad they had two dogs and not one or three.
Flashers on, driving one of their two vehicles— her car— she had led the wide load tractor-trailer that carried her half of the house to their investment lot. His half had the bed; she had the couch and the air mattress.
Later she inflated her mattress, watched it expand and take shape.
She smiled, stretched.
She was beginning to feel whole.
The photo, by Ted Strutz, is the May 7 Friday Fictioneers’ prompt, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Limit 100 words.
The Carrot Ranch Literary Community April 29, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the phrase, “hit the road, Jack.” You can interpret the phrase any way you like — road trip, goodbye, or story. Go where the prompt leads!
Like a hapless fairy tale Jack he was always certain his luck would change, that things would work out for the better.
But the perfect job always fell through, usually after a heated argument with his boss. Or he’d quit to pursue some entrepreneurial scheme. “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,” he’d say. But the scheme would fail.
“Next time,” he’d say. And he’d smile that smile and tell Jill no matter what, she was his princess. Once more they’d pack up. “Time to hit the road, Jill.”
Jill sighed. How much longer would she go stumbling after?