Monday, March 12, 2012

Writer's Toolbox Exercise #6B




The game:  You are given a protagonist "Bill the paleoclimatologist," a goal "to be the strongest," an obstacle "the barista at Starbucks," and an action "get married."  Make the story.)




The story so far... Click here


Bill found himself speechless.  For a moment he didn't know where to look next.  Her hair had the sheen of newly-minted pennies.  Her eyes were a shade of green that could only be found in the Caribbean.  Her lips... wow, what could he say about her lips?  Wait, they were moving... Bill needed to focus.


"Are you ok?  Can I start a drink for you?" the moist brightly pink pair were saying to him.


Bill regained his composure enough to say, "What do you recommend?"  He didn't care if she said, "Well, sir, today we're offering bull sweat mixed with camel milk and pig drool..." so long as she continued talking and making those luscious lips move the way they did.


She was asking him what size, and Bill realized that he had been nodding to whatever she had offered.  Better make it a Tall or else he'd be awake all night.  "I'll have a Tall, thanks," he was finally able to get out.  She smiled as she wrote his order on the side of the clear cup.


"And, can I get a name..?"


Bill had already moved toward the register.  Suddenly embarrassed, but in a moment of bravado, he said, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."


She laughed brightly.  Could her teeth possibly be any more white?  And those dimples.  We would have beautiful children.  So engrossed was he in his short fantasy that he completely missed her name, and only realized he had when he heard her say, "...now you have to tell me yours."


Somewhat crestfallen, he mumbled out, "Bill" as he managed to give his card to the cashier and moved toward the end of the counter to wait for his drink.  He was so frazzled by the events that he avoided eye contact with anyone and rushed out the door as soon as he got his drink.  He inhaled most of it as he angrily walked home recalling the events of the evening.  How could he have been such a dweeb?


So frustrated was he by his actions, he sucked down the last of the strawberry and cream frappucino and was in the process of tossing it into the trash basket by his apartment door when he noticed a lot of writing on the clear surface of the cup.  He held the cup up to the streetlight and could just make out a name... "MACY" with the words "CALL ME" underneath.  But, no phone number.  With a smile crossing his face, Bill knew that he'd be having a harder time than ever staying away from Starbucks.

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