This week, Gabriella from diyMFA stopped by the group to plug her site. Further, she provided the writing prompts via her “Writer Igniter” tool, which is pretty neat. So, make sure you check those out…
Taxi driver – mysterious letter – lucky penny – raining street at night
The wiper blades swished back and forth, making a dull thunk with each pass. Rain was good for business, even if it made traffic worse. Nobody wanted to get wet. The red brakelights illuminated his passenger’s face in the backseat.
She was pretty, in a high-powered businesswoman kind of way. Hair in a no-nonsense style, clothing professional and neat. Her umbrella dripped onto the leather upholstery of the seat next to her. He stole glances through the rearview mirror occasionally, but focused out the windshield.
“I’ll just get out here,” she said, her voice cutting through the oppressive whitenoise of the rain.
“No problem, ma’am. Twenty six even, please.”
She handed him thirty and told him to keep it, then sprang out of the taxi and into the night, her umbrella opening before her like a blossoming prelude.
When he got back to the garage later, he cleaned out the back. Footwells caked in mud, windows smudged with fingerprints, an envelope on the seat. That made him pause. It was labeled “driver.”
He opened it. It wasn’t an envelope, but a folded note. “Whiskey Alpha Tango Echo Romeo” it read. A penny also dropped from its folds into his hand, dirty and well used.
Abe looked on stoically from the palm of his hand as he reread the note. Nothing new, just those five words. Water, they spelled. He read it four times just to be sure.
He flipped over the penny, and found an address delicately scrawled on a small piece of masking tape. Near the riverfront, nice neighborhood. Very public, too. Safe.
He shrugged his shoulders, pocketed the two items, and hopped back into the taxi.
Retired magician – trapped – red shoes – jungle
“This is really much too much,” Dorothy said as she carefully picked her way along the overgrown path. Her slippers, crimson in the diffused sunlight, a trophy of triumph from long ago, crunched fallen leaves and brittle kindling. Though she kicked through untold natural filth, they retained their shine.
“Woof,” was all her little dog said in reply. He leaped over the detritus, seeming to have much more fun than the struggling farm girl.
“Really, Toto, all the way out here. His ballooning will get him killed someday,” she continued.
After another hour of careful trailblazing, they could finally hear the whimpering. The old magician was upside down, hanging entangled by vines as tight as his own trick ropes. Remnants of his ill fated balloon draped the foliage around him. His face was ruined with tears, but he looked okay otherwise.
“Really,” Dorothy said, arms crossed, “contain yourself. You’re lucky Glenda told us to come get you. The sawhorse said to just leave you to rot.”
“Of course he did,” Oz said, sniffling, “come and get me down Dorothy. My nose itches.”
“Serves you right,” she replied as she began climbing.
It didn’t take long before she had him down, and three heel taps later put the three of them back in Emerald City.
“No more ballooning,” Dorothy scolded.