Writing Challenge ~ Summer 2016

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ SUMMER 2016​

So, life took me away for a while, not entirely for unpleasant reasons but I had very little time to get online and even less time to write. But now the sun is shining and I thought today was the day to start a summer writing challenge that will run ‘til the end of August…


You can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your link to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of the images, or use them in their entirety.

As there are several prompts you can of course choose to use all of them in one piece or write one for each…again, it’s your writing, your challenge. You write whatever you’re inspired to write!

The word limit for this challenge is 2,500 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Comment and Review Thread
And please, if you do take the time to read? Please just take a few more minutes to leave a comment.

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Wednesday 31st August 2016, with September’s challenge hopefully going live the following day.

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

Angela was in the bathroom as I quickly explored her bedroom. Illegal searches weren’t my normal method of operation, but this woman had me stymied. We had a warrant for a wiretap on Antonio Ramos but have failed to acquire full cooperation from the Colombian authorities. Armed only with phone numbers and the call times the Colombian authorities allowed, we had isolated Angela Sorenson as one of Ramos’s three main US contacts.

It didn’t help that she was kind. I have put five years into building a case against the drug lord, and one of my first solid US connections had to be nice. Why couldn’t it have been a 50-year-old, grease stained, pot-bellied, unshaven scum bag? Nope, she was as pretty as she was kind.

I moved quickly through the dresser drawers, smiling at her underthings as I pushed my hand underneath to check for anything that would solidify my case. Nothing, not even my paranoid search of the undersides of the drawers revealed any clues. The bed and nightstands were equally unhelpful.

Looking around, I noticed that something was missing. There were no pictures or knick-knacks, nothing that spoke of a life. In fact, the dresser seemed unnaturally unstuffed, empty of old things that normally clutter over the years. The book on the counter, the one I fanned in hopes of clues dropping out, was a fairly new publication. I wondered if she would think it was me who foolishly knocked out her bookmark and replaced it randomly.

Opening the closet door was an exciting revelation. There, against the backside, a map was mounted with hundreds of pins. Each pin marking a city, each pin sporting a color. A cursory analysis identified the red ones as crucial. Manizales, the hometown of Ramos was clearly marked in red, as was Boise where I now stood. One of the other reds marked another main contact in Louisville. It looked like some master marketing plan. South American production and distribution centers tied to North American outlets. It was a gold mine. I pulled my phone out and snapped a few pictures. If I could find the legend that tied the pins to real people, I could end Ramos’s empire in a week.

“Daniel?” Angela called from inside the bathroom. I moved quickly, carefully closing the closet door and silently shifting back to the family room, so my voice didn’t sound as if I were in the bedroom.

“Yes?”

“Where are planning to go? I’m thinking of staying in my jeans, but I can dress up.”

“No need,” I replied. “I have some tickets to the Egyptian Theater to see Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It’s the 30th anniversary, and I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Ferris Bueller, you must be joking,” Angela said with a warm chuckle. I liked how her laugh floated in the air, warm and inviting. I shook it off, remembering her ties to the cartel.

“Nope. I guess I should have been more forthcoming,” I said. “I think I stopped maturing in high school. Figured we’d hit one the brewery pubs after the show.” I needed her talking, and a stupid comedy mixed with some beer should loosen her up.

“Actually, it sounds fun. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a non-intellectual night out,” Angela joked.

“So, I’m bringing down your IQ,” I bantered back. I sat in a soft chair that faced the dark flat panel on the wall. I might as well look like I was patiently waiting since Angela sounded on the verge of completing her primping.

“It’s refreshing,” Angela said as she opened the bathroom door. “Too many people waste too much time trying to impress. I like the idea of just having fun.” She exited the bedroom and mesmerized me.

Angela’s smile was genuine and seemed designed just for me. Her brown hair was cropped in soft waves at the neckline and perfectly framed her attractive features. The jeans showed off the girlish figure she somehow maintained. I sat up straighter. There was nothing girlish about the shirt she had tucked into those jeans. It was a soft red with a gold necklace lazily circling the softness of her throat. Her breasts were pushing against the fabric in a conservative, yet liberal way. They were announcing their presence but insisted on remaining classy. She stopped and did a little turn.

“This okay?”

“Y..yes,” I stuttered, adding a cough to cover my surprise at the beautiful thing those jeans did for her rear. She was way too good looking to be involved in the drug trade. She had to be nearing 40 but looked like she hadn’t hit 30. I didn’t like what my mind was telling me. I was a cop. This wasn’t a real date. I wasn’t attracted to her.

*****

“Fuck me, Frank,” I said to my partner, “it was like it was a real date. It took everything I had not to make a pass at her.” I paused as I thought about it. “I’m not sure I stalled because of the case or for fear she would take offense to it.”

“She didn’t tell you anything?” Frank asked. He was going over the large five-foot blowup of the map. It was a little pixilated by easily readable. He had put sticky notes next to a lot of the locations, matching people and incidents to the pins. The network was so much larger than we had first thought.

“She deflected all my questions. I knew she was hiding something, but all I could get out of her was ancient history,” I replied. “You know, high school and college stuff. All she’d tell me about today was that she’s a marketing consultant.”

“Yep, for Ramos,” Frank said as he tapped on a pin outside of New York and continued reading from the file in his hand. “Five calls in the last two months does not bode well for your relationship.” He smiled at me and tore off another sticky note.

“I know, I know,” I sighed. “It’s just that we hit it off so well. I didn’t need to fake interest.” Frank wrote something on sticky note then placed it near New York. It said ‘10-kilo heroin shipment.'

“We need to get a warrant. There’s got to be a key to these pins somewhere in her apartment.” Frank said. “It would bring down the whole organization.”

“Not enough evidence for a warrant, and we can’t bring up the map without screwing ourselves.”

“Screwing you, you mean,” Frank said with a smile.

“Throwing me under the bus?”

“I’m not the one dating a crime lord,” Frank added. I shared a laugh with him, secretly wondering if he would toss me to the side if the shit hit the fan. “Can you get back in?”

“Another date?” I asked with all the reservation I could muster.

“Come on,” Frank encouraged, “look at what you found the first time. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Your golden moment.” I guess I didn’t have that look of confidence, so he continued. “Don’t you want to have that press conference. The one where the whole world finds out, you’re the DEA agent who brought Antonio Ramos down.” I hated my ego and Frank knew just how to tweak it.

“Okay,” I agreed, “but you’re dating the next one.”

“My wife would divorce me,” Frank laughed.

*****

Early didn’t work this time. Angela was ready, and I had to admit, quite beautiful. She had chosen an art festival, a day in the park. On anyone else, her blue shorts would have been considered on the conservative side. My eyes saw nothing but the curves they accentuated. It didn’t help that I kept imagining how soft it was under that white t-shirt.

“So you like art?” I asked as we approached the first booth.

“I like to see new things. Art festivals are a feast of colors,” she replied, adjusting her Chicago Cubs cap. Damn, it looked cute on her.

“Do you travel a lot to see what the rest of the world has to offer?” I asked, trying to inch my way into an interrogation. Maybe, she would let loose about a trip to South America.

“Not for about eight or nine years.” Angela replied, “Ohh, look at those glass sculptures.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the left. Shelves of ameba-like glass structures filled shelves. Some were small and could fit your hand; others were large and designed to sit on the ground. “See how the colors merge like smoke.” All I could think about was my hand in hers. She hadn’t let go, and I didn’t have the willpower to do it myself.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, meaning her hand. Angela smiled at the glass, misinterpreting my comment.

The day moved to the top of the list of my best days. Angela thwarted all my prying questions and had me laughing. Soon, I no longer cared that she was suspect in a worldwide drug cartel. The jealous eyes of the men that past us fed my silly ego, reinforcing what I already felt. We compared our tastes in movies over corn dogs, our favorite books as we lazily strolled a beer. I found a new comfort in holding her hand, humorously swinging our arms as we traveled from display to display. There was a mental youth about her that allowed me to ignore the man and be the boy.

My mission shattered completely when I walked her to her door. The day had ended too soon, and I greedily wanted more. There was no awkward goodbye. I had felt her emotions mixing with mine all day. Instead of words, I pulled her close and merged her lips with mine. Our arms entwined, sweet electricity surged through my body as our synchronicity became apparent.

“There are things you don’t know about me,” I admitted. Hiding the truth was no longer an option. Angela’s hand reached up and softly cradled my cheek.

“We all have secrets,” Angela said. I leaned into her hand, desiring more contact. “Are mine any worse than yours?”

“I’m a DEA agent. I’m supposed to be investigating…”

“Shhh,” Angela interrupted, calming my confession, “Antonio told me this morning. It doesn’t matter.” Her smile burned into my soul. This was how cops get corrupted, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Her phone vibrated quietly in her pocket. I stalled my million questions as she pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “It’s time you know my secrets.” Her eyes held concern as she quickly unlocked her door. As soon as we entered, she answered the call on speaker.

“Hi, baby,” Angela said, her voice raising an octave.

“Hi, Mommy,” a sweet voice returned.

“Are you having fun with grandma?” Angela asked. Her eyes looked concerned as she shrugged her shoulders. She was a mother, and I could see she thought it would send me running.

“Yeah, we went to the park today.”

“So did I,” Angela said brightly. “I went with a new friend, Daniel. He’s listening so say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Uhm, hi…”

“Courtney,” Angela filled in her name.

“Hi, Courtney,” I said more clearly.

“Grandma and I thought of a really hard one,” Courtney said, “and Daniel isn’t allowed to help.”

“Of course not. That would be cheating,” Angela said, tilting her head to me. Her eyes held concern, probably because of the confusion on my face.

“Tobacco,” Courtney said. I could hear a voice whispering in the background on the line, most likely her grandmother. “Tobago,” she repeated. Angela smiled and headed toward her bedroom, signaling for me to follow.

“Tobago,” Angela repeated as she opened a plastic pin case on her dresser. She retrieved a pin, unconcerned about the color, and opened the closet door.

“You’ll never find it,” Courtney said with pleasure.

“Do I need a hint?” Angela asked. I watched, mesmerized, as Angela began scanning the map. The humor at what was happening made me cover my mouth. I imagined the number of sticky notes Frank must have added to our copy of the map by now.

“No hints,” Courtney insisted. Angela looked up at me as she pointed at the dot that indicated Trinidad and Tobago. I lowered my hand and let my smile show. I had never known my smile to have such an effect on a person. Her face brightened as she stood.

“It’s a hard one, honey,” Angela said, then kissed me with passion. “I’m still looking,” she said when we broke the kiss. I watched as she pushed the pin into the map, covering the Trinidad and Tobago spot.

“Okay, it’s not in Canada,” Courtney said with a giggle.
“It is a very hard one,” Angela said. She leaned into my ear and whispered, “Courtney is Antonio’s daughter. A weekend thing many years ago. I didn’t know who he was at the time.”

“And not in the USA either,” Courtney added.

“We’re a package deal,” Angela whispered. “Oh, you little trickster,” She said loudly. “It’s Trinidad AND TOBAGO. I see it now.” Courtney’s laugh was warmingly real.

“I told you it was hard. Daniel didn’t help, did he?”

“Nope,” I said, “I was still looking when your mom found it.”

“You have to practice,” Courtney said with authority.

“I guess I do,” I agreed. Angela smiled at my words. She took the phone off speaker, and they traded I-love-yous and her promise to be home soon.

“So, you don’t live here full time?” I asked.

“Only when I’m consulting,” Angela replied. “Schools are better by my mom. Plus, I need her help with Courtney. I’ve refused Antonio’s financial help, well, except for her birth. I was between health plans at the time.”

“But you still speak with him,” I said, then shook my head. “I’m sorry, I lied to you.”

“I’m raising a drug lord’s daughter. I’m used to lies.”

“I don’t want to lie anymore,” I said, moving closer.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re closing the investigation,” Angela said, her smile drawing me closer.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” I said, “investigations like this take many, many years.” I began searching for more clues, figuring her soft lips held the bulk of them.

Parts Unknown

Every pin that pierced the map was a memory. Glasses of wine on the lakeshore, sleeping bags that barely contained passion, garters torn asunder and both kinds of suspenders left for room service to handle.

They'd left little bits of themselves in every place. Polaroids snapped in risqué locations, lipstick marks on bathroom mirrors, fingernail gouges in cheap wooden desks.

Their journey was endless, but their longevity was not. The last pin placed was now a hometown, the map now an heirloom passed down to children and grandchildren. More pins were added, even as the fragile parchment began to deteriorate.

The continents were pricked more than a vengeful voodooist does an enemy's doll. The map would surely fall to pieces if not for the pins that held it on the wall.

Eventually the map would become a pincushion, marks even at each pole. The fire of adventurer's blood would not be quelled by warnings like "No Trespassing" or "Do Not Enter." The font of explorer's passion would not be parched by phrases like "Parts Unknown."