Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 9

He stared at her, sitting by the window, watching the snowflakes twirl in the air. They had never spoken, much less made eye contact, but there was something about her. Something that was impossible to ignore.

Lee had spent the last few months making useless trips to the library, useless because there was no way he could ever get any studying done when she was sat by the window. The sun reflected off her hair, shimmering through it, whereas rain drew her attention away from her books, as drops of water raced down the glass. 

The words were still bouncing around his head. The librarian, usually quiet, ignoring everything happening in the building as he typed furiously on his computer, had stood up, and asked for everyone’s attention. “The snowstorm has grown worse. There are strong winds right now, and they are forecast for the next hour or so. I would advise you all to stay here, inside, until the wind has died down.” 

Two people had disregarded what the librarian had said – after all, he was a strange man, who apparently spent his time watching weather reports – and had left, only to return less than five minutes later, their hair tousled, a white dusting of snow clinging to their clothes. They had dropped into two spare seats in defeat.

So they were stuck, for at least an hour. Lee had long since given up on his research paper, to the point he had started to pack his notes and books away in his bag. He glanced towards the window, to the woman staring out of it. Her hair today was tied up, pulled away from her face, and she tapped a pen against the book on the table in front of her. This was his chance, wasn’t it? To speak to her, to get to know her. Maybe to get her number. Maybe just her name. 

He reached a hand down to his bag on the floor, pulling it up onto the table and rummaging through it. The books may have squashed them a little, and by the sounds of the crumbs filtering down the packet, they were rather broken, but chocolate chip cookies were a peace offering, no matter what state of disrepair they were in. Lee held the packet of cookies in his hand, all his things packed away in his bag, and took a deep breath.

“Hi, can I sit down?” 

She started, pulled out of the trance the falling snow had put her in. He shifted his weight, waiting for an answer, and she smiled.

“Sure.” She reached across the small table and pulled her books to her, closing some, and stacking them to the side. 

“I have cookies, if you want one?” He opened the packet as he sat down, setting them down in the middle of the table.

“Thanks,” she reached for one immediately, cupping her hand under her mouth as she bit into it, catching the pieces that broke off. “I haven’t eaten anything today,” she explained after swallowing the mouthful. “I was planning on going out at lunchtime, but then the wind happened, and I don’t fancy my chances. I barely know my way around on a nice day.”

“Do you live nearby?” Lee asked, and she nodded. “Then how don’t you know your way around? We’ve been here for a couple of months.” He was honestly confused by her confession. He could make his way around the campus blindfolded, and knew where all the rooms were, even the ones he didn’t take classes in. 

“I’ve never been good with directions. I can get from my place to here, my classes, and the shop, but I didn’t learn the way anywhere else. When I got my drivers licence, my Dad was terrified I would constantly get lost. He bought me a sat-nav as a congratulations present.” She laughed at her own words, reaching for another cookie, and Lee smiled. Her laugh made him feel like a soft breeze had just arrived on a sweltering day. 

“What’s your name?” Lee asked, and she held up a finger, chewing furiously.

“Jessica,” she swallowed and spoke, “or Jess. Jessie. Whatever.” She shrugged. “Yours?”

“Lee,” he told her. Jess. It fit her. Now that he knew it, Lee couldn’t imagine any other name fitting her.

“I recognise you,” she gestured towards him with a cookie. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Yeah, every couple of days. I like it here, it’s…” got you here...

“Peaceful?”

“Yeah.” He agreed, at a loss for what else to say. He shoved a cookie into his mouth instead of speaking any more.

“I like this spot. By the window,” Jess turned to look at the blizzard through the window. “When it’s clear, I can see all the way across campus. I like watching people.” Lee turned to look out the window as well, at the snowflakes spinning, thrown this way and that. They were trapped in turmoil, and yet, they look beautiful.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” Lee asked, his gaze locked on the storm that didn’t seem about to let up.

“Already getting bored of my company?” Jess asked. Lee turned to defend himself, but saw that she was grinning. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Okay?” Lee said, frowning as she reached into her bag, pulling out a pack of cards. “Do you carry that around with you all the time?”

“Yes, and a Rubik’s cube. Just in case I run into someone who can solve it for me.”

“I can solve it,” Lee almost whispered, shocked at his luck. Time with the girl he couldn’t stop staring at, and a chance to show off to her? Perhaps that wasn’t the correct wording, but he had always loved solving Rubik’s cubes in front of people, just to impress them. 

She handed it over wordlessly, and watched, leaning forward as he turned the grid, following the patterns he had memorised one boring summer day.

“There,” he held it out to her, and she took it, turning it slowly as she examined the colours, all lined up perfectly.

“How?” She asked, and he grinned.

“It’s a secret. But I might need a reward,” he said it before his common sense could kick in and stop him.

“Oh yeah? What would that be, then?” She asked, resting her cheek on her palm as she leant forward over the table.

“Your number.” He cringed internally at how cheesy he sounded.

“I think that might be doable. Give me your phone, then.” She held out her hand, failing to conceal a smile. Lee pressed his mobile into her palm, and she wrapped her fingers around it, concentrating as she typed, and silently mouthing the numbers as she added them in. “There. Now, are do you have any other hidden talents I should know about? Can you control the weather and make this storm stop briefly so I can get home?”

“Not quite, but I do make a pretty good stir fry.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned. “In fact, I was planning on making one when I get home, but I always make too much for just me to eat. You wouldn’t happen to like stir fry, would you?”

“That depends… do you make it entirely from scratch, or do you use those little spice packets, and a pre-made bag of vegetables?”

“Um, both?” Lee couldn’t tell if he had just ruined everything or not. And the cheesiness had been going so well. Jess leaned further across the table, grinning.

“Good. I was starting to worry you were an overachiever.” Lee scoffed.

“Not at all. I have three assignments due, one overdue, and countless coming up.” Maybe if he spent any time studying outside of the library, where he wouldn’t get distracted by Jess’s presence, he would get more done.

“Oh dear, well, we’ll have to do something about that. Maybe set up a study group.” She shrugged. “I could come over and help you study, but you would have to feed me in return.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Lee chuckled as Jess grinned at him. Maybe he actually had a shot. Now, how to make sure she didn’t see the mess of his place when he wouldn’t get a chance to clean it before she got there?

And done!

I wasn't entirely sure where this story was going, but Lee and Jess started flirting, so I just let them be!

I don't actually have anything to say down here...

That's all for now...

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 8

"We've been friends for so long, I can't remember which one of us is the bad influence."

"Considering you're the one suggesting we skip out on class, I'd say it's you." I raised my eyebrows in his direction, and he shrugged.

"So? I don't care. We doing this, or not?" Mark asked, and I hesitated, readjusting my book bag on my shoulder. I could feel the weight of my human psychology book, and I could practically see the scathing glare of my lecturer (who's name I still could not remember) when I walked into the next class. He would definitely know. He would single me out, glare at me, and then announce some sort of quiz on the material covered in the last lecture.

"Fine, what are we doing?" I asked, throwing all caution to the wind. I could catch up, I had the right books, I could just teach it to myself.

"I was thinking we could go and get something to drink..." Mark started, and I turned to glare at him.

"Seriously? You're making me leave campus, while I have classes to go to, because you want to go and flirt with that cute girl at the cafe?"

Mark shrugged.

"Whatever," I sighed. "As long as you're not expecting me to help you catch up on the classes you're missing."

"But, June..." he whinged, giving me a puppy dog eyed stare that I tried desperately to ignore. I pouted, purposefully not looking at him, and I could tell he was grinning. If only he knew how that stare makes me melt. And that dragging me along to be his female wingman as he chats up other girls makes me want to throw up with how jealous it makes me.

"I'm not taking English, and yet, I seem to know more about your course than you do."

"That's because you're awesome. So? Help me catch up later?" he asked and I looked away again, not wanting to see his messy hair fall over his eyes as he waited for me answer.

"Fine." I sighed my defeat, and Mark celebrated by attempting to do that jump where you kick your own foot to the side, but he failed miserably and it just looked like he was trying to trip himself in the air.

The cafe I often found myself in, due to Mark and the girl who worked there, wasn't all that big, although with the amount of students who used it as their gateway to caffeine, I sometimes wondered how the workers deal with so many people in such a small area. When it was quiet, though, it was a heavenly place.

The smell of coffee and chocolate hits you as soon as you open the door, and, with all the wooden decor, it looks like you've just stepped into a cosy cabin. Apart from the counter and all the tables, that is.

I watch as Mark makes a beeline to the counter, leaning against it on one elbow, and smiling at the girl who smiled at the attention, but pretended to ignore it. I turned away, and looked for a table.

What did she have that I didn't? Sure, her hair was a beautiful red, which was was clearly her natural hair colour, and mine was a dull brown colour that looked, at the best of times, like mud. And sure, she was tall and slender, and my thunder thighs couldn't hold a candle to her thigh gap. But, I had witnessed firsthand her inability to calculate the smallest of sums, and I was managing to learn everything on my course, while simultaneously teaching myself Mark's course, so I could help him with it. Surely that stood for something?

Mark briefly returned to me, putting a cup of hot chocolate down on the table for me, topped with more whipped cream than I had ever seen this place serve, and a large blueberry muffin, my favourite.

"Thank you," I reached for my bag. "How much was it?"

"It's on me. Enjoy," he said, sending me a lob-sided smile as he turned and walked back to the counter, glancing over his shoulder at me. I picked up the hot chocolate, careful not to spill any, and held it up to cheers him before sipping it and giving myself a whipped cream moustache while simultaneously burning the tip of my tongue.

I pulled my human psychology book out of my bag, and lay it on the table, opening it to the page I had got to. The class today was supposed to be on chapter ten, so I pulled out my highlighter, and started reading. 

Every so often, I glanced up at Mark, who had obviously intentionally brought me here just in time for the girl to go on her break. They were sat at a table together, and Mark seemed to be listening intensely to everything she said. She didn't seem to be flirting with him, but I was sat across the room. Maybe I wasn't seeing her correctly. I narrowed my eyes slightly, staring at her. She seemed to be... explaining something to him? Was she letting him down gently? But he was hanging onto her every word.

I shook my head, looking back down at my book. It was none of my business what they were talking about. That didn't stop me glancing back up every now and again.

My hot chocolate was gone, and I was just finishing my muffin when Mark walked back over.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, looking down at the table and not meeting my eye.

"Yep." I put the last bit of blueberry in my mouth, and closed my textbook, shoving it back into my bag.

"Can we go for a walk?" Mark asked, and I looked up at him, waiting for him to properly look at me, frowning when he didn't. I glanced over at the girl, now behind the counter again, and she quickly looked away, before looking back over and sending me a thumbs up.

What?

"Sure..." I slung my bag over my shoulder, and followed Mark to the door, which he held open for me. Weird, usually I had to slip out quickly before it closed on me.

"So... I have something to say, and I want you to be deathly silent until I'm finished." Mark announced after we had been walking aimlessly for five minutes.

"By deathly silent, you mean..."

"Don't open your mouth until I'm done."

"Okay." I watched as he took a deep breath, looking down at the floor, and started speaking.

"So, first off, you're amazing. Like, literally, I don't know how you're so smart, but you're the smartest person I know. I don't think I would be passing any of my classes right now without you, and I have no idea how you're passing, because you're learning my stuff as well as your own," he rambled, and I listened, waiting for him to get to the point. Did he want me to stop tutoring him? Was cafe girl going to start helping him instead?

"And you're also, like, insanely pretty." What? "You have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen, and I hope you haven't noticed me staring at you ever, because I will die of mortification if you have. And even though we've been friends forever and you know everything about me that is gross and disgusting, I also know everything gross about you and I don't feel any different, so I'm hoping that, maybe, you might pity me enough after this terrible speech, to perhaps go out on a date with me?"

My mouth hung open, my eyebrows slightly creased as I stared at him. He looked me in the eye, waiting for my answer, but I couldn't make my brain connect to my mouth.

"The confused silence isn't really what I was after..." Mark said, awkwardly chuckling, before falling silent again.

"What about cafe girl?" I finally asked, and Mark frowned.

"Poppy? She's my second cousin. She's been trying to get me to ask you out for weeks, and she's been helping me figure out what to say and do. The rambling speech wasn't part of the plan, but still."

"You want to take me on a date?" I asked and he nodded, looking down at the floor and moving a stone along the path with the toe of his shoe. I don't think I've ever seen him looking so bashful.

"Okay."

"Yes?" Mark's gaze shot up, and grin pulled at his mouth.

"I'm just curious at how you haven't seen me looking at you... I'm not exactly subtle about it." I said, smiling.

"How do you know I haven't?" Mark asked, and I reached up and pushed him playfully.

"You're so annoying." I told him and he nodded.

"I know. Does this mean now we can walk and hold hands?" he asked, and I pretended to think about it before holding out my hand to him.

"I suppose." His hand closed around him, his fingers entwining with mine. It felt comfortable, safe, right. "So where are we going on this date?"

"I was thinking the cafe?" he said seriously, but I could understand the sarcasm behind his words.

"No way, if the place doesn't have burgers, I'm not going."

"Great, I'll pick you up at six. And by that, I mean I'll knock on your door at six, and then we'll walk."

"Sounds perfect."

And done!

I must be in some sort of mood, because recently, all I've been writing is sappy romance stuff. I just want to hold hands with someone and cuddle while watching movies, is that too much to ask?!

Okay, that's all for now...

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 7

"I swear, if you took my leftovers, I will rip you limb from limb."

"Come on, Claire, do you distrust me that much?" he leant against the counter of our shared kitchen, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Can you prove it?" I asked, half slamming the fridge door closed.

"No." He reached up and ran his hand through his hair, and I closed my eyes, exhaling sharply in exasperation. "But you don't want to eat that nasty stuff anyway." I opened my eyes again to glare at him.

"Really? And how would you know that?" He winked at me and turned around, opening two of the cupboards and examining the contents. Sometimes, I really hated shared accommodation, especially when it meant living with Richard. He had been hitting on me ever since we had moved in together, and I really couldn't see why he continued to bother, the amount of times I had turned him down.

"Because," he eventually turned around again, dropping a bag of flour onto the counter in a small cloud of white, "we have everything we need to make pizza."

I couldn't help my stomach from rumbling, and he grinned as I cursed under my breath. I turned around and opened the fridge again, hoping there was anything else to eat, that something else would magically appear on the shelves, but unless I wanted to fall as low as Richard, and eat whatever was in the plastic container with his name written on top, I had no choice. I hadn't been shopping in days, and I didn't have the money for takeout or to order anything in.

"Fine," I sighed, pulling a hairband off my wrist and gathering my hair up into a messy bun. "But we are not putting olives on it, and you had better keep all mushrooms off my half."

"Who said you're getting half?" he stared down at me as I furrowed my brow in confusion. "You're cute when you're confused." I punched him on the arm and he grinned as I glowered at him. How many times had I told him not to try and flirt with me, that I wasn't interested in him at all? That I disliked everything about him, except for the bits of hair that curl around the base of his neck, and the grin that pulls at the corners of his lips when he's happy but sleepy. "I thought we could make a pizza each. We have enough stuff."

"Fine." I said again, and when Richard made no move to continue doing anything, I sighed and went in search of a mixing bowl. "Here." I put the bowl down on the counter none too gently, and looked up at him again. "How do we make this then?"

"I don't know, I thought you would?"

I stared blankly up at him. "So how do you know that we have everything?"

"Because my Dad used to make pizza every Friday evening. I just don't know measurements and stuff."

"Oh," I looked around for my phone, patting the pockets of my jogging bottoms and hoodie, but to no avail. "I'll be back in a minute," I walked out the room and ran up the stairs, finding my phone on my bed and heading back down the stairs at a much slower pace. I had never had much luck with going down stairs, I had fallen far too many times, and Richard had seen me do so too many times for my comfort.

When I walked back into the kitchen, Richard was looking down at his phone, a rather large mountain of flour in the bowl.

"How many pizzas are we making?" I walked over and checked the scales underneath the bowl.

"It's what it said!" he held out his phone to me and I snatched it from him, reading through the instructions.

"It helps if you read the recipe," I passed his phone back to him and picked up the bowl of flour, carefully tipping it back into the bag, although a lot of it ended up on the counter. "We're not trying to feed a family of four. Half the ingredients."

"What?" He examined the recipe, and shrugged. "I could've eaten the extra two."

"Why can't you just admit you were wrong and move on? You're so incredibly infuriating."

"Okay, sorry," he help up his hands towards me. "I surrender, you win."

"That's not what I mean." I sighed. "What does the recipe say next?"

Richard continued to read out the recipe, and I took on the role of rereading it and actually doing the work. By the time there were two semi-decent pieces of dough rolled out for the bases, my stomach felt like an empty pit, and I could feel the start of a headache coming on.

"Can we put the toppings on now?" Richard asked, and practically ran to the fridge when I nodded, pulling out different things, most of which I'm sure did not belong to him, but some of our other housemates.

"Pass me the pepper," I held my hand out and he handed me a red pepper, for me to chop. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I put the knife down, holding onto the edge of the counter and staring straight ahead as the kitchen wall come in and out of focus. The spell passed, and I blinked the world back into focus.

"Claire? Are you alright?" I could feel Richard's hand on my hip, his arm reaching around my back. I nodded and he removed his hand, stepping away. "You looked like you were going to fall over."

"I'm fine, just hungry." I breathed out slowly and reached for the knife again to continue chopping the pepper.

"Stop," Richard laid his hand over mine, stilling it. "Go and sit down, I can do this." I looked up at him, but the look on his face said he wasn't going to argue, and I slipped out from between him and the counter, leaving the knife and the half chopped pepper, and sat down at the kitchen table, folding my arms on it and laying my head down. 

"Have you drunk anything today?" Richard asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," my voice was muffled by my arms, and I heard Richard mumble something to himself and the kitchen tap start running.

"Drink that." I looked up to see a large glass of water placed on the table next to me. "All of it." I watched as Richard turned away again, and started chopping the rest of the ingredients he had retrieved from the fridge. I picked up the glass, the coolness of the water causing condensation on the sides of the glass and wetting my hand, and sipped it. "All of it," Richard repeated, not even turning around, and I glared at his back before taking a longer drink.

I watched as Richard chopped things, spreading them atop the pizzas. He wasn't the best with a knife, as was evident by the uneven way everything was sliced, but it was good enough.

"Feeling better?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me, and at the practically empty glass of water on the table.

"Yeah." My head had cleared, and the headache had changed its mind about plaguing me.

"No one ever drinks enough water. Thom nearly collapsed when we were playing football the other day." Richard shook his head, obviously recalling the incident.

"Hey, I said no mushrooms on mine!" I exclaimed, staring at the singular, but very large, chunk of mushroom badly hidden on my pizza under a bit of chicken.

"Aw, I hoped you wouldn't notice." Richard removed the offending fungi, and I relaxed back in the chair again. "It's so funny watching you when you eat bits of mushroom. Your nose screws up all weird."

"They're disgusting. Frankly, I don't understand why anyone would want to eat a fungus." I retorted as Richard put the pizzas in the oven, a small gust of warm air blowing my way from the opening of the oven door.

"I quite like them."

"You're a fungus yourself." I said sarcastically, and Richard turned to look at me, a stunned look on his face, although he couldn't completely stop the grin at the corner of his mouth.

"How dare you!" he shook his head at me. "You have to watch a full movie with me, beginning to end, for that comment." I opened my mouth to protest, but he started speaking again before I could. "You can pick though." I closed my mouth again, and tilted my head to the side.

"I can pick? Anything? And you have to watch it?" I asked, and a look of terror and regret crossed his face, before he slowly nodded.

"Yes?" he said it as more of a question than an answer.

"Wonderful." I rubbed my hands together like I imagine an evil mastermind would. "We're going to watch a thriller, and you have to watch it this time."

"But–"

"You said I could pick anything! Don't worry, I won't choose one that's scary. I know you're easily frightened." I grinned at him and he narrowed his eyes at me.

"You've done it now!" he wiggled his fingers at me, and I jumped up from the chair and fled the room. I would not be tickled.

"Pete, protect me," I jumped on the sofa next to one of our housemates, and curled up as close to him as possible. He stared at me, dumbfounded, before returning his gaze to his laptop.

We both looked up at Robert as he half ran into the room, and he froze when he saw Pete.

"Ah," Pete smiled, looking back at his computer.

"What?" Robert and I said it at the same time, but Pete refused to look up at either of us, simply grinning at his laptop.

"Did you set a timer for the pizza?" I asked and Robert shook his head. Sighing, I stood up, certain he wouldn't try and tickle me again, and walked past him into the kitchen, muttering 'utterly useless' just loud enough for him to hear.

"Pizza?" Pete yelled from the sitting room. "Did you make enough for me?"

"No!" I yelled back, setting the timer on the oven as Robert walked up to me. He leant down towards me, his breath tickling my cheek as he whispered, "I used Pete's cheese for the pizza. Don't tell him."

"Pete!" I yelled immediately, and Robert grabbed me around the middle, spinning me around so my back was against his chest, and held his hand across my mouth. I poked my tongue out and licked his palm, but to no avail.

"What?" Pete walked into the room and spent a full three seconds surveying the scene in front of him, before he announced "use protection" and walked away, giggling to himself.

"Does everyone in this house think we're a couple?" Robert asked, as I pried his hand off my face.

"They do? Who? We're not. I hate you." I spoke quickly so he wouldn't interrupt me.

"Don't worry, I hate you too." I looked up at him, and saw him grinning, and couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.

And done!

This is a little long (1881 words) but I couldn't get it to come to a natural conclusion, so I just kept typing. Never mind.

Now I want pizza.

Anyway.

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 6

She had missed the last train.

Kaisha had ran onto the platform, holding onto the strap of her bag, to keep it on her shoulder, her hair flowing out behind her as she desperately tried to reach the train doors in time. But as her feet touched the platform, the train doors closed tightly shut and the train slowly rocked forward, moving away from the station and leaving her behind.

"No!" She yelled in frustration, reaching up and grabbing hold of her hair, tugging at it. She had nowhere to go, and it was already dark outside. She was meant to be on that train, that was the whole plan. Leave early, and get to the train station on time. But David had insisted on driving her to the station, and he didn't know which way to go, turning the wrong way time after time, and taking her increasingly further from her destination.

She could always walk back to David's, but it was late. Walking through the city late at night wasn't something she wanted to do. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, clicking it on. She stared blankly at the 'low battery' sign, flashing in front of her before the phone switched itself off, the screen turning black.

"Why?" She asked no one in particular, sighing as she put the phone back in her back. She didn't have much choice, it was either to walk back to David's or to spend the night in the train station, waiting for the first morning train to roll up to the platform.

"No, is it gone?" Kaisha spun around at the sound of a man's voice behind her. He was panting as he ran his hands through his hair, his cheeks red. He had obviously also run to try and catch the train.

"It left a few minutes ago," Kaisha offered the information. "I watched it go."

"That's just perfect." Kaisha looked away and back at the tracks, as if a train would suddenly arrive and solve all of her problems. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

Kaisha turned around to face the man again. "My friend has a place near here, but it's a half hour walk at least, and my phone's dead."

"I wouldn't want to walk through the city in the dark," the man said, pulling his phone out of his pocket again. "I just came from my girlfriend's house, I could give her a call. I'm sure she'll be able to drive you to your friend's place."

"Oh, I don't want to cause any trouble." Kaisha started, but the man waved away her concerns.

"Don't worry about it," he held up his phone to his ear again. "Artiann? Are you still up? Yeah, I missed the train. That would be great, thanks. There's a woman here too, and the closest person she knows here is a half hour walk away. Could we drop her off too? Arty, you're the best. I love you. See you soon."

Kaisha felt strange listening in to the conversation, so she turned away and stared at the rails again.

"She'll be here in about fifteen minutes, she said. Do you want to go and wait at the carpark?"

"Yeah, that'll be great. Thank you so much," Kaisha jogged over to him, and they walked in silence out of the train station. The lack of people gave it an almost eerie feel, and Kaisha shivered as the sounds of their feet on the floor echoed around the walls.

"I'm Mark, by the way," the man said, and Kaisha looked up at him.

"Kaisha."

"Do you come here often? To the city, I mean, not to an empty train station."

"Not really. The only person I know here is David, and he's busy a lot with work."

"That's the friend who lives here?"

"Yeah. What about you? You mentioned a girlfriend?" she looked up at him as a smile spread across his face.

"Yeah, Artiann. She's amazing. We take it in turns to commute to the other's house. I'd usually stay over, but I have a business meeting early tomorrow morning." He sighed. "Looks like I won't be getting there for that."

"What if you took one of the early trains?"

"I'd still be late. Even after the train ride, I have to get a car back to my place, change, and then get the bus into work. By the time the train arrived, the bus would already be leaving."

"I'm sorry." Kaisha said, not sure what else there was to say.

"Why? It's not your fault." he pulled open the door and held it, waving his arm to tell Kaisha to go through first. The crisp night air filled her lungs, and she pulled her coat closer around herself, shoving her hands into her pockets to protect her fingers from the cold.

"She shouldn't be long," Mark said, watching as Kaisha shuffled her weight between her feet, trying to stay warm. Winter was cold enough already, without standing around outside at night.

A pair of headlights shone across Kaisha and Mark, and Kaisha looked up at the old car pulling up in front of her. Mark ran around the front of the car, climbing into the passenger seat, telling her to get in. She opened the back door and sat in, awkwardly closing the door behind her.

"Hi! We'll do introductions in a minute, what's the address of your friend's place?" The woman in the drivers seat asked. Her hair was tied up on top of her head, and she was wearing pyjamas, with a jumper over the top.

Kaisha rattled off the address and the woman imputed it into her satnav. As the robotic voice started giving directions, and the car pulled away, the woman looked at Kaisha through the rearview mirror.

"Sorry about that, I would very much like to get back to my bed as soon as possible," she stated and Mark started apologising to her. "Oh, be quiet. What was I meant to do? Leave you out here? Anyway," she turned her attention back to Kaisha. "What's your name? I'm Artiann, Arty for short."

"Kaisha. I'm really appreciative that you could drive me back–"

"You're as bad as Mark. It wasn't like I was going to hang up the phone and leave you to fend for yourselves. Besides, a thirty minute walk isn't a particularly long drive. Look, it says we'll be there in five minutes." She gestured towards the satnav.  "Anyway, I like being helpful." She added.

Mark and Artiann started a conversation, and Kaisha fell silent in the back as she stared out the window, listening to them. Evey other sentence ended with one of them laughing, and they teased each other endlessly. It was the kind of relationship Kaisha had always dreamed of, but had never quite found.

"Okay, we're here!" the car rolled to a stop and both Mark and Artiann turned around in their seats.

"Thank you, both of you, so much. You saved me from a horrible walk." Kaisha said and Artiann smiled at her.

"No problem, now get inside and get warmed up. Tell your friend to make you some hot chocolate. You look like you need it." Kaisha smiled at Artiann and climbed out of the car.

"Thank you, again."

"Don't worry about it, Kaisha."

Kaisha closed the door behind her and walked up to David's door, aware of the fact that the car was still there. She knocked, and waited. A light clicked on inside, and the door opened, flooding Kaisha with light and giving off a wonderful feeling of warmth.

"Kaisha? What happened?"

"I missed the train. Can I stay over?"

"Of course, come on in." David moved aside and Kaisha stepped in, glancing over her shoulder, but the car was gone.

"Can I have a hot chocolate?"

And done!

This one is quite long, but I don't think it matters too much. I quite like it, actually!

Thank you to the lovely people on Twitter who named Kaisha and Artiann.

That's all I have for now.

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 5

 

His voice brought back memories of dark rooms and broken bones.

I felt my breathing hitch as he approached, slowly, disbelieving. Although I generally tried my best to ignore it, I became very aware of the ache in my ankle, the break that never healed quite right.

I had only ever caught a glimpse of him before, after. It had been late at night, bright lights and torches, the blue sweep of the police cars and busy with people everywhere. Cars coming and going, people asking me questions and other people saying that it could wait, that I needed medical care first.

I was on a stretcher when I saw him, turning my head to look at the big, old house, the flashing lights, the tall trees that would cast dark shadows over the house during the day and hide it during the night. There was movement all around, but this particular motion had caught my eye because it was different from all the others. It was another stretcher, being carried through the door of the house. All I could see was a mop of dirty, greasy and blood stained, blond hair, until he looked around, his head whipping back and forth, terror in his eyes as he tried to figure out what was going on. Squinting in the light, so different from the pitch black we were used to.

He caught sight of me, silently staring at him, the shock that had settled in my chest preventing my brain from doing anything but laying still and quiet, the calm to his storm as he panicked – he had been there longer than me, God knows how long it had been since he had experienced human touch that didn't want to hurt him.

We had been in separate rooms, thin walls separating us, but separate none-the-less. We talked, but we had never seen each other. I had curled up with my hands over my ears, rocking back and forth with tears running down my dirty cheeks when I heard the blows and the cries in the next room.

The first blows, we had both experienced and told each other, had been to our legs. He seemed to think it had something to do with preventing us from trying to run, but I think it was more to do with the terror – if you can run, you can convince yourself that you can get away. If you can't, you're helpless and know it, as you sit in the damp and dark, hunger gnawing at your insides and the cold biting at your skin.

I had been taken to an ambulance, police hovering around and doctors forcing them to leave, blocking my sight of him. I had wanted to call out, to yell to him, tell him we were safe now and that he didn't need to worry; but my voice wouldn't work and all I could do was to turn my head to the side and moan.

And now, here he was. Standing in front of me, in the middle of the street. He favoured his left leg, it seems he hadn't physically recovered either, but the dirty hair was now clean, cut shorter, and his eyes, a deep brown, like hot chocolate on a crisp winter morning, were filled with nervousness, not terror. This was the same man who had spent months on the other side of a wall, had spent seconds within eyesight, who had bared his soul to me and listened as I bared mine. Yet, this man was different and, in a way, I was different. We weren't there anymore, we were free, warm and safe.

Neither of us seemed to know what to say as we stared at each other. If he hadn't been on the phone, we might've walked straight past each other. We didn't know each other from sight, but his voice, I would recognise his voice anywhere. And he had seen me staring, and he had frowned before it clicked in his mind and he mumbled something into his phone before sliding it into his pocket and walking numbly across to me.

"Tammy?" he had said my name so many times when we talked through the walls, as if he was afraid one of the times would be the last time I heard him say it.

My eyes watered as I stared up at him and he held his arms out, shuffling his weight to be more comfortable as I collapsed against him, my hands grabbing fistfuls of his jumper.

"Liam," I sobbed his name as his hand came up to the back of me head, holding me closer as he rested his face against mine, the drip of his tears on my shoulder.

"Tammy."

I wrote this story ages ago... This was meant to be the second part to my Writing Prompt Stories series, but for some reason I seemed to think that I would expand the story into an actual book. Ha, like that would ever happen.

After many months, I realised I was never going to get around to writing the story, so I figured I would just publish this post. If I eventually do write it... some people got a little preview!

Okay, that's all.

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 4

 

"There's blood."

I turned to look at her over my shoulder, to see where she was looking. Annie had always been one to jump to conclusions, and since we had become friends as kids, I had always been the one to assure her that things were okay.

"I'm sure it's not, it's probably just paint or something," I walked over to her, my torch pointed at the floor to see where I was going.

"June, I assure you, that's blood," her voice was quivering and the beam of light from her torch was shaking. I reached out and wrapped my arm around her shoulder, offering her some support as my torch light joined hers, pointing at the wall. Maybe exploring an abandoned house in the middle of the night wasn't the best idea, but Annie's car had broken down about a half mile down the road and this was the first place we had come across.

The splattering of red across the wall was too dull to be paint. Red paint was always bright, it would've stained the cracking white paint of the wall already. This wasn't paint.

And it wasn't dry.

We both watched in horror as it dripped down the wall. As a child, I had loved watching rain on the window of the car when my parents had to go somewhere. I would watch the little droplets, pretending they were racing to the bottom, and make bets with myself as to which ones would win.

I couldn't help but stare as one droplet raced ahead of the other, but stopped when it reached a bump in the paintwork, the second droplet making it to the ground first. I followed it with my torch, watching as it joined a little puddled on the floor, amongst the grass and weeds.

"I think we should go," Annie whispered, her breath coming out in a little white puff and I nodded, the cold making the tips of my ears throb.

"Yeah, let's go back to the car." We both turned around, and Annie grabbed hold of my arm, squeezing it tight in her hand, although the layers of my coat and jumper meant I barely felt it.

We both jumped when a branch snapped to the left, and hurried whispers between us plunged us into darkness as we turned out torches off, holding onto each other as our breaths came out shakily.

A beam of light fell down upon us and we both screamed, the light blinding me and making my vision swim as my hands tensed up around Annie's, the both of us gripping the other's hands as tightly as we could.

"Are you two okay?" the voice was deep and he lowered the light, pointing it at our feet so we could see better. The first thing I saw was his uniform.

"Thank God," Annie sighed, turning her torch back on. "Officer, you have to help us, our car broke down and-and–"

"There's a house back there that has blood on the walls," I pointed, finished Annie's sentence for her.

"I know."

I frowned, glancing at Annie, the relief I had felt before melting away and the fear creeping back in.

"What... what do you mean?" Annie asked and he smiled.

"The problem with your car was that it had run out of fuel, but the battery has also been disconnected due to..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Unfortunate circumstances."

"You disconnected my battery?" Annie asked, her voice barely audible.

"Couldn't risk it," he shrugged, reaching towards his waistband. I gasped, trying to pull Annie back, but she didn't move and I felt something hit the back of my foot. I tripped, falling backwards and pulling her down with me. His laughter chilled me to my bones.

"Didn't running seem too much of an easy option?" He asked and I started to crawl backwards, begging Annie to run, to get up, but she could do nothing but stare up at him in shock.

His torch caused a glint of light to reflect off the knife, and I screamed, trying to back away. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to watch as the knife came down on me, but behind my eyelids I saw the area light up and forced my eyes to open again. Annie's torch was shining up at him, directly into his eyes, and as he tried to escape the beam, I pushed myself to my feet, moving as quickly as I could over to Annie.

"Let's go!" I pulled her to her feet and we both took off running, heading down the road, away from her car. It was useless anyway.

I heard heavy footsteps behind us. His legs were longer than ours, he was faster, stronger. There was no way we were escaping and the tears in my eyes were blinding me as I used my grip on Annie's arm to guide me, hoping she knew where we were going.

Two lights came around the corner in front of us and the footsteps behind us stopped and retreated. Annie led us up to the car, which had pulled up to a stop, and the window rolled down.

"Please help us," she sobbed and the person in the car told us to get in. Annie opened the back door and we collapsed into the car. I fumbled for the handle and slammed the door shut.

"He was chasing us and my car is broken and there was blood and there was a knife and–"

"It's okay, we're going to drive away," the woman said, interrupting Annie's franticly gasped words. The car started moving and quickly built up speed as the lady dialled on her phone. I clutched Annie's arm closer to me, not wanting to let her go.

"Hi, I have two girls in my car who say they were running from a man threatening to stab them," the woman said and I felt a sob rise in my throat.

"I don't want to stop driving, where should I go?" Annie looked over her shoulder through the back window and I buried my head in her coat, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to quiet my sobbing.

"Yes, there's a fire station about five minutes down the road. Can you stay on the line?" I heard an indicator ticking and the car turned a corner.

I only lifted my head and opened my eyes when the car stopped and I looked out of the windows at the red exterior of the fire station. A police car pulled into the car park behind us.

"Yes, they're here. Thank you." The lady opened her door and waved to the police car. A policeman climbed out and started walking over.

"It's okay, you're safe now," the lady turned to say to us as the policeman approached. Her smile turned to a frown, her face crumpling and a gasp leaving her mouth as the policeman grabbed her shoulder to hold her still. He pulled his arm back and she slumped to the ground, leaving behind a bloody knife in his hands.

"Hello again, girls."

Yay, another creepy story.

I like being creepy in these, it brings me great joy.

I hope it brings you as much joy when you read them.

Actually, I take that back. I hope it makes your skin crawl. That's what it's meant to do.

I'm not mean, just honest.

That's all, then.

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 3

 "It's three in the morning..."

"And?" he leant again the doorframe, a small grin pulling at the left side of his mouth more than the right side. 

I blinked, shaking my head slightly in bemusement. Sighing, I stepped back, pulling the door open more. I let go of the handle, opting to pull the blanket higher up on my shoulders as he stepped into my apartment, closing the door behind him.

"I missed you," his hands came to rest on my shoulders and he leant down to press a kiss to my lips. I couldn't help but yawn as he pulled away and he looked down at me in amusement.

"Am I boring you?"

"No, Gray, but you did wake me up and I was having a very nice dream," I turned to walk into my bedroom and he followed me, turning the hallway light off as he passed the switch.

"Was I in it?" He asked and I smiled to myself as I pulled back the covers to my bed and climbed in, the blanket around my shoulders making a cocoon of warmth for me to snuggle into.

"No, but you know that guy in the movie we saw the other day? The hot one–"

"No! I don't need to hear that!" he fell into bed next to me, kicking his shoes off and sticking his feet under the covers. Giggling, I grabbed hold of his jumper and pulled him closer to me, abandoning my warmth cocoon in favour of the smell of night air that surrounded him, burying my face into his chest. His arms came to wrap around me, grabbing the discarded blanket and pulling it over me as he got comfortable.

"Did you come here to sleep? You know you have a bed at your place, right?" I mumbled into his jumper.

"Yeah, but I don't have you at my place, do I?" he whispered into my hair and I smiled sleepily, his words making me feel all tingly inside.

"Can you not sleep without me there?" I asked, shuffling closer as his body heat became more favourable than the blanket, my hand grabbing a fistful of his jumper and holding onto it tightly to keep him close as I yawned again, my eyes threatening to send me to sleep without any warning.

"Of course, not, Evie," his hand came to rest in my hair, "no one can sleep without their angel watching over them."

"Why is your angel at my house?" I mumbled, my brain half between consciousness and sleep and far too tired to understand what he was saying. He chuckled against my hair and the movement moved my head up and down, making me frown a little and snuggle closer, the sound of his heartbeat making me sleepier by the second as it lulled me to sleep.

"She lives here," he whispered and I nodded, my cheek rubbing against the material of his hoodie, pretending I understood.

"Does my landlord know that it's not just me living here?"

"Evie, I don't think you really understand me," he mumbled and I forced my eyes open, raising my head to look up at him.

"I always understand you."

"How?" he asked and I felt almost insulted by the smile on his face. Was he laughing at me?

"Because our souls are like this," I held up my hand and crossed my fingers in front of his face, to show him.

"Our souls are crossed?" he asked and I nodded. "Are they knotted together in an unbreakable bond?" I frowned, blinking sleep away, and nodded again. "Are they an indestructible force as long as they are together, and can never be apart?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No, I'm just being poetic, Evie," he chuckled and I frowned, not believing him.

"Why were you awake in the first place?"

"I missed you." I felt the frown slip from my face and a grin take over.

"You're adorable," I leaned forwards and kissed him.

"And you're exhausted, lie down and close your eyes," he smiled, guiding my head down to rest on his chest again.

"I love you," I mumbled, his jumper muffling my words and sleep clouding my brain.

"I love you more, little angel." I breathed out heavily and, as the breath left my body, making way for more air, my mind turned itself off, drifting to sleep with his breath against my hair, his arms wrapped around me and his heartbeat against my cheek, keeping me safe and enveloping me in everything that is him.

Generally, the things I write contain at least a little bit of murder and/or someone crying at some point, but apparently I'm feeling a little sappy today.

Also I didn't want to do the stereotypical:

"It's three in the morning..."

"I know, do you have a shovel? I need you to help me bury a body."

Anyway, post over, have a lovely day!

Bye!

Writing Prompt Stories, Mini Stories That My Mind Cooked Up – Part 2

 

"Honestly, I just want to help people."

"I find that hard to believe when you just confessed to five murders."

To be fair, it did seem pretty suspicious.

"Wait, you have to hear me out," I held my hands out, palm up, begging her to listen, to let me tell my story. She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs and waving a hand, as if to say 'go on then'. Grinning, I sat back in my chair, clearing my throat. I do so love storytelling.

I had been ambling along, more of a stroll really, along the river, when a van had pulled up alongside me. A white van, the creepy kind where the windows are mirrored to add to the aesthetic. The window rolled down and I stopped walking, heading over to the van. Their hair fell across their face, obscuring my view of them, but they were obviously lost, who wouldn't help them?

It seems, though, that perhaps getting into the van to help the poor person find their way around the city wasn't a great plan. I mean, it wasn't the best idea, but during our short conversation, I found out that they liked carrot cake as much as I do, so they seemed pretty cool.

They had asked for directions to a specific store, because apparently they had a delivery of sliced bread in the back of the van. Isn't that just the best thing?

There I was, giving them instructions, when they turned the wrong way. I had specifically said straight on, but they turned left. There was no traffic, nothing preventing them from going straight on. I had turned to them, confused, and they had looked over and winked at me. I smiled back, reaching for the door handle, but it was locked. I looked down at the handle, trying it again, and then trying the window, but neither opened. Starting to panic, I turned back to face them, only to catch a glimpse of a club before it connected with a crack against my head, everything going dark as my head lolled forwards.

I woke up on the floor of the empty carpark of a construction site. The site was empty, either the project had been abandoned or work simply wasn't planned for today. I stared at a large yellow vehicle, trying to figure out what it was used for, my head heavy and aching.

"Mornin'," I turned my head, the movement forcing me to blink away stars, and stared up at the van driver. "How are you feeling?"

"Get away from me!" I screamed, pushing myself up onto my elbows in an attempt to shuffle away from them, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed me and I rolled to the side instead, opting to crawl away.

"I'm your worst nightmare and, darling, I've come to reap you," I turned my head to look over my shoulder at them, wondering if they was being serious – the humour in their tone and the grin on their face told me otherwise, but the throbbing of my head stopped me from jumping to conclusions.

It was when they reached into their jacket and pulled out a knife that I turned and started to crawl away as fast as I could, hearing their footsteps approaching on the loose gravel of the carpark.

A burning erupted between my shoulder blades and I screamed as I fell against the floor, my arms giving out beneath me. They ripped the knife out and I screamed again, trying desperately to pull myself away from them, but my arms had given up. I tasted blood in my mouth and felt it start to trickle down my chin as they stood, watching, laughing...

"Let me stop you there."

I looked up at her, angry that she had stopped my flow. I had been at the best part.

"In this job," she sighed, "I get to hear some pretty bad excuses. 'It wasn't me, I was at home' but there's no alibi and there's definite proof they were there. 'She attacked me first', but ten different eyewitnesses say otherwise. This one, I have to say, tops the cake on worst excuses I've ever heard."

Narrowing my eyes, I lifted my hands onto the table, the cuffs clinking against the table as I leant forwards.

"You didn't let me finish, but you've ruined it now," I sneered, her face showing no signs of intimidation. Turning a page on her notepad, she hovered her pen over the page.

"And what would the ending be?"

"It's really quite clever," I grinned, leaning back in my chair, my hands clasping in front of me as I stared at the ceiling with glee. "The big plot twist, is that the story is not from my perspective." I looked at her, waiting for a gasp, for a look of realisation, for anything. But alas, she only looked bored.

"No, it isn't, is it? For one, I don't see a gaping wound in your back." She deadpanned and I slammed my hands down on the table, the sound of the bang bouncing around the room.

"You think you're being funny..."

"What I think," she interrupted me, "is that you are telling the truth, albeit in a roundabout way. You pulled up alongside the river, asking for directions. You knocked out and later killed a man named John O'Doherty, stabbing him between the shoulders and puncturing his lung, watching as he choked on his own blood. You dragged his body to the back of your van, putting him with the previous four. If a passing woman hadn't heard a scream and called the police, you would have left again, to find your sixth victim." She tilted her head to the side. "How's that for a story?"

"It's pretty good, it's lacking a bit of incentive, though," I mused, pursing my lips. "Maybe you should do some revisions, a little editing and then come back and we'll take another look at it." It was her turn to narrow her eyes and she looked about to say something else, but the door behind her opened and another officer walked in. He leant over to whisper something to the officer sat opposite me, who had her eyes on me the entire time.

The officer glanced towards me, a grim look on his face, before leaving as quickly as he had entered. I watched him go, waving at his back, before I turned back to face the woman opposite me.

"How's this for incentive – five men found dead in the back of your van, all five irishmen who worked at the factory that you recently got fired from. Turns out, they were all on the same production line as you. Also, a little bit of information has come to light," she gestured towards the door, telling me that the officer had just told her this, "you used to threaten all five of them and it was their reports against you that lost you your job. All of your threats, it seems, were backed by the fact that they were Irish, a culture you have been prejudiced against since the death of your mother while under the care of an Irish doctor, eight months ago."

She fell silent as I felt my anger seething.

"You dare mention my mother–"

"Furthermore, since we already have evidence of you admitting to the murders, as well as all the evidence that stacks up so nicely against you, the only purpose of this continued interrogation was to get a straight story and I feel like we have completed that task now–"

"I want a lawyer."

"Sweetie," she leaned forwards over the table, "you'd better have a good one."

The anger overcame me and I lunged across the table, screaming at her, the shackles rattling and pulling tight as I tried to move further than I could. She started, leaning back in her chair and pocketing her little notebook, clicking the pen off and standing, straightening her jacket and turning, walking towards the door as I remained, sprawled across the table, shouting profanities after her.

I would get her.

Sitting back in the chair, I cocked my head to the side and started laughing, imaging watching her cough up her own blood and being able to do nothing as her lungs flooded and drowned her.

From the other side of the screen, the footage of the interview was being saved, the notes being put neatly into a file and the interviewer was being handed a cup of coffee.

"How on earth did you get her talking?" someone asked.

"Look at her," the woman pointed and all eyes turned to look at the girl, at the blood staining the ends of her sleeves, on the bottom of her shoes and a streak across her jeans where she had wiped the knife, sat with her head thrown back, laughing, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"She wanted to tell a story, so I let her tell it."

Hello! I'm sorry this is so long, I started and couldn't stop. It also got a lot more complicated than I meant for it to, but that's life I guess.

This is probably incredibly factually incorrect (I have no idea how interrogation works) but I don't really care, it seems like it ended up as a pretty cool little story. Also, the whole 'motive' thing was given no thought at all, which is why it is terrible.

I'm starting to see a theme with these prompted stories, in that they all seem to be quite grim and violent...

Anyways, that's it for now!

Bye!