Family time

Day 23: Clock
No Novel November 2019

1971 Chevrolet Chevy Camaro Z28 yellow fastback

“Do you know why I pulled you over, ma’am?”

Officer Jensen leans on top of the canary-yellow Camaro fastback with a disapproving look on his thin features. His radar gun had nearly exploded when this thing came whipping down the country lane he’d been assigned to this weekend.

“I can’t imagine, Officer,” the driver says, all innocence.

“Ma’am, I clocked you going a buck ten in a forty. Anything about that seem odd to you?”

“Oh my. Yes, sir, I suppose that is a bit fast.” She smiles sweetly and bats her eyelashes at him through the window. “But seeing as there’s no one out here besides you and me, maybe you could let me off with a warning or a lecture or a coffee date?”

Jensen sighs and shakes his head. If this was the first time she’d done this, he’d be embarrassed. But seeing as it happens at least once a month, he’s nothing but frustrated.

“You can’t keep buzzing me like this when I’m on duty,” he says.

She sniffs. “Well, Steven, maybe if you called more, I wouldn’t have to get your attention this way.”

Before he can defend himself, she cranks the key in the ignition and peels away, leaving him standing on the shoulder in a cloud of dust and laughter.

Jensen pats the dirt from his uniform, then trudges back to his car, pulling out his phone.

“Siri, reminder: Tomorrow, 8am, call Mom.”

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

An audience of one

Day 22: Musical
No Novel November 2019

I listen, periodically aware that I’m holding my breath. I can’t stand for even the microfriction of inhaling and exhaling to obscure the sound. Sudden crescendos and gentle arpeggios sweep me along with bobbing triplets punctuated by abrupt rests, the space between the notes as important as the notes themselves. My heart beats in time with the shifting cadence, from adagio to andante to allegro. Codas come and go, weaving motifs into melodies, unfolding and refolding one measure at a time until the air is crowded with invisible threads that wrap themselves around and hold me close.

Eventually, the story comes to an end—something about spreadsheets and margins and deliverables—and he looks at me expectantly.

“Well? What do you think?” he asks. A brief reprise.

I blink and shake my head as if I hadn’t been in rapt attention the entire time he was speaking. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t listening. Can you tell me again?”

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

Sealed with a curse

Day 21: Dear
No Novel November 2019

A single gold going with a skull - how to draw coin by sephiroth art via Deviant Art

“Dear You! It’s your lucky day! You have been sent the Lucky Coin of Antioch! Guaranteed to grant your wishes! NO TRICKS OR CATCHES! Just make a copy of this letter and send the coin to the first person in your contacts list IMMEDIATELY after you make your third wish! Do this and your life will be good FOREVER! Follow the rules or YOU WILL DIE!”

With shaking hands, I drop the tarnished silver coin into the envelope. The address on the front is barely legible, but I’ve got to believe it’ll make it.

A violent coughing fit forces me to stop on the way to the mailbox, and the blood on my hands draws stares from passersby. Let them stare. All that matters is this letter—my only chance at redemption.

I stumble turning to go back into my apartment. A stranger catches me, flinching at the icy chill of my hands. “You alright, mister?” he asks.

I clutch him tightly, my dry eyes wild, wishing for the pain to end, for death to come with its sweet release, but knowing it won’t. Not until that letter is delivered.

My voice comes out in a hiss dry as paper. “Don’t…break…the chain….”

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

Don’t stop

Day 20: Convoy
No Novel November 2019

Line of abandoned cars in a field - Abandoned cars - Car graveyard in Blanding Utah - Topher

They drove until they ran out of gas.
They walked until their feet blistered.
They camped until they were found.
They fought until their strength failed.
They died until they rose again.

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

Must be this tall to ride

Day 19: Ruler
No Novel November 2019

Black and white photograph of a metal rollercoaster - Rollercoaster by spungleah via Deviant Art
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

He’s nauseated before he even sets foot inside. The entire ride there Jake complained so loudly that Dad almost turned the car around, but an elbow from his sister shut him up. No way she’d let him ruin her fun.

They pass through the archway as Jake’s having flashbacks to last year’s debacle. Dazzled by the lights of the midway and high on funnel cake, he’d rushed alongside his sister to the battleground where he met his nemesis—and lost.

This time, Mom has to bribe him with cash to get him to cross the row of food trucks that provides the last safe barrier between him and another round of shame and defeat.

“Just try. That’s all I ask,” she cajoles. Momspeak for “do it or else.”

Face hot, he shuffles forward, eyes on the dusty ground.

The man in the candystripe jacket chuckles when Jake bumps into him. “Whoa, there, son. First thing’s first.”

Jake groans but lets himself be guided to the gate. He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the fatal pronouncement.

“You’re good to go. Hop on.”

Jake’s eyes snap open. “Wh-what?”

“C’mon, kid, the line’s backing up.”

He looks from the ride operator to his smiling mother to the vertical ruler behind him: four feet on the dot.

Brimming with sudden adrenaline, Jake screams with delight as he leaps into the rollercoaster’s front car and doesn’t stop until long after the ride ends. Victory! 

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.