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{Prompt:Your character is determined to do something they know to be a mistake.}

The bells hanging on the door sound almost like church bells tolling doom instead of the cheap leftover christmas bells thta they are, hanging on frayed green and gold yarn. I swear the door slammed behind me and I expected everyone in the place to turn and stare at me. I paused, waiting, but they were all looking at the glittering jewel tones, trying not to acatch anyone’s eye themselves. It was only when the clerk asked if i needed anything that I realized I was standing in the middle of the entrance still, so I slunk over to the side, shaking my hand at him, denying, denying.
I hid behind a display of collectible sets for five minutes before I heard him speaking to a customer. Part of me was thinking I could make a bolt for the door and just get out of here. Should get out of here, but I felt stuck. I was here, I made it this far, and I was not sitting in the corner licking a bottle yet. Maybe I could make it through a simple purchase. Maybe.
I was walking down an aisle, tripping through a flashback slideshow of memories, linked to each different silhouette on the shelves. I couldn’t stop myself, I remember when I had that one in Vegas, I remmeber when Joe bought that one to the wedding, I remember…
Why I am here. Not for me, but now I can’t remember why not Those are good memories. Where are the bad ones? when DO they come floating in? Maybe it has been long enough as they say, or maybe not long enough, because it has taken me this long to walk down one asile of memories, and I still have not gotten what I came for.

So i literally take a big breath and start all over agin. Not at teh front door, but at least in my own mind. Noone here knows that I should not be here. In fact, maybe they should not be here. That thought at least carries me over to teh other aisle, where I should find what aI need. I mean, what I am here to purchase. Can;t believe it I am actually berating myself for doing a simple errand.

But it is not that smple, really, is it? I have been adding complex levels to teh entire chore ever since the PTA meeting last week when what’s her face said, “You can pick taht up for us, right? It should make a nice retirement gift.” I could have said no. Should have, but then I may have had to say why, and that was just not happening in front of her and the other moms. So I’m here. And it only took me twenty minutes to get from the car to the store, and now at least twenty to do the lap around.

[That was “at least five minutes” just to keep myself going, and now the teen’s home and I must run all over town again…have a good weekend all.]

One of the wonderful things I have found in my wanderings is  a site called Write Anything right here on WordPress. I am actually surprised I have not seen them before.  Six writers from different genres, styles and countries take turns blogging about all things writing, including their own experiences and advice. I definitely recommend new writers check it out. I was drawn there on Wednesday by the catchy-titled post “Handling Rejection and Criticism” by Annie Evett. Each writer blogs a certain day, but Fridays are for us! As a creative writing exercise, Fiction Fridays offer readers a prompt and a place to share your results. This is my first participation, with the prompt being:

Start your story with a game of hide and seek.

They recommend writing for at least five minutes, without editing. As soon as I began, my daughter started a pots-and pans-band and then my mother called, and then…well, everything I do takes longer. And apparently my environment does contribute to my writing. Also, I still have that nagging constant editing thing going on. So, I already broke the “rules”…oh well. I know it is awkward to read, but I am trying to practice the second-person voice for a character in the incomplete NaNoNovel. So, please bear with me. It’s a quickie 🙂

Fiction Friday: Hide and Seek

You know in a way that you are taking advantage of the situation, but you cannot help mentally reveling in your own genius. You even give yourself extra points for insisting on adding the one-way film to the windows during last summer’s renovation. Brilliant. You can see them taking turns passing by, calling the only name they know you by, but they still have not found you. It has already found the others and now they’ve ganged up to find you. You’ve got five minutes, tops.

Leaning back with a sigh, you wash off the nagging guilt with a reminder, “It was their idea in the first place, I am doing nothing wrong.” It works as a mantra, echoing back from the tiles as if your conscience has its own public address system.

With eyes closed, you watch the colors dancing and try to focus on the sound of bubbles popping. The tenth cry of “Ready or not, here we come!” snaps you back to attention less than a minute later. That one was pretty close. Peeking again through the window, you are startled when you see It peering suspiciously in your direction. The tell-tale sloshing sounds louder than possible when you slide out of view. It echoes back, ominous in the sudden silence which you break with a laugh. Now you are just being ridiculous.

“But I may as well enjoy it while I can,” you tell the tiles, leaning back into the warmth again. Half a minute of bubbles is all you get to hear before the feet start thumping down the hallway. And you smirk, eyes still closed when they pound on the door.

“Mom, we know you are in there!” the nine-year-old is starting to sound just like you.

“Ready or not! Ready or not!” the other two are chanting. You can picture them jumping up and down behind her.

“Not!” you say, stretching your legs out and watching the suds slide trough the stubble. Maybe next time.

“Come on, Mother,” says the darling on the other side of the door. With another sigh, you lean forward and pull out the plug.

When you open the door, she is shaking her head, arms crossed, looking more like your mother and the twins are wrestling on the floor.

“We found you!” one of them squeals when he sees you standing in the doorway in your robe.

“What took you so long?” you ask with a smile, pulling your daughter into a big hug, while her brothers grab onto your legs.

“You’re It! You’re It!”

“Okay, then,” you say with another smirk, “You hide somewhere in the house, and I’ll go in my room and count to a million.” That should give you time to dress.





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