Miracle

Tonight's Sunday Scribblings prompt is Miracle. It inspired this little fiction tale...

It was going to take a miracle. Nothing short of a miracle would solve the unholy mess that she was in. Jane stared at the screen of her cellphone, wishing desperately that the words picture sent would magically disappear, but she knew that even if she pressed clear and made them disappear, it still wouldn't undo her mistake. Why did Verizon make it so easy to hit send?

She and Brandi had just been messing around, killing time during yet another boring Saturday afternoon in Wichita. They were both broke, having already burned through their monthly allowance: Jane on a killer studded jeans skirt and Brandi on a hot tattoo of cool looking Asian symbols.

They'd decided to go to the mall anyway, it was either that or hanging out in the parking lot at the Circle K. The busy mall was marginally less depressing, even when they couldn't do anything other than window shop. Brandi sometimes stole little things from stores, but Jane never got off on that like Brandi. The last time she'd stole a lip gloss from Rite Aid, she'd felt so guilty about it that she'd actually gone back the next day to put it back. The clerk had stared at her the whole time and she'd almost gotten caught, proof of what a total loser she was, probably the only idiot in the world to get caught returning stolen loot.

They'd ended up in Victoria's Secret, laughing at the skanky lace lingerie displayed in the candy pink store. A snooty saleslady, trying to scare them off, had asked them if they needed any help. Jane had bit her tongue hard to keep from laughing out loud when Brandi had looked her straight in the eyes and asked for her help to pick out something special for the two of them for their wedding night. That snooty lady looked so disgusted but the potential of a commission was too sweet to give in to her homophobic fears.

Jane wasn't too homophobic herself, but she definitely wasn't a lesbian, still she enjoyed a good prank so she went along with Brandi's joke. Next thing she knew, they were naked in a dressing room, putting on matching pink see-through camisoles and posing for the camera. They were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their faces. It was amazing that they'd been able to even take the picture, but they unfortunately had. Then they took a whole bunch more, pretending to be lesbian lovers. They sat on the floor, among all the discarded outfits, with the frigid and annoyed saleslady right outside the door and reviewed their photoshoot. It was during their next laugh attack that she had hit clicked "yes" to the send to all command.

Now she was going to have a lot of explaining to do at Thanksgiving sitting around the table with her grandmother and her aunts. She would never be able to look her cousins in the face again after they saw that picture. She prayed that no one would be cruel enough to put it out on the Internet or she might actually have to become a lesbian because no guy would ever date her again.

Puppy Love

It had been a mistake to eat that last hot dog. Greg knew it the minute that first salty, greasy burp began to bubble up his esophagus. Regret flooded him like the burning acid reflux that was sure to follow. But he knew that he had been powerless in the face of a great adversary; he had always been a sucker for big breasts.
A month ago, at Bob’s Beer Hall on Pleasant Avenue, Monica had looked him up and down with those big caramel doe eyes and had given him the slightest little greedy smile. From that moment on he had been able to think of only one thing: sinking his face between those milky white breasts. She knew it, and he knew it: he was doomed.
Infatuation with a Nathan’s Best hot dog saleswoman was a dangerous game. He had quit his job and started using up his meager savings to travel to the stops along her route. She talked to him, touched him on the arm, even gave him free dog samples, but would always slip away before he could try to kiss her. One thrilling night in a crowded bar on the outskirts of Tucson, the crowd had pressed around her and her tray of mini wieners. In the crush of the happy hour rush, his hand had been pushed into her right breast. It felt just like he’d fantasized. That little taste of paradise had been enough to fuel him to continue the chase through another seven cities.
Now here they were in Hackensack, New Jersey at the annual Bergen County hot dog challenge. Monica had breathlessly explained to him that winning this competition would be a huge win for Nathan’s, and a huge win for her. Anyone who helped her would receive her heartfelt gratitude. She had leaned up against him suggestively and he had agreed to be the Nathan’s competitor, up against the 300-pound monster representing Oscar Meyer. He didn’t know how much lust could make up for the lack of bulk on his scrawny 125 pound body, but he knew that if he didn’t try and find out, he would never get to dive into Monica’s bosom.
He lost pitifully. The Oscar Meyer man had scarfed down fifty hot dogs in ten minutes without breaking a sweat. The last hot dog Greg had consumed was his seventeenth, and it had brought tears to his eyes. Unfortunately, the blurriness in Greg’s eyes had not shielded him from the painful image of the Oscar Meyer Wiener’s meaty hand possessively squeezing Monica’s perfect butt as they walked to his red mustang.

This post is a short short fiction linked to the Sunday Scribblings prompt: Passion. Click through for more interpretations on the same prompt!

Walking with the Stars

Tropical beaches, with their white sand and impossibly-turquoise water, are incredibly beautiful during the day. At night the glittering daylight colors mutate into a dim blend of browns, blacks and greys. The heat of the day still echoes in the sand trapped between my toes. The rhythmic crashing of the invisible waves upon the beach is a mysterious backdrop to the main event of the night: the awesome spectacle of the night sky. The dazzling blanket of the sky is all the eye can really see. The sky is so huge on the beach, with nothing to obstruct the view, it feels as though I am floating in outer space, surrounded by blackness and little specks of light. I lie on an abandoned beach chair and take in the immensity of the sky. I am stunned by how miniscule I am compared to all of those constellations I wish I could name.

After observing the sky reverently for a while, it's easy to imagine that I am watching an elaborate balls with the many satellites and occasional airplanes doing a spirited dance with the stars. Then, as my eyes begin to get heavy with sleep, a shooting star tears across the dance floor and steals the show. I remember to make a wish and promise myself to keep a piece of this quiet yet awesome glimpse of the universe stored up to chase away future stress.

The waves are beckoning to me now. I get up, roll up my comfy pajama pants and put my feet in the warm water. I'm not quite brave enough to skinny-dip alone on a deserted beach, so I merely walk along the beach, feeling incredibly fortunate to be experiencing this little moment of paradise undisturbed by children or other tourists. I wish I could share this nocturnal beach walk with my husband but he is back in the room watching the children, granting me the gift of this magical solitude. I can see the flickering light of the TV screen through the curtain in our hotel room window. So I walk on, delighting in the feel of the sand between my feet and the warm water on my ankles, knowing that I'm making footsteps that no one will ever see. The black sky melts into the water, it's impossible to see where the sky ends and the water begins. Everywhere, as far as the eye can see, stars sparkle, winking at me, keeping me company.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt: Out of this world.