Story #2

Seed: "A train is the location, shyness is the theme. A letter is an object that plays a part in the story."

This story is due April 3rd at 11:59PM.

Tourist Season

The Ocean Breeze was fairly slow for the first few weeks of tourist season, with only two elderly couples to fill the twelve rooms. In truth, those first few weeks ran at a slight loss, but management felt that it helped to build customer loyalty and spread the good word about low rates and a beautiful view.

The hotel was sized to fit the island; small. There were perhaps twenty families who called it home, most of them fishermen or retirees who had no taste for so-called civilized life. There was ample space and little in the way of commerce. The hotel and the Black Rock Cafe made up the entirety of downtown Pequot. There was no mayor, and most inspections were carried out by dour government officials shipped in from Shaferton. Mail came once a week during the summer, and twice a week in the winter. There were no cars, and no proper roads for them to travel on, but everyone owned at least one boat.

Sadie looked out over the ocean from the second floor of the Ocean Breeze. The two old couples had gotten up with the sun to go walk along the rocky beach, and she cleaned up their rooms and made their beds. It was unlikely that they would return anytime soon, but management felt that swift cleaning was one of those small touches that people noticed. Management also felt that uniforms were the sign of a professional place, which is why, underneath her thick wool sweater, Sadie was wearing a polyester robin's-blue number that always looked faintly ridiculous.

Management had an inflated idea of how difficult the housekeeping at the Ocean Breeze was, in part because of how often Sadie took these long moments to stand near one of these windows and look out on the water. Sadie loved the early weeks, when it was more spring than summer, and the wind was still cool. Even as a child, she had liked the spring goose-bumps. It felt like her very skin was getting excited for the touch of the titular breeze. Pequot was far enough north that it never quite got hot in the summers, but all the same the warmth didn't play well with Sadie.

Sadie heard a polite cough from behind her, and turned around to see management staring at her.

"Have you finished with both the Carters and the Johnsons already?" asked management.

"Yes mom," replied Sadie, in a tone that smelled vaguely of irony.

"Well," said management with a sniffle, "your father has left with the ferry to go get another couple from the mainland. So we'll be needing rooms 6 and 8 aired out."

"Yes mom," replied Sadie again.

Sadie had been making beds since she was sixteen, by now it was automatic, just something that her hands did while her brain was elsewhere. The hotel had originally been a mansion, built by someone in the 20's and re-purposed after the original owner went into default during the Great Depression. Sadie opened the windows a crack to get the musty smell out, then went into the bathrooms and ran the water for a few minutes until it was no longer rust colored. She always felt better after airing out a room.

From the window of room 8, which had once been a baby's room and tended to have a slight draft from the southern wall, Sadie watched as the euphemistic ferry (really just a simple outboard motor on a boat that seemed small amongst the waves) came around the side of the island.

Though Sadie enjoyed the solitude of the winter months, and the quietness of the island during that time, guests meant something different was coming. Summer always felt like an expansion of the family, as though the guests were relatives who came to visit and let you catch up on what they'd been doing. Some of the repeat guests had been coming to the Ocean Breeze for so long that they had practically watched her grow up.

Sadie stared out at the small boat coming in, and waited until it was right up to the dock before turning away from the window and going down to greet them.

Toy Boats

The late afternoon light seeped under the dusty vinyl blinds and sank heavily in the tepid air. Alex stood barefoot on the stale carpet, his liquid brown eyes even with the top of the cheap hotel mattress. Standing on the tips of his toes, he gazed at his sleeping mother. His stomach rumbled softly and he extended his hand, pulling back before he touched her tear-stained face. Her auburn hair was matted to her head and flecks of mascara had made the journey from her eyelashes to her cheeks.

Alex pressed his back to the side of the bed and slumped down to the floor. He started softly counting, hesitating when the numbers grew. The reverberation of the nearby highway nearly drowned out his diminutive voice as the afternoon sank into early evening. Alex rose from the carpet like an old man pushing his way out of a sinking armchair. Crossing the room, he peered at the leather purse perched on top of the corner chair. Glancing tenuously over at her, he pulled the purse toward his chest and gently set it on the floor.

When he was younger (he was four now), she would say that she had everything that she needed in that bag: band-aids for scrapped knees, wet wipes for sticky fingers, and lemon drops to pacify impatient children. Alex’s stomach rumbled like a nearing thunderstorm and he slowly reached his hand into his mother’s purse. His little fingers grasped and clutched, pulling each item to the top and immediately releasing it back into the depths. Alex paused for a moment and crossed his arms over his chest. Moving stealthily, he grabbed the purse and quietly tipped it over, releasing its contents. Leaking pens, old receipts, and unwrapped pieces of tobacco-covered gum littered the stained floor. He carefully extracted the gum from the pile, and tentatively placed it in his mouth. Chewing once, he gagged loudly.

Alex quickly covered his mouth, his eyes wide with fear. His mother rolled out of bed, with a vacant look in her eyes. Coming over to him, she roughly grabbed Alex by the right arm and yanked him close to her. His eyes watered at her fetid breath.

“Alex, how many times have I told you that my purse is not a play thing? You’re just like your father. You can’t leave well enough alone.”

Muttering low expletives, his mother crossed the room to scoop up the contents of her purse. She turned back to him and, seeing his small eyes filled with tears, came back and crouched down till her face was level with his.

“I’m sorry Alex. I guess I’m just not cut out for this. If you’ll be a good boy and stay here, I’ll go find something for us to eat.”

Alex nodded numbly and she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, crossing the room and heavily opening the hotel door.

As the door closed, Alex began to cry with great heaving sobs. He ran to the window and looked over the dusty window sill down the narrow balcony. Abruptly, stark determination crossed his face and Alex turned, marching to the small bathroom.

He remembered a time when he had made his mother laugh; she and his father were holding hands, her head tilted comfortably near the crook of his neck. They were watching him as he motored his toy boats around the large white claw-foot tub. When his boats crashed, Alex would make loud noises and his mother would throw back her head, her laugh ringing out like wedding bells.

Alex reached up to the sink, his small hand grasping for the wrapped cups he couldn’t see. His tiny fingers pinched the plastic and a cup tumbled to the floor. He picked it up, excitedly tearing at its protective cover. Moving back to the bathtub, he climbed in and plugged the drain as he had seen his mother do before. He opened the tap, and as the water filled the tub the plastic cup danced on the surface like a small plastic boat.

Story #1

Seed: "A hotel is the location, happiness is the theme. A boat is an object that plays a part in the story."

This story is due March 31st at 11:59PM.

In the beginning ...

Over a long brunch at Chester Creek Cafe, Anni and I decided that writing is something both of us would like to do more. The best way get better at writing is to establish a schedule and to have someone who pressures you to keep churning out material. It's with that idea in mind that this blog is being created. The rules are as follows:

1. Every three days, I'll be posting a new idea for us to work on. At the start, the ideas will be taken from this generator. Later on, we might have free periods, theme weeks, and other fun stuff to mix it up.
2. At the end of three days, both of us will have posted a story to this blog.
3. Stories will be 600 words, give or take about 100 words.
4. At the end of 150 days, when each of us will have written 50 stories, the project will be considered a success.

So there it is; wish us luck.