Had to share this story written by my brother from one of the prompts in Wake Up Your Muse. Let me know what you think of it.
The prompt was: "He frequented Jerry's Java Hut, but not for the coffee."
He pulled his collar tighter around his neck against the cold rain as the night swam around him like an inky haze. He looked over his shoulder confirming that his new friend was still following him. He was sure this was the man sent to kill him. He'd been expecting this for some time now and was noticing with a detached sort of interest that he was neither afraid nor angry.
"Inky Haze?" he muttered out loud. The woman sitting next to him looked over with an amused chuckle. He shifted in his seat and repositioned his laptop so she couldn't see. He thought that she was nosy and stupid.
"Harold, double espresso twice brewed mocha cap with extra foam, two sugars, caramel syrup and cinnamon up for you."
Harold wasn't his real name, it was his pen name. The name with which he was going to take over the literary world. Harold Manning was destined to be a world renown mystery novelist, Mosha Schneckle was a nerdy Jewish kid from Brighton. Harold Manning frequented Jerry's Java Hut, but not for the coffee. He was here to write. He was here to show the few people who noticed him that he had more of a purpose in his life than delivering groceries for his fathers store. He was here to feel good about himself for a couple hours a day and to write the next...no, the first greatest American novel.
He stared at his screen looking at the paragraph he'd written. It was his one hundred twenty second, first paragraph.
He looked down at his keyboard and noticed that the word "delete" was worn off that particular key. He mashed it again and watched the words disappear
(Copyright © 2011 Rod Glaze. All rights reserved.)
The prompt was: "He frequented Jerry's Java Hut, but not for the coffee."
He pulled his collar tighter around his neck against the cold rain as the night swam around him like an inky haze. He looked over his shoulder confirming that his new friend was still following him. He was sure this was the man sent to kill him. He'd been expecting this for some time now and was noticing with a detached sort of interest that he was neither afraid nor angry.
"Inky Haze?" he muttered out loud. The woman sitting next to him looked over with an amused chuckle. He shifted in his seat and repositioned his laptop so she couldn't see. He thought that she was nosy and stupid.
"Harold, double espresso twice brewed mocha cap with extra foam, two sugars, caramel syrup and cinnamon up for you."
Harold wasn't his real name, it was his pen name. The name with which he was going to take over the literary world. Harold Manning was destined to be a world renown mystery novelist, Mosha Schneckle was a nerdy Jewish kid from Brighton. Harold Manning frequented Jerry's Java Hut, but not for the coffee. He was here to write. He was here to show the few people who noticed him that he had more of a purpose in his life than delivering groceries for his fathers store. He was here to feel good about himself for a couple hours a day and to write the next...no, the first greatest American novel.
He stared at his screen looking at the paragraph he'd written. It was his one hundred twenty second, first paragraph.
He looked down at his keyboard and noticed that the word "delete" was worn off that particular key. He mashed it again and watched the words disappear
(Copyright © 2011 Rod Glaze. All rights reserved.)
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