Love Lives On/Tranquil #writephoto

tranquil

Photo by Sue Vincent

I stood there in the secluded spot and tranquil place where we used to meet.  It was our secret place where we could love each other freely.  Back there it was against the law for a white man and a black woman to have relations.  Race mixing as they called it was banned.  The punishment for interracial marriage to be a year in jail and the white person was fined $100 fine.  The person who officiated an interracial wedding was fined $200.  How I hated those laws.  They were passed by ignorant and racist people who couldn’t accept that people of different races could fall in love with each other.

My parents were just as intolerant.  They believed that people should stick to their own kind–you know, to keep the races pure.  They even used the Bible to validate their racist views.  I read the Bible myself and nowhere did it prohibit interracial love.  In fact, there were examples of mixed marriages.  I hated going to a school where blacks weren’t allowed and even church which was to be the temple of the God who created all races, blacks weren’t allowed to worship with us.  I hated living in a state that was so intolerant.  I promised myself that I would leave it as soon as I was old enough.

My parents made sure that I went to the best schools and associated only with those whom they deemed to be socially acceptable–the filthy rich.  They even had it in their heads that one day I would marry Governor Brown’s daughter, Virginia (I can’t believe her parents named her after the state).  Granted, she was a nice girl, very pretty and I could tell that she liked me very much.  We went on dates and such and then, I went away to university.  It was an understanding that we were going steady and that in due time, I would propose.

When I returned from university one summer vacation, my mother told me that we had a new maid, Flora.  The previous one, Berta had been fired.  My parents never told me what happened but I was sore because I really liked Berta.  Well, when I met Flora, I quickly forgot about Berta.  She was much younger than Berta but about ten years older than me.  Flora wasn’t pretty like Virginia but she was very attractive.  She had big brown eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing, smooth dark skin and a lovely voice.  Sometimes she would sing as she worked.

Once I asked her why didn’t she become a professional singer.  She scoffed and said, “The only thing white folks want colored people like me to do is cook, clean, do the laundry and keep my place.”

Flora had a room built at the back of the house where she would change into her uniform and use the bathroom.  She had special plates and forks to use for her meals.  She was paid $10 a week which in that time was considered good money.

Flora was a bit cynical and who could blame her?  Although she is well paid, she is treated with disrespect and condescension by my parents, relatives and family friends.  There are times when I sit at the dining table and seethe with rage.  The final straw came when Flora accidentally spilled a glass of wine and some of it got on Mrs. Miller, an insufferable and vain woman.  She rose to her feet and struck Flora hard across the face.  “You clumsy n—–,” she cried.  “You’ve ruined my dress.  It’s too bad you can’t be whipped for this.”

My mother didn’t bat an eye.  I couldn’t believe that she wasn’t livid that one of her guests had slapped Flora.  I guess I was foolish to expect her to say something in Flora’s defense.  Instead, she said to her crossly, “Clean that mess up.”

Flora quickly left the room and was back in a seconds to clean the spill.  I wanted to go after her but propriety made me stay put.  I promised myself that I would speak to her before she left this evening.”

“You should fire her, Rosemary,” Mrs. Miller said as she resumed her seat.

“It was an accident!” I said as calmly as I could although, what I really wanted to do was throw the rest of the wine in her sanctimonious face.

“You mind your manners, Boy,” my father scolded.

“You’re excused,” was my mother’s rejoinder.

“Excuse me,” I said as I rose to my feet.  I was happy to leave the table.

I headed straight for the kitchen where Flora was busy washing up the dishes.   I wanted to help but I knew that she wouldn’t let me.  Besides, it would get her into trouble.  I went and stood beside her.  I could see that she had been crying.  I wanted to hug her.  “I’m sorry about what happened just now, Flora,” I said quietly.  “Mrs. Miller had no right to hit you.  You’re a grown woman, not a child.”

“You heard what she called me.  That gives her the right to hit me.”

“Flora, sometimes, I wish I could take you away from all of this.”

“You shouldn’t be saying such things, Master Oliver.”

“But, it’s true, Flora.”

“And where would we go?”

“I don’t know yet but some place where you’re treated better.”

“Right now I can’t think of any place like that except Heaven.”

“Flora, after I graduate from university, I’m going to leave Richmond.  I want you to come with me.”

“Master Oliver, stop talking foolish.”

“Stop calling me Master Oliver,” I retorted.  “I’m just plain Oliver and I’m not talking foolish.  I’m very serious, Flora.”

“I’ll think about it now, go before your mother comes in here and finds us together.”

“All right. I’ll go.  Goodnight, Flora.”

“Goodnight, Mas–Oliver.”

The next morning, she was gone.  My mother had taken Mrs. Miller advice and fired Flora.  I was so upset that I didn’t speak to my mother for weeks.  I found out where Flora lived and the first opportunity, I had, I went to see her.  She was alone.  After I letting her know how upset and furious I was that she had lost her job, I made her promise to meet me that afternoon at the pond where no one ever goes.

I got there first and waited.  As I waited, I picked a bunch of wildflowers I saw there.  Flora would like them.  I bet she never got flowers from anyone before.  I would be the first.  I smiled at the thought.  She showed up five minutes later.  I gave her the flowers and she took them, smiling.  She smelled them.  “Thank you,” she said.  She reached up and kissed me on the cheek.

I felt my face get hot.  I also felt strange sensations in my body.  “You’re welcome, Flora,” I said.

We sat down on the grass and talked and talked.  I loved being with her and I could tell she felt the same way.  We promised to meet there again tomorrow.  She left first and then I left several minutes after.  When I went home, my mother told me that Virginia and her parents were having dinner with us that evening.  It would be the first time I would be seeing Virginia since I’ve been home for the summer.  I was more excited about seeing Flora tomorrow than seeing Virginia that evening.

The evening went well, I suppose.  Virginia didn’t seem to notice that I was preoccupied with my thoughts.  She talked mostly about herself and what she had been up to while I was away at university.  I didn’t make any plans to see her again.  After we parted company, I went up to my room where I remained until the following morning.  As soon as the afternoon came, I was racing down to the pond.  This time Flora was waiting for me.  And she brought two huge slices of an apple pie she had baked.  After we ate them, we went for a swim.

Afterwards, we lay in the sun.  We talked about different things and then, I rolled onto my side and looked down at her.  She had her eyes closed.  The strange sensations stir inside me again and this time, I lowered my head and kissed her.  She didn’t push me away or slap me in the face.  Instead, she reached up and put her arms around my neck.  We ended up making love for the first time.

Day after day we met there in our secluded spot until one day we were discovered by Virginia’s brother and his friends.  I was promptly sent back to Atlanta where I spent the rest of the summer until it was time to return to university.  I don’t know what happened to Flora.  No one would tell me anything.  I was devastated because I was madly in love with her.  I wanted to marry her.

When I returned to Virginia, I went to her house.  At that point I didn’t care what people said or did or thought.  All I wanted was to see Flora.  However, when I went to her house, the neighbors said that she was gone.  They had no idea where she had gone.

Dejected, I returned to Atlanta where I tried to forget about her.  I even got married to a nice girl named Amy and we had a boy.  Time passed but the memories of my summer with Flora never faded.  I still yearned to see her.  I still loved her and no amount of time would make me forget about her.

After Amy died, I tried to see if I could find out any information about Flora.  I wish I had a photo of her that I could have put on Facebook but I didn’t.  In spite of these setbacks and disappointments, I haven’t stopped hoping that one day I will see her again.

It’s 2018 and summer again here in Richmond.  I’m here by the pond, allowing myself to relive the happiest memories of my entire life.  I look at the wild flowers and smile.  I will never forget the spark in Flora’s beautiful eyes when I gave them to her.  If she were here now, I would give her another bunch.

“Mr. Jones?” a voice called out and startled, I turned.

It was a young African American girl.  “Yes,” I replied.  “I’m Mr. Jones.  Who are you?”

She came closer.  “I’m Regina.  I was told that I might find you here.  Someone asked me to give this to you.”  She held out a letter sized brown envelope.”

I took it.  It didn’t have any address.  It only had my name written neatly at the front.  “Who asked you to give this to me?”

“My grandmother, Flora.”

My heart caught in my throat.  Flora.  I sat down on the tuft of grass and eagerly opened the envelope.  I pulled out a letter and some photos.  I looked at the photos first.  They were of Flora and a lovely little girl.  She looked so much like Flora but much fairer in complexion.

With trembling fingers, I unfolded the letter and read it.  Halfway through, I started to cry.  Flora was pregnant when she left Richmond.  She wanted me to know about Olivia and wrote to me at the university several times but all of her letters were returned.  She never got married, she said because there was only one man whose wife she wanted to be.

I looked up at Regina who was standing beside me.  “Where’s Flora?” I asked.  I longed to see her.

“I’m sorry, grandfather, but she died this morning.”

I broke down at that point.  Regina dropped to her knees and put her arms around me.  The only thing that gave me any comfort was the knowledge that Flora and I have a daughter and a granddaughter.  Our love will live on through them and generations to come.

Those we love are never really lost to us–for everywhere their special love lives on – Amanda Bradley

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Tranquil at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

 

Sources: The Washington Post; The Post and Courier

 

 

 

 

Heartstrings

“I love the way you play,” he said.

I smiled, flattered.  “Thank you.”

We were standing backstage at Carnegie Hall.  I had invited him to the performance and was thrilled that he actually came.

“The way you played that piece it was as if you were telling a story.  You had me hooked.”

“Joshua Bell, the celebrated violinist once said that when you play a violin piece, you are a storyteller and you’re telling a story.”

“I would like to hear your story.  How about going for a cappuccino with me?”

“Yes,” I said without any hesitation.  I wanted to be with him.  Since we started working at the same company, I have wanted to get to closer to him.  This was my opportunity.  I quickly put my violin away and followed him to the parking lot.  The café where we went was about a twenty minute drive.  It was a nice and cozy place.  I have never been there before.  We managed to get a seat beside the window.

After ordering two Lattes, he asked, “So, how old were you when you first started playing the violin?”

“I was five when I started learning how to play it.  My father loved classical music and he used to play it all of the time.  I would sit and listen it, especially the music featuring the violin.  I told him that I liked the violin and wanted to learn how to play it.  He took me seriously and got a friend to teach me.”

“Five.  Wow. That’s very young.”

I smiled.  “I’ve heard of children starting as young as three.”

“My sister started playing the piano when she was nine.”

“What about you?  Wasn’t there any musical instrument that you wanted to learn how to play?”

“I liked the saxophone but never got around to learning how to play it.”

“Most people like the saxophone because of its cool image.”

“And most women think it’s sexy.”

“That’s true.  When my sister met her husband he was playing the sax at a Jazz club.”

“So, if he hadn’t been playing the sax, she wouldn’t have been interested?”

“Well, it turned out that it was how he looked as he played was what really attracted her to him.”

He laughed, revealing even white teeth.  “Whatever works.”

“Yes.  Twenty years later and they are still happily married.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m single.”

“That’s good to know.”

I was surprised to hear him say that.  Did he want to have a non-professional relationship with me?  Was I reading more into this than there was?  Did he just want to be friends?  All these and other questions swirled around my head.  I didn’t know what to say.  I just smiled.

He continued, leaning over, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes meeting mine directly.  “I have wanted to ask you out for a long time now but wasn’t sure if you would want to date someone you worked with.”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t drinking my Latte at that moment or I would have choked on it.

“You look surprised,” he commented.

“I am,” I quickly admitted.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, there are other women at the company, especially in our department whom I thought you would be more interested in.”

“Yes, there are but I’m not interested in any of them,” he reached over then and covered my hand.  The skin tingled and my stomach did a cartwheel.  “I’m interested in you.”

I felt warm all over.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

I felt like a giddy schoolgirl.  “Yes.”

He smiled again and I felt my knees go weak.  We ordered sandwiches and sat there for another couple of hours, talking.  The following night he took me to an upscale restaurant in Soho where in the background Jazz music was playing.  I smiled when I heard the saxophone.  We had a very pleasant and enjoyable evening together.  I laughed a lot and felt totally relaxed with him.  After dinner, we went to Club Shelter where we had a blast.  I don’t recall ever having such a great time with anyone, not even my sister who used to be a real party animal.

It was after mid-night when he took me home.  We stood outside of my place, facing each other.  I didn’t want him to leave.  I didn’t want our time together to end.  “Would you like to come in?” I asked.  I waited, hoping that he would say yes.

Instead, he said, “If I do, I might not want to leave.”

Heart pounding wildly against my ribs, I stepped the foyer as I replied, “What if I don’t want you to leave?”

His response was to come in and close the door behind him.   The expression on his face thrilled me and I gasped when he pulled me roughly against him, his eyes smoldering as they met mine.  Then, we were kissing like two crazy people.  We barely made it to my room where we had an explosive session.  Afterwards, we fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

He left the following morning after a shower and breakfast.  We made plans to see each other that evening.  No one in our department knew about us until the day we announced our engagement.

She tugged at his heartstrings with her violin playing but by the cords of love he was drawn to her.

 

Clemency

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Photo Credit: Fandango

I stood there, gazing at the city across the bay.  Somewhere in that concrete jungle was the prison where I spent fifteen years before I was granted clemency and released on parole.  It felt good to be standing there in the open, the sun hitting my face and listening to the lapping water.   It felt good not being behind bars.

When I turned sixteen, I never thought I’d wind up in prison.  My life changed when I killed Mick, the man who forced me to prostitute myself.  I was a victim of sex trafficking but I was treated like a criminal and sentenced to life, a sentence which the governor now considers to be too harsh.  Thanks to the celebrities who came to my defense, I’m standing here now.

I didn’t want to kill Mick but I feared for my life.  He would have killed me that night if I hadn’t defended myself.  I don’t hate him.  It wouldn’t do me any good.  I want to focus on rebuilding my life.  While in prison, I earned my Associate’s Degree.  I know that opportunity came from God.  I thought my life was over but, it’s not.

195 Words

This story was inspired by the true story of Cyntoia Brown who was arrested and charged with homicide of Johnny Allen who offered to have paid sex with her.  She was accused of murder and robbery and sentenced to life.  

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Kadisha Gets Noticed

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“Take a look at that gorgeous guy who just walked in,” Rita said to her friend, Kadisha as they sat  at a corner table having dinner.  It was a Friday night and they had decided that they would treat themselves to a nice dinner before heading home.  They were at a Middle Eastern restaurant which a co-worker had recommended.

Kadisha followed her gaze and her heart leapt and started pounding wildly when she recognized the tall, athletic figure following the waitress who led him and his date to their table.  It was Fadi.  He looked gorgeous in the burgundy sports jacket, black shirt and black pants.  Her eyes shifted to his date.  She was tall and beautiful with thick, shoulder length black hair.  The black cocktail dress she wore flattered her figure and gave her a look of elegance.  Was she his girlfriend?  Kadisha wondered and sighed.  “That’s Fadi, the guy I’ve been telling you about,” she told her friend.  “Remember I told you that we work on the same floor but in different departments?”

That’s him?” Rita exclaimed, staring at her.  “None of the men I work with look anything like that.  Who’s that with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re still interested in him, right?”

“Yes, but as you can see, he’s with someone.”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“That’s good.  Most of the men in my department are married and the single ones stay clear from single women like me.  I think I scare them because I am a single mother.  Most men or at least the ones I’ve met don’t want to date single mothers.  They avoid us like we’re a plague.”

Kadisha looked at her friend.  “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between Jim and you,” she said.

Jim was the man whom Rita had been in a relationship with and the father of her now teenage son.  It turned out that Jim was married but separated from his wife.  He met Rita at a resort and they became involved.  They dated for a while and then the relationship ended when Jim reconciled with his wife.  It took Rita a long time to get over the hurt but Kadisha had been there for her, helping her to pick up the pieces and encouraging her to concentrate on raising her son.  Rita found it difficult to get back into the dating game.  The men she met lost interest soon after they learned that she had a son.  She never heard from any of them again, not even the ones who were fathers themselves.  They were running away from blended families.

Rita shrugged, “I guess he wasn’t the one for me, after all,” she said.  “We wouldn’t have been happy.  His wife would have always been between us.  If there’s a man out there for me, I will find him someday. Until then, I can live vicariously through my friends.  So, what are you going to do about Fadi?”

Kadisha picked at the Eggplant dish with almond yoghurt and pickled chilli which smelled and looked appetizing. “Nothing,” she said.  “He’s never really shown any interest in me.  We say hello to each other and exchange pleasantries.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“A co-worker told me that his parents are expatriates from Lebanon.  They came to America when he was a baby.  He has two older brothers.”

“I wonder if his brothers are as handsome as he.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t look now but I think he just noticed you.  Ahh.  He’s getting up and—he’s coming over.”

tusharBy now, Kadisha was in quite a state.  Her heart was beating at an alarming rate and her hands began to tremble.  I must keep calm, she told herself.  She looked up the same time he arrived at their table and smiled.  He was looking at her.  “Hello, Kadisha,” he said, smiling which made her heart melt.

“Hello, Fadi,” she said, barely audibly.  She turned to Rita, “This—this is my friend, Rita.”

Rita beamed up at him, holding out her hand which he clasped in a firm handshake.  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“Likewise,” he replied.  He turned his attention back to Kadisha.  “I didn’t notice that you were here until just now.  If I had seen you earlier, I would have come over earlier to say hello.  Is this your first time here?”

Kadisha nodded.  “Yes, it is.”

“I’ve been here before.  How do you like it?”

“I like the place, the food and the people.”

“Well, I hope you both enjoy your dinner,” he said, although his eyes were still trained on Kadisha.  Then, he excused himself and returned to his table.

As soon as he left, Rita looked at her.  “I thought you said he has never shown any interest in you,” she scolded her.  “The man couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“If he’s interested in me, why is he here with her?” Kadisha demanded.

“Have you ever given him any encouragement?  Does he have any idea that you are interested in him?”

“Well, I didn’t want to make it obvious since he never showed me any signs that he was interested.”

Rita rolled her eyes.  “At the rate the two of you are going, nothing will get resolved.  Either you or he has to make the first move.”

“It’s not going to me as long as he is dating someone else.”

“I wonder why he didn’t bring her over to meet you.”

“I expect he has his reasons.  Let’s change the subject, please.”

“All right.  This short rib in the beetroot glaze is delicious.  I love Middle Eastern food.”

They talked about other things during the rest of their dinner and Kadisha tried to avoid looking over at the table across the room.  She enjoyed her Chipotle chicken pastille with fennel and pickled blackberries while Rita delved into the Lamb rump with sorrel pesto and vanilla-braised chicory.  For dessert they both had the Roasted pineapple, macadamia, coconut ice cream.  Rita signaled for the waiter and after splitting the bill, they grabbed their handbags and left the table.

As they approached Fadi’s table, he saw them and stood up.  Rita said to Kadisha.  “It looks like we’re going to meet his companion after all.”

Kadisha had no choice but to stop at the table.  Up close his date was even more stunning.  I don’t stand a chance, she thought.

“I’d like you to meet Gaelle, my sister.  Gaelle, this is Kadisha, my co-worker and her friend, Rita.”

Kadisha stared at him.  “Your sister?”

“Yes, Gaelle is my sister.  Her fiancé was supposed to be having dinner with us but something came up and he couldn’t make it.”

“I thought you only had two brothers.”

“Yes, I have two older brothers and a younger sister.  She was born here long after we came to America.”

Relief washed over Kadisha and her face brightened.  Turning to Gaelle, she held out her hand.  “It’s really nice to meet you,” she said.

Gaelle smiled at her.  “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, much to Kadisha’s surprise.  She turned to her brother.  “Now’s your opportunity to ask her,” she told him.

Fadi took Kadisha’s arm and drew her aside. He lowered his head so that he could speak softly in her ear.  Her skin tingled where he touched her arm and her pulse raced because of his proximity.  She could smell his cologne.  “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night.  ”

Kadisha nodded.  “I–I’d like that very much,” she said.

He seemed very pleased and relieved.  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening around seven.”  He gave her one of his business cards to write her address and phone number on the back.  After she jotted down the information, she returned the card to him and he placed it in the breast pocket of his jacket.  “Good night,” he said.

She said goodnight to him and to his sister and then preceded her friend out of the restaurant. As they walked to the parking lot, Rita nudged her, laughing.  “See, I was right about him liking you,” she said.  “His dinner companion turned out to be his little sister.  And while you and he were talking, I confirmed with his sister that he isn’t dating anyone.  So, there’s no reason for you not to go out with him.”

“He invited me out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“And did you accept?”

“Of course, I did.  I’d be a fool not to.”

“This is so exciting.”

They reached the car and after they were strapped in and pulling out of the parking lot, Kadisha sighed.  “Now, I just have to figure out what to wear.”

“If you like, I can come up with you when we reach your apartment and see what you have.  You want to dazzle and impress him at the same time.”

Kadisha mentally sorted through the outfits she had in her wardrobe.  “I think I have a couple of dresses that may work.  If I run into any trouble, I’ll call you later and there’s a boutique round the corner where I live just in case I need to buy something.”

“Okay, so if I don’t hear from you later, it means you found something to wear but I want you to call me on Sunday and give me the juicy details of your evening out with your handsome co-worker.”

Kadisha laughed.  “I will,” she promised.  “Have a good night, Rita.” She got out of the car and waved as her friend drove off.

As soon as she got to her flat, she went straight to her bedroom and pulled open the doors to her wardrobe.  She went through the dresses hanging there, praying that she would find something.  Her eyes fell on the burgundy halter dress with the flare skirt.  It was fairly new—in that she had only worn it once and it was simple but elegant.  She would wear her hair up.  The silver metallic strappy sandals would complete the outfit.  Satisfied and relieved, she closed the doors and went to take a quick shower.  She stayed up to watch the news and then went to bed.

The next day, she cleaned the apartment, did laundry and went grocery shopping.  The time went by very quickly and seven o’ clock soon arrived and so did Fadi.  When she opened the door and saw him standing there, her heart stopped.  He looked absolutely gorgeous in the dark blue suit, light blue shirt and no tie.  His gaze traveled over her and she could tell that he liked what he saw.  “You look very beautiful,” he commented softly.

She suddenly felt very shy.  “Thank you,” she said before she turned to close the door and lock it.  Although she was wearing high heels, he still towered over her.  They walked to the lift and rode it in silence to the lobby.

In the car, they talked about different things and then, he said to her, “Kadisha, I want to date you.”

“I want that too.”

He smiled.  “Good.” Then, he reached out and taking the hand resting on the seat beside her, he raised it to his lips.  She trembled when she felt them brush against her skin in a gentle caress.  Their eyes met for an instant and locked in a steady gaze.  Then, he released her hand turned his attention back to the road ahead of him.  She sat there, her mind whirling and her heart pounding.  Tonight’s dinner was just the beginning of what promised to be a very exciting relationship.

 

 

Sources:  Expat.com; Trip Advisor

No Longer a Man’s Game

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My husband, Don and his friend, Juan went clay shooting.  I wasn’t invited.  Don didn’t think I’d be interested.  What he doesn’t know is that I recently joined the Shotgun & Chelsea Bun Club after a friend introduced me to shooting.

I never thought I’d enjoy firing a gun.  But I love that feeling you get when you shoot a moving target in the sky.  And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to challenge the misconception that shooting is a man’s game.  The number of female shooters is rising.

I’m heading out now to the Club to join my friends for an afternoon of shooting.  Afterwards we’ll have tea and cake.  This is how I spend my weekends.  During the week, I’m an Ad Exec juggling different accounts but on the weekends, I’m the Annie Oakley of clay shooting.

One of these days, I’ll tell Don about the Club.  He’ll get a kick out of it.  Maybe, we’ll compete against each other.  I bet I’d win.

166 Words

This story was inspired by the BBC report about women who wanted to showcase how social and how much fun shooting is and that it’s not just for men.

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy and Joe. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  BBC;

Sue’s Customers

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To passersby, it appeared to be a regular shop but its innocuous façade concealed something far more disreputable. Men lingered at the display of slippers at the front until the owner went out, talked to them and then invited them inside. Once inside, these “customers” were shown into another room where Sue was. Like an automaton, she got undressed and lay down.

Orphaned at twelve, she was taken in by her uncle who was kind to her, unlike her aunt. When he died five years later, her aunt kicked her out of the house, telling her to stop freeloading and find work. Sue found odd jobs here and there but the money wasn’t enough. Then, she came to this shop and begged for a job. She got one all right but it wasn’t selling slippers.

The owner was arguing with one of the “customers”. This was her opportunity. Slowly she backed away and then bolted. She ran to a nearby shelter. Shortly after, the shop went out of business and the owner was arrested.

174 Words

This was written for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Sought After Again

She was once a famous actress.

Sought by everyone.  Accolades

of awards adorned her lavish

home.  Photos of her with other

A list stars lined the walls.   She

was voted People’s Most Beautiful

and graced the covers of TIME

Magazine as person of the year.

 

And it seemed almost overnight…

the roles became few and far in

between and smaller.  She had

heard of Hollywood’s problem

with women over 40 but she

never imagined it would happen to

her.  She believed that they would

always want someone with her talent

and looks.  Writers and producers no

longer saw her as appealing because

she was pushing fifty.

 

Ageism had become her enemy.

The roles she wanted were going

to younger actresses and there

was nothing she could do about

it, except speak about it every

opportunity she got.  Acting was

in her blood.  She loved it and

the thought of retiring terrified

her.  She found herself settling

for roles she would never have

considered in the past.  But,

desperate times called for

desperate measures.

 

Yet, there was a glimmer of hope.

She saw it when she saw Octavia

Spencer catapult to fame at the age

of 41 in The Help and 50 year old

Melissa Leo win an Oscar.  Perhaps

one day, she would again become a

sought after star.  Perhaps she would

have her Hollywood ending.

 

Source:  Huff Post

 

 

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