“I like hats.” That’s what Donald said the day before he killed Sally. Of course, he didn’t mean it. Anyone who knew him was quite aware he never wore hats. Yet something deep inside prompted him to state aloud that blatant lie. No one in the room questioned why he had said it. Actually, they barely even noticed Donald spoke any of the other times he had been with them. Maybe this was why he was confident in proclaiming such a bold faced lie because there is comfort in being surrounded by people who don’t know you and you could care less about them. Bored he looked at his phone wondering how much longer this mundane conversation would drag on. It had to end soon he was getting hungry. Chinese takeout? No, he had that for lunch on Tuesday. How about that sandwich shop two blocks up and around the corner? The food was decent, reasonably priced and he would be able to avoid anyone he didn’t want to see.
Suddenly, he felt as though someone was looking at him. Bringing up his bowed head he saw her across the room. Meeting her gaze Donald realized he had to walk over to her before she made a scene. He couldn’t believe she had found him. Or was it fate? He just happened to be going out about his busy life and their paths had intersected at this moment. Nearing her side she curtly stated, “There you go making up lies again.” That’s what they told me once a long time ago he thought. And who was she to say that to him?
It had been at least eight years since he had seen her and here she was glaring at him in a hotel board room in a state he never even wanted to visit let alone live in for the past eight years. Donald realized she was talking to him because her lips were moving, but his brain prevented him from hearing or understanding what she was saying. When he focused on her words it was apparent she was bitching about the day Lillian learned to drive. Why did that even matter after all this time? He was disappointed the day was ruined and he had lost his appetite.
Creative writing group met and we practiced writing with random sentences we unknowingly selected. In the story above, these prompts are highlighted in pink. I hope you enjoy the randomness of this story. I had tons of fun writing it. This post is in honor of Kari McKenna, Heidi (Nitka) Satori, and anyone else who attended Manitowoc Public Schools (Especially Washington Junior High, I am proud to be south-side scum) in the 1980’s when stories were started in notebooks and passed one to another between classes for the other person to continue the story you had started. Maybe we could bring this practice back? Anyone want to join me?