Cookie Jars and Guns

Use the following words in a story: hypocrite, cookie jar, city and telephone. Taken from creativewritingprompts.com

"I'm really nervous about this trip," Grace hissed to her long time best friend Jill, as she shoved shorts and t-shirts in to her duffel bag. She wished she could protest louder but Jill had insisted that John not find out about her apprehension. John sat in the next room transfixed on the National News. Grace doubted he was sober enough to register the anxiety in her voice anyway. She had watched him down one beer after another all afternoon. She wanted to be mean and tell him that getting drunk wouldn't make it all go away. He would still have to deal with it eventually and he should just toughen up. She wanted to be mean to Jill also and tell her that she was not the Savior and she couldn't fix everything so why didn't she just leave them alone already! She wanted to say these things, but she didn't want to be alone so she kept her mouth mostly shut in the hopes that she could hang onto her friends for a little while longer.
Suddenly, Grace had an alarming thought, "Do they even have telephones in this city?" she asked.
Jill thought for a minute, "Um, yeah, I think they do. Yes! I remember I used one once!" Jill sounded so proud Grace wanted to hit her.
"You think? Don't you think that's pretty important information? How are we supposed to make a local, non cell phone call that is a matter of life and death if they don't have public phones?" Her voice was escalating now, "Shouldn't you know for sure?!"
Jill looked at Grace thoughtfully and put her hand gently on her arm, "Why don't you take a little break? Maybe have a cookie or something."
"I don't have any cookies," Grace answered dryly.
"Oh, I thought I saw a cookie jar- don't you keep it filled?" Jill asked optimistically.
Grace looked at her as if she were five years old and said, "I keep my gun in there."
"Oh!" said Jill, "Well, grab that. We may need it."
Grace trudged into the kitchen to fetch her gun, passing John on the way. She forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up sign. He tried to reciprocate but ended up poking himself in the forehead. She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to tip his recliner.  While she was in the kitchen she put on a pot of coffee, although Lord knows they didn't need the caffeine. While it was brewing she sat on the counter and contemplated the events that had led her to this fateful day. She was pretty sure it was fateful. Either that or just some really bad freaking luck. She wondered about her dog Hank. What would happen to him if she never came back? Did the kennel keep him forever? They'd probably find him a home. She hoped it was good. He was such a baby about new people. Poor thing. She made John a cup of coffee first and told him he had to drink it. Then she made one for herself and Jill, balancing both cups and her gun as she walked to the back room.
"Wow. I hope the safety is on," Jill said, as she rescued one of the tilting mugs.
"Well duh," said Grace, as she checked and discreetly switched the safety lever on.
"John is quite the winner isn't he?"she asked, sarcastically. "Do we really need him?"
"Don't be such a hypocrite, Grace. You know you acted the same way your first time out."
"Maybe. But I don't think I looked so pathetic and I know I never drank Budweiser until I was green," she said, with disdain.
Jill gave her an exasperated look and rolled her eyes. "No, you just smoked doobies until you were green. That was no picnic for me, leading your stoned butt all over an international airport."
Grace looked down sheepishly and sipped her coffee.
"Geez! We had to go to three snack stands to buy more bags of chocolate chip cookies. Noooo, you couldn't have the oatmeal ones. It had to be chocolate chip," Jill continued.
"Whatever. Fine. I'll be nice to John, but if her gets us killed, so help me..."

Little boy, torn page

Prompt: Use the following words in your story: Little boy, torn page, market, and cart. (Taken from creativewritingprompts.com)

The streets were desolate at dawn. All the work was being done indoors. Weary mothers rubbed their eyes and began breakfast preparations, farmhands were already drinking their second cup of coffee having milked the cows and gathered the eggs. Shop keepers were preparing to leave their homes, the days paperwork was stacked by the door with hopes of better profits.
On the empty streets, as the first light was just beginning to splay across the rooftops, the little boy yawned openly with no one to tell him to cover his mouth. He blinked back the fatigue and reached into his pocket to touch it another time. He knew it was there. He could feel it even though it only weighed an ounce or so. Still, he was nervous that something would happen to it, and then he'd really be in trouble.
He arrived at the inconspicuous shop and looked for the yellow stripe of paint on the door, just as he was told to do. The stripe was so small the boy imagined that a bumblebee had met it's demise there, it's squished yellow body a sacrifice for the cause. As he was studying the door, a large yet quiet man approached from behind and startled him. "Do you have it boy?" he asked, calmly yet urgently. The young boy reached into his pocket, unsure exactly why his transport was so important but aware that it was somehow a matter of life and death. "Yes Sir, I've got it," he replied. He trusted this man and was glad to be helping him, was glad that he had done a good job in delivering the torn page, but his family could not afford a good deed done simply out of goodness. "Do you have my money?" he asked with contrived boldness.
The man stood taller and with a strained smile, he looked around quickly. "Of course, my boy. You did a good job," he said, while deftly slipping a few coins into the boys pocket. As quickly and quietly as he had come the man was gone, leaving the boy on the curb, fingering his precious hidden coins.
While a few months ago, coins in the boy's pocket would have meant a visit to the market for candy and treats, today it meant milk for his sick sister and bread for his family. He stood tall imitating the big man who had now become his rescuer and walked slowly down the street, proud of the responsibility he carried for providing for his family today. His glorious moment was stifled by the sound of hooves racing behind him. He turned just in time to leap out of the way as a horse and cart barrelled by. It passed quickly but the fumes of death emanating from it lingered on the street, marking it for despair. It was the death wagon. The residents weren't allowed moments of victory and hope. They were constantly reminded of their situation by the death all around. The once tall boy, now slumped his shoulders and retraced his steps back toward home.

Is stalking illegal?

I realize that many of my short stories are kind of sad or depressing : (. I want to try and write a more upbeat piece.

"Is stalking really illegal?" asked Erin, as her best friend Jeff answered his phone.
"Hello to you, too. And yes, you crazy person. Stalking is illegal," Jeff answered with a sigh. "What did you do this time?"
Erin was offended. "Why do you always assume I've done something?"
"Because you are the only person I know who actually has a restraining order against them," he answered, matter of fact.
"Hey! You promised not to bring that up! You know that wasn't my fault!" She practically shrieked.
"Okay, Okay, whatever you say," he said, distracted by the TV.
"What are you watching?"
"CSI. Or at least I was trying to."
"You lie! I can hear Carson whats- his -face in the background. You're watching, 'How to Look Good Naked!'"
Jeff was annoyed. "Shut up. So what?"
"You are the only guy I know that would watch that show. You know they don't actually show you a naked girl, right?"
"Well, you are the only girl I know who is literally CRAZY!"
"Whatever," Erin said defensively.
"I don't get why the girl always acts shocked when he says they're going to do the shoot naked. I mean don't they watch the show? It's the same every time!" Jeff cried passionatly.
She sighed. "God, you're such a girl."
"At least I'm not crazy."
"According to....? Who? You're ex girlfriend? She thinks you're pretty crazy," Erin reminded him.
Jeff was silent for a minute then answered slowly, "We agreed never to talk about it again, right?"
"Okay fine, I won't say another word...if you could just go with me tonight to..."
"To what? You want me to go stalking with you don't you? What's his name this time anyway? No wait! Don't tell me. The less I know the less chance I have of being incriminated."
"God, you're dramatic! I am not doing anything wrong. I just want to go see where he lives, and maybe works," Erin said quietly.
"Fine," said Jeff, exasperated, but bored enough to go along. "But you're buying dinner."

Fade

This writing prompt was given to me by my friend Eric. (His words are italicized)

He gently swirled the golden liquid around in his lead crystal snifter, put his nose inside the glass, and inhaled the exotic perfume of aged agave. It was the perfect drink to toast her, he thought. He lifted his glass to an empty room and closed his eyes as the sweet, smooth liquid poured down his throat. A single tear fell and dropped on his lap. He laid his head back in his chair, his glass dangled at his side, and allowed the memories to surface. A slow smile spread across his lips as a shockingly clear picture of her came into focus. They were on their anniversary trip. The sun was setting and the sky was brilliant orange and pink, turning the blue waters into a myriad of rippling color. She skipped across the sand at the edge of the water, smiling and squealing as the low waves lapped at her ankles. He sat in a chair a few yards away, watching and breathing in her beauty and child-likeness. He wished he could be more like her, more spontaneous and carefree, but his feet were firmly cemented in his old ways. She laughed and waved at him to join her but he just shook his head and continued observing. Her skin glowed from three days in the sun and her blond hair shimmered with natural highlights. He remembered the pink skirt she wore and how it bounced up when she jumped in the surf. He also remembered how he felt every time her tanned thigh was revealed. He marveled at how he could get so excited by a little extra skin of a woman he had touched a thousand times.
Suddenly the memories were too real, too present for a day like today. He opened his eyes and put down his glass on the table next to his chair. He literally shook his head and tried to loose the pictures of her as he stood up. He couldn't have them so vivid right now. He would save them for later. Later, when all the well wishers had left. When the last of the food had been put away and all of her friends had kissed him goodbye and said how very sorry they were, then he could crawl into bed and remember all he wanted. Not now. Now he would put on a brave face and hold his head up high. Now, he would comfort her family, make the arrangements, and be strong. He heard her voice from somewhere in his head and his knees buckled. The chair was close enough to support him and he sat back down. "It's okay, you don't have to be strong," she said.
His heart raced and the tears flooded his eyes. He put his head into his hands sobbing like a child. Her presence was so real, so tangible. He called out, "I need you, honey. Please come back." All the strength he thought he had, left him and he felt like weighted vests were laid over his back. He stayed like that, slumped in his chair, for a long time. Nobody bothered him. Maybe they even forgot about him, so engrossed in their own stories, their own memories.
The bright sun filtered in through the blinds and eventually faded to dusk casting an eerie pattern on the floor. He sat in his chair, motionless, as the night crept in.

Shelter

The clouds rolled in like a blanket being thrown on a bed, sudden and heavy. Amanda pulled into the parking lot and looked for her umbrella. She was startled by a clap of thunder and decided to make a run for it. The rain started as the car door slammed and pummeled her for the few seconds that it took her to reach the building's front entrance. She ran inside and quickly pulled the door shut, failing to keep the entryway dry. Amanda stood at the glass door, watching the storm in awe. The rain came down in sheets, dark and straight, exploding off the asphalt in every direction.
The music coming from the sanctuary was muffled, competing with the rhythm of the rain and the clap of thunder. Remembering why she had come, Amanda pulled herself away from the rain's trance and walked into the near empty room where the music was coming from. Although it was louder in there, the sounds of worship were soothing in contrast to the intensity and violence of the tempest outside.
One middle aged man sitting in a pew alone, turned to look at Amanda as she approached the alter. The other half dozen or so congregants continued praying. Their muffled whispers of intercession being carried as if on a wave, ebbing and flowing throughout the room. She felt the presence of those prayers. They touched her, seeping into her damp skin and filling her with warmth. The prayers, although liberating, were also heavy and soon they weighed her down. She knelt at the alter, draped like a blanket in the manifested words of saints and a Saviour. Her face rested in her hands and her tears washed down her face, plopping without shame on her folded knees. The prayers and music lulled her like a child being rocked to sleep. The still, soft words flowed over her, "....shall abide in the shadow of The Almighty..." She looked around, sure that someone had whispered in her ear. No one was there, however she felt a tangible presence all around. She closed her eyes continuing in silence and peace. When something brushed her shoulder she instinctively reached up. She felt nothing with her hand yet her shoulder was warmer and heavier than before as if an arm were resting there reassuringly. She dared to look over and saw a shimmer. A translucent feathered wing wrapped around her right side. Stunned she closed her eyes and looked again. She no longer saw it, but the weight and presence was still tangible. Amanda's tense body released and she sank into the comfort and strength of the Angel who held her in his arms and shielded her with his wings.

"Sweetie"

Todd exited the plane and stood behind a slow moving line through the wind tunnel. He glanced at his watch and felt his heart rate quicken. He cleared his throat, wiped his brow and checked his watch again. The man behind him said, “ I wonder what the hold up is? Do you have the time?”
Todd barely registered him , “Huh? Oh let me see.” He checked his watch again trying to focus on the hands. “It's 12:35,” he replied.
The line moved forward and soon Todd could see the arrival gate. People stood around with expectant faces waiting for their loved ones to appear. Families hugged and shook hands, lovers squealed and ran into each others arms, mothers sighed with relief as children were welcomed home. It was all a blur to him until he saw her. Then time stopped, the room spun, and the blood rushed to his head. He didn't remember moving forward, didn't remember bumping into the man in front of him with his bag. He only remembered her smile and how her arms felt around his neck.
“Hi sweetie,” she called him, kissing his ear lobe.
He loved the way she made him feel but wished she hadn't just called him sweetie. His wife always called him sweetie. He pushed aside the sudden assault of guilt.
She took his hand and led him away from the crowd.
“Let's get you out of here,” she said. He followed obediently as she pulled him along. “Did you check a bag?” she asked.
"No. Just this one.” He indicated to the duffel he was carrying. “I didn't want it to get lost.”
He recalled a trip he and his wife took a few summers ago to Mexico. It was the first vacation they had alone in 10 years and he had planned the whole thing as a surprise. She was so happy, her eyes glowing the whole plane trip. But when they arrived in Puerto Vallarta they discovered that the airline had lost her luggage. They wasted hours of their precious trip trying to get it back.
He didn't want to waste any time today. He had learned how fleeting time was.
She smiled and bounced up and down a little “Great! Then let's go! I can't wait to take you home!”
He grinned, feeling a little bit like a new toy. He kind of liked it. It was nice to have someone excited to be with him. It had been awhile.