Skip to main content

Broken Clouds

via Pinterest

     "It will be good.  It will be normal, and, heaven knows, you need a bit of normalcy."  The words echoed in my mind as I stared out the window and waited for the plane to leave the tarmac.  My madre adottiva had spoken them 2 weeks before I left.  I could still see her frizzled blonde hair sticking out at odd angles as she stopped and ran her finger along my chin.  Always busy, she was.  Always rushing around to take care of the 9 children in her care, but she stopped for me...for that one moment.  Her eyebrows rose toward each other worriedly, and her lopsided smile showed that she pitied me for my hard life.
     Was my life hard?  I shifted in my seat, and the window showed me my reflection.  With my ash blonde hair tied back in a bun, you could see my facial features clearly.  My eyes were big and green, my nose very straight, and my chin small and pointed.  I tried to study my eyes to see what sort of person I was.  I have always found that you could tell a lot about a person through their eyes.  But, maybe, it doesn't work in a mirror.  The eyes in the window only stared back at me curiously as though they were trying to see who I was.
     "Is this seat taken?"
     I looked up to see a smiling man with a briefcase.  He looked to be in his late 30s, and he wore a gray suit.  For a moment, our eyes met and held each other's gaze.  There was something in his deep brown eyes that I didn't like.  Something possessive.  Like he thought he owned some part of me.  Cheeky -- since I had never seen him before in my life.
     I clinched my jaw and scooted closer to the window -- an unnecessary maneuver since the seats were separated by arm rests -- but I felt that I wanted to be as far away from him as possible.  I pretended to stare out of the window again, but all of my senses were trained on the newcomer.  He stuffed his briefcase into an overhead compartment, smoothed the front of his suit coat, and settled into the seat next to me.  Then he coughed and propped his right ankle on his left knee.
    "First time flying by yourself?" he asked.
     I turned and gave him a withering glance that was meant to communicate that 13-year-old girls like me found 30-year-old men like him both annoying and boring.  If I had my ear buds with me, I would have put them in to solidify my silent argument.
     "Scared?" he asked, as though I had freely admitted that, yes, this was my first time flying by myself.
     Scared?  Yeah, I was scared of a lot of things, but flying was not one of them and I only wished I could be more by myself than I was at that moment.
     "My name is Robert," he went on.
     "Oh, please go away," I thought.
     "I presume your name is Kelsey?" he said.
     Startled, my eyes shifted quickly from the window to his face.  This guy was creepy.  How did he know my name?
     He was smiling again, and indicated my sleeve with a flick of his hand.  I glanced down and saw my nametag, announcing my identity to the world.  A flood of red rushed into my cheeks and ears, and I quickly ripped the name from my sleeve.  Never mind that my madre adottiva had strictly instructed me to keep it visible and to not let it get wet.  I couldn't stand the thought that complete strangers had access to my personal information.
      The Robert-person chuckled.  "Don't worry," he said, softly.  "I won't tell."
     The nerve of that man!  What gave him the right to pretend like he was on friendly terms with me?  I lifted my chin defiantly.  "I like my name," I told him.  "And I don't care who you tell."
     He flicked a white fuzz from his gray suit and then turned to me with a searching gaze.  "Is there another name you like better?" he asked.
     My heart skipped a beat, and I felt the color rush to my face again.  Surely, he did not know...And, yet, there was a depth to his gaze that carried more than friendly banter.  I felt a thin blade of fear slide into my core as I searched his face.  But his face was as impenetrable as my own reflection had been.
      "No," I said finally.  My mouth felt dry.
     His lips pursed in an attempt to cover up his amusement, and his eyes held the smirk of a conqueror after a small victory.
      I turned away from him and pulled my long-sleeve shrug closer around myself.  The window shades were closing as the plane prepared for take-off, but still I stared at them as though I saw the world outside.  Inside, my mind was reeling, trying to explain away the man's behavior. 
      A tap on my shoulder startled me, and my hand flew up to block at the same time that I sucked my breath in with a gasp. 
     It was only Robert...again.
     "Sorry to startle you," he said, softly.  His tone was serious.  "If you need anything, I want you to know that you can always call me."  He held out a scrap of paper with his name and a phone number scrawled across it.  Reflexively, I took the paper from him.
      "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find a new seat before the stewardess locks us in for the flight," he finished, shoving himself to his feet and digging his briefcase out of the overhead compartment.
     As he moved away, I dropped the paper like a hot coal and wiped my fingers on my jeans.  I sincerely hoped I would never see the man again.


  1. OH....MY.... GAWWWSH. That was so good! I really mean it - SO GOOD. This opening has so much mystery and suspense in it...and I can tell we're going to see this guy again...and WOAH. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MORE OF THIS.

    1. Alyianna, you are so much fun when you are excited! Seriously, you are such an encouragement to me, and I only hope I can always live up to your good opinion.
      Believe it or not, this was just an exercise to see if I could start a story from a random pinterest picture. But now I want to keep going!
      In case this becomes a full and worthy book, I don't really want to post too much of it on the public blog. But I would also love to share it with you as I write. Is there anyway I could send pieces to you to read privately? If you send me a comment with your email address, I won't post the comment (that way, nobody else will see your email address). And it would help me to keep going if I knew you were waiting for installments of story. What do you think?


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Guest Post by Emily!

Character Creation by Emily Ann Putzke
My character in Ain’t We Got Fun is Georgiana (Gi) Rowland, the older sister of Bess. Their family is struggling during the Great Depression, so Gi takes off for NYC to make a fortune and help them out. The sisters recount their adventures, joys and heartaches to each other. My co-author, Emily Chapman, and I wrote this story in letter form in January. Our characters are very different people! Here are a 5 things that helped me bring Gi to life, and give her a personality that’s all her own.
1.  Give Your Characters Flaws None of us are perfect, so our characters shouldn't be either. Gi is a fun, loyal, light hearted girl with big dreams. But she has a flaw that she struggles with throughout the entire story. Pride. She’s very stubborn, independent, and doesn’t want anything from anybody.
2. Use That Flaw to Stretch and Change Your Character Pride gets Gi in quite a few scrapes. Throughout AWGF, she’s constantly battling with it. Everytime she thi…

Is that a catastrophe happening, way over yonder?

The next scene in my story is meant to be an important one.  Readers get to meet the dwarves in their own evil lair.  My heroine is tormented for their selfish purposes.  Big scene.

     But when I started writing it, it looked incredibly detached and boring.  "Yeah, look over there.  See those dwarves by the table?  They are tormenting our heroine.  Very sad.  The cottage is cute, though."  The scene just wasn't working.  And my story has been sitting in stasis awaiting inspiration.

     Last night, I flopped on the floor to daydream and snuggle my dog.  For a while, I let my mind wander here and there.  But gradually I came to my senses and realized that the first thing I felt on "awaking" was the hard floor.

     Suddenly, I was Moriah, regaining consciousness.  Hard floor.  Noises.  Light.  Hands on my hair.  And the scene came alive for me.  I could hardly wait to get up and start writing again.

     So, if your scene is too detached, try lying on the…

Rooglewood Countdown: 9 1/2 weeks: Why Yours?

Yep, time is picking up speed.  Especially since I have other things to keep me busy.
     Here is my questions for you today: what makes your story special?  In the comments below, I want you to finish this sentence "It's a Snow White story, but..."  Did you change the setting?  Is Snow White the ugliest in all the land?  How did you swap out the elements of your story to make it unique?