When I did Writing the Next Line I thought of an on going story but some of you did your own versions which is perfectly fine too. So I thought I would post those as well. Great job guys! It is so neat to see the different versions along with the group story I posted yesterday (please click here to read it). Bravo all around! Thanks to all of you who participated. ***To Elliot go ahead and send it. ;)
***Here is one by B. Miller:
I continued scrubbing the dried ice cream from the table top as the door chimed.
Don't these people know we are closing. I have homework to do. Gary, will take care of it.
I tried to make it look like I was busy as I eavesdropped. The customer's voice was low so it was hard to make out what he was saying.
"Claire, this man wants to speak to you," Gary yelled from across the room.
Me? What did this guy want from me?
His tall, slender frame slowly made its way over to me.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
He held out his hand and inbetween his fingers was a photo. "Do you know where this person is?"
I frowned at the picture, then looked back up at the man. "Is this a joke?" I asked.
"Not at all," he said. His face remained blank.
I looked back down at the picture again, my flesh creeping with uneasiness. What could this mean? I thought.
The girl in the photo was eight or nine, hair pulled back into identical pigtail braids tied off with purple bows. Her smile was sunny and wide, showing off the gap where her top front teeth were missing. She wore a green t-shirt with a smiling frog printed across the front.
My lucky frog shirt, I thought, dazed. I hadn't seen it since I was twelve.
Three years older than I was in the picture.
***By Roxy:
I continued scrubbing the dried ice cream from the table top as the door chimed.
Don't these people know we are closing. I have homework to do. Gary, will take care of it.
I tried to make it look like I was busy as I eavesdropped. The customer's voice was low so it was hard to make out what he was saying.
"Claire, this man wants to speak to you," Gary yelled from across the room.
Me? What did this guy want from me?
His tall, slender frame slowly made its way over to me.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
He held out his hand and inbetween his fingers was a photo. "Do you know where this person is?"
It was the ice cream man. I'd seen him around before, and I didn't like his looks much. I did, however, more than like his pecan praline.
"Why are you looking for that guy?" I ask the stranger.
"Because he's a spy."
I wrinkle my nose, worried that my favorite soft serve is in danger of becoming extinct. "A spy? Really? He hardly seems the type."
"You'd be surprised, Ma'am. It takes all kinds to run a intelligence-smuggling operation. Do you have any of the ice cream here that he sold you?"
"Why, yes," I reply and open the freezer, handing him my last quart.
The mysterious man reached inside the frozen dessert, extracting a plastic bag with a tiny micro chip inside a moment later.
He nodded to me. "You've been very helpful. Your country appreciates your cooperation."
The man left immediately, and I sighed with relief. I walked to the window after composing myself. The street outside was empty until the ice cream man unexpectedly pulled into view.
Gary appeared out of nowhere and whispered something to the man in the yellow and red truck. Just as I was wondering why Gary would be having a conversation with a suspected spy, I saw the ice cream man hand him a nutty buddy bar and a loaded Smith and Wesson.
****By Jackee:
I continued scrubbing the dried ice cream from the table top as the door chimed.
Don't these people know we are closing. I have homework to do. Gary, will take care of it.
I tried to make it look like I was busy as I eavesdropped. The customer's voice was low so it was hard to make out what he was saying.
"Claire, this man wants to speak to you," Gary yelled from across the room.
Me? What did this guy want from me?
His tall, slender frame slowly made its way over to me.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
He held out his hand and inbetween his fingers was a photo. "Do you know where this person is?"
The photo was old, curling in the corners from where the parchment backing was beginning to come unglued.
A black and white smile flashed from the face of the lone girl in the photograph as she leaned against the Model T. It was a smile I recognized because it was my own. The face was my very own.
What was this guy playing at? How did he get my face into a picture nearly a hundred years old?
So what did you think of these? I'll be doing this once a month.
Have a great day!
