Oh Yeah, We Had a Contest…
I’m back! This vacation was… well, fantastic. I can hardly explain it. I had an amazing time. It’s going to be difficult getting back into work mode. But here I am, nose to the grindstone as usual.
So, I have a couple of things for you today. First, a teeny-tiny contest. It’s so small, it’s probably more of a micro contest. Here it is:
Guess how many unanswered queries I had in my inbox as of 8:00 this morning when I returned to work. Keep in mind I had cleared the query box to zero before I departed, so these are from a week. Leave your answer in the comments. The person who comes the closest gets… hmmm… lots of recognition and kudos from everyone who reads this blog. How’s that?
Now let’s talk about the contest from Friday the 15th. It was… interesting reading all your entries… especially since I spent so much time on the beach last week. Kind of creepy, if you want to know the truth. Let’s just say I’m glad I wasn’t in any on your beachy scenarios.
As usual, I had a hard time choosing a winner. They are all so different, and so creative! I was impressed with all the different ways your minds went with the set-up I gave you. So, I just had to pick one that resonated with me personally, and that I thought was a nice piece of writing.
The winner is… (drumroll, please)…
Serenissima (posting August 17 at 8:17 pm). Her winning entry is below. Be sure to email me, Serenissima. Everyone else… thanks for entering! (If you haven’t had a chance to read all the entries, you really should. Click here.)
Tomorrow I promise I’ll get to some REAL blogging. Glad to be back!
The Winning Entry
I struggle to catch my breath. “Baby? Baby!” I sit up so quickly little fireballs sprinkle my vision. It doesn’t matter. I lunge toward him. His body feels fragile, like those eggshells where they’ve blown the yolk out. Well, he’s been through a lot, I tell myself.
I lean back to take him in. Delicate freckles have sprouted along his cheekbones. “Your tour isn’t up for three months. How’d you get out of there?” Nagging thoughts of news stories announcing ‘stop-losses’ and ‘involuntary extensions’ prickle at my brain.
He smiles, but his eyes are sad, distant. “Don’t worry about it.” He cups my face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful.”
I pat my hair, frizzing out of its clip. My face is shiny with sunscreen and I feel bloated from that omelet. I lean forward to kiss him. He smells of cardamom, and gunpowder. His lips are softer than I remember, but there’s a chill to him.
I pinch his uniform. “Didn’t you have time to change?”
Again that filmy, faraway look. “I didn’t have time to change, no.” Even his voice sounds odd, like he’s talking underwater.
A trickle of fear plants itself in my chest. I take his hands. Icy. “Are you in trouble? How long are you home for?”
He stares at me, his lip trembling. “Not trouble, no. But I doubt I’ll be here long. I don’t think it works like that.”
His body takes on a silvery sheen. Is he a mirage? Am I imagining this? I hear the thwack of paddle balls, the splash of surf, and children giggling over sandcastles. How dare they?