Underdogs

Lora stared at her computer screen and sighed. Her English teacher was an old crackpot and this assignment was the worst.

Imagine you are your grandparent’s age. What is your favourite movie? Why?

Lora was sixteen. How was she supposed to imagine herself as an old lady?

Lora had never known her parents and the great people who’d adopted her hadn’t had any living relatives. And they’d been killed by a jerk texting and driving. Now she was stuck in a group foster home and supposed to think like grandparents she never knew anything about.

But she needed top grades if she was going to get scholarships. Foster kids didn’t have money for college and she wanted to get a degree. She wanted to make sure she always had a job and a home. Ditching even one assignment could jeopardize that.

At least she had the internet. Most people probably had favorite movies from when they were kids. She searched popular movies from the sixties and seventies, hoping something there wouldn’t be incredibly lame.

A couple of the movies surprised her. She hadn’t realized Jaws and Star Wars and Grease were so ancient. Would an older lady like one of them?

Lora had seen Star Wars before and she liked it. Her adopted dad had been a huge sci-fi fan and she’d seen the whole series of movies at least once.

The foster home had some streaming so she pulled up the original movie and watched it again. She hated crying, but couldn’t stop the tears as she remembered sitting with Jane and Rick watching the movie. Jane used to tease him that he wanted to be a swashbuckler like Han Solo. He’d tease right back saying Jane was strong enough to be a leader like Leia.

Right now, Lora felt a little like Luke who was also an orphan and then he’d lost his aunt and uncle too.

As she watched, Lora kept notes for what the movie was about. For what an older person might like.

The underdog winning.

Dealing with losing your family.

Wanting to have a bigger life.

Wanting to be the best.

Wanting to help your friends and your people.

Teamwork.

Good versus evil.

Accepting people for who they were, not what species they were from.

Would an older lady like all that? Would she still remember the movie?

Lora wished she had some experience with older people. Crackpot should have thought of that before making the assignment. Not everyone had access to generations of family.

Eventually, she wiped her tears and started to write her essay.

The knock on the door startled her. The lady in charge of the night shift at the home opened her bedroom door with a smile. “Hey Lora. It’s late. You okay?”

She wiped her face again before turning around. Eesha was always nice to everyone and she didn’t want her to think anything was wrong. “I’m okay. Just finishing up an essay.”

Eesha laughed softly. “You always work so hard, Lora. I can’t wait to see what you accomplish in the future. No matter what you choose, you’re going to be a star. Keep an eye on the time, it’s a school day tomorrow.”

Lora nodded and looked back at her screen, at her final line.

Star Wars might be an old movie, but it’s one that people might still be watching in another fifty years. We always want to see the little guys win.

Lora saved her work and turned off the computer. When she crawled into bed, she decided she was going to be one of those little guys who won.

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Tagline: Everyone loves an underdog

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I've loved Star Wars from the first moment I watched it in the theatre. Because of its setting and its message, it doesn't surprise me that the franchise continues to grow and thrive. George Lucas created an amazing view of the past with these stories.

If you've come from the WEP site, you already know that this will be the last WEP Challenge.

It's been an honour to work with the team over the past couple of years. Denise, Renée, Nila, Laura, Olga, and Sonia are amazing people with a passion for stories. Thank you to every one of you for everything you've done for this writing community.

To our challenge participants, it's been a privilege to read your stories for these challenges. I've learned a lot from all of you and I thank you for sharing your words with us. I look forward to reading your words in the future too.

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Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season with warmth and love and family and magic. Take care of yourselves and each other!

Think Of Me

Cassie took a deep breath and slipped into the shadowed doorway. No one called her out and no one appeared to ask her what she was up to. She turned the knob and only opened the door enough to pass through.

The darkness was punctured by red emergency lights above the doors. Spooky but at least it wasn’t completely dark. She wouldn’t have to risk a light.

The metal stairs and walkways might be sturdy, but they appeared too ethereal in the dim light that reminded her a little too much of blood. It took three deep breaths before she built up the nerve to step onto the first catwalk to cross the cavernous space.

Following the instructions she’d memorized, Cassie moved silently on her sneakers to the third stairway leading down. A couple of levels below, the shadows shifted but no one yelled at her. With a shiver, she checked behind her and above, but nothing else stirred.

Down she went. Through a door. Down again. Two catwalks. Up a level. Cross two rooms. And down one more time.

The door was unlocked as promised and she slid through it shuddering with relief. It took her seven long breaths before she could peel herself off the door.

The circular room soared into an arch above her. The red lights seemed to pulse with energy.

Cassie pushed off the door and crept to the middle of the room. She needed to be in the exact center.  Once there, she spread her arms wide and turned in a slow circle, embracing the air.

With a deep breath she brought her arms in, lowered her shoulders, closed her eyes and felt her diaphragm pull in the air it needed. Then she sang.

Think of me.

Think of me fondly

when we’ve said goodbye.

The first notes soared into the air and she almost smiled before she pulled herself back into the song that was filled with longing and regrets. Andrew Lloyd Webber knew what he was doing with those notes.

As she sang, the acoustics proved they were indeed perfect. The song filled the space with all the yearning the lyrics provided. She could almost hear the haunting notes of the piano around her as she sang.

Chills covered her as she sang through the heartache and the hope and the memories. She’d never been in a space so beautifully designed for music.

As the final notes ended on a sigh, she wrapped her arms around herself. If the auditions were held here, she stood a chance.

The sound of clapping had her whirling around. Two men stood in an open doorway. They wore orange safety vests and hardhats. One man pointed to the side door. “Nice job, kid. Now get going before we have to charge you with trespassing.”

The other man grinned. “That’s the best version we’ve heard so far. You’re going to nail the audition. Now move it.”

She moved it, grinning all the way. 

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Tagline: Deep in tunnels, surprises await

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The above is part of the October WEP Challenge: Phantom Of The Opera. I saw the Toronto production of Phantom one year with my husband for our anniversary. It was incredible!

Webber has written an incredible score. The music is haunting and memorable. I've even learned to play a few of the songs on the piano, including this one. Beautiful music.

To sign up with your own entry or to check out the other entries in the Challenge, check out the links below. There are always amazing entries in the challenge.

Enjoy the challenge!

Brownies!

This was not the day to improvise. This was the day to follow the recipe to the letter. She wasn’t generally much of a recipe follower—or rule follower for that matter—but today, she’d do it exactly as prescribed.

The recipe called for the flour to be scooped into the measuring cup and then levelled off with a knife. Ridiculous, but she did it anyway. Same with the cocoa powder and the sugars.

Next, she cracked the eggs and whipped them gently in a small bowl. She measured out the other ingredients and set them in a row so she would be sure to add them in the correct order.

Melting good chocolate apparently required placing one bowl over a pot with boiling water inside. And not quite a rolling boil, something she’d never heard before but could now identify.

She used the whisk and whipped the chocolate with some butter. It did smell good. Really good. But taking a taste would maybe screw up the final results and that wasn’t acceptable. This had to be perfect. Just like mom used to make.

Once the mixture was in the preheated oven, she set the timer and cleaned up the mess. So many dishes just to make some brownies!

The timer finally beeped and she set the pan to cool. Another timer and when the brownies were cool enough, she cut them and put them on the flowered plate her grandmother loved so much.

Knowing how much the older woman hated a mess, she checked to make sure she didn’t have any stains on her clothes. Between that and the clean kitchen, there was no evidence she’d even been in the kitchen.

Perfect.

She knocked on her grandmother’s door and waited for her reply before entering.

“Those smell like Diane's brownies. No one makes brownies like you do, Diane.”

Her mother hadn’t been home for over a year. Who knew where she was this time. Her grandmother's face fell when she realized she wasn't the beloved Diane. “These are delicious. Tell your mother thank you. Why don’t you leave the plate?”

She smiled and nodded, then stepped out of the room.

When the next timer beeped, she wiped off the doorknob and entered her grandmother's room again. With her gloves on, she wiped off where she'd touched the plate and then checked to ensure the old woman was dead.

Slipping out the back door with her hood up, she headed for the subway. She’d be back in her dorm when someone called with the sad news.

And then she’d be rich.

Tagline: Not quite how mom used to make

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The above is part of the WEP Challenge for August. I hope you'll join in the challenge - we're always eager for more entries!

Obviously you don't have to know the movie (this is another one I haven't seen), but chocolate is a great prompt for all kinds of stories.

Check out the links above for some fabulous stories!

WEP & Stories of the Night

Sirens shattered the night.

Nessie leapt from the bed and threw on trousers and a shirt over her nightgown. She rushed into the next room to find George sitting up and little Moira sleeping peacefully.

“Mama? Is it time to go?”

Nessie kept her voice calm and ruffled his hair. “It is. You know what to do. I’ll get your sister.”

George threw back the bedclothes and scrambled out. Her little man quickly pulled pants and a shirt over his pyjamas and then grabbed the small bag from the closet.

Moira kept sleeping while Nessie wrapped her in a blanket and hugged her to her chest. Then she picked up her own bag and slung it over her shoulder.

The blackout curtains were already closed, so less than a minute from the first siren wail, they were out of their tenement and hurrying down the stairs. They quickly crossed their tenement's back yard to the shelter.

An explosion sounded not far off and had George moving closer to her side. He let out a relieved sigh when they crossed into the protected room. They moved quickly to their usual spots and started tracking their neighbours. No one was going to forget a sleeping baby ever again. Even as she thought it, Nessie watched Ivy walk in. George quietly counted the children as they followed their mum. When he got to seven, he smiled at Nessie. “She’s got them all this time,” he whispered with a smile.

When everyone was inside, lanterns were lit and the door was closed. For a while they chatted quietly with each other while everyone settled in. Over the past year, they’d become used to the unknowns.

Were their husbands and sons and brothers safe? How many hours would the bombs rain down tonight? Would their windows be blown out again? Would their tenement buildings be standing when the all-clear siren rang out?

George patted his bag. “Can you read everyone a story, Mama?”

“You choose one tonight.”

His six-year old face serious, he looked through the tiny collection and pulled out the worn copy of Heidi that her mother had read to Nessie as a child.

The group fell into a routine of sorts. Nessie read a chapter. Old Bill played his violin. Sadie sang a song. Nessie read another chapter. More songs. More stories.

Moira woke when Kathleen played her harmonica. It was always the little girl’s favourite part.

When the all-clear siren rang out, the adults exchanged relieved looks. No bombs had sounded like they were close enough to harm their homes.

As they trudged out of the shelter, the sun was rising over the tenements, bathing the grey buildings in warm light. George laughed. “It’s so pretty Mama.”

Moira spread her arms wide. “Boo-ti-ful. It’s boo-ti-ful Mama.”

Old Bill patted George on the head as they walked backed to their building with its windows and bricks intact. “You and your sister are right, my boy. It’s beautiful. Life is beautiful. Remember that.”

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Tagline - Even when sirens shatter the night

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The above is part of the WEP Challenge for April - Life is Beautiful. This is another movie I haven't seen. (Yes, this is a theme. I don't watch a lot of movies I'm afraid.)

The above piece is based on stories that my mom (Lizzie from Dancing With Dementia) shared. She grew up in Aberdeen Scotland in WWII. She and her family spent a lot of time in bomb shelters during her formative years. The neighbours did indeed forget a baby one time and were unable to check on the child until the all-clear sirens rang. The windows had all exploded that time and the baby had been sleeping near the window in a buggy. The blanket was covered with glass shards, but the baby was unscathed. Life can indeed be beautiful!

I hope you'll check out the other stories through the link and I encourage you to join in the fun. We're always looking for new voices in the challenge!

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PS - if you missed it, the latest Bloo Moose Romance released yesterday!

Reaching For More

One interfering mom,

one fake relationship,

and one stalker who doesn't like it at all

Get your copy!!

WEP & With The Wind

This was where they’d met. Janie smiled as she looked over the view. It hadn’t changed that much over the decades.

Tom had been hiking with his buddies on their summer break, she'd been alone. They were all on the coast for the summer, working jobs in the tourist town. Tom had been working at a souvenir shop, she’d been at the fudge shop across the street.

But they’d met on the top of this hill. The hike had been worth it for the view alone. Meeting Tom had made it the best hike of her life. They’d often joked about what they’d have missed out on if they hadn’t made that hike at the same time all those years ago.

No holding hands or stolen kisses in the shadows between the street lamps. No dances on the beach or anniversary trips back here. No kids or grandkids.

They’d been so lucky, so blessed. And today was a day to celebrate that. A day to look back on all the kisses, all the stolen moments, all the laughter. Even the tears.

Jane walked to the edge of the bluff and shook the tube the funeral director had given her. Tom hadn’t wanted a fuss. The man had never wanted a fuss.

With a tear slipping down her cheek, Jane opened the tube and watched the last of Tom’s earthly body slip away on the wind.

But he’d never really be gone. How could he be? He’d become a part of her just as she’d been a part of him. She’d carry him along with her and make sure the little ones knew all about their gramps.

Jane blew a kiss to the wind. Whenever she felt the breeze, she’d know Tom was kissing her back.

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Tagline: Gone isn't always gone

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The above is part of the WEP Challenge for February's prompt Gone With The Wind.

Confession 1 time: I've never read the book. I've never seen the movie. I doubt I'll ever remedy that 🤷  It's never been something that appealed to me. But I love the title!

For the WEP challenges, I almost always draw inspiration from the title or the words. I've done that again with this prompt and probably will for the rest of the prompts (because I haven't seen most of those movies either!).

Confession 2 time: As many of you know, my mom was placed into palliative care a few weeks ago. She passed peacefully and painlessly shortly afterward. I wrote this piece before any of that happened. I almost wrote a new piece, but decided to leave this as is. I'll be thinking of Lizzie whenever I touch the wind.

I hope you check out the other entries in this month's challenge and I really hope you'll enter your own piece. We're always eager for new writers to join in!

WEP & Harry's Mission

Nothing was going to stop Harry from achieving his mission. He’d planned every step. It had taken him days and days. Now, he had to make sure no one messed it up.

He ate all his supper. Even the broccoli.

He scraped off his plate. Put it in the dishwasher.

He didn’t splash in the bath.

Well, not too much.

Harry put on his new pajamas. The feet were a little too long, but he’d be careful.

At bedtime, he only asked for one extra story.

Then he waited.

Waiting was hard.

So was staying awake.

Harry pinched his toes and counted all the way to a hundred.

He whispered his plan to Marshall, but the stuffed Dalmatian didn’t have any ideas on how to stay awake.

When he’d waited forever, he looked at his clock. The first number was a nine. Or was it a six? He traced the number on his hand like his teacher had shown him. It was a nine.

That had to be late. No one could stay awake until nine.

Harry hugged Marshall for luck and then snuck out of bed. The nightlight helped him see and he peeked into the hall. Lights were still on downstairs but they’d have to leave them on tonight.

Harry slid to the side of the stairs and held the banister tight. His pjs were a little slippery but he only fell once on his way down.

When he reached the bottom, he looked down the hall. No one. He tiptoed into the living room and grinned. No presents were under the tree yet. He wasn’t too late.

Harry went straight to his hiding place, between the two chairs and in front of the bookshelf. Then he sat down to wait some more. He was going to see Santa’s face for the first time. All he had to do was not fall asleep.

Harry jerked awake when something wet touched his face. He tried to roll away, but the wet followed him. When something barked, Harry opened his eyes as the dog licked him again. A Dalmatian. Just like Marshall. “Did Santa bring you?”

The dog woofed and jumped in Harry’s lap.

Mom and Dad came into the room with their coffee cups. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“Did Santa bring me a puppy?”

“Didn’t you see Santa?”

“No.” He must have fallen asleep after all. He hadn't seen Santa's face.

Mom picked up a red paper from the plate where they’d left the cookies. “Looks like Santa left you a note.”

“What does it say?”

“Maybe next year.”

Harry nodded and hugged the Dalmation. "I'll see him next year."

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Tagline: Harry's on a mission to see a face for the first time

The above is part of the WEP challenge First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. Please check out the links to read the other entries into the challenge. There's lots of time to join as the entries will be open from Dec 1-15. I hope you'll join in the fun!!!

Hey, Thrillers!

 Lindsay swallowed hard and looked into the camera. “Hey Thrillers. It’s been a fun year broadcasting with you. Just wanted to let you know that, in case this is our last video. Ever.”

Julie laughed and switched the feed to her own camera. “Hey everyone. Can you believe the woman who dove with hungry sharks and climbed into a derelict mine in search of treasure is afraid of a cemetery?”

“Those are thrills. This is spooky stuff. Not my thing at all.”

Julie lit up her face with the flashlight beneath her chin. “But it is mine. And you lost the coin toss.”

All true.

Julie smirked. “Okay, Thrillers, you’ve been watching the live stream of the cabin for hours now. No one has entered or exited since we checked it out together before sunset. Now, it’s five minutes before midnight.”

Lindsay sighed heavily. “On All Hallow’s Eve, when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. When spirits have the best chance of crossing that veil with a full moon to light their way.”

Julie made a Wooo sound and Lindsay glared at her. Julie lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper while she looked at the camera. “Okay, Thrillers, we’re moving in. Approaching the cabin as the clock ticks closer to midnight. Lindsay, remind our viewers about the legend.”

Lindsay blew out a breath and steadied her voice. “Here, deep in the swamps surrounding New Orleans, the line between reality and the supernatural is always thin. Voices lure you in far deeper than you planned to go. Mists rise from the ground, sneaking between the plants and reaching ever upward.”

Lindsay panned her camera down and around, showing the old forest and the mists. The full moon made the pictures perfectly creepy and she had to work to keep her voice level. “On this night seven times seven times seven years ago, in 1679, a family lived here. The youngest was the seventh son of a seventh son.”

Julie grinned and picked up the tale. “The number seven has power. Young Caleb Bouchard felt it growing inside. He’d told his parents but they urged him to keep it quiet, to never use his powers, to never let others know. But Caleb was two times seven years of age and oh, so sure of his control. Sure that he was a good person and that the power would do as he commanded.”

When Julie nodded to her, Lindsay continued. “Caleb decided the night of All Hallow’s Eve would be the day he’d show them all that his power was good. He waited for the stroke of midnight, waited for the moon to shine. And then he called for the spirits to cross. Called for them to rid the world of those who would harm others. Called for them to spare those of good heart.”

Julie whispered. “Witnesses heard terrible screams and saw flashing lights, but there was no evidence of fire. No evidence of anything. Not Caleb. Not his family. Not a trace.”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and Lindsay took over. “It’s almost midnight. Count it down with us.”

Julie put her hand on the door and slowly twisted it as Lindsay counted. “Five, four, three, two, one. Midnight.”

Julie threw open the door and light bloomed from inside, flashing and changing. A hideous howl filled the night and Julie jumped back with a shriek.

Then the iconic first beats of Michael Jackson’s Thriller filled the air and Lindsay couldn’t keep in the laughter anymore.

It took Julie about three seconds before she joined in. Then she moved to stand beside Lindsay with a playful swat on her arm. She tapped her hand over her heart and then smiled at the camera. “She got me. Just remember, payback is coming. Happy Halloween, Thrillers!”

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Tagline: A legend of a Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

The above is part of the WEP Challenge for October! Be sure to click the links to get to more entries for the Challenge. This is always a favorite time of year for flash fiction. I hope you join in for this round!