When I need a break from reading, I like to write. Not complicated, angsty, deep stuff though … on my writing breaks from reading (and writing complicated, angsty, deep stuff) I like to write short bits of fluff that I can whip out, edit fast, and wonder if anybody will ever read it. Then I remembered I have a blog about words so, occasionally, I will be posting what I call my “Short Fics” right here on my blog and you can read them if you’d like. Why not, right?
The stories will never be over 500 words, so it won’t take you long to read them, and they’ll always be inspired by a picture I found online somewhere.
With that being said:
Disclaimer: The words in the Short Fics are mine and mine alone.
And with that being said, on to the first Short Fic…
Clara was standing at the window of the small town train station when the blonde haired young woman came inside and nervously took a seat on the worn bench pushed back against the wall. With her mind focused on her husband’s impending arrival, she didn’t pay much attention to the girl at first.
Only when the newcomer lit up a cigarette and crossed her legs, showing far too much knee in the skirt that came dangerously close to being scandalous, did Clara allow herself to be distracted.
“Have they said if the train’s on time?” the girl asked, her red lipstick leaving a ring on her cigarette.
“A few minutes behind schedule, they think,” Clara replied politely. “The stationmaster got a telegraph from the last station that the train was a few minutes late getting there on account of cows on the tracks that wouldn’t move right away.”
Tapping the cigarette into a nearby ashtray, the girl who didn’t quite seem to belong in small town Nebraska, she sighed impatiently. “Cows? Of course it’d be cows that delay this even longer,” she muttered morosely.
Her curiosity having gotten the better of her, the older woman decided to make polite conversation. “Waiting for someone important, are you?”
“Mm-hmm, my husband.”
Clara’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Husband? You can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, can you?”
“I’m twenty, ma’am. I got married when I was seventeen.”
“I was married at seventeen as well, my dear,” the older woman said, hoping to smooth things over a bit when she realized the girl was getting put off by her questions. “I’m waiting for my husband as well. He’s been away on business in Chicago.”
“Banker?” the younger woman guessed, desperate enough for the time to pass that she was willing to talk to the only other person at the tiny station.
“Salesman,” she corrected her. “Your husband?”
Before she got answer, the train whistle sounded in the distance.
Forgetting any proper etiquette or social convention that should have been followed, the younger woman ran out of the station and stopped just at the edge of the wooden boardwalk the surrounded the building. Clara followed more sedately, staying in the doorway and watching the girl more than she watched the tracks.
Two men emerged from the train; one an older man in a dark suit and a fedora and the other a younger man in the khaki uniform of a returning soldier.
“Laura!” the younger man shouted, as his twenty-year-old wife flung herself into his arms. He swept her off her feet and turned in circles as he embraced her.
Inspired by their reunion, Clara stepped off the boardwalk and greeted her husband with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“The war is finally over, my dear,” he told her, smiling as they watched the young couple. “Nothing says it quite like that, does it?”
“I hope they always love each other that much,” she said as he guided her inside the station.