Fiction Exercises 3

Exercise 39 - The Skeleton

We were locked in the attic. This happened often when our nanny Ethel got tired of our behavior. It didn't take much to get sent to the attic. A spilled juice, dirty clothes, loud play indoors, any of these offenses could send my brother and I up to the attic. Once she had us on the stairs, Ethel would turn the lock on her side of the door, shutting us in. In our earlier days we would cry and pound on the door, begging to be released. However, as time passed we began to realize that this was a futile effort. In fact, the louder and longer we cried, the longer Ethel kept the door locked.

One day Aaron and I sat on the dusty floor boards waiting for our captivity to be over. The hot, stale air stung my nostrils as light dimly peered through the small window. From the corner of his eye Aaron spotted something that he hadn't seen before. "What is that?" He asked. "Has it always been there?" I followed his gaze to the corner where strange looking mountain had grown. It must have been there for years, we just failed to notice.

Aaron and I moved to the corner, and waited to our eyes to adjust to see the item. It was an old trunk. The black exterior was gray with dust. The top was covered with a pile of old quilts and afghans. The pulls were so old that they were black with tarnish.

Together we pushed the pile of blankets off the top. A plume of dust rose from the stack as they hit the floor. It took both us to pry the lid open. When we finally succeeded, the hinges squealed as the lid slowly parted open. Inside the trunk was a pile of old clothes. Brown pants, while linen shirts, a blue jacket. There were also gray and maroon dresses with long sleeves and high necks. We took turns pulling the musty clothes over our heads and modeling for each other. As Aaron pulled up the last item, an army uniform, a small pocket knife fell out onto the floor. It spun at our feet before coming to rest.

As the younger sister, I was scared. "I think we should put it back. It's not ours."
But Aaron had a much better vision of what the knife could do. "Come on, I think I can get us out." He crept to the door and opened the knife. When he put the blade into the lock and turned, we both heard the click of the lock. Slowly, Aaron turned the handle and peered around the corner. He looked back to give me the "all clear" and we were finally free.

Exercise 52 - 1 Syllable Story

The full box hit the floor with a thud. My eye ran the length of the room. The sink, walls, floor and door of this place were all old and foul. The air smelled stale and no light came in. "Is this it?" I thought to myself. It was a long move here, and right now, did not seem worth it.

His shoes trod through the door. "Well," he said, and blew a gust of air. "It could be worse."

My eyes stung as though I had been hit in the nose. "How?"

"Look. I know it's bad. But it won't help to dwell." The veil of his optimism grew thin.

"How can I not? I moved here. I will live here. Live means the same as dwell. I'll dwell if I want to." My chest felt tight in the stale room.

"I know. But we can fix this place up. Spruce it up a bit. It could work."

He touched the small of my back. His hand was warm and firm on my tense back. When I stayed in his touch, he ran a hand up my neck and smoothed my hair.

It was that same tug. The same pull to stay here, to stay with him. I leaned back and felt his chest hold me up.

"But I still hate it." I said.

"I know."

Exercise 63 - Stairs: Setting and Place

I came rushing through the door and up the first set of stairs. My afternoon meetings always ran late, and I knew that I would have a student waiting for me. As I bounded around the landing I almost ran into Anne. She had her bag and jacket, and must have been on her way out. Except, her hands were empty, and she looked surprisingly unburdened by her bag. Normally Anne walks out with a crate of work. Her bag is so heavy that she had to lean to one side to counter the weight of the work she brings home. But today her arms swung freely at her sides and she walked tall.

"Hey," I said, unsure how to approach this unusual situation.

"Hi."

"Are you leaving," I asked, even though it was pretty obvious that she was.

"Yeah, I'm done." She responded, nodding her head as she spoke.

"Wow! You're caught up?" I couldn't believe she had finished all of her work. No one here was ever caught up.

"No." Anne shook her head. "I'm just done."

The pause sat between us, weighing down the air.

"I got cut today. Bruce told me." Anne's tone was flat, and she looked at the wall as she spoke. I immediately wished I hadn't been in that stairwell, and hadn't asked the questions.

"Oh God. Anne. I'm sorry." I fumbled to make words and fragments into full thoughts.

"Thanks," she replied. "I need to go. See you tomorrow." Anne breezed down the stairs and into the sunny, windy day outside. Two stray papers blew past her feet as she crossed to the parking lot. When she reached her car, I turned and finished up the stairs to the pile of work waiting for me.