I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
This week's contest is to write the next couple lines.
Thirty words max.
One entry per person.
Enter in the comments column of this post.
Results on Monday (I hope!)
I'm out all day at a conference so I won't see any Twitter questions. At this point though, you guyz know the drill.
Sorry!
Contest closed at 7pm on Saturday May 19.
34 comments:
The first held a picture of our son. The second featured my hubby in a swanky suit I’d never seen. The third was a woman who was not me.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
Too easy; I'd put his in the dryer lint trap. If we were going to survive this mess, maybe we'd better team up--and clearly, I would be in charge.
Fortunately I'd foreseen such contingency and long since replaced the batteries in the vibrator with a roll of 20,000 drachma notes. At least enough to replace my knicker elastic.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun. Beside a stash of condoms.
The floor creaks.
I grab it and spin around.
“Make-up sex?”
I stood there, hands akimbo, as my world crashed around me…my wife was a he?
Up was down, left was right, and what was right was so, so wrong.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
The gun, those passports, plus three of his own joined the cash in my getaway bag. In their place I left a present--he'd know the meaning. The snake was dead.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
I guess he knows I lied about my middle name.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
I told him the Super Soaker was "outdoors only." Three hours, one hairdryer, and several curses later, I'm praying soggy passports are acceptable. My fourth one is six feet under.
Seriously, bro. Nobody mixes lace and wool, let alone chintz! Hosiery is not a fashion statement...unless they’re panda socks. Listen to your sister, for once.
This was either the prelude to an epic argument or one hell of a care package.
Either way, the game was up.
Turns out he dyed his fur black and white. Chester probably wasn’t even his real name.
Passport number four was in the run bag. I put Ramona into her Quiet Kitty pouch and we exfiltrated out the bedroom window.
The front door opened.
“Darling?”
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun. Passports were soaked. Mom had hidden the markers after my last mural—can’t draw new ones. Cursing my brother, I grabbed his leaky water pistol. That kid’s gonna get splattered.
A gun!?
The snake.
He had my aliases—
Colin Smith. Balance of distinct and anonymous.
french sojourn. Shhhh. Don’t say it aloud.
Jeff Somers. Albeit, awkward. Sans pants, anyone?
Especially since his gun was still in my hand, smoking. And he was still on the floor, bleeding. What was this other gun for?
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
The Glock. But where's the Colt?
Click, from the doorway.
Figures in the hallway--his kill shot delayed.
But mine is not.
I carry the twins back out to the car.
We had been living together for 2 years and I thought I was the one with secrets.
If I made back alive from The Vatican, we would need to talk.
The tiny socks barely covered the revolver. But why would a baby have a gun? That little bastard spent all the money on soothers and black market breast milk.
Thankfully he’s yet to find my cape and mask. Trust me my sweet, when the bad guys come calling, we’re protected.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
It was supposed to be used only for target practice on his 14th birthday. Where are the bullets...and my real passport? Wait, what's that I hear on the news?
I knew I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
What am I saying? My head hurts and I’m talking gibberish! Whose bedroom is this, and why the hell am I naked?
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
Of course, I didn’t think I’d find his badge there either. Maybe it’s time we took another trip. I hear second honeymoons are killer.
The single diamond with them matched the ones in my bag. I'd thought them well hidden.
I had to smile. Perhaps he hadn't lost his edge after all.
With several magazines for the gun, wrapped stacks of small denomination Euros, credit cards in my passport names. Tums, tampons, and sunblock. And a birthday card.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer ... under his gun, his badge, and his favorite argyles.
I took a quick look in the medicine chest, grabbed the cat, and hotfooted it to hell out of there.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
How many times did I have to tell him? Lint jams up the gun!
But then, he had no money on my fourth emergency passport. “Bon Voyage,” I wrote on the mirror in lipstick. His girlfriend and I caught a cab to the airport.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
Damn.
A plan’s delayed execution could result in my own.
Unthinkable.
Every good plan has a B.
Brazil.
Illiterate, he never checked our kid’s schoolbook hiding the fourth.
Dunce.
At least I hoped it was his gun. Mine fell in the river after I shot his mistress. Bitch shouldn’t have bragged about the money. He could not have both.
I clicked on the miniature tape recorder next to the revolver.
“Congratulations, honey! You won. But before you celebrate, know this: I changed the beneficiary on my life insurance policy.”
As I reached into the drawer to grab them, I felt a warm draft next to my face, a heavy weight landed abruptly on my hand, then...BLAAAMMMM!
Damn Cat!
“Cold feet?” He'd smiled, heavy as his shield. “You know where my socks live.”
I sobbed into my hand. Against my ring.
He knew.
And this was my head start.
I knew that I would find my three emergency passports somewhere in my house, but I had no money on in his sock drawer, under his gun.
The floorboard creaked. One second too late.
I'd forgotten what chloroform smells like. Sweet. Seductive. Sinister.
When I refound consciousness, an unfamiliar voice -- out there -- intoned.
"Ashes to ashes..."
Not to blow my own horn, but I'm pretty darned proud of myself, considering I first read today's post 10 minutes ago.
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