Once there was a boy who loved unsuitably. He was a rich heir of a grand estate. She sold bread in her mama’s sandwich shop. None of the parents agreed to the match, least of all the boy’s own mother. She spat and howled when the boy brought the girl for dinner, furious. That chit would never step in their home again, she screeched. Never never never.

The boy, though, was not deterred and shortly he brought the girl home again, this time blushing with the keys of the house at her hip and his ring on her finger. “My wife,” he announced her, triumphantly, for they had wed in secret. “We are wed and bound,” he said. His mother fumed for their family did not hold with divorces.

The first night the new wife slept, the mother approached her son.

“Is she good? Your wife,” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Is she faithful?” the mother pressed.

“Of course!” the boy replied.

“Does she keep her word?”

“Always,” he swore.

“Then we shall have a test,” the mother said. She reached for her own collection of keys and pulled off the only one the new wife did not now own. “You will leave for two weeks and I shall keep to my rooms. Have her promise not to use this key. If she finds me, you will know she is faithless and you will end this marriage.”

The boy snatched the key. “And when I return with you still locked away, you will leave and never bother she and I ever again.”

“Agreed.”

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Note: This was written while on the plane after I finished a book and before we were told to put our devices away for landing. Part-way through I decided to set this in Durndl, a city I made up last year or the year before last. I was unable to look up details, though, so I was vague in some places. Also, the names do not fit the naming scheme of Durndl’s world, so character names will change. The Runners are probably my favorites in Durndl, if only because they go everywhere.

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Cold rain dripped like snot off the edge of Gillian’s nose. She twitched her lips, but didn’t bother wiping at the wetness. With the way the day was going, the miserable drizzle would last her entire shift. A church bell tolled out the half. A cart splashed down the street, its driver invisible in a high-necked coat and gloves with a bit of tarp pulled from the back and over his head. The horse, possibly white on a good day, was as grey as the clouds. Another half passed. Gillian’s stomach twisted with hunger—her earlier soup and bread more memory now than substance. Then, dark shadows spread wide over the street, darkening it further into night. Gillian rested back against the wall in relief. They had come. As soon as the balloons (dragons? planes? pegasi?) were out of view, she slipped out of her hiding place and sprinted to the nearest station.

The runners had stations in every neighborhood within the city. The greatest distance between two was only a half hour. Most people knew their locals, but, as a runner, Gillian knew every station in the city. The closest was once a guildhouse before the guild had moved up in the world and joined the rest in the guild neighborhood. It had a full kitchen, multiple rooms, and was, among the runners, considered the best station in the city. Gillian hurried up the steps to the station and pulled the door open with a sharp tug. An apprentice sat in the front hall, shivering beneath a thick quilt. He glanced up when Gillian came in and immediately sprang to his feet.

“They here?” he asked.

Gillian nodded.

“I’ll go get Rhett.” The apprentice opened a side door and pounded up some stairs, leaving the door open. Gillian considered following the boy or possibly going ahead to the main room where a fire would inevitably be lit. Instead, she took a deep breath and, exhaling, bent over to grab her ankles. Her muscles were warm, but she hadn’t stretched before her sprint and she knew they would remind her of that once they cooled. She pulled until she felt the stretch and then stood back upright. In the quiet foyer she ran through the rest of her standing stretches. The rain, now that she was out of it, was soothing. Her breathing deepened. Her legs felt loose and steady.

“Finished?” Rhett stood beside the door the apprentice had used. Some said Rhett used to be a thief. Certainly, even with the cane that had ruined his Runner days, he moved silently.

Gillian bounced twice in place, testing her legs. “Yeah.”

“Come on in, then,” Rhett said, tilting his head toward the larger doorway. He tapped the door to the stairs shut with his cane as he walked over to join her. “Which way did they fly?”

“Up from the harbors, toward West Gate.”

Toby looks at the night sky and thinks about all the dreams and wishes the stars overhead represent.

Jay looks at the night sky and notices how many more stars he can see in the relative darkness of the ballpark vs. his front yard.

(Jay waited at his car for Toby to finish cleaning up. When Toby didn’t come, he rolled his eyes and treked back up the slight hill and then across the park to one of the back fields. When he heard Toby say the first half of the wishing star poem, he just leaned against the fence post and waited to hear what his friend wished for. When Toby fell back into silence, he said, “Daydreaming?”

When Toby asks him to coach with him the following summer, Jay’s first impulse is to say ‘sure,’ but money is a concern. Coaches don’t get paid like umpires get paid and he needs money for college books and such. He’s got three younger sisters; his parents can help with tuition, but he has to cover extras. In the short span between saying he’ll think on it and saying he’ll do it, he considers how much time coaching will actually take up and that umpiring isn’t really that high paying of a job anyway. So he decides he’ll work more during the school year and work around coaching during the summer. It is a vague idea of a plan on his part).

(The ballpark is based on Golfmoor in Evansville. A place where I spent way too much time growing up for a child who did not like sports).

The night fell in an afterthought. One moment the sun still shone warm and golden like a trophy’s gleam over the baseball diamonds and, in the next, the stars glittered overhead—dreams of the next season, long-held secrets, wishes. Toby lay out in the middle of a diamond, a bag of batting helmets and bases beside him and his head cushioned on the pitcher’s mound. His eyes tracked over the night sky as he wondered which of the stars had snuck out first.

“Wish I may, wish I might—” he sang idly before falling back into his contemplation.

“Daydreaming?”

Toby smiled and glanced sideways where Jay stood, leaning against the dugout’s fencepost. “It’s night,” he said.

“Like you’d let that stop you.” Jay pushed off the post and walked to the mound, joining Toby in a low crouch, one hand braced against the bag of helmets. “Your team played good.”

“I know.”

“Jacobson was a surprise.”

Toby laughed. “Yeah. Kid’s been stuck in right-field since t-ball. Had no idea he could pitch.”

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Want to read the rest? Want to be a first draft alpha-reader?

Tis complete. Just needs work. Let me know if you’re interested in sharing your impressions of the scene.

Light should have been teasing her filmy curtains and dancing with shadows along her bookshelves. Instead, rain pebbled the the window and all her shadows remained sleepy and still. She wished it was Saturday.

“She’s pretty.”

Emily glanced back at her mother, but she did not add her own opinion to the parade of women in glittering dresses as they swanned across the stage.

“Hawaii’s prettier,” her father countered.

Emily bit her lip and looked back at the television. She liked Massachusetts, but she swallowed her opinion down. It was different for her mother, maybe, but girls weren’t supposed to notice other girls, weren’t supposed to tell when they were pretty or not.

Later, years later, when Emily heard her mother curse and slam down the telephone, crying, she realized that maybe her parents weren’t right about everything.

The first draft of this was written and posted here on March 15th. This has a bit more detail added and is edging toward a point-of-view.

Neal shoved the invitation back into Leonard’s hands. “Look, I’m happy for you, really. You and Ally; that’s great. Really. Just, don’t make me watch, okay? I can’t sit there and smile like—”

“Okay. Okay,” Leonard said, stepping back. He waved the invitation slightly. “I’ll tell Ally you can’t make it.”

Neal looked away and down the narrow hall between the bar and bathroom. “Thought you wanted a small shindig anyway.”

“Yeah, family only.”

He snorted. “We’re not family. Maybe you should tell Ally that.”

Leonard straightened; a dark crease folded between his eyes. “The hell we’re—” he choked off as Neal pushed into his space, grabbing his collar in a fist.

“We’re,” Neal growled, his breath hot against Leonard’s mouth and chin. “Not.” He shoved in harder, knocking Leonard’s head against the wall behind him and bruising his lips all rough with promises and temptation. Leonard groaned and sank against the wall and into the kiss. He gaped when Neal released his shirt and pulled back. “Brothers.” Neal walked back against the wall opposite. “It—we weren’t just a ‘bromance.’ Don’t—” He looked back toward the bar, his arms crossed tightly.

“Right,” Leonard said, massaging his lower lip. “I’ll tell Ally that. Family only.”

“Okay,” Neal said. His lips were still reddened. “I’ll—see you.” He paused and then turned, walking back to the bar.

Leonard waved him off, only then noticing the crumpled invitation he still held. He pulled the paper straight, smoothing it with his thumbs. He was screwed.

Does this scene work for you? Do you want to know more? Was anything too much or unclear?

“What did you guys eat?” R asked, glancing around the trashed room.

“Some sort of beef thing?” S answered, wincing against her forearm.

“There were onions,” T added, groaning as she sat up. “I distinctly remember onions.”

Lydia glanced across the room; her smile sharpened with disdain. “I’m not laughing,” she said.

Behind her, Andrew snorted. “Not a joke, Lyds.”

“Can he even dance?”

“Would I be subjecting myself to you, if I couldn’t?” Brendan shot back.

Lydia raised her brows. She walked to the center of the dance and raised her arms into a perfect frame. “Waltz.”

Brendan shrugged off his jacket, leaving it in a heap by the door. He fit easily into Lydia’s hold. His hands felt still and sure against her.

“We’re not falling in love,” Lydia said as Andrew turned on the music.

“Engaged,” Brendan replied, pushing her back.

“Good,” Lydia said. “I despise rom coms.”

Brendan’s mouth twitched with a smile. “Two things in common already,” he said. “Maybe we can survive the competition afterall.”

Lydia felt her smile soften back into the pleased contentment she’d felt earlier that morning. “Maybe,” she agreed.

This story is written in the omniscient third person. That means I know everything and you do not. For example, I know why Anna went two blocks out of her way to stop at the Horatio coffee shop, but I’m not going to tell you. Her reasons simply aren’t relevant. You’ll just have to trust that I know best what you should know. I’d promise that I won’t get annoying about this, but I think we both know that’d be a lie.

Anna Clawson turned left on her usual route home and walked two blocks down to the Horatio coffee shop. The Horatio was so named because its owner wanted to appear literary for the college crowd, even though he had never actually read the entirety of Hamlet. This is, I admit, unimportant information, but I thought it was interesting. People try too much to appear more than they are. Honestly, he probably would have done better just to hang an all-caps sign reading ‘COFFEE.’ 

Anyway, Anna, not really caring if the shop was named COFFEE or Horatio or Java Java, stopped in and ordered a latte. Many things were going through her head, none of them terribly interesting until she got to this one, What the hell is that?

Jake, the young man sleepily filling orders, turned to look toward the windows and promptly dropped the cup of steamed milk. He didn’t even curse when the milk scalded his fingers. He barely even noticed.

Outside lights were falling.