TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "DOOR"

Hello! Tuesday Tales are back. And so is my urban fantasy. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales. Thanks for stopping by. 

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“We don’t have a lot of rules. But one is you must always knock before entering a room when the door is closed.” Mrs. Gold stood in the doorway.

I nodded. Thank God. I could shut them out whenever I wanted. I sat on the bed. Firm mattress. The room had stupid posters of football teams and stuff on the walls. Hell, guess I could live with that for a place to stay and food.

“Okay,” I replied.

“I’ve cleaned out a couple of drawers. Unpack, then come to the kitchen. We need to talk.”

She left. Damn right we do. This is temporary. I’m not staying. Unpack? Unpack what? I had my stuff in a black garbage bag. There wasn’t much. Hadn’t been much money for clothes recently. I went to the second-hand place when my clothes got too small. I dumped my junk into the top drawer and headed for the kitchen.

There was a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk on the table. I had to control myself and not grab all the cookies in the first five seconds. It wasn’t easy. Cookies looked homemade. Still, wouldn’t look too good to get thrown out on my first day. I sat down.

Mr. and Mrs. Gold sat, too. He looked away, she gazed at her hands. Uh oh. This couldn’t be good. If they couldn’t look me in the eye, then something was up.

“Where’s my mother?” I’d better find this out now before this dream ended.

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Mrs. Gold spoke.

“Yeah?”

“We made a deal with the City.” This time it was the husband.

“A deal?” Oh, shit. Here it comes.

“Yes. We agreed to take you in immediately, on a trial basis, if they would pay for cremation of your mother.” Mr. G this time.

“What?”

Mrs. Gold put her hand on my arm. “We thought you’d like to have her ashes. To keep with you. Instead of them putting her in some anonymous grave somewhere.”

Cremation? Trial basis? These words washed over me like a cold ocean wave. What the hell did it mean?

“What am I going to do with ashes?”

“It comes in a nice urn. You can put it in your room.”

I nodded. I had no clue what they were talking about and how this would be good for me. Having Ma back would be good for me. Nothing else matters a rat’s ass worth.

“Trial basis. That means if I fuck up or do something you don’t like, then I’m outta here and in a shelter?”

“That’s putting it rather crudely,” Mr. G said.

“It’s the truth, though. Right?”

“No.” Mrs. Gold faced me. “We’re not sending you anywhere. They wouldn’t agreed to a permanent arrangement yet. Seems Harry and I are on a trial basis, too.” She smiled.

I laughed. Them on a trial basis? What a joke.

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TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT

Welcome! This week we have a picture prompt, and can only use 300 words. We have another episode of Midnight in Central Park. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales. Thanks for stopping by! 

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“Today’s your lucky day,” said Mrs. Plaid as she pushed up from her desk. “We’ve found  you a foster home.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. And a good one. A great one, in fact.”

Anything to get out of that hellhole. “Okay. Where.”

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

I stood up.

“Grab your bag.”

“What about Ma?”

“It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

I didn’t tell her about my bag stashed in the Park. That was my back-up plan. After I knew where they’d bury Ma, I’d take off. No way was I going to be somebody’s fucking charity case. I’d hitch to the west coast. Didn’t know anyone where, but hell, my life here was finished. Might as well start over.

I followed Mrs. Plaid into a building on West End. She rang the doorbell. Sweat started under my arms.

“Hello. I believe you know Jamie, Mrs. Gold?”

“Yes, I do. Come in.”

Holy shit! My teacher! Mrs. Gold? Really?

“This way. You must be hungry,” she said, leading me over to a round table with a tablecloth. There were plates with cheese, fruit and brownies. And a big glass of milk. Whole milk. My mouth watered.

“It’s okay. Here’s a plate.” She handed a china plate with flowers on it. Geez. Ma and I always used paper. She pulled out a chair.

“Sit, Jamie. You’re going to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Gold for a while. Okay?”

I nodded, then eyed the grapes. Don’t remember last time I ate fruit. I snapped a couple off the vine. Damn. They were good.

“Eat something, then we’ll get you settled in your room.”

My room? I had a room?

“It was my son’s, but he’s grown and on his own now.”

I filled the plate and gobbled down the food.

TUESDAY TALES

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TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "GROAN"

Time for Tuesday Tales again. Welcome! This week the word prompt is "groan." We have another episode of "Midnight in Central Park." Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales. Thanks for stopping by. 

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Words flew at me like tiny knives, razors cutting my skin, but none sunk into my brain.

“Apartment.”

“Tonight.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Sleep.”

“Mrs. Fleming.”

I nodded, gripping my small duffel, holding it close. I had no idea where I was or with who. Although my stomach was full, my heart felt empty. Like a scarecrow, hollow inside, I leaned against the wall to keep from falling down.

“This way.” A woman I’d never seen before tugged on my sleeve. I followed her into a bedroom. “Go to bed. You can skip school tomorrow. Goodnight.”

I thanked her, undressed and fell onto the mattress. My head spun. I groaned. Who sped up the world? Why were things moving so fast, but I felt like I was walking underwater? I couldn’t feel anything, but I felt everything. That doesn’t make sense. 

“Everything always looks better in the morning.” Ma’s favorite expression ran through my head. But that wouldn’t be true tomorrow. Ma would still be gone and I’d still be in limbo. I closed my eyes.

I started awake in the middle of the night. I had a dream. Snake, the Ape Man, and that dumb statue were chasing me through the park. My undershirt was drenched. I pushed to my feet and wandered into the kitchen. I needed water.

A man sat at the kitchen table. “What’s wrong?”

“Water?”

“Sure. Sit.” He filled a glass and handed it to me before he sat. I gulped it down, draining the glass in seconds.

“Tomorrw, things will be better.” He looked at me.

“Really? How? Will my mother be alive again?”

“Well…no. But…”

“Yeah. I get it. No. Things will not be better tomorrow.” I pushed to my feet and headed back to the bedroom.

“They will. You’ll see.” When I turned to look, he shot me a half-smile.

Tomorrow the nightmare becomes real. And there would be no statues to save me this time.

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