writing snippets

Stakeout

“Did I ever tell you that stakeouts are the worst?”

“All the time,” he says with fake exasperation. In reality he’s smiling under his black fedora.

She puts her feet up on the dash with a huff, one hand nearly spilling her steaming coffee onto his lap.

“Hey there!” he says, pushing her hand back to the other side of the car. She just chuckles, and he shakes his head and puts his hands back on the wheel. Not that they’d be going anywhere anytime soon.

While she slurps her coffee loudly, he does a recheck of their surroundings.

An old factory looms across the street, dark and still, like the rest of the block. The moon hangs, suspended, above them, like it will never let morning come. A single streetlamp casts a dingy yellow glow on the trash-covered ground outside the factory, and the rest of the building is obscured by the shadows of pipes and overgrown ivy.

Their case is pretty simple this time around; the building surveillance has video of two men, shady types, entering this abandoned factory with a suspicious package. They still don’t know if it’s a sack of money, hoard of potatoes, hell, it might be a stockpile of bibles. The other thing they don’t know is whether it’s a bomb, which is why they’re sitting around instead of getting in on the action.

And by ‘they’ he means the police… and him. He looks across the car at his makeshift partner. Her badge is just visible under her jacket. Official police.

He, on the other hand, is just a lowly detective. He leans back in his seat and takes a cigarette out of his jacket, putting it in his mouth.

“Don’t light that,” she says, glaring across the car at him.

He shrugs. “My car, my rules,” he says out the side of his mouth, taking out his lighter.

She sighs and checks her sideview mirror for the millionth time. She wasn’t actually mad at him; he had too much charm for that. Or so he chose to believe.

“What are the chances we actually get to storm this place?” she asks him, rolling down a window and leaning away from his cigarette smoke.

He takes a puff and blows in her direction. “I’d say pretty low. There hasn’t been any movement at all.”

After a brief moment she snorts and says, “Remember last time we did this?”

He holds his cigarette away from his face in thought. “The last time you stooped so low as to work with me, a lowlife?”

“You are a lowlife,” she agrees. “But I’m talking about how you tripped over a pile of wet towels and laid there while I caught the crook.”

He resumed smoking and trained his eyes on the dark factory. “I don’t recall that. I was the one that threw a wet towel on his head,” he says with a smirk.

“That did nothing. And don’t you know what smoking does to your lungs?”

“You can get out of the car anytime, Officer.”

She huffs again, but he can tell it’s in good humor. “How about this? If we go after these guys—which we better, ’cause I’m bored—and I catch them, you have to quit smoking.”

“And what do I get if I catch ’em?” he asks, grinning.

She meets his eye. “I’ll talk to the department about you. Working for real.”

He laughs, short and loud. “Alright, it’s a deal.”

Before she could respond, a gunshot fires, and a man exits the factory running full force, carrying a bag. He’s rounding the corner of the building.

They exchange a glance as they scramble out of the car. Looks like they’ll be chasing this goon around the factory.

He throws his cigarette on the ground. He’ll get to light another one later.

Seeing Colors

“Red!” he exclaimed, holding up an apple like it was the world’s greatest prize.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said, laughing.

“And green, and brown, and blue! Look at them!” Charlie, despite being early-twenties, pointed at my shoes, then the tree trunks, then the sky, listing their colors. He had the biggest smile on his face.

My eyes followed his finger to the things he pointed at, and I fought to keep the smile on my face.

“Right, yeah, I see,” I said, trying to match his enthusiasm. I came nowhere close, but he didn’t notice. He was examining his shirt sleeve.

“But are they what you expected? The colors? I mean, I never would have imagined! People told me this shirt was red, but it’s really red. How would you describe it?” He still had an incredulous smile and his eyes sparked with life.

I stared at the greyness of his shirt as if it fascinated me. “Um, I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s red alright!” I said.

Charlie kept on chatting, and I kept on pretending I saw something other than the grey park.

- - - That Morning - - -

I was finishing up a math assignment, but I couldn’t focus for long enough to finish it. I liked to come to the little coffee shop on campus to do homework and people watch. Well, mostly people watch. And there was one game in particular that I found myself playing far too often.

First, I’d stare at the whiteness of my notebook, the blackness of the pen ink, the greyness of the tables that I knew were really green. Then, I’d look up and scan the room, and wait for the colors to appear.

They never did.

Like everyone always says, they won’t come until you see your soul mate. But I have this sinking feeling that I don’t have one.

I glanced around: a girl was bent over her sketchbook next to me, a barista was making the order for a light-haired boy, a group of three sat in the corner laughing. And there was one other person. A boy, a cute one.

He was just as grey as everyone else, but there was something about him. He hadn’t looked up from his coffee yet; he was blowing into it with single-minded focus. Maybe I had to look him in the eyes. Maybe that would do it.

So, when he finally looked up and his eyes scanned the room, I was ready. And I saw the way his face lit up in surprise and excitement, and I was looking right back at him. So, I smiled.

And then I realized what I’d done, and the chance I had. I ran over to the boy before the girl with the sketchbook had the chance to look up.

- - - One Month Later - - -

“Open it!” Charlie bounced from foot to foot, waiting for me to unwrap the gift.

I laughed and reached into the bag, pulling out a long scarf. “Oooo, soft,” I said, grinning. I wondered distantly what color it was. “Thank you!”

I looped it around my neck, and Charlie smiled and took my hand. “It looks great on you,” he said.

I looked down at myself. The light grey of my jacket and the darker grey of the scarf. Was it blue? “Yeah!” I agreed.

We resumed walking the path through campus. It was the same path we always took, past the coffee shop.

But something different happened this time.

A boy was rushing by, his hair disheveled and his glasses slightly askew. And I saw the light brown of his hair and the flushed pink on his cheeks and the deep green of his sweater.

“Are you ok?” Charlie asked. I didn’t realized I’d stopped walking. The sky was so... blue and the tree leaves were orange and red and brown and delightful. And the boy rushing by was past us. He hadn’t even seen us.

“Kid really had to get to class, huh,” laughed Charlie, following my gaze.

I let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah,” I said, then took a step forward. I let Charlie lead me, and we kept on walking. I looked down at myself, and I saw it. The scarf was red.

Test Tube

Your hands are shaking and you stare at them at if that will keep them steady. You try to ignore the shouts from downstairs. They haven’t found you yet.

Releasing a deep breath, you grip the test tube tighter and stare intently at the end of the pipette in your opposite hand. Gently, you squeeze and release one drop of bromine into the test tube.

One.

It fizzles when it makes contact with the blue liquid already inside. You ignore the sound of feet running up the stairs.

You squeeze the pipette again, letting out another small drop.

Two.

The muffled shouts are closer now, and your heart is beating loudly in your ears. Somehow, you keep your hands steady, and pinch the end of the pipette.

Three.

Fists pound on the lab door, and your breath is choked out of you in a mixture of fear and surprise. The pipette falls from your hand.

“Professor, open up!” a shrill voice shouts from behind the door. The doorknob rattles, and more shouting ensues.

You don’t have time to look, just to scramble to the ground and pick up the pipette. Squatting, you drip another bead of bromine into the test tube.

Four.

You only — a loud slam against the door — need — your mouth is dry with fear — one more — a loud crack, and the sound of running feet — drop.

You squeeze again, and the last droplet of bromine waits on the tip of the pipette, as if refusing to fall. You can hear feet stop just behind you, and hands grab at your shoulders, but it’s alright, because — hiss — the last drop has fallen into the test tube.

Five.

“It’s complete,” you whisper hoarsly, and the hands clawing at your shoulders stop. The test tube is warm in your grasp, and you stand and hold it up for all to see.

Anything

“Anything in the world?”

“Anything in the world,” I agree, looking over at her.

It’s dark out, even though it’s almost 1pm, but I can see her face just fine. It’s twisted into a smile, a thinking smile. We’re sitting on top of a picnic table, and she’s staring at the sky. Dark clouds hover overhead.

“I’d want... um...” She laughs sharply, and looks over at me. “I don’t know, Baylee. You go first.”

I shake my head, finally cracking a smile. “I asked. You answer.” I look up at the sky, and we both watch the rainclouds moving towards us, but we make no attempt to head inside.

“Does it have to be tangible?” Ali asks. “Can I say happiness?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course not! That’s such a boring answer. Let’s say it’s tangible.”

Ali laughs and throws up her hands in defense. “Ok, ok! No happiness.” She goes silent, thinking again, and we can hear thunder rumbling above us.

We don’t move.

“A dog?”

“That’s alive, and I feel like that’s cheating,” I say matter-of-factly. More thunder punctuates my statement.

She stomps her feet against the picnic table in mock frustration. “I didn’t know there would be so many rules!”

“How about...” Ali sighs and looks at the sky again. I pick at a splinter of wood sticking out of the table.

“I’d want a book. One that keeps quotes of things people say, like, on its own. So, a magic book.” Ali looks over at me, eyes raised.

I make a face. “That’s it?”

A smile jumps to her face. “You’re letting me chose a magic book? That’s allowed?”

I shrug, chuckling. “Sure it is.”

“In that case,” she says, “Yes. It’s not just any quotes; it’s good quotes, thought-provoking ones. And when you open the book, it’ll give you one. Just what you need to read to make your day better.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“And you, what would you wish for?” Ali blinks as a raindrop hits her nose.

I look down, and thunder rumbles again. Rain begins to fall in fat droplets. “I guess you’ll have to find out later,” I say, holding a hand above my head. The rain had started suddenly, and has already turned Ali’s hair into shiny, wet ropes.

“You’re not going to tell me?!” Ali yells over the rain. It’s coming down hard now.

“Not today,” I say, hopping off of the picnic bench. For now, it’s time to go inside.