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I watched him jog past as I bagged two oranges for Mrs. Murdock. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my heart from beating faster. He had the most amazing form as he pulled that little two wheeled contraption behind him. I could watch him all day.

“That’s a fine rickshaw Stephen has,” Mrs. Murdock said with a knowing grin. For a little old lady she sure was observant. Annoyingly so.

“Yes, it is,” I said casually.

She handed me a twenty. I pulled out a wad of bills to count out the nineteen dollars in change.

“Oh, no dear,” Mrs. Murdock said. “That’s a tip for you. Just about enough for a ride, don’t you think?”

I blushed. Mrs. Murdock giggled. “What a delightful shade of crimson, Angela!”

I thanked her as a young mother with a wriggling three year old daughter in her arms walked up. The little girl was trying to touch the apples.

“Would you like one?” I looked back at the Mom for belated approval and she nodded gratefully.

“Yes!” the girl squealed as she flung her body full force down toward the pyramid of red Delicious apples.

Her mother apparently hadn’t been expecting that move. Apples spilled everywhere as we tried to stop them all from tumbling down. It was no use, they were all over.

The little girl looked so miserable, so I pulled out a crate and asked, “Will you help me put them in this box?” She brightened up immediately and her mom beamed at me.

We quickly had an efficient assembly line. I sat cross legged in front of the crate. The mom handed the apples to the girl, who handed each apple to me. We only had a few dozen left when she suddenly stopped. “No, that’s my job!” she shrieked angrily to someone behind me.

I turned around and looked up to see Stephen trying to hand me an apple. He grinned and handed it to the girl instead, who promptly handed it to me. Pacified she continued handing me more apples.

“Looks like you have things under control,” Stephen said, turning to leave.

I shook my head. “No! Not in the least!” I couldn’t have been more sincere.

Stephen laughed and said, “Damsel in distress?”

I nodded vigorously. “In desperate need of a rickshaw ride.”

“My favorite kind,” he said.

THE END

Note: This was a story I recently wrote for an online contest.  The game was to use the words, “rickshaw”, “crimson”and “sincere” in a story of 400 words or less. 

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I wrote this a while back and entered it into Writers of the Future. I was honored to hear back from one of the judges. Although I didn’t win, I did make the Quarter Finals. Here’s a snippet from “Just a Job”. If you’d like to read the rest of the story, I’d be happy to send it to you.

Just a Job

This was Mildred’s second strike. She sat on the hard chair and tried to look as small as possible, feeling some small comfort in the veil of hair that fell over her face. One more strike and she would have to turn her brown dress in for a dull gray one. Looking around the room she saw the Blues bustling around helping Browns at their little government cubicles. Once in a while a Red or Green would pass by on the way to one of the nice offices to the right. Mildred dreamed of wearing a different color.

“Mildred 429?” a crisp voice called out.

“Here!” Mildred said in her best, most polite voice. She looked up and found a rather impatient looking Blue glaring at her.

“Well, come along,” the woman said. Mildred did her best to follow the Blue through the maze of cubicles. As she passed she overheard other Browns interviewing for work. A few of them had single black bars on their sleeves, but no one else had two like she had.

Passing through the cubicles they entered a large open area, filled with Blues interviewing Browns. The Blue Mildred had been following stopped and indicated that Mildred should sit down. “Back again so soon?” she muttered snidely.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mildred replied demurely.

“What happened this time?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Mildred began. She concentrated and two fat tears fell from her eyes.

“What happened?” the blue snapped.

She quickly wiped her tears away and replied, “The kid ran away.”

“Was the child recovered?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Lucky for you!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Blue looked at her in disgust. “I need to fill out the standard paperwork,” she said. She pushed aside some of the accumulated papers on her desk revealing an antiquated computer, built into the surface of the desk. She pulled out the keyboard from under the desk and started typing.

“Ma’am?” Mildred asked tentatively after a few moments.

The blue stopped typing and looked up at Mildred “Yes?” She took a quick glance at her watch.

Mildred stared at the edge of the desk in front of her. “I was just wondering if I could do something else. A different job.”

The Blue furrowed her brow. “Like cleaning or something?”

“No ma’am,” Mildred said with a deep sigh. “I mean like something completely different.”

The Blue barked a laugh. “You’re a Brown.” She resumed her typing.

The room is silent. You can literally hear the people breathing around you while you study the sixty-four checkered squares in front of you.

Glancing over at the chess clock you see you have plenty of time left in your game. A move cries out to be made, but you bide your time and check for others. You know that a move made in haste could cost your dearly.

Finally, confident that your initial idea is sound, you reach out a hand and grasp your knight, hopping it to its intended destination. There is an audible gasp from a few behind you.

You hit your clock signaling your opponent’s turn. Only then do you steal a glance at him. He meets your eyes with a look that speaks defeat. You see that he knows it is just a matter of time.

He shakes his head and stares at the hopeless position. You lean back in your chair and watch him study the board for possible flaws to your plan. There are none. It is hard to stifle the grin that threatens to spread across your face.

You glance around at your spectators. Some recognize your opponent’s fate, while others wear puzzled expressions. Two whisper to each other and finally nod their heads in understanding. One winks at you in admiration and turns to observe a game with a less determined outcome.

The fact that you are only ten years old, playing in an adult tournament, might have intimidated some, but not you. No, you know that your dedicated study and eagerness to learn the game has paid off.

You continue to improve each time you play.

Your teachers at school notice a difference, writing glowing praise home to your parents on a regular basis now. You know that you can do whatever you put your mind to do and it shows in various aspects of your life.

Your opponent shakes his head, stops the clock and reaches out his hand to you, signaling his resignation. You shake his hand, smile and offer to analyze the game with him, a ritual amongst players. He returns your smile and nods.

You know he doesn’t care about your age, because he knows your analysis will help him improve. How many activities are there where an adult would be eager to hear the thoughts of a child?

As you set up in the next room to go over the game you notice other adults have followed. They too want to hear what you have to say. There is no better feeling.

I wrote this story a few years ago and thought I’d post a piece of it for you to read.  If you’d like to see the rest, please email me at: LauraSherman@earthlink.net.

Gladys frowned as she pulled on the stubborn root. She had been tending the university garden for forty years now and had never seen a mushroom like this. The dull brown color was typical enough, but its tenacity was remarkable.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed as she tore off her gardening gloves and sucked on her finger. She examined the wound closely. It was bleeding the way a nasty paper cut would. Pulling out a small bandage from her left front pants pocket, she put it over the cut.

Tucking a wisp of gray hair behind her ear, she lay down on her stomach and took a more careful approach to the now bloody mushroom. Bending it back, she noticed the small razor sharp edges that protruded slightly from the pale stalk. Gently touching the edge, she wondered how it had developed the sharp blade. Self defense?

Taking a trowel from her supply belt, she dug a deep hole around the plant and scooped it up. Surely Dr. Harold Benjamin would know what to make of this specimen.

Her heart beat a little faster and she couldn’t help smiling. She was suddenly thankful for the bloodthirsty mushroom, as Harold always welcomed new species of plants, any plants. Plants were his passion.

She put the plant into one of the many empty pots she had in her cart and took off for the Science Building. As she motored along she wondered if Harold would know this variety or if he would have to look it up in a book. She hoped it would take a while, giving her an excuse to stay.

“Gladys,” said the professor as she walked in. She admired his snow-white hair and matching teeth. “Always a pleasure.”

Gladys blushed and stammered an awkward hello before thrusting the plant into his outstretched hand. Blushing further she realized that the hand had been outstretched in an attempt to grasp hers, but she had chosen to put a dirty pot in it instead.

OK, I’ve been working on a novel for some time.  My own.

It is hard to devote a lot of time and energy to it, because I have been hired to write it.  Grin. 

However, it is a story that needs to be written, a daring sci-fi adventure that has been with me for over a decade.

I started it many years ago, when I was a less experienced writer.  That’s part of the problem.  I need to completely rewrite it now – start from scratch.

My heroine, Scarlen, is a beautiful cadet from a far away planet.  She has the pick of assignments and chooses an exploration mission, one that lands her on a remote planet, Earth.  It takes her away from her love, an executive of the planet’s highest council. 

She is brilliant, but naive and falls prey to a terrorist plot.  Marooned on a strange planet without her memory, she must solve the clues which could lead her home. 

I think this may be the year I tackle this project and bring Scarlen home.