Thursday, February 26, 2015

Some Samples

It's Thursday once again, folks!

Today, I would like to offer you some samples of my stories to wet your appetite...for more of my books! ;)

These are in no particular order. Hopefully, they will pique your interest.

From The Peace Officer
After a few silent moments, a small, meek woman peered around the corner. “Hello?” Her submissive voice hardly broke the silence. She was a mousy little woman. She was short and incredibly thin. She had flat brown hair and soft brown eyes. She exuded fear.
“Hi. I’m Officer Racanelli with the Doylestown P.D. I came because we got a call for a domestic disturbance.”
She weakly nodded her head.
“Can we sit somewhere and talk?”
She nodded again. She carefully stepped out into the room. Without uttering a word, she guided Brynn into the kitchen.
They sat opposite each other at the table.
“So what’s going on? Can I have your name?”
“Helen,” she peeped.
“Hi, Helen. What’s going on? What happened?”
Helen looked away, her eyes staring at the linoleum floor.
“N... n... nothing.” She mumbled.
“Helen, I doubt it was nothing. You wouldn’t have called us here if it was nothing, right? You know that’s a criminal offense, don’t you? You can’t call 911 for no reason. And something tells me you had a very good reason. So, what was it? You’re safe. Your husband is outside speaking to a male officer. It’s just you and me. So it’s okay to tell me what happened.”
“I…uhhh…well, my husband…gets angry. He gets angry sometimes.”
“He gets angry sometimes? What does he get angry about? Was he angry today?”
“Y – yes.”
“Okay. What was he angry about?”
“I didn’t vacuum well enough.”
Brynn strained to hear her. “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t vacuum well enough.” She said slightly louder.
Brynn paused. “You didn’t vacuum well enough. Okay. So what happened? Did he ask you about it? Did he tell you to vacuum again? What exactly happened?”
Helen took several deep, audible breaths. She still couldn’t bear to look Brynn in the eyes. “I was vacuuming.” She paused. “I was vacuuming and he – Andrew - grabbed me by the arm. He told me I missed a spot.”
“You missed a spot?”
Helen nodded as her eyes welled up with tears. “He…he…”
“It’s okay, Helen. You’re safe.”
“He grabbed my arm and he threw me down. He told me to look and see how I had missed that spot.”
Brynn quietly jotted down her notes. “Okay. Then what happened?”
Helen took another deep breath. “He pulled me back up.”
“And he backed me into the wall and told me I had better not do that again or next time I’d be really sorry.”
Brynn reached out and began to stroke Helen’s arm.
“How did you call us? It’s incredibly brave that you did. How were you able to call us and not get hurt?”
“He went to the refrigerator and saw he was out of beer.”
“Okay. And then what?”
“I offered to go get it for him, but he told me that I needed to keep cleaning and get it right this time. So, he went to the store. I called when he was gone.” She said quietly.
“Did you feel you were in immediate danger?”
“He always gets worse when he drinks. I had no idea what he would do once he got back.”
“Did he do anything when he got back? How much time had gone between when he came home and when we got here?”
“Not long at all.” Helen replied. “He had just put the beer in the fridge and was about to sit down, watch the game and have one when you pulled up.”
“Okay, good. “ Brynn said, sighing a sigh of relief. “Can I see your arms?”
Helen hesitated. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve. Bruises dotted her hands, forearms and elbow. Then, on her bicep, Helen’s arm had a perfect red hand mark around it.
“Do you mind if I take some pictures?” Brynn gently asked.
Helen slowly shook her head.
Brynn picked up the camera, walked over to Helen and got close to her arm. Helen whipped her head around in shame, making sure her face was not going to be seen in the pictures. Brynn snapped a couple of shots and then sat back down.
“So where do we go from here, Helen? What are you thinking? Do you want to press charges? Based on what I see here, we have enough to arrest him right now.”
Helen’s tears began flowing again. “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I don’t know what to do or where to go from here. I’m scared of him, but if he goes to jail, what am I supposed to do? I don’t have a job or another home to go to. I can’t really go anywhere and I can’t afford for him to go anywhere.”
“Helen,” Brynn reached across the table again and tried to soothe her. “It’s okay. We can help you find a place to live. We can get you into a shelter for the time being until we can find you your own place. We can help you to find a job, too. It may not be a glamorous job, but we can get you a job. You don’t have to stay here. You can have your life back and be safe. Let us help you.”

From The Ballerina
Liz’s heart was pounding in her chest. “Ummmm…hi…Jen.” She struggled to find the words. “This is…Liz O’Kane calling. I’m…sorry for freaking out on you the other night. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and…I’ve decided…I…I’d like to see you again.” A wave of fear enveloped Liz. “If…you’re interested, come by the theatre tonight at nine. We’re doing an early show at seven, so the performance will be over at nine. I’ll be waiting for you after the show. Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later.” Liz hung up the phone hoping that she hadn’t sounded like a complete idiot in her message, and that Jen would actually show.

From The Vet Student
She walked up to her father. “She… this… Linda isn’t my first girlfriend, Dad. You only think I haven’t dated, because that’s what you wanted to believe. You remember my friend Samantha, from high school? She was my first girlfriend. I’ve always been this way.”
“No, no you haven’t!” Her mother screamed with tears racing down her face.
“You are only saying that to cover up for this…pervert! Mr. Williams is a good deacon of the church. He would never raise his daughter to be gay.” Her father shouted.
“Dad, it’s not in how we’re raised or that it’s any kind of a choice. We were born this way. I was born this way.”
“You were not! That is just another one of the lies this deviant told you!” He pointed down towards Linda.
“Dad, stop it!” Katie shouted. “Stop saying that about her. It’s not true. I love her!”
“That’s it,” Katie’s mother said sternly. She walked over and grabbed Katie’s arm, and started dragging Katie out of the apartment.
Katie struggled to get free. She dug her heels into the ground, only to be dragged harder. She tried prying her mother’s cold hand off her arm, but her mother’s grip only grew tighter. She stopped and tried to drop down to the floor. She could feel her mother pulling her arm up. Her shoulder began to hurt; her mother pulled even harder. Now her shoulder felt as though it might break. With one strong yank, Katie’s mother pulled her back up on her feet. Something in her shoulder snapped.
“No!” Linda shouted. “Katie! Please don’t…I love you!” Linda shouted; she tried to get up, but couldn’t.
Katie still struggled, trying to reach out to Linda. She tripped over her own feet and fell. Once again, her mother pulled her right up, cracking something in her shoulder yet again. The pain was excruciating.

From The Writer
The phone on Maria’s desk hadn’t finished ringing when she picked it up. “Maria Lopez.”
“Hi Maria. My name is Tom. I am calling from Documents ‘R’ Us. I was just
“I know who you are. I also know that you have called here several times. I’ve heard a few of my co-workers tell you nicely that we are not interested. I have also heard my editor tell you on three separate occasions that we are not interested.
“Let me tell you something. We don’t want it. We don’t want it, we don’t care; we don’t want to talk to you. Not now, not later, not tomorrow. Not anymore. We are done. And if you continue to call us here, you will enrage all of us. Most of us are Latinas. Hispanic women. Not just women, Hispanic women.
“Let me ask you something. Do you know what we Latinas are made of? What makes up us Hispanic gals, girls and ladies?”
The other end was silent. “Uhhh…” There was a long pause. “Aren’t all girls made of sugar and spice?”
“No. The sugar and spice and everything nice is what white girls are made of. We are talking about Latinas. Do you know what Latinas are made of? Let me tell you. They are made of sugar and spice; we are made of fire and ice. You do not want to piss off a Latina. Ever! If you do, you will become very sorry that you did.
“Are you starting to become sorry that you called here?”
Maria didn’t wait for an answer. “I hope you are. But you know what? This is nothing. This is just the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea what a Latina is truly capable of doing.
“Do us both a favor. Because honestly, I cannot be bothered to do this. Am I capable of making your life miserable? Yes. Do I want to? Not really. It means I have to drive out of my way, buy a baseball bat, wait until the wee hours of the morning. Are you getting my drift here, Tom? I could do things that you only see in Hollywood movies. But, I’d rather not be
inconvenienced. And I am sure you would prefer to maintain your safety. So please, do us both a favor and hang up the phone and take our number off your call list. Otherwise, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”
There was nothing but a dial tone in her ear. Maria hung up.
Emmanuel stood in the doorway to his office and began clapping. Several other people stood up and began to clap as well. Maria smiled as everyone in the entire office rose to their feet and applauded her.

I hope you liked them. There is plenty more from where this came from! ;) Please check out ALL of my titles. If you like what you read, please leave a good review. It's how we small press folk are able to put food on the table. ;) Thanks!

Happy reading!

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