Regrets! Regrets! Regrets! Taking Chances - WEP's Challenge for 20th-22nd August 2014

Welcome to WEP's Challenge for August 20-22, Taking Chances.

'Taking Chances' is a thought-provoking theme/prompt for a writing exercise. The image suggests something romantic, but so many different interpretations are possible.

Here is a story about Greta Celsing and her older friend, Ivar Larsson, who usually play the violin together on Tuesday mornings. 

Regrets, regrets, regrets!

'Shall we play this piece first before we have tea?' asked Greta as she put the sheet music on the stand, while Ivar was tuning the fiddles. 

'Why don't we start off by both playing the melody together and then I can play the chords,' suggested Ivar, since he was a more experienced musician. They both took their instruments in hand and began to play.

'You need to fine tune your fiddle. You're flat.'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' said Greta, 'I've made such mess of everything!'

'No, no. You've almost got it. Here, let me help you. Listen to how the A and the E-string sound together.'

'It's not just the tuning. It's my whole life. I have so much to regret!'

'Greta, you're only 22. You're too young to have regrets. What do you regret? What are you talking about? Later on in life you might regret wasting good time in your youth. Why don't we use the time that we have to practice our music?'

'Alright,' said Greta a little ashamed. And they played a folk melody for about twenty or thirty minutes.

'Let me tell you about my father', said Ivar when they took a rest and Greta poured the tea.

'My father had the 1918-flu when he was in his twenties. He survived, but I think it left him with a weakness, because he died when he was only 56. He wasn't well for several years and treated us all very badly, especially our mother. He had something on the brain and could not think right. He was sloppy one day and left his jacket lying on the floor. The cat came and peed on it. He was so angry at the cat that he went out and shot it. Dead. Just because it had messed up his jacket. So after that we were all on our toes and tried not to get him upset.

He had an operation that relieved the pressure on his brain. And since he had been bedridden for so long, I took him out in a row boat and rowed him around Stockholm, where we lived at that time. It was in late winter and there were still ice floes in the water. But he loved it. He dipped his hands into the cold water and laughed as he hadn't laughed for years.

'You took him out in a row boat? He could have drowned.'

'Yes, but by not taking him out, he would have missed an opportunity to feel alive after being so cooped up and ill for so long'.

'How old were you when this happened?'

'Eighteen. I wish I could have had him longer. I have already outlived him now. I wish I could talk to him today. He never got to see all the good work I've done. He only saw my school work.'

'Is this something that you regret?'

'No. I'm sorry that he died so young, but that had nothing to do with me. He didn't die because of me. It was just fate; the way things can be. 

The one thing that I do NOT regret is the fact that I was at home with him at the time when he suddenly became himself again. My sisters missed it. But I just happened to be there. It was some months after the operation, when his thoughts suddenly cleared. 

He looked at mother and me said, 'Now I know how difficult I've been. I'm so sorry that I have given you so much grief. But not now. Not anymore. I'll never be mean again. We're going to be happy from now on,' and he threw an apple between his hands as accurately as a juggler to show us how well his coordination had become, now that he had finally recovered. 

I was dumbfounded of joy. I sat and talked with him and I stayed with him, because I wanted to; because I had missed growing up and going through my teens with a normal healthy father. At that moment, I could finally see what a fine man my father was. And that he loved us. I was so happy. All the hard work of nursing him at home and bringing in buckets of drinking-water and wood for the wood-burning stove; and helping my mother. And protecting my mother from his rage, was rewarded in that moment. In that one golden moment.

But it only lasted a few hours until he suffered a new stroke and died.  

But for the rest of my life, I have been able to be happy, because I happened to be at home, at the right moment, and saw him as he was when he was healthy and good. I think this is why I haven't felt guilty. I did what I could. I was there when he needed me. And those few precious hours before he died gave me a happy memory to live with. To this day.

'Ivar, what are you trying to tell me?'

'Use your time wisely, Greta. Take care of those who really are important to you. Then you won't have to feel sorry. Now, let's play that tune one more time.'

Word count according to WordCalc: 881

P.S. Yes. This is a work of fiction. I had sifted through four or five different story ideas, and nothing seemed to work. I guess I don't really like writing about regrets. I like stories about chances that are wonderful and unlikely. Life is filled with missed opportunities. Fiction should be a place where you don't have to think about regrets. This story is based on what a friend of mine told me about his life. So it is not really my own story. But I like it so much, that I wish I had made it up myself. 

Yes, yes, I know. I'm 'telling' rather than 'showing'!

 

Best wishes,
Anna










First Commenter:
D.G. Hudson
of 
D.G.Hudson - Rainforest Writing

A Picture is worth a thousand words -- WEP-Challenge for July 2014

Welcome to WEP's Challenge for July 23-25, A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words.

'A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words' is such a good theme for a writing challenge. I have been thinking of different ideas for weeks, but have not been able to get anything down on paper. Writer's block? Maybe. Or perhaps this theme is just too big or too close to the essence of everything I have worked for all my life. I love words and I love pictures. But I am not convinced that the one is more important or worth more than the other. Words and pictures just speak to us in different ways.

Anyway, I have failed in trying to invent a fictional story of my own. My imaginative well has gone dry. But I've kept thinking about this theme for weeks and even started seeing it in the movies that my son, Erik, has wanted me to see. Erik is twelve years old and intensely interested in the Far East and Chinese films and movie actors. Erik is a fan of Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee and other Chinese actors such as Chow Yun-Fat. 

Erik recommended that I look at the most recent version of The King and I, called Anna and the King (1999), since he knows that I like Jodie Foster. Chow Yun-Fat plays the King of Siam. [I have also seen, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), Curse of the Golden Flower (2006) and Bulletproof Monk (2003), as well as the Pirates of the Caribbean movie in which Chow Yun-Fat plays an ugly villain.]

So Erik wanted me to see, The Children of Huang Shi (2008) based on the life of George Hogg, an Englishman who successfully evacuated 60 Chinese orphans to a far away safer place, when China was invaded by Japan in the late 1930s.

I am always wary of the Hollywood versions of history and biography, so I am not saying that this film is entirely historically accurate. I haven't had time to dig deeper into the real life story that inspired this film (although I have found a biography of the real George Hogg). But putting any anachronisms aside, this film has a scene that has fired my imagination and seems to illustrate the power of images over words. I'd like to share it now. I wish I had made it up myself. 

George Hogg arrives in China, in Shanghai, after leaving England by way of the US and then Japan. He is a young journalist and like many western journalists, he wants to get to Nanjing, a city a few hours west of Shanghai, to see how the Japanese are treating the Chinese there. But the Japanese have closed the city of Nanjing to all journalists. Japan has not declared war on China. They claim to be there to help the Chinese during their civil war. 

Hogg makes a deal with the driver of a Red Cross truck carrying medical supplies to Nanjing. Only the Red Cross gets passes to Nanjing. Using the Red Cross driver's identity and truck, and together with two other young journalists, he drives to the city of Nanjing, which lies in ruins. The three young men split up to report on different things with the promise to meet back at the truck the following evening before nine o'clock.

Hogg climbs up to the second floor of a battered house to get a better view of a park where many Japanese soldiers have gathered. He takes out his Leica-camera and starts snapping photos without knowing what's going on. He sees large groups of Chinese civilians being marched into the center of a concrete ring. Men, women and children stand in rows, not seeming to know what is going to happen next. Suddenly automatic weapons are uncovered and Hogg hears cries of panic and horror as the Japanese soldiers start shooting and killing the Chinese. Every last one. 

Young Hogg, whose family are pacifists, is horrified and shocked, but continues to take pictures, since he feels that this is something that the rest of the world should know about. Night falls and the soldiers lite a fire to burn the bodies. When the soldiers seem to have left the fire to burn, Hogg leaves the house to get a closer look, and takes pictures of the fire. Then he leaves the park looking for a place to hide until it's time to return to Shanghai with his two friends. Unfortunately, he can't escape a group of Japanese soldiers and is taken into custody. Nothing is said. In the next scene, we see Hogg sitting and waiting in silence while a junior officer with white gloves gives a senior officer Hogg's camera and a stack of prints. The younger officer stands and waits while his superior looks one by one through the photos that show the atrocities of the previous day, at every stage. 

In the next scene, Hogg is forcefully led away by four soldiers and the same junior officer who developed and printed his negatives. The Japanese officer is wearing a sword. He removes his hat, holster, jacket and shirt while the the other soldiers force Hogg to his knees and bend down his head. Hogg's hands are tied behind his back. The young officer raises his sword, aiming at Hogg's neck, when machine-gun shots are fired. The shirtless Japanese executioner drops his sword and falls dead to the ground, as do the other four soldiers. A group of seven Chinese men pull Hogg to his feet and run with him to safety.

Mega-star, Chow Yun-Fat, plays Han-Sheng Chen, the communist Chinese, who saves Hogg's life. George Hogg is played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

'Why did they want to kill you? The Japanese usually leave British nationals alone,' asks Chen while cutting the rope around Hogg's hands and giving him a cigarette to smoke. 

'I saw something that I shouldn't. I took photographs and they found them.'


Word count according to WordCalc: 984

 

Best wishes,
Anna










First Commenter:
Nilanjana Bose
 

P.S.

Despite the fact that I don't feel this post is as good as it should be, I have received very kind comments from, so far, five readers. Thank you all so much for your encouragement.

I have tried to get more information about the historical background to this film. The Nanking Massacre did indeed take place. Thanks to Wikipedia, I have found a list of films that touch on this horrible event. (Click on Wikipedia and read more about what happened in Nanjing or Nanking). What happened or even if it really did happen is debated to this day. 

 Films

Main category: Nanking Massacre films

• Nanking (1938), a war propaganda film released by the Japanese government. This film, rediscovered in 1995, appears to portray a peacefully occupied Nanking, but the film professor Jinshi Fujii has expressed doubts that the location being shown is actually Nanking, and about the content of the film generally.^[132]
• The Battle of China (1944) a documentary film by American director Frank Capra.^[133] The footage of Nanking atrocities in this film may be sourced to a Chinese-made documentary which Prince Mikasa showed to Hirohito, but which has since been lost.^[134]
• Black Sun: The Nanking Massacre (1995), by Chinese director Mou Tun Fei, recreates the events of the Nanking Massacre.
• Don't Cry, Nanking aka (Nanjing 1937) (1995) directed by Wu Ziniu is a historical fiction centering around a Chinese doctor, his Japanese wife, and their children, as they experience the siege, fall, and massacre of Nanking.
• Horror in the East (2000),^[135] a documentary film produced by Laurence Rees for BBC, an examination of atrocities and depredations committed by Imperial Japanese military forces, from 1931 to 1945. Includes Japanese film of indoctrination (Emperor worship, Chinese as subhuman) and brutal training of their armed forces, as well as film of the Nanking Massacre itself taken by John Magee.
• Tokyo Trial (2006) is about the International Military Tribunal for the Far East.
• The Children of Huang Shi (film) (2008) is inspired by the story of the English journalist George Hogg who took pictures of the Nanking Massacre, escaped death by beheading, and fled to the orphanage in Huang Shi.
• Nanking (2007), directed by Bill Guttentag and Dan Sturman, that makes use of letters and diaries from the era as well as archive footage and interviews with surviving victims and those involved in the massacre.
• The Truth about Nanjing (2007),^[136] a documentary by Satoru Mizushima denying that any such massacre took place.
• City of Life and Death (2009) directed by Lu Chuan, a dramatization of the Nanking Massacre.
• John Rabe (2009) directed by Florian Gallenberger, a Sino-German co-production about the life of John Rabe, featuring Ulrich Tukur in the title role and Steve Buscemi in a supporting role.^[137][138]
• Torn Memories of Nanjing (2009) directed by Tamaki Matsuoka. Documentary featuring interviews with Japanese soldiers who admit to raping and killing Chinese civilians, and accounts by Chinese survivors.
• The Flowers of War (2011) directed by Zhang Yimou and starring Christian Bale and Shigeo Kobayashi based on The 13 Women of Nanjing by Geling Yan

WEP-Challenge for June - ROMANCE - Wednesday 24th - Friday 26th June 2014

Welcome to WEP's Blogfest for June [=Write-Edit-Publish, formerly 'Romantic Friday Writers'] WEP's Challenge for 24th-2th June 2014 is 'Romance':

Romance: On the Sea of Litorina

Klara Nilsson lay in the inflatable row boat that she had purchased before the flooding began. The sky was blue with puffy white clouds. She was exhausted from a whole day of rowing and all the preparations in the days before. The water seemed calm now; maybe she could sleep an hour or two. But instead of resting, she thought of the events that made her leave home in a rubber boat made for play in a swimming pool rather than escape from a flood.

It was June when the nights are short. Since there seemed not to be a change in this, Klara concluded that the earth had not been knocked off its axis. The floods must have some other cause. But she had no idea where all the water came from. Where, if not from the melting polar caps? There was no way to find out. All electronic communication was down. Her battery-operated radio did not pick up anything other than static. Her mobile phone was useless. If Klara's theory was correct, the plains of Östergötland, her province, would be under water in the same places as the prehistoric sea of Litorina. In case she was right about this, she took a modern map and drew a new coastline after maps she had found in a book about Swedish archeology. She hoped to find higher ground before her boat hit something sharp that would pierce it and sink it. For the moment, there was nothing but water in all directions; no landmarks to direct her. Using a makeshift sextant and her compass, she could almost exactly pin point where she was on her map.

Unable to sleep, Klara checked her bearings and continued rowing. In the twilight that is the short northern summer night, a small object caught her eye. It was a floating wooden crate with a wet blanket in it. She came closer to the crate and saw that the blanket lifted its head with pointed ears. It was a cat. Klara rowed slowly closer trying not to scare the feline castaway.

'Would you like to sail with me?' she asked the cat as a way of calming it while she reached over and picked it up and wrapped it in a towel.

'Thank you,' said the grey tabby laying her cheek on Klara's shoulder. 

Am I loosing my mind? Did that cat actually say something? Klara thought, holding the cat like a baby. Was this the next step after loosing her home and everything she owned? One way to find out was to keep talking with her foundling. 'You remind me of my cat, Mathilda. Your face is like hers, with the little tuffs of fur on the tips of your ears like the Norwegian Forest Cats.

'I don't just look like your cat, I AM your cat. I'm Mathilda. Thanks for finding me! It's not been easy since water came and covered everything. I've been soaked to the skin for days.'

The joy of finding her cat, Mathilda alive again, made Klara forget about her losses for a time. She and her cat lay in the boat under a blanket and actually slept for a few hours. When Klara awoke the sky was overcast and it smelled like rain. They must have drifted closer to land, as the tops of trees were now visible above the water-line, as well as a few roof tops. It was exciting, but also dangerous. They were getting closer to their goal, but any sharp object in the water could sink their boat. Through the forest of tree tops Klara could see a man rowing a boat - a wooden one. Should she wave or say 'Hello'?

'Hello!' shouted the man in the wooden boat, beating her to the punch, ' Do you need any help?'

'No, not yet. But my boat may not hold up the closer we get to land. How far is it to the new shoreline?'

'About twenty minutes from here. Here, let me take your boat in tow and row the rest of the way.' the man offered. He looked a bit like a prehistoric man, unwashed, uncombed and unshaven. But when Klara rowed closer, she saw that he was handsome with kindly blue eyes. He probably wore just a mustache to begin with, but now had almost a full beard. 'My name is Jakob Lundin, and you are?'

'Klara Nilsson, and this is Mathilda,' she said holding up the blanket bundle with the sleeping cat.

'Oh my. Do you have an infant with you?' Jakob said with surprise and alarm.

'Oh no, it's my cat, Mathilda', she said revealing Mathilda's furry face. 

Klara half expected Mathilda to speak to the strange man. But the cat said nothing, much to Klara's relief. Maybe the cat's ability to talk was an hallucination.

But then, Mathilda put her face close to Klara's ear and said, 'I will not embarrass you by speaking in front of strangers. Let him think that I am an ordinary cat.'

Jakob Lundin tied Klara's boat to his and rowed quickly toward the new coast, which had been a car park earlier before being transformed into a boat dock. When they arrived, it was crowded with wet refugees and their boats or vessels of every description, inflatable row boats like Klara's, children's plastic pools, as well as traditional boats like Jakob's. 

'What do we do now?' asked Klara.

'We pull our boats up on land and start making supper. I have a camping stove, what do you have?' asked Jakob, obviously hoping that Klara could contribute something.

'I cleaned out my pantry, refrigerator and freezer, before leaving home, but I don't have any cooking utensils or stove. So, I'm all for sharing, if you would like to do that.'

'Yes please. Let's do that,' said Jacob and smiled.

 Mathilda yawned and went back to sleep.
 

Word count according to WordCalc: 997.


P.S.

This text is a work of fiction. Any similarity to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This text is my attempt to write science fiction and it could be a part of a longer work. What has happened is that the plains of Östergötland (where I live in Sweden) are flooded because the polar caps have started to melt, due to yet unexplained forces in outer space such as meteorites hitting the earth and changing its axis. But no one knows for sure, because all electronic communication has been knocked out. The University of Linköping (where I study) is under water. Our heroine is one of the few who saw it coming, and took the precaution of purchasing an inflatable boat before they were all sold out. The name 'Litorina' is actually the name of a body of water that existed under prehistoric times in this part of Sweden. 'Litorina' is a shell fish that could be found in that sea at that time. 

I am not the first to use the Sea of Litorina in a literary connection.

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Best wishes,
Anna










First Commenter:

Denise Covey

of 
Denise Covey 
and
Write...Edit...Publish

WEP Challenge for May - Failure - or is it?

Welcome to WEP's Blogfest for May [=Write-Edit-Publish, formerly 'Romantic Friday Writers'] Challenge for 21-14 May 2014 - 'Failure - or is it?':

Good Luck in Bad

'Tur i oturen' is a Swedish expression, which literally means, 'Good luck in bad luck'. It's what you say when things go wrong, but by some miracle, you have fared well, considering what could have happened.

I had reason to say this on Monday May 5th, when I tripped and fell on the pavement, at the tram stop on the high street, on my face.

I was out shopping with the children, Elisabet, soon ten, and Erik, twelve. They needed new clothes and we got caught in the make-up department of Hennes & Mauritz, buying lipstick and nail polish for ourselves and as gifts. 

Instead of doing what we usually do when shopping, that is, taking the baby-carriage to transport all of our new treasures home, I just thought I could carry it all and take the tram home. (I don't own a car.) I had six huge shopping bags (the kind with handles or hand-holes) with children's clothes, three in each hand, plus holding Elisabet's hand. Erik rode his bicycle home, but we took his things with us. 

Elisabet and I left the shopping mall, stood on the high street and saw the tram roll into place. 

'Will we get on before it leaves the stop?' 

Elisabet and I ran across the street behind the tram and saw the doors open and people getting on and then the doors closing. Panting, we were just outside of the door, but before I could get close enough to press the open-button, I tripped and fell. I saw the square concrete blocks of the ground coming up at me - fast. It hurt badly when I hit it. Did I brace my fall? I could not remember. I had so much to carry and Elisabet did not see what had happened. 

I just lay still. I used the bags of clothing as a pillow and just remained lying there on the ground, while kindly passers-by asked me if I was alright. I wasn't sure. The driver of the tram called emergency services and did not continue his route until the ambulance had arrived. I got up and sat on the waiting-bench and started to feel my face with my hands. 

According to the paramedic, I landed well, considering that I hit a concrete floor. I hit one side of my chin, which was bleeding and swollen. Half of my face was numb. (That feeling you get at the dentist's when you get local anesthesia.) My lips were bleeding. I probably looked like a prize-fighter or a battered-wife.

The paramedics checked me over and asked if I wanted to be taken to the hospital. I looked at Elisabet and decided to not put her through the long wait at the emergency room. 'Check me out now, and take me home, if you can.'

'You are really lucky.' I was told. My teeth were in tact. I had fallen on the fattiest part of my face. I could have broken my jar or fractured some other part of my face or pushed my nose in. My jaw could have been pulled out of joint. I had no trouble opening my mouth, even though there was some internal bleeding there. 

I sprained my right thumb, which means that maybe I did brake the fall a little. (I have had to hold a pen between my index and long finger in order to write, immediately and a few days after the accident.)

The ambulance drove me to the tram stop where we would have got off to get home. They are allowed to drive where other vehicles are not. Only police and the fire brigade can do that as well.

Elisabet and I thanked the ambulance driver and paramedic and called them Angels. Thank goodness they are there when you need them. I was going to be alright. 'Call us if you get a headache or start vomiting.' But I did not have a concussion either.

Elisabet went home to her father, two blocks away. I took some pain-killer and went to bed. Later, before I went out to do errands again, I put foundation make-up on the blackish blue bruise on my chin.  But it could not hide the swelling. I wore dark red lip stick to hide the scabs on my lips. I don't normally wear make-up at all. It seemed ironic that we had just left the make-up department before the accident.

At home in bed, I thought of everything bad that could have happened, but didn't: like biting off my tongue or breaking my teeth or having them fall out later on because of root-damage mot nerve-damage. (I know someone, who was in an auto-accident and had to get false teeth because of this.) Not even the scrape-sore under my chin will leave a permanent scar.

I was so lucky.

Now what does this have to do with writing and getting published? I am working on a secret writing-project and I am so superstitious that I can't say anything about it yet. I am still working 'with the door closed', as Stephen King has described it. It may flop. But I am going to see it through. It might work. Maybe I'll get lucky again.

[This is NOT a fictional text. This is what actually happened to me, as if I tore out a page from my diary.]

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Word count according to WordCalc: 876

 
Best wishes,
Anna










First Commenter:
Sally
of 
Sally's Scribbles

 

Through the Eyes of a Child - WEP Challenge for 26 March 2014 - Write Edit Publish

Welcome to WEP's Blogfest for March [=Write-Edit-Publish, formerly 'Romantic Friday Writers'] Challenge for 26 March 2014 - 'Through the eyes of a child':

Through the Eyes of a Child

Ida and Karla were both nine years old. Ida lived on a farm with horses. Karla lived in a city, an hour's drive away. But Karla's father owned the nearest farm and that was where they spent holidays and weekends. 

Ida and Karla were very modern children, and kept in touch through their i-phones. Karla sat in her room with make-up on a small table with the image of Ida on her i-phone propped up against a bottle of nail-polish remover.

'What do you think of this colour, Ida?' showing off her lip glans*.

'Did you get real earrings?' asked Ida.

'No, they are glue-on earrings from the children's department at Ahlén's department store.'

'Really? They look like real earrings. Everyone here has pierced ears. My older sister and my second cousin and everyone at school. I got my first pair of earrings last year.

'Almost everyone at my school wears earrings now.'

'Do you want to get your ears pierced?'

'Yes. But Mum won't allow it. I'll do it when I'm eighteen and can do what I want.'

'That's nine years from now. Why won't she let you do it now?'

'Because of the risk of infection. She says my heart leaks.'

'Your heart leaks?'

'Yes. I have a huge scar on my chest from the heart-operation I had when I was only one week old.' 

'Well, maybe she's right. You have to be careful in the beginning before it heals. I had to wash my ear lobes with alchohol every morning and night for six weeks.' 

'Do you like my nail polish?' asked Karla holding her hand to the phone camera, changing the subject.' Karla then brushed her eye lashes with mascara. 'Can you see that I have mascara on my eye lashes?'

'Just a little. Are you coming to the farm on Friday?'

'Yes. I'll be there.'

'Good. I want to show you my new pony. And then we can play with my Barbie dolls.'

'I'll let you know when we are on our way.'

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Word count according to WordCalc: 357

P.S.

I bet you all were expecting something horrble to happen here. Am I right?  Originally, I was going to do just that. 

This everyday scene is very much like a conversation, that I happened to overhear, between my daughter and her friend. 

My babies are growing up. Little girls start early wanting to be little women. They also want to be exactly alike. It is hard for a little girl to be different; to be the one who does not do what everyone else is doing.

I know. This is just a sketch. It's not really a story yet. But it will be. Karla arrives at the farm, and the two friends take a walk through the woods where, in the moonlight, a spaceship hovers and Karla is beamed up and abducted by aliens! 

 

Best wishes,
Anna











*P.S.
'Lip glans' is meant to be 'lip gloss'. I was thinking in Swedish, temporarily.





 
First Commenter:
Niljanjana Bose
of
Madly-in-Verse

 

What's in a face? --WEP Challenge for FEBRUARY 2014

Welcome to WEP's Blogfest for February [=Write-Edit-Publish, formerly 'Romantic Friday Writers'] Challenge for Wednesday 22nd February 2014 - 'What's in a face?':

I think I came up with at least seven different ideas for stories from this prompt. This is one of them. It is a stand alone piece of flash fiction, although it feels to me as if it could be a part of a larger work. But I doubt that I will do more with it than what you see here:

What's in a face? 

Early one morning, the recently employed receptionist at the Farmer & Melker Clinic, Marcy Kramer, sat behind the reception counter, applying blood-red nail polish on her long, well-manicured, fingernails. She turned to her co-worker, surgical nurse, Julie Neumacher, and asked, "Hey, when's the first appointment  today?" Marcy looked at her wet nails. "I hope this will dry in time."

"Hm, let's see," replied Julie Neumacher, as she scrolled down a list on her computer screen, "Ten o'clock, for Doctor Melker. And it’s only ten to nine now." Julie looked at her upside down watch, pinned to her shirt breast pocket.

“I must tell you about my date with Chuck the other night," said Marcy continuing to apply polish on the other hand and finding it awkward, as it meant holding the brush with the hand she did not write with.

"Chuck who?" mumbled Julie and wrote something quickly in a notebook.

"Chuck? You know, Chuck Norton, that cute guy who's just starting out as a junior lawyer at that law firm… I can’t remember the name…” said Marcy admiring her outstretched fingers with painted nails. 

"I need coffee," said Julie, as she went to the office kitchenette, "I hope we have time for this, before Caligula and Nero arrive."

“Caligula and Nero? Weren’t they Roman emperors?”

“Yes, who fed the early Christians to the lions, and helped bring about the fall of the Roman Empire. Cream and sugar? 

“Oh, just a drop of milk, please. Why do you call them Caligula and Nero? It sounds like names you'd give a pair of naughty tomcats."

“Bingo!”

“What do you mean, Julie? Is there something about these doctors that I should know? You’ve been working here, for er... how long?”

“Two years.”

“I guess we don’t have time to talk about my date with Chuck?”

“No.” said Julie returning from the kitchenette with two mugs of coffee and putting them on the writing desk behind the reception counter. “I’m just saying that if any of the doctors shows up early, we have to look like we're doing serious work, or we're dog-meat.”

“You don’t mean that literally, do you?”

“No, of course not. Metaphorically. It’s just an expression.”

The reception telephone rings. 

“The phone's ringing, Julie. What should I do?”

“It’s your job is to answer the phone and take messages. You know what to say. We went through this yesterday.”

Marcy answers the phone: “Good morning. The Farmer and Melker Clinic, doctors J.P. Farmer and C.T. Melker, Plastic Surgery. How may I help you?”

“This is A.P. Morgonstern from Hamiton, Pritchard and Morgonstern, attorneys at law. We represent Miss Zelda Dimstar. Has Doctor Melker received our letter?"

“This is the reception. I would not know about that, sir. You'll have to speak to Doctor Melker."

“Could I speak with him now?”

“No, I'm sorry, sir. Doctor Melker is not available at this time, but if you would like to leave a message, I'll see that he gets it."

“You do that, Schweetheart," said Morgonstern, “You tell him that he's made a mess of Miss Dimstar's face and career, and that he's going to have to pay for it.”

“I'll tell him, Mr. Morgonstern.”

“Yeah. Tell him we’ve got a date in court on the 15th. He'd better show up."

“Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Was there anything else?” 

Click.

“Good-bye,” said Marcy softly, “He hung up.”

“What was all that about?” asked Julie.

“Someone seems to want to sue Doctor Melker,” explained Marcy waving her hands in the air to speed the drying of her nails, “Has this happened before? Do we often get calls from the lawyers of unhappy patients?”

“You wait and see. This is why I am looking for a new job.”

“What? Did he really operate and make a mistake? Or are these people just ambulance-chasers?”

“I don't know, Marcy. What’s in a face, anyway? What can a perfect face be worth? I mean, to a movie star?”

“A film career and several million dollars, maybe?” said Marcy sagely, waving her hand and knocking over her coffee mug, spilling coffee over the computer keyboard, a pile of letters and bills, as well as splashing coffee on her skirt and blouse. “Oh no, and I've ruined my nails, too.”

At that moment, the office door opened and in walked Doctor Melker.

---------

Word count according to WordCalc: 523

This text is fiction. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidencial.

Best wishes,
Anna










First Commenter:
Yolanda Renee
of
Defending the Pen