Writers Write /Prompt
Write a paragraph or short story that begins with orange and ends with turquoise.
Orange soda was left on the store counter. It was opened. Maybe two sips had been taken from the bottle. Beside the orange soda there was a banana cream donut. Maybe two bites had been eaten. A fly flew over the donut and landed. The cashier became terribly upset. She yelled. "Who left their food and soda up here on my counter?" If it's yours, come and get it now! If you don't, I'm trashing all of it." There were only two people in the store at the time. There was a mailman wearing his uniform shorts because it was about a hundred degrees. The other person was a Senior woman who was coming up the aisle with a loaf of bread and a jar of coffee. Jean's scream must have scared her. She dropped the jar of coffee. It rolled under the soup shelves. She asked the mailman, "Would you mind picking up my jar of coffee? I just can't bend any more without my knees hurting so badly I could die." The mailman said, "sure, don't you remember me? I use to be your mailman while you and your husband lived on Fall street at the corner of sixth." She looked at him like he was talking Russian or some other language. The mailman said, "don't worry about it. Who would remember their mailman from two years ago?"
Meanwhile a White guy and a Black guy rushed in the store. One held a gun at the cashier. "Where's my donut and soda?:
Jean inched herself away from the cash register and the waving gun while gawking at the guy in purple baseball cap. "I threw all of it out. People had nowhere to put their stuff."
The Black guy in a lumber jacket felt a bead of sweat line up beside his lips. "Do you think we care about what happens in your store, huh? Now, you owe me two donuts when I come back in here." Then, he put away the gun. He and his friend walked backwards out the store as if they had stolen a hundred dollars or two. Outside the store they quickly got inside an old 1960 grey car with a bird on the antenna.
Jean couldn't help but remember the White guy who only had one eye. He had on the tightest, sleeveless tank top. His arms were skinny. He hadn't worked out in years, if ever. On his thumb was a woman's Native American ring. It was turquoise.
After hearing about so many robberies in Lemon Valley, Jean had spent days with her friends over milkshakes trying to decide the best way to identify a stranger. Jean said, I love jewelry. So I would look for a ring or other piece of jewelry on the person." All three of her friends laughed. One guy just fell out of his chair laughing. "That is so stupid."
"Not to me," Jean said. "Just open your mind and try thinking about it."
That's why the ring had stood out in Jean's memory. How many White guys wear Native American jewelry, and how many men would wear a woman's ring?"
Alisa, always the thinker, stayed quiet while dipping her straw up and down in her chocolate milkshake. "You know, I think Jean might be right. Jean, have you called and told the police? Your description might be the very thing they need to make an arrest?"
Jean pushed her milkshake away. All of a sudden it didn't taste good. Maybe the milk was too old. "Jean? did you hear me? Did you call the police?"
Jean looked across to the door as two more people walked inside Steven's Burger Shop. "No, I didn't. I just don't want to get involved. They just waved a gun. They didn't take anything."
Orange soda was left on the store counter. It was opened. Maybe two sips had been taken from the bottle. Beside the orange soda there was a banana cream donut. Maybe two bites had been eaten. A fly flew over the donut and landed. The cashier became terribly upset. She yelled. "Who left their food and soda up here on my counter?" If it's yours, come and get it now! If you don't, I'm trashing all of it." There were only two people in the store at the time. There was a mailman wearing his uniform shorts because it was about a hundred degrees. The other person was a Senior woman who was coming up the aisle with a loaf of bread and a jar of coffee. Jean's scream must have scared her. She dropped the jar of coffee. It rolled under the soup shelves. She asked the mailman, "Would you mind picking up my jar of coffee? I just can't bend any more without my knees hurting so badly I could die." The mailman said, "sure, don't you remember me? I use to be your mailman while you and your husband lived on Fall street at the corner of sixth." She looked at him like he was talking Russian or some other language. The mailman said, "don't worry about it. Who would remember their mailman from two years ago?"
Meanwhile a White guy and a Black guy rushed in the store. One held a gun at the cashier. "Where's my donut and soda?:
Jean inched herself away from the cash register and the waving gun while gawking at the guy in purple baseball cap. "I threw all of it out. People had nowhere to put their stuff."
The Black guy in a lumber jacket felt a bead of sweat line up beside his lips. "Do you think we care about what happens in your store, huh? Now, you owe me two donuts when I come back in here." Then, he put away the gun. He and his friend walked backwards out the store as if they had stolen a hundred dollars or two. Outside the store they quickly got inside an old 1960 grey car with a bird on the antenna.
Jean couldn't help but remember the White guy who only had one eye. He had on the tightest, sleeveless tank top. His arms were skinny. He hadn't worked out in years, if ever. On his thumb was a woman's Native American ring. It was turquoise.
After hearing about so many robberies in Lemon Valley, Jean had spent days with her friends over milkshakes trying to decide the best way to identify a stranger. Jean said, I love jewelry. So I would look for a ring or other piece of jewelry on the person." All three of her friends laughed. One guy just fell out of his chair laughing. "That is so stupid."
"Not to me," Jean said. "Just open your mind and try thinking about it."
That's why the ring had stood out in Jean's memory. How many White guys wear Native American jewelry, and how many men would wear a woman's ring?"
Alisa, always the thinker, stayed quiet while dipping her straw up and down in her chocolate milkshake. "You know, I think Jean might be right. Jean, have you called and told the police? Your description might be the very thing they need to make an arrest?"
Jean pushed her milkshake away. All of a sudden it didn't taste good. Maybe the milk was too old. "Jean? did you hear me? Did you call the police?"
Jean looked across to the door as two more people walked inside Steven's Burger Shop. "No, I didn't. I just don't want to get involved. They just waved a gun. They didn't take anything."
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