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Unconventional Love

NYC Midnight Microfiction Challenge Competition, 250 words, 2020 submission.

Alexandra and Drew stroll across the Charles Bridge, hand in hand. They stop beside the Madonna statue and look at Prague. 

“Did you think about what I said?” Alexandra asks. 

Drew grimaces. “I did. I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? We get along, we’re happy. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?” 

Drew sighs. “I suppose. But your family doesn’t like me, I’m too ordinary. They’re always complaining about how I dress and what I say. You deserve someone better.” 

“You know I don’t care about any of that,” Alexandra reasons. 

“I know, I know. But wouldn’t it be better to be with someone wealthy?” asks Drew. “For Christ’s sake, I can’t even afford a hotel or bloody dinner! It must be embarrassing for you.” 

“Drew. Look at me,” Alexandra says, now facing Drew instead of the water. He turns to her. “I don’t care about money or what car you drive or where you work. My parents have been trying to set me up with a capitalist drone for years! It’s just not me. I love you and that’s why I think we should get married.”

Drew faces the water again. Pause. “Okay. Let’s get married.” 

“Really?” Alexandra’s face is a stifled glow. 

“Really. I love you.” 

Alexandra throws her arms over Drew’s shoulders and shrieks with warm passion. She grabs his hand and walks towards the Prague market. 

“C’mon, let’s go ring shopping,” Alexandra says. Drew smiles.

Creative Writing Portfolio

A Dog Walks Into a Bar

The dog, Walter, saunters into the bar. He’s greeted by the drunken guests.

‘Oooooo look, a doggie!’ One woman said with intoxicated excitement. 

A man made a clicking noise with his tongue and cheek, his hand outstretched.

Overwhelmed by the shouts and commands of cock-eyed people, Walter retires to a small room at the back of the bar. The tipsy crowd moves on to the regular mode of entertainment, hockey. 

The bar owner had come to know Walter. One day, Walter came inside the bar because of the blistering cold. He just wanted somewhere warm to stay. Ever since that day, the bar owner always left him an old pillow to lay on in addition to a bowl of water and food. 

Walter liked the bar owner, Jerry. Unlike the drunken crowd that he served, Jerry is reserved and quiet. Walter often wondered how he got into the bar business. He was too kind to be working long nights with nasty crowds. Perhaps it was good money, Walter often thought while he stayed in the back room. Or maybe he inherited the bar? 

After washing down treats with water, Walter lay on the pillow to warm up. Through the thin walls, he could overhear booze driven conversations. Most of it was slurred nonsense or small talk, but then he hears something interesting. 

‘Did I – did I tell you about-about the hidden t-t-treasure?’ One man said, heavily slurring his words.

‘Wha? Hidden-den treasure?’ Another man replied, equally intoxicated. 

‘Well not tre-treasure, but loootsss o’ money. A couple d-died several years-s ago. They were m-m-murdered and the money was s-s-supposedly left.’ The first man said. 

Walter wondered, could it be real? Or just two drunken men shooting the shit? Walter decides he wants to find out. He leaves the comfort of his pillow to find Jerry. 

Creative Writing Portfolio

Boundless White Sanctuary

Her snowshoes, a deafening crunch in the expansive silence. 

Heart racing, she enjoys the boundless white sanctuary. 

Accustomed to the blaring of traffic and idle metropolis racket, hush is a sound long forgotten. 

An abundance of coarse, crisp, crystalline snow encases the wavy ground. 

Broken boughs, rocks and trees poke out where the inescapable snow permits. 

The white blanket unwrinkled, aside from faint prints of lonesome animals and wads of fallen snow shrugged off by woody evergreens. 

Peculiar shaped peak holes within forest thick allow for peering at the pure, hardened body of water. 

Barren and icy branches are grotesquely demented next to coniferous feathers. 

Through a peak hole, a murky mist swallows the ebb and flow of black trees. 

Endless, ghostly clouds lace with the mist and barricade sunshine. 

Snowflakes lazily float down. 

Several fleks land on her cheeks and melt into fabricated tear drops. 

The polar pang soothes her puffy face. 

Hues of black and white are often thought to be macabre, but she feels the cosmic, intoxicating power of nature.

A chilling breeze whirls by, a shiver crawls down her spine. 

Trees answer back with weary moans and groans. 

After leisurely sways, trees come to a halt and the unfamiliar tranquility returns. 

She breathes in the sharp air and wiggles her toes – it’s time for the next step forward.