Author's Note

Hi there. This is where I'm going to be posting my writing, or at least the things that don't belong on my blog.

Here's the breakdown: The blog is (and always has been) non-fiction: true stories, personal asides, and musings about my life, my activities, or my ideas. In short: The blog = me.

On the other hand, this site, if all goes according to plan, will be where I post the rest of it -- i.e. fiction. Or things that are mostly fiction. Or partly fiction. Or things that might not be entirely fictional. You know, the things that I need to get out of my head by writing down, and will then pretend that they're fiction
, regardless of the degree of truth.

So, assume that nothing here is real. If you think it is, best keep that to yourself. (And if you think it's about you, well, just remember what Carly Simon said.)

And now, on with the show.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Rapunzel

As soon as she got off the plane and collected her luggage – just a few small bags – she hailed a yellow taxicab to take her to the Grandmother’s apartment, not knowing that the Grandmother had sent her car. The taxi pulled up to the massive stone building overlooking the park. The doorman stared at her quizzically – this was not a building for children, even teenagers. Perhaps eventually, he would get used to her presence there.

She took the elevator up to the top floor, walked to the door, and knocked. There was no answer, no sound from within. She knocked again, to no avail. So, she sat down on the floor to wait. Some time later – she wore no watch – an older man in a dark suit exited the elevator in front of her and spoke her name, in a questioning manner, but they both knew there was no question. He was the Grandmother’s driver, and had been tasked with collecting her from the airport.

The driver fumbled around with his key ring for a moment, and then, having settled on the right one, opened the door and grabbed her largest suitcase in a fluid, almost-effortless movement. She followed him into the apartment, and then down a long hallway filled with expensive-looking impressionist paintings in impressive mahogany frames. Towards the back, he opened a door to reveal a bedroom that appeared to have gone untouched for years, and motioned for her to go in. The driver stepped into the room just enough to deposit her suitcase next to the door, told her that the Grandmother would be home shortly, and left, just as quickly. She heard the key turning in the front door’s lock almost before she could react.

She didn’t know whether she was expected to unpack her belongings, and instead, sat down on the chair in the corner to look out the small window. After a minute, she opened the window to hear the sounds of the strange city below. She heard car horns and the squeal of brakes from the intersection below. She could hear people talking and music playing – not the type of music the Grandmother would approve of, but the music of young people, the music the other kids in school preferred. She was so close to that freedom, but now, locked in the tower, she felt so far away.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Melissa R challenged me with "Include the following in your story: a teenager, a painting, a cab, and a Salt-n-Pepa song." and I challenged Diane with "peach moonshine and glow bracelets"