Writer's Digest Writing Prompt

Taking part in a Writer's Digest Writing Prompt: From Song to Story-
Write a short story based on your favorite song, using the song's title as your story's title and the lyrics for your plot. (500 words or less) Check out my entry under Todaysrant (Posted 2008-04-18 3:42 PM (#172569 - in reply to #171976))

A Name For Me

Always the one with dirt under her fingers and bruises on her legs, looking at her, many would refer to her as a ‘tomboy’. Others, ones that knew her family, would say she is ‘Mike’s little sister’. A name of her own was the quest that drove her. Sweet and pretty still through the cuts and sweat, three decades to realize that no one will take her seriously with her sun-kissed hair, rosy cheeks and piercing blue eyes. “You are too pretty to play with the boys...too pretty to play rugby…too pretty...” Nip here, tuck there, conforming to a social level she overcame. Natural, at times, unkempt, these deterrents did not work.

What made men swoon for her also drove them away. Independent, determined, intimidating...adjectives she heard every time a relationship was being to crest. “But this is who I am. How can it be too much of a ‘good thing’?” Deflated and overwrought with sadness, a low that in turn stirred even more determination. This last rejection fueled the endless fire of her being. It was her moment of clarity, a name to be revealed at last...

The Boss

Dusk setting in, the last shimmer of daylight glistening through Laura’s wine glass. Half full, she raises the glass to take another toast to her liquid savior. Many nights, the wine was her comfort after Tim’s berating temperament. Ever since she dented his beloved Mustang; falling into his slavery with ever demand, “These dishes are filthy! Wash them again”; “You overcooked the steak. Can’t you do anything right?”

Thanks to Laura, this time Tim bit off more than he could chew. Laura was never good at the Heimlich maneuver, or so she claimed. After watching him grab at his neck, his eyes bloodshot and bulging out of their sockets. She giggles in twisted bemusement at the memory and now…now she is free.

With a sigh of relief, she gulped down the last few drops, grinning as she left the empty glass on the countertop. “Meow!” Rocket! Her dead husband’s devious feline. “Might as well get rid of him too,” she concluded to herself.

Laura stormed into the garage, her sharp butcher’s knife in hand. “ Meow”, came from under Tim’s precious hunk of steel. Kneeling down beside the metallic midnight black Mustang, “Rocket, get out of there you stupid cat!” The yellow eyes staring at Laura as she started to reach for him. Suddenly, the engine began its thunderous roar. Startled, she quickly pulled herself out from under the back bumper…her last vision being the red brake lights, the license plate reading “The Boss,” now engraved into her skull.