#SSC 14/ June 11-17th

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The Second Last Scribble Challenge of 2017.

The primary focus of the #SSC is to help authors forge connections within the writing community. So, if you respond to this week’s prompt, just remember to comment (reply) to at least three other entries before voting opens on Saturday, June 17th. Get to know each other! These challenges are coming to an end. Take a look at one another’s sites now.

It starts with a prompt every Sunday. The responses need only be short and sweet. Or short and scary. Or, short and funny. The point is, the challenge will always require short replies on purpose . . . so YOU have no excuses.

This week’s CHALLENGE:

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It’s a BLIND DATE.

And, it’s going great until one character’s unsettling confession.

You have two paragraphs to work in.

RULES OF THE CHALLENGE:

  1. Participants have until Saturday, June 17th at noon, Eastern standard time to post ONE response to the prompt in the comment section of THIS POST.
  2. ENCOURAGE other scribblers. Try to comment (reply) to at least three other submissions during the week.
  3. After the Saturday deadline, players have a week to VOTE for their favorite submission by emailing: Sundayscribblechallenge@gmail.com. Place the lucky author’s name in the HEADER of your email.

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NOW to announce the winner of the 12th Sunday Scribble Challenge. The six word challenge (with a twist) received the most responses to a challenge this site has EVER seen! Thanks to all who participated, and a big congratulations to WARD CLEVER, who WON with this witty response:gbhdf

Your Prize?

All challenge winners, (that means YOU, Ward), are invited to write a GUEST POST on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins with LINKS to their own work.

Did you Know?

Guest posts are a FANTASTIC way for writers and bloggers to reach a previously untapped audience. Not sure how to tackle YOUR guest  blog? Check out the Whys and Hows of Guest Blogging on DanAlatorre.com for pro tips.

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82 thoughts on “#SSC 14/ June 11-17th”

  3. Okay, I’ll start. I love these challenges!

    I walked into the small coffee shop about four minutes late for what I supposed would be considered a first date with a woman met online, and started scanning for red and purple. She said she would be wearing a red and purple turban. I didn’t see her yet. What I saw was a small coffee and tea venue that was defiantly organic with a patina of dusty grunge. As I moved in past the entry I saw, beyond the curving bar, a worn down but comfortable looking seating area with a sofa, several armchairs, and tables. There she was, sitting by the window with the sunlight pouring in on her, lighting up her turban like a warning beacon. She sipped from a cup of whatever beverage she’d ordered, so I stopped to get my own coffee before walking over to introduce myself.
    When I said hello, she started, bobbling her cup a bit as she stared up into my face. Slowly she smiled and said, in such a quiet voice that I had to lean in to hear, “Hey there, please sit.”

    I introduced myself. Officially, I am Henry James Sutcliffe, but I only said that I was Hank. She nodded, yes, and murmured her name, Chloe. I sat and I could see her face soften and a tiny smile curving her lips. I said that I supposed we should get acquainted and asked her to begin by telling me a bit about herself. Her face grew still, smile fading, and on a small sigh she told me she would just say it right out, in case I wanted to take my coffee and go. I tilted my head, puzzled. Then she blurted, “I have Stage 3 metastatic breast cancer and I don’t want to be alone and lonely any longer.” I pressed my head against the back of my winged armchair and thought that maybe it would not now be appropriate to share inanities, like the fact that I am an electrical engineer or that I like rock climbing. What now?

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    • Sorry for the goofy extra spacing in the first paragraph. Apparently I can’t edit so I ask for indulgence, as “When I said hello…” should follow right on the heels of “…introduce myself.”

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    • I can’t imagine a more awkward situation. Hank seems lovely though, I wonder if he would be the sort of guy to go along with her, just because he doesn’t want her to be hurt. A really interesting story.

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        • Thank you watkr. So glad it caught you by surprise as that was the intent. I expanded upon this and it became a short, short story that answers your questions. That story is out in the world, being submitted for publication consideration now. Wish me luck.

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    • I love the way you drew the confession out. I caught myself hoping the date would work out, despite the prompt’s directions. You covered a lot of ground with this submission. I enjoyed reading it!

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  4. Here’s my entry for this week:

    Sharon noticed the tall bearded man walk into the lobby of the restaurant, stop and slowly glance around the dining area. He fit the description on his dating site and she raised her hand to catch his attention. Joe noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, smiled and headed in her direction. Halfway there he caught the leg of a chair with the toe of his shoe and stumbled towards her table. “First time with the new foot?” Sharon quipped.

    Joe pulled up the leg of his pants to reveal an artificial leg. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

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  5. I stepped into the Theatre Cafe. Apparently, I was to meet my date here. I had his number so I called him. The tone rang a few times, but he finally picked up. I told him I was already at the Cafe, and he replied saying, slightly out of breath, that he was by the door. I turned around and came face-to-face with a guy about my age, with silver streaks through his hair. He wore a Hamilton themed sweater, and a dark Hercules Mulligan type beanie. Dark skinny jeans and worn converse completed his look.

    We sat down, introduced ourselves and ordered our food and drinks. The date was going swell. We loved the same musicals and were currently in a huge debate over who is/was Broadway’s biggest diva. I said Patti Lupone. He said Barbra Streisand. While we were arguing, he leaned over, our eyelashes brushing, and whispered “I need to tell you something,” I replied with a raised eyebrow. “I’m a ghost,” he replied, a worried smile gracing his features. “I thought I was the only one,” I replied tentatively. We smiled and he locked my hand in his…

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  6. Jack couldn’t believe his luck, when his friend said he met someone that would be perfect for him. Jack figured it wouldn’t lead to much, he’d pretty much given up dating recently. But here he was having a great time with someone who seemed to actually like him. She had an air of mystery to her, said her name was Lily and didn’t say much about her past. But she had the most bewitching eyes. They left the restaurant and Jack offered to walk her home through the dark, empty streets.

    They talked about little things of no consequence, laughing sporadically at nothing. She seemed nervous after a while and tried to slow their pace.
    Then they turned into an alley and reached a dead end, Jack instinctively turned around to go another way. But she grabbed his arm and said, “Wait, there’s something you should know.” Jack paused wondering why she chose a stinking alley to tell him something.
    She went to move a pallet and revealed a cardboard box covered with a tarp and containing a few items and a blanket. “I…. live here, i’m homeless”. She confessed.

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  7. His eyes were like hot chocolate sauce. They were a deep, dark brown with a shine to them that appeared whenever he laughed. As the evening wore on and the wine began to take its toll, I started to imagine that warm sauce gently running all over my body as he undressed me slowly and carefully, admiring every inch of my pale, needy skin. Jesus, woman. Get a grip. You’ve never met this guy before. But he seemed to be genuinely interested in me, my job, my family. Could we have something good going on here? Please…
    ‘What do you like doing when you’re not working?’ His voice was velvety smooth too, at least 70% pure cocoa. ‘I write’, I confessed. Not something I usually tell a total stranger. A glint of scorn suddenly shone in his eyes and a shard of sarcasm dropped into his voice. ‘That’s what everyone says to make themselves sound windswept and interesting’. He sniggered idiotically at the end of this outrageously condemning insult, making the sauce which had been dribbling in my mind freeze instantly, as I stood up quickly and walked straight out of the room.

    Juliet

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  8. At exactly half-past eight, she appeared. Looking more striking than her description, my heart began to pound with excitement. Will she like me? Will she think I am as desirable as I find her? What can I say to her that will not betray my nervousness and faltering self-confidence? She spotted me with ease and walked directly over to me and without saying a word she grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the dance floor. Hips swaying to the loud sensuous beat, her dancing had me panting like a dog in heat. I dared to touch her by encircling her waist in my arms and suddenly we were flesh on flesh and I could feel her hot breath on my neck. She was so stunning and sexy that I realized she may not think that I am up to her standard but she seemed to be into me by responding to my lead on the floor. At one point, she turned and I could feel her soft, round bottom slightly pressing into my pelvis and I almost couldn’t control myself. Thankfully the music stopped and she grabbed me by the hand and led me outside to cool our sweating bodies within the embrace of the soft ocean breeze.

    I looked at her and thought “What a perfect night…” And then she spoke for the first time, “You look so beautiful, wherever did you find that gorgeous red dress?!” It was then that I heard his deep, baritone voice and realized that to my dismay that she was a man.

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  10. The silence at our table makes us into an island in a sea of chatter and silverware on china. The wine is drunk and our dessert bowls cleared away. I swirl the dregs of my coffee around the bottom of my cup and watch him from beneath my lashes. Anticipation hangs over the table like a heat haze.
    He touches the back of my hand and I jump. “So.”
    “So.”
    “Nice dinner.”
    “The wine was good.”
    We catch each other’s eye and laugh. It feels comfortable. Natural.
    My throat tightens. “It’s times like this…”
    “I know.” He pulls out a sheath of paper. “But it’s all the other times that are the problem.”
    He hands me a pen and I sign my name as tenderly as if I were writing I love you. Perhaps I am, in a strange, backwards, way.
    “So that’s it.” His voice is strangled. He raises his empty glass in a mock toast, “May all your future divorces be this easy.”
    I raise my glass in reply, “May you love all your ex-wives as much as you love me.”
    His hand dips. “And as much as you love me.”
    But then, what has love to do with marriage?

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  11. “Nunthing” to Write Home About!

    I sat quietly waiting for my date’s arrive. Apprehension, expectation, and curiosity dominated my being. I had carefully reviewed forty-seven personality profiles of interest on SeniorPeopleMeet.com. The lady that accepted my invitation for coffee and dessert was 68, spiritually focused, enjoyed travel, had never been married, and sought a new experience.

    She arrived with a reserved smile, neatly dressed in gray slacks, a white embroidered blouse, and a light sweater. Our conversation focused on our common interests of spirituality and travel. I considered the possibility of another date when she flabbergasted me, “I am sorry Bob. I must confess that this date has been insincere. I am actually a nun and wanted to experience what other women enjoy about meeting a man in a safe situation.” I peered into her eyes in absolute silence.

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    • W—I thought your pun was a typo in the title! Pretty slick! What a terrible way to begin an evening: flat-out deceit. I suppose that it’s not really that different from non-nun dating when everyone is on their best behavior 🙂 don’t mind me, I am a romanticynicist at heart! DWD

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    • Oh, I am DYING to find out how Bob reacted to that.
      Anger? Acceptance?
      Did he stay to finish the date and have a little chat, or rip out of there, upset and betrayed?
      Inquiring minds need to know.

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  13. Pingback: #SSC Wrap-Up | J. A. Allen

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