The Case of the Missing Legos – Alternate Ending

This is an alternate ending to a serial that I published – you can see part 1part 2 and part 3 here.  I also forgot to mention that I did this, in part, as a challenge to Obscured Dreamer as she had an idea for an alternate ending for her serial Fading Fae – just click the links to read – part 1, part 2, part 3 and part 4.  I really enjoyed her alternate ending!

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I woke up the next morning, ready to start the day out right.  I climbed out of bed and began my morning routine.

After making breakfast and wishing the boys goodbye, I got my cup of coffee and went out on the back porch to have a moment to myself.  While settling myself into my chair, I heard a shuffling in the bushes near the the stairs. I looked over quietly and saw something quite surprising – Rodney’s father attempting to hide his expanding beer belly in the bushes.

He turned around and the Legos were in his hands.

He looked pretty embarrassed to be caught in the act.

“So, you came into my house to steal my son’s Legos?”

“Wel… I um …. well…”

He trailed off, eyes peering down at his shoes, mustering the courage to continue.

“Well, I’ve been out of a job and stuff’s been hard and Rodney really likes Legos and always talks about how Luke has them and he just wanted some and I saw the door open and I just came in and took them.”

He stated this quickly, still looking at his feet and shuffling a bit as he stood there.

I wondered if I should press charges for breaking and entering, but instantly decided not to.  It would serve no purpose except to embarrass the already humbled man further – being unemployed is bad enough.  Rather than this, I decided that something else was in order.

“Mr. Fronker, I must say that I am quite taken aback by your behavior.  Entering someone’s house when they are not around is not appropriate, especially for a man of your age.  In the future, I suggest that, should you see the door open, that you kindly avert your eyes and continue walking, otherwise I may have to put in a call to the police.  Taking into consideration that your actions were those of someone in desperate circumstances I will forgive you, but if it happens again, you are now forewarned of the actions I will take.”

Mr. Fronker looks at me, irritated, aggressive, afraid.

He places the Lego set on the stairs and walks away, only turning around once to glare at me.  I give him my friendliest smile and wave him off.

Once he’s out of sight, I get out my laptop – time to find a more reliable security system!

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Freestyle! – Writing 101, Day 19

So, the challenge today is to do a free write without actually stopping, self editing, etc.  Ok. I guess I can do that.  But I have a graduate degree in literature and I really don’t like having something go to the public, or anywhere for that matter, without me editing it at least once (or twice, or thrice).  Or self edit as I go along (which is what I normally do and I’ve heard it’s impractical and a time waster, but what’s a girl to do?)

There’s a quote on today’s challenge regarding perfectionism.  Something along the lines of how perfectionism is the enemy.  Let me tell you about it!  I’m a self prescribed perfectionist, so when I do something that is not up to my standards, I become frustrated (like that last semester in graduate school when I wrote that really terrible paper about Unamuno’s writing methodology regarding the viviparous method as opposed to the oviparous method).  I really dislike anything that I produce being sub-par, but it’s because I have high expectations for myself.  Yes, I’m a perfectionist!

Maybe this is because I’m an INTJ?  I took the official Myer’s Briggs test back in high school and tested as an INTJ, there was a note saying that I should stop being so judgmental.  But how can I not be?  I have an idea of how the world should be.  World, stop not meeting my expectations!  It’s really annoying and makes me depressed and sad.  I mean, it’s the 21st century.  Things are supposed to be better.  But the world has become unenlightened (maybe it’s all that screen time).  I’m pretty sure that the US is reaching a point of un-education and lack of initiative seen only in the Dark Ages.  People aren’t active, they don’t care and seemingly go against all that our forefathers fought for.  We are a society in decline.  I ask for perfection because, for me, there really is no other way.  Things should be better, I should earn enough money to be able to live somewhat comfortably, but I don’t.  I think that nobody should be jobless and that we all have a right to a job.  But that’s not the case.  The government keeps on marketing things to us –  more education will get you a better job, for instance, but then they don’t want to admit that that’s not always the case and refuse to pay the price for those who fall into their network of lies.

I believe in education and that it should serve a purpose, but the job market right now is terrible.  What options do people have?  Stay in school, accruing debt, until it gets better?  Get a low paying job that is barely enough to live on, much less pay bills, etc.?  Neither seems like much of an option to me…

 

A Study of Fear – Writing 101, Day 17

Fear.  It’s something that we are all familiar with, something that lies in the depths of each of our souls, waiting for the best moment and …. BOOM!  Here it is – hands shaking, skin tingling, face flushing.  Going down in a glass elevator, reaching the top of the Empire State building, public speaking, germs are everywhere, new job interview, never knowing, knowing it all and wishing you didn’t, getting fired, seeing your ex unexpectedly, the lights go out, the boogie man, ants, tarantulas, insects crawling across you at night, seeing a ghost, seeing the Devil, seeing God, seeing an angel, going to the principals office…

I look in the mirror and realize that the only thing to fear is my own imagination!

 

Tale of a Rainy Day – Writing 101, Day Twelve

I peer up from my book at the words that reach my ears.

“Mom, can we go to the pool today?”

My stomach feels pretty bad, so I’m thinking probably not.

“No, honey, I don’t think we’ll be going to the pool today.  It’s still looking somewhat stormy outside.”

My son gets up from the floor, where he has been sitting playing his 3DS and looks out the window.

“I guess you’re right mom.”

He’s sad, so I try to make it better.

“Don’t worry, if next weekend is nice, we’ll go.  Remember that we would also invite a friend?  Who do you want to invite with you?”

“Oh, I dunno… I wish Dylan could come, but he’s with his dad every other week…”

“Yeah…  There isn’t anybody else that you’d like to invite?”

“I dunno… Mom?”

He looks at me with his big, grey eyes.

“Yes?”

“I’m bored.  Do you want to play Uno with me?”

“No, I’m sorry.  I don’t feel that well.”

I’m laying on my back.  Keeping the bile from rising, I slowly turn to look at him.

“Mom, why do you always feel bad?  You’re not a lot of fun to be around.”

“Sorry.  I just don’t feel well.”

“Maybe we could play Go Fish?”

I only say yes because I hate feeling like I’m not a fun person.  But, to be quite honest, I’ve grown into quite a grouch.  I also try to keep in the forefront of my mind that my son is getting older every day – there will come a time in the future when playing Go Fish with mom may not be that much fun anymore.

I deal out the cards.  He goes first.

“Do you have an eight?”

“Go fish.”

Our game continues like this for some time.  I really like the cards we’re using – they are a set of night sky playing cards that I got from Amazon.

By the time we’re done, my son has beaten me – he has 7 sets, I only have 6.  Oh well.  My stomach churns as I sit up.  I keep on hoping that I’ll feel better soon when my son reminds me of his necessities.

“Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Food.”  That’s all I can manage to say as I rush to the bathroom.

A Letter to Sorrow, Writing 101, Day 14

Dear Sorrow,

You know that you are a constant companion of mine.  Through the years, it seems as though you and your twin sister, Joy, have been playing a game of checkers in regards to my life.  Don’t worry – you’re winning.   Perhaps you could just give in and let Joy believe that she’s winning (just for a moment, it will be our secret).

Thanks!

The Lone Wolf

Conflictive – Writing 101, Day 7 and Day 8

Sitting in a café, I couldn´t help but wonder at the couple I saw sitting near me. Odd, yes, that is how I would describe them. He was a sallow fellow – very pale skin, wearing clothing that was very well worn, holes in the knees. Light blonde hair, almost white, fell onto his face as he intently read Dostoevsky´s Crime and Punishment. A cruel smile played upon his lips, as though he were the type to find humor in another´s suffering. When he looked up, his dark, beady eyes blinked from recesses in his face.

The girl sitting across from him was his opposite – brunette hair fell down her back, red and gold highlights played in the low light. She was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, ankle boots and a coral colored tank-top that highlighted her tan arms. She smiled at the boy sitting across from her, warmth and sincerity radiating from her expression.  Where he was dark and cold, she was light, golden, glowing.

She raised a bottle full of smoothie and sipped.  He looked at her.

“I really don’t understand how you can drink that stuff.  It looks disgusting.”

“But it’s so healthy!  And so delicious!”

“Ok.”

He wrapped his hand around a coffee mug and took a slow sip of coffee.

“Mmm… ”

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?”

“Let’s go to the movies.  We can see that new independent film.”

“I’m sick of the movies.  Perhaps we could go to the football game this weekend.”

“You know how I get around groups of people.  If you want to go, that’s fine, but I would prefer not to.  I’ll just stay at home and read.”

“Ok.”

She didn’t seem very happy as she slurped down the rest of her smoothie.

“Well, I’ve gotta go, I don’t wanna be late for class.”

“Ok.”

He waved goodbye to her as she left.  She didn’t see him.

Abuelita – Writing 101, Day 6

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your tanned face,

wrinkled from laughter,

love.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your skinny legs,

holding you up,

like two feeble table legs.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your humble eyes,

so dark, ancient,

shine with serenity.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Walking the dusty streets,

with your worn feet;

shoes so old, they’re falling apart.

 

Yes you.

I see you.

Black hair pulled back

in a long trenza,

falling to your waist.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your dark hands,

wrinkled with age,

hardened by cooking food

too close to the fire.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your tattered rebozo

hangs off of your skeletal shoulders,

providing almost no warmth,

as you huddle beneath it.

 

Yes you.

I see you.

Working on the farm,

peeling tomatoes.

5 pesos a day is not enough.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your body’s crippled,

but one look in your eyes,

and I see strength and pride.

 

Yes you.

I see you.

And you see me.

Our eyes lock,

and you know that I know.