Flash Fiction: Alex and the Intern

Last weekend, I participated in the WritersWeekly.com 24 Hour Short Story Contest. In this contest, we had 24 hours to write an 850 word story following the prompt below.

It was supposed to be the summer job of a lifetime, working as a chef at an upscale "summer camp" for adults. But, the air conditioner was broken again. After closing, the stale outdoor air brought little relief. The path to the cabins housing seasonal employees was dark but short. She stopped in her tracks when she came across one of the windows. With her pupils dilating, she couldn't look away...

 I was traveling with my parents and my three children when the contest started, so between sleeping in the car and unpacking, I wasted about six hours dancing around the first thing that popped into my head: octopus. For a less-than-two-minute education on octopuses (yes octopuses,not octopi), click here for a clip from Animal Planet's show Tanked (one of the few shows my family watches together with no grumbling).

Since the key to winning the heart of the judges (according to the recommendations in the materials they sent to participants) was a surprise ending, I took the advice seriously. (If you've read my erotic shorts, you've read some Patient Lee Titty Twister Endings. This one's just a Twister.) I didn't want to use a plot twist I've seen on TV, so I stayed away from the horribly venomous Blue Ringed Octopus.

After struggling and sketching and trying to pull the story together, I was beginning to lose hope of bringing it together. But then the clouds opened up, the sun shone down on me, and Tool came on. Schism is my writing song. "I know the pieces fit." (See the video below.)

My parents took the kids to the beach, and by the time they returned, the story was half-written. I finished twelve hours early. Amazing what a little quiet time can do for the creative brain.

Here it is, for your enjoyment.

Alex and the Intern

© 2017 Patient Lee

On the third day of Tanisha’s internship at Camp Wine and Sea, the octopus escapeyd, as though he thought by dinnertime, Chef Roscoe would be arranging his tentacles on a bed of rice pilaf.

It wasn’t true, of course. Alex, the Great Pacific Octopus, had been a dining-room fixture at the camp since it opened. Octopus was Chef Roscoe’s specialty, and it was on the menu every Saturday night, but Alex wasn’t dinner. He was the camp mascot, and he provided conversation fodder for the uncomfortable adults sharing tables with strangers on the first night of camp. Until the wine started flowing, Alex kept the party going.

Peter, the sommelier, discovered Alex’s absence minutes before the first dinner seating. He raced to kitchen. “Chef, where’s Alex?”

“The octopus?”

“Yes, the octopus. He’s not in his tank.”

"Again?” The chef groaned. “One of these days, I’m going to serve that monster in a tomato confit, I swear. Get the intern to look for him.”
Peter raised his eyebrow. “You want to leave that to her? She’s made a dozen mistakes since she got here. Besides, don’t you need her in the kitchen?”
“Would you rather she pour wine tonight?” The chef dismissed him without another word. Instead, Peter performed a cursory search of the kitchen and dining room himself, and when the first guests entered the dining room, peering into Alex’s tank, he distracted them with Sauvignon Blanc.

A misogynist, Chef Roscoe resented the management’s choice of intern for the summer. Tanisha Jones didn’t care what Chef thought. She’d earned her place in his kitchen with her 4.0 at the university and three wins in prestigious cooking contests. Even though he’d blamed every error in the kitchen on her since she arrived at camp, she was ready to stand tall against his pompous attitude.

While Chef was in the dining room announcing the evening’s menu—octopus braised in red-wine with Kalamata olives—Tanisha tended to the pots and pans on the stove. When he returned to the kitchen, he barked three orders in a row to her, and before she could do any of them, he said, “And put that octopus over there in the big pot for the third seating.”

Tanisha followed his instructions to the letter, knowing it didn’t matter. Chef set her up for failure every time she turned around, but she did her best for the sake of the diners who were paying a small fortune for a week at the adult summer camp.

The air conditioner quit halfway through the second seating, and by the end of the third, heat exhaustion threatened to knock out the staff. Tanisha and Chef Roscoe cleaned the kitchen as quickly as they could, and just when she thought she’d get some relief from the heat, her nose detected the odor of spoiling food. She scanned the kitchen, looking for the forgotten piece of fish or scrap of meat.


Sniffing the air, she followed her nose to the corner of the kitchen where she found a metal bowl containing an octopus, ready for the cooking pot if it hadn’t begun to rot from the intense heat in the cooking area. Swallowing the urge to vomit, she called, “Chef. You have to see this.”

“What the hell?” His eyes narrowed in anger. “You were supposed to cook the octopus. What did you cook?” His voice rose in pitch as his anger increased.

“The octopus in the jar over there!” She pointed to the counter next to the stove. “It was right next to the pot. I assumed that was the one you meant!”

Chef shook his head and chuckled without humor. “You idiot. You know Alex got out today, right?”

“Alex from the dining room?” Her face fell as it dawned on her. An octopus could open a jar to hide in it. “Did I cook Alex?” Her voice was a whisper, punctuated by projectile vomit as she accepted the truth. She’d cooked the camp mascot.

After cleaning her mess and the putrefying octopus, she stepped into the dark, wishing for relief from the heat. Instead, the stale air knocked her back a step, nauseating her again.

Regaining her balance, she started down the dark path to the employees’ cabins. Worry ran circles in her head. Would the camp administration fire her? Would animal rights activists call for her head on a pike? Could she live with herself after making such a horrific mistake?

She heard Chef Roscoe’s voice, stopping her short. She turned and found herself at his cabin, his open sitting-area window providing her a view of his kitchen. He sounded as if he was speaking to a puppy. “I got that uppity bitch. Yes, I did, Alex.”

Her eyes flew open, pupils dilating, when he stepped into view. Any thought that he’d stolen Alex to keep as a pet vanished as he placed the platter on the table, the octopus moving listlessly as it languished out of water.

Tanisha’s scream couldn’t save the octopus as Chef brought the cleaver down on Alex’s bulbous head.

Review: The Lustrous Soul by Shaheen Darr

The Lustrous Soul: Simple Ways to Unleash the Happiness Within You by Shaheen Darr
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A lovely collection of "aha" moments in the author's life. Well-written and thoughtful, the author describes times in her life when she learned lessons, sometime the hard way. Daily exercise, good nutrition, meditation, and more. This is a great source of inspiration for a journal or discussion with friends.

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Celebrate Earth Day with a sweet and sexy romance! 

I wrote this story for the 2014 Literotica Earth Day Contest, but this version is new and improved. When I wrote the original story, I shied away from too much romance, preferring to concentrate on the first-time sex with a summer fling. I love these characters, though, and when I thought about making some revisions, I realized that I wanted them to be together and happy.

Even if you read the original version, I believe you'll enjoy this Earth Day tale. For more info, visit my website Patientlee.com.

 Now for something completely different.

 

Note from PL:

On Earth Day, 1999, two days after the Columbine Massacre, an angry student threatened to kill me. He was angry, and he had a plan. Because he talked about his plan with other students, he removed from school and sent to juvenile detention for three months. I still associate Earth Day with this incident.

Last month, one of my students stole my iPad in retaliation for working with his mother to keep him from failing his freshman year. He wasn't pleased with the agreement, and thought he'd get back at me by stealing from me. Fortunately, we caught him, and I got my iPad back. He got suspended for three days. 

Seems unbalanced, doesn't it?

I have invested hours of my time and energy trying to help this student in the last two school years. After confronting him, my comment to a coworker was that I felt like I had been stabbed in the back with an iPad. It was disheartening, but I felt better after I wrote the story.

Just about every, single day at school, I have a moment in which I wonder if my day is about to stop being so typical. 

This is a work of fiction. I have no experience with any of the events in this story.

 Almost in the Earth Day

I step out of my front door, coffee in hand, laptop case over one shoulder, purse over the other, and realize that the sun is actually up over the trees this morning. Last week I could just see the pink glow that comes right before the big ball of fire pops over the horizon.

What a difference a week makes.

As I get into my Prius, I spill coffee on my denim skirt. The color is dark enough so that most people won't know, but I'm still pissed. I turn on the heater in the car. There is a little morning chill in the air, but I crank it full blast because that's how I dry my hair in the morning. I turn up my hard rock station and sing before I even start to drive.

I pull out of my driveway and hope that the bus hasn't gotten to my street yet. I've been stuck behind the slow, stinky behemoth twice already this week.

Shit. There it is. Why do I always leave so damn late?

I arrive in the parking lot, and I curse out the Escalade parked next to me. As always, its tires are over the line of my space, and I'll have to squeeze out of my car to avoid hitting the Lexus on the other side.

I trot through the parking lot, tripping over my Birkenstock clogs on the curb. My boss is standing outside, greeting students and faculty, and reminding parents for the hundredth time that student drop-off is in the back of the building. He laughs at my stumble before tapping his watch and giving me a stern look.

"If you didn't wear those hippie shoes, you might be on time for work, Mrs. Davenport."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

I greet the secretary and sign in. I don't have time to stop at my mailbox, but I vow to check it later. I stop twice to chat with colleagues, but not for long. We're all busy; we all have things to do before the bell rings.

A student stops me in the hallway to ask about a make-up test. I tear a piece off the grocery list in my purse and write her a pass for third period. I remind her that she was supposed to make it up two weeks ago, so she must remember today.

I pass a student that has been in my class for three years. "Nice shirt," I say. It's a Metallica shirt.

"Thanks, Miss Davenport. You have awesome taste in music," he replies.

"I know," I call back to him over my shoulder.

BANG! I jump, not knowing what it is. I look over my shoulder, but I try not to let on that I think something is amiss.

I hear a loud girl's voice telling her boyfriend he's an asshole for dropping a stack of books and scaring the crap out of her.

When I finally reach my classroom, I can't find my keys. There are students lined up at the door, whining about how heavy their books are. I try to hurry. My stuff is getting heavy too.

Aha! I clipped them to my belt loop already.

I put my things in my classroom, pick up my lukewarm coffee, and go stand by my classroom door in the hallway. Usually the teachers across the hall and I chat while we wait for the bell to ring, but Mrs. Costa is absent today. Mrs. Peterson is later than I am this morning, and she's flying in at the last minute. It's casual Friday, and I see that she has taken it to the extreme. Yoga pants. Interesting choice. I'm sure she thinks the same about my Birkenstocks.

I smile and greet my students as they enter the room. Some return my greeting; some merely grumble. It's early. I understand.

The late-bell rings, and I start my get-to-class routine. I make arm gestures like a flight attendant, and rhyme like Dr. Seuss. It doesn't get them to class any faster, but the dickhead who teaches in the classroom next door is a real asshole about it. I've seen him stand with a clipboard, filling out disciplinaries as the kids race down the hallway after the bell rings. I know. Rules are rules, but I pick my battles.

This morning is completely typical. The only deviation from the script has been Mrs. Costa's absence. As I'm about to shut the door, I see Aaron Jackson heading toward my room. He's been absent, but I'm surprised to see him so early in the morning. He doesn't usually get to school until second or third period. He's not a fan of getting up in the morning. Or of school. Or of life in general.

I smile and ask Aaron if he's stopping by to get last night's homework. He looks me in the eye and doesn't speak.

And my day suddenly stops being so typical.

For a moment I feel like I'm giving birth. Like my uterus is being torn in half. But I already had my babies.

Then I see the pain.

It's silver, like stainless steel. It surrounds me, muffling the sounds of teenagers laughing and sneezing and talking and phones buzzing on the desks. A minute ago some girls were jousting verbally, each trying to establish that her seasonal allergies were, by far, the worst. Now I hear the wah-wah-wah of their whining from ten miles away.

The world is melting in silver. I taste it, like I used to taste the metal bar on the baby carriage when my mother would take me for a walk around the block. It quenched my thirst, that cold, silver bar.

I remember ice skating on the puddle in front of our house. It was so cold that year, just like now as I sit on a frozen puddle. The silver glint of my double-runner skates is oozing through my body. I shiver. Why am I sitting on a skating rink in the road?

I look around and see my fourth grade teacher, holding her silver pointer, tapping it on the board as we recite multiplication facts. I'm terrified because I don't know the sevens, and she's about to call on me with that pointer the kind that looks like a pen but telescopes out to be a big long silver stick and it's pointing at me and my bladder lets go and now the frozen puddle is warm.

I hear a scream and another and another and I don't know where I am or why I taste the stainless steel of the metal bar of the baby carriage or why I see silver sequins blowing past me, like icy metallic sleet falling on me stinging my tin foil skin.

My sister is calling me but she died and she's buried and gone and buried in the stainless steel casket so small and sad. Everyone says it's a pity because she was just a baby.

Why am I wrapped in tin foil like leftovers from Easter dinner why so I won't fall apart because I'm melting and my silver insides are leaking to my outsides and the puddle gets colder and deeper and I'm skating with Todd on a pond this time and I love him and he lays me down on a blanket in the snow and takes off my tin foil wrap and slides his smooth silver shaft inside my body and I love him even though I am cold.

And my babies my grls aren't bbies anymore I see slvr rattles and cups and baby earrngs where are their braces why are their brcs mltng dwn thr chns and a silver iPad for each of them on Chrstms mrnng.

Tdd puts that slvr ring n my fngr and tlls me we wll b tgthr forvr but dont thnk he can com wth evn thgh I hve th shny rng n m fngr tht says frvr.

Silver

Cold

Quiet

Dark

Nothing

Peace

White

Noise

Light

PAIN

TERROR

^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^

"Her eyes are open!"

"Where?" I barely manage to whisper.

"You're in the hospital, Mrs. Davenport. You were attacked by a student at school this morning."

"Dead?" I try to say.

"No. We thought we were losing you at first, but you're going to make it, honey."

"Todd?" I rasp.

"He's right outside. I'll have him hold your wedding ring, OK?"

"Silver...one?"

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure it's platinum."

"Dying?"

"No, no. You'll be back in front of your classroom before you know it."

"Tell them..."

"Shh, honey. Don't try to talk."

And someone bursts into the room, saying, "Sorry I'm late. I had an Earth Day clean-up at my kids' school."

Earth Day. April twenty-second. And I almost died.

Almost in the Earth Day.

"Tell them...I FUCKING QUIT."

Review: Morium by S.J. Hermann

Morium by S.J. Hermann
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An important work about relevant issues.

I teach high school. I see bullying in action all the time, and it comes in many forms. It's easy to identify bullying when it includes physical violence or outright name calling or put downs. Hermann brings to light the "kill 'em with kindness" bully-- the one who goes out of her way to say hi or compliment their victim. To an outsider, it looks like kindness. To the bully and her victim, it's nastiness to draw negative attention to the victim while confusing outsiders. As a teacher, it is hard to fight this bully. "You can't tell me I can't say hi." This book provides an excellent glimpse into the agony of being bullied as well as the negative view the bully has of himself or herself.

I also more clearly understand what drives people to cut themselves. I finally see that emotional anguish is like a migraine. It hurts like hell, but if you bark your shin on the coffee table, you forget about your headache for a while. Lexi will help you to understand just how much pain a teen can feel and how a razor blade can release or mask some of that anguish.

The book is well written and entertaining as well, but the power of the message is the reason to read this book.

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Review: She Lights Up the Dark

 

 

Description

A frightening vision stalks November, even in her grave . . . and things go severely sideways just as soon as she claws her way out of it.

Continuing the story begun in the well-received paranormal romp She Dies at the End, She Lights Up the Dark finds November Snow struggling to adjust to her new life as a vampire with none of the support she'd expected. Her nemesis Luka has plotted to isolate November and scatter her allies as he executes his plan to bring human society under his control. Her loneliness leads her to become emotionally entangled with a charming but likely untrustworthy fellow vampire.

When danger flares, November discovers that her psychic gift has expanded in a powerful and perilous fashion. Coerced into close company with her enemy, she fights to master her power and to uncover the secrets that may help her to save both her friends and the human world from being crushed under Luka’s boot. November is determined to stop Luka as his plan builds toward an unknown and deadly climax, but she may find that lighting up the dark comes with a high price to pay.

This books contains violence, some sexual content, and occasional profanity.

Book Details

 

• Title: She Lights Up the Dark
• Subtitle: November Snow Book 2
• Author: A.M. Manay
• Type of Book: eBook, Paranormal Fantasy
• Pages: 368
• ASIN: B01BQGGBMW

 

Review

A.M. Manay has done it again. She is one of the absolute finest writers I've had the pleasure to read. And I don't like paranormal fantasy. I also don't read (or write) series, but I devoured this book. Manay's writing is THAT good.

November Snow is a likable heroine, who could be any one of us, except that she's psychic. And in this book, she's a vampire. In addition to dealing with Luka, who is intent on having her at all cost, she has to adjust to vampire life without the comfort of her maker and her friends. November is so strong, she pulls it off with cunning and even grace. One of Luka's henchmen is there to guide her, and my god, I pulled for the two of them through the whole book.

This book is not "erotica," but there are some surprisingly hot scenes in it. Manay is all-inclusive. With characters of different races, species, and sexual orientations, you'll find a pleasant array of relationships, and seriously, her sex scenes are something else, Writerotica readers. Manay's writing is above and beyond so many writers in this genre. I've read Ann Rice (in another lifetime). November Snow is more endearing than Lestat. Manay is the real deal, and she'll be a household name before long.

 

Excerpt

She knew only one thing after she clawed her way out of the ground: she had to eat. Two sheep and a billy goat gave their lives for November's first meal of her new one. She required no persuasion or instruction, falling upon them instinctively when she'd emerged from the earth, filthy and ravenous. She tore into them, a gleeful savage.

When she was full and they were empty, she knelt next to them, stunned, reaching up a tentative finger to touch the fangs protruding from her bloodstained mouth. The animals had tasted of grass and sunshine and milk. For a few moments, she had lived their bucolic lives, now over. She felt warm, fuzzy with pleasure. Her head spun.

November wasn't quite sure where she was, or even who she was, but then it all came back in a rush.  

As she walks among her friends, a sniper's bullet finds her belly. She falls to the dirt as she takes the death meant for another. Ilyn carries her inside, eyes burning. She lies in front of a fireplace, her life bleeding away, but there is no pain on her face. Her friends surround her. She agrees to live to fight another day. He takes her blood and gives her his own. Now there is fear and struggle and rejection, but it is too late, far too late. They watch her die They watch her die because of them.

November returned to the present, the ground solid beneath her knees once again.  

I died. I'm a vampire.

For a moment, she wasn't certain if she would laugh or weep. The amazed cackle that escaped between her fingers settled that question. It was only after the glow of feeding had faded that she noticed the pandemonium that had erupted around her.

They were looking for something. Zinnia was on the ground. She looked completely undone. And Ilyn . . . Ilyn looked terrible. It took November a long, confused moment to realize that what they were looking for . . . was her.

Review: Riding Redemption

Riding Redemption by Jolie Mason
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Even though Sci-Fi is NOT my thing, this was a truly enjoyable read. On the first page, I had to phone a friend to find out what a "mech" is. Once I figured out that it would look similar to the robot guy on my ten-year-old son's sheets, I settled in to take in the romance.

Mason's writing is slick and tight. No extra fluff to be found. I love that, especially in an action-packed story. I don't want extra words slowing down the pace. Mason did not disappoint. The story moved like a freight train.

In the middle of all kinds of action, there is a sweet love story. Two damaged people with a history work far too closely together to be apart. Their commanding officer gives them the gift of time to work out their differences. Which they do in a sexy hotel suite. This is not erotica. There is a virtuous fade-to-black alluding to a wild night before rushing back into battle.

Jolie Mason's writing is so good, I wish that her interests were more similar to mine. She's excellent.

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Review: Kismet: A Desi Rhapsody in London

KISMET - A DESI RHAPSODY IN LONDON by Shaheen Darr
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Kismet is a rich read following the lives of several Pakistani families living in London. We see through the eyes of several of the characters as the book meanders through their stories, allowing a unique view of how they interconnect. There's no "big action" in this book. Instead, the story is made of pieces of daily life, and that's what makes it successful. I found myself pondering the characters when I wasn't reading, wondering where their stories were going.

The narrative was bulky at times, but I would recommend this book to readers looking to expand their world view and experience culture. I'm still thinking about it.

(I received a free copy for an honest review.)

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Review: Walk on the Wild Side by Suzie Jay

Walk on the Wild Side: The Reinvention of Violet Monte by Suzie Jay
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Walk on the Wild Side is a quirky, fun read.

Violet devoted her life to loving one man, and he betrayed her. In her search for her life's purpose, she takes a trip, tries her hand at being a detective, starts a business, meets an interesting friend, finds a fabulous apartment, and meets a new man.

Suzie Jay tells the story from Violet's point of view, allowing the reader to connect with her quirky personality and her sometimes crazy plans. This book was a pleasure to read.

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