Saturday, August 25, 2012

The Bouquet

Writing Exercise Write an action scene with a romantic twist. Time limit: 13 minutes.

“Julie, I'm gay! I can't jump for the bride's bouquet. They'd laugh me out of this town!” I felt perspiration streaming down my back, threatening to blossom in an unflattering way. I fanned myself with the limp napkin and tossed back my champagne.

“Come on, Tara. Everyone knows you're a dyke, but you can still play the game.”

“I just don't know anyone here. It's embarrassing!” I lined up with the other girls in their satin gowns, perfectly coiffed hair and dyed-to-match shoes. “Besides, it's not a fair competition – I'm in trousers!” She shoved me forward.
The bride stood looking at us all, jostling each other for the best position. “Y'all ready?” Tiffany turned her back to us, and launched the periwinkle bouquet over her head. There were 30 ladies in the battle, but it looked like more than 100 hands grabbing for the flowers. The bundle was popped and bounced like a beach ball. It began to come apart. Hands were grabbing the trailing ribbons, pulling them in different directions.

I saw it coming my way, and though I didn't really want to catch it, I couldn't resist reaching for it. I grabbed it and a hand that was already there. It was like grabbing raw electricity. I couldn't let go, but I didn't want to stay in touch, either. Time slowed, sound died, and I returned to earth clasping a pale porcelain hand. I brought the bouquet to chest level and stabbed my eyes at the face that belonged to that cool, delicate hand.

She was stunning. I was having trouble breathing. I had never seen anything quite so captivating. I was mesmerized by those China blue eyes with a frame of auburn locks. Suddenly, there was a burning sensation in my shin, and it accompanied an immediate intensification in sound and motion. I looked down at the bouquet I no longer held. Time resumed its normal pace. I looked up into the quirky smirk on her face. I hopped sidelong into a nearby chair. Blood trickled from the gash her stiletto heel left in my shin. I sucked in a sharp breath and looked after her. Her taunt of “Not for you, lesbo,” followed in her wake. She was already gone, but a ribbon from the bouquet lay coiled around my ankle.

“I told you so,” I said to Julie as she bent to blot up the blood. “I told you it was a stupid idea!”
“Yeah, you told me. But we are so gonna laugh about this over drinks tonight!” Her grin was wicked and I couldn't suppress my laughter.

I hope you enjoyed this little story. See you soon with another prompt!