Although I still plan on posting more about grammar in the future, I’m sure you will welcome some creative writing for a change of pace.
Sara’s blog, A Sharing Connection, is undergoing a server transfer and there is a chance that some of her posts may be lost in the process. She’s worked diligently on this piece with the goal to post and link to The Red Dress Club on Friday.
The Red Dress Club is an online writer’s community, created for writers to share their writing and exchange ideas. Each week there is a different writing prompt for a writing challenge. I hope you enjoy Sara’s piece, entitled “Crisis Call.”
A brief note from Sara:
Hello to Davina’s readers, my readers and readers from The Red Dress Club. This is a fiction piece based on the following prompt:
“In the middle of the night, you get an urgent call from a friend you haven’t talked to in years. Something terrible has happened. What is it and why is he/she calling you?” There is a 700-word limit.
I hope you enjoy this story. I welcome and encourage constructive feedback.
Thank you very much, Davina, for agreeing to put up my story on your blog :~)
Thanks in advance everyone, for reading and for your feedback.
Digging my toes in the warm sand, holding Ben’s hand, I felt blissfully happy. Then, I heard the ring. It kept getting louder and louder. Ben and the beach faded to wherever dead people and dreams go, and I woke up in my dark bedroom. It was almost dawn.
My phone was ringing. I grabbed it, but didn’t even get it to my ear before I heard a woman screaming, “H-h-h-he’s deaaaaaad! I shot him! Oh my God. Please, oh please, help me! He came at me so fast. The gun just went off…”
Stepping immediately into my crisis counselor role, I said, “It’s okay. Try to calm down so you can talk.” The woman took several hiccuping breaths while my hands felt around for my cell phone to notify the police. Then she was silent.
“Are you there? I need your address immediately.” I hoped she hadn’t hung up. Sometimes transferred calls got lost.
Her frantic voice returned, “Oh my God, I don’t believe it. I shot my husband! Please help me, Tessa!”
I didn’t know how she knew my name, but there wasn’t time to ask. We had more important information to talk about.
“Don’t hang up. Stay on the phone with me. Can you give me your address?” I asked again.
“305 Country Lane. I thought we’d finally be happy here… Greg and I.” She was wistful until she added, “But he wouldn’t stop hitting me, no matter what I did!”
Feeling her panic increasing, I diverted her. “I’ll help you, but you’ve got to help me first. Do you or your husband need medical help? Check his pulse and see if he’s breathing.”
I heard rustling as she moved about. “He’s dead.” Her voice wobbled, but there was also relief.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m okay… for now,” she replied.
“I still need your name.”
She hesitated before replying, “Tessa, it’s Janine Turner. I wouldn’t have called you, but I didn’t know who else to call.” Her voice trailed into silence.
Anger rushed through me. I hadn’t seen Janine since the accident five years ago. We’d been best friends until she’d had an affair with my husband, Ben. I’d believed he would end it, but that didn’t happen. One night, I got a call from the police. They told me Janine’s car had hit a tree. She was thrown clear, but Ben was killed instantly. I hated her for being alive, while Ben was dead. I swore we’d never talk again and we hadn’t, until now.
Then it hit me. Janine had called me; not the crisis line! Swallowing hard, I asked her to wait a minute. Dialing the 911 operator on my cell, I gave him the pertinent information.
Returning to Janine, I said flatly, “The police are on their way. Are you hurt?”
Janine said, “Well, I’m better than Greg.” A laugh bubbled up and I stifled it. Janine always had a dark sense of humor. Then she added, “My nose is broken, my right eye’s swollen, and I think I have some broken ribs.”
Without thinking, I said sarcastically, “Why don’t you tell me what’s really wrong!” I heard Janine laughing until she winced in pain. I’d forgotten how I loved her laugh.
Both of us were quiet and then I said, “I didn’t recognize your voice. I’m a volunteer counselor at the Women’s Shelter and on call tonight. I thought that’s why you called.”
“No, I called you, Tessa. I’ve wanted to talk to you so much. Tonight, after what happened, you were the one I wanted to talk to. Crap, I’ve messed up my life, big time, haven’t I?”
I heard the defeat in her voice, but didn’t expect what she said next: “I need you, Tessa. I need a friend. Can you come over?”
I didn’t question my decision; sometimes you just know what’s right. I spoke quickly to Janine, “I’ll be there in a jiffy. My shift is over anyway. Don’t say anything to the police until I get there. By the way, you’re in luck; in addition to my volunteer work, I’m a damned good lawyer. You’re not alone anymore Janine; we’ll get through this together.”
NOTE: This post is receiving a large amount of spam, so comments have been closed. If you would like to contact the author of this story to comment, you can reach Sara at her blog, A Sharing Connection.