An on-line writers’ group I belong to does a monthly story inspired by either word or photo – or both – prompts. The rules are simple – maximum 1,000 words - use at least one prompt - keep it family friendly.
Here is my prompt for March and my flashette.
When March Winds Blow
When March winds blow… aren’t they supposed to blow winter away? I’m supposed to be running through fields of red tulips. Not be fighting off hypothermia! Katrina snuggled into her jacket as she struggled to move forward against the force of the nor’easter that was threatening to blow her back to her apartment. Three blocks away.
She pressed onward, successfully travelling the next block and a half before a gust of ice-filled wind caught her umbrella, flipping it inside out. With fingers too stiff from the cold and using several four-letter words, she manipulated the umbrella back to its proper shape. Positioning it slightly ahead of her, she blocked the not-quite-rain-but-not-yet-sleet from slamming into her face.
Onward they march. Why were lines from poems floating through her head? She had more important things to think about. Life. Love. Paycheque. And if she didn’t get to work on time – paycheque might be a thing of the past.
She peered through the precipitation, almost there. She could do it. Mother Nature released another burst of wind. Her umbrella trembled but held strong. She stepped to her left to let three people, absorbed in their cell phones, pass. Her foot sunk into the garbage-filled, blackened, frozen snow that lay on the curb.
Another line from a poem shot through her mind – The beauty of March lies in its— What a bunch of… She shook the debris from her boot.
Oh, to be on a tropical beach. White sand. Warm breeze. A long, cool drink delivered by a tall, hot man.
“Umph! Ow. Crap!” Katrina snapped out of her fantasy by the unceremonious landing on her backside. She’d slipped on an icy portion of the sidewalk where the salt had not done its job. Glancing up, her umbrella had turned belly up – again. And her other hand rested in a puddle of… ew! Don’t even think about it.
“That was quite the fall. May I help?” A gloved hand was held out before her.
Could this be it? That romantic novel moment where the tall, mysterious hero aids her in her moment of despair and their eyes meet and they instantly fall in love and suddenly everything in the world is sunny and sweet and little bunnies hop around your feet?!?
Katrina shook her head. Snap out of it! She peered up at the face smiling down at her. Nope. Not a mysterious hero. Just the nice, grandmotherly owner of the bakery where she worked.
“Thank you, Mrs. Edgar. I’m ok.” She stood, shook the wetness out of her glove, then held out her broken umbrella. “Well, it seems I’m ok, but this poor thing is not. I’m late again, sorry. My backside is sore and I’m dripping wet. This truly isn’t my day.”
Mrs. Edgar smiled. “Come inside and meet our new baker. My grandson.”
Katrina stepped out of the biting, wet cold into the fragrant warmth of the shop. She paused to wipe the condensation off her glasses. Settling them on her face, she looked into the smiling gaze of a man offering her a hot chocolate – with little marshmallows.
Suddenly, March wasn’t such an awful month.
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