parking lot confessional story prompt
Well, I may not have written 500 words, but it's a start...(see http://networkedblogs.com/7VWLJ)
Morgan never liked the color red. How could she when red was the color her mother was buried in? Red dress, red lipstick, red earth in piles waiting to be shoveled over her no-longer beating heart.
“What’s the matter?” asked Grant, taking a break from painting the red outline of flames on the hood of his new, previously-owned, ’57 Mustang.
“I just hate red is all,” said Morgan. “Here,” she said, tossing him a towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “you’re sweating all over your work.”
“Well,” he said, wiping his face and throwing the towel back her way. “I like red. It’s powerful and takes no crap from anyone.”
Morgan swallowed hard. Mom never took crap from anyone either. Maybe that’s why red was her favorite color. But for now, red was the equivalent of morbid. A constant reminder that she survived and her mother didn’t.
“Can you at least throw in some yellow for me?” she asked.
Grant cocked his head to the side and said, “Anything, for you sunshine.” He pulled her to him and kissed her neck. She could smell his perspiration, his want, but thought better of giving in.
“We’re just friends, remember?” she said, playfully pushing him away.
“Right,” he said, deflated. But as soon as he turned around, she regretted her harsh tone. After all, Grant was the one who saved her from falling into an abyss of grief over her Mom. Some of those feelings must have been real, right?
Morgan never liked the color red. How could she when red was the color her mother was buried in? Red dress, red lipstick, red earth in piles waiting to be shoveled over her no-longer beating heart.
“What’s the matter?” asked Grant, taking a break from painting the red outline of flames on the hood of his new, previously-owned, ’57 Mustang.
“I just hate red is all,” said Morgan. “Here,” she said, tossing him a towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “you’re sweating all over your work.”
“Well,” he said, wiping his face and throwing the towel back her way. “I like red. It’s powerful and takes no crap from anyone.”
Morgan swallowed hard. Mom never took crap from anyone either. Maybe that’s why red was her favorite color. But for now, red was the equivalent of morbid. A constant reminder that she survived and her mother didn’t.
“Can you at least throw in some yellow for me?” she asked.
Grant cocked his head to the side and said, “Anything, for you sunshine.” He pulled her to him and kissed her neck. She could smell his perspiration, his want, but thought better of giving in.
“We’re just friends, remember?” she said, playfully pushing him away.
“Right,” he said, deflated. But as soon as he turned around, she regretted her harsh tone. After all, Grant was the one who saved her from falling into an abyss of grief over her Mom. Some of those feelings must have been real, right?