Today is Friday the 13th, a notoriously unlucky day. A coworker was married and kissed his new wife for the first time during the ceremony. I realized that I’ve been chasing the ghost of a good thing and that it is finally time to give up the ghost.
It all started with candy hearts, the chalky kind that no one really enjoys to eat but that everyone loves to read. I put them absolutely everywhere I could, almost as if I thought they were cleverly symbolic of all the real love I had to give. But they ended up in the trash and I was followed the metaphor, I would conclude it was pretty much accurate.
I am going to eat chocolate and drink and sleep until I feel better, or at least become numb to what should be familiar disappointment and terrifying assumptions.
Please excuse the pity party; I am a single woman on Valentine’s Eve. I’m entitled, I believe. And give me some credit for not going to see “Fifty Shades of Grey.” In that sense, I am trying to retain my dignity. But in all sincerity, I suppose that makes me as original and genuine as a cop in a donut shop.
WRITING PROMPT #21: A police detective is assigned to a case involving arson at several Krispy Kreme donut shops.
Mark sat in the cruiser with the blue and red light whirling and twirling above, but the sirens were silent. He had a clipboard perched on his lap with tedious paperwork that he had retreated to fill out. Mark had finished the paperwork some time ago, nearly thirty minutes, but had been extremely hesitant to leave the car.
Walking into any donut shop in a uniform was difficult enough. The trite jokes, snide comments, and sniggers of laughter were irritating and overplayed. However, walking into a donut shop when the uniform was stretched tight around an ever-expanding, rotund middle was proof that God was insensitive and cruel. It didn’t seem to matter that the shop was only so much ash and rubble, the unfortunate victim of an impressively vindictive and awfully clever arsonist. It didn’t matter that Mark was there to investigate and bring about justice in whatever form was most appropriate. All that mattered was that he was a fat cop walking into a donut shop. That kind of material practically wrote itself.
Sighing heavily, Mark tossed the clipboard onto the front passenger seat. He turned his head to look at the scene, milling with onlookers – only a very few were witnesses and even less were helpful – and firefighters and employees. He had absolutely no desire to face any of them. He looked away, across the street to the stores that lined the street. They were still standing, and he caught the reflections of the lights in the storefront windows. He watched the blue and red chase each other round and round for a few moments before his eyes lit on his own reflection.
Sighing heavily, Mark tossed the clipboard onto the front passenger seat. He turned his head to look at the scene, milling with onlookers – only a very few were witnesses and even less were helpful – and firefighters and employees. He had absolutely no desire to face any of them. He looked away, across the street to the stores that lined the street. They were still standing, and he caught the reflections of the lights in the storefront windows. He watched the blue and red chase each other round and round for a few moments before his eyes lit on his own reflection.
An obtuse officer; a portly policeman – Mark could think of a million and one clever ways to describe himself, but such self-deprecating declarations did little to change or even mask the reality. He was unhealthy. He wasn’t appealing. It had been years since any woman had even talked to him, let alone offered him a second glance (even out of sheer pity). He was a living, breathing travesty; he was an awkward and atrocious version of himself that he had never envisioned, never aimed for.
Life was funny that way, he supposed. His bottom lip quivered, threatening tears and wouldn’t that just be the icing on fat boy’s cake if he started sobbing like a little girl in the squad car. He pushed his pudgy fists against his eyes and waited for the tumultuous moment to pass.
A knock on the window snapped Mark out of it. His hands dropped to his lap and there was his partner, bent at the waist to better peer into the cruiser. Mark rolled the window down. “What’s up?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone. Would his partner know he had been about to cry, that he was so weak as all that?
“Some guy says he saw some crack head running from the flames with a gas can. Sounds like a promising lead.”
Mark nodded. “Sure does, I’ll be right out.”
His partner nodded and walked away. Mark rolled up the window again.
He wondered how much longer he could stay just where he was without raising suspicion.
