Charli began to doubt her herself and her research as waiter after waiter emerged from the kitchen, but none were the hunk she saw serving at her best friend’s wedding. She knew they made a connection. He touched her hand, for Pete’s sake. Sure, it was to help her up after she stumbled because she was staring at him, but it counted.
“Excuse me,” she said holding her palm up to stop a waiter. “Is there a waiter with you about six foot-four, curly hair?”
“You mean Johnny. No, he went chasing after some chick he met at a wedding!”
Six chairs encircled Sally’s garden table. One for mother, one for father, one for Louie who would certainly have his uniform neatly pressed just as it was before she shipped off to war. The fourth reserved for the fellow who waited for Louie to leave, of course Louie couldn’t know that. Then two more for the Bridge club ladies. It would be a splendid party.
“How long are you going to let her monopolize the table?” Orderely Hal asked.
The name alone was designed to ward off all-comers. The Black Hand Trail was a harrowing passage between two small villages in the remote part of the country. The only groups that braved the trip were members of the Gamboya and Xollee tribes.
Thirteen miles into the twenty-three mile trail the narrowest part barely allowed a single person. Legend said once two young men met at his choke point. Both tribes were too proud to acquiesce to the other. The young ones held out a hand to stop the other. In the frigid air frostbite soon won out.
Sydney marveled at the flawless carrot cake on the picnic table. For the first time in her seventeen years she had one to be proud of. She cocked her head at the odd droning sound above, but the bright sun made it difficult to see. There was a myriad of colors and then a sickening thud as something dropped into the center of her cake.
“What’s that?” triplet Macey asked pointing at the pyramid shaped photo block.
Sydney’s heart leapt at the photo of Marcus on one knee holding a sign that said only “PROM?”
“Finally!” she said. “Finally!”
I will offer my apologies if I shattered a rule with a serial, and I promise this is only a two piece story, but I just felt like there was still a bit to tell.
Silently the two men slipped through the water fronting the location confirmed to be the destination of their target. They had two lines of instruction: One for rendition and the other for removal. Which it would be was still a moving target. The diplomats were toiling endless hours on the former, but the team favored the cleaner option. Dragging on overweight oligarch across three borders would be no picnic.
Through night vision binoculars they peered at the crowd gathered at a gala in their target’s honor. No question about it, either way would be so messy.
The discarded suggestions still hung in the air as the room fell silent. After all, it wasn’t every day you had the opportunity to hang a name on a super hero. This could be the stuff of legends.
“We must dig deeper folks,” Chairman Jim said pounding the table with his fist.
Well, Hawkman is taken!” Louie announced.
“That’s a stupid, bird-brain name anyway,” Linus replied. Linus never needed encouragement to continue, so he laughed as his own joke.
“I know,” Fred began as his face slowly bore a solid grin before he nodded his head in confirmation. “Raven!”
Hello all my Carrot Ranch friends. I apologize for being absent lately but the inspiration has been short and time was necessary to blow out the dust and sharpen the pencils. I hope all are faring through the winter well!
Harmon was the kind of literal guy who often got into disagreements because if you said it was raining cats and dogs he thought Schnauzers and Calicos should be present in his yard. No, he wasn’t simple, just someone who listened.
But then he got this idea to test some of these literal sayings he had heard his whole life.
Marge the wife came home to wood all over their yard one day. Harmon stood beaming as she approached.
“What happened here?” She asked.
“I learned how much wood a woodchuck can chuck,” Harmon said.