Ever hit a metaphorical brick wall?
Me, meet writing a story today. Writing a story today, meet me.
My door pictures (and my train pictures) were not taken in Georgia; they were taken in Louisville, Kentucky. I don’t know how Tybee Island got into it, except that I adored the week I spent there, and I revisit it in memory often.
OMG, they have live cams! God bless the interwebz!
Anyway, say goodbye to Steffie for another year’s Story A Day May. Is this story finished, or is it the first salvo in a longer piece?
Train Wreck Waiting To Happen
The minute Steffie drove out of Savannah and onto the … bridge? raised highway? causeway? … that led to the islands, she was in love. Water all around her, fresh salt air swirling through the rental car’s open windows, and a whole week of vacation ahead.
On the far end of the highway was Tybee Island and a cottage on the beach. It was early January, so she wouldn’t be swimming, but she could relax: walk the beach, shop in the tourist traps, visit the local sights —
Just as her front wheels touched the island, she saw the sign for The Crab Shack. Definitely on her list of eateries while she was here.
She stopped at the real estate office to get directions to her cottage, sign the paperwork, and pick up the key to the cottage’s front door.
There was the faintest sheen of sweat on the Realtor’s face as he greeted her. His hands didn’t tremble, but the flimsy paper of the rental agreement stuck to his fingers when he separated the customer copy from the office copy and passed it to her.
“Enjoy your visit,” he said. “And be careful. Like my father used to say, just because you’re on vacation doesn’t mean the laws of the universe are, too.”
Steffie laughed and nodded. “Good advice.”
So somebody knew she was here. They must know what Realtor she was using, unless they had bribed, subverted, deceived, and/or threatened every Realtor on the island, and that was unlikely.
Did they know she was on vacation, or did they think the vacation was a cover?
Now there was a thought: Was something going on under her agency’s radar, and she’d just happened to book a vacation in a hot spot? The simple explanation was usually the true one, and it was a simpler explanation that she had triggered an alarm that was already set, rather than that somebody had ferreted out her vacation plans and thrown a web over the whole town just for her.
According to the mystery she’d read to amuse herself before the drive, there was an unexploded bomb somewhere off the coast of Tybee Island. Maybe they’d found it, or somebody else had and had offered the payload to them.
The the second two scariest words she knew: Dirty bomb.
Fortunately, she knew two scarier ones: Steffie’s here.
A WRITING PROMPT FROM ME TO YOU: Somebody hits a brick wall.