Five Sentence Fiction ~ Candidate

Lillie McFerrin

Citizen Jamie

A polling place at a recreation center in New ...

A polling place at a recreation center in New Jersey’s 2008 general election (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“I’m really, really nervous about this, Daddy,” 18-year old Jamie Gerwick said to her father as they walked down the dark tiled hall of P.S. 12 toward the polling place in the gymnasium.

“Oh my, don’t be, honey,” Leonard Gerwick said, placing his arm around his daughter.

“Today is the first time you’ve ever exercised that most important privilege of citizenship,” he said, “something generations of Americans – including your late great-uncle Bennie — have fought and died to maintain and protect.”

As they were about to turn the corner into the gym, Leonard stopped, his welling eyes looking into Jamie’s, and put his hands on her shoulders, saying, “You just go in there and sign your name in the book, confidently enter the sanctity of the voting booth and vote for whichever candidate you believe best represents your dreams and aspirations for yours and this country’s future.”

Jamie sheepishly glanced over her shoulder, pulled on her sunglasses and hissed, “No, Daddy, I’m nervous that Bobby Bannister will be in there with his mom and think I’m some sort of geek because you dragged me over here before I could fix my hair and get out of these sweats and flip-flops…gahhh!”

Here is my latest Five Sentence Fiction offering, based on a prompt from Lillie McFerrin. This week: Candidate.

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Love Song

Lillie McFerrin

Love Song

Piano-Bar (02) - 26Feb09, New Orleans (USA)

Piano-Bar (02) – 26Feb09, New Orleans (USA) (Photo credit: philippe leroyer)

The girl at the piano in this bar is singing what she called “our latest love song” and she’s singing the truth, because I can feel it even through the beer and the darkness.

This one is different from every other love song because she wrote it and she’s singing it— there in that cone of light— she’s singing it just for me.

I don’t even know her name, but she’s stared at me all the while she’s been playing, even clamming a few notes because I’m such a distraction and you know I’m the target of the arrow of her soul, her heart, her song, OUR song.

“Can I get another here, buddy?” I said to the barkeep, adding, “Would you just look at her, would you listen to her?”

And now she’s finished, and as I smooth my way around this rudely mumbing crowd to introduce myself and pledge my troth, I notice the white stick on the floor next to her bench, and I’m glad of all she’s reminded me about Love — artful Love, dream Love, her Love, my Love, our Love — how Love is blind, too.

Here is my latest Five Sentence Fiction offering, based on a prompt from Lillie McFerrin. This week: Awkward.