From up here, it looked like she was in trouble.

We glanced at each other, shrugged, and bolted for the door.
This was our chance at heroism.
We thought we heard a scream as we squeezed through the doorway at the same time–no mean feat considering our collective girth.
The stairs proved troublesome as neither James nor I would ever wow the judges on ‘Dancing with the Stars’. ‘Spazzing with the Stars’, maybe.
We finally made it down the two flights with no mortal injuries and burst through the swinging door.
Henri was dragging Amy into his Maserati and I’m pretty sure James and I thought the same thing.
“Cool. We get to thrash a Maserati. Better yet, a complete buffoon’s Maserati.”
James ran around the rear of the car, while taking off his belt. Wished I’d thought of that, but considering I chose to slide across the hood of the car, well, one gallant move at a time.
It was as if we’d rehearsed this for years.
Quite the opposite, actually.


I’ve been dreaming up writing prompts for years. I just decided to add a little meat to a few of them as a writing exercise. They’re obviously not complete stories, but I’m giving myself [and anybody else] a chance to develop them further.


Writer. Former teacher. Baker. Spoiler of dogs.


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