Continue the Story

Inspired by Sue Ranscht’s comments on a recent post of mine, where she made me feel like I was right there inside the photo, pushing open a heavy door, I thought I’d try an idea here.

I’d like to ask you guys to continue a story for me… just for fun!

Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

She hopped off her motorbike in a hurry, her purse tangling for a moment in the bike’s handles, until she managed to pull it free.

How would you continue the story? Please reply in the comments section. I’ll quote the best one with a link to your site in my post next Sunday. Your reply can be short, even just one sentence – or as long as you can fit into a comment. Your choice!

Advertisements

23 responses to “Continue the Story

  1. She look to the sides to see if she could find the poster that she was told of. There it was, next to the coffee shop where she last saw him. The poster said: “LOOKING FOR THIS GIRL. NAME UNKNOWN. CALL THIS NUMBER WITH ANY INFORMATION.”
    She couldn’t stop but wonder if it was him who put it up.

    And now someone else can continue 😉

    Liked by 3 people

  2. …and break the bag’s strap, dumping its contents across the walk, bouncing and clattering in all directions.

    She did not need this today. Her interview was in less than ten minutes, and now she would need at least nine of them to get her cool back and compose herself if the prestigious company of J. Bradley and Son was going to take her seriously.

    Squatting to snatch up the scattered clutter and drop it into the dark privacy of her purse, she panicked when she didn’t see the embarrassing Hello Kitty key chain her niece had given her. She swiveled her head from one side to the other, her eyes seizing on the wayward beribboned feline head — resting against a polished brown leather loafer sticking out beneath the crisply pressed cuff of a slender woolen slacks leg.

    A blush crawled up her neck to the roots of her short auburn hair as she watched a manicured hand reach down to pick up her keys.

    “A gift from your daughter?”

    The amused baritone broke through her humiliation. She met his blue — so blue — eyes with hers, tilting her chin in defiance.

    Holding out her hand, she answered, “I don’t have a daughter. Not that it’s any of your business.”

    Instead of handing her the keys, he pulled her up by her outstretched hand, and introduced himself.

    “Hi, I’m Curtis. Curtis Bradley. Can I help you find your way somewhere? You look a little lost.”

    Kimberly’s shoulders slumped as her chin hit her chest. “Perfect.”

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Could it be? She saw him vanish behind the corner and rushed forward. Stumbling in her high heels she ran after him. Turning the corner, she saw him stop and turn around.

    That smile. The tilt of his head. The salt and pepper hair.

    Yes. It was him.

    Goorge Clooney.
    ————
    LOL!!! Great idea Snow, love it. I was just talking with my colleagues where G.C. has his summer house, that’s why he came to mind 😉 The photo could be from Italy, hey.

    ps. Clooney’s house is in Lake Como if anyone is wondering and wants to try to spot him this summer.. xx

    Liked by 3 people

  4. The bike tilted precariously, then toppled over onto it’s side, petrol leaking into the cobblestoned street. She felt the tears well up in her eyes as she sat at the curb, her skirt tented round her knees. Then she cried uncontrollably. Lost for a moment. Then she stood, righted the bike. And continued on.She would be late. But what of it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. The Vespa waited outside. “They must be in there, ” he thought. Should I knock? Should I just burst in? Peer in the window? Then he heard the click of the latch and reflexively jumped back, behind the corner. As she stepped out and mounted the Vespa she didn’t look back or appear to be vigilant in the least giving the impression that she was confident in her subterfuge.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Now this definitely activated my imagination – like a mystery novel I’d like devour in one go. Love the mood here, and the idea that the protagonist maybe isn’t the woman on the bike, after all! Thanks so much for contributing!

      Like

  6. Pingback: What Happened Next | The Snow Melts Somewhere·

  7. From the moment she’d received the text from her nanny about catching the kitchen on fire while trying to make pan-fried potatoes, she could think of one thing: “I was going to take the day off! Why didn’t I stay home?” So the very last thing on her mind at the moment was whether the scooter fell over or not.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s