The somnologist glanced at her day planner. Her field of sleep afforded her an intriguing career. Her nine o’clock appointment was with Mr. Kirkpatrick. His fascination with ferris wheels had led him, on her advice, to purchase a working replica of one. He slept soundly every night now. Ms. Robbins’ case was more delicate. She did not have any hobbies or particular fields of interest, save one. A hand-held device assisted with her more lascivious needs and did the trick. More clients arrived for their appointments. Lunch then, more clients and then the last client of the day, a first-time, new client. The arrival bell rang at her patient entrance and she beeped him in. A tall, well-built man walked into her office. Nice looking, she thought. He did not display the tell-tale signs of sleep deprivation, as so many of her patients did. After greeting him and motioning him to either the chair or lounger, she sat behind her desk to observe him. He had one of those well practiced, testosterone filled smiles that could entice the most timid of females to become little more than a pile of hormonal mush when bestowed upon them. Luckily, the sleep doctor was immune to those kind of parlor tricks. The new patient, Mr. Antonio Blaque, seemed slightly disconcerted by her lack of response. He shook her hand, remained standing, she assumed it was an intimidation tactic that would have not a bit of effect on her. “I understand you provide your clients with what they need, enabling them to sleep?” “That’s a simplistic way of putting it but, this is true,” she answered. He walked behind her, a purple scarf in his hand. “Good,” he whispered, tightening the scarf around her neck in a tight, deadly, grip.
Bald Cypress Tree photographed by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris Pink Hibiscus photographed by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-FerrisWhite Hibiscus photographed by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
(100 words) It was there, she could see it. The magic spinning wheel. Only the queen had been allowed to touch it and before that, the queen mother and so on. Since the queens death, no one had dared touch it, not even to put it away for safe-keeping.
The lovely young maid, longed to place her slender hands on the rich, dark mahogany surface, it called to her mournfully. She could hear how badly it wanted to sing. She could make it sing, she knew it.
Gingerly, timidly she sat upon the stool and placed her hand on the wheel.
In response to Christine at Stine Writing and Miniatures
I can’t believe it, I found it! I actually found it!
I reread the first line I’d written in my diary. Was that only a few days ago? How long had I been here?
I couldn’t tell. I was deep, very deep underground. My cell was small but not inhumanely so, thank goodness. Especially considering how very small these people are.
My backpack had been searched, my utility knife confiscated as well as my lighter and camp utensils, but they let me keep everything else. Well, almost everything. They got very excited when they found my cell phone, which they also took.
So, I have my diary, my pen and pencil and my clothes. I’m locked in a cell, fed four times a day and let out twice to relieve myself, always under guard. I can see no way to escape, yet.
It wasn’t until a group of young Gnome men started viewing me in my cell at regular intervals, that I realized; I was up for sale.
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 