Beach Tour

“What’s on the schedule today?” Amber asked as she poured milk over her cereal.

“Bridge.” Emily answered somberly, staring at the news paper rather than reading it.

Ever since the city had put them under house arrest, there had been nothing to do. They had been bank robbers, you see, and had been quite successful bank robbers at that. But with a rat and a dead engine to back them up, little could be done when the police had hauled them in.

Questioned beyond reason, none of the girls broke. Fearing a possible failed trial should they prosecute without actually having the money in hand (so to speak), the police department simply worked the system until the girls were trapped in a small, one bedroom apartment near the outskirts of town, to be held until one should snap from the isolation and spill the beans.

Months had passed. Sheer boredom was the worst the girls felt. Makeup parties can only entertain you for so long.

Amber wanted to drown in what little milk remained at the bottom of her cereal bowl. They would never break. To go from one prison to another never made much sense. But that didn’t mean they loved their current lives.

Josie, the third and last head to the operation, glanced out of the window as she walked by on her way to the kitchen (she’d always been a late riser). She had a clear view of the beach, even from their far back, “in the woods” rental home. “What do you say to a tour of that beach over there?” She nodded to the scene.

“Brilliant idea,” Emily said.

“Let us drive there with our nonexistent car. We could play all day and night and no one would miss us.” Amber sighed. “Honestly Josie, I worry about you sometimes.”

“Seriously though,” Josie said. “We could go.”

“How?” Emily said. Spending all your time around the two same girls sounded nice, but only for the first few weeks. Then it just gets bitchy.

“Take our ankle monitors off.” Josie said condescendingly.

“Another brilliant idea!” Amber slapped her knee. “Why hadn’t I thought of that?”

Josie, appearing calm, walked the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife from the top draw. Emily and Amber tensed. Emily actually stood from her stool in preparation to defend herself in case her friend had finally gone stir crazy.

Josie swung her leg atop the counter in such a way that would make any ballerina jealous. Carefully, she poked and pried at the strap around her ankle until it fell off with a pop.

Emily and Amber gasped. “How did you do that?” They crowded around their comrade like flies to jelly.   

“You two are so air headed,” Josie laughed. “While you slept and commiserated, I worked on a way for us to escape.”

“But how did you learn to get the bracelets off?” Amber questioned. “It’s not like we have internet. You can’t Google things without Internet.”

“It’s called using your imagination.” Josie scolded. “Apparently you forgot you had one. I used trial and error until suddenly…” She held up the tracking device with a sly grin.

“I knew we kept you around for something.” Emily hugged her new best friend. “Now hurry up and get mine off.” Josie rolled her eyes.

A few hours later (these things take time) the trio left the house for the first time in a long time. Amber stretched every muscle in her body, careful to not toss around the picnic basket in her hands too much. “I suppose we will have to walk,” She said sadly.  

“Oh come on,” Josie came up behind her. “ We’ve been stuck inside for far too long to be complaining about something so little. Besides, you could use the exercise.”

Amber gasped horror-struck. Emily dashed between the two and skipped down the street. “You two losers coming or what?” She called behind.

Pearly white sand greeted them first, followed by a clear blue mirror, mildly lapping against the shore in a routine sort of way. Accompanied by the distant chirps of seagulls, there were little trepidation about the sudden change in their daily schedules or the possible repercussions that could result from said change.

For now, the girls lived in the moment how they most wanted to. Free. With a side serving of ham and cheese sandwiches.  

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I Need You

“Come home. I need you. Now.”

Male Version:

“Who is it Steven?” His co-worker asked. The two men sat in Steven’s office going over the schedule for the week.

Steven looked up from his phone. “It’s my wife. She just texted me.” He smiled. “She says she needs me.”

His co-worker smiled a sly smile. “You dog,” The two burst into laughter.

“Oh, you know how it is. I really am lucky she still loves a guy like me. Honestly, she can hardly keep her hands off me!” His co-worker nodded in understanding. “When I walk through the door at night I have to practically fight her off me. It’s like “Jesus woman, let me at least get my shoes off!” You know?” The two laughed again.

Sighing, he shut his phone and put it away, content to know his wife could wait until his work was done.

“Silly women.”

Female Version:

Abigail cured her husband. Why didn’t he answer her text? Hadn’t he read it? Didn’t he understand her urgency? Her need?

A robber pressed the gun harder against the back of her head. What misery. There she’d been, going about her day as usual; she’d stopped at home on her lunch to pick up some things. Standing in the bedroom she’d heard a quiet commotion downstairs. Instinctively, innocently, she’d gone to investigate. She saw the robbers before they saw her, thankfully, and she’d dashed back into the room. Shutting the door, she quickly hid in the closet. The robbers must have heard something however, for no sooner had she crouched amongst some clothes than she heard the bedroom door open.

She couldn’t call 911, they would hear her voice. Panicked, she did the next thing that came to her mind; she texted her husband. Fighting back pants of hysterics, she waited. Suddenly the closet door swung open. Looking up into the cold eyes of a man she didn’t recognize, Abigail screamed. He reached out and grabbed her by the hair. Fighting hard, she was drug out of the closet and down the stairs to the living room. Told to keep quiet, a gun was drawn.

This is about the time Abigail began to curse her husband. She watched as men stole everything. Car keys, TVs, clocks, watches, the new crock pot they’d received for Christmas, even their daughter’s piggybank. All gone. Finally, ten minutes later, she was thanked kindly for her cooperation and knocked unconscious.

A few hours later, Steven would come home to this scene, left completely surprised. Once she came to, Abigail would set about berating, both emotionally and physically, her husband for his ego. Then, much later, they would finally call the police.     

“Stupid men.”