Coincedence

      "Do you realize you just spilled your steaming hot coffee ALL over my NEW versace blouse. Come on, this is silk. Who do you think you are?!" Straightening herself she tries to clean the spill with a paper napkin. 
    "I'm so sorry I wasn't paying attention, I'm just really stressed!" He looks down in embarrassment. The striking woman makes an effort to scowl at him. 
     "Um. Do you think I care?! My name is Elizabeth Marilyn. It's NOT a pleasure to meet you, so please be gone now before you ruin anything else..." 
     "Well wait, what is your last name?" Says the man. 
     Taking a deep breath in she stays composed. "Excuse me, sir. If you are attempting to fancy me, maybe start by buying me a new versace..." 
     He laughs. "Well even though you are undeniably beautiful, I just wanted to repay you. " 
     She ponders the thought of trusting someone again....flushed and flustered she stares blankly. "Scott." 
    "I'm sorry, what? Scott who?" 
    "Scott. That is my last name."


    

to be continued..

Lotto

      “Wait!” Stumbling to grab her book bag, Chelsea speeds into a run. The 107 Cavendish splashes by, literally. Looking down at her soaking bag and overalls, she sighs heavily. 

        This was clearly not Chelsea’s morning. Her boyfriend left her, she broke the plate she was eating breakfast on, lost her keys and was unexpectedly wishing she could just get to work.  Work. Her least favourite place. Filled with unhappy old men and irritating hopeful young women. How she had acquired this job was a mystery, but she stays satisfied because it pays the rent. With Marcus gone, she was lost. AND she was without plates. 

         After a long journey down town, Chelsea arrived. Uncomfortably sitting at her desk in her damp blue blazer really boosted her confidence. She was now feeling like a mutt. Ruffling her papers around she notices a yellow piece of paper, it's her daily ticket! The one thing she needed on this dreadful day was a smile, and she had succeeded. Her only hope was this ticket… 

       She was a 649 addict. 2pm everyday a golden ticket lay in her hand, enthralling.
Never won before, clearly. But she was ever hopeful. A dedicated buyer she believed it was her turn, her one chance to fix her life. What she would do with the money, is unknown at this moment... but she feels it would go to good use, not only to her but to others. A generic plan that she has been praying to get a chance at. 

                                                                              ~

    “And the numbers are!”  Chelsea grips onto her seat, looking down at her last hope.  A yellow piece of paper with 6 numbers.  “1…4…7…5…5…” She was nervous, so close…would today be her day? “2.”

Triumph

The tips of her tiny fingers brush along the pine trees.   

                                                                                                                                                                       Skipping blissfully towards the river bank; enjoying tapping her toes in the puddles as she walks by. 

As the rain pours heavier she halts.          

At the edge of the river, she digs her tiny hand into the purple pocket of her raincoat.   

                                                                                                                                                                          Pulling out a silver locket: filled with tiny notes. 

These were her small dreams to the world; peace on Earth, end to war, and so on. 

Believing to be most powerful, she wishes to send the world her dreams.

Stars didn't suffice in her mind. 

She knew she could achieve greatness, she knew she had a gift. 

She kneels in her floral patterned tights, soaking a hole through.

With a tiny smile she lightly tosses the silver locket into the gloomy grey river.     

The water illuminated in a stretch of gold and pink.   

                                                                                            

Goddess of the sun

Viewfinder #3

Her tense legs climb step by step to the top of the two diving boards. Calming her nerves, she faintly spots her purple backpack in the stands on the right, with her mother smiling. Standing at the edge she feels a gasp of air push her tiny figure. Pressured, she lifts her arms, aligns her feet, and jumps. 

Viewfinder #2

In a last attempt to push the boulder with all of their strength, still no progress is accumulated. Their arms are scratched sore, and fear begins to set in. The car that brought the four passengers to an eerie deserted camp ground, is now crushed steel, no longer able to save them.

Viewfinder #1

The rope ladders sway back and forth, I hang my head over the edge. Cold hands are intolerably trembling as the heavy wicked winds amass, the ladders swinging close enough to nearly touch each other. Underneath rests a layer of fog covering a muddy ground. I kneel down on the ladder, praying I do not fall.