Three Word Wednesday: Week 409 - A Blast! - January 7, 2015

About 3WW

Three Word Wednesday gives writers, poets and those who journal a mid-week jolt of creativity.Each week, three words are selected; you create something with the words. Then come back and post a link to your contribution.

The idea is to create an online writers' collective, where feedback is offered and received.All rights to the contributions rest with the author.  This is a place to stretch your muse, test your dreams.

This week's words:

Electric, adjective: Of, worked by, charged with, or producing electricity; (of a musical instrument) amplified through a loudspeaker; (of a color) brilliant and vivid; having or producing a sudden sense of thrilling excitement.

Passionate, adjective: Showing or caused by strong feelings or a strong belief; showing or caused by intense feelings of sexual love.

Savage, adjective: (Of an animal or force of nature) fierce, violent, and uncontrolled; cruel and vicious; aggressively hostile; (chiefly in historical or literary contexts) primitive; uncivilized; (of a place) wild-looking and inhospitable; uncultivated; (of something bad or negative) very great; severe; noun: A member of a people regarded as primitive and uncivilized; a brutal or vicious person; verb: (especially of a dog or wild animal) attack ferociously and maul. 

She clung desperately to him, tears coursing 

shamelessly down her cheeks, without abatement.  She

did not want to leave India for so many months.  Her

adopted country felt more like home now than the country

of her birth.  He held her close and shushed her as one

would a child, assuring her that, once she had visited 

family and friends, she could return early if that was her

wish.

As lightning flashed outside the terminal, the electric lights 

flickered and a voice announced, over the tinny loudspeaker,

in Hindu and English, that her flight would depart in thirty

minutes.

Because he was a government official, he was allowed to

accompany her as far as the waiting lounge.  Observers 

wondered about this couple, both very striking in their

looks, he, obviously Indian, she, holding a United States

passport, dressed in an elegant sari.  They were well past

middle age.

As flight boarding was called, he took her into his arms

and they said farewell with a passionate embrace.  They

were oblivious of the eyes upon them or the flurry of 

comments.  

She changed planes in Mumbai and began the long

journey to California.  It was going to be a tedious

trip, she thought, as she looked around the plane,

every single seat full.  She whispered a silent prayer as

she always did at the start of every flight.  It was then she

noticed the savage eyes of the man seated across the aisle

from her as he pulled wires attached to the vest under his

jacket.  

No survivors were found in the scattered bits of

wreckage and bomb fragments of Air International Flight 666.

I am participating in:

Three Word Wednesday: Week 409

Join in the fun!!!

Laughing All the Way to the Bank - Magpie Tales, Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Laughing All the Way to the Bank - Magpie Tales, Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Sarah climbed the stairs of the small farmhouse to her aunt’s bedroom, feeling
incredibly weary. It had been a long day and she felt so alone and bereft. Her aunt
had been her only living relative. She hadn’t been ill a day in her life and, suddenly,
without warning, her heart stopped beating as she slept in the bedroom where she’d
spent every night for the past sixty years. Sarah had gotten the call while she was
making rounds at St. Mark’s Hospital where she was a second year surgery resident.

She arranged to take a week’s leave and went home to make arrangements. Old Mr.
Jeffries, her aunt’s attorney, told her that the old farmhouse, paid in full, and all her aunt’s possessions had been left to her. There was no money, really, other than the small trust
Sarah’s parents had left when they were killed in a car accident when Sarah was ten.

The following morning, dawned bright and sunny and Sarah began to take an

inventory of the house. She would not sell it. She loved its bright cheeriness and the

lovely furnishings and it had been her home for over eighteen years. Tears stung her

eyes as she thought of her aunt, busy in the kitchen, baking wonderful cakes and

cookies and showering her niece with love. It would be a struggle to keep the farmhouse

and to pay the taxes on it but, once she finished her residency, she would be able to

afford it. She wanted to practice in town where her father had been a physician and

the farm was only a short commute. And it would be a wonderful place to raise children,

she thought, touching the diamond on her finger.

Upstairs in the bedroom, she looked at the old white trunk, wondering what was inside.
It was locked. Where was the key? She looked on the dresser and in the drawers,
without success. The lock was old and quite rusted. The trunk itself was of rough
wood, and sat in a corner of the room. Sarah thought that, perhaps, she could use
a screwdriver to break the lock. It was then that she noticed the red velvet ribbon
hanging on a hook inside her aunt’s closet. Dangling at the end of it was an old rusty
key. After several tries, the key turned the lock. Sarah lifted the creaking lid. It
seemed that the trunk held old dressing gowns. She lifted the top one away, then
gave a gasp, grabbing at the other. There before her, were stacks and stacks
of money, twenty dollar bills, tied in packets of five hundred dollars. When she
was finally finished counting, she realized she was two hundred thousand dollars
richer than she was when she started.

I am participating in Willow's Magpie Tales