Creative Writing Samples

I have no idea how to impress him and prove that I’m the only candidate he should even consider, so I decide to simply choose the look that fits me the best. I nod appreciatively at the reflection and grab my briefcase, heading out the door with a flutter in my chest.

 

            There’s still time to kill, because a large facet of being myself is that I’m chronically early to everything. I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt as I stop in at my favorite coffee shop. Hopefully sticking to my routine will help ground me. I order a chai latte, not wanting to be too jittery for the interview, and step to the side, waiting for my drink to be ready.

 

            I pull out my notes one last time, just for luck. I’ve memorized my talking points, but something about having the now-crumpled pieces of paper in hand make me feel confident and at ease. My eyes scan over paragraphs of notes about my favorite erotic fiction, the tropes I dislike the most, and the recommendations I would make for his collection.

 

            When my drink is ready, I take a seat at the nearest table, losing myself in my notes and imagining my conversation with Mr. Sloane. I’ve been visualizing him as an older, distinguished white-haired man, probably in his late 60’s or early 70’s. In my mind, he has a kind smile and a passive face, glazing over when I get too into my favorite obscure erotic literature. Still, he’s professional and kind, and I don’t feel embarrassed talking to him. I have to think best case scenario.

It’s a short journey between the space station and the Escanti ship. Their ship is huge, nearly the size of a planet. We’ve learned through our communication that their home planet was destroyed in a war. My heart aches as we approach their ship, knowing that half of their civilization was wiped out. I can’t even imagine the kind of burden that must be to carry.

 

            I lost my mother at 17, and I still miss her every single day. What must it be like to carry the loss of millions? I hope I never have to know. The ship rumbles and shakes as we dock to their ship, and we’re given the “all clear” to exit the shuttle and enter their craft.

 

            We leave our helmets on, unsure what their atmosphere will do to us. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I realize that we’re about to experience something that no one in the history of the world ever has. The knowledge overwhelms me.

 

            A large bulkhead opens, and the first thing I notice is the vibrant colors of the Escanti ship. There are bright hues of teal and gold, complimenting their dark purple skin. Some of the crew visibly react to the strange appearance of the Escanti and I scold them. Did they expect an alien race would look like us? The hubris of these men never ceases to amaze me.

 

            There’s a welcoming crew, wearing wide smiles as we walk onto the ship, and a gathering crowd cheers at our arrival.

 

            “Welcome, Earth children,” one of the Escanti greets us warmly. Her voice is distinctly female, and I notice her skin is more of a lavender shade.

 

            Through our communications, I’ve learned that the female Escanti are lighter, while the males are darker. The males are also very dominating. So, in that sense, it’s not much different than back home.

 

            “You may take off your helmets, Earth children,” the female Escanti tells us. “We have learned much about your home planet and have discovered your atmosphere to be nearly identical to ours. You may safely breathe the air here.”

 

            The crew is tentative, but I will not let fear make us into ungracious guests. I remove my helmet and realize the woman is right. The air feels no different here than it does on our station. It’s clean and fresh, reminding me of being in a field back home. I’m instantly transported to memories of my childhood.

The espresso machine sputters and dies in the middle of our first morning rush in months. Of course. What did I expect? The morning was going too well, something was bound to go wrong eventually. Dani, my assistant, hits the beast hard and it whirs back to life, but the sludge that drips out proves that it’s not quite up to par. I curse the machine and the chaos it represents.

           

            I ring up the next customer and ask Dani to cover the cash register so I can have a look at it. I might be hand-making espresso for the rest of the morning, which will take twice as long. Please, please, please don’t let the customers in line give up. I need them here. This place is going to go under if I don’t have more mornings like this. My business consultant has given me the projections for the next quarter and they’re grim, to say the least.

 

            Two years ago, the temperamental espresso machine would have sent me into a spiral, but I’ve had to toughen up. Customers don’t like when the owner bursts out into tears while making their coffee. If only that was the only reason business hasn’t been stellar. Even if there was something I could point to as to why I can’t seem to get out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.

 

            I’ve worked my butt off since I bought this place, though. I have literally poured my blood, sweat, and tears into every inch of this business, and I’ve forsaken any semblance of a social life to make my dream become a reality. I broke even in my first year, which was a small miracle to say the least, but it’s been slow in these last six months. It doesn’t matter how many nights I stay awake worrying and planning and working on our marketing. If something doesn’t change soon, I’m going to have to give in and call one of those realtors that’s always sniffing around.

 

            Speaking of the devil. When I get the machine functional, I turn back to the line and see a handsome man in a perfectly tailored, expensive suit. His jacket alone costs more than my business taxes. I’ve seen dozens of similar-looking men saunter in over the last year. They come in with accolades, saying how my business is so “charming” or “cute”, and the location is out of this world. Then, they’ll linger for a little too long and ask how the business is going.

 

            The first time it happened, I was naïve enough to be flattered. I’d thought some Wallstreet type was complimenting my business acumen. But no, he was just a shark looking to see what I would be willing to accept as payment for my little shop. His offer was so low, it was insulting. I haven’t heard any better offers since.

 

            Lately, I’ve either let Dani handle these men or I’ve been as rude as possible. I’m not the same girl I was a year ago, and I’m not putting up with their crap. This business is my dream, and they can’t just come in here and try to snatch it from me. They think that because I’m a single woman running a business alone, I must be desperate for cash. Not that I’m not desperate for cash. But I’m not selling my dream for it.

 

            When the man finally gets to the register, I push Dani out of the way to take his order. He’ll be asking for me anyway, I might as well get this out of the way.

“Crap,” I muttered in frustration as I pulled the nearly empty milk carton out of the fridge. Just like Kyle to forget to buy more. Just like him to leave less than a swallow and think he was being considerate.

 

I’d been home for less than a day, and already I felt the walls closing in on me. I missed Italy more than I could put into words. I missed the people and the electric buzz of the atmosphere. If I were there, I could leave my apartment and take the few steps to the local shop for a new pint.

 

Here, the closest grocery store was seven miles away, and I had to bring my own cooler bags so the cold food wouldn’t spoil before I made it home. If it were just milk that were low, I would have foregone it all together, but the kitchen was sparse. How did Kyle survive without me?

 

With a heavy sigh, I gathered together our reusable bags and loaded up the tiny VW I’d barely driven since high school. It had been too expensive to ship to Italy, and impractical even if I could have afforded to. The old engine sprang to life, just as reliable as I remembered. It was one thing Kyle was good about. He took care of that car like it was his own.

 

It was shocking how easily I remembered the drive to the store. It had been over a year since my last visit. Flights from Europe were expensive, and I didn’t really want to come back, if I was being honest. Yet somewhere in my memory, the path to the store had been engraved permanently. So was the instinct to gape at the Radnor ranch as I passed by. A chill ran through me as a pair of green eyes flashed in my memory. Surely, he was long gone by now.

 

When I saw those green eyes glaring at me twenty minutes later when I took a corner too fast in the market, I could have collapsed from shock.