Long, long ago, before I started blogging, I used to spend my idle time doing free writes from prompts with various writing groups online. In an attempt to get back to that, and my dreams of writing fiction, I've decided to start doing some free writes here.
Every Friday, I'll post a writing prompt and my 15-minute free write. If you decide to do the free write (c'mon, it's fun!), don't read mine first. You don't have to write fiction, just whatever comes into your head. And remember, it's just 15 minutes of free writing, don't spend hours on it. Then let me know so I can come see what you wrote!Prompt: Eating bananas on the beach.I sat eating my banana on the beach, and I saw him walking over to me. He was kind of cute, not my type at all. In fact, the idea that he wanted to talk to me didn't occurr to me, until I saw his legs stop moving out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up at him, and saw the sun directly behind him, making his head look like a lunar eclipse. I realized he had a great angle on my cleavage. Then he said something, it sounded garbled, and I didn't hear him so I stood up.
He was just my height, and not quite as handsome as I'd thought, and a bit older, once I got a look up close. All plusses. Then he said, "Would you like to go for a swim?" in an accent so thick I barely understood him the second time either.
"Um, sure," I said, feeling confused and annoyed, yet intrigued at this dark stranger's nerve. Of course he's a foreigner, when's the last time an American man has approached me, especially at the beach?
As we trudged through the sand, he said, "Do you come here often?"
"No, well, a few times a year. I live across town, at the Winston Apartments." Stunned at my stupidity, telling this somewhat odd alien where I live, I began looking around for possible rescuers, reminding myself where my keys were, where I'd parked my car.
"Thank you for joining me," he said, as our feet hit the icy water. "I haven't found people around here to be that friendly, you know?"
"Ah," I said, assuming that meant he's a real wacko.
"I'm from Brazil," he offered. "My name's Pedro. And you?"
"Laura," I said, letting him take my hand. I smiled broadly, "Nice to meet you."
"And you," he said, pausing to look me in the eye. We began strolling along the shoreline, knee deep and getting iced by waves every few minutes. He told me how he had come to America to make a living, to start a new life in the land of opportunity. Part of his plan, he said rather bluntly, was to find a wife.
"Not so easy," he said, his face serious, his eyes glancing out over the ocean.
"C'mon, Pedro, maybe it's just a cultural thing," I offered. "Sometimes American women like to play games, they don't want to know right off the bat that you're looking for a wife."
"Why not? What are they looking for? Not a husband?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I know I'm looking for a husband, but ..."
"But what?"
"Well, it hasn't happened yet for me. I don't seem to attract many marry-able guys."
"Well, you attracted me," he said, flashing me a glance of his straight white teeth, which were set off by his smooth brown skin.
"I did? I thought you needed a tour guide or a best buddy."
"No," he said, "I need a wife." He winked at me, then turned toward the surf and dove in. He came up about 20 feet away. "C'mon in, Laura," he yelled, "it feels great!"
I liked the way he said my name and, after a moment, I dove in after him.
