Amy stretched languidly, enjoying the morning quiet.
Then it struck her: It’s Wednesday! Why didn’t the alarm go off?!
She flew out of bed, glancing at the offensive clock: 8:13 am. Shit. No time for a shower or coffee and there was no way she’d make the express bus. Driving wasn’t an option either with the crowded highways at peak commute hour. She’d have to take the subway to get into the city. Ugh.
Amy made the necessary phone calls and arrived at work 30 minutes late feeling frazzled. The day didn’t get any better. The receptionist had called in sick, so she was stuck doing double duty and had a deadline to prepare a court docket for the lead attorney. It was going to be a late night.
Ten hours later, Amy grabbed a hot dog from the street cart and settled into her seat for the train ride home, exhausted from a day filled with problem after problem. The copier ran out of toner midway through her big job, she totally forgot a conference call, an email was inadvertently sent to the wrong client with confidential information attached, and her boss was obviously not happy with her. She couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.
Just as she took a huge bite of the dog, she saw a man running to catch the train before the doors shut. She froze. Shit. It was HIM. The guy she’d crushed on at the club and then never heard from again. A glob of mustard dripped down her chin onto her tan raincoat. She had no time to change seats and found herself face-to-face with Dan. Awkward.
“Amy?! Ohmygod! It’s so great to see you!” He looked fresh and sharp in his business suit. She knew she looked like crap with her dirty hair pulled back into a ponytail and wrinkled slacks.
“Hi, Dan,” was all she said in reply, dabbing at the mustard stain and making more of a mess.
“I can’t believe I ran into you here! I’ve been looking for you for weeks. Do you know how many law firms there are in the city?”
Amy blinked several times. “You were looking for me? Why?”
“I know this is going to sound stupid. After that great night at the club, I couldn’t wait to see you again. I tried to call you the next day but I lost your number. I went back every night for the last two weeks, hoping you’d be there. Can you forgive me? Can I take you to dinner?”
The words flew out of her mouth, “You did? I can! Yes!”
They made plans to get together the next night and he called her phone to make sure he had her number stored in his correctly.
As soon as Dan exited the train and the door shut behind him, Amy hugged herself with excitement thinking, “Sometimes when you think everything has gone wrong, it’s actually gone quite right.”
Written for To Live & Write in Alameda’s October Flash Fiction Challenge #9, “Where it Went Wrong.” We had three days to write a 500 word short story and share with our group.
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He considered himself immortal. He’d had plenty of broken bones and visits to the emergency room in his 33 years as a stuntman. In each of the three near-death experiences, he was drawn to a light but it always dimmed before he reached it. And then he woke to excruciating pain.
“Fort Awsome,” the sign read. In all actuality, it wasn’t a “fort” and “awsome” was spelled wrong. Both were mortal sins in her book and she felt no remorse in ripping the shoddily made wooden plaque off the rickety beach shelter, placing it in the garbage bag she carried. 
Charlie’s trained eyes peered through the binoculars from his vantage point at the top of the playground castle. He had a full view of the park and the turret shielded him from view of onlookers. He jotted notes in a little pad with a pencil, kept tucked in his suit pocket.
We grew up sailing San Francisco Bay, indisputably the best sailing in the world and one we generally take for granted. On a typical day on the water we’ll motor up the estuary (which we fondly refer to as the “Alameda Riviera”) raising sails just beyond the Port of Oakland. We know all the stories associated with the local landmarks such as President Roosevelt’s refurbished USS Potomac and Jack London Square, the old Navy Base and the various Coast Guard stations.
Laura stepped off the bus and headed towards home. If you could call it that. An illegally converted garage wasn’t much of a home. She shared the single bathroom with three others and had to keep her food in a cooler so it wouldn’t be stolen from the community kitchen. It was all she could afford but was far better than the house she used to live in with her alcoholic husband.
Amy saw the poster tacked to the phone pole at the bus stop.
Every weekday morning Mama would walk us to school and chat on the schoolyard with the other mothers, discussing their supper menus and any juicy news they had heard since the day before. We lived in a small town where walls were thin and lips were loose. Today’s hot topic was the recent sale of the old Dorst home to a couple from out of town.
Her head hit the shower door hard and she slumped onto the cold tile floor. He slammed the door behind him with a bang without looking at her or saying a word. Enough had already been said. Blood dripped down her cheek and she licked the droplet as it reached the corner of her lips. Warm and metallic tasting.
Lisa was a bartender at a local club and always terrified that she’d be hit by a drunk driver on her way home after closing up at 2 am. What she didn’t account for was nodding off at the wheel, blowing through a red light and being broadsided by a produce truck on its way to market.
