I'm happy to announce that I've completed a story that has nothing to do with Heather or Bethany. It is based in the same universe as Welcome to the Club and was inspired by Tamara Vincent's new story, Meet the Reapers. Both my story and Tamara's take place the day after the events in Welcome to the Club and Welcome to the Club Again,
You probably don't need to read Welcome to the Club, Welcome to the Club again, The Eleventh Commandment, or Meet the Reapers to enjoy the following story, but if you like stories of women turning into bad ass biker chicks than they're your cup of tea.
A big thank you to Steve Wells for editing the story for me.
The Hellions
By Varian Milagro
Helen Crayman sensed something off about her daughter the moment she entered the kitchen. When you’ve known someone all their life you get to know many little things about them, the way they shut a door, the way they eat their food, the way they pronounce their words. More than that you learn their moods and idiosyncrasies and how they mingle with their everyday tasks. Between the way the window had shook when the front door closed and the purposeful strides down the hall she’d thought that it was her six four, 280 pound husband entering the house, not shy little Shelby. Something significant had changed about her daughter. Since she was in her second year at a liberal leaning community college, Helen naturally suspected drugs.
“Hey, Mom,” Shelby said from the kitchen entryway. “Whatever you're cooking smells amazing. Is Noah here yet?”
“You didn’t come together?” Helen said as she rinsed her hands in the sink.
“No, I had to help one of my instructors with a special project, so we drove separate.” Shelby sent a quick text to her boyfriend.
Showing posts with label m2m. Show all posts
Showing posts with label m2m. Show all posts
Friday, September 15, 2017
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Interactive story - part 4
I was pleased to see that more people voted this last week. Thank you to those of you who did. I find it encouraging when you take an active part.
Here are the results from last week:
2% - Something else
8% - A petting zoo
13% - A political rally
24% - The circus
50% - A friend's wedding
Barry and crew are headed to a wedding! I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of mischief Barry can get into there. If you voted for the circus or the political rally don't worry. There is a strong chance that Barry will make a stop at these locations eventually.
The Road Trip - part 004
“I’d like to go to Chloe’s wedding,” Andrea said. “She’s getting married on Saturday.”
“I love weddings! They’re so full of potential. ” Barry said. “Where is it?”
“It’s on Whidbey Island in Washington State. I was supposed to be a bridesmaid, but my mom wanted to take the long way to Yale.”
Here are the results from last week:
2% - Something else
8% - A petting zoo
13% - A political rally
24% - The circus
50% - A friend's wedding
Barry and crew are headed to a wedding! I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of mischief Barry can get into there. If you voted for the circus or the political rally don't worry. There is a strong chance that Barry will make a stop at these locations eventually.
The Road Trip - part 004
“I’d like to go to Chloe’s wedding,” Andrea said. “She’s getting married on Saturday.”
“I love weddings! They’re so full of potential. ” Barry said. “Where is it?”
“It’s on Whidbey Island in Washington State. I was supposed to be a bridesmaid, but my mom wanted to take the long way to Yale.”
Friday, November 20, 2015
Story: Jersey Shored
Jersey Shored
By Varian Milagro
Based on the story idea by David Plymouth
“How much longer should we wait for Lynn, dear?” Ting-lan asked.
Ting-lan stood outside a two story, brown shingled house with her husband, Kang and their two children, Shen and Luan. Like her husband, she had a slight Mandarin accent. Both were second generation Chinese Americans and picked up the accents from listening to their parent’s speak broken English at home. Thankfully, both children spoke fluent, accent free English and Chinese. At five-three, she was the shortest of the family and the only one who carried extra weight. Her daughter stood a couple inches taller and had the body of a ballet dancer. Ting-lan wasn’t fat, but had a fuller figure not uncommon with women in their mid-forties.
The sun was out and the smell of saltwater in the air. The roar of the ocean and hundreds of people at play came from beyond the house. To the left and right of the house were similar rectangular homes, either permanent vacation homes or more likely, rentals.
“If we had cell phones we could call her, Father,” Shen said. Like his father, he stood five-eleven and had a slender build, although age had filled out Kang’s frame whereas Shen looked like a strong wind would blow him away.
“I do not want to hear anymore about cell phones.” Kang glared at the green, white and red garage door. “I want you to paint over that this week.”
“What color, Father?”
“Confer with your mother. I only care that we no longer have the Italian flag on our new vacation home.”
“Yes, sir.”
By Varian Milagro
Based on the story idea by David Plymouth
“How much longer should we wait for Lynn, dear?” Ting-lan asked.
Ting-lan stood outside a two story, brown shingled house with her husband, Kang and their two children, Shen and Luan. Like her husband, she had a slight Mandarin accent. Both were second generation Chinese Americans and picked up the accents from listening to their parent’s speak broken English at home. Thankfully, both children spoke fluent, accent free English and Chinese. At five-three, she was the shortest of the family and the only one who carried extra weight. Her daughter stood a couple inches taller and had the body of a ballet dancer. Ting-lan wasn’t fat, but had a fuller figure not uncommon with women in their mid-forties.
The sun was out and the smell of saltwater in the air. The roar of the ocean and hundreds of people at play came from beyond the house. To the left and right of the house were similar rectangular homes, either permanent vacation homes or more likely, rentals.
“If we had cell phones we could call her, Father,” Shen said. Like his father, he stood five-eleven and had a slender build, although age had filled out Kang’s frame whereas Shen looked like a strong wind would blow him away.
“I do not want to hear anymore about cell phones.” Kang glared at the green, white and red garage door. “I want you to paint over that this week.”
“What color, Father?”
“Confer with your mother. I only care that we no longer have the Italian flag on our new vacation home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Story: Welcome to the Club
Welcome to the Club
By Varian Milagro
I sat up on my Cervelo R3 as I coasted into the cul-de-sac where I lived with my significant other, Avril. I sucked electrolyte infused water from my Polar high-performance water bottle while I checked my stats on my Garmin Forerunner. Heart rate was 160 beats per minute and my average speed a brisk 21 miles per hour which wasn’t bad considering that included traffic lights on my 22 mile commute from work. I turned into my driveway and nearly cursed. My neighbor, Angus “Tank” Hillman was working on his motorcycle again.
Avril was going to flip. As usual Angus had his garage door open and his 1980s rock music blaring. He claimed that he needed the door open to ventilate the garage and needed the music to concentrate. Avril preferred new age music; rock music grated on her nerves. I didn’t mind the music, but I wished that Angus would at least wear clothes that fit. The site of his ass crack was enough to put me off my dinner.
I dismounted from my bike and crept to the front door, avoiding the garage, fearing that its sound would alert Angus to my presence.
“Howdy, neighbor,” said Angus in his deep gruff voice. “How goes the war?”
“Hello, Angus.” I leaned my bicycle against my house and walked over to the property line. “How are you on this fine spring day?”
“Another day above ground so I can’t complain.”
“Are you working on a new bike?” I asked, looking into his garage. The previous motorcycle had been blue and this one was black. “That doesn’t look like the one you were working on last week.”
“You got a good eye, chief. Yeah, I finished up the Fat Boy and now I’m working on a 1994 Sportster 883.”
While Angus rambled about the history of Harley Davidson, how great their bikes were and the heydays of the great biker gangs, I wondered what I’d done in a previous life to deserve a neighbor like him. It must have been pretty horrendous.
By Varian Milagro
I sat up on my Cervelo R3 as I coasted into the cul-de-sac where I lived with my significant other, Avril. I sucked electrolyte infused water from my Polar high-performance water bottle while I checked my stats on my Garmin Forerunner. Heart rate was 160 beats per minute and my average speed a brisk 21 miles per hour which wasn’t bad considering that included traffic lights on my 22 mile commute from work. I turned into my driveway and nearly cursed. My neighbor, Angus “Tank” Hillman was working on his motorcycle again.
Avril was going to flip. As usual Angus had his garage door open and his 1980s rock music blaring. He claimed that he needed the door open to ventilate the garage and needed the music to concentrate. Avril preferred new age music; rock music grated on her nerves. I didn’t mind the music, but I wished that Angus would at least wear clothes that fit. The site of his ass crack was enough to put me off my dinner.
I dismounted from my bike and crept to the front door, avoiding the garage, fearing that its sound would alert Angus to my presence.
“Howdy, neighbor,” said Angus in his deep gruff voice. “How goes the war?”
“Hello, Angus.” I leaned my bicycle against my house and walked over to the property line. “How are you on this fine spring day?”
“Another day above ground so I can’t complain.”
“Are you working on a new bike?” I asked, looking into his garage. The previous motorcycle had been blue and this one was black. “That doesn’t look like the one you were working on last week.”
“You got a good eye, chief. Yeah, I finished up the Fat Boy and now I’m working on a 1994 Sportster 883.”
While Angus rambled about the history of Harley Davidson, how great their bikes were and the heydays of the great biker gangs, I wondered what I’d done in a previous life to deserve a neighbor like him. It must have been pretty horrendous.
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