Short Stories

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Off-Season Mini-Challenge Five-element Short Story

Criteria - Must be written in 500 Words or Less and include the following elements:
1. The color purple;
2. A piece of fruit (but the fruit is not to be the purple item);
3. A letter (hmmm ... but what kind of letter? You decide);
4. A D & M conversation (that's "deep and meaningful," for the un-hip among us) between two people. (But that D & M conversation is not part of the letter); and
5. A twist at the end.

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Tom and Gladys sat on the front porch and rattled the limbs of their shaky truce. This was his territory and Gladys had invaded it. He knew his peace was about to be shattered.

As usual Gladys fired the opening round. “Tom, do you ever think what happens… after?”

“Eh?” Tom cocked an organ of selective hearing.

“I SAID have you ever thought about what happens AFTER?” As if to punctuate her annoyed recap, a ripe fig fell, ker-plop, on the porch step.

Tom flinched. “After what?”

“After death, tuna breath, what else?”

“Gladys my girl, I'll not sit still for another of your sermons! I’m outa’ here!” Tom moved as if to rise.

“Now Tom just shush a minute. I never thought much about death either until right lately.”

“So that makes you the expert, I guess!”

“Praying with Constance has taught me a lot. She prays for you all the time, in case you didn’t know.” This she pronounced in a cunning purr.

Tom perked up considerably. “Well, what exactly does she pray?”

About that time the screen door creaked and a smooth-coifed head poked out: Constance was radiant in her purple apron.

“Wakie, wakie, eggs and bakie.”

Stewart, Constance's dear husband, referred to breakfast as the splendid meal of the day: Gladys and Tom couldn’t agree more. The heavenly aroma of sizzling bacon and buttered toast recommended the two postpone their conversation for later.

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A cacophony of neighborhood barks, arfs, yips, woofs, and ruffs announced Lucille the post lady at precisely two in the afternoon every weekday and at twelve noon on Saturday. Normally advertisements and bills jammed the slot, but today a single letter slipped through. A blue envelope tipped lightly to the floor. Stewart pounced on it first, but Constance snatched it and danced away.

“Oh, look, Stewie, the return sticker has Cory, Bret, and Luanne’s names spelled out in stars. Those are Webster’s children! My, I’ll bet they’ve grown since the last visit. Let’s see. They want to come out in July; Janine is having surgery and Webster goes to the Orient on business.”

“Fine. But what about Tom and Gladys? We’ve only to mention C, B, and L and the two of them go running and screaming.”

“We’ll make do somehow!” Constance’s mind already raced ahead with plans.

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“Stewie you’ve got to come home right away. Tom and Gladys have disappeared. I’ve combed the house, the yard, and called all the neighbors. Not a trace!”

“Connie, I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t ring the police just yet.” Stewart slammed away from his desk and sprinted to the auto lot.

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When Stewart hopped out, Constance stood waiting for him at the drive. She threw her arms around his neck, nearly choking him. “Mom just now rang from Deep Water. Tom and Gladys showed up on her door step. She’s put Tom to bed in his basket and Gladys is purring away in her lap.”

“Connie, you don’t suppose…?”

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