I’m thinking it’s a good day to whip out another Picadilly Write the Story story. In case you aren’t familiar with the Picadilly Write the Story journal book, here’s out it works. Picadilly provides you with a theme for a title and a list of ten words you have to include in your story. That’s it. There are no other rules. Just write your story.
- teenager
- screen door
- camouflage
- wrinkle
- birch
- dive
- harmony
- pick-up
- rifle
- sticker
The knock at the door went unanswered. He stood there in scuffed sneakers, shuffling back and forth from foot to foot. The package he held in his hands was growing heavy. He mashed the doorbell button, holding it as he listened to the bells pealing inside the house.
He scratched an itch on his behind as he peered through the tempered glass beside the door. Colors and shadows spun and moved beyond the glass, but it was too distorted to recognize as human or not. He dropped the package on the doorstep, careful not to block the screen door from opening. He mashed the bell one last time and headed back to his delivery van.
No sooner had he vacated the driveway than the resident teenager slid into the space. He slung a backpack over his shoulder and slunk up the driveway towards the house. He grabbed the package off the step and slid his key into the lock. Without even glancing at the label, he tossed the package on the table assuming it was for his parents.
He went to his room where gentle music played in harmony through hidden speakers as he sorted out his latest homework assignments. He was just getting ready to dive into his math problems when his mother shouted for him from the other room.
He groaned as he slid his chair out from his desk. He opened his door and shouted “what?” back at her.
“What’s in the package?”
“How should I know?”
“It’s addressed to you?”
“It is?”
“Didn’t you look at the sticker?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Stop all this shouting and get in here.” His dad interrupted.
He saw a bright orange pick-up pulling into the driveway as he entered the living room. His parents had the package on the coffee table. They looked at him expectantly.
There was a lot of pounding on the door and simultaneous ringing of the doorbell. The person on the other side of the door must have had urgent business.
When he opened the door, a delivery driver stood before him wearing a uniform of camouflage shorts and a bright orange polo shirt. He wore bright orange socks pulled up nearly to his knees and brown orthopedic shoes with a velcro strap. A long, skinny package was slung over his shoulder like a rifle.
He took the package and carried it into the living room where his parents still waited expectantly. Confusion wrinkled his brow. This package was also addressed to him.
His dad slid a pocketknife along the tape, splitting the packages open with ease. His mom folded back the flaps and peered inside. Before he could ask her what was in the package, the doorbell rang again.
He blew out an exasperated breath as he turned to go answer the door again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
He opened the door to find a beautiful girl in a very skimpy outfit. He choked on his greeting as she smiled a beatific smile and greeted him by name.
“Congratulations Jimmy!” she sang in a childlike voice. “You’re going places, yes you are. Won’t you go places in this brand new car?”
She handed him a pair of keys and flounced off the doorstep in a whirl of blonde piggy tails and bubblegum pink sequins. She left him standing there, mouth agape, staring after her.
“Who was it, son?” his dad asked from behind him.
“Another delivery,” he answered.
He hadn’t had a chance to close the door when a large semi emblazoned with a local furniture store’s information pulled up in front of the house.
“For the love of… Now what?”
Two burly men climbed out of the truck. One was carrying a clipboard. He made his way up to the doorstep while the other man opened the back of the truck.
“I’ve got a full bedroom set in birch for a Jimmy.” The man supplied.
“Mom, Dad,” he shouted. “Someone sent me furniture.”
“Where are all of these gifts coming from?” his mother asked as she walked up behind him.
“Says here it’s from anonymous,” the delivery man provided.
“Why is someone sending you gifts anonymously?”
“I don’t know.”
He felt more than a little unnerved by the unwarranted attention. Who could be showering him with all this great stuff?
Love Sick: Stories is out now
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