Free Story: Conversations with a Stranger
Happy Fourth of July, to those who celebrate, and thow who don't, Happy Friday! I just wanted to let you know that I have posted a free summer short story on both my Medium and Ficionpress page. Link to both is below, as well as a sneak peek. It is free to read on both sites.
Have a wonderful day!
Serena
Fictionpress: https://www.fictionpress.com/s/337715...
Medium: https://alysonserenastone.medium.com/...
Sneak Peek:
The city surrounds me, but it doesn’t touch me. Even though I am in the middle of a rather large group of people, I am alone. I never understood how you can be alone in a large group until I came here.
I lower myself down on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and stare into the Reflecting Pool. Little ducks dunk themselves in the water, while small children laugh in delight at the sight. Their parents pause and watch as school field trip groups charge up the steps. Tourists, their large cameras and backpacks in tow, check guidebooks as they shield their eyes from the blazing sun. People rush around me, waiting to get a sight of our sixteenth president sitting in his chair.
Then, there’s me. I am here alone on a beautiful summer day, taking all of this in. I am part of the group, yet I am not.
I don’t want to admit how hard this move has been on me. I came here for a job. I moved from my sheltered small town to the big city. I am one of the few to get out, as they say. My parents have wasted no time in bragging about their daughter working in the capital of the United States. It’s like I have made it, and I have.
Yes, the job has been worth it. Every day, I am surrounded by something new. The research has been good for me. I am at the forefront of history. I have never been one who wanted to go out and find the artefacts in the field. I enjoy seeing them come in, discovering what they are, and getting to share them with the public. I enjoy seeing people’s eyes light up as the past comes to life before them. I even enjoy all the paperwork.
What I do miss is having someone to talk to. I come home to an empty apartment. I don’t know my neighbours. I don’t know anyone. So, to make up for it, I come to the public space, where the tourists are. It allows me to escape.
It allows me to feel like I am truly a part of this place.
People bustle around me. Some of them are coming so close that I have to move, or else they will step on me. I frown. Am I truly that invisible, or do people just not pay attention anymore? Do they view themselves as being that important that they are willing to step on someone else?
I sigh. No, most of these people are here trying to see as much as they can in their short time in the city. This is just a temporary stop for them until they have to go back to their reality. For some, this is their only chance to see this city.
Plus, it is a holiday. It’s our country’s Independence Day, and it seems like everyone in the country has decided to come to one city.
I get to my feet and wince as the sun hits me. That is the thing about cities: no one tells you how hot it is in the summer. In a few hours, the sun will go down, and hopefully, there will be some relief. I don’t want to leave, though. I want to see the fireworks. I have seen them on television, but something tells me they will be even better in person than on the screen.
“I was wondering when you would give up.”
I turn. A man about my age stands a few steps behind me. I jump, wondering how long he has been watching me. I chew on my lip. While I think this is a safe area, this is a major city.
One can never be too careful.
He starts towards me, his eyes dancing. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what all of the stalkers say?”
He snorts. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He sticks his hand out. “I’m James, but most people call me Jamie.”
I look down at his hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m introducing myself so you don’t think I am a stalker. Stalkers aren’t strangers.” He shoves his hand closer to me. “It is customary to shake someone’s hand when it is offered to you.”
I reach out and give his hand a jerk.
“Just like it is customary to tell someone your name when they offer theirs.”
“No, actually, it’s not. However, I am a polite person, so I will tell you mine.”
Jamie waits.
“It’s Bryce.”
“Bryce?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you female?”
I scowl at him. “I tell you my name, and you make fun of me. That is not very gentlemanly, like.”
Jamie smirks. “Who says I am a gentleman? After all, you did call me a stalker.”
“True.”
A beat passes.
“So, what brings you to the grand Lincoln Memorial, Bryce?” Jamie asks. “Did your family drag you here?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You don’t’ strike me as a tourist, but you don’t have the ease of a local.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask.
“You don’t seem annoyed by all of the tourists, but you aren’t taking a million pictures.” To prove his point, a middle-aged man stops beside us, takes a few pictures and moves on.
“No, I’m not a tourist.” Now, it’s my turn to eye him. “Are you a tourist or local?”
“Neither.” He lowers himself down on a step and pats the space next to him. Much to my surprise, I find myself following him. “I came here for work.”
“Me too.”
“Do you like working in the city?”
“I do.” I pause. “Do you like your job?”
“I do. It can be a bit intense sometimes.” He shudders. “It’s not nearly as bad as the winters, though.”
I laugh. “The winters are tamer here than where I’m from.”
His face shifts to one of horror. “You mean it’s possible for more snow to fall than what we got this winter?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Great.”
“So, Jamie, where are you from if you aren’t used to winters?”
“Texas.”
“Well, that explains why you should like a cowboy.”
A small grin forms on Jamie’s lips. “Well, my family does own a cattle ranch.”
“Oh.”
“So, where are you from, if you are used to the winters?”
“Maine.”
“Makes sense.”
Silence falls between us.
“So...Why did you leave Texas?” I asked after a few minutes. “I know you said it was for a job, but was that the only reason?”
“Irrational fear of cattle,” Jamie asks, his voice light.
“Are you serious?”
“You tell me.”
My brow deepens. “I think you are messing with me.”
“I could be or I could very well be telling the truth.”
Have a wonderful day!
Serena
Fictionpress: https://www.fictionpress.com/s/337715...
Medium: https://alysonserenastone.medium.com/...
Sneak Peek:
The city surrounds me, but it doesn’t touch me. Even though I am in the middle of a rather large group of people, I am alone. I never understood how you can be alone in a large group until I came here.
I lower myself down on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and stare into the Reflecting Pool. Little ducks dunk themselves in the water, while small children laugh in delight at the sight. Their parents pause and watch as school field trip groups charge up the steps. Tourists, their large cameras and backpacks in tow, check guidebooks as they shield their eyes from the blazing sun. People rush around me, waiting to get a sight of our sixteenth president sitting in his chair.
Then, there’s me. I am here alone on a beautiful summer day, taking all of this in. I am part of the group, yet I am not.
I don’t want to admit how hard this move has been on me. I came here for a job. I moved from my sheltered small town to the big city. I am one of the few to get out, as they say. My parents have wasted no time in bragging about their daughter working in the capital of the United States. It’s like I have made it, and I have.
Yes, the job has been worth it. Every day, I am surrounded by something new. The research has been good for me. I am at the forefront of history. I have never been one who wanted to go out and find the artefacts in the field. I enjoy seeing them come in, discovering what they are, and getting to share them with the public. I enjoy seeing people’s eyes light up as the past comes to life before them. I even enjoy all the paperwork.
What I do miss is having someone to talk to. I come home to an empty apartment. I don’t know my neighbours. I don’t know anyone. So, to make up for it, I come to the public space, where the tourists are. It allows me to escape.
It allows me to feel like I am truly a part of this place.
People bustle around me. Some of them are coming so close that I have to move, or else they will step on me. I frown. Am I truly that invisible, or do people just not pay attention anymore? Do they view themselves as being that important that they are willing to step on someone else?
I sigh. No, most of these people are here trying to see as much as they can in their short time in the city. This is just a temporary stop for them until they have to go back to their reality. For some, this is their only chance to see this city.
Plus, it is a holiday. It’s our country’s Independence Day, and it seems like everyone in the country has decided to come to one city.
I get to my feet and wince as the sun hits me. That is the thing about cities: no one tells you how hot it is in the summer. In a few hours, the sun will go down, and hopefully, there will be some relief. I don’t want to leave, though. I want to see the fireworks. I have seen them on television, but something tells me they will be even better in person than on the screen.
“I was wondering when you would give up.”
I turn. A man about my age stands a few steps behind me. I jump, wondering how long he has been watching me. I chew on my lip. While I think this is a safe area, this is a major city.
One can never be too careful.
He starts towards me, his eyes dancing. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what all of the stalkers say?”
He snorts. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He sticks his hand out. “I’m James, but most people call me Jamie.”
I look down at his hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m introducing myself so you don’t think I am a stalker. Stalkers aren’t strangers.” He shoves his hand closer to me. “It is customary to shake someone’s hand when it is offered to you.”
I reach out and give his hand a jerk.
“Just like it is customary to tell someone your name when they offer theirs.”
“No, actually, it’s not. However, I am a polite person, so I will tell you mine.”
Jamie waits.
“It’s Bryce.”
“Bryce?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you female?”
I scowl at him. “I tell you my name, and you make fun of me. That is not very gentlemanly, like.”
Jamie smirks. “Who says I am a gentleman? After all, you did call me a stalker.”
“True.”
A beat passes.
“So, what brings you to the grand Lincoln Memorial, Bryce?” Jamie asks. “Did your family drag you here?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You don’t’ strike me as a tourist, but you don’t have the ease of a local.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask.
“You don’t seem annoyed by all of the tourists, but you aren’t taking a million pictures.” To prove his point, a middle-aged man stops beside us, takes a few pictures and moves on.
“No, I’m not a tourist.” Now, it’s my turn to eye him. “Are you a tourist or local?”
“Neither.” He lowers himself down on a step and pats the space next to him. Much to my surprise, I find myself following him. “I came here for work.”
“Me too.”
“Do you like working in the city?”
“I do.” I pause. “Do you like your job?”
“I do. It can be a bit intense sometimes.” He shudders. “It’s not nearly as bad as the winters, though.”
I laugh. “The winters are tamer here than where I’m from.”
His face shifts to one of horror. “You mean it’s possible for more snow to fall than what we got this winter?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Great.”
“So, Jamie, where are you from if you aren’t used to winters?”
“Texas.”
“Well, that explains why you should like a cowboy.”
A small grin forms on Jamie’s lips. “Well, my family does own a cattle ranch.”
“Oh.”
“So, where are you from, if you are used to the winters?”
“Maine.”
“Makes sense.”
Silence falls between us.
“So...Why did you leave Texas?” I asked after a few minutes. “I know you said it was for a job, but was that the only reason?”
“Irrational fear of cattle,” Jamie asks, his voice light.
“Are you serious?”
“You tell me.”
My brow deepens. “I think you are messing with me.”
“I could be or I could very well be telling the truth.”
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