The Shredder
Dear Readers,
This is a full week with the end of one story and The Insecure Writers’ Support Group’s first Wednesday post!
If I can, each week I tell where a story idea came from. Last week, with Part 1, I explained that I’d been shredding old receipts and tax records when this story popped into my head.
So, here’s the second and last part of…
The ShredderThe night was miserable. Georgio huddled against the cold, but no matter which way he faced, the wind found a way inside his jacket. As soon as the sun was up, he climbed from under the bridge and started down the street. He could hitchhike out of town or...he took out the card Baylor had given him...he could go to this address. He tossed the card onto the sidewalk, stepped to the curb, and held out his thumb.
A sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair and he gasped as the card swirled into the air and landed against his chest.
Go, Georgio.
He was losing his mind. He’d heard his mother’s voice just as clearly as if she stood in front of him. He had to get out of here. He was about to hold out his thumb again, when a police car turned the corner and drove in his direction. Quickly, he walked the opposite way toward the address on the card.
Image by Pexels from PixabayHalf an hour later, he stood in front of a dingy office building with a single entrance, a light flickering as if it was about to go out, and a sign in the window. It read Superior Shredder. Below the name in small letters, Safe Secure Services.
A buzzer sounded as he pushed open the door and walked inside, coming face to face with Baylor.
“Shocked?” Baylor asked, smiling. “Don’t be. I handle my own shredding. That way only the customer and I know the contents being disposed of.”
“Look, I don’t get any of this. What—”
“Come. You’ll see.” Baylor beckoned him through a back door where Georgio came to a sudden halt. Confronting him was a giant machine, its front gaping like the maw of a voracious beast. A row of razor sharp teeth gleamed in the florescent light. Stifling a scream that threatened to escape from his throat, he choked.
“Water?” Baylor asked.
“N...no.”
“Relax. Nothing to fear and everything to gain here.” Baylor pulled out the chair at a corner desk and pushed a pad of lined yellow paper and a pen in Georgio’s direction. “Write exactly what you did and why. Don’t make it nice. Make it real and include every detail from the beginning to the end. This is very important.” He started to leave. “Call me when you’re done.”
The sound of the door locking brought Georgio to his feet.
Con calma. All will soon be good, my son.
This time, he not only heard his mother’s soothing Italian--Be calm--but he felt her hand on his back, guiding him to the chair.
Even though his hand shook, he put down the stupid decision he’d made, the details of how he’d waited in the car while Lopez and the other two had gone inside, then returned at a run with the alarm blaring their crime across town. How he’d let them off and sped away only to catch a glimpse of the cops grabbing all three before he’d had time to turn the corner. He didn’t get any money. They were dividing it up later. The fight with Trina when he’d asked to stay with her. The radio alert with his description and his car’s license number.
By the time he’d finished, his shirt was soaked with sweat. He didn’t have to call Baylor. The man showed up just as Georgio put down the pen.
“So, this is everything?” Baylor asked.
Georgio nodded, waiting to see if Baylor would read what he’d written. Instead, he switched on the shredder. “Now, be ready for a quick trip,” he said over his shoulder as he slipped the paper into the machine and set the sharp teeth slicing Georgio’s story into tiny bits.
One minute Georgio was watching the shredder gobble up the yellow paper and next he was walking up the path to Trina’s. She opened the door before he reached the first step and wrapped him in her arms. “I’ve found the perfect house for us. We’ve got to go see it now. It won’t stay on the market for long.” She dragged him down the sidewalk to her car.
He stopped her before she could climb into the driver’s seat. “Wait. I thought you didn’t —“
“What? Want to buy a house?”
“No. Didn’t want to marry me”
She stepped away, her hands on her hips. “Are you getting cold feet, Georgio Pencala?”
“No. I just—”
Lopez’s car came to a stop alongside them. “Hey! Love birds. Me and Wanda are going to a movie tonight. Come with us. I’ll swing by and pick you up about six.”
As he watched Lopez drive away, Georgio leaned against Trina’s car, knowing that something was very wrong. But wait. Nothing was wrong. It was as if what had happened to derail his life hadn’t happened at all. It had been shredded.
And now you don’t ever make that kind of mistake again. Do you hear?
I won’t, Mom.
The EndNext week is Team Halloween 2025! Be sure to check out all the stories. They’ll be spooky.
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
The awesome co-hosts for the October 1 posting of the IWSG are Beth Camp, Crystal Collier, and Cathrina Constantine!
Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
What is your favorite thing you have written, published, or not? And why?
It’s hard to choose a favorite among my books. That’s kind of like choosing a favorite child. But I do know that I still think a lot about the characters in Double Negative. Those boys who were on their way to nowhere—probably prison—when the teacher and the priest show up in their lives are special. I hope there are kids out there who are in trouble, will read about Hutch, Moss, and Meaker, and connect with their stories.
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