I slowly made my way to the hotel, fidgeting my purse, checking my blouse for the nth time. It took me two hours just to decide what to wear. It’s one of those fancy hotels, one that I never can afford of staying in unless I win some kind of lottery.
Reaching the lobby, I saw the sign just outside a hall: THE FORD VINTAGE CAR SHOW. I took hesitant steps and entered a room full of very old cars, classy and expensively restored. I felt very provincial in my surroundings but I kept my head up. "My clothes may look old, but at least my heart has class, and my hair, expensively restored," I silently assured myself.
It was easy to spot him. He was the only white haired gentleman there at that hour. He was examining a red 1947 convertible. I took a deep breath and made my way to him. He spotted me soon enough, gave me a questioning glance and rewarded me with one huge smile. I melted and I floated towards him. Covering the remaining distance between us with a few short strides, he opened his arms and gave me a friendly hug, “Hi honey.” “Hi!”, I muttered and gave him a shy smile, not knowing what to do next.
“At last! We finally meet!"
“No. I’m too nervous to eat.”
I shrugged and we laughed it off. He led me out to the lobby where the hotel clerk handed him a black bag. I caught sight of something long and gleaming inside which reminded me of my dad's stilletto hanging in his bedroom wall. I recalled our earlier conversations about serial killers and rapist getting their victims on the net. He led me out of the hotel into a waiting car, making small talk as we moved along. I had no idea where we were going. He just promised to show me London, but I don’t know which place we were to visit first.
Technically, we were still strangers. We have been chatting on the net for years now but this is the first time we actually meet. He looked close enough to the pictures he sent yet still, the questions were: Was everything he said in the net all true? About the family, about his work, about everything he is? Serial killers were good liars, weren’t they? I tried to relax and in my mind I assured myself that I’m ready to die anyway. He was sooo good-looking!
He drove towards the country. If he was going to kill me, I’m sure he will not do it in broad daylight, right? We suddenly turned to a small dirt road and drove into a small airport. I gasped. He was going to show me London in THAT?! My heart skipped. He guided the car towards a small charter plane.
“I didn’t know you can fly.”
“Oh, honey,” he said, “There are still a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
Before I could ponder what that meant, he was tucking me in the plane seat and I was getting all excited about it. We took off without hassle ... and we flew. We soared over the country while he carefully pointed out to me the most breath-taking sites. I was enjoying myself, gawking at the fabulous view outside and beside me. After about half an hour of flying, the plane started making coughing sounds, much like a train loosing it’s caboose. Then the engines just stopped. As if someone pulled the plug. I looked at him, worried, while he was calmly pulling levers and turning knobs everywhere. “Honey,” he sighed finally, “We have got to jump.” I glowered at him crazily, panicking at the thought of my impending death. So this is how he kills me?! Don't I get a kiss first? I did tell him I wanted to die with a gun, right? Mommy!!!!
He suddenly jumped out of the cockpit and into the back of the plane which was surprisingly spacious and motioned me to follow him. Before I knew it, he was strapping a parachute behind my back and giving me instructions on what to do and which cord to pull. I looked at him bewildered, eyes exploding. “YOU DON’T EXPECT ME TO DO THIS ON MY OWN, DO YOU?” I snapped at him as the plane glided through clouds. He just grinned at me, patted the pack on my back and pulled a lever to open a door. And then, without much as a good-bye, he pushed me. Out. And I screamed … like Tarzan … only I can’t hear my voice! And I fell … and fell ... and fell ... until I hit the floor ... my head banging on a book that slid off the bed just before I fell asleep. The room was getting it’s first daylight. And I’m back at the hotel.
Oh no! Now I have to decide what to wear again.
The writing exercise was to use a 1974 convertible, a stiletto and a parachute in a dream sequence. I’m sure if given time, I could make a more exciting version. But for now, this is what I have. I had fun creating it. If you can create your own version, please let me know.