I am posting this in order to try and give myself some writing examples to direct prospective clients to.
So I am browsing through Craig’s list and find some prospective writing. I was given a scene to create.
A young wife taking her husband to the airport to ship him off to Iraq. As he passes thorugh security he is stopped by two officers. They carry on a heated conversation and the wife can’t get to them to figure out what is going on.
Here goes nothing…
A pregnant silence falls over us as we enter the airport terminal, me clutching at John’s hand as if my life depends upon it. I am proud of him for serving his country, but bereft that I can’t fight in his place, keep him safe. There are plenty of things I’d like to say, but no words will roll off my tongue. He squeezes my hand, trying to reassure me. We reach security, and stop. We set his baggage down and face each other. He envelopes me in his arms, his large hands clutching my shirt at the small of my back. I cling to him for all I’m worth, my face buried in his broad chest. I inhale his scent for what feels like the last time. Aftershave and soap. Fighting back tears, I tip back my head to look up at the love of my life. He is smiling down at me.
“I love you more than my own life.” He whispers, running his thick, callused knuckles down my cheek. I clutch at his hand, cradling it against my face.
“I love you more than anything.” I reply. I kiss him with every ounce of passion I have in me, molding myself to him. If I could, I’d meld into him and become him.
Shattering my world, the loudspeaker calls last call for his flight. I feel as if I’m falling from my body and through the floor. He peels himself from my arms and picks up his baggage. With a quick peck, I’m left watching his back. I feel abandoned and lonely in a sea of people. The farther he gets, the more my heart aches. It wouldn’t surprise me if it beat from my chest and fell to the linoleum.
Just before he can reach the gate, two uniformed men stop him. They seem to be the local police, but I can’t be sure. John turns to them, anger written all over his features. The policemen calmly tell him something, and he animatedly gestures back at them. I move closer to catch any snippets I can, but the crowd is thickening, more passengers to get on the plane. I am bumped aside by a mother and her children; she doesn’t even mutter an apology as she herds her little ones in the other direction. A group of mottled uniforms enter security, blocking my view of John and the officers. I push my way towards security, only to be stopped by an attendant, “Ma’am you can’t go through there.” I can see nothing over this attendant, a living breathing wall keeping me from my husband. I strain to hear John’s voice over the din. I can hear nothing in particular, just the drone of goodbyes and cell phone conversations, shuffling shoes and rustling baggage. I’m almost frantic, trying to find some hole in the people that keep thickening around me. I’ve totally lost sight of the gate completely.
Comments are welcome.
