The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles.
The aim of the words is to encourage us to write, a story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along and read it.
This month the words are supplied by Granny Annie and can be found here.
This week's words are:
There is also an image of water beading on a blue surface, which I have not used.
Here is my story:
Remy answered the thumping on the door and stood slack-jawed as Officer Brendan grinned at him.
"Jeremy Paxton, how nice to see you, you're under arrest buddy!" Officer Brendan sounded far too pleased with himself.
"Name's Remy now," grumbled Jeremy. "No one says Jeremy anymore, 'cept mum and Gramma. What're you doing here anyway? I haven't done anything wrong."
"Yeah, I know," said Officer Brendan. "But there's been a story going around that you've got stolen goods stashed in there and I've got a warrant to search."
"There's nothing here!" cried Remy, outraged.
"You're probably right, but I have to search, so how about we get that over with."
Remy stepped back to let him in and Officer Brendan stood for a moment watching the play of golden sunbeams through dust motes lingering in the air. The beauty was somewhat marred by the rest of the apartment.
Clothes, shoes, and newspapers were strewn about, the sink was filled with empty shrimp fried rice containers, beer bottles and one plastic milk bottle with milk so old it had curdled and formed mould across its surface.
"What exactly are you looking for?" asked Remy.
"Bulldog says the jewellery from last week's cat burglar heist is in your bathroom and there's a stash of weed under your mattress. Now take my advice and just sit here quietly while I check things out, okay?"
The search didn't take long, Officer Brendan knew this place had been staked out for over a week and no-one but Remy had come and gone in that time. But informants, criminals themselves, watched the Police as much as they did each other and if a search hadn't been carried out on the strength of Bulldog's words, many of the informants might just clam up and wonder what the heck was going on. Street news might not get into the station for quite a while.
Coming back into the living room, Officer Brendan, Steve to his mates, sat on the couch with Remy.
"So what have you been up to?" he asked Remy.
"Staying off the drugs, trying to get back into writing. I wrote a preview piece for that new musical that's opening soon, a couple of other critics did too; I'm hoping they publish mine. Probably won't get into a national newspaper, but maybe a local free Arts magazine might pick it up."
"That's good to hear," said Steve. "You used to write brilliant reviews, a preview might just be the way to get back into the business. Could help if you stayed off the beer a bit, maybe clean this place up so it looks more like a human lives here. Some of the old crowd might start coming around again, give you a heads up when new stuff is coming to the theatre, that sort of thing."
"So what about this search then?" asked Remy. "What happens now?"
"I go back to the station and fill out the paperwork, say nothing was found here. You might see a couple of the boys hanging around, try not to notice them, we're still keeping our eyes peeled for that cat burglar."
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