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Sometimes story ideas come at the most annoying times, say, 3am when you're trying to sleep. For three hours I typed away, frantically trying to get on paper the story that was brewing in my head. It DESPERATLY needs work, but hey, it's just a first draft.

I figure I'll post the first paragraph here on my LJ, and if anybody would like me to send them a full copy, you can email me (meg.bridge@snc.edu). Comments are MORE than welcomed. I absolutly hate the ending (which is wonderfully ironic considereing what the story is about). Anyhoot, I should stop typing before my spelling gets any worse. Gaaah I'm tired.



I saw her in the last place I had ever thought I would. It was Wednesday evening in early summer. The farmers market had just started up about a month ago. The market was more than just food and goods, it was a social event for the town with live music, pony rides for the kids, a real family attraction. Standing in the middle of the loud and bustling thoroughfare with fruit venders all around me, I was taken off guard when I saw her, 20 feet away, sitting on a bench. She wore a white tank top and a long flowing gypsy skirt. Her long blonde hair (I remembered it short and red) was pulled up into a high ponytail. She sat cross-legged, smoking a cigarette and watching the kids run about the grass. Her thin shoulders were much tanner than I remembered them to be, and her eyes were hidden behind large round sunglasses. I didn’t go up to her at first. I walked around the market for a while, glancing back to make sure it was really her, but there was no way to deny it. There’s a feeling that you get when you see somebody you know in a place where they shouldn’t belong. Your stomach drops, your heart skips a beat, and you know, you just plain know who that person is. And I knew who she was.
 
 
 
 
 
 
please send me a copy.