This is something I wrote last night because we were early to something and then I had a lot of time on my hands a bit later. I’m not sure what I think about it, so I was wondering what anyone else thinks. It might be the next novel I’m gonna write, but I was kind of leaning towards The Make Believe (as soon as I solve the problem that the beginning presents).
It was the middle of the lunch rush, its peak signalled by the anthemic chorus of ice tinkling in countless glasses, their voices raised in a round. Hidden in the army of coloured umbrellas, Shelrae held her own glass half-raised to her lips. Her strawberry blonde hair blew about in the resort weather, tickling her neck and cheeks like a mischievous pink cat.
The old clock tower, though several blocks away, towered over the city streets like an overzealous monarch. Its ornate face glowered a quarter past one on the decadent tourists and indifferently cheerful natives.
Shelrae set her glass down on the round tabletop, then drummed her manicured robin’s-egg-blue nails beside the glass. No one on holiday could ever afford to be on time.
But she could imagine worse places to be stuck waiting. Far too easily.
Her mobile vibrated. It was a highly decorated pink affair. An inane character shaped like a mutant grain of rice hung from it on a braided strap. She flicked it away from the screen and thumbed the screen lock down.
Only one SMS. Dean had actually managed to keep his claptrap within the character limit for once. She tapped the screen and waited for it to catch up with the command.
CHANGE OF PLANS GET TO BEACH
She frowned, though on her designer face, any negative expression resulted in a sultry pout. Verbosity suited him better. This raised too many questions. Which beach, for one. Also, what else had changed?
The nearest beach was not a popular one. It had a rocky shore and the water froze even the hardiest bather year-round. Even beachcombers avoided it. However, there were enough loitering locals to keep a modicum of traffic from standing out.
Shelrae tossed a few bills onto the table to pay for her drink and then stood up. Across the street, a group of old men in folding chairs watched her leave the cafe. They made a few catcalls, but they had the grace to do so in the local language, so she just gave them a ditzy smile and walked on.
She sailed down the street, her translucent blue scarf flapping in the breeze. At the first convenient dark alley, she ducked out of sight and made a quick change.