Scenes From Somewhere – 1
An attempt at baby steps in writing fiction and garnering feedback. Expecting this to be something like, I write one scene, which might or might not be complete in itself. Or not. It might tell a story. Or not.
Queen To Play
Jenna leaned back in her seat and surveyed the lady to her left. Her dark gnarled hands turned the pages of a book. Jenna waited for her to fully turn the page before spotting the name in the top left corner – Sylvia Day. She quickly speed-read the page the old woman was reading. It seemed to be some form of erotica where the characters seemed to struggle hard to speak like someone’s bad idea of what American teenagers spoke like. She turned her head the other way when the lady turned to glance at her.
Now the lady was reading the other leaf. Bared To You, the title on the top right said. Jenna made a quick mental note to google it once the train got to Times Square; there was 3G signal then on. She always forgot by the time she got cellphone signal; she hated the subway for that reason.
And she saw a tattoo at the back of the lady’s wrinkled, gnarled palm. It was a crown. It was neatly done, possibly recently, and yet looked somewhat sinister. It was pretty, though, with five pointed tips. She’d seen something like it recently. She couldn’t remember for the world of her where. The Windsors on Netflix? Nah….
The train stopped for too long at 72nd and Broadway. When Jenna looked up from the book, she found everyone had left and stepped into the waiting local train across the platform. It was only her and the lady.
She’d been staring too hard at the novel, and didn’t notice the lady glance her way and accidentally made eye contact. Anxiety flooded her being. She’d felt this way sometime recently. And then it hit her, she’d seen the tattoo in a documentary on San Quentin.
The lady pursed her lips and slammed her book shut. She then turned to face Jenna. Jenna’s eyes became round disks. The lady’s large, bulky frame loomed over her though she was still seated. Jenna shrank and looked desperately at the door. ‘…. The next stop is, Times Square, 42nd Street. Stand clear of the closing doors’ said the announcer. The door slammed with a finality. It wouldn’t open again until 30 blocks later.
The train began to move.