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Title: Flash Noir
Author: jsblume
Style/Genre Prose / Fiction / Detective
Description: An architect sees a vision
Notes: Write a Detective piece about an architect who writes a poem. At some point, the architect must appear in an office and encounter sewing supplies (not necessarily at the same time).

It was raining in the windy city. Yeah, my life had become that commonplace. I’d taken to sitting in my chair, feet on the sill, watching the wind pelt the glass with rain. What I needed most right about now was a classy dame to walk through my door.

The gods must have heard me because my door opened and I heard the voice of an angel.

"Mr. Greer?"

I turned and my jaw dropped my cigar. Part of my mind thought the burning sensation in my lap was something else. She had a body built by a master. Dark, sultry, shapely, coy – she had it all.

I stumbled to my feet and stuck out my hand. "Yes, ma’am. At your service."

"I was hoping you could help me with a small puzzle."

"I’m not a fan of puzzles, but I could clear a spot on my desk." I put my hand in my pocket.

"No, not that kind of puzzle. A mystery."

I tried to sit nonchalantly on the corner of my desk like I'd seen suave detectives in the classic movies. I caught myself before I fell to the floor.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh, fine. Well, um, I’m an architect, not a detective. But I’ll see what I can do."

Graceful, gloved fingers pulled a small box out of her purse and set it on my desk. It was like watching the instant replay in a game. You know, when they run the slo-mo so you can see what happened?

I picked up the box. "It’s a travel sewing kit."

"Yes."

I scratched my head. "So, what’s the mystery?"

"I’m having my house renovated. This was inside a wall. I thought you might know why someone would build a house with a sewing kit in the wall."

"Hm." I turned the box over and over. "Can’t think of a reason, unless they were making a time capsule. But those are usually buried in the ground with other items."

"There were no other items. Just the sewing kit."

"Hm. Maybe it’s a clue in a murder. Did you have it checked for fingerprints?"

"No. That’s a good idea."

I dropped the box and wiped my fingers on my shirt. I’m not sure why I did that; it wouldn’t remove my prints from my fingers or the box.

Graceful, gloved fingers picked up the box and returned it to her purse. Her arm moved in a smooth, perfect motion.

"Thank you, Mr. Greer. You have been most helpful."

Before I could blink twice the vision was gone. All that remained was a hint of enticing fragrance. I don’t remember sitting down. Soon enough the smell of smoke got my attention. I picked up my cigar. I set it in the ashtray and a strange sensation came over me. I’d never felt this way before.

I put pen to paper and scribbled some words. It didn’t rhyme, but I had more than enough time on my hands to fix that.


Copyright @2013 by jsblume. All rights reserved.
jsblume has granted JS Blume Publishing™ non-exclusive rights to display this work.

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