“Play it, Sam.”
I play it, sing it, my black fingers aching to caress your white face.
Do I have any chance with you, Ilsa? I could at least profess to you. See what happens.
Rick swoops in. My boss.
“Sam, I thought I told you never to play—”
David is a professor at Seton Hill University in Greensburg, PA, and a student in Seton Hill’s MFA in Writing Popular Fiction Program.
Helen slipped into the Control Centre and locked the door.
There was a foot behind the desk.
“Hello?” said Helen. “Kain, is that you?”
“Darn it!” said Kain. “I was going to silently appear behind you just after you found the secret files, like in a movie.”
“What secret files?”
A Big, Creepy, Dramatic Entrace Foiled. Grr, Helen, I Just Keep Losing My Nicest Opportunities. Please, Quietly Return–Silently!–To Upper Viewpoint, Where Xander Yanks Zippers.
She crept from alcove to alcove, timing her movements against the motion of the cameras. Down the hallway, around the corner…
“Stop!” someone yelled. “Cut! Do it again! Honey, baby, we’re makin’ a movie here. The cameras have to see ya! Yeesh, whose idea was it to hire an ex-spy?”
“Lights! Camera! Action!”
“Tamara, I’m not very good with words, but I guess what I’m trying to say is… Will you marry me?”
Tamara blushed convincingly. “Really?” she said. “Yes, of course!”
“That’s not how the script goes!” said the director. “Oh, I get it. Congratulations, you two.”