As I walked out of my apartment, phone and purse in hand, I turned off the lights and grabbed my car keys. I stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me, and walked towards the stairs. As I descended down the first of three sets of stairs, my phone chimed with a text from Lauren, who was wondering where I was. I responded to let her know that I was on my way, late as always.
I got in my car and started the ignition, before pulling out of my parking spot and beginning to navigate the busy streets of Chicago.
After passing probably ten different Starbucks, I made the final right turn onto Lauren's street and located a parking space.
7:14. I was fourteen minutes late, and I knew that Lauren was either furious with me for throwing her timing off, or everyone was already carrying on as if I wasn't supposed to be there anyway.
There was only one way to find out.
I walked across the street and rang the bell at the door of Lauren's townhouse. The door flung open, but Lauren and her guests were nowhere to be found; he was the only one there.
And that night was the beginning of the rest of my life.
19 September 2013 :: Creative writing day: write a (very short) fictional story that starts with this sentence: "To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century."
The story does not necessarily need to have a conclusion - you can leave your readers wishing for more!