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I am a Christian writer that aspires to become better in the realm of words. God and His Word are my inspiration, because, hey, He's WAY more published than I am. ;) Also, I love character creating and Ducktales (don't judge).

Message to Readers

Green Pepper Addiction is just a fun short story but I'd love feedback if anyone is willing.

Green Pepper Addiction

May 8, 2018


  Charlotte ate green peppers all day long.  Some would say that she was addicted to them, the way she couldn't go an hour without a nibble.  Her purse constantly smelled of peppers and her breath, well you can imagine how that always smelled.  Wherever she went, she had to bring at least one green pepper along.  Her ideal "good day" was when she had enough pepper to last her through the day and it stayed fresh. 
  She sighed as the she walked down First Street.  The smell of the bakery on the corner floated up about her, but she wasn't in the mood for it.  The cravings she had tugged at her stomach.  Charlotte knew she had a green pepper in her purse, just for such an occasion, but Reggie had told her try and get over her obsession.  She wanted him to be happy, so she tried her best to hold herself back. 
Charlotte reached into her purse to see if she had something else to snack on.  Her heart froze when she touched something sticky.  Pulling it out, she stared down at an oozing, moldy orange.  Her stomach retched.  Her hunger immediately faded at the sight and smell.  "Eww..." she muttered, looking for the closest trash can.  Running to the nearest can, she tossed the orange at it.  "Ew, ew, ewww..." she squealed, looking at her sticky, funky-smelling hand. 
  She went into the bakery to wash her hands.  As the cold water ran over her glazed, orange fingernails, she sighed.  Her nails were torn and chipped from her biting them all the time.  Ever since her sister died, she had taken up a lot of bad habits.  Tears came to her eyes.  "Oh, Rach," she whimpered.  How Rachel could have left their relationship the way it was, Charlotte was determined she'd never know.  She'd never understand it, she was sure of that. 
  Charlotte turned off the water and dried her hands.  Blinking back the tears, she wrapped her fluffy, pink cardigan about herself and stared at the door.  Bathrooms always seemed like another world to her, a world where she could just be herself and think as she wanted to, a world that basically stayed the same.  If she opened that door and stepped back out into the moving world again, what else would happen? 
  She picked at the pilling on her cardigan and pulled off little pieces of fuzzy lint.  When would the pain end?  When could Rachel just rest in peace?  Somehow she knew that Rachel's memory would always be alive and tainted by the ordeal.  Her heart throbbed at the idea and she began to bite at her nails again.  
  She was about to go to the wall and lean against it for awhile to think, when a knock sounded on the door.  "Hey, is anyone in there?" a voice called.  Charlotte held in her tears and grabbed the door handle.  The moving world called for her and there was no way she could avoid it.  She turned the handle and opened the door to a squirming little lady.  "I'm awfully sorry," the woman said, rushing Charlotte out of the way so she could use the restroom.  People always seemed like they were in a terrible rush in this life.
  Charlotte sat down at one of the bakery tables.  Her insides churned.  Her mother was gone, her father was away on a business trip, and her brother had distanced himself from all of them.  There was only one person that could face the pain and grueling heartache head on and it was her.  She stared out the window, her belly starting to growl again.  If only Reggie could understand!  She needed her veggies and the nail biting to get through the agony.  He had to at least allow her that sort of outlet.
  "At least it's not drugs or alcohol, Reg," she had tried to reason with him.  He had just given her a side glance with a sarcastic look.  He had started to look offended because, hey! he was a recovering alcoholic and she had said she'd take him as he was.  That was true, but he had no good reason for his addiction.  Charlotte had Rachel's dramatic passing to deal with, and what did Reginald Porter have to deal with?  He only had what he brought upon himself to deal with.  To act like he didn't want it by drinking was like faking himself.
  Charlotte slowed her thoughts down....  Okay... so maybe she was being hard on Reg, but he was being hard on her... he deserved some attitude.  Her thoughts were redirected at the sound of heels clicking.  Before she even turned her head, Charlotte knew who it was.  Marcie Cotton was the investigator charged with Rachel's case and Charlotte had gotten all too used to hearing her strides. 
  "How are we doing?" Marcie asked, sitting down across from her.  Charlotte stared at her.  Her hair was dark, bouncy, and fun.  She looked at her own hair... straight, blond, and boring as it always was.  She wished her appearance was more flouncy... Rachel's had been and it was one of the things she was most loved for. 
  "As good as you can imagine at a time like this.  At least I'm able to keep myself mostly together," Charlotte choked in a hasty reply.  She didn't want to talk to Marcie... not then... not by herself. 
  Marcie nodded and gave her a sympathetic look.  "I understand.  I just wanted to be able to tell you how our investigation has been going." 
  Charlotte's stomach heaved within her like a raging sea.  "D-did you find anything out?" she stuttered. 
  Marcie looked away a moment.  "How well do you know Reginald Porter?"
  "He-he's my boyfriend and... and colleague at work... why?" Charlotte held her breath.  Any question that came out of the investigator's mouth couldn't be casual. 
  Marcie sighed and grabbed Charlotte's hand from across the table.  "We just got the DNA report back."  She paused and patted Charlotte's shaking hand.  "We have high suspicions that Mr. Porter was involved with the murder of your sister." 
  Charlotte covered her mouth with her other hand and tried to hold in the screams.  Tears began to flow from her green eyes and her mascara ran like a trickling, soil-filled brook.  "Oh dear," she gasped.  "Oh no!"  She couldn't believe it.  She didn't want to believe it. 
  "I know... I'm sorry, sweetheart," Marcie pitied, biting her bottom lip. "We don't have enough information to arrest him yet, but we're getting there."
  Charlotte couldn't answer.  Her throat felt stopped by a concoction of mixed emotions and sobs.  She just nodded and cried.  How could he do it?  How could he?!  When Marcie excused herself to go to the bathroom, Charlotte pulled herself together as best she could and pulled out her phone.  She sent him a ranting text as fast and discreetly as she could.  How could he be so careless?  "Reginald Porter..." she mumbled to herself under her breath. "You are the worst hitman in the history of anybody...."
This is a short story written to help me climb out of writer's block.  I used The Writer's Toolbox by Jamie Cat Callan for inspiration. :)


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  • May 8, 2018 - 3:50pm (Now Viewing)

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