SO? Whaddya Think?

THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Parents really can’t blame teens for acting out. After all, Snow White lived alone with 7 men. Pinocchio was a liar. A stranger kissed Sleeping Beauty while she was sleeping and she married him. Cinderella lied and snuck out and partied ’till midnight. You can’t blame them – they were taught to rebel since a young age.

Okay, so I am totally psyched. Today alone, my blog has gotten over forty views. This is great, because I’ve never been able to achieve even ten views, over a few weeks, with past attempts at blogging. Keep The Lemons is going great, and I want to thank everyone who has checked it out. So, uh . . . thanks!

Here is the next segment to the story I posted yesterday, Elemental Warfare (thanks to Freedom, by the way* for that!), with the last paragraph from yesterday included so you can guess what’s happening. I really want to know what all of you think of it, so let me know in the comments and of course, don’t forget to sign up to be notified every time I post another segment! Okay, you’ve all waited long enough – here you go:


“Enjoy your visit!” I said, extra perky. He gave a little chuckle and continued  through to the beach. The rest of my shift went on in the same way it always had, with each and every customer shaking my hand and strutting through the velvet rope like they were a million bucks – which, come to think of it, they probably were. When my hours of hell were officially over at seven o’clock, I wasted no time in getting to LAVA On The Rocks. My dad always had impossible expectations, and he dictated everything. Dinner was no different. I was expected to be sitting at our table at seven sharp. He had pointedly overlooked the fact that until seven the bouncers wouldn’t even let me out of my greeting station, and it takes a full ten minutes to cross the beach and get to the restaurant without doing a headfirst-dive into the  sand. But he was my dad. And I made it happen.

Usually through bribing the guards, or ‘bouncies’, to let me cut work, but I still made it happen.

And they were a hard lot to bribe, too. A thousand dollars for every two minutes early I got off work. Needless to say, it was hard to get to the restaurant today. The entry, or opener, bouncies don’t accept bribes after six am, and I slept in today. Oh, well. I thought, slipping off my favorite lemon-colored wedge shoes, Just run faster… and faster… Finally, after a record four-and-a-half minutes later, the LAVA bouncies were in sight – with the ropes open already, thank God. The LAVAs were much more sympathetic than the openers, probably since they saw my father when he was most angry – right before he ate. Flashing a thank-you-you’re-the-best smile to Winston, the new kid, I sprinted through the public part of the restaurant to ‘Hallywood’. All of the biggest stars rented out the private dining rooms, and since all the private rooms were here in this everlasting hallway, the staff had taken to using a pun on Hollywood with Hall-ywood. It was cheap humor, yes, but I and those who were unfortunate enough to work at the restaurant would take anything that could take our minds off of this sad reality.

Finally, I reached the last door in Hallywood. I stood there for a second – just a second, though, as I was already late – and took a deep breath, simultaneously putting on my sandals. Straightening out my dress, I opened the door and walked through it.

The restaurant catered to only those who had money they were dying to be rid of. Those were practically the only people who could get through the velvet ropes. So when they heard of a restaurant that catered to A-list, named LAVA On The Rocks, they expected a kick-ass bar, with genuine lava somewhere. My dad was never one to disappoint, and he went all-out with this restaurant. The bar had been rated number twenty-five in the country, fifty-two in the international standings a month after it had opened. Now, seven years and three hundred three-hundred-sixty-four days later, we were ranked number eleven nationally and sixteen internationally. He was told that genuine lava couldn’t be brought in, so he got a group of scientists together and six months later, the week before it opened, they had an artificial substitute that if anyone should try to touch, would find to be freezing. Because of these extravagant decorations, the overall theme of the restaurant was flames. The staff called it ‘hell’, but hey – to each his own, right?

The private rooms were scaled down versions of the overall restaurant. At least, most were. But my dad’s was different. His was more of a ‘cozy-professional’ look. With dining room chairs that were surprisingly comfy, roaring fires that gave off the perfect amount of heat, and a beautiful cherry wooden desk, his personal room was the ideal meeting place. Not to mention that all his orders were served first and immediately, so they were always steaming. As I walked in, I was let down yet again – my dad was on time. It was a forlorn, foolish, futile hope that he wouldn’t be there, but of course he always was. Every time I walk in there for meals, I swear a little piece of my heart chips away.

“Savannah. You’re late. Again.” That was my father, short and sweet. Well, minus the ‘sweet’.

“Sorry, Father. I got out of work-“

“No excuses, Savannah! You know that. Now sit, your dinner is getting cold.” I was about to ask if he had ordered for me, but I held my tongue. He wouldn’t appreciate that.

As I sat down, I saw my plate composed entirely of green. Sometimes I swear he does things just to test my limits. He knows I hate green food. Come on, you can do it, I thought. He was staring at me, presumably not caring if his dinner – two steaks, rare, with a single mini scoop of mashed potatoes on top of a baked potato, assorted spices on the side – got cold. Grudgingly, I took a hearty scoop of one of the green objects on my plate: green beans. After I swallowed, he started eating.

There was never any talk over dinner. No “How was your day?”, “Was work fun?”, or “It’s your birthday tomorrow, any ideas on what you want?”. Zilch. Zip. Nada. And today was no different, with utter silence filling the room to overcapacity. You would have heard forks scraping against plates, but both of us were careful not to dent or scratch the plates in any way. You would have heard breathing, except I took care to make my breaths near silent, and my dad must have done the same. Or maybe he didn’t breathe. Who knows, who knows…

Once the table had been cleared, and my dad had a glass of wine in his hands, he spoke. “Savannah.”

“Yes, Father?”

“Did you receive the travel notification?”

“Of course, Father.”

“Then your bags are packed?”

“Yes, Father.” No. Everything was still sitting in clumps around my apartment. I was positive that something was living under one of them, but I had no proof.


Okay, SO? Whaddya Think? Let me know below! And don’t forget to sign up for notifications . . .

Sincerely, Lemons

*Take a look at Freedom, by the way‘s blog!


2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Freedom, by the way on February 6, 2011 at 8:56 am

    Wow–now I need to go back and read from the beginning–for some reason I had in my mind that the protagonist was a male and then I reach the name “Savannah.” Isn’t it funny how the imagination jumps to conclusions?

    1 point-The description of the artifical lava–when you say it’s “freezing” and then give on explanation as to what the substance is, I find it disconcerting. It makes me stop and think about what it could be instead of cruising on to the next passage. Which I don’t think is what you want from the reader.
    I would suggest reworking that part. Either leaving out the “how” or expanding the description of the dining rooms–are there columns filled with flowing lava? Is it running down the walls?

    I want to read more–so keep going. (I want to know where Savannah is going!)

    btw–thanks so much for the shout out! As you may have surmised, my writing expertise lies primarily in articles, b2b marketing world–dealing with a lot of facts, not fiction. (But I love creative writing!) So please take my commments on your creative writing as suggestions from a reader’s point of view. There are many fabulous writers of fiction in the blogosphere that can impart much more constructive comments, I’m sure!


    • Wow, really? Do you think there’s any way to make her seem more … feminine?
      I’ll definitely re-work that part. Thanks!
      I definitely will. Things are going to get interesting in today’s next segment, you’ll see.
      If you love creative writing, why don’t you do what I do – only once a month, week, even bi-weekly, and then just linking back to the posts before it. Heck, make a new page and then just update it when you can.
      And don’t say that! Your advice is really helpful, and while there may be better FICTION writers out there, you’re the one who’s actually reading, and I want to give a big thanks for that.
      Sincerely, Lemons


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