I wrote up this story over the last week, using a prompt from one of the patreon pages I subscribe to. There were three words to use somehow in the story. Jeremiah, Silas, and Corrin seemed to think it fit them perfectly, so I started writing them. Three words, three characters, and three scenes. I put it up on my Patreon page yesterday. I’m going to share the beginning of it here, but you can read the rest if you subscribe for as little as $1 a month.
Jeremiah ran a finger over the round ‘E’ key and glanced back over his shoulder. The shopkeeper had barely taken his eyes off him since he’d stepped in here. He brushed off whatever the man’s opinion of him might be and turned back to the item in front of him.
This was not something Corrin put on her list to him and Silas. No, that consisted of mostly books. Notebooks, too. She wasn’t even the reason he’d stopped in her. He’d seen an antique model fire truck in the shop window he was sure his grandfather would like. This vintage typewriter had caught his attention when he stepped inside.
Corrin was the only one he still had to buy for. His grandfather never expected anything, but Jeremiah still tried to pick something up for him if it caught his eye. It had been Corrin who had been nearly impossible to buy for this year. Even harder than his niece, and she couldn’t even tell him what she wanted yet.
He smiled as he thought of little Doreen, just over a year old and already giving his sister and brother-in-law a run for their money.
It was great.
He slid his finger over to the ‘R’ key and down to the ‘F’ but resisted the urge to press down on any of them; he didn’t need to get an even dirtier look from the shopkeeper. Yes, she would like this. It wasn’t their first Christmas together—last year they’d all agreed to get stuff they needed for the new house—but he wanted to make it the best one. For both of the people he loved.
With a sigh, he headed up to the counter. His steps felt heavy. He should have gone home and gotten some sleep, but he was nearly out of time. He figured he’d stop in on his way there. The exhaustion weighed down on him now.
“What can I help you with, young man?” The shopkeeper’s voice sounded tight and a bit disdainful. Jeremiah wondered if it would change the old man’s opinion of him to know he’d just come off a twenty-four hour shift at the fire station.
It didn’t matter. Jeremiah forced some cheerfulness into his voice. “I wondered about the old typewriter over there. How much do you want for it?”
The man made a sound almost like he had a hairball caught in his throat. His sister had given them a kitten over the summer—a stray she’d taken in had kittens and her husband insisted they couldn’t keep all of them—and it made that same noise.