Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

George's Traveling Adventures

To be perfectly honest, George did not like to travel. That was ironic, considering that was pretty much all George ever did. One day he would be in Albany, New York, and then without any warning or explanation he'd be flying into Houston, Texas.

There were a variety of things that troubled George about flying. One was the constant fluctuation in temperature and humidity; there were days that he felt as limp as a tissue paper, and other days he was so dry he felt like a freshly starched shirt.

Another issue was that George never got to travel first class. He never traveled alone, and even if his traveling companion was in a first class seat, George's traveling space was so cramped he felt as if he'd been wadded up like a piece of junk mail and thrown in a trash compactor.

You would think that someone who traveled as much as George would know a lot about the world, but even though George had visited more than half of the US states, he knew hardly anything about any of them.

Most of the time George found his life to be lonely; few people ever talked to him, and those few who did were mostly pretty strange people. The last person who spoke to him had been quite angry, though George didn't really understand why.

It was the day George and his companion flew into Sacramento, California. They went out to supper at a nice Italian restaurant, although George didn't have anything to eat. When they were finished, George's companion paid the bill, and then left the restaurant, leaving George behind at the table.

A few minutes later their waitress came by and looked at the table, then at George. Her face flushed red as she glared at George, and then grabbed hold of him and shook him. "What is this?" She demanded. "A lousy one dollar tip?"

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