I’m working through a revision, and one of my main problems is the protagonist. My editor and a beta reader both suggested amping up her emotional appeal, leaving comments such as, “I’m not invested in this character yet” and “I want to care about her, but I don’t in this scene.” Ouch. I've created a bland character.
So amping up emotional appeal. Is there a lipstick for that? How do I amp up emotional appeal?
4 Problems of Weak Characters
As writers, we can build astonishing worlds, but without a strong character, it’s just scenery. Characters keep us reading in every genre. We’ve all put down a book because the character didn’t resonate or interest us. How can we identify weak characters and build a stronger emotional connection?
A character who isn’t connecting with readers probably has one of these four problems.
1. Too perfect
This is the character who always knows what to do in every situation. She has full self-awareness and saves everyone around her. She’s also annoying. No one is perfect, and even larger-than-life heroes from classic literature had flaws and weaknesses.
I can identify a too-perfect character when I look at the conflict. A too-perfect character isn’t fazed by conflict, and she faces it successfully every time. The reader struggles to connect with this bland character since we all fail, sometimes even in low-level conflict like training a dog to walk on a leash or walking without tripping.
One way to fix a perfect character is to let her believe she is perfect. Then, make her fail as she attempts to engage the problem or conflict. This will rock her understanding of herself and the world.
You can also give her a wound or weakness that keeps her from getting what she wants. Either one will improve the character’s emotional appeal.
2. Too broken
We’re all a little broken on some level (like our characters), but what happens when the character is too broken? He loses the ability to act in his world.
I realized one of my key characters was too broken when I looked at how he moved in the story. He had been devastated by a circumstance, and it resulted in passivity. He was a bland character, always tagging along with no agenda or purpose.
The too-broken character needs a goal and motivation to improve his emotional appeal. He can keep his brokenness if we see him fighting for life. Sometimes even a negative goal keeps us watching (The Girl on the Train or Gone Girl, cases in point).
3. Too blah
A boring character fails to capture the reader’s attention and interest. I’ve fallen into this trap while exploring realism. I wanted my characters to be everyday people with everyday problems. But nobody wants to read about doing laundry unless something extraordinary happens during the wash cycle. As readers, we’re trying to escape the laundry.
Fix a blah character by deepening the characterization through action. Blake Snyder calls this giving the character a “save the cat” moment, which means, “The hero has to do something when we meet him so that we like him and want him to win.”
I would go a step further and suggest we don’t have to like the character, but we have to see some glimmer of what makes her uniquely human—even if she is a villain or anti-hero.
Find what is interesting or unique about your character, even in a commonplace setting or situation. Then show us that characteristic through the character’s action to build an emotional investment.
It’s the difference between a woman folding laundry and a woman holding the corners of a sheet with a newly widowed, bent-over man in a USS Nimitz ballcap in the laundromat.
4. Too weak
A weak character may result from a feeble goal, a weak antagonist, or a lack of action.
Sometimes a weak goal lacks specificity, such as “to be happy.” Make the goal specific: what would make this protagonist happy? (Spoiler alert: the things we think will make us happy rarely do, but our misguided beliefs about happiness are fiction gold.)
Sometimes a goal will appear weak simply because you haven’t given it a proper context.
A friend recently wrote a story about a kidnap victim who wanted a glass of water. On the surface this goal appears to be weak, but she found a way to make the glass of water undermine the kidnapper’s plan. The writer made me care about that victim getting a glass of water, as if it were life or death.
We also shortchange our characters when we write weak antagonists. Is the antagonist a sleepy kitten? While adorable, it isn’t going to require the protagonist to work very hard to reach his goal. If the antagonist is weak, make him formidable.
Finally, a character may fail to connect because he won’t act. He can’t just go with the flow. Track the decisions and action through your story and evaluate where the character can take stronger action.
If the protagonist is in a car accident with his children and has to choose which of his two children to pull out of the burning car first, who does he choose? Put your character in a tough spot and make him act.
Even the most indecisive reader who has trouble choosing a grapefruit at the store wants to become emotionally invested in a character who makes strong decisions, even when the decisions' results are catastrophic.
Your Favorite Characters
When I think about my favorite stories and books, the first image that comes to mind is almost always a strong character. Bland characters don't cut it—it's the strong ones, the interesting ones, the ones with flaws, the ones who take action, that we remember.
Who are your favorite characters and why? How did they avoid being too perfect, too broken, too blah, or too weak? Share in the comments.
PRACTICE
I told you above no one wants to read about the laundry unless something extraordinary happens during the wash cycle. Well, that's your challenge for today. Here's your prompt:
He was folding the fitted sheet when . . .
Take fifteen minutes to tell us the rest of the story. Make sure to give your protagonist a failure or weakness and a goal, and require them to take action.
When you're done, share your practice in the comments, and be sure to encourage one another by leaving feedback on other writers' stories.
He was folding the fitted sheet when a picture fell out the pocket. Wandering what it is, picked it up. A faint smile form on his lips. It was a picture of him as a kid. Beside his child self is a girl. A good friend. Other kids would make fun of them, calling them boyfriend and girlfriend. But they didn’t let that effect their friendship. She was a major tomboy. Into comics, action moves and isn’t afraid of getting dirty. But, that was along time ago, time changes people. Sometimes for the best or worst. During work, learns that his childhood friend has jumped from guy to guy. Leaving most of them heart broken. She didn’t care tho. “Whatever.” he said, his smile now faded “Target is a target.”
Hi Azure,
I was curious about a pocket in a sheet, but I like how you used the photo to jar a memory. I’m not sure what his action is though. Does “target” mean he is going to kill her? Thanks so much for sharing your character and practice!
He was folding the fitted sheeted when a flash of light interrupted his vision. He looked outside the small windows of his garage. Someone had run into the PG&E pole and it looked about ready to fall. He raced outside to find that the passenger was still in the car. Her side of the door was pressing against the pole, opening it might cause the pole to fall faster. He quickly climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled on her seat belt. It wouldn’t budge.
“Leave me here,” although her voice was raspy, he could clearly understand what she was saying.
“I can’t.” He pulled harder and it finally unclipped. He prayed that he had enough strength to carry her out of there. He promised himself that he would start going to the gym like he had promised himself many months ago.
Hi Rocio, Way to get your character into deep trouble fast! I love that he jumps into action, while doubting his ability to pull it off. Thanks for sharing this!
incomplete:
He was folding the fitted sheet when I walked in.
“Witch! Wizard!” I cried in mock horror. “No mere human can actually fold a fitted sheet.”
Will laughed, “Some habits die hard. My momma taught me a long long time ago. Want me to teach you?”
“Heck no. I don’t need that kind of sorcery in my life. I’ll stick to wadding my sheets,” I chuckled. “Are you about ready to go?”
“Yep, just need to slide these sheets into…” his voice trailed off as he deftly slid the sheets into the pillowcase. With a snap of linen he created a small package of bedding, tucked it under the towels on the dryer, and carried the neat stack to his room. I shook my head at the Martha Stewartness of the action.
Will was not my first roommate, but he was the first that I chose to involve in my life. He and I were polar opposites. He was lines and angles and precision corners on his bedspread. I was curves and smudges and wrinkled t-shirts. But we seemed to get along well.
I had invited him to join me at the café for a poetry reading. I had not, however, told him that I would be reading some of my work. I didn’t want to give him time to prepare the perfect response; he would craft a reaction that would be as neat as the folded sheets, but might not be as honest.
I was nervous about tonight’s outing. There was a secret I had kept from Will, even through our late night alcohol induced confessional chats. I would be revealing that secret with the reading of two of my poems tonight.
This sounds interesting! I like the humor, “I’ll stick to wadding my sheets”, the “Martha Stewartness of the action”, and I’m also curious about what secret the character is holding back. Good work!
I absolutely loved this– such a strong voice. Best line for me, “Heck no. I don’t need that kind of sorcery in my life. I’ll stick to wadding my sheets.” I also loved how you tied his fitted sheet folding into her reluctance to share that she’d be reading. Great way to show character personalities in action. Congrats!
Thank you, Sue. I had a lot of fun writing this!
The small insights into their personalities “he would craft a reaction that would be as neat as the folded sheets” and the relationship established between them are interesting. Makes me want to know more about them.
Here’s my practice. I’d appreciate comments/feedback. Thank you!
—
Julia was folding the fitted sheet when the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She stilled. Listened. Reached out with her mind.
No presence other than her own.
The tension deflated from her shoulders and she finished up the laundry. After setting the unneeded sheets on top of each other in the hall closet and stacking the towels into two neat columns in her bathroom, she padded into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice.
And froze in the doorway.
Sean stood on the other side of the island counter, staring at her.
Breath vanished from her throat. Blood pulsed in her ears. On reflex, her foot lifted to draw herself back, away from him. The memories of his rape attempt taunted the back of her mind. She pressed her lips together and forced her foot back to the ground with a stomp, looking Sean in his hard eyes.
“Get out of this house,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage.
Sean lounged back against the stove. A smirk played around his mouth. “Or you’ll what?”
Quivering started in her hands, so she clenched her fingers into fists. “Or…I’ll make you leave.”
He snickered and straightened to his full height—six feet—and the shaking spread to her knees. “Right. You, a worthless, weak, stupid little brat, will throw me out.” With even steps, he cut around the island counter and came toward her.
And the less distance that separated them, the tighter the knots in her stomach sinched.
“No, you can’t make me leave,” Sean said, his eyes glittering. “Just like you can’t stop me from finishing what I started.”
Her feet—they had to move. She saw herself swinging back into the hallway and tearing out of the house, but the bottoms of her feet were made of super glue. The saliva in her mouth dried up to nothing.
He was twice as wide as her, the muscles of his arms thick. His hands were huge. They’d held her down before like she was a newborn deer.
Tears welled up inside, but heat rushed through her stomach and she glared at Sean.
Not this time.
“Stay away from me,” she said, not backing up as he approached, “or else.”
He smirked and shot his hand out, grabbing the front of her shirt and shoving her to the ground. Her head hit the tile and she cried out as blotchy, dark orbs hovered in her vision.
Sean dropped onto her. Adrenaline spiked through her veins. She snatched a quick breath, then struck into his chest with her mind.
His eyes widened and he gripped his chest, coughing. The look he turned on her chilled her blood. “You…little…brat.”
Before his hands could reach her again, she slammed a brick of psychic energy into his stomach, doubling him over, then she thrust her hand
just inches from his face. He flew off her, airborne for a second before his
head bounced off the edge of the island counter. Sean groaned and slumped to
the floor.
For a long minute, she just gaped at him. His still body. The blood pooling under his head. Julia scrambled back out of the kitchen.
She’d used her powers to hurt someone. Now he was laying on the floor, bleeding. She clamped a hand over her mouth as bile kicked up from her stomach. Tears ran down her cheeks.
He hadn’t given her any other choice.
I loved all the descriptions used for body language. Good job!
Thank you very much!
I really like this character. She is definitely NOT blah.
I’m so glad, sometimes I feel like I’m missing something with her, something I haven’t realized. Still, I’m going to keep digging to know her better. Thank you for reading!
Wow! Very interesting! Love that she acted so resolutely when pressed. I didn’t see the mind powers coming. I’m left with questions about when she got them, how she’s used them before this, etc. Strong character brewing here though, as she is conflicted about the strength she wielded. Thanks so much for sharing your practice!
Aww thank you for reading! : )
Great work!
I really liked they way she defended herself from him.
He deserves it actually.
Anyone who does like Sean did deserves that and more.
But I loved the scene, I felt they were so real.
Thank you Mariam!
He was folding the fitted sheet when his eye focused on beetles crawling out from behind a stack of boxes to his right.
Then came ants from the TV stand. Crickets jumping on the couches. Bees and flies swarming around the lamp light. Cockroaches colliding with the window’s glass panel . An abnormally sized ladybug on the wall.
He dropped the sheet and turned around. A gigantic mosquito met him at the door’s casing. By the second the number of the insects doubled, tripled. He felt the tiny legs of the little ones climbing up his limbs, sending tingly shivers to every nerve, no portion of his flesh left free from their assault. A sensation of disgust swelled up in his throat as the nimble march threaded his neck, onwards from his chin to his left cheek.
Jolting his eyes open he found himself in the middle of the living room, folded sheet in hand. No disruption around.
The descriptions of the insects made my skin crawl–so realistic.
I was squirming. Loved the active verbs here: crawling, swarming, colliding. They built so beautifully toward the total assault. Enjoyed reading this. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you for the feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed it!
My skin is crawling! This is a steady and true nightmare of mine! Great description!
He was folding the fitted sheet when the power went out. Damn! Not again. This was the third time in two days.
He peered out the laundry room window and sure enough — no lights, pitch black streets and all was quiet. Just then a sliver of pale moon peeked out from behind a cloud. The slight glimmer briefly lit and softened the blackness, making the outline of houses visible.
He stumbled his way to the kitchen, running into the edge of the counter. Ouch! He groped around for the corner drawer. There it was. His fingers fumbled, touching objects and finally the waxy surface identified the candle and laying beside it, he felt the smooth plastic of his lighter. Right where he’d left them. He lit the candle and it flickered, with its light dancing on the walls. At least the kitchen visible now.
But he didn’t like the dark. Never had, not since his mom left him home alone when he was eight. All alone. Out of cigarettes, she’d run to the store for more. The drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into her car.
A shadow rounded the corner of the kitchen wall. Feet shuffled.
“Who’s there?”
Laughter. Hollow laughter was the only response and it filled the room, taunting him, daring him.
Great scene! I’m creeped out with him at the end. My favorite part was this sentence: “He lit the candle and it flickered, with its light dancing on the walls.” Thanks so much for sharing this. You showed so much about this character in just a few lines.
Thanks so much for the feedback. It’s great to know what you liked about it!
I love how much creepiness you packed into a few short paragraphs! I’m a bit conflicted. I would very much like to know what happens to your character next and at the same time maybe I don’t want to know? :0
Ha…ha…I know what you mean. The story just start coming to me. I don’t know what happens next either! Do we dare to find out?
He was folding the fitted sheet when the Owl Woman approached him.
“You’ve been at that for ten minutes now.” she remarked, peering over her spectacles.
Wilson nodded, spreading the sheet over the dryers. “I suppose I have.”
“That’s ten minutes you’ve wasted for those of us waiting to use the dryers. I’m having company over you know-” she pushed a basket of linens under his nose “- and I need these done.”
“There are other ones on the wall over there.” Wilson mumbled, jerking his head towards the back of the laundromat.
“I have to use these dryers.”
“Then it’ll be another few minutes.”
“Why can’t you move?”
“I was here first.” he said, folding the corners over one another and frowning when they came out lopsided.
The Owl Woman pushed her spectacles up over her sharp nose and folded her body along the edges of the washer next to Wilson. “I’ll wait.” she said, drumming her nails against the machine.
“Listen lady,” Wilson growled, slamming his hand down on the dryers, “I’m working over here. Either use those dryers or wait over there. I’m folding this sheet here, on these dryers.” He waved his hand towards the back wall. “Those are fine. I’m not moving.”
The Owl Woman huffed and turned on her heel and clacked her way to the other side of the laundromat. Wilson noticed one of her embroidered hand towels had fallen onto his sheet. He threw it half heartedly in the Owl Woman’s direction and ignored the whispered mutterings and side glances from the other patrons.
“Do you need help?”
Wilson sighed and turned around, meeting the gaze of a younger woman. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and her blue eyes were framed by purple circles. A little boy was holding onto her leg and gazing up at Wilson with his thumb in his mouth.
Wilson shook his head. “I have to do it…” he said slowly, “she never let me fold the sheets.” He looked at the woman, twisting his wrinkled fingers in the fitted sheet. “My wife, she never let me fold them.”
The younger woman laid her hand on top of Wilson’s. “My husband always put on snow tires in the winter.” She gently pulled the sheet out of his hands and flattened it. “You have to start with the corners, they go inside each other. Then you have to fold over the corners, and you can make it square from there.” She offered him a sad smile. “The first step is the hardest, but the rest will come easier.” The little boy released the woman’s leg and began to toddle towards the detergent, and she turned to follow him.
“Wait… tires, they uh,” he stammered, “the front ones have to go to the back and the back ones have to go to the front.
The younger woman turned back around. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Wilson answered, and tucked the corners of the fitted sheet into one another.
It was a boring day. It was a much dreaded day. Carl had been postponing this day for weeks in fact. He had done everything in his power to put it off but here it was upon him once again. It was laundry day.
Carl’s flat expression was almost comical. His stoic features were plastered on his face like some unfortunate greek god. He was folding a fitted sheet, which is quite possibly the most difficult and unfortunate pieces of laundry to fold. He finally gave up folding the infernal contraption and was rolling it in a ball and smooching it in with his other badly folded laundry when she came in. Her auburn hair, rosy cheeks, and laughing eyes caught him in his tracks. She was wearing a polo shirt, a dull blue from too much laundering and the tag on her shirt said her name was Lucy. His statuesque features remained motionless but his eyes followed her for a few seconds as she entered the laundromat and ducked behind the counter.
EEEEEEEEEEEP!
The buzzer of the dryer screeched in his ear making him jump a little and then curse softly as he banged the machine open.
“Can I help you carry your laundry out Mrs. Anderson?”
Her voice floated in his ear from behind. It was a slightly too high pitched but sweet sound. He glanced over his shoulder. She was attempting to carry a large bag of Mrs. Anderson’s laundry. The load she carried shifted in her small but strong hands and before he knew what he was doing he was at her side holding the overflowing bag in her hands steady. As he helped her lower the bag into one of the carts his hand brushed against hers leaving a warm numbness.
They held eye contact for only a moment. She had blue eyes. They held a warmth and life in them. There was kindness there too. The kind you don’t come across often enough in this world. There was also a smiling amusement there that made his cheeks flush as their eyes ricocheted off one another. She smiled and his once stoic features shifted and then melted away. She saw a sweet kindness reflecting back at her from his eyes.
The moment passed and he stood watching her walk away pushing the cart out the door with a clang. He smiled to himself. It was a wonderful day. It was a much anticipated day. Carl had been looking forward to this day his whole life in fact. It was laundry day and he knew he would not be procrastinating on this chore again.
Okay, strong, but, not too strong. Not too weak. And, make the character interesting…I think I got it……not sure…let me know…
You got it! (Why didn’t I just state it that simply and save a thousand words–HA!)
He was folding the fitted sheet when the Owl Woman approached him.
“You’ve been at that for ten minutes now.” she remarked, peering over her spectacles.
Wilson nodded, spreading the sheet over the dryers. “I suppose I have.”
“That’s ten minutes you’ve wasted for those of us waiting to use the dryers. I’m having company over you know-” she pushed a basket of linens under his nose “- and I need these done.”
“There are other ones on the wall over there.” Wilson mumbled, jerking his head towards the back of the laundromat.
“I have to use these dryers.”
“Then it’ll be another few minutes.”
“Why can’t you move?”
“I was here first.” he said, folding the corners over one another and frowning when they came out lopsided.
The Owl Woman pushed her spectacles up over her sharp nose and folded her body along the edges of the washer next to Wilson. “I’ll wait.” she said, drumming her nails against the machine.
“Listen lady,” Wilson growled, slamming his hand down on the dryers, “I’m working over here. Either use those dryers or wait over there. I’m folding this sheet here, on these dryers.” He waved his hand towards the back wall. “Those are fine. I’m not moving.”
The Owl Woman huffed and turned on her heel and clacked her way to the other side of the laundromat. Wilson noticed one of her embroidered hand towels had fallen onto his sheet. He threw it half heartedly in the Owl Woman’s direction and ignored the whispered mutterings and side glances from the other patrons.
“Do you need help?”
Wilson sighed and turned around, meeting the gaze of a younger woman. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and her blue eyes were framed by purple circles. A little boy was holding onto her leg and gazing up at Wilson with his thumb in his mouth.
Wilson shook his head. “I have to do it…” he said slowly, “she never let me fold the sheets.” He looked at the woman, twisting his wrinkled fingers in the fitted sheet. “My wife, she never let me fold them.”
The younger woman laid her hand on top of Wilson’s. “My husband always put on snow tires in the winter.” She gently pulled the sheet out of his hands and flattened it. “You have to start with the corners, they go inside each other. Then you have to fold over the corners, and you can make it square from there.” She offered him a sad smile. “The first step is the hardest, but the rest will come easier.” The little boy released the woman’s leg and began to toddle towards the detergent, and she turned to follow him.
“Wait… tires, they uh,” he stammered, “the front ones have to go to the back and the back ones have to go to the front.
The younger woman turned back around. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Wilson answered, and tucked the corners of the fitted sheet into one another.
He was folding the fitted sheet when the Owl Woman approached him.
“You’ve been at that for ten minutes now.” she remarked, peering over her spectacles.
Wilson nodded, spreading the sheet over the dryers. “I suppose I have.”
“That’s ten minutes you’ve wasted for those of us waiting to use the dryers. I’m having company over you know-” she pushed a basket of linens under his nose “- and I need these done.”
“There are other ones on the wall over there.” Wilson mumbled, jerking his head towards the back of the laundromat.
“I have to use these dryers.”
“Then it’ll be another few minutes.”
“Why can’t you move?”
“I was here first.” he said, folding the corners over one another and frowning when they came out lopsided.
The Owl Woman pushed her spectacles up over her sharp nose and folded her body along the edges of the washer next to Wilson. “I’ll wait.” she said, drumming her nails against the machine.
“Listen lady,” Wilson growled, slamming his hand down on the dryers, “I’m working over here. Either use those dryers or wait over there. I’m folding this sheet here, on these dryers.” He waved his hand towards the back wall. “Those are fine. I’m not moving.”
The Owl Woman huffed and turned on her heel and clacked her way to the other side of the laundromat. Wilson noticed one of her embroidered hand towels had fallen onto his sheet. He threw it half heartedly in the Owl Woman’s direction and ignored the whispered mutterings and side glances from the other patrons.
“Do you need help?”
Wilson sighed and turned around, meeting the gaze of a younger woman. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and her blue eyes were framed by purple circles. A little boy was holding onto her leg and gazing up at Wilson with his thumb in his mouth.
Wilson shook his head. “I have to do it…” he said slowly, “she never let me fold the sheets.” He looked at the woman, twisting his wrinkled fingers in the fitted sheet. “My wife, she never let me fold them.”
The younger woman laid her hand on top of Wilson’s. “My husband always put on the snow tires in the winter.” She gently pulled the sheet out of his hands and flattened it. “You have to start with the corners, they go inside each other. Then you have to fold over the corners, and you can make it square from there.” She offered him a sad smile. “The first step is the hardest, but the rest will come easier.” The little boy released the woman’s leg and began to toddle towards the detergent, and she turned to follow him.
“Wait… tires, they uh,” he stammered, “the front ones have to go to the back and the back ones have to go to the front. When you put on the snow tires. And when you put the other ones back on in the spring.”
The younger woman turned back around. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Wilson answered, and tucked the corners of the fitted sheet into one another.
Aww.. I love this. My favorite part was their beautiful attempts to explain the tasks to each other and how their grief gives them a moment of connection. Thanks so much for sharing it.
He was folding the fitted sheet when there was a loud exploding outside the laundry mat. It blew all the windows out of the laundry mat. It knocked the power out. The ceiling fell. The sprinklers came on everything was pitch black. Kevin got up off the floor, his ears was ringing as if he had a bell in his head. He had dust and dirty in his eyes so he could barely see two inches in front of him. He started walking around yelling out to see if anyone else was ok. He couldn’t hear anything because of the dining in his ears. What had happen, where did the exploding come from? Kevin was stead walking around when he tripped over something. He got on his knees and started crawling towards what it was. He had to be real close because of the dust ing his eyes to see what it was. Once he was close enough he realize it was a young girl with part of the ceiling and a dryer on top of her. He couldn’t tell if she was still alive, but he still pushed the stuff off her with all his might. Kevin’s adrenaline was going so much that he didn’t even notice that he had a big gaping hole in his stomach. He was losing a lot of blood that working so hard to get the dryer and ceiling off the girl used the rest of the energy he had. Kevin was so drained that he passed out next to the girl. When Kevin woke up he was in the hospital, his fiance was asleep in the fold out chair. He called out her name. “Amanda, Amanda”! What kevin didn’t know is she couldn’t hear him calling her. He had no voice.
It was a boring day. It was a much dreaded day. Carl had been postponing this day for weeks in fact. He had done everything in his power to put it off but here it was upon him once again. It was laundry day.
Carl’s flat expression was almost comical. His stoic features were plastered on his face like some unfortunate greek god. He was folding a fitted sheet, which is quite possibly the most difficult and unfortunate pieces of laundry to fold. He finally gave up folding the infernal contraption and was rolling it in a ball and smooching it in with his other badly folded laundry when she came in.
Her auburn hair, rosy cheeks, and laughing eyes caught him in his tracks. She was wearing a polo shirt, a dull blue from too much laundering and the tag on her shirt said her name was Lucy. His statuesque features remained motionless but his eyes followed her for a few seconds as she entered the laundromat and ducked behind the counter.
EEEEEEEEEEEP!
The buzzer of the dryer screeched in his ear making him jump a little and then curse softly as he banged the machine open.
“Can I help you carry your laundry out Mrs. Anderson?”
Her voice floated in his ear from behind. It was a slightly too high pitched but sweet sound. He glanced over his shoulder. She was attempting to carry a large bag of Mrs. Anderson’s laundry. The load she carried shifted in her small but strong hands and before he knew what he was doing he was at her side holding the overflowing bag in her hands steady. As he helped her lower the bag into one of the carts his hand brushed against hers leaving a warm numbness.
They held eye contact for only a moment. She had blue eyes. They held a warmth and life in them. There was kindness there too. The kind you don’t come across often enough in this world. There was also a smiling amusement there that made his cheeks flush as their eyes ricocheted off one another. She smiled and his once stoic features shifted and then melted away. She saw a sweet kindness reflecting back at her from his eyes.
The moment passed and he stood watching her walk away pushing the cart out the door with a clang. He smiled to himself. It was a wonderful day. It was a much anticipated day. Carl had been looking forward to this day his whole life in fact. It was laundry day and he knew he would not be procrastinating on this chore again.
He was folding the fitted sheet when the faint pop of a gun jolted him out of a trance. The pop was quickly followed by a muted almost unrecognizable scream. Sound seemed to travel in the quiet woods.
Todd dropped the sheet and darted for the front door. The scream could only come from one place that was close enough, Cindy’s. She was about 1/2 mile down the dirt road. She had lived alone for the last month since her strange boyfriend left.
The half mile run seemed to stretch on as Todd remembered the day they had met.
“Hi, the names Todd. I live about half a mile down that dirt road.”
“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Cindy and this is James,” she said pointing to the guy standing next to her with his head buried in his phone.
“Crazy you have service out here!” Todd said breaking the silence.
No response….Cindy awkwardly smiled.
“So, what brings you to the off grid community of Greenville, population twenty. Well twenty-two now I guess,” he said with a chuckle.
“Oh, James has always wanted to live off grid, right James,” the pretty blond gently elbowed James.
“HEY,” he said strongly not even looking up.
Todd winked and nodded at the girl named Cindy and jogged on.
Cindy’s tiny home came into view. Even though she had been alone for a month things seemed to be going OK. Todd had heled her out with a few things over the month but she gave him no hint that there was anything wrong.
He grabbed the doorknob and noticed that the whole door frame was smashed.
“CINDY” Todd yelled, without thinking he stormed into the home, the entire main room was torn apart. In the middle of the floor was Cindy, bleeding from her stomach.
“Oh God.”
Todd’s decade old first aid knowledge was not coming back to him.
He ripped his sweater of and covered the wound pressing as hard as he could hopefully without hurting her anymore.
She groaned. At least she was alive…for now.