The Stanger (A short story)

This is my first attempt at a short story. I was  given the challenge to use:

-Astranger lurking at the gate

-A five dollar note

-A glass of expensive red wine

-A rolled up newspaper

-A dry-cleaning receipt

-A pair of well-worn slippers

This is the resulting story.

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“It has got to be here somewhere,” I thought to myself as I raced around my apartment, trying desperately to find my dry cleaning receipt. I had to pick up my dress from the dry cleaners for the important dinner party I was attending, making a good impression would be crucial. When I finally found it, in the cat’s basket of all places, I grabbed my thick winter coat and my satchel and headed out the door.

                After locking my stained oak door, I turned around, only to be struck in the face by a rolled-up newspaper as the paperboy did his rounds. As I bent over to pick up the newspaper, I glanced up and caught the eye of a stranger, clad in black, lurking at my wrought iron gate. He gave me a cheeky smile and winked before he walked off up the street.

                Once I had collected my dry cleaning, I decided that it was time to invest in a coffee, and strolled off towards my favourite little cafe. As I entered I took in the aroma of fresh baking and warm coffee. I noticed the special offers board, proclaiming that, today only, a coffee and muffin would only cost five dollars. I ordered my usual cappuccino and then a raspberry and white chocolate muffin, handed a five dollar note to the girl behind the counter, grabbed a glossy magazine and went to find a table.

              Later that day I began to prepare for the dinner party, pulling on my freshly laundered dress, doing my hair and applying my make-up. I matched my shoes and jewellery to my outfit, extracted my cardigan from my wardrobe and gave myself a once over. Happy with my appearance, I left the apartment and drove the short city route to the restaurant. I sat down to our table with the other attendees and glanced up, catching the gaze of the stranger who had been lurking at my gate. He winked at me again and then looked over the menu. During the dinner I had a glass of expensive red wine. And then another glass, and another, until everything became hazy.

              I rolled over the next morning and sat up, stuffing my feet into my well worn slippers, only to find that they weren’t my slippers. And that it wasn’t my room.