Creative Writing: Strangers In The Dumpster

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When they returned to the hideout, Dutch and Gilbert were sitting in the office. “I’m glad you made it through,” said Marcel said to them. “Yeah, yeah, those krauts as suckers for cupcakes,” said Dutch “You gave them cupcakes?” asked Saban. “What would you suggest I give them, gypsy, a kiss?” Everyone laughed, even Saban. It helped ease the tension.
“I always have pastries in the truck for situations like that.”
“What happened?” asked Marcel.
“Gilbert was the first to see the roadblock. I am surprised he can see anything with his nose in those kraut ledgers all day long.”
Gilbert smiled.
“He told me to stop and warn you before the krauts saw us. Luckily, they were busy searching a car. When we pulled up, they asked the usual questions: …show more content…

Well, the bastards’ faces lit up. They did a quick search of the truck, took the cupcakes, and we were on our way.”
Marcel addressed everyone in the hideout, “Does anyone know what was going on out there?”
“Yes, I do,” came a voice from the radio room. “An English Special Ops agent parachuted in. Someone must have seen him and informed the Germans, but our people got to him first. He is probably being interrogated at the fish market by now.” When Saban dragged himself into the farmhouse, he was emotionally and physically drained. It was early morning but the light was muted by a blanket of gray clouds. The rain/snow mix had changed to drizzle and his coat and hat were dirty and wet. He reached in back of a kitchen cabinet for a bottle of home-made vodka that he was given by a neighbor as payment for shoeing a horse. Moving the cork back and forth with his fingers the cork finally gave way. He poured some in a glass and downed it in one gulp. His face wrinkled as the burning sensation trickled down his throat. After another drink, he stuck the cork in the bottle and returned the bottle to the …show more content…

Elisaveta propped herself up in bed and watched him.
“I am too tired to wash. I hope you do not mind,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and remove his shoes.
“No, not at all,” she whispered.
He removed his shirt and pants and draped them over the bed’s footboard. Then he got into bed and under the covers.
“I will tell what happened when I get up. Right now I am so tired—I just hope I can sleep.”
He barely got the words out before he drifted into a fitful sleep.
It was late afternoon when he rose and pushed himself out of bed. In the kitchen, he poured water from a pitcher into a bowl and washed while Elisaveta made him something to eat. As he sat down to eat, there was a knock at the front door. Elisaveta peeked out the window and saw Dutch. She let him in and asked if he wanted something to eat.
“No, I ate. Here is something for you.” And he put two cupcakes on the table.
“Oh, they are delightful looking. Thank you so much,” Elisaveta said.
“To what do we owe the honor of your presents?” Saban asked.
“Do not get all smart-aleckly with me, gypsy! I came to tell you something.”
“All right,

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