The little engine and Pocket Muse Day 2

So, I did it.  I made a submission.  To Chicken Soup for the Soul. . .I know. *Hangs head*  Not exactly high literature or even what I want to be writing myself.  You can get paid for being included, but it apparently takes a very long time for them to wade through the entries. "It can take up to three or four years for Chicken Soup for the Soul books to develop. Please be patient, as this is an important, yet time-consuming process."

So I'm not expecting to hear back anytime soon.  It took a lot out of me.  Less than 500 words, but it was for a grieving and recovery book.  That wound is still fresh, so it wiped me out.

I've been having very bizarre dreams lately.  I should start writing them down; that's how Mary Shelley did it.  The one I remember last night dealt with a haunted house that appeared to kill people, but I (and the other people in it) knew they weren't, so we weren't scared.  But then they did start killing people because we weren't scared of their efforts.  Very strange.

I'm going to try just doing some quick and dirty fiction today with a Pocket Muse prompt.  Like always, it's linked in the side bar if you'd like to check it out.  I'd recommend it for anyone that has some problems getting started with writing.

Here we go:

Until the day town hall burned down, nothing notable had happened in the town of Madison since the year of its founding.  The day of the fire, everyone came out of the offices and small businesses and watched, many without saying anything.

Any big change is bound to leave people speechless.  Not Caleb, though.  He took one look at the fire and started laughing.  Not regular laughing, but loud, from the diaphragm guffaws.  His face turned red, veins popped out of his neck, and he clenched his hands at his sides so tightly the fingers blanched.

As his face turned a deeper red, tinged with purple, and his unnerving laugh continued, Sam, the owner of the cafe next to Caleb's law office walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?" Sam asked.

For a second Caleb didn't answer.  He kept laughing, but then he wiped the tears from his face, took a deep breath and turned to face Sam.  By instinct, Sam took a step back.

"I'm just fine." Caleb smiled, took one last look over his shoulder at the fire and walked back into his law office.

Sam stared after him, tugging at her apron, pulling it off before she crossed the street to talk to Dale, one of the town's postmen.

"What's wrong with Caleb?  He started drinking again?"  Dale whispered as she stood next to him.

"I'm not sure.  But something's not right with him." 

Sam couldn't shake the feeling that Caleb and the fire were connected.  She didn't know exactly how, but they were.

So there it is.  A start of a story, I think.  In my head I'm batting around the idea that the fire is to cover up and destroy some paperwork in town hall, but I'm not sure what kind.  In all honesty, I'm not even sure what they keep in town halls.  If you know, fill me in.

I think I'll keep working on this one. Take it out to the end with you guys.  Feel free to make suggestions or give me feedback.  I think I like Sam, and I'm not sure about Caleb.  I think he could go either way right now.