LAST CALL by Lynette Tucker

“Last Call, ladies!” was written at the top of the page in the professor’s barely legible script. He circled the room, handing one paper to each student. The photo prompt was of a very drunk woman pouring a bottle of champagne down the front of her shirt. Looking over her shoulder was a sour-faced girlfriend sticking out her tongue.

Raymond couldn't get past the fact that the drunk chick looked exactly like his ex-wife, Marlene. It couldn't be. Or maybe it could. Marlene did like to party. What was worse, the disapproving friend looked exactly like his ex-mother-in-law, Shirley.

There was no way this could be good for his grade. He looked around the room. The other remaining would-be writers in Creative Writing for Seniors were scribbling away. Raymond stared at the women in the photograph. He was trapped in an endless mental loop and time was running out.

This must be what writer's block feels like. He glanced at the giant clock on the classroom wall. Raymond could actually feel each tick in his chest as the minutes wound down. What dumb luck would cause this to be the prompt for their final class paper? How did Marlene manage to ruin everything he tried to do to improve himself?

Raymond kept staring at the photograph. It had to be her. He needed to know. He reached into his briefcase, took out his phone, and started punching in her number.

“Mister Johnson! No phones in class!” The professor headed straight towards him.

  Raymond closed the cell phone quickly and put it back in his briefcase.

“Sorry, sir. Won't happen again. I forgot this was our Final.”

The Prof gave him a dirty look and continued to prowl the aisles. “10 minutes, ladies and gentlemen. Last call!”

Raymond looked around the room and then realized he had only three words on his paper.

Last call indeed.