Uncontrollable! Dangerous! Do not approach!

Writing prompt:

Uncontrollable! Dangerous! Do not approach! These words were plastered across every news feeds.

 

Uncontrollable! Dangerous! Do not approach! These words were plastered across every news feeds.

“What is that?” she asked leaning closer to the screen.

“Hey! Honey, you make a lousy window!” One of the patrons behind her barked.

She scooted back out of the way but continued to stare at the screen. She couldn’t make out the image under the words. It was too blurry.

“Ruby!” The head bartender snapped making her jump. He shoved a tray of glasses surrounding a pitcher of beer into her hands nearly spilling the golden liquid. Quickly balancing the tray, she hustled over to the corner booth. Four business men in suits looked up as she stopped by their table.

“Damn scientists.” One of the men muttered.

“Scientists?” Another countered, “It’s those self-righteous activists’ fault.”

She set the tray down and started to pass out the glasses.

“You’d think they’d be a little more circumspect before bursting in and releasing dangerous animals like that.” A third man in an expensive suit leaned back as she filled his glass.

“Eco-terrorists are not known for thinking anything through.” The first man scoffed.

“I heard they weren’t animals. I heard they were some kind of engineered weapon.”

Ruby slowed down a little trying to stay for the conversation.

“I hear they were some kind of mutation grown in the lab.”

“All the more reason to leave them there.” The well-dressed man frowned.

“Still, “The second man added. “What kind of experiment were they doing? Sounds a little creepy to me.”

Ruby ran out of glasses to fill. She couldn’t stay any longer. She picked up her tray and went back to the bar.

“Go take your break.” The bartender jerked his head toward the back.

Ruby nodded more than happy to get a moment away. She grabbed her phone and disappeared through the alley door. Quickly she found her normal seat on the broken cinder block and started Googling the news story.

That’s when she heard the growl. She looked up from her phone wondering if she had imagined it, but she heard it again. It came from behind the dumpster.  It was low and guttural. It sang to her primal survival instincts.  She kept trying to tell herself it was a dog or something, but deep down she knew it was the thing on the news. Slowly she came to her feet. She edged back toward the door behind her but before she could escape to the safety of the bar the growling thing stepped out. She froze staring in surprised at the child. Its hair was ragged and scraggly. She wasn’t even sure if it was girl or a boy. Its eyes were huge and sad like a doll’s. There was something appealing about it. Part of her wanted to run to it and scoop it up and tell it that it would be all right. Its sad eyes drew her in tugging on her heart strings. It was a child not some beast to be hunted. Anyone would see it and want to help and protect it.

However, part of her wanted to stay as far away as possible. There was blood staining its already dirty clothes.  She had heard it growl. She knew it wasn’t just a child. Everything in her screamed RUN!

Before she could follow that instinct, it surged forward. Running straight for her, it bared its teeth.

Ruby screamed.

Her phone fell to the pavement. The screen cracked but Google stayed open displaying a picture of the child with the caption warning: Dangerous! Uncontrollable! Do not approach!

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Run

Run

This was the writing prompt: The lights go off for 5 seconds and when they come back on there is a note on the window that says one word : Run.

I stared at the note.

“What the…?”

I know that most people would get all wobbly kneed and heart pounding panicky but I didn’t. All I did was stare.

“Run!” I read again.

“Wait.” I peered closer. The red marker clashed horridly with the yellow of the sticky note. Then finally it clicked. I knew that handwriting.

“Seriously!” I stormed out the door and ripped the little yellow sheet off the window crumpling it in my hand.

I scanned the street. She was here somewhere. I just knew it, but I couldn’t see her. Finally I turned to go back in side. Fast-balling the note into the trash.

“Run,” I muttered, “I’m not coming back Teri!” I shouted even though she couldn’t hear me.

I hated her overpriced treadmill class. I couldn’t stand all those ‘looking for my next ex-husband’ students of her’s. I hated the music she chose and I sure as Hell hated her stalking me about my fitness choices.

“Run,” I grumbled again. “She better run if ever see her.” I stared out the window searching again but I saw no sight of my health stalker.

Silence is a Great Healer

I found a writing prompt that said weave a story around this sentence: Silence is a great healer. So here it is…

Silence is a Great Healer.

She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly through her nose. Even the musty damp air of the basement seemed fresh, like the first breath on a crisp winter morning. For a moment she just stood there, listening.

It was so quiet.

It was so quiet she could hear nothing. Finally, she could hear nothing.

With some difficultly she swallowed, a rush of emotion struck her chest. It was such a swirl of feelings that it almost drowned out the silence shrouding the tiny side room. She put her hand out to the cold hard wall of the foundation and opened her eyes. The cold seeped into her hand making it ache. It always ached where the old break was. She blinked away the unnecessary tears as she stared at her crooked little finger. There had been no silence in the house that day.

She stopped and listened again savoring the absence. Then, sighing, she began to work again. Her bruised ribs throbbed with each shovel full of dirt. Every time she thrust the shovel into the floor of the basement it jarred her bruises. But with every joyous ache she came closer and closer to being free. To being healed. To finally bringing silence to this house.

When the hole was nearly waist deep, she stopped. Slowly, wincing with every movement, she climbed out of the hole. She hobbled over to where the sheet wrapped body of her husband lay. Sweating with the effort, she pushed and rolled him closer to the hole. Pushing inch by inch, foot by foot until finally he rolled over the edge and fell in.

Panting she looked down. He lay there at the bottom like some seed in the garden. She scoffed out a little laugh thinking how much he had hated her garden and how many times he had beat her for keeping it growing. Now he was the last seed she would plant at this house, and from his grave would grow peace and safety.

She began to scoop the dirt back into the hole one painful shovel full at a time. But the pain was only physical this time, her soul was free. It took less time to fill the hole than it had to make it. She stopped one last time leaning on the shovel and listened.

She heard nothing. She smiled. The violence that screamed constantly through every wall and floor of this house was finally silent and silence was a great healer.

Writing prompt: Point of view

The writing prompt is write from the point of view of a ball of yarn being chased by a cat

 

Ahh, the peace and quiet of the knitting basket. I’ve been waiting for this all evening. All those kids with scissors snipping and yanking, my weave will never be the same. It’s not so bad when she’s knitting. I’m reaching my potential when I’m being knit and pearled. But with kids? Pieces of me are going to be scattered across the neighborhood!

Oh.

Oh no.

I see that dastardly fur ball coming.

He’s worse than the kids, always so sweet and innocent.

Oh look at me, purr, purr. I’m such a cute fluff ball. Pet me, purr, purr.

How I hate him. He lies. He purrs and gets just what he wants, then BAM! Claws and slobber!

Oh wait, he’s watching me. Be cool. I’m just a ball of yarn. You can’t see me I’m in the basket, part of the furniture. Not that the furniture is ever safe from that demon. As soon as they go to sleep, it’ll be zpit, zpit, zpit. Sharpening his claws when no one can stop him.

Shh, he’s coming closer. Stay away, go away, no!

No! I want to stay in the basket! Argh! The floor is so hard!

I don’t mind the rolling and the bouncing. If I can roll fast enough, I can get all the way under the couch and he won’t be able to reach me with his stubby little cat arms.  I can hear his little claws ticking on the wooden floor behind me! He’s gaining!

NO! His claws! I’m snagged!

Yes! I dodged the worst of it!

Keep rolling! I feel like I’m leaving a trail of blood as I unravel. I may be smaller now but I’m gonna make it! I’m so close now, so close. I’m nearly to the couch!

NO! I was so close! Stop slobbering on me!

AH! Claws everywhere! Stop chewing on me! I’m unraveling! How can I be the one surrounding him if he’s the attacker? If only I had muscles I could crush him!

Wait, what just happened?

He’s gone? Oh what a relief! Oh! Oh , look here she comes. Yes! Pick me up and wind me back up. I have lived to see the knitting basket once more.

Writing Prompt: Body Armor

The prompt was: You’re hanging out with a friend and you notice they are wearing body armor under their clothes. So 15 minutes later….

Body Armor

“I mean, what was I supposed to say?” Harry grinned.  “She was gorgeous.”

“You’re blowin’ smoke.”  I shook my head.

“Nah really!” Harry held up his hand. “I swear!”

I glanced up and notice his shirt was sticking out funny from his collar.

As harry lowered his hand he pulled his shirt down. I thought I saw something black under his shirt. I tried to be cool and not stare. But then Harry stuck a finger in his collar and pulled it out to adjust it. I definitely saw something this time.

I looked down at my coffee. What had I just seen? I glanced up again. Harry was shaking his head and stirring his pancakes with his fork.

“I mean who’s gonna turn down spending 5 minutes alone with Natalia Trechnekov?”

“Why would Natalia Trechnekov talk to you?” I tried to get a look at his collar. He was wearing something black and solid under his shirt. I leaned forward trying to get a better look. It looked like…was he wearing body armor?

Harry looked up with a hurt look on his face. “How can you ask that?’

“Dude she’s the daughter of the Russian mob boss! You’re a fry cook!”

“Hey, I’m a damn good fry cook.” Harry pointed at me with his fork then shrugged. “Maybe she likes cooks! “

“Yeah ‘cause you smell like fries. “ I laughed.

“Whatever man,” Harry shook his head and looked around the diner. It was a pretty busy breakfast rush. Suddenly Harry straightened looking toward the door. He spun away around and slouched with his hand over his face.

“What are you doing?’ I looked around and spotted two guys standing near the door. They were wearing long black coats and sunglasses.

“Dude! Don’t look at them!”

“Who?” I looked at Harry he was trying very hard to disappear under the table. Suddenly it clicked. Natalia and a fry cook? Body armor? Black trench coats?

“What they hell did you do, Harry?”

Writing Prompt: Guilty Conscience?

Once again. Write for 15 minutes…

Guilty Conscience?

The text message simply said ‘very clever’

Her heart slammed against her chest. Who had sent it? She looked at the number it was sent from. She didn’t recognize it.

Quickly she glanced around. Even though she was in the middle of the quad no one was watching her. She looked back at the two word text. Very clever. What did it mean? Her chest constricted. What did they know about her?

She glanced around again then copied the number, opened Google and pasted it. It should tell her who it belonged to. Google knew everything right?

No results found.

“WHAT!” She yelped drawing the attention of a couple of co-eds sitting on the bench across the grass from her. She smiled apologetically and tried the search again. And again. And again.

“This is impossible.” She muttered. “They sent the text the number has to exist!” She tired just looking up the area code. That at least told her it was from the same state. But who could it belong to? Why couldn’t there be a cell phone phonebook like landlines?

She stared at the number for the longest time debating if she should text back. Should she ask who they were? What if they were waiting for that? What if they were testing the waters just waiting for her to take the bait so they could do something awful to her? Did they know what she’d done? Did they want something? Blackmail?

She jumped up and hurried to her dorm room. She had to check and make sure no one had found her secret. She riffled through the back of the closet trying to find the box. Finally her fingers scraped against it. Relief flooded her. She hadn’t been found out.

She sat back on her heels and stared at the number. She knew the only options now were to wait or text back. Slowly she began to type. Who is this? Then she changed her mind and deleted it. Replacing the words with several questions marks.

She hit send.

She waited. And waited.

Finally the little bubbles showed they were typing. The text popped onto her screen.

Sorry, this wasn’t for you. Wrong number lol.

Her heart dropped to the floor and she with it. A mistake? They didn’t know? Tears streamed down her face as she realized the misguided text missile had missed her guilty heart.

She crawled to the closet and pulled the box out. Looking around desperately she finally grabbed the metal trash can and dumped the box in then grabbed her roommates lighter and set the box on fire. She swore to herself that she would never stray from the path of right again. She never wanted to feel this kind of terror again.

Writing Prompt: Instincts

The writing prompt was: Half the names on the list had already been crossed off. As usual 15 minutes of writing. Go!

Instincts

Half the names on the list had already been crossed off.

She glanced around the room. Normal couch. Normal TV. Normal art on the walls. Just normal. She looked again. The couch was almost new and the pillows could have come with it from the store. The TV was just a TV but there were no game consoles or DVD player: just a TV. She looked at the art on the walls, from one framed picture to the next. They were too normal. They could have come from any shelf in any store.

A theory was forming in the back of her mind. She looked at the list again. Too normal usually meant completely abnormal. Was this a hit list? Her stomach churned at the thought.

“Just about ready!” she jumped as his voice echoed from the hall behind her.

“F…fine!” she managed to force out. Quickly she replaced the list of names back on his desk. She moved away from the desk chewing on her thumbnail. The last thing she wanted was to be caught snooping.

What if he was serial killer? Was that why he was so nice?

She knew he was too good to be true. She should have run him through the NCIC database at the precinct before agreeing to go out with him. At least if he was in the system she would have had some warning. She should never have said yes to this date. She glanced around looking for some sign that he was normal and that she was wrong but there were no personal items. No family photos at all. Not even a coffee cup. Was this even his house?

Her eyes were drawn back to the sheet on the desk. It wasn’t really glowing; it had to be her imagination.

“Sorry I took so long. I…” He smiled as he emerged from the hall. She jumped and tried to cover it with a smile.

“Are you alright?” He looked at her curiously.

“Fine.” Her instincts were on full alert. “You were saying?”

“I was just going to say that I’m not unpacked yet.” He smiled sheepishly. “That’s why I took so long.”

“Unpacked?” She tried to contain her cop instincts.

“Yeah,” he gestured around the living room. “I just moved into this place. Lucky for me it came fully furnished.  I really had nothing left after the divorce.” He nodded toward the desk. “I thought coming here would help but most of the people I knew have moved or changed jobs.”

She glanced at the list. People he knew? He was trying to restart his life and she had jumped to the conclusion that he was a serial killer. She shook her head feeling stupid. Her lieutenant was right she needed a vacation. Her instincts were getting out of control.

“Ready for dinner?” He picked up his jacket.

“Yeah, I am now. I think.” She smiled.

Writing Prompt: Tunnel Patrol

Tunnel Patrol

“This is the worst job I the world.” Peter mumbled as his boots sloshed and squished through the rancid black water covering the bottom of the tunnel. It had been running at one time but Peter always suspected that after trying to flow down the pipe it had lost its motivation after about 50 yards and decided to try stagnation.

“Anything in tunnel 5?” Peter’s radio crackled echoing off the metal walls.

Sighing he pulled his radio off his belt. “Nope”

“Nothing in 7 either.” His supervisor replied. “Keep going.”

Peter replaced the radio and sloshed forward again. His foot kicked something that he really didn’t want to identify.

“Join the Tunnel Patrol,” he mimicked his girlfriend’s squeaky voice. “It’s a great opportunity. Yeah right, Cara, you’re not the one getting goo in your boots.”

A few more steps and Peter stopped suddenly. Had there been a sound? He listened harder but there were no sounds that hadn’t been there already. He waited 30 more seconds then picked his foot up to take a step.

He heard it this time, a rustling vibration coming from the darkness of the tunnel in front of him.

Peter froze. His heart set up its own vibration as the sound resonated again.

Slowly he reached for his radio. He keyed the mike. “Bobby?” He whispered. “Bobby! There’s something here.”

“Say again?” He supervisor’s voice blasted out. Peter slapped a hand over the speaker and stared into the darkness hoping it hadn’t heard him. But hope wasn’t in the tunnel anymore.

The rustling started again grating ever louder. The tunnel floor started to vibrate sending droplets of stagnate water splattering. It was coming.

Picture Prompt: Waiting

15 minutes of writing with this picture as a guide…GO!

Waiting

He waited.

He perched on the rocks at the edge of the lake. She said she would return. She made him promise that he wouldn’t move from that spot until she returned and so he waited. His faith in her never wavered. He knew their love was true; the kind of true legends spoke of.

A knight in Arthur’s own court he had been there the day that The Lady had risen from the Lake to collect the sword from a dying Arthur. It was the day that he had fallen in love. She was one of the lady’s retainers. So beautiful and shy but she looked at him and he knew she felt the same.

They met in secret after that. He lived by the Lake shore waiting for any time he could have with her. He begged and pleaded for her to come with him. She always refused afraid to leave her place of honor in the Lake. Then one day she finally agreed. She made him promise to stay until she returned. She had to tell the Lady of the Lake.

Honor bound, he stayed.

He waited.

His back grew stiff and tired.

He leaned forward trying to see if she was rising from the deep but still she didn’t come.

His beard grew long.

Still, he waited.

His muscles stiffened and more and more each day. He stayed so still he felt as if he turned to stone, but still he waited. He knew that she would come back. Their love was true; the kind of true legends spoke of.

He would wait.

Writing Prompt: 5 Tornadoes in 5 Days

5 Tornadoes in 5 days

Day six dawned with clear skies and no wind. Maybe we would be lucky today.

Not that there was much of the town left.

Five tornadoes in five days all in the same town, all at 5 o’clock.

Wind had turned the buildings to debris then to rubble then to complete devastation by day five. There was hardly enough dirt left to blow.

We watched the white clad team of scientists swarming like ants around the magic weather machine. It was going to save us.

Ha! They acted so smart flooding the town with their shiny government trucks. Unnatural phenomenon, they called it.  Five tornadoes, five days, 5 o’clock .

“Maybe its aliens,” Fred hawked and spat.

It ain’t aliens,” Joe sneered. “This is Oklahoma. Aliens stick to New Mexico.”

“Maybe God don’t like our new mayor.”  Fred eagerly looked to Joe.

“God don’t care about our mayor,” Joe smacked Fred on the arm, “preachers, yeah, but not mayors”

“Well then, what do you think it is?” Fred rubbed his arm.

“Jehovah witnesses.” Joe said with complete surety.

“It ain’t Johovah witnesses.” I scoffed. “They use pamphlets and they’d blow away in the wind.”

“Well, you’re so smart what do you think it is?” Joe crossed his arms and stared me down.

“Maybe it’s the Democrats!” Fred interrupted.

Joe smacked Fred on the back of the head, “Shut up, stupid.”

“You’re stupid.” Fred mumbled.

I shook my head thinking it was probably just Mother Nature trying to rid the world of stupid people like Fred and Joe.