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!


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: Craft Terrorists

glitterHere’s the prompt:

She showed up at his door soaking wet, battered, bruised, and covered in glitter.

Feel free to use the prompt to create a short flash fiction. As usual time limit is 15 minutes. Once you have your piece paste it in the comments or leave a link back to your post. Have fun!


Craft Terrorists

She showed up at his door soaking wet, battered, bruised, and covered in glitter.

He opened his mouth and closed it again then opened it again.

“Not one word,” she snarled holding up a finger dripping globs of wet glitter on the tiles.

His mouth snapped shut. He stepped back to let her by. She squelched past him leaving a trail of sparkling footprints for him to follow to the bathroom.

“Stupid,” she growled she tried to pull a towel out of the linen closet without getting glitter on it.

“I thought…” he began but faltered when her death ray glare focused on him.

“I thought you were babysitting,” he choked out.

“I was,” she turned back to the sink and tried to scrape the glitter out of her hair.

“Did the kids do that to you?” He pointed to her blackening eye and the cut on her chin.

“Kids?” She snorted. “Evil demons from the pits of kindergarten hell!”

Something between snarl and a scream ripped from her teeth as she pulled on her hair. Glitter rain bombs exploded against the mirror.

“How did you get covered in glitter?”

“I thought we could make their parents a Valentine card. I thought it would be fun, but oh no!” She yanked the door the shower open. “Those little craft terrorists started a war!”

“They covered you in glitter?” He gaped.

She shed clothes like a stripper and stepped into the shower. “Oh no, nothing so simple.”

“They thought it would be fun to start lobbing craft supplies,” she pointed to her eye, “took a glue canister to the face.”


“The glue bottle burst open. Then the little creatures of doom decided to throw glitter at me shouting that I was a witch! A witch!” She scrubbed at her scalp trying to get the sparkles out of her hair.

He shook his head still confused. “But…how did you get wet?”

“They dumped a bucket of water on me!” she screeched.

“Were they trying to clean you up?”  He shook his head trying not to laugh.

“No! They thought I was a witch! Like from the Wizard of OZ.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s ok. I have them again next week and I’m bringing my flying monkeys!” She hissed.