NOTE: This is a series of four prompts that all went together. It creeped the hell out of my writing group, but Im actually rather fond of it. :P PROMPT 1: Create a setting I could not have picked a more fitting location for the business now before me. I am burrowed deep inside the ugliest block on Londons East End—not the East End of Jack the Rippers time, with its painted ladies and pestilential squalor, but a modern wasteland composed of an abandoned industrial park. Im in an empty power station on a block the police never visit. I say I. I mean we. The station is more cramped than it would appear from the outside. It is a concrete box, four walls and a ceiling, like a coffin full of wires and pipes. Theres a stain on the floor. I dont know if its blood. Its probably not blood. What if it was blood? A shudder runs through me at the thought. Its not altogether unpleasurable. The rattling of chains, the creaking of leather restraints. Were getting restless. I say we. I mean I. “Dont struggle, baby,” I say. “No one will hear you. Were all alone out here.” -------------------------------------- PROMPT 2: In that setting, a solo moment of nostalgia I remember the first time I saw him: six feet tall, auburn-haired, with a presence that seized command of the television screen and a voice that seized command of my heart. Thats not to say I fell in love immediately. I resisted, for a while. “Dont get too attached,” my therapist told me. “Youve already got twelve restraining orders to your name. Are you looking to make it a bakers dozen?” I could see the wisdom in her words. So I fought the feeling, squashed it down, distracted myself with trivial affairs like eating and sleeping and bathing. But the seed had been planted, and when it budded, there was nothing I could do to uproot loves robust sapling. Oh, my sweet English gentleman! Oh, bright muse of masculinity! I was utterly lost. ------------------------------------- PROMPT 3: In that setting, a disagreement between two people Im brushing his hair. Its messier now than Ive seen it on screen, but beautiful in its imperfection. I sing as I brush it. “A youre adorable, B youre so beautiful, C youre a cutie full of charms.” “Who are you?” he asks, fearfully. “D youre a darling, and E youre exciting, and F youre a feather in my arms.” “I have money,” he says. “One phone call. Just give me one phone call, and I can get you all the money youll ever need.” “Oh, wee lamb, I dont want money,” I say. Honestly, Im a little insulted by the suggestion. “What do you want, then?” he asks. “Whats this all about?” I kneel down and press my cheek to his. “I love you,” I sing, “a bushel and a peck. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck...” “Youre insane,” he says. “Im not insane,” I say, “Im just in lov-” I trail off. Theres a red pinprick on the floor, like the light of a laser pointer. Slowly, it slides toward me. --------------------------------------- PROMPT 4: In that setting, a group of friends “Hold it steady, Clive,” Lieutenant Kamarajan instructs. “We may only get one shot.” Officer Clive Breckenridge adjusts the sniper rifle, sliding forward on his stomach and squinting into the scope. “What I dont understand,” Officer Rudolph says, “is how she thought she was going to get away with it. You cant kidnap a high-profile celebrity in the middle of a red carpet event in front of hundreds of paparazzi and expect to make a clean getaway.” “Her expectations are as warped as the rest of her psyche, I expect,” says Lieutenant Kamarajan. He kneels next to Officer Breckenridge and says in an undertone: “Steady now. Wait for it.” The young womans head bobs in and out of range. Her mouth is wide open. Shes yelling—no, singing. Crooning to her unseen captive with a deranged, wall-eyed look of love on her face. Lieutenant Kamarajan shivers. Twenty-two years on the force, and hes never seen anyone come quite this unglued. “Do it for your friends on the force,” he tells Breckenridge. “For Rudolph and Jackson and me. Do it for your wife and children. But most importantly-” He pauses for dramatic effect. “-do it for England.” Breckenridge squeezes the trigger. Theres the soft tinkling of glass, and the suspect drops to the ground. Ten minutes later, theyre putting a shock blanket around the victims shoulders and bundling him into an ambulance. Kamarajan hears a groan behind him. He turns. Sees the young womans body shift on the concrete floor of the power station. Shes alive. “Maam,” he says, hurrying over to her. “Dont move. Dont speak. Well get you to a hospital.” Theres something in her hand. She raises it to her nose. Inhales. Smiles. Kamarajan leans closer. Hair. Shes got a handful of auburn hair. Her lips are moving. Kamarajan leans still closer. “I love you,” she whispers, “a bushel and a peck...” Kamarajan shakes his head. Hes getting too old for this shit.
Posted on: Wed, 12 Nov 2014 03:00:29 +0000
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