30 Days of Prompts: Woman on the Run

Yesterday's post contained prompts related to a dystopian future. Some could be connected, and some were unrelated. You decide how to use them. 

Today, I've pulled up prompts about Jenny, a woman on the run. The 30 days of prompts encompass a whole story that you can formulate based on the prompts. You can add to them, or change them as you see fit. 

Have fun with it and start a new habit.

30 Days of Prompts: Woman on the Run

Day 1: The inciting incident. Describe the moment Jenny realizes she has to flee, and what she witnesses that terrifies her.

Day 2: On the road. What does Jenny pack in her haste? Where is she headed?

Day 3: Disguise. Jenny needs to blend in. How does she alter her appearance?

Day 4: Flashback. What was Jenny's life like before she went on the run?

Day 5: Close call. A near miss with her pursuers puts Jenny on edge.

Day 6: Morality test. Jenny encounters someone in need. Does she help, risking exposure, or keep running?

Day 7: Exhaustion. Jenny finds a temporary haven. Describe her internal struggle: fear vs. hope.

Day 8: Unexpected kindness. A stranger offers Jenny a small act of generosity.

Day 9: Resourcefulness. Jenny finds a clever way to obtain something she desperately needs.

Day 10: Doubt. Jenny questions her choices and if she can outrun what's chasing her.

Day 11: Discovery. Jenny stumbles upon a clue that might help her understand what's after her.

Day 12: The pursuers. Describe them in detail. Are they human?

Day 13: Technology vs. Nature. Jenny must choose between using technology that could expose her or relying solely on instinct.

Day 14: Lost and Found. Jenny loses a precious memento. Does she risk going back for it?

Day 15: Dreams. A vivid dream offers Jenny a cryptic message or a glimpse into her future.

Day 16: Internal conflict. A part of Jenny wants to fight back. How does she navigate this urge?

Day 17: Unlikely ally. Jenny finds an unexpected partner in her fight for survival.

Day 18: Sacrifice. Jenny has to give up something important to stay one step ahead.

Day 19: The chase intensifies. Jenny narrowly escapes capture. Describe the chase scene.

Day 20: Hidden talent. A forgotten skill Jenny possesses might prove crucial.

Day 21: Moral dilemma. Jenny faces a difficult choice that could have lasting consequences.

Day 22: Revelation. Jenny learns a shocking truth about her pursuers or her past.

Day 23: Hope rekindled. Jenny finds a reason to believe she can actually win.

Day 24: Setting a trap. Jenny decides to take a stand and lure her pursuers in.

Day 25: The confrontation. Jenny finally faces her pursuers. Describe the battle (physical or psychological)

Day 26: Aftermath. Jenny deals with the physical and emotional repercussions of the confrontation.

Day 27: Decision time. Does Jenny continue running or try to rebuild her life?

Day 28: Unexpected twist. A new threat emerges or an old enemy resurfaces.

Day 29: Unfinished business. Jenny realizes she needs to address something from her past to find true peace.

Day 30: The ending. Choose an ending that feels right for your story. Does Jenny find closure or is her journey far from over?

Lost Technology: A World Remade: 30 Days of Prompts

My idea of a 30 day challenge is buzzing in my head. I am trying to get myself psyched to do it. My health issues often derail me, but I want to block out time and do this. So, I'm pulling things together to inspire, not just for me, but you as well. I hope you'll challenge yourself to write for 30 days. 

This set of prompts explores a world where a specific technology has vanished, forcing humanity to adapt and rebuild. Choose one or combine elements from a few to get your story started!

1. You are a librarian in a world without digital storage. How do you preserve knowledge? 

2. A traveling tinkerer repairs broken machines with ingenious, non-electronic solutions. 

3. A community struggles to maintain a vital irrigation system originally designed for automated control. 

4. A young person discovers a hidden cache of electronics and sets out to understand their purpose. 

5. A thrilling chase story - a smuggler tries to transport a rare working machine across a lawless territory. 

6. A religious sect believes the lost technology was a divine punishment. 

7. A group of engineers race to rebuild a power grid using forgotten blueprints and scavenged parts. 

8. Write a news report from a world struggling to adapt to a transportation system without cars. 

9. A detective investigates a series of seemingly impossible crimes – are they linked to the lost technology? 

10. A musician composes a symphony using only acoustic instruments, a novelty in this new world. 

Deeper Impact

11. How has the loss of technology impacted social structures and communication? 

12. Explore the emotional toll of a world that has lost a great convenience. 

13. Is there a black market for remnants of the lost technology? 

14. A character grapples with the ethical implications of potentially rediscovering the lost technology. 

15. Write a letter from someone who remembers the world before the technology vanished. 

Unexpected Twists

16. The lost technology wasn't what it seemed, and its absence reveals a hidden truth. 

17. A faction emerges that claims they can bring the technology back online, but at a terrible cost. 

18. The loss of technology is actually a natural defense mechanism against a greater threat. 

19. The story is set hundreds of years after the loss, and the technology is now myth and legend. 

20. The lost technology is slowly reappearing, but in a strange and unpredictable way. 

Broaden the Lens

21. How has the loss of technology impacted the natural world? 

22. Write a story from the perspective of an animal who benefits from the technology's absence. 

23. A team of scientists investigates the cause of the technology's disappearance. 

24. A community thrives despite the loss of technology, proving human resilience. 

25. The story takes place on a space colony that loses contact with Earth, forcing them to rely on forgotten skills. 

Genre Benders

26. Write a fantasy story where magic fills the void left by lost technology. 

27. A post-apocalyptic thriller with a race to find a hidden cache of technology. 

28. A cozy mystery set in a small town that thrives on traditional crafts and skills. 

29. A sci-fi story where a character travels back in time to prevent the loss of technology. 

30. A historical fiction story that explores a real historical period without a specific technology (e.g., communication before the telegraph). 

Sitting On the Dock

We're getting down to the wire now. As of tomorrow, you have 5 days to write. Don't stop now, even if you think you can't finish. There is still time to get 10K-15K words. Really, there is.

Here's a new prompt for you to try. Your characters are sitting on a dock talking about something. Their relationship? The crime they've committed? Their kids? The trip they're planning? Maybe they're hiding from something in an isolated location. Perhaps someone has died and one is trying to console the other. Or maybe one of them just discovered they have a terminal illness. 

Whatever it is, you decide and use it to generate a new scene. 

And best of luck, my friends.

NaNoWriMo: In Still of the Night

Middle of the night, in a strange city, on a lonely street. A woman alone. Or is she?

Is she in her own city and couldn't sleep?

Does she make a habit of walking at night for some nefarious purpose.

Is she going to meet her enemy? Or a friend?

That's the thing about these images. You can write it anyway you want. As long as you build your word count.

NaNoWriMo: Thursday Initiation

Again, this is for those who are writing unusual stories. I won't label them with a genre. You can do that. But try and get this little scene in there.

I know there are at least 1000 words in this photo. Really. I could do it. 

What's this drink for? Why is it being served in this manner? Who will drink it? Is this some sort of ceremony? A picnic in the woods? Is she just warming the wine/drink with her hands? WHAT! 

Come on, fill in the story here.

NaNoWriMo: Wednesday Wizardry

Thanks to Pixabay.com

What is this? One of my NaNo novels might get more added to it from this photo. I have to keep it in mind when I'm working on it. I love the texture and intensity of the flames and the person in the robe with their ... whatever it is... pouring flames out of it. Awesome.

NaNoWriMo: Tuesday Terror

Thanks to Pixabay.com

It isn't my thing but if it is yours, go for it. I like my gentlemen with bite but this is taking it a bite too far.

You know, I could really keep going with this but I'll leave it here for you to toy with, just like a cat and mouse.

NaNoWriMO: Monday Wash Day

Thanks to Pixabay.com

Something a little more mundane today for you to try and get more words. 

Some of you may not have a use for this but surely some of you are writing novels where your character could be going to the laundry? 

Why as photo prompt? Because sometimes a photo can make something click in your mind and if you try, you can get a thread of a story started. Keep weaving that thread and you'll have a paragraph, a page, several pages. 

Nanowrimo: Sunday Sunday

Thanks, Pixabay.com

So, you're moving along. Your story is flowing from your fingers like Niagra Falls in the spring. Right?

What? It isn't? You're not at 20,000 today? Surely you will be by tonight! I'm sure.

No?

OK, well, here's a little something that might help. I don't know what your writing but maybe you can use this photo to get a shot in the arm and 1667 words down.

I mean, just look at it. Dark foggy night. Lonely deserted road. Or is that a lonely deserted house you just pulled up to? Whatever it is, you strain to see and there, in the glare of your lights, the fog parts and you see...

Well, I don't know what you see. You can share it later. Just write it now!

NaNoWriMo: Friday Fog

You've worked hard all week but there's the weekend waiting for you.

Here's your Friday photo challenge. Anyone have a city buried beneath that poisonous fog?

Perhaps your in your mountain cabin watching the morning fog roll down the mountains while you drink your coffee and enjoy a moment's solitude on your mountain island.

Or perhaps your character is trapped on that mountain by the release of toxic gas from that nearby facility you've been investigating.

Whatever it is, run with it and get those word counts up!

NaNoWriMo: Thursday Apocalypse

Depressing. Bleak, War-torn. Destruction.

It's a stretch for me. I rarely write such depressing stories. 

What about you? Are you writing dystopian drama? Has a deadly disease ravaged society and lead to internal wars to survive? 

I'm depressed now. I am going to find chocolate.

Tell Me the Tale

Your Grandmother died and your Aunt Mary asked you to come and help clear out the house. When you get there, she is working in the attic. She's sitting on a stool and rummaging through a huge trunk and invites you to take the other stool and help her. 

The first thing you pull out is an old manila envelope that appears to be filled with papers. You dump them out and a legal-looking document and several photos fall into your lap. The photo at left is the first photo you pick up. 

You turn to Mary and ask her about it. She glances at it and pales.

So, tell me the tale.

Maybe a Short

So, I sort of have a story that I started a while back that has been sitting on the computer. It didn't have a name initially but now it does. I don't know where it is going or exactly what is going on but I'd like to use it for play. Oddly, it appears, at least on first glance, to be a ghost story... or not.

I opened it tonight and wrote a bit on it and realized I still like the opening....all 1500 words of it. Yes, that's all I've written on it. In over a year...maybe two. It wasn't anything when I started it and I was just doing one of my "exercises". Don't knock it. Those exercise have worked up into some longer stories. If you've ever read about Simon you know already he started life on a lark. He's well beyond that now.

But this one, I'm wondering if it is a short story. I don't feel a long tale in connection with it. I may post some of it at some point, just to see if anyone gives any feedback. For now, it will probably languish a bit since NaNo will demand my blood, sweat, and tears.

The Watcher

I used the above Wallpaper as a writing prompt. 
Now you try it! Click on the photo for a larger version.

The sun dropped below the horizon and a warm breeze began to blow in from the ocean. The palms swayed as if painting the evening sky with yellow, crimson, peach, and violet. It was a nice night to sit and stare out the window at her hut. Tiki torches danced in the twilight, their glow spilling along the ground to blend with the glow from the open door and windows of her house. He sat the wine bottle and cork on the window ledge, picking up the glass and sipping slowly, savoring the sweetness. 

He'd watched for the last six nights and it was always the same. She'd get up and take an early morning swim around eight a.m. She'd go in and return with her book, a tall cool drink, and lie on the lanai in a lounge chair and read until just after noon. She'd take another dip, go in and not come out again until around four when she'd swim for about an hour and go back in for the evening. Three times she'd sat on the lanai until after ten, stretched out in that lounge, staring into the glittering night sky. At first, he'd thought she had fallen asleep but she'd reached for her drink or turned her head and he knew she wasn't sleeping. She was simply admiring the universe. Sometimes, after she'd gone in for the evening, he could see her walking around through open windows and the open doors. His binoculars had been little help since the blowing curtains more often got in the way. 

It was a vicarious experience for him. After the first couple of days, he'd begun to imagine himself there, with her. He began to believe he could feel the warmth of the water against his naked skin as they swam together, could feel the silky smoothness of her's as his hand stroked her thigh under the water. Sometimes they'd come together there, in the water, hands touching, caressing, lips meeting in a brief salty kiss, a promise of what would come with the nightfall. He'd felt the canvas deck chair against his back as he sat next to her and watched her read. He didn't need a book. All the stories he could imagine came easily to mind and would feature her as the lead character. He would be there with her, talking, laughing, making love to her there on the deck. There was no one to see them because instead of watching her from a darkened room he was beside her, lying with her against his chest. 

He shook his head and drank deeply of the wine, emptying the glass and setting it back on the window sill where he refilled it. He studied the shell that rested there. He'd picked it up on the beach the day he'd arrived. There was no one around when he arrived and he took the opportunity to explore the beach and the two huts that stood just across from one another, where the beach curved sharply inward. It had been around noon and the sand had been extremely warm against his bare feet. The urge to stretch out and let it soak into his flight weary muscles had been overwhelming. Instead, he'd picked up the shell and put it to his ear, closed his eyes, and listened to the roar of the waves. The forlorn sound tugged at his gut and made him abandon the beach for the shade of the house.

Now, he reached out and took it from the window sill.  Holding it to his ear, he listened and watched the waves that rolled onto the beach just outside his window. The sound seemed to blend in with the waves only a dozen feet from where he sat.  

A light went out in the hut across from him. The light in the living room winked out, followed by the porch light. Something was happening. He checked his watch. Bedtime. When he looked up, all the lights in the house were out. Carefully he placed the shell back onto the sill and dropping his arms back to the chair arms he slumped back in his chair. 

The entire week had been a wash.  The whole trip had been her opportunity to escape for a short time. He understood that. During the entire time, she'd done nothing that warranted his attention but he'd been drawn along, a part of her routine and ritual but not a participant. Despite all his efforts to prevent it, he'd become obsessed. 

He got up and padded across the darkened room to his bed and reached beneath it and pulled out his suitcase. Their flights left tomorrow, his at six a.m., her's at ten. They were destined never to meet. It had been determined from the beginning. He fumbled in the clothes until his hand closed around the cool metal. He glanced back to the window and wished for a light. Light would be cold, harsh, and real. There was none. 

Deftly, he shoved home the clip of the black 9mm. The cool of the barrel quickly warmed to his touch, much like he imagined she would have had he had the opportunity to make his daydreams reality. He slid the gun into the back of his waistband and slipped into the darkness at the back of his hut.

There was no sound in the hut when he stepped through the window on the far side of the lanai. He knew her bedroom was on the opposite end and that there was no chance that she'd hear him with the sound of the waves and the breeze blowing in through the windows. He padded carefully across the room and looked into the living area. It was darker than this room but, across from his position, he could see the outline of her bedroom door. A dim light fell across the carpet from inside the room, a soft and warm a glow. The moon had just topped the trees as he'd left his hut and tonight it was full but it didn't look like moonlight. Of course, he wasn't worried. After it was over, no one would see him leave.

He made no more sound than a shadow as he slipped across the thick carpet. Through her doorway he caught a glimpse of a small candle glowing on the dresser, the mirror casting the light back into the room. The warm glow made sense. He hesitated but it wasn't enough to do more than give a dim uncertain light. He stepped into the room and his eyes found the bed.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice stroked him like silk. “I've been expecting you.”

He stopped in his tracks, icy finger snaked up his spine. She was sitting up, her back against the headboard. In her hand, the barrel of a small revolver glittered in the flickering flame of the candle, as if it had a light of its own.

She smiled. “I hope you had a wonderful vacation. I know I did. Sad, isn't it. He'll never really be sure.”

The plane lifted from the runway in one smooth motion and she watched, smiling as the ground fell away beneath her. Sighing, she lay her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She was tired. It had been a long night. 

Morning Coffee

A month ago I issued a challenge to the writer's group to write 500 words about this:  A man finds a woman he does not know drinking coffee in his kitchen. Alas, I have been sick most of the month, especially the week of the meeting. But I promised the group I'd finish it. And I did. . . tonight. It isn't very good but it got interesting. I took the liberty of switching genders. 

The smell of coffee tugged me awake, out of the dream of a warm, sandy beach where I walked alone, waves lapping at my feet. I lay for several minutes trying to figure out if I was still dreaming. The aroma of coffee upon waking was something straight out of my childhood and I couldn't recall ever, in my adult isolation waking up to that smell in my house. 

I sat up, frowning at my feet on the brown carpet with the cream swirl. No, definitely not a dream. I could smell coffee. Downstairs in my kitchen coffee was brewing. I clenched the edge of the mattress as my heart suddenly double timed and a knot formed in my gut. I live alone.

With every muscle tensing, I eased off the bed and tiptoed toward the door. The aroma grew stronger as I pulled it toward me. For only a moment, I hesitated. Who in the world would be brewing coffee? How had they got in? 

One way to find out, sister. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and crept down the stairs. At the bottom I paused again and listened. The only sound was the ticking of the hall clock that hung on the wall facing the front door. I looked up at it. Six a.m., way too early for me. 

The front hall extended to the back of the house and the kitchen door was the last one on the right. I could tell from the way the light fell that it was opened. I always closed it. I hesitated, looking left and right, and all around the room. No weapons. Fire poker in the living room but I didn't want to risk going back. Mentally I smacked my forehead. Pistol in the nightstand drawer. I shook my head and move forward, hugging the wall. 

When I reached the doorway I stopped again. My heart was pounding like a pile driver and I had to force myself to slow my breathing. I sounded like a marathon runner on his last legs. With a final deep breath I stepped around the door frame and into the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop.

He smiled slowly, a steaming cup halfway to his mouth. Leaning against the counter, his hands cradling the cup he looked perfectly at home. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he winked one of the green eyes at me. “Morning beautiful.”

I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. I frowned and shook my head. 

“I've made a fresh pot of coffee for you and there's a fresh danish in that white bag.”

I looked at the small white bag lying in the center of the table and then quickly back at the tall man leaning against the counter in my kitchen. I had no idea who he was or how he got in and while I thought it was a nice surprise to find something so delectable in my kitchen, it was more disturbing than nice.

“Who are you?”

He laughed, tilted his head slightly forward and gave me a chiding smile. “You do know you're running late for work?”

I gasped and turned to run back up stairs. 

With some annoyance I slapped the buzzing alarm with one hand and with the other, threw the covers back and, in one smooth motion, I sat up and frowned at my feet on the brown carpet with the cream swirl. I yawned and shook my head. What had that been about? I hated coffee.

The doorbell sounded and I shook my head. Who in the world came calling at, I squinted at the clock, 9:00 a.m.? I gasped. I was late for work. 

I darted across the room and ran down the stairs two at a time. Whoever it was was standing on the buzzer. When I reached the door I yanked it open, ready to give the miscreant a piece of my mind. I looked up into the face of the man who'd been standing in my kitchen, what.. moments ago? 

“Good morning. You wouldn't happen to have any coffee on, would you?" In his hand he held a small white bag.

The One Left Behind

For a week now I've lain here, in the dark and waited for someone to extend their hand and lift me from my squalor. The dust is thick and it feels as if I'm coated from one end to the other. Occasionally a shaft of light filters underneath my prison entryway. Shadows come and go and then the light is extinguished. 

It started at least seven days ago. Gavin came home from ball practice and without a thought he shoved me under the bed with my twin. It wasn't intentional. Really. It's just that he was in a rush and when faced with the decision on what to do with us, he balked, throwing us onto the floor and then, kicking us beneath the edge of the spread that dragged the floor.

We stayed there until Mary actually pulled us out with the vacuum. First my twin and then I was drawn up into the hose. It felt as if we'd be shredded to pieces but Mary acted quickly and turned off the machine and unplugged the hose. She fished us out with care, stared at us, crinkling her nose and uttering a soft grunt. Then, she tossed us into a large wicker receptacle that sat just outside the bathroom door. I don't remember much after that but sometime later, someone dumped several sheets on top of us. Breathing would be impossible for anyone else.

Several days later I could feel the container moving and I knew that someone was carrying it to the sanitization facility. This was a radical event and I wondered if my twin knew what was happening. I had no way to ask and I couldn't see where he was or if he was still here.

The fall, when it came wasn't as bad as I expected. The world seemed to turn on its head and I fell, end over end, until I landed into a large metal container. What came next still give me chills. The sound of running water filled the metal room and soon I could feel the cool waves lapping at my toes. With torturous slowness it crept up until if covered everything in the place. Then something clicked and a motor started and I was swirling around and was pulled and pushed and twisted in every possible direction. It was a nightmare. Twice I bumped into my twin and we tried to hang on to one another but the force of the waves ripped us apart. 

Finally, the water drained away, leaving us beached piles of sheets. I breathed a sigh of relief until I felt the room begin to spin. It went faster and faster until I was slammed against the metal walls and flattened. I couldn't move for what felt like an eternity. When the horror ended, I slid down to the bottom of the room.

I don't know how long it was before we were released. They put is in another room and it whirled around and became very warm. I must have lost consciousness because the next thing I remember was lying on a bed in a dark room. It was cool and I let myself enjoy the feeling of air as it moved gently around me. My twin lay quietly nearby. We lay there all day and finally the room grew dark, the house grew quiet, and everyone slept. We'd survived another day.

I heard Gavin's feet as he ran down the hallway. "Mom, I need my socks!"

"For goodness sakes, Gavin, you'll wake the whole neighborhood. The socks are on the bed in the spare room."

The door was flung open and the overhead light came on. Gavin reach over and grabbed my twin and then me and raced down the hall.

And it began again.




This was a prompt I found somewhere. Write from the point of view of a sock. 

A Long, Dark Hallway

I issued a writing challenge to my local group a few weeks ago. They were to write a scene/short story of no less than 500 words using the prompt: Write about walking down a long dark hallway.

Since I'm the leader, I figure I should be the first to do these things. Tomorrow is our meeting and everyone who did the challenge is asked to bring their story with them to share and critique. I decided to post mine here as well. 

My shoes sounded a tap, tap, tap on the tile floor as I walked. I could hear the sound of the storm outside as it whipped around the corner of the building and rattled the windows. Thunder resounded and echoed along the hallway, rushing past me like a wave. The tapping of my shoes ceased momentarily, instead, making a skittering sound as I jumped. I bumped into the wall, noting the nubby surface of the finish as my arm scrapped along it. 

For a few minutes I leaned there, listening. The distant sound of rain pelting walls, roof, and windows was like the churning of the ocean which lay only half a mile away. I could almost imagine I was on a ship at sea during a storm. I reached for the mast to cling to, only to find nothing. I sighed. The wall at my back was a comfort as the darkness of the hallway was disorienting. There was a dim light ahead of me and one behind me but the distance between was great and I couldn't really see anything up close. If there were doors, they had no seams for light to seep around. 

Of course, I was below ground level so, unless there were basement windows, there would be very little light from the outside seeping into any rooms down here. And today, it would be a diluted light, infused with the gray of the storm.

I stood up and straightened my dress. I wasn't generally afraid of the dark but this was an unknown. I'd never ventured to this part of the facility before and had no idea what lay ahead. I strained to see if I could detect any other sound above the sound of the storm. I was surprised to be able to even hear the storm down here but then, there was only the ground floor above me. The long hallways and cinder block walls would allow sound to travel fairly well.

Moving forward once again, I stayed close to the wall, letting my hand trail along the surface. Surely there were rooms down here. You couldn't have a hallway traversing a building as large as this one with out rooms and doorways. I glanced back, toward the light that grew smaller the farther I got from it. A shadow moved across it and was gone. I stopped and turned. 

“Hello?”

I waited for a response that never came. Squinting my eyes and straining my head forward, I stared hard at the light. Was there someone standing next to the wall, just at the edge of the light? I shook my head and straightened up. I couldn't tell. With more than a little hesitation, I turned and continued my toward my destination, the slightly brighter light at the end of this tunnel.

I don't know what brought me to this place. It wasn't intentional. I'd been perfectly happy in my job as assistant to the CEO of Barnwell & Sons,  LTD. The pay was adequate and the benefits were nice. I had  a nice apartment and a great boyfriend. The promotion, when it came, was unexpected. 

The sound of someone moaning brought me to a standstill. I was now in the darkest section of the hallway. I judged it to be about the halfway point. Glancing back over my shoulder, again I saw a shadow pass between me and the light, more distinct now, and definitely a person. But that moan, that had come from much closer to hand.

“Hello?” I whispered. “Is someone here with me?”

A scurrying sound swirled around my feet and I gave a tiny squeal and my shoes did a little tattoo as I danced. Visions of mice hordes flitted in my head. Another low moan. I was shaking like a leaf now but  I swallowed my fear and stepped away from the wall and walked faster, toward the light at the end. It was growing larger. 

Two dozen steps later I skidded to a halt as a shadow stepped out of the shadow of the walls and into my path. It was definitely human, tall, and black as suet. 

A whisper of a voice echoed behind me. “Run.”

I wanted to, really, but my feet were planted firmly to the floor. My knees would not have been able to propel me forward or backward without a force stronger than my will.

So, how would you expect it to end? What is going on? Feel free to share your thoughts. 

Running Out of Time

Today my small writer's group met at the mall. At our meeting last month I provided three photos for everyone to look at and  then asked them to choose one and write about it for 20 minutes. We had a good time doing it. This month, one of the other members brought several photos for us to use to do a writing exercise. We didn't see the photos until we drew one. You could exchange it if you felt you couldn't write about it.

At first I wondered what I'd do with the photo I got. It was so bizarre and unrelated to anything I had ever written or was likely to write. But I believe that challenging yourself in your writing is important. Write about something you don't normally write about, even if it is experimental. You never know what you'll come up with but every time you write something, you'll learn something about the process and about yourself. I was quite pleased with my little story.

Running Out of Time

Harold tried to hurry through the checkout line but the elderly lady ahead of him was certain that the clerk had made an error in her bill. She insisted that the girl go through the twenty items on the counter and check the totals. 

He shifted from one foot to the other, rolled his eyes, and gave a loud sigh, looking around at the growing line behind him. Other people were mimicking his behavior. At some point someone would likely say something but his need was much more urgent. He dare not be away more than an hour. Timing was everything and one minute over would be a disaster.

Finally, the lady nodded, handed over her money, one dollar at a time until she counted out thirty dollars and then a series of nickles that amounted to ninety-five cents. She toddled out of the store, pushing her cart ahead of  her.

A collective sigh rippled through the line and Harold gave the clerk a tight smile. She returned an easy smile.

“I'm so sorry for that, sir. We'll have you out of here in a tic.”

“Yes, please, do hurry. I have an appointment I'm late for, very important.”

She began to run his purchases through the checkout, tiny beeps sounding with each one until she reached the last, a 50 lb bag of bird seed. She looked up at him with raised brows and wide eyes.

“You must have a lot of birds. Or are you feeding all those pigeons in the park?”

With an unsteady chuckle, he nodded. “Not the park. I have a big family at home.”

“Must.” She grunted as she manhandled the sack into his cart. “I won't put it in a bag.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” His voice cracked.

He nearly threw the money at her and rushed away. “Keep the change.”

His cart bumped the door, causing a loud banging that drew everyone's attention. A quick check of his watch warned him the he was nearly out of time. Five minutes. Five minutes to get to the car, load the items, get in the car, drive five miles to his house and get unloaded. A tiny squeaking moan escaped him. Not enough. Not enough.

Without caution, he tossed everything into the trunk, slammed it and shoved the cart out of the way. It rolled into a Lexus on the opposite aisle. Immediately, the car alarm began to sound. He grabbed his ears with a squawk and jumped into his own car. With tired squealing and smoke flowing behind him, he flew out of the parking lot. He loosened his tie and blinked. Not enough time. He had to hurry.

He blew the first stop sigh and the second light. Cars honked and swerved to miss him. A truck slammed into the back of one as they stopped suddenly. He saw it in the rear view mirror. He looked at the steering wheel and sobbed. He was out of time. His foot moved to slam on the brakes and the car swerved and headed for the curb, slamming into the light pole. 

The police car pulled up behind him and the officer approached with gun drawn while a second stood on the other side of the car covering him. “Put your hands out the window and get out of the car!”

Harold didn't move. He couldn't. He was out of time. 

The officer opened the door, keeping the gun on him. He leaned down and gasped. “What the hell are you!”

Harold chirped an answer and the officer backed up. 

“Will... you gotta come see this. Damnedest thing I've ever seen.”

Will hurried around and skidded to a halt. 

Harold struggled to get out of the car and stand up. He looked first at one officer and then the other. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause an accident. I tired to get home before it was too late.”

Both policemen let their guns drop and stared at Harold.

Click here for what they saw....

Harry & Maude

Today was my local writer's group meeting. We had a really good time I think. We had a writing exercise that worked out quite well. I brought three old photos that I found online and we had to choose one to write about. I chose two of them, which was cheating a bit. Everyone did very well with their story and hearing the different perspectives was really interesting. Everyone saw something different.

Visit the album where this photo is located.

Harry smiled across the table at Maude as she told him about her shopping trip the day before. He hated shopping but Maude loved it and he loved hearing her talk, about anything, the price of eggs, the spoiled milk in the baby's bottle, the weather.

“I tell you, Maude, you should not go into that market alone. I don't trust those men with the funny hats. They're bound to be up to no good.” Winnie moved a glass and brushed crumbs off the table. “Harry, you should go with her.”

“Nonsense, sweetheart. Maude can charm the birds from the trees. She's perfectly fine on her own. Besides, I had to take that paperwork down to the Judge. He's been out of town for weeks.”

Maude sat silent, smiling at Harry. Beneathe the table she stretched and rubbed his leg with her foot. He blushed and moved his leg. “I think I wouldn't have got much shopping done if Harry had been along, Mother. He's far too much of a distraction for me.”

“Hush child.” Harry chuckled and winked at her. 

Winnie got up and began to clear the table. “Well, I'm still not convinced a fellow who wears a turban and long skirts is to be trusted. They have most unpleasant faces and I'm sure they're just waiting to drag decent women into an alley.” 

“Mama, do be quiet.” Maude leaned forward and glared. “The servants will hear you.”

“Don't care if they do.” She picked up her tray and started for the kitchen. “Uncivilized heathens, gadding about in the streets. Makes me terribly uncomfortable.”

She left them and silence lay thick as the mist that had rolled in from the mountains. The sun slanted across the balcony, casting harsh shadows. Branches from a nearby tree shaded Harry's face and he frowned. “It can be dangerous, Maude. You should take someone out with you. I didn't know you intended to go on your own.”

Her laughter dance out onto the air and his heart seemed to speed up. “Darling, I am perfectly fine. No one is going to hurt me.”

“That woman three weeks ago...”

“Was in a terrible part of town, Harry. She should have known better than to go there. I'm sure she must have gotten lost.”

“It was bad, Maude. I spoke with the constable.”

She rose and moved around the table, leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I'm not going walking in the back alleys of the bazaar, Harry. I promise. Beside, who'd bother the wife of the ambassador's son?”

He watched her go into the house and then turned to stare out at the forest a dozen feet away. He didn't want to answer that.

WRoE May Accountability Day - Late

It occurred to me today that I did not do Accountability Day this
month! It probably isn't important since I didn't write in April more
than an hour. I'd like to get back on track but it isn't looking good.

I'm like a yo-yo with the stress, depression and pain. I have days
when things go well and then I hit bottom. I've done no writing this
month either. It is a bit stressful.

On top of that, I'm having laptop problems. I'm going to probaby have
to reformat this weekend and check to see if I need a new battery. I
am having unexpected crashes and restarts. Since I'm plugged in at the
time, I don't know what that is about. The screen that tells me stays
up only long enough to tell me there was a problem but not read what
it was!

So, I'm far behind on my own WRoE. No, it is not acceptable. Not for
me. I'll start over and try again. Eventually, I'll figure out I'm
only extending my work. I spend an inordinate amount of time doing
stupid, wasteful things so it isn't impossible to write something
every day that contributes to the development of the novel. The only
excuse is that I'm not doing it. That's the truth.