Writing Prompt

“Get down here right now you headache of a person!”

I hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but sometimes harsh is the only way Maggie listens, “Come on Grace, it’s not that big a deal!”

She was perched on top of a balcony railing on the second story of the hotel. She was trying to reach a hundred dollar bill someone had put on one of the weird pillars surrounding the building.

“Maggie please get down, tonight is not the night we’re going to the hospital because you fell and cracked your head open.”

My heart pounded in my chest, getting faster and faster as she stretched farther and farther to get the money, “Babe, it’ll be fine I promise.” She rolls her eyes at me before turning her attention back to the cash.

I watched her foot slip a little on the railing and her balance get thrown off. My heart stops as i watch her almost fall off the railing.

My eyes are practically saucers as she grabs the money and jumps backwards back onto the balcony. I rush towards her, wrapping my arms around her as she beams at the bill in her hand, “You know what this means, Grace?”

I roll my eyes, “What?”

She does her little wiggly dance before yelling with a beautiful light in her eyes that lit her whole face up, “A booking trip!!”

I smiled back at her as she started to rant about each book she planned to get. Although Maggie worried me often, I still love her with everything I have.

“Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!”

I looked down at Samuel with a smirk spread all over my face like peanut butter on toast.

“And why should I Sammy dearest?”

Molly ran out of the house just then and rushed over to him, grabbing his arm and clinging to it like a scared toddler as they both stared up at the roof where I crouched holding a big bucket of hot pink paint.

“Oh Sammy dear, how on Earth did he get up there? How will we get him down? And why does he have a bucket of paint?”

“Don’t worry Mols, I’ll handle this,” he turned back to me and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Raphael Timothy Duckstein! Get down here this very instant!”

“Don’t you dare put that filthy last name next to my name. I’d rather eat my own puke than be called Duckstein,” I hollered back.

“Ah, but you are a Duckstein, because Molly and I have adopted you, which makes you our son, which means you are in fact a Duckstein!”

He smiled his ugly smart ass grin like he’d just figured out the cure to cancer on his first try.

“I am NOT your son, Samuel, and I never will be so go choke on a stick you imbecile.”

And with that I lifted up the bucket and began pouring paint all over the roof. The beautiful white roof was soon almost completely coated in the most hideous shade of pink I could find.

“Stop! Stop! Stop it right now, you’re ruining the house!”

I stopped pouring it just so I could turn and glare at them.

“And why should I? Why should I listen to either of you?“ I turned to Samuel, “You act like your better than all of us, like your so high and mighty because you got rich off your smarts but you’re not, you’re just like the rest of us. A simple, basic, far-from-perfect human. And you,” I turned to Molly, “You’re just a gold digger!”

I threw the now empty bucket of paint into a bush where it sank through many branches and finally landed in the soil.

“Look what you’ve done you little animal! You’ve destroyed the beautiful paintwork. Oh, I’ll get you for this.”

“Actually, no you won’t.”

I turned around and used the ladder I had set up on the far side of the house to get down which took considerably longer that I’d hoped for which was expected since the house had three big floors.

Luckily, my captors (uh adoptive parents, I mean) were far from fit and they were only halfway around the house by the time I got down. Waiting beside the ladder was my bicycle and a bag containing all my stuff (not that I had much).

By the time I had strapped on my helmet and put the bag on my back, the dull duo still hadn’t quite made it to the back of the house and right as I pedaled ‘round the right side of the house, they appeared from the left side, panting and waddling their big ugly fat legs like overweight penguins.

“Stop, you uncivilized crim of a child!”

I smirked and didn’t even bother to look back as I peddled away fiercely down the road. Another foster home, another escape. This was the fifteenth time I had run away but hey, I can’t help it if I keep getting horrible parents.

“Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!”

No response. Keisha sighed, bracing herself to start climbing.

“I’m about thirty seconds from coming up there to get you, and you aren’t gonna like the consequences,” she warned.

Still no response.

Swearing under her breath, Keisha hauled herself onto the brick wall.

“If you make me climb all the way up there, I will shove you off the damn roof.”

Squinting up, she caught a glimpse of black hair among the tree branches.

“Okay,” Jess called down. “But I’m not technically making you do anything, so…”

She trailed off as Keisha grabbed a tree branch, still cursing.

“You’ll wanna jump to that one really thick branch, and then start climbing with your back towards the roof, by the way,” Jess advised.

Reluctantly, Keisha followed her instructions. With branches tearing at her hair and clothes, she finally found herself level with the roof.

“You made it,” Jess remarked, somewhat surprised.

“How do I get onto the roof?”

“Figure it out.”

“Go jump in front of a car.”

Keisha scooched around, finding a branch that conveniently was near the edge of the roof. Gingerly putting her weight on the end, she was able to sit on the roof backwards.

“If I can’t get down from here, I will jump and use you as a landing pad.”

“Or I could just lower you to the ground,” Jess pointed out.

“That’s not as satisfying for me.”

Jess ignored that statement.

“Why’d you come up, anyway? I was about to climb back down.”

Keisha hesitated.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe I wanted an excuse to try.”

Jess considered her.

“You know you don’t need an excuse, right?”

Keisha just shrugged. Changing the subject, she said, “It’s nice up here. You can see the bay, look.”

“Yeah, it’s cool. You see that tree? The really weird, really tall one? That used to be a marker for the Native Americans.”

“Tell me about it.”

And as Jess launched into a long explanation, the two girls lay back and watched the clouds move slowly across the sky.

"Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!" my best friend called from an estimated thirty feet below my dangling body.

"Mmmmh...I don't think so" I jokingly sneered, as I pulled myself up onto the bark riddled branch, "The view's pretty glorious from up here, I think I may climb a touch higher, to get a better view of the skyline!"

Stevie and I had taken a four-day camping trip in the Rockies, aiming to break our record of hiking two 14ers in three days. It would be sensible to shoot for three in three days, but hell, who's sensible now-a-days? We had gotten through Grays and Torreys on Thursday, yesterday we started the hike from Torreys to Bierstadt, planning to start the hike up the former in the early hours of this morning. If time was on our side, we'll be able to hit Evans before we camp out for the night.

"Right, well when we don't make it to Mount Evans before it gets dark tonight, you tell me how that skyline is James!" remarked Stevie, who simply threw his hands to the dark morning sky in defeat.

Mia's palms were slick with sweat as she clung to the ledge of the towering building. It was an impulse decision, one fueled by a desire to feel something-- anything-- other than the overwhelming numbness that had been gnawing at her soul for months. But as she peered down at the ant-like figures scurrying about the streets below, the reality of what she had done hit her like a ton of bricks.

Suddenly, there was shouting. A group of people had gathered on the sidewalk beneath her, all craning their necks to see the reckless young woman perched precariously on the edge of the roof. One woman was screaming into her phone, presumably calling the police, while another man was trying to coax Mia down with gentle words.

But then there was a new voice, one that cut through the chaos like a knife.

"Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!" The words were sharp and biting, laced with anger and frustration.

Mia's heart sank as she recognized the voice. It was her ex-boyfriend, Jack-- the last person she wanted to see in this moment. But before she could even process the shock, Jack was shouldering his way through the crowd and making a beeline for her.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarled, his eyes blazing with a mix of fear and fury. "You could have died up here, Mia!"

She didn't know how to respond. All the reasons she had climbed up here in the first place-- the crushing weight of her depression, the feeling of being lost and alone-- suddenly seemed so trivial in the face of Jack's anger.

"I...I don't know," she stammered, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I just...I needed to feel something."

"Well, you could have felt something a lot worse than a headache, you know," Jack spat, inching closer to her. "Now come on, let's get you down from here before things get any worse."

Mia nodded mutely, feeling numb once again as Jack guided her back over the edge of the building and onto solid ground. The crowd had started to disperse by this point, but Mia could still feel the weight of their gazes on her. She took one final look over the ledge from where she had previously hung, and with one resolute nod, she begins to turn away, only to find herself alone. Where the hell was Jack?

She spun her body left and right, looked over her shoulder and back down the side of the building, but he was nowhere to be seen. Did she imagine it all? She swore the voices were real. Feeling a presence behind her, she quickly spun around in relief, only for her face to drain of color thereafter.

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her arm and a man dressed in black quickly dragged her away from the edge. While keeping a viselike grip around her wrist, he motioned for her to remain quiet and to follow him. She hesitated for a moment, Wondering if this mysterious man really was Jack, but the sounds of propellers chopping through the air drowned everything within its presence.

The man led her to a small side door on the roof and opened it, gesturing for her to step inside. Even up close Mia couldn’t distinguish his features, and this made her a bit more nervous than when she hung moments from her death. She looked back to the helicopter, but it was too late. The SWAT team had breached the roof and were making their way towards her. With a deep breath, she stepped inside and the man shut the door behind her.

For a moment, Mia was in total darkness, but then a dim light flickered to life. She looked around and saw that she was in a small room, barely big enough for two people. The man stood in front of her, his face still obscured by the darkness.

“Who are you?” Mia asked, her voice shaking.

The man didn’t answer, but instead reached out and grabbed her arm. Mia thrashed wildly within his hold and tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. It was not long before his strong build overpowered her weak frame. She felt a sharp pain explode in her neck before everything went black.

When Mia woke up, she was lying in a bed in an unfamiliar room. She tried to move, but found her wrists and ankles shackled down. Panic set in as she craned her neck left and right, trying to figure out where she was and what was going on.

Suddenly, the door opened and the man walked in. This time, Mia could see his face clearly. It was a face she recognized all too well. It was the face of the man who had killed her husband and child.

“You should have stayed on that roof,” he said, a twisted smile on his face. “Now, you’re all mine.”

“W-who are you,” she asked in a fearful breath.

“I am Death. Pleased to meet you, Honeycakes. Now, now. Don’t worry that troubled head no longer. I am here to solve all your problems.”

The woman's eyes widened in terror. "Death? Am I dead?"

Death chuckled, a deep and eerie sound that seemed to echo in the stillness. "Not yet, my dear. But your time is coming."

Mia trembled, fear and confusion swirling inside her. "Why are you here? What problems are you talking about?"

Death leaned closer, his breath cold and putrid. "Oh, Honeycakes, you humans always have problems. Worries, regrets, fears... they all weigh you down. But I am here to offer you a way out."

"A way out?" Her voice shook. "What do you mean?"

"Simple." Death straightened up and gestured grandly. "I can take your problems away. All of them. All you have to do is come with me."

The woman's mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was this a dream? A hallucination? Or was Death truly here to take her away?

"And where would we go?" she asked, her voice small and hesitant.

"To a better place," Death replied smoothly. "A place where there is no pain, no sorrow, no fear. Just peace."

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. The idea of leaving behind all her problems was tempting, but the thought of following Death into the unknown was terrifying.

"I... I don't know," Mia whispered.

Death's eyes gleamed with a strange light. "Think about it, Honeycakes. But don't take too long. I'll be waiting."

Coming to, Mille looked around despondently as she replayed death‘s message in her head. She looked over at the man who had a arm over her shoulder and visibly relaxed at Jack’s anguished features. As she and Jack made their way down the street, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn't shown up when he did. Would she have jumped? Would anyone have been able to stop her?

The questions swirled around in her mind, but there were no answers. Just the bitter taste of regret and the promise of more headaches to come.

"Get down from there right this second, you sh*t head!"

The Pirate looked down. Mr. Jeffries was right below him at the base of the ladder. This was not going according to plan.

"What are you doing up there?" Jeffries barked. It really was a question but the Pirate knew what he was actually saying was "you had better not be be messing with our mascot or I am going to kicking your ass into next week!"

The Pirate pondered his options. Here he was, 25 feet up a somewhat unstable ladder. The Leprechaun had been holding the ladder. He had obviously bolted at the first sign of trouble. It was a fair solution, the Pirate realized. The gym was dark and a student loitering at the base of the ladder in a dark gym was much more suspicious and sure to catch the attention of any of the staff than his position in the shadowsat the top of the ladder. That did little to help him now. His left hand was securely attached to the Devil Dog as his right hook had deftly loosened the right bolt. He was midway through a bit of the old in and out and there was no easy withdrawal from this scenario.

"Mr. Jeffries, I can't. I need to finish this."

"Tyler, get your f*cking ass down this ladder, NOW!" Jeffries commanded.

The Pirate contemplated. Then he let the left mount of the Devil Dog go. It immediatelt swung down, the remaining bolt popped loose, and the Dog began its long plummet to the gym floor.

Jeffries jumped back from the shattering mascot and in turn unintentionally bumped the ladder. The Pirate was not afraid of heights. You don't spend time at sea without scaling into a few stomach lurching locations without even thinking about it. But as the top of the ladder began to move along the wall, the Pirate realized that the stability of his perch was about to go sideways. In fact his whole situation was totally fcked sideways. Why did that keep coming up? Why was he always putting himself where he was totally fcked sideways? His hook hand shot down for balance as his left hand scrabbled for anything that would keep him up. Then the ladder slid down the wall with the Pirate on top at increasing speed. Like the Devil Dog exploding into pieces on the gym floor below him, this landing was not going to go well.

In truth he landed better than he expected. He was still alive. That was better than he could say for the Dog. That bitch was never going back up on that wall. But as they strapped him in and hoisted him up into the back of the ambulance, the Pirate realized that it really was a stupid plan and that his life had suddenly taken a really aback turn

 "Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!", the old guard said from below. "Stop wasting my fucking time! We both know you're too much of a pussy to jump.", he said while chuckling under his breath. I don't think I was supposed to hear that, but he did not make much of an effort to conceal it. As I look down at the people on the ground, I imagine them as itty, bitty ants. It's easier to kill something when it's that small. 
 Was I going to kill myself today? No, if I planned on killing myself it would be much more of an extravagant event; rather than jumping off of this prison they call a "residential institution for the mentally unstable". It sounds like a great place when you use pretty words as they do. But, in reality, this place is hell on earth. You get treated like shit, they feed you barely edible food, and you only get to go outside once a month. We are abused by the staff daily and to keep money flowing in, the institution makes it almost impossible to be discharged from this place...oh yeah I'm on a rooftop.
 Every month, on the day they let us outside, I slip away to the roof. And every month on that day, the guards find me, getting too scared to come and get me, then eventually call a firetruck to get me down. It's a routine now. But, it is the only time that I have any privacy. Just because I'm a little schizo doesn't mean I need a babysitter every second of every day. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia for the last 19 years, and I feel pretty confident in saying that I could be living on my own. 
 I look down at the people again, but something was different about them. Something in their faces. They all looked slightly incorrect, distorted almost. Then, the ground underneath them breaks open with a loud, deep echo. The guards fall in, silent; their bodies being engulfed in flames. My body fills with adrenaline and I let out a piercing scream.
 My eyes creep open, blurry at first, but when they focused the guards and firemen were staring back. Staring at me with blank, bewildered faces, they stood on solid ground. 
 I start to laugh hysterically and say, "sorry y'all, I'm just crazy! Just had a vision of all of you dying, no biggie!" Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, they got me off of the roof and onto the ground.
 The pissed-off guards pushed me inside the building and back up to my room. They open the door to my room and push me inside causing me to trip, and fall to the ground.
 "Kill them....break the window on the door and stab them in their faces...slit their throats from ear to ear...rip their tracheas out of their throats, step on them...", says a very familiar voice.
 "No! Shut up! If you want them dead, kill them yourself!", I scream with my eyes closed and arms waving. The guards roll their eyes, turn around, and slam the door shut. Well, it was nice being outside while it lasted.
  "You had your chance to kill them and escape. The guard is right you are a pussy...", hysterical laughing fills my head. Louder and louder the laughter gets, echoing off the walls of my skull. Grabbing my head with both hands, I curl up on the floor screaming. To fight off the cackling voice, I imagine the view from the rooftop and being outside. That always seems to calm me down. The laughter eventually just stopped, without any warning. It's always so eerie, how it goes from being so very loud in my mind, to deathly quiet in the blink of an eye. Like whatever was making the noise in my head died, and is rotting away in my skull, or ceased to exist entirely. 
Hours pass by while sitting on my bed, staring at the beige walls that badly need repainting. 
 Picking at the rubbery grip on the bottom of my socks, I blankly stare at the boring wall but, out of the corner of my eye, a dark figure sprints across the room. My head snaps in the direction of the object, but nothing was to be seen. I look up at the camera, smirk, and say, "did you guys see that or am I just crazy?" I laugh at my own joke, even though I am fairly frightened. Something wasn't right.

                       . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 The guard on babysitting duty scoffs, droplets of coffee flinging off of his mustache. Rolling his eyes, he switches to another screen to watch someone else. The next tenant was 74-year-old Phyllis Robinson, she suffers from dissociative identity disorder, or DID. The guard guesses that Perry, a nine-year-old boy, is in control of her identity because she is coloring on the walls with a green crayon. A lack of motivation to stop her causes the guard to switch screens again.
 This time he switches to Timothy Wakefield, a 21-year-old boy. Timothy is a tenant here because he tried to kill himself last year, and his parents thought he should seek help. He behaves well but is not camera-shy when it comes to sleeping nude or pleasuring himself in his room. The guard switches the camera, back to Jayden.
 He stares at the screen for a second, confused. Where is he? A click on the keyboard shows a different view of the room, but still, no sign of Jayden. One more click of the keyboard shows the last angle available to the guard, and what he sees sends him into a panic.
 An hour later, Jayden is being rolled out of the institution on a gurney, in a body bag. Meanwhile, crime scene investigators analyze Jayden's bloody scene.
 The guard walks up to detective Henning and says, in a disappointed tone, "Yanno, I never thought he would actually do it. I never thought he would kill himself."
 Detective Henning turns to the guard and says, "What gives you the impression this was a suicide officer?"
 "Oh well...uh... I just figured...", the guard stammers.
 Henning states confidently, "I already have enough evidence to suggest that this was a homicide, sir. Someone else was in here with him. Someone angry."

“Get down from there this second, you…. you…. headache of a man!”

His laugh sounded from high up in the leafy branches. “Does that mean you like me?”

She grumbled and walked closer to the trunk of the big maple. Above her, sitting astride a branch that did not look like it could hold the weight of a grown man, Oliver swung his legs with the carefreeness of a schoolboy.

“Care to join me?” He grinned.

“I will not be climbing this tree, Oliver,” she said, struggling to hold onto her look of disapproval. She crossed her arms across her chest as if to show just how much she disapproved.

“Why?” he asked, resting his back against the trunk. “Afraid of what they’ll say? Oliver and Mary, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G….”

She picked up a stick and threw it upwards. He mock-ducked out the way. The stick was in no danger of reaching him.

With swift, sure movements, Oliver climbed to a lower branch and crouched, one hand gripping a higher branch to support himself, the other extended towards Mary.

“Join me, Mary.” His schoolboy grin softened into something tender. Something understanding. “Join me in this tree. Dinner can wait. Your parents can wait. Let’s stay here. Just for a little while.”

Her shoulders relaxed and her disapproval melted. Smiling, she took his outstretched hand, letting him help her up the lower branches until she reached him. He sat with his back against the tree, legs astride the branch, and positioned her in front of him, his arms going around her waist. They could stay in the tree. Even if it was just for a little while.

“Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!”

“But daaaad! I just tried to jump as high as I could. It’s not my fault if I’ve reached the top of this tree”

“Baby, please come down before you are seen!”

“Okay…”

As I see my son jumps down and gently land on the grass, I can’t help but be anxious. Has anyone seen him? Has anyone understood that what they saw was not a mirage, that it was real?

I am scared that my son will be discovered and that like his other dad, he will be taken away from me. I would not be able to function if I were to lose to the same thing the living embodiment of my love.

I hope he will understand why I need to be strict and curb his natural tendencies to test his limits, his abilities.

In a cold world like the one we live in, difference is erased and never will I let my son experience such hardships.

I will, as I promised my heart, always protect him. Always.

“Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!” I don’t even have the energy to yell anymore. He has been like this all day, not doing anything I’ve asked of him. Being a brat.

I’ve babysat some terrible children over the thirty something years I’ve been babysitting, but I can say with complete honesty. Kenny Phelps is by far the worst!

It takes a lot to rile me up, to frazzle me, and this boy has managed to do that ten times over. I know it’s not his fault, not really. His parents are never around, he has little to no friends. But that doesn’t stop him from being the problem I have to directly interfere with.

Now he has climbed up onto the platform in the middle of the fountain in the town centre. How he got up without getting soaked I have no clue. But there he is standing right in the middle of it with everyone watching and I have no idea what to do. In all my years on the job, the one sad truth I’ve learned is that you can only do so much, the rest is down to the parents and the child themself. I just hope Kenny’s parents step up to the plate soon otherwise they’ll be leaving their son to drown.