Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
WRITING OBSTACLE
Write a complete story that takes place in a single, confined setting (e.g., an elevator).
Focus on character interactions and internal thoughts to maintain interest.
Writings
(Sorry my imagination can only take me so far)
She smelt good. And she was so pretty. She looked so put together and looked like she had the power to both hug you and spite your enemies. I smiled at her. She smiled at me. We stood in silence as the older gentleman got off the elevator. Somehow I mustered up the courage to ask her out. She said yes. And now she is walking down the aisle towards me.
“Where are we…”
“I don’t kn— OUCH!”
Something hit against his head. The sound of rattling cans filled the pitch black space.
“Alex, are you okay?” Avery hissed.
Judging by the sound of her voice, she must’ve been somewhere behind him.
“Yeah…” He rubbed the back of his head.
Bright, narrow light streaked through the shutters of what Alex assumed was a door. More things came into view as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Shelves filled with cans, bottles, small-sized boxes closed in on them.
“I guess this is a pantry…“ Avery vocalized his thoughts. “Are you sure we’re at the right place?”
“We must’ve gotten into a wrong time stream….” He said absently. His eyes lingered on the foodstuff on the shelves. “We jumped way back into the past… Oh look! There’s Milk powder kept in here too….. Avery?”
He saw Avery’s silhouette covering the streaming light.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Alex hobbled over. He peeked through the shutters.
Outside, warm, blinding light poured over the dining table, surrounded by empty chairs. Behind it, low couches spread leisurely, adorned with cushions. The light falling on the couch flickered. The TV must’ve been on. But it was blocked by a wall.
“This… Doesn’t this look familiar to you?” Avery murmured.
“I don’t think s—“
Rapid footsteps ran down towards the living room. The two of them held their breathes. Alex’s heart hammered in his chest.
A kid about ten came up to the table, holding a baby in his arms. He had caramel brown hair, just like his little sister. But his stormy grey eyes reminded him of Will. The baby cooed.
“Get ready, Avery! We’re about to flyyy!” The kid lifted her up. She burst into a peal of giggles.
Alex blinked.
Avery sucked in a shaky breath.
“_Nathan!” A woman’s _voice came from the other room, “Don’t hurt your sister, okay?”
“That’s… Mom…” Avery choked back a sob.
Guilt smacked Alex in the face. Not only had he brought them into the wrong time stream, but also at the wrong place.
She watched in silence, invisible among the shadows. Her eyes reflected the memories and people she knew would never come back.
He kept a hand on her shoulder “Let’s go back, Avery…”
“No…” She pushed his hand a away, “No. Just a little longer… please…”
Outside, Avery was lost to another fit of giggles. She flailed her tiny arms. Kicked her legs in the air as her brother soared her high. “Weee!” cried Nathan.
Inside, tears streamed down Avery’s eyes. She stepped back, away from the light and accidentally hit her head at one of the shelves.
More tumbling.
The laughter was cut short outside.
“MOM?” 10-year-old scared Nathan shouted.
“C’mon we gotta go!” Alex whispered.
Avery didn’t protest. She didn’t nod. She turned to him. “Take us back.” She said in a low voice.
“I’m sorry, Aves…”
“I’m fine…”
Running water.
That’s all Thena Suna hears.
Is Thena at the beach?
With a pounding headache, her eyes flutter open. She squints to let a minimal amount of light in, so she doesn’t blind herself.
With a quick glance around, it’s the faucet. It’s running. So no beach.
She has a moment of remembrance when she and her siblings went to the beach. Tayden and Tula goad her into the sea just to tackle into the waves.
Where is she?
It’s clear that she’s in a kitchen, but she’s never seen this place before. The cold tiles under her are checkered like an old 50’s diner. The cabinents are a rich dark oak. It’s fairly modern. Counters are white, maybe marble.
Not much otherwise. No stove or oven or microwave. She’s laying in the middle where an island could have been or a table. Right in front of her, above the sink where a window normally would be, is a painting of a beach. It’s beautiful, with such fine details as if reaching forward, she would feel the grains of sand.
So she wasn’t that far off with guessing a beach.
“How did I get here?” She asks herself. She doesn’t remember even leaving her house. Standing up on shaky legs, she leans onto the counter and twists the faucet so the water stops running.
Without the constant sound, she notices the quiet. No one’s around.
That is until someone speaks, “Thena Suna, you have been chosen.”
It’s like a person voicing a commercial. Perfect pronounciation and pace. Most likely a recording.
“You have been chosen to escape this room. You have exactly twenty-five minutes. If you do not escape in the given time frame, your opportunity to escape will be terminated.”
Two things stick out to Thena. The time limit and termination.
If this is an escape room, those are usually an hour. And doesn’t end with any terminating!
“Is this an escape room?” She asks, hoping the voice would confirm her hope.
“A game of sorts. A serious game with serious consequences. Good luck. Your time starts now.”
A clock on the counter blinks to life. It is a black square box with red numbers not counting down from the given time limit.
Immediately, she springs into action, taking in every detail she can. Having been in an normal escape room before with her siblings, she knows that she can do this. There’s just never been this kind of pressure before. The life or death kind of pressure.
The sink works. There’s a fridge across from the sink. A pretty old looking one that is white unlike the stainless steel faucet. Those are the only amenities in the kitchen. There’s no exits. There aren’t even places where any doors were covered or anything.
The fridge doesn’t open, so that’s a dead end. Opening a few drawers and cabinets is fruitless since they are all empty.
It’s pretty barren. The standout item being the beach painting.
The only things in this space that are extra seemingly are a few books stacked on the counter.
Three books.
Laying them out to see all the covers, they are all hardcover, travel books with beaches prominent on the covers.
Ok so the beach is important.
Glancing at the time, she sees just about five minutes have gone by. Just as she sees the 20:01 turn to 20:00, the voice speaks.
“Twenty minutes remaining. Good luck.”
Staying calm is key. That’s what Tayden would say. Take in everything. She hears her own words echo in her mind when she and Tayden and Tula were in one together. She said, “Nothing is insignificant.”
She needs to listen to herself.
“Ok, Thena, look at the books,” she coaches herself. They are the only real option for clues. Because clues leads to revelations and revelations lead to possible escape. Or a vehicle for escape like a key.
In a quick fan of the pages, she doesn’t see anything abnormal in any of them. No highlights or underlines. No words bolded or crossed out.
Taking note of the amount of pages of each book, there doesn’t appear to be any significance to them. There are so many parts that could be hints in books. What details matter in this escape room?
“15 minutes remaining. Good luck.”
The last part sound mean spirited. She tries to ignore it and keep going with her inspection of the books.
As she goes to check the table of contents of one book, something is nagging at her.
The title on the page is Best Beaches: 100 of the Most Incredible Beaches. Flipping to the cover, the words don’t match. Wish I Was Here: The Most Extraordinary Places on and Beyond the Seashore is what the covering reads. The plastic outside isn’t with the right book.
Taking all of the covers off, it brings the biggest clue. Underneath each three cover are engraved numbers. Each book has one number. Her fingers run over the indents.
24, 1, and 19
What do these numbers go to? Are they a combination? A date?
“10 minutes remaining. Good luck,” the voice warns.
Her jitters increase, but she tries to tamper it down. She needs to get out of here. See her family again.
Taking a deep breath, she sets out to find what the numbers mean. She’s not going to go through the drawers again. It would be a waste of time. These numbers have meaning. Everything has a purpose in escape rooms. Whether it is a hint to lead you to a clue or a red herring, it is there for a reason.
The only thing she hasn’t physically checked is the beach. The painting of the beach.
Going up to it, she concentrates on all the strokes of sky and water and every piece of sand. In the corner, it’s signed. A cursive _C.M. _is in light ink. She keeps those initials in mind. Nothing else stands out to her as odd.
Without her siblings here, she feels off balanced. Whatever one of them lacks, another one makes up for it. She’s missing something.
Well she’s missing a lot of stuff in this moment, but she longs for something that doesn’t quite know.
It takes her a precious minute to realize how quiet it is in the room. That’s it.
She’s longing for Tayden’s commentary and ideas and Tula’s constant need for noise and movement.
Remembering Tula’s fidgeting that helped them complete a much less dangerous escape room, Thena moves her fingers across the wooden frame. She feels along all the sides, hoping for a crease.
When her fingers reach around the right side, there’s a groove. It’s big enough to get her fingernails underneath and pry. A pop echoes in the room as the painting swings open like a little door. Behind it is shiny metal. It’s like a safe with a keypad for a combination.
24, 1, and 19
What order do they go in? She tries the way she found them. Each press of a button makes a beep.
The litte digital screen shows the numbers as she inputs them, but when she has them all in, nothing changes.
There’s a little underscore behind the 9. She’s missing a number.
“5 minutes remaining. Good luck.” It actually startles her this time and she almost jumps from her position of being hunched over the counter, staring at these numbers.
Her little alarm bell goes off, a big siren inside her head. If this were Inside Out, all her emotions would be running around frantic.
Several minutes until termination. She needs to get through this. She has to.
“Look at the big picture Thena!” She hears Tula say, enthusiastically in her mind. “Not everything is in the teeny tiny details,” Tayden jokes.
They’re right. She needs to take a step back. After putting the beach picture back in place so the room is how it was when she got there, she literally moves to the far end to view the whole space. “Ok, big picture, Thena,” she chants to herself.
A different viewpoint doesn’t change anything. At least at first.
Her eyes sweep the room but continue to land on the beach. It’s just so eye catching.
But lingering on it from a distance, she sees something. In the sand, there’s something. She wouldn’t have seen it up close, but there’s an illusion of a number. It’s like one of those weird illusions that hurt your eyes if you look at it too long.
You have to look at it a certain way. And she was.
0
With renewed energy, she outs it in, but the screen shows incorrect in red. Ok, so different order. Taking a glimpse of the clock, she had 2 minutes and 27 seconds.
The grouping of these numerical values have to mean something.
24, 1, 19, and 0. The new number has pair with one of the others. She can feel it.
Does it go with the 1 because it’s the only single number? Is that too obvious? But when she does add it to the 0, making it 10, it clicks. It must be a date.
10/24/19 or 10/19/24
Immediately, she presses the numbers in trying to be quick but efficient, being careful not to hit the wrong ones. The first combo she tries produces the incorrect label.
She tries to calm her heart from its rapid beat and her hands from shaking. 40 seconds left. If this is wrong, then this is the end.
Tapping on the 4, she holds her breath, waiting for the decider. Existential Crisis incoming.
Correct
A click sounds. But not from the safe. Behind her, the fridge is open. It’s a door.
Running away from this horror room, she yanks the door to create a bigger gap and rushes through.
Thank goodness. She escaped.
Except, she’s in another windowless, doorless, exitless room. It makes her want to cry.
But what shocks her more is who is in the room with her.
“Tayden? Thena?” Tula says, incredulously.
Her sister is favoring one side and is lugging a small gold horse statue.
She meets Tayden’s gaze. This is the first time she has seen him have that look of confusion on his face. He is usually so calculated and confident. But now he seems so unsure.
Whoever brought them all here isn’t done with them.
Not by far.
——— (This is a different perspective of 25 Minutes. In that one, I wrote about Tula and her escape room. I do eventually want to write about Tayden’s view.)
I walk into the elevator. Alone, I go on my phone after clicking floor 10. “Oh sorry.” I hear an older woman say getting into the elevator. I look up to see, her. We lock eyes. We know exactly who each other is. I look back down, at my shoes. I can feel her awkwardness. Could it be? Are we both tripping? “Isabelle?” I look up. “Yes.” I reply. She takes a deep breath in. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize.” I say, rudely. “Why are you being so rude to me?” She asks. “You hardly know me, you don’t deserve an explanation. You lost all right to know me the day you left.” I respond. I roll my eyes. She bites on her lip. “I didn’t know at the time, but I want to now.” “You don’t anything about me. The once every three months phone calls. Praying that maybe you’ll show up at one of my band concerts and be impressed. And maybe decide to stay, because your solo was amazing. Maybe one day coming back to see your mother in your kitchen painting. Spending all of French class trying to become fluent in French so maybe she’ll talk to you.” I feel my face become wet. “You lost all right to know me.” I finish. She becomes silent before she walks off.
“Where is it?” Maggie’s panicked breath blew onto Velma’s neck. “I don’t hear it anymore.” She was gasping, hysterical. Sweat and tears rolled down her round face, framed by glasses that seemed to showcase her tanned face and perfect brown eyes.
Velma moved to look under the janitor’s dark closet door, where they had hidden from the creature hurriedly. There were no footsteps, nothing penetrated through the thick wooden door. Everything had fallen as quiet as an abandoned graveyard. The two girls kept their lungs still, listening for any sign of the thing that had chased them down the high school hallway only minutes before.
“Maggie,” Velma’s squeaky voice called from across the closet. She swallowed the lump in her throat, sweating in the stuffy closet, the chemicals were nearly strong enough to make her vomit the school lunch she’d picked at. “We have to get out while it’s gone. We can’t get caught here.”
Something clicked, the closet door swung open. A strong, putrid smell grabbed the girls. Frightened, they brought a hand to their noses, shielding themselves from the smell. Something thumped and scuttled down the hallway, keeping up the motion.
Thump. Slide.
Thump. Slide.
Thump—
Maggie looked out of the door slowly, her eyes barely passed the frame before she jerked back, and turned to Velma more pale than a sheet. Her eyes went glassy grey, “It’s Mr. Homer, our math teacher,” she swallowed the rising bile in her throat and tried to talk, but it was useless.
Velma moved to peer from the doorframe, spotting Mr. Homer’s dead, crumpled body on the floor. A figure unwrapped itself from the body too fast for Velma to see. Before she could jerk back, a pitch-black shadow darted forward grabbing her by the throat, and yanking her violently towards it. She screamed as the talons ran through her body, shredding her insides like a blender after a smoothie.
“Run, Maggie, run!” She gurgled and screamed, kicking in the monster’s grasp, her body spasmed. Maggie didn’t reply. Her heart had beat itself to death out of horror, her perfect eyes were rolled back inside her head, her mouth gaped open wide as a vacant house door as she slumped against the mop bucket.
The water cascaded furiously, a relentless torrent that seemed to drown out the world beyond the bathroom door. Dayzia stood there, enveloped in steam and warmth, yet shivering as if she were standing in the midst of a blizzard. The shower was her safe Haven, a place where the pitter-patter of droplets could wash away the noise, the chaos, the merciless buzz of her own spiraling thoughts.
She let her eyes follow the paths of individual droplets as they journeyed down the tiled wall, their trails as erratic as the thoughts racing through her mind. Each drop seemed to hesitate before it fell, clinging to the false safety of the known, much like Dayzia clung to the familiarity of her routine, her own personal ledge in the vast canyon of her life.
The mirror was fogged over, a blurred reflection that offered no judgment, no sharp edges, just a hazy silhouette that could be anyone, anything. Dayzia preferred it this way; clarity was overrated when your own mind was a maze with no exit, a puzzle where the pieces never quite fit.
The scent of lavender soap filled the air, a fragrance that promised calm and comfort, yet it was a promise that seemed meant for someone else. For Dayzia, the floral notes were just another reminder of her constant masquerade; the mask she wore daily, the one that said, "I'm fine," when every fiber of her being screamed otherwise.
As the water continued its tantalizing descent, Dayzia closed her eyes, wishing the water would wash her away and make her new again. She let the sound envelop her. It was a symphony composed of droplets, each note a fleeting moment of peace in the chaotic cacophony of her existence. Here, in the confines of the shower, she could pretend, if only for a while, that she was standing beneath a waterfall in some distant, untouched world—a world where her heart didn't race at the thought of the day ahead, where her breath didn't catch in her throat at the thought of facing the outside world.
But showers end, as all things must. The water would stop, the steam would dissipate, and Dayzia would step out onto the cold tile, the armor of normalcy waiting to be dawned once more.
I’ve stumbled into a bit of a problem and I’m told you’re the best person to ask. Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. You’ve come home from a long day of work and just expected to relax, haven’t you? That was your first mistake. Always prepare for the unexpected. You never know if a man down on his luck might just send you a text begging for help. Look, I know you’re probably thinking, why should you help me? Here’s a couple of reasons I’ve come up with on a whim.
You’re a good person. (You did after all help Stacy from her unfortunate situation.)
I’ll pay you. (Yes, I’m not swimming in money but I’ll give you everything I have if you can fix this. Everything.)
These are all the reasons I’ve come up with so far but I’m sure there are many more. Trust me, it’ll be worth helping me although I should probably tell you what exactly my problem is. I made a deal with a witch, not just any witch either. The witch. You know, the one that turned your co-worker, Jeffery into a rhinoceros salmon hybrid. I know what you’re thinking, after that website you made with all those warnings who would be stupid enough to make a deal with a witch?
I was desperate and hopeless. She gave it to me in a box, so why wouldn’t I take it? If I gave her a piece of myself, she’d help me bring back my father. It’s funny when he was alive I never wanted to be around him. His words were too harsh and I was never going to be good enough but after he died…it just felt like there were too many unsaid things. I don’t like lack of closure, it’s a flaw she took advantage of. She asked for something easy at first, a clip of a fingernail. I gave it to her and she gave me three seconds with his corpse. Oh, did I forget to mention I dug my father up and brought him to her? The three seconds wasn’t enough so I asked for more time but more time required a greater pay and the second payment seemed easy, one whole fingernail and a vial full of my spit. Now, was both things gross to give…yes but I gave it for the sake of closure.
The second time, my dad revived, it lasted six seconds. It wasn’t enough time to say what I needed to say and she required more payment telling me spells like these require so much power I should be happy she’s asked for so little. Foolishly, I asked her what I could give to give me the time I needed. I estimated it’d take at least five minutes to speak my peace. She looked me over, accessing what she could take. Minutes later, she had chosen her price, an ear, a hand, and a foot.
“Those could get you five minutes,” she said and I contemplated her price.
I should’ve refused but I was determined to get closure so when she produced a glowing piece of paper that required a bloody thumbprint I agreed not thinking much of the after. After she took her payment, I was bandaged and bleeding but my father was more animated than before. Or at least as animated as an emotionally distant man could be. He judged my new appearance and complained about the dingy environment I had transported him to.
“Dead man stay in the dirt, Charles!” He shouted as I tried to unpack the harm his lack of support in life inflicted upon me.
“Dad, I’m trying to unload here,” I said to him, earning a disapproving glare.
Eventually with all his grumbling, the time I paid for was gone and he once again went slack with the door between us still wide open.
The witch tsked as she judged the interaction. “I could make him more open and honest…let you have the version of him you always wanted.”
“How?”
My dad was never upfront about his feelings. It was always a scream here, a belittling comment there, but never an “I love you son.”
“It’ll be costly but it’ll be worth it, don’t you think?”
There was a glint in her eye and foolishly I contemplated it. It was either I pay for this or go to weekly therapy to unpack my deep-rooted issues that stem from my father. God, why didn’t I just listen to a podcast or start my own like a normal man?
“Alright, I’ll take it no matter the cost,” I said like a fool.
She smirked and then poofed a couple of addendums to our initial agreement. She kept emphasizing how I had no need to sign again as she added her new prices to our agreement. The third price was this: one eye, one leg, and a kidney. When I heard her new price, I put a protective hand over my body.
“A kidney?”
She shrugged. “Most witches ask for a heart but I’ve found you can never have enough kidneys.”
“Reasonable.” I nodded with a grimace. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”
I looked at my signed contract warily. “Alright, let’s get it over with.”
So she removed my payments once again, and the conversation with my dad went better than before but just as I finished talking about the time he belittled my feelings when I chose to move away…he went slack again.
The old witch tsked again. “Just when you were getting somewhere.”
“Is there a way to get more time?”
She contemplated my question. “It’ll be a steep price. A hefty price, dear.”
“Anything, I’ll give anything! I still need to tell my dad how I feel about him mocking my tears when I cried at Grandma’s funeral.”
The witch sighed. “Well…I guess I could change the contract once more.”
She did so and I waited for her to tell me her price. This time it was my whole body and she pulled my soul out of it and placed it inside a wonky tablet full of a lot of malware I might add. I talked to my dad via the tablet but once my time was over and I got the closure I needed. I then realized…I had nowhere to go…no direction forward because my body was well gone. For the past couple of days, I tried to accept my fate but I remembered you and your warnings. Look, I know I did this to myself but could you please consider helping me out? If so, I’ve sent an email that I’ve attached myself to, just download me and maybe we could figure out a plan or something. If not, I’ve attached a link you should click in this text with a detailed explanation of why you should help me.
Warning: the attached link contains malware
-Tess and Sarah walk into the elevator at the government compound-
“Guess we’re stupid spies huh,” Tess laughs sarcastically with a bit of anger.
”Tess secrecy is part of our job,” Sarah says solemnly.
Tess sighs, annoyed.
”I still don't know how Boss found out.”
Tess taps her foot trying not to blow up.
”Darling please-” Sarah whispers, reaching out for her lovers hand.
Tess swats her hand, “I am not your Darling alright! Everything is messed up. Nothing can get through our Boss okay! ARG!” She screams.
Tess kicks the elevator door, leaving a foot mark.
”We. Are. Over... To protect our missions and lives because if you get hurt.” she choked, “I won’t forgive myself.” Tess whispers.
Tess kisses Sarah’s forehead and leaves.
….
Sarah watches in tears as Tess leaves… not able to stop her.
Both start sobbing.
——————————— Part 2 of Sarah? ☹️🥺😢☹️🥺😢 Im crying to yall. Anyways im actually thinking of making this a book called Split with Tess, Sarah, Mattheo, and Sam. Im already setting up 😎
“Shit!” Cindy exclaims to herself when she sees her ex down the hallway. Shawn was talking to someone, so she opens the first door she can find and slams it shut once inside.
“Phew,” she sighs once his footsteps continue, unfaltering. He didn’t see her. Thank God.
“Umm….are you ok?” A voice whispers right behind her. She covers her mouth, muffling her shriek. Realizing she is in a coat closet, she thanks the stars that it wasn’t a bedroom that was occupied.
“Cindy? You good?” Oh yeah, she didn’t answer him. “Charlie? I’m so sorry! Shawn was talking to Lindsay, and I really didn’t want to have to talk to him.”
Cindy and Charlie competed against each other to get first rank. They are in the same classes and have a friendly rivalry.
While she is usually reserved and quiet, he was the only person she would ever brag to about her grades. He did the same for her. It was just the dynamic they had with each other.
“I heard about your breakup. Sorry to hear that,” Charlie says. She waves him off. “It’s fine. Shawn and I were never meant to be, it was only a matter time. I just don’t need him to brag about being with Lindsay,” Cindy explains.
He leans his shoulders against the wall, next to the coats. She slumps against the door, more relaxed. “Then I’m not sorry. He wasn’t good enough for you.”
Her eyes widen. Shawn is the popular guy. He is so unserious and goofy. Honestly, she enjoyed his humor and his positive outlook, but it became too much. He never too anything seriously. Any concern of hers would be complaining to him.
“Really?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her tone. No one ever said that to her. Cindy never thought anyone thought that either.
“Yes really! You are so dedicated and passionate. You do things with your whole heart. I can see that in your projects, in your presentations, and how you talk. If he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you,” Charlie blushes, eyes downcast as he finishes.
Cindy is speechless. When she talked to Shawn, he took her talking as annoying and boring, not dedicated and passionate.
She didn’t realize until Charlie complimented her that she had begun to believe what Shawn said about her.
Wanting to reassure him, she takes a leap that she would never usually do and closes the gap and takes his hand into hers. “Thank you. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” she finally speaks, not sure how to encapsulate all that he made her feel with one conversation.”
His eyes meets hers and she holds her breath.
There is something between them. A moment. A connection. A spark.
“You push me to be better. But also myself at the same time,” she confesses. There is so many things she hasn’t noticed whether it be about Shawn or about Charlie.
But now, she sees it all with new eyes.
“Do you maybe wanna work on Mrs. Tonie’s project together?” It may sound like a diversion, but Cindy knows Charlie. And he knows her.
This is his version of asking her out.
“I would love to,” she agrees. He lets out a relieved breath.
“I think if we get high marks apart, we’ll smoke everyone if we work together.”
He opens his mouth to respond but the closet door swings, startling both of them.
“Cindy?”
Shawn stares at her with confusion in the doorway. “What are you doing in a closet with Carter?”
Neither goes to correct him.
“Oh, you know, just talking about a project,” Cindy answers. “Of course you are. Nice to know you haven’t changed a bit,” he says as he pushes past Charlie to grab two jackets, one leather and one clearly feminine with a flowery pattern.
“I haven’t changed, and I’m glad I didn’t for you,” she states, confident with Shawn for the first time.
Shawn gives her a strange look before leaving with the coats slung over one arm muttering, “Weird, fucking nerds,” under his breath.
Cindy and Charlie share a smile with a hidden amusement and meaning behind them.
Iron clashed shut and echoed off the cement. To make matters worse, I was locked in with him. The cool iron soothed my swollen knuckles as I leaned against the bars. I tried to ignore his pacing behind me as his new shoes scuffed the cement floor. I looked at the empty cells across the hall, wondering how we got into this mess. “This is entirely your fault, Benjamin,” he said, still pacing behind me. “We wouldn’t be here if you would’ve followed the plan.” I ignored him, placing my forehead against the bars to soothe my growing headache. The bright iridescent jail lights did not help. His pacing stopped and he sighed before saying, “You’re just like your father. Impatient, hot-headed and—” “I am nothing like him!” I shouted, gripping the iron bars as blood began to pulse in my ears and flare in my gut. I turned, rushing toward him and gripped him by his collar. “My plan would’ve worked just fine if you could keep up, Lorenzo!” He scoffed and shoved off my grip. “First of all, thank you for proving my point,” he shouted. He pushed two fingers into my sore shoulder, pushing me back slightly. “But it’s hard to follow your lead when you only think of yourself and don’t communicate when you decide you want to change courses!” Lorenzo’s face was covered in dirt and dried blood. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple. I’m sure if I looked in a mirror, I would look rather similar. I rolled my eyes. “Why are you so quick to judge me when you know nothing about me?” I asked. His dark eyes took me in, assessing me. He rubbed at his dirty face before saying, “I know everything I need to know. You spend your life following your father’s footsteps. You were bred to be a selfish killer like him.” I shook my head and looked away. “What makes you any better? You were the one that volunteered to do this assignment with me,” I stated. “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right?” he said, dusting off his shoulder. He straightened his posture, his shoulders squaring as he cocked his head, eyes filled with mischief. A chuckle escaped my lips as I shook my head. “We are not enemies, Lorenzo,” I mumbled, “I want nothing more than to be free of the title my father chains me to. I don’t want this life. I was just born into it. What’s your excuse?” He was silent for a moment. His eyes drifted, a faraway look in his dark brown eyes. “What kind of life would you have wanted?” Lorenzo asked, ignoring my question. I thought about it, though I’ve never been asked this question before. I took a step backwards to rest my back against the unforgiving iron bars and said, “Honestly, I don’t know. What I do know, however, is this is not the life I would’ve asked for if given the option.” It’s true. My father never wanted children- just soldiers from his own blood to carry on his ‘legacy.’ A life of crime doesn’t suit my fancy, but I never had a choice. Lorenzo took up a spot beside me, looping his arms through the bars. “If I had to choose freedom from my father or death, I would choose the latter,” I whispered, loud enough for him to hear. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing me again. “Is that why you do this? Take on all these jobs?” he asked. I nodded. He asked, “Why don’t you run?” “I have nowhere to run to and even if I did, he’d find me,” I said, turning to face the bars. Ironic, I’ve been locked behind bars my entire life and yet being here now, physically locked behind them, is nothing compared to the one my father has me in. He shook his head. “I didn’t ask for this fate either, I only did it for survival,” Lorenzo whispered. Though he looked toward the cement floor, his shoulders folded inward, and his head hung slightly. I knew there was more to his story than he let on. “Survival?” Lorenzo nodded and said, “I needed to find a way to make my own money, separate from my father’s fortunes. His money tends to come with strings. I couldn’t keep an actual job so when your father offered me a position, I had no choice but to accept.” No choice. Neither of us had a choice. “I might know one place we could go where he might not find you,” he said quietly, as if my father could hear him. I laughed and asked, “We?” A ghost of a smile brightened his dirty face, “If were not enemies, like you say, life as runaways wouldn’t be so bad, I guess,” he said. I chuckled and shook my head. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to try. Or die trying. Keys began to jingle down the hall, a guard appeared, and he reached for the ring holding a variety of them. Lorenzo and I watched as the guard shoved a key into the iron lock, a click and the guard opened the door to our cell. “You both met bail,” he said, his voice rough, before he began back down the hall. “I forgot to mention, my dad was my one phone call. I might have mentioned you,” Lorenzo said, a smirk plastered on his face as he took in my confusion. “Looks as if he found your freedom to hold some value.” “Should we hit up another bank before we run?” I asked, sarcasm laced in my words. Lorenzo chuckled, shaking his head and shoved my sore shoulder again, but it was different somehow. The same smirk filled my face, and we walked out from the iron bars, both physical and mental, that held us bound.
Similar writing prompts
WRITING OBSTACLE
Write a scene where two characters discuss a mundane topic, like the weather, but both have hidden agendas.
Use subtext to hint at the underlying motives without stating them explicitly.
WRITING OBSTACLE
Eventful.
Antiquated.
Dexterous.
Incorporate these three words into a descriptive paragraph about a character. You don't have to use the words directly as long as your description is clearly referencing their meaning.