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Twitter Stalker

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts Tags: creative writing exercises, creative writing prompts, writing prompt.

Your friend recently signed up for twitter and is still getting the hang of it. He says that someone he doesn’t know has been tweeting at him. You tell him it is probably a fake account. Then, he receives a tweet that has a picture of you both, in his house. Then, there’s a knock on the door. What happens next?

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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248 Responses to Twitter Stalker

  1. andreasdgva says:

    Twitter Stalker
    ” I still keep on getting these tweets from this boy that i don’t know and i’m a little scared.And he sent us a picture of both of us that’s really creepy.”
    ” Emily I already told you reasons why you shouldn’t have a twitter,….”
    “Did you hear that?”
    Knock Knock Knock
    ” yea someones knocking on the door.” Then, Andrea goes up to the door and checks to see who it is but, no ones there.
    Then, they hear someone knocking on the back door. So, they slowly walk to the door and they hear a creek on the floor and they both get scared. But, then they realize it was just them.Then, they stop walking and they hear another creek,but it’s upstairs and they both realize that they are not alone. Then Andrea starts to panic,”what are we going to do!” Then, Emily says,”Andrea calm down and whisper the person upstairs can hear you, why won’t we hide somewhere so he doesn’t find us.”, “Ok but where are we going to hide I don’t have anywhere to hide we have to leave my house now.” “ok let’s go then.”
    So then Emily and Andrea(and Andrea’s dog) leave her house and go to Emily’s house.
    Then, Emily get’s a tweet alert from the mysterious person and the tweet says,”Why did you leave the house I came for a little visit to see how you look and to talk to you.”
    Then, Emily got freaked out and dropped her phone. Then Andrea picked up Emily’s phone to read the tweet and she was freaked out to. Then, they both ran and they saw someone come out of Andrea’s house.
    Then,Andrea yelled,”Emily run fast come on the person is right behind us come on we have to go now!” Then, they both run and they know who the person is and they are shocked because they would think that this person would never do this to Andrea or Emily. Then, the person walks up to them……

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  2. tboslet says:

    There are two soft knocks at the door. The boys nearly jump out of their seats. This could not have been a coincidence. They look at each other with immense fear in their eyes. Just then a tweet appears on the screen,”why r u ignoring me?”
    Max and Tyler’s hearts both begin to beat faster. Their heads were filled with ideas of who it could possibly be and what their intentions were. Quietly, the two move from the kitchen to the living room where there is a window towards the front door. Max peels back the curtain, and the boys see nothing
    No one is in front of the door.
    Just then the bushes rattle. Max’s mom’s head pops up with the spare key kept under a rock in the bush. She had her phone in her other hand with twitter open. She forgot to enter her personal information. It was her all along.

  3. Mariah1426 says:

    The knock at the door made the boys jump out of their seats! They slowly got up out of their chairs in their dark barren house. They crept towards the door, as they walked the old wooden floors creaked with each step. “knock knock” said the man at the door as he waited. John made it to the door, he slowly stepped on his tip toes so that he could look out the peep hole of the door. As he closed one eye, ensuring he could focus with the other he saw an alien. “Ahhhhhhh” he screamed. Jacob pushed John out of the way so he cold have a look. He too, saw an alien out of that ity bitty peep hole. A very strange looking figure, he was green with blue scaley hands, and beadey red eyes. He jumped back away from the door in absolute terror. The boys debated whether or not to open the door, they decided to open it and ask what the man wanted. John reached up toward the handle, then grasped the handle and slowly turned to the right, then he pulled to open the door. Jacob peeked his head out and took a look at the man, the Alien, I should say.
    The boys invited him into their home. The Alien, Bob told them his story. Bob’s space shuttle crashed onto earth and he needed their help to get home. THe boys went to the hardware store to help Bob re-create his shuttle. They wokred on the shuttle for a week, and they discovered the Alien was a very nice person with thoughts and feelings. by the end of the week Bob was leaving to go home, Jacob and John knew theat they had met a lifelong friend by whom they may never see again. The boys said their goodbyes and Bob wished them well. And off he flew home to Jupiter.
    -Mariah Trainor Edgewater High school- Ms.Johnson

  4. titleistxxx says:

    Twitter Stalker
    The night I was murdered began the same as every Friday night had in the previous six months. Hop in the car, stop for a six pack and then head over to Dan’s to wait on him to get ready to go out. But when I got to Dan’s house, he was running even later than normal. A little perturbed, I asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

    Without looking up from his phone, he said, “Just checking out this chick on Twitter. She keeps sending me pictures and weird news articles.”

    “Who is she?”

    Still without looking up, he said, “I don’t know, but if the pictures she’s been sending are of her, she’s smoking hot.”

    Never one to pass up the opportunity to look at a picture of a smoking hot chick, I grabbed the phone out of his hand. “Damn, she is hot! How’d you get hooked up with her?”

    “I don’t know” he said, “she just starting sending me tweets. I checked her out and it looks like I’m the only person she’s following and she doesn’t have any followers.”

    That sounded a little suspicious to me. Dan’s not a bad looking guy, but he could never get a girl like this. My first thought was that it was one of our friends just screwing with him. I asked, “What kind or news articles did she send you?”

    Dan grabbed the phone back out of my hands and scrolled back to the tweets with the news article links. He clicked on the first link and handed the phone back to me. He said, “Check this out.”

    The Dallas Morning News headline read: Man Found Dead, Shot Execution Style. “I saw this on the news” I said. “I think there were a couple of other guys found shot the same way too. Why do you think she would send you these articles?”

    Dan grabbed one of my beers and popped it open. “Hell if I know, she sent me three or four articles just like it. I wish she would just send me some more pictures.” I got the impression that Dan hadn’t really thought much about the articles and was only interested in the pictures.

    Not being able to let this go, I asked, “Did you ask her why she was sending you the articles?”

    Looking at me like I was an idiot, he said, “Hell no, but I’m going to send her a tweet right now to send me another picture.” He picked up the phone and fired off the tweet.

    A couple of minutes went by before his phone alerted him that he had a tweet. Dan picked up the phone and said, “Here it is. She just sent me another picture.” He had a confused look on his face. “What the…?”

    I took a peak over Dan’s shoulder and saw that it was picture of me and him standing exactly where we were currently standing. Then, there was a knock on the door.

  5. tryingtowrite says:

    This story’s setting and time is based on a personal experience. Little nervous about putting myself out there, but I figure it’s time to learn how to write.

    The Ivy

    It was a beautiful evening in Los Angeles despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Santa Monica Blvd and the recent terrorist attacks on the Towers and the Pentagon. A little over two weeks had passed since 911 and the world as I once knew it was starting to return to normal.

    “Devon, switch lanes!” I shouted over the squealing electric guitar. I leaned forward and adjusted the stereo volume. With the top down on the car it felt awkward listening to loud music. It was too soon. “Take the next right.” Navigating the car and Twitter was proving to be a bit more interesting the closer we got to our destination, and I really wanted to time my tweet perfectly.

    “Come on, Gabby, tell me where we’re going…I hate surprises.”

    “Listen, birthday boy, that sappy act may work on other girls, but not this one.” Devon pouted as he drove around the corner and onto Robertson Blvd.

    Bleeeeeppp!

    I grabbed Devon’s cell phone from the console. “You just got a birthday tweet from someone called ‘perfecttiming’. Pretty impressive since you just opened your account yesterday.”

    “What’s it say?”

    Looking good in that Mercedes birthday boy.

    My eyes darted at the cars around us. “Who’s ‘perfecttiming’, Dev?”

    “I don’t know. You’re the one who warned me about weird tweets.”

    “Yeah, I guess you’re right, but…hey, pull in behind that green car.” I pointed to a Jag idling in the valet line in front of Chanel, and Devon weaved in behind it.

    “What’s this place?” Devon asked, his eyes panning the clapboard siding house and white picket fence.

    “The Ivy. It’s a famous restaurant.”

    “Looks like my grandma’s house.”

    “Really, Dev.” I challenged, as the valet opened my door and Devon met me on the sidewalk. “Does Tarantino usually hang out at your grandma’s?” I pointed to a large table on the patio where Quentin and several others sat. Devon stared, completely mesmerized. He loved Tarantino.

    Bleeeeeppp!

    @perfecttiming
    Tell your girlfriend it’s not polite to point.

    Bleeeeeppp!

    @perfecttiming
    And stop staring. Quentin’s laughing at you.

    “What the hell!” yelled Devon.

    Bleeeeeppp!

    @perfecttiming
    Swearing, really?

    I nudged Devon, “Hey, I think Quentin and his friends heard you. They’re totally laughing.”

    Bleeeeeppp! Bleeeeeppp! Bleeeeeppp!

    “Who’s watching us? Where’s the bathroom?” Hearing the panic rising in his voice, I grabbed his hand and whisked him across the patio and down the narrow hallway to the bathrooms. Both doors were locked.

    Devon’s hand trembled as he held up his phone. A photograph of us on the sidewalk, a close-up of Quentin laughing, a photograph of us running down the hallway. “Oh, my God!” I cried out.

    Bleeeeeppp!

    Another photograph. His best friend David in his turnouts on 911. Devon broke down sobbing. “Who’s doing this to me?”

    Bleeeeeppp!

    @perfecttiming
    Took cover in bathroom 1st floor T-2. Knocked flashlight on floor for 5 days. Don’t think I can do it again, Dev. Stop crying and open the door.

    With tears streaming down his face and the faint tapping at the door, I shook my head yes, and held Devon’s hand in mine and together we opened it. As David emerged, Devon dropped to his knees, and I finally sent my tweet.

    Bleeeeeppp!

    @gabbyLA
    Welcome to Twitter, My Love. Happy Birthday!

    • Kerry Charlton says:

      Really a great story, lots of emotion, fast paced and descriptive. Welcome to the forum. Looking forward to your next post. Suggest you change your post name to “alreadyknowhowtowrite”

  6. StaceyGoins says:

    This is my first time making a submission to this website, so please be gentle.

    After three days of heavy lifting, we finally got my buddy Mike moved into his new place. It was far from the bachelor pad he had lived in before he married Vicky. In fact, it looked more like a house my parents would buy but, let’s face it, we’re not as young as we used to be and Mike needed a place his kids could enjoy on their weekend visits.

    As we cooled off in his shady backyard with a couple of cold beers, Mike turned to me. “Do you know anything about this new ‘twitter’ thing?” I had to admit that I’m pretty ignorant when it comes to social media. Mike continued, “I keep getting these strange tweets.” The first one a couple days ago just said, ‘see you.’ Then yesterday I got another one that said, ‘you’re welcome.’” “That is strange,” I replied, rubbing my chin. “It’s probably just a fake account, or maybe you’re getting tweets meant for someone else.” “I thought that, too,” Mike said, “until this morning. Here’s the latest one.” Then he showed me a tweeted photograph of Mike and me, obviously taken late yesterday, assembling his bed in his second floor bedrom.” “Wow, that’s creepy,” I almost shuddered, “who could have possibly taken that picture?”

    Just then we heard what sounded like a very large dog barking wildly and jumping on Mike’s chain link fence. We froze for a moment, staring at each other. Then we heard a gruff voice call, “Is anybody home?” Mike cautiously got up and walked to the gate. There was an older man with a dog on a leash. “Hey, I’m Ed from across the street. Don’t mind my dog. Didn’t you get my tweets?” Stupified, neither Mike nor I could speak. “I’m not very good at this twitter thing, but I’ve been trying to tell you that my wife and I can see directly into your bedroom from the front window of our house. You may want to hang some curtains in there.”

    Mike laughed in relief. “Thanks man, I will,” he said. “Not a problem,” Ed replied. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

    • frankd1100 says:

      This is good… Flows well and the dialogue is genuine. nice work.

    • Pattypans says:

      Welcome, Stacey. I’m pretty new here, too, and really enjoying it.

      I think your post is well-written and utterly original! It may be the first on for this prompt (not sure, though) that has an everyday, non-threatening, even friendly reason for the mysterious tweets! But we don’t know it til the end–all the better, to build suspense. Thanks for sharing it with us.

    • don potter says:

      Original story-line and nicely written. Looking forward to reading more of your work.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        I like your story line; it’s a hoot. Just be glad the neighbor’s dog is not a Pomeranian. The bite first, then bark. I know, I had one for twelve years.

        • slayerdan says:

          Nice story. And a little feedback for the future–meant to be totally constructive.
          1. When you have conversations, give each speaker their own space–dont keep it in a paragraph form, but treat each as a new paragraph. Makes it easier for the reader to tell its different people speaking. This is a must for doing any dialogue based work. It will give you the chance to really emphasize certain aspects of your dialogue.

          2. Punctuation.
          Everyone has great ideas about something they can write about. As you share w the masses, it is best to learn those basic grammar rules so that the masses will enjoy your ideas as much as you do. Just keep writing.And practicing. There are online tutorials and books that will both help you with the two items above. Lastly–save what you write. everything. Even if you hate it. And in 5 years when you are recognized worldwide, go back and look at those old writings and revel in how far you advanced. Glad you decided to share.

    • tryingtowrite says:

      Great – super short – story! I really liked that the neighbor was an older man utilizing Twitter. Very cool.

    • This was great, Stacey. nothing sinister. Just a little humour. well done.

  7. Mo says:

    “Hey, Amie?” my hand froze on the knob, stopping just short of closing the door to the dimly lit room. Leaning in I smiled adoringly at the weary eight year-old whom against his fathers expectations had warmed up to me. Weary green eyes gazed just above my head as if trying to search for the words he’d lost. I frowned. Tray was an unusual child. Never saying or doing too much but somehow leaving you with the constant reminder that he existed. It was like a ghost, always lingering in your presence pondering the possibility of telling you all it had reveal but leaving as just a thought before slinking away into the shadows again.

    Re-tracing my steps out of the room I kneeled beside Tray’s bed. Brushing raven black curls away from his forehead I placed a soft kiss between his eyebrows. Hoping to ease away the nightmares I knew would wake him at some later hour. Tray hugged his action figure closer to his chest. “Amie…d-do…superhero’s save you even when you don’t wanna be?” he whispered into the cape of the action figure. I could feel my eyebrows furrowing together. He wouldn’t bring his eyes up to meet mine, as if he was ashamed.

    Or was he scared that he had too much? Something he shouldn’t have.

    I smiled reassuringly as I ran my thumb soothingly over his cheek. “Superhero’s only save you when you need saving, sweet pea.” Tray nodded in agreement. I leaned down to hug him and my heart leaped when he wrapped his own slim but long arms around me in return. With rehearsed good nights and another kiss to keep the bad dreams (hopefully) away I crept back out. Successful in closing the door this time.

    Entering the living room I scolded myself for feeling more than just a sign to go home when I saw Tray’s father, Alex. His head was rested against the cushions of the couch, eyes closed, body relaxed into the willing comfort of the furniture. Alex worked two jobs to keep the rent paid for the rather nice apartment complex. I could tell from the loosened tie hanging from his neck he’d been at the office for half of the day and most of the night. Glancing at the clock it was almost past eleven now.

    Alex opened one eye to look at me. I bit into the side of my cheek as I noticed a grin tugging at his lips. “I can’t thank you enough.” he sighed as he heaved himself off the couch. I rolled my eyes nonchalantly. Setting on the arm of the chair opposite to him we had our usual talk. How was work?, Was Tray any trouble?, a few jokes now and again. I mentioned Tray’s question about superhero’s. Alex opened his mouth to say something but the beeping of his phone cut him off.

    Letting out and exasperated huff Alex tossed me his phone. “I wish someone would save me from whoever keeps messaging me on that Tweetie thing.” I laughed, “Twitter, hun,” I corrected and adding on a slightly curious note, “Why what’s been going on?” He shrugged tiredly. Alex has said he didn’t want to get involved with any sort of online communication sites. I had simply scoffed at the time and asked him how else was he going to make friends in our day in age. Despite myself I couldn’t help the small blush as I also remembered him saying, “What more friends do I need besides my son and a pretty lady?”

    I watched as he walked to the kitchen that was connected to the living room. Popping open a bottle of wine he told me of a unknown someone who was constantly sending him messages relating to things that unnerved him. The thing that made him worry the most was if they were stalking him that put Tray at harm as well. I told him not to worry about. People were too bored with themselves these days and found enjoyment in torturing others. At the very least it was a fake page trying to destroy another’s reputation in a twisted form.

    “Whelp, guess I’ll be going.” I said walking to hand Alex back his phone. He rested his hand on top of mine. His fingers brushing higher until they coiled around my wrist. He stepped a little closer. I stared up into his deep brown eyes unsurely. “But it’s cold outside.” he said with a silly grin. I shook my head, mimicking the happy turn of his lips. His other hand reached out and found purchase on the curve of my hip and with a gentle tug brought me against his solid body.

    I stammered for words. This wasn’t real. I’d had one too many dreams of this exact thing happening. And somewhere down the line I learned anything I dreamed up didn’t come true-at least not sexually, not for a twenty two year-old virgin, not with the likes of a twenty six year-old man who could get any woman he desired. Alex leaned forward and I could smell the sweet mix of red wine and the mints he popped like pills on his breath. “Alex…Tray…I thought…I mean we’re just friends.” I stuttered.

    Stupid! Alex’s lips only pulled into a bigger smile, “Friends become more than friends.” he muttered as his lips pressed against mine. His lips moved slowly and I’d yet to get over my shock to gain a rhythm with him. Moving my hand shakily up to his shoulder I let my fingers tangle in his messy black curls that Tray had no doubt got from him. My eyes fluttering closed I melted into the kiss, opening my mouth enough for his tongue to slide in.

    Beeerip!

    I sighed and Alex let out a unwilling groan as he pulled his lips away from my neck where he’d been leading a nipping attack that left me weak in his strong grip. He snatched up his phone in irritation. Unlocking it with a click I watched as his face went from creased with anger to disbelief. I could feel his heart beginning to beat faster between our chest. He trembled slightly as he laid his phone face down. “Alex, hun, what’s wrong?” I asked as I rubbed my hands over the goosebumps running up and down his arms.

    He shook his head not seeming to register my words. “Tray…” he practically whimpered before darting past me. I dashed after him waiting down the hall as he opened the door to his sons room. A bit of relief settled over him but it did nothing to stop him from storming through his house. Ripping open any door that dared to be shut and slamming it closed when it didn’t hold whatever he was looking for. I tried to call after him. Confused and beyond scared I wanted to know what had made the usually composed and charming Alex jump so suddenly off the deep end.

    The only thing to stop him was a faint tapping at the front door. He glared at it for a split second. And in that moment I doubted even hell could match the hatred that burned in his eyes. Breaking off into his room he came back with two guns. “Ohmygod!” I gasped as he handed me one. He loaded bullets into his own. Cocking it back he looked up at me. Pleading with his eyes he spoke softly, “Please, get Tray out of here. There’s a fire escape outside of his window. Don’t worry about clothes or anything. Just run.”

    I should have called him crazy and stormed out. Isn’t that what a sane person would do if someone they obviously didn’t know like they thought they had shoved a gun in their hand and told them to make a escape with their child? But I couldn’t do it. Tray and Alex had earned special places in my heart and if Alex really wanted me to I’d save his son from whatever his father himself was deafly afraid off.

    I’d be Tray’s superhero.

    Alex placed a light kiss on my lips and walked slowly to the door. In the time of his eerily cautious steps I took his phone off the counter. Rushing down the hall into Tray’s room I shut and locked the door behind me. I slide the bar on the screen to unlock the phone.

    I dropped the phone.

    It was a picture of Alex and I only a few minutes ago with locked lips and hands exploring each other.

    Someone had been watching us. Someone was truly stalking Alex.

    The caption raced through my head as I tried to wake Tray quietly: ‘Making babies and the child you have isn’t even yours. I’m taking my son back. -Sis’

    I began to question who actually needed saving.

    (I’m really nervous this is the first story I’ve ever wrote. I’m sorry if I went over the limit. But I had fun writing :3)

    • Kerry Charlton says:

      Hi Mo. Don’t be nervous using this site. We’re just a group of writers who help each other to improve our style and stories. I commend you for writing a story full of suspense and vivid descriptions, especially if this is your first voyage into writing. A few things we always struggle with: Writing within the 500 word limit and making any kind of sense with a story, sentence structure is always an issue. Bringing characters to life and keeping the interest of the reader.

      One thing that grabs me is your last sentence, “But I had fun writing.” That’s the first thing a writer learns; write to please yourself, read other writers on this site, study the various voices you read, read the critiques, especially those on your own writing. When I first stated to write about five years ago, I thought I was typing diamonds on each page. It didn’t take long to find out, I was writing over- ripe tomatoes.

      Welcome to the site, I’m ;looking forward to your next story. Kerry

      • Mo says:

        Thank you so much! Well, it’s the first thing I’ve ever wrote on here. I have wrote on Fanfiction, Quotev, and just little things ever since I was…gosh since I was in the first grade. I most defiantly struggle with limits and spelling. But I’m trying to get better.

        Thanks darlin’ :3

    • livvykitty says:

      This story is exeptional, Mo. It’s full of suspense and I couldn’t help but connect with the main character. I absolutely adore children and work to protect my sisters and brother at all costs, so seeing a worried father and newly-acquired girlfriend worry over him was heart wrenching.

      As for being nervous, to be honest, I’m still pretty nervous about writing on here. My third story is for this prompt, actually. Well, this is a community of older writers, and I kinda feel like the odd one out, given the fact that I’m only fourteen years old as of May. I love writing. It’s my passion and life but looking at some of the other authors on here, I sometimes feel like I can’t compare. Well, the best thing to do is learn from everyone, right? I hope to see more of your stories soon!

      (And so, I casually slink back to Fanfiction.net…)

      • Pattypans says:

        Livvykitty, I think it’s great to have someone so much younger than myself here to add to the mix! We can all learn from each other. Thanks for being here and contributing.

        And if I could ask you a favor…the narrator and protagonist in my story-post this week are teenagers. I’d love your input as to any aspect whatsoever of the story, including (but not limited to) if their dialog, actions, reactions, and thoughts seem authentic to you. Only if you want to, and have time, of course. If you do, please give me your honest opinion, and don’t be afraid to critique!

      • Mo says:

        Thanks, livvykitty. I’m real glad you liked it. I’m not used to having to fit things into such a small amount of words so I was nervous I hadn’t created a good suspenseful scene like this called for.

        I’m fourteen too!!! Gosh, I know how you feel. I’ve been writing and reading since I was little. Even so, I’ve always felt like I wasn’t a good author and looking at some of the others post on here I was just like, ‘Who am I kidding?’. But you’re right you learn from others and build yourself up.

        (Haha, that’s exactly where I went as soon as I was done writing here. FF has helped me tone my writing skills greatly. Do your write on there as well?)

        • livvykitty says:

          Yup. I have the same username as on here and write for anime and Homestuck fandoms and am probably the biggest nerd you’ll ever meet~ :3 I hope to see you there!

          • Mo says:

            Sure will. But I just decided to start all over on the site. I’m going to make a whole new account. But I’ll look you up darling. You can find me under Carolina Angle

    • don potter says:

      This may be your first time writing for this forum, but I’m sure it won’t be the last. I enjoyed your story and look forward the next one.

      • Mo says:

        Thanks very much :3 and yes you would be right. I’m going to force myself (I say force because I have horrible self-esteem and there’s simply no other way) to try and write for these forums every week.

    • This is one of the best ones for this prompt, Mo. I enjoyed it alot.

  8. Amy says:

    As Tim peeled the wet t-shirt from his skin, I followed the curling lines of a tattoo across his shoulder blades and around his arms. It was some kind of script I didn’t recognize; a pair of textual wings that curled around his muscular frame. So much was still a mystery about him. I turned and squeezed the mid-summer rain from my ponytail, conscious of his shirtless figure behind me. I had been a good girl on the first two dates, heeding the advice of my friends to take it slow, but the humidity of the storm made the air between us heavy and thick; it wouldn’t take much to convince me tonight.

    I shook out my hair and felt a hand at my waist. I turned and took in his dark eyes, roving over my own soaked frame. I should have been chilled, soaking wet from the storm, but my skin felt aflame. We slowly backed into the hall and as my back pressed against the wall, the last of my good girl resolve disappeared when his lips met mine. Just as he pried my shirt up over my head, there was a beep from inside his pants pocket.

    He groaned and pressed his lips to my neck.

    “Again?” I asked, annoyed with the interruption. Leave it to the tweet-stalker to ruin a moment. He pulled the phone from his pocket, a picture message impatiently waiting to be opened, and then tossed his phone to the couch without another look.

    “Not worth it,” he said, his lips returning to my neck.

    “Are you sure there’s no psycho ex-girlfriend I should be worried about?” I asked, giggling. We hadn’t had the awkward exes conversation yet. He chuckled as his mouth moved along my neck and up to my ear.

    “You have no idea,” he whispered.

    There was a bright flash of lightning that lit up the apartment, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. The dim light from the kitchen flickered and then vanished, shifting the soft glow into stark shadow. Then a soft knock on the door made us both jump and I clutched his body closer to mine.

    He frowned and went to the door, opened it just a crack and peered out into the hall. There must not have been anyone there, because after only a moment he closed it again and returned to me.

    “Must have been the wind or something,” he said. His dark eyes passed over me again with a hungry look and I had to remind myself to breathe. “You want another drink?”

    “I’d love one.”

    When he went to the kitchen, I dropped to the couch, finally feeling the chill on my soaked skin. His phone beeped next to me again and I picked it up without even thinking about it. I opened the message, curious as to what our Twitter maniac had to say that evening. The picture was hard to make out at first, but the shapes became recognizable in the dark. Two people embracing in the shadows, a scrawled tattoo of winged text barely visible at the forefront. Underneath the picture, a message read:

    This one looks delicious. Enjoy your alone time. I’ll be over shortly to join the fun. –M

    The phone slipped from my hand just as I felt his dark eyes at my back.

    • don potter says:

      Your prelude to hot sex was terrific. The vivid description made me feel as if I were part of it, and you cut it off at precisely the right moment thereby allowing the tension to hover. You provided another suspenseful build up when the tweet concept was introduced in earnest. When the expected image was revealed, I was surprised by the message and wondered if the would-be lover was involved in some kind of sinister plot or if they were both being duped. The feeling of eyes fixed on her back suggests the former. Either way, you left me wanting more. What a great piece of writing.

      • Amy says:

        Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it. I went way over the word limit to begin with on this one and had to reign it in quite a bit. Much detail was lost, but I still felt it could stand on it’s own without it. The ending is definitely left up to the reader to decide what might happen to the narrator and whether or not “Tim” is involved in the sinister plot. Thanks again for reading and commenting.

    • Pattypans says:

      Amy, what an excellently written piece in every respect! Believable, suspenseful, flowing…and much more. Kudos.

      One tiny thing sort of drew me out of the picture momentarily: at the beginning, in one line she’s looking at him, and in the next, he’s looking at her back, but we didn’t see anything to explain the shift in position or perspective. Maybe I’m missing something, though.

      I have the same question Donpotter does about the would-be lover, which I’m sure is intentional; his answer to her, “You have no idea,” is a great way to make us wonder, yet not be sure.

      • Amy says:

        Thanks Pattypans. After the description of the tattoo, I did write that the narrator turned away from him to squeeze out the water from her hair, but if it was unclear to you then that is my fault and not yours. Sometimes I find that during the editing process, things are cut and a section that was crystal clear becomes foggy and muddled. That might be the case with the beginning of my story here. Thanks again for reading and commenting.
        P.S. It was absolutely intentional ;)

        • Pattypans says:

          It’s charitable of you to give me the benefit of the doubt, Amy, but now you mention it, I see it was definitely my miss. It was careless reading on my part, and though I did look it over again before commenting on it, I obviously didn’t look it over carefully enough. I think it’s fine as is.

    • frankd1100 says:

      Suspensefully risque with a titncture of terror… I like it.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Unbelievably vivid and sexy descriptions, Amy. The last sentence tells it all and it doesn’t look good for her. I also felt I was placed in the story as if I were standing there observing the action. I wanted to jump in and help her. A real keeper of a story. I’d rather have it end this way and draw my own conclusions. Great writing as usual.

    • This is a great write, Amy. Very lustfull with a sinister turn. Delicious fun.

    • DMelde says:

      Great story. Sensual with a touch of danger. Very well written.

    • loadsafreckles says:

      This got me sucked in from the very begining and left me wanting to know what happens next. Great descriptive writing. I loved it.

    • smallster21 says:

      Awesome!!! I sooooooooooo want to know what type of diabolical scheme is going on here. Perfect. I loved all of it. Wonder if the tattoo has some hidden meaning?

    • RWBB says:

      Amy, this was great. Beautifully executed and just the right amount of suspense.

  9. codrin dreit says:

    I will try once more to post my take on this prompt.

    ‘Delusional trap’

    We looked at each other and I knew I was the only one of us who knew what hides behind that door. I felt a sudden rush to snicker as I usually do when I’m facing impossible events, but I was proud of myself after realizing I was actually acting as surprised as she was. This allowed her to behave naturally, although as predictable as people usually are in apparent common situations.

    “Don’t ask me!” I quickly answered to the delayed question that was just about to shape itself on her lips. But the tone of my voice, properly modulated to her igniting fear, discontinued the tightening of the muscles and the only part of it which was granted entrance to an audible world was ‘Who…!?’

    After her fleeting confusion, but before continuing our inevitable reactions, a second knock was heard. This time it was a tad gentler than before. This clearly was a sign that I was offered time to direct the scene. I was offered encapsulated freedom, although I was clearly surprised how well they knew me. Being knowingly manipulated is definitely more gratifying than blindness beyond comprehension, but it also comes with its own degrees of discomfort sometimes.

    This was not one of those times. I quickly just accepted it (as it was expected of me) and I focused on her. “Go in the kitchen,” I whispered theatrically, “find the knife you used to cut yourself with and make a shallow incision on your right arm, but enough to squirt blood.” I knew how absurd it could seem to her and it might have even amused her, but I had to risk it. To emphasize my thoughts non-verbally, I pointed towards the picture that she was showing me, then to the door and then finally to her. Never in the existence of humanity has there been a gesture more ominous than mine in that particular moment. It might have easily been ridiculous had I not been oozing a compelling sense of premonition from more pores than I actually had, literally or not. She didn’t have a chance to doubt my ludicrous words and her self-preservation instincts that were inoculated in her subconscious for almost two and a half decades (adding to those already acquired by simply being born an animal) have been obliterated, or at least pushed away into a more vicious universe inside her skull for safe-keeping.

    While she was turning her back to me, visibly trembling, I remembered to add “Enough to drip on the floor!” That was to trivialize the act, but also to give her an objective picture of the following self-inflicted wound. Counting drops of blood always beats weeping or screaming.

    I diverted my sight towards the door and approached it. I offered her now only my sense of hearing. Her stumbling steps wailing as a ghost that dies once again in the shadows, the violent opening of the drawer with screeches like a cornered dying hyena, even the pause in which she realized the knife was actually on the table was squalling in its own way.

    The moment is approaching. I heard the muffled sound the knife makes while piercing the skin. A feminine shriek was lost from this world because she kept quiet. The first drop of blood met gravity. And I opened the door.

    • Kerry Charlton says:

      You’ve written a suspece filled story with an abrupt ending, like a cliff-hanger. That’s an acceptable end to a story; the reader and his imagination can finish it. Could be a vampire at the door.One suggestion you might think about. Your writing style simulates an essay form rather then old-fashioned story telling.

      I think your story might have more impact on the reader if it was tighter. I’m certainly not in any way, in a teaching position; this is only my personal reflection. Welcome to the group if this is your first write. I look forward to the next post.

      • codrin dreit says:

        You are right, it wasn’t a ‘story’ per se, but I’m working on it. I’ll use these weekly prompts to awaken one of my personalities that might prove to have some shreds of talent in writing. If nothing (no one) surfaces, then I’ll just crawl back in the real (but soporific) world.

        Thanks though for the advice. I’ll try to convince my mind to take it into account (as well as all the others that may follow).

        • Kerry Charlton says:

          Codrin dreit, there is a writer in each of us, in some cases, ready to burst forward into the sunshine of this site. The more you write, the more desire builds until it’s not a matter of saying, should I but when. Speaking for myself, I write every day for my own enjoyment and don’t worry if anyone else likes it.

          It will become a habit you slip into like eating potato chips; one is never enough. Whether your sixteen or seventy it happens to you. I’m looking forward to the next prompt and would like to see you in it. Good luck and plunge in with us. Kerry

    • This is a great tease. It’s well written. As a piece of flash-fiction, it stands alone quite well. Of course, the reader want more… :)

  10. swatchcat says:

    Okay, it took till know for something to remotely come to mind for this prompt. It’s not done but here is the tease, a smidge over 500. Would liked feedback ie. too cheesy, altogether bad?

    The Right Picture

    Cody and Allen were best friends and photojournalist that traveled around the world getting infamous shots for the Associated Press. When they weren’t carrying around heavy video cameras for some news agency they were off grabbing shots with a Nikon. It wasn’t until recently that Cody had hit a dry spell and his photos weren’t being bought up.

    Even with over 27,000 video cameramen traveling the world today, a few get lost in the shuffle. That’s why Cody gave in to his friend’s suggestion and opened a twitter account. Maybe by giving his photos and video footage a little tweet time, his name would get out there again. The two of them had followed their dream. They travel the world whenever and where ever the job calls. From tropical islands to war torn Bosnia they thought they had seen a lot.

    Riots were the order of the day and all the news agencies were starving for any gnarly shots of people trampled, and fights for freedom. Everything goes viral online within seconds, photographers have to make a better name for themselves so that the next time their shot came off the press next to another’s, theirs would be the ones grabbed first.

    Twitter was the answer until one night they had gone too far. They had become too well know apparently.

    “I’m telling you, I didn’t take that shot.” Cody insisted pointing at the phone.

    “I remember that day. We were going over the negatives. There was no one there, no one.” Allen ran his fingers through his hair trying to think. They had just gotten back from Turkey. It was a rough ride. Journalists were on the butcher block. No one seemed to care that they were trying to help, especially if you were American.

    While they sat trying to figure out how their twitting franchise had gone wrong, someone knocked on the door.

    As Allen turned the knob, a bunch of men with guns rammed through the door. Before Cody and Allen knew what was happening black bags were placed over their heads and they were rushed out. In a Middle Eastern voice men were shouting back and forth. All Allen could make out was, “Camera, bag, get it all.” There was a shuffling of papers and, “Get the phones.” They were directed to a vehicle and the lights went out.

    Allen knew what was going down was bad news when he woke up. Somewhere off in the distance an old guy loyal to his Islam faith was singing the mornings call to prayer. A loud speaker posted in some minaret was echoing a beautiful but eerie call to arms. He rolled over where he laid realizing he was free. He pulled his hood off squinting at the morning sun shining through an arched window. As he rubbed his eyes he wandered over the ledge and peered over the great city of Casablanca, Morocco.
    “Hey. Hello, is anyone out there? I’m awake.” Allen looked around trying to get a feel of the place. His friend Cody was not around. “Hey, where’s my friend?”

    After a while, the lock on the door released and the knob turned. A guard with a turban and an AK-47 motioned for Allen to follow.

    Room with ornate table, fruits and Middle Eastern delicacies spread across. Allen’s mouth watered when he saw a pitcher of clear, clean water. He stepped forward and the guard held him back. A voice from the other side of the room allowed entry.

    “Please Mr. Mc Avoy, do sit, we are not savages here.” A thinned man without the traditional turban motioned from a stack of plush pillows. He plopped an olive in his mouth and waved his hand toward the seat at the far end from him.

    “Where’s my friend, where’s Cody?” Allen demanded.

    “I’m sorry Mr. Mc Avoy; your friend didn’t seem to want to cooperate. We had to dispose of him.” The man paused for affect. “Do please have a seat, there is much to discuss.”

    • swatchcat says:

      Super typos abound so watch out.

      • Amy says:

        Haha, I like your disclaimer. It was a little rough around the edges, but the concept was good. The beginning felt like you were explaining circumstances to me, instead of pulling me into a story, and I felt like I should have been more invested in the characters than I actually was. Also lots of skipping between past and present tense. Give it wings and it could soar. (Corny, I know, but that’s what came out.)

    • Kerry Charlton says:

      Good lead into your main story. One one question comes to mind. Did a meeting occur between Cody and the thinned man? Did he not agree to something? Obviously Allen would face a decision about his own fate. Intriging lead in. They must have taken some secret photos or stumbled onto something, they didn’t realize the significance of. I’m waiting for more.

    • Holy crap. This is a wonderful start to a tense adventure. I really hope you move this forward.

    • don potter says:

      You try new things and sometimes the results are not what you expected. This is a case of good intentions gone bad. More dialogue might have made the initial paragraphs move along faster.

      • swatchcat says:

        Thank you for the responses so far. With a fledgling idea as this is, your thoughts are valuable. Kerry; excellent questions to keep in mind. I will try to answer them. Thanks Doug, love the enthusiasm toward the idea. Don, “good intentions” as in my story altogether or the plot and what the characters tried to do starting a twitter account. I can see where more dialogue could help, even in the opening but I have read a few places that starting a story with dialogue is a death sentence. I have been trying to stop such things for a more descriptive opening. More help everyone, please.

        • don potter says:

          This is a short story. A really short story. In other words, you’re dealing with what is the equivalent of a 50 yard dash. So it’s out of the starting blocks and sprint to the end. Dialogue can get you there quicker than any other means I know. Try it; you might like it.

    • smallster21 says:

      This is a good start, and I fell into your narrative. Loved the descriptions when Allen woke up to, very vivid. Question to consider: Would Allen shout “Hey. Hello, is anyone out there? I’m awake,” if he just woke up after being kidnapped? Just something to think about. If it were me, I’d be freaked the hell out, and then try to assess the situation, possible escape routes. I liked the thin man’s description, lounging upon plush pillows, popping olives while he told Allen he disposed of Cody. Great way of showing his attitude. I’m interested in hearing what this thin man has to discuss with Allen. Very intriguing :)

    • loadsafreckles says:

      I liked the story concept. You mentioned that starting a story with dialog can be a death sentence but I think you could incorporate some dialog into the descriptive start and that would speed up the pace. Your description could be coming directly from the characters maybe. I enjoyed reading it all the sams so hope this is of some help.

  11. codrin dreit says:

    Perfect weekly challenge discovered in the aether (if the posting problem doesn’t repeat today).

    ‘Delusional trap’

    We looked at each other and I knew I was the only one of us who knew what hides behind that door. I felt a sudden rush to snicker as I usually do when I’m facing impossible events, but I was proud of myself after realizing I was actually acting as surprised as she was. This allowed her to behave naturally, although as predictable as people usually are in apparent common situations.

    “Don’t ask me!” I quickly answered to the delayed question that was just about to shape itself on her lips. But the tone of my voice, properly modulated to her igniting fear, discontinued the tightening of the muscles and the only part of it which was granted entrance to an audible world was ‘Who…!?’

    After her fleeting confusion, but before continuing our inevitable reactions, a second knock was heard. This time it was a tad gentler than before. This clearly was a sign that I was offered time to direct the scene. I was offered encapsulated freedom, although I was clearly surprised how well they knew me. Being knowingly manipulated is definitely more gratifying than blindness beyond comprehension, but it also comes with its own degrees of discomfort sometimes.

    This was not one of those times. I quickly just accepted it (as it was expected of me) and I focused on her. “Go in the kitchen,” I whispered theatrically, “find the knife you used to cut yourself with and make a shallow incision on your right arm, but enough to squirt blood.” I knew how absurd it could seem to her and it might have even amused her, but I had to risk it. To emphasize my thoughts non-verbally, I pointed towards the picture that she was showing me, then to the door and then finally to her. Never in the existence of humanity has there been a gesture more ominous than mine in that particular moment. It might have easily been ridiculous had I not been oozing a compelling sense of premonition from more pores than I actually had, literally or not. She didn’t have a chance to doubt my ludicrous words and her self-preservation instincts that were inoculated in her subconscious for almost two and a half decades (adding to those already acquired by simply being born an animal) have been obliterated, or at least pushed away into a more vicious universe inside her skull for safe-keeping.

    While she was turning her back to me, visibly trembling, I remembered to add “Enough to drip on the floor!” That was to trivialize the act, but also to give her an objective picture of the following self-inflicted wound. Counting drops of blood always beats weeping or screaming.

    I diverted my sight towards the door and approached it. I offered her now only my sense of hearing. Her stumbling steps wailing as a ghost that dies once again in the shadows, the violent opening of the drawer with screeches like a cornered dying hyena, even the pause in which she realized the knife was actually on the table was squalling in its own way.

    The moment is approaching. I heard the muffled sound the knife makes while piercing the skin. A feminine shriek was lost from this world because she kept quiet. The first drop of blood met gravity. And I opened the door.

  12. AnandG says:

    I did not like it much as I feel that the writing did not come out much clearer as thought. But your comments would make me learn and improve, as always.

    CYBERSHOCKED

    It was 2am, and Jake is still tweeting romance with every girl that he came across on Twitter. He certainly has got a liking for twitter ever since he opened his account a couple of weeks back. Tweet. He tweeted again. Jake was quite happy with the number of followers.
    “Make sure of what you tweet Jake. You still did not get a hang of it yet. Your tweets would be in cyberspace forever once they are into it. I don’t want you to get into any trouble while I am away”, he remembered the words of his girlfriend Carrie who helped him with getting an account opened and get familiar with Twitter.
    “Cyberspace? Forget it”, Jake said to himself and started tweeting again.
    “Missing you”, a tweet came. It was from Carrie.
    “Missing you too Carrie”, Jake tweeted back.
    “I cannot hold on to this. I am coming back honey. Coming right now. Coming to you”
    Jake was very much surprised that Carrie who has been to attend a conference in Narvik is coming back a day before the conference was about to begin. He called to Carrie’s phone, but was switched off.
    The door rang that night. It was Carrie. She rushed into Jake’s arms as soon as he opened the door. She kissed him, so tight as if she was waiting with the flaming lips since long.
    “Wow, Carrie! What happened to you?” Jake asked in utter astonishment.
    “Don’t speak Jake”, Carrie said and kissed him again.
    Jake aroused and he started fondling Carrie.
    “Squeeze me into you Jake. I can’t wait anymore honey”
    They ended up in bed.
    Jake woke up next morning, but he did not find Carrie beside him. He saw a tweet instead.
    “That was a sensuous night. I will see you soon”
    “Where did you go?”
    “Back to Narvik”
    A day later, Carrie was home.
    “Carrie, my sweetheart, what happened to you last night?” Jake asked
    “Nothing, why?”
    “About what we did last night”
    “What we did?” Carrie asked surprisingly.
    “Yes honey. The way you jumped into me. You know, I was expecting the same even today. That was a total fun, like it happens in erotic movies.”
    “Jake are you having a hangover? I came back from conference just now. I was far away to Narvik. Who did you meet and spent the night while you were drunk”, Carrie started to worry.
    “I wasn’t drunk. You tweeted me this. See”
    “Jake, this must be a fake account. I did not even open the twitter in these 3 days, let alone tweeting you. I told you to be wary of what you tweet, didn’t I?” Carrie started to cry.
    She wiped her nose and said, “This must be some dating agency and I am sure you must have boozed hard and hooked up with someone.”
    “Don’t touch me” she jerked off when Jake tried to take her into his arms.
    Tweet. There was a picture of Jake and Carrie kissing hot that night.
    “See honey, it’s you and me. Now do you believe me? I think it is you who boozed hard and came back that night.” Jake said sternly.
    “What? Jake you know I don’t booze”
    “Maybe that’s why, the first bottle of your life knocked you out and you did not know what you did. Good that you ended up with me and not hooked up with someone else in Narvik”, Jake’s voice was getting sterner.
    “Ding”, the door bell rang.
    “Now who can be it?” Jake walked out of the conversation frustrated, to open the door.
    When he opened the door, he experienced the biggest shock of his life.
    “Don’t you want me to come in and do something to you again honey”, Carrie heard a voice at the door.
    “What the hell is happening?” Jake thought in his mind.
    Jake stood at the door like a statue.
    “C’mon sweety, let’s get cozy inside”, the girl at the door pushed him into his living room.
    Carrie, who was sitting on the couch, was shocked to see the girl who was exactly like her: a living replica of Carrie. Like a Siamese twin sister.
    “Who the hell are you?” Carrie asked in utter astonishment.
    The Carrie look-alike smiled and vanished into oblivion.
    Jake didn’t believe his eyes. “What on Earth was that?”, he thought.
    “Honey, I do not know what that was, but let’s forget it. I will not pester you for sleeping with someone or rather something mystical. Let’s get inside and get cozy” Carrie said.
    Jake was out of his mind. He wasn’t able to believe that something came off and vanished in his room, like a sci-fi character, and Carrie was cool enough to forget it and spend time with Jake. He doubted the super-instant mood change.
    “Did something happen to me? Have I gone crazy?” Jake was thinking, with his mouth open in shock.
    Tweet. Jake’s phone sounded.
    “Conference’s done. Flight’s delayed and did not touch down Oslo on time. Will be there in an hour”
    It was from Carrie’s account.
    Jake collapsed into the sofa in shock, while the current Carrie in question, who was in front of him smiled and sipped coffee.

    • Amy says:

      I struggled through this one a little, what with the awkward sentences and tense problems, but I like your concept. I think it would benefit immensely from being read aloud, either by you or a friend, before you post to catch things like that. Also, Siamese twins are joined together physically, so I’m not sure that’s really what you were going for.

    • DMelde says:

      Hi AnandG. I really liked Carrie and her dual role in your story. Your story could be taken in so many different directions with a chameleon like her. Very well done! I guess if I were you I would work on verb tenses. I don’t know all their names or how they interact, but your story goes back and forth between past and present (and there may be a future predicate in there somewhere too…haha just kidding, I have no idea). Take the first sentence as an example; you wrote both past and present tense…it was 2am and Jake is still… present tense would be …it is 2am and Jake is still… or past tense would be …it was 2am and Jake was still… smooth these out, or not…just a suggestion. Thanks for posting!

      • AnandG says:

        Hi Amy and DMelde, English is not my first language and hence the many flaws in writing.
        I am about 3 prompts old here and suggestions from people like you are helping me.
        For the past couple of weeks, I had been consistently getting the comment of awkward/clunky dialogues and using unwanted words. This week, I tried to concentrate on taking out the unwanted words and keeping the length contained (though it did not much). I would try to write good dialogues in the weeks to come.
        Thank you very much for letting me know.
        And, I goofed up with the first sentence with ‘is’ instead of ‘was’, but there is no way to edit the post, once posted. Can’t help!
        P.S. This reply would also have many writing mistakes.

        • Kerry Charlton says:

          Hi AnandG,

          I’ve read all of your stories and find them quite entertaining. I admire anyone who can write in a second language. Keep the stories coming and read all the posts and suggestions posted. You will find each post gets easier.

          Write your story and forget it for a day. Then reread it. It works every time. “Why did I write this?’ or “This isn’t what I meant to say.” Good luck and I look forward to the next one.

    • don potter says:

      The suggestions below are right on. I, too, have read your other stories and appreciate your efforts. The simple truth is the more you write the better you become, guaranteed!

    • Keep writing AnnandG. Your writes are improving every week
      You are definitely finding your own voice here. Try reading your work aloud. That might help with some of the awkward phrasing

  13. livvykitty says:

    I wish I had never given my grandfather access to that god forsaken website. Maybe then we wouldn’t be in this mess. I have no time to think of a plan, only time to dwell on the reason why I’m here. Perhaps inspiration will strike and save me from playing their deadly game.

    It started two days ago when my grandfather, my greatest mentor and friend, had purchased himself a laptop. I remember the twinkle in his pale blue eyes as he presented the machine to me proudly. I had pouted at him and playfully poked fun at it. After all, if my parents wouldn’t let me have my own computer to write my stories on, why did he get one? He had laughed at my mock frustration, reminding me that I was only fourteen. I had retorted, reminding him that I was taller.

    After I had taught him how to surf the internet, he immediately asked me to set up all these social networking accounts for him. I happily signed him up for Fanfiction and Fictionpress (so I could talk to him over PM, of course), Facebook, Youtube and Twitter. He had also asked for a Tumblr, which I drew the line at. I barely knew what to do with my own, much less help the old man with his! I had left his home that day feeling more or less accomplished.

    The next time I visited him, which was for information on World War 2, of which he was a soldier for, he practically pulled me in. Confused, I had asked what was wrong. With trembling, frail fingers he had pointed at the screen. There were two tweets from someone who called themself ‘One Dead Little Girl’. Looking at the word, my eyebrows furrowed. It took me a while, but I eventually made out what it was saying.

    ‘Kira’

    This struck me as puzzling. Why would someone put their own name? This made absolutely no sense. It was the next phrase that made me realize.

    ‘Kagome Kagome’

    After a bit of processing, I recognized what the words were. I picked the words up from one of my animes! The second message said, ‘Circle you, circle you.’ The name wasn’t really a name. It was the Japanese word for ‘killer’. What sick freak would send this to a harmless old man? I had reassured my grandfather that it was probably a fake account. I promised I would come back the next day.

    When I returned, I found my grandfather shaking, his thin and wrinkled body straining away from the computer screen. I didn’t need to ask this time. I had a feeling that I knew what it was. I looked at the screen. Tagged there were three photos. The first was a picture of myself and my grandfather, sitting on the couch and eating baked sweets. This was completely unnerving. The second picture was a black and white photo of a man. Squinting, I could make out the resemblance to my grandfather. I chuckled a bit. It didn’t seem that he aged well at all.

    The third picture made me gasp aloud.

    Scattered about the ground were papers with pixilated words like ‘kill switch’ and ‘immortality’. That isn’t what made me gasp though. Surrounding a small body were men in crisp white coats, blades shining in the light. In the center of the circle was a little body, blood spurting from the neck and a severed head with a blindfold laying by its feet.

    The lights started to flicker and I could hear my grandfather’s sharp intake of breath. A light knock came from the front door. I held my breath. Someone was there. I stumbled to my feet, starting to trudge towards it. My grandfather was begging me not to leave him, to not go alone. I entered the front hall, where the knocking was growing more insistent. I quietly shuffled to it, hands shaking. My head was spinning and I teetered slightly, sure that I would fall. Something would get us.

    It was a ridiculous thought, but for some reason, I couldn’t think straight. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before unlocking the door. It was probably nothing. The picture of the poor dismembered child flashed in my head, but with startling sound, gurgling, as if the little girl was still breathing. I tried to open the door.

    It wouldn’t open.

    I heard my grandfather cry out.

    I rushed into the room where he was only to stop dead in my tracks. Little children were gathered around him, laughing gaily without a care in the world, knives glinting in their small fists. My grandfather knelt in the middle of the circle, blindfolded and trembling. A little boy with bandages wrapped around his crushed in skull giggled, saying sweetly, “It’s your turn!”

    A little girl missing her right arm laughed along with him, joining hands with the headless child beside her. They started to circle around him, laughing and singing. Their weapons shined as they moved around him, not even seeming to touch the ground, floating around him.

    ‘Circle you, circle you, close the door and leave us never! ‘Til the full moon sets aside, cut their necks off as they cried! Circle you, circle you! Who surrounds you everywhere?’

    My grandfather gulped, lips trembling. The children all stopped moving as the song verse came to a close. He whispered, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

    ‘Answer!’

    The children urged him on, knives gleaming. My grandfather took a shuddering breath before he replied, “Is it… Naomi?”

    ‘You LOSE!’

    He screamed before his throat was brutally cut, his head nearly snapping off his neck. As the limp corpse of my friend fell to the ground silently, the children all turned to me. Sickenly sweet smiles spread across their twisted faces. I knew what they wanted. They wanted me to play too.

    And now I find myself where I have to play. If I don’t win… I don’t want to think of it. I have to win. Please, just let me win! As the children sit me down in the circle, tying the blindfold around my eyes, my hands tremble. I’m so close to tears as the hollow, eerie voices slowly fill the air.

    ‘Circle you, circle you…’

    (It’s rumored that in WW2, Nazi scientists experimented on Japanese children to find the secret to immortality. They believed that there was a sort of kill switch in the brain that, when turned off early enough, would allow for eternal life. The ending varies. Did they succeed? Did all the children die of the dangerous brain surgery? It’s a mystery. Although, if the children did live, chances are they’re still alive, playing one game…

    Kagome Kagome is a Japanese children’s game where one stands in the middle and others circle around them. The original lyrics include a turtle and crane, not the morbid version I’ve written. I’m sorry if this is really long…)

  14. This a companion piece to my prompt response a couple weeks ago, “A Love, Darkly”.

    http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/walled-in#comment-3409109

    Sorry about the length. I got immersed in this story.

    IN THE WANING LIGHT
    ===================

    I let the curtain slide closed as I watched Darcy’s car turn the corner. He’d be at the hardware store a good while, picking out just the right kind of material to finish the damnable wall downstairs. I begrudgingly agreed to help him with yet another project. He practically begged me. It was unnecessary, of course. I’d do anything to spend time at his house, even if it meant working in stifling heat through the dead of night.

    I figured him to be gone at least an hour. Good. I turned to look at Alice and smiled.

    She was leaning against the doorframe separating the living room from the hallway. The sun was low enough in the sky to cast her in silhouette, the shape of her body visible through the thin shift she wore. My God, she was beautiful. Even after all this time, I still became giddy and light-headed whenever I was near her. The air was close, despite every window being open. There was no breeze to spirit away the veil of sweat that made her glisten. She smelled slightly of vanilla. I would always be lost to her spell.

    Alice smiled back at me as she clicked and clacked away on her phone. I had talked her into signing up for Twitter a couple of weeks ago. Darcy didn’t know. It was one of those things that only she and I shared.

    “I love you, Alice,” I said as I continued to study her, absorbing her presence.

    She set the phone on the coffee table and slowly walked over. She traced the back of her fingers along the side of my face to the tip of my chin. My heart skipped as she rose on her toes and whispered. “I love you, too.” Her lips were soft and warm, familiar and enticing.

    There was a buzz and musical bleep from across the room. “I thought you saved all your tweets for me,” I teased.

    “I was being stalked by cats on the internet. I just had to stalk them back,” she said as she moved to check her new vice. I watched her bemusedly. Clickety-clack and clackity-click. Alice blanched and froze. “Bobby,” she gasped softly.

    She handed the phone to me. It was probably a tweet from some random spambot feline. There was no text, just a link to a picture. It was a photo of Alice and I caught in an embrace, in this very house. We were getting careless.

    “What if it’s Darcy? Do you think he knows?” Alice asked, her eyes dancing with worry.

    I did my best to reassure her and shook my head. “He can barely operate the television remote, sweetheart. This is someone else.”

    “Who? The mailman?” Her sharp tone affected me. It wounded me.

    “Maybe it’s you sister, her way of telling us to be a little more discrete.” It was as plausible a reason as any. That was Jane’s MO. It drove Alice nuts. That it was Darcy was unthinkably awful. It made my stomach sink with guilt. The man was my best friend, but my soul was bound to hers.

    “I don’t want us to be a secret anymore, Bobby. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

    I didn’t want to answer her. We both felt that things were reaching a head. Something had to end soon. It was too much to bear. I couldn’t share her anymore. It was as simple and as complex as that.

    I deleted the tweet and dropped the phone back on the table. Then I gathered Alice up in my arms and held her close. I kissed the top of her head and then her neck. She sighed a lustful purr as she gave herself to me. We rocked gently together in silence for untold stolen moments.

    Our reverie was broken when we saw blades of reflected light pass over the room as Darcy pulled up. The sun hid behind clouds as the waning light took on a deep orange pallor. It would be dark soon.

    Alice pressed her hands against my chest. She was shaking. “He’s back,” she said. Those two words were full of sadness and longing. I knew them well.

    “Damn it all to hell.” I gave her one last kiss, deep and long. Time was always too short. I wouldn’t let her go. I couldn’t.

    She broke our embrace and tried to steady her voice. “Go help him bring the stuff in. It’s hot. I’ll make some lemonade.”

    • don potter says:

      Your love story was sweet until it became bittersweet. Forbidden love can be exciting, but does it ever end well?

    • smallster21 says:

      A prequel! Lol :) I went back and read “A Love, Darkly.” I didn’t participate that week, so thanks for providing the link. Love this line: “The man was my best friend, but my soul was bound to hers.” So poetic. Loved reading this. Great descriptions, increasing tension, forbidden love, revenge, all great stuff. I wonder why Alice hasn’t left Darcy yet. She didn’t hesitate at all to fall into Bobby’s arms and tell him she loved him. So, if you develop this, you should think about that. What is it that makes her stay with Darcy?

      • Cindy_The_Great says:

        Both parts were absolutely amazing.

        • Kerry Charlton says:

          Doug, you really hit the mark as usual. Forbidden love is portrayed in amazing accuracy in your story. As far as Don’s question, “Does it ever end well?” ,it depends on the strength of love between two people who didn’t ask to fall in love but did anyway. Anything is made possible with commitment to each other.

          There is another possibility to explore in this story. Darcy probaby knows about their love and finds a quirky excitement about sharing his wife with his best friend, in secret of course. The secret three way love affair is the key to your story.

          You bring in this thought in the first third of your story. I personally wouldn’t be into this but it probably serves it’s purpose more than we can imagine. How can you portray emotion with such accuracy, if you haven’t walked this pathway?

          • Smallster, Kerry. I think I’ll craft another segment to this story. That wasn’t the plan but the feedback I’m getting on these two pieces has been encouraging. It’s another prequel. The part I’m trying to decide is whether or not to keep the reverse reading order.

          • smallster21 says:

            Eeek! I don’t know Doug. I really do want to hear more about the relationship dynamics here. Maybe you can do a series of flashbacks while Alice and Bobby are withering away in the basement. I’ve read that the excessive use of flashbacks aren’t attractive to publishers, but there is something about being trapped in a basement, slowly starving, dehydrating, that might make one think about the past as they die, and I find it interesting to read/watch characters reflecting on the past, how it changed them, what it means to them in the present. Depends on the tone you’re going for. What I just said is kind of morbid. Good luck! And, if you post more of it on your blog, tweet me, so I can read :)

    • DMelde says:

      Well done Doug. The two stories tie together seamlessly. I found this story foreboding, and I think the two stories together are one great read. These two are keepers in my humble opinion.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Doug,

        How about writing a second prequil showing the birth of rapture from the beginnings of a forbidden love affair and then write a final chapter along the lines of two desperate people trying to save themselves from your first segment.

        Make their love affair a classic twining of two souls and then give them a plausable excape from your first story. Darcy might even have a change of heart, save the two people he loves the most and then simply walks out of their lives complretely, turning Darcy into a broken hero..

    • Amy says:

      I love the mood you create in this one. I can feel the hazy heat and the passion between them. A lustful little punch in few words. Very nice.

    • frankd1100 says:

      Good one Doug… Nothing is free and the greatest joy is often burdened with intense complexity and pain. You brought it home…

    • For those interested, I did indeed finish this up. It’s on my blog if you are curious. http://writing.douglangille.ca/tagged/A+Love+Darkly/chrono

  15. frankd1100 says:

    “Mark, you’re whining. Cancel the account if it bothers you that much.”

    I stood gazing through the window rinsing my coffee mug in the sink holding the phone with my shoulder. The mug was of heavy, white stoneware, unburdened of insipid aphorisms like “World’s Best Dad” or “My Number One Husband.” I’d found it in a shop in the village and bought five extra as replacements. I was still using the original but it felt good to have backups neatly stowed in the cupboard, each in it’s own individually padded box.

    A woman took shape through the early morning haze walking along the packed sand at the waters edge. She walked the deserted beach with purposeful strides, unconcerned that someone might be watching from a cottage above the dunes.

    “Steve, are you listening?” Mark asked, with a clipped, impatient edge. “The volume of tweets coming from this single source is overwhelming. It feels like a decoy to keep me from discovering I’ve been hacked!”

    “And there’s something else, Steve. I got a tweet with a picture of you and me huddled over some blueprints at my desk.”

    “Mark, you’re my brother!” I interrupted. “We work on projects together. It’s how we make our living. I’m not seeing a problem here.”

    “Wait a minute, Steve, someone’s at the door.”

    “Mark, I have to get to the site. We’re pouring concrete today and one of us should be there when the trucks arrive to inspect the mix.”

    “You what? The site when I’m… Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

    Shaking my head, I ended the call worried at how easily Mark could be frazzled of late.

    I placed the mug on the windowsill, and after a final glance at my oblivious beach woman, headed out to my truck.

    Don Fox, a young entrepreneur, had built a car wash two blocks from my place directly across from his eponymous coffee shop, ‘Cafe Fox.’ I ran the truck through a full wash and pulled across the street to grab a coffee for the road.

    As I stepped from the cab a pleasant voice called out, “Is that the Ram Hemi package?”

    My beach woman had just turned the corner and stopped at the entrance to the Cafe’ Fox. She stood confidently, hands on hips, wearing a short, mid thigh beach dress. I couldn’t help but notice her nicely tanned legs and the hint of a white, two piece bathing suit through the diaphanous cotton dress.

    “It is,” I managed. “It’s the 5.7 Liter Ram package. I work in construction.”

    “I figured that much,” she said smiling, pointing at my Timberland boots. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee if you have time?”

    “Sure,” I said, “not much going on today.”

    We slid into a booth just as a text message from Mark lit up my cell phone. It read, “Mom at the door. Wondering why I’m not answering her tweets!”

    • Pattypans says:

      Frankd, I think you have a good writing style. It flows easily, and is easy to follow.

      You do need to be careful with your apostrophes (it’s when it should be its in paragraph two–aargh, waters edge instead of water’s), but that’s easily taken care of!

      But again, thanks for a fluid, interesting read. I like your setting, and the details about the mugs!

    • don potter says:

      The button at the end works for me. When seniors get into the digital age they either love it or hate it. In this case, mom loves it.

    • nice punch at the end, frank. I liked it,

    • smallster21 says:

      I enjoyed your descriptions, they were very vivid. Only aspect I’d comment on is (and take this with a grain of salt, because it’s subjective, and I only bring it up for you to consider) that there are two plot lines at work here. Mark’s mysterious tweeter stalker and Steve’s mysterious woman. While, multiple plot lines are necessary in a story, I feel like too much plot is crammed into this short space, and I wished there’d been more focus on one or the other, or both. This would allow for tension to build, leading to the pay off at the end. I wasn’t really invested in Mark’s dilemma, because my attention was going back and forth between the woman, Mark, Steve’s daily routine, so the ending didn’t pack as much punch as it could. Again, only something for consideration. I did enjoy reading this, and I fell into the setting, led by your beautifully constructed descriptions. Also, picturing the mother tweeting her son incessantly made me smile, because my grandmother would do the same if she figured out how to tweet.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Frank, I also realized the two stories. Describing your beach goddess as striding through the mist, reminds me of Camelot. It grabs the reader with both hands and tears him away from the other story. There’s a lot more to continue with the beach yummy.

        The cup story defines Steve as a cautious, dedicated individual who’s about to unravel his carefully organized life with the girl in the diaphanous dress. [Love this word.]

    • DMelde says:

      What a pleasant read. Well written with great descriptions. I liked the ending. It explained why Mark was so frazzled of late. Way to go mom!

    • Amy says:

      I got a good sense of Mark in such a short glimpse into his life, so that was good. I agree about the two different plot lines, but I don’t feel like either of them went anywhere and was left a little unsatisfied at the end. Also just a couple of things that I’m going to nit-pick about, but remember it is the opinion of just one person ;) In your dialogue, the brothers use each others’ names almost every time they speak; I don’t know anyone who does that. Instead, you might try using some “I saids” or “Steve saids” to make sure we know who is speaking. In a few places, I noticed some fancy words that, to me, didn’t fit with the tone of the rest of the story and felt like they were stuck in there to impress (i.e. ‘insipid aphorisms,’ ‘eponymous,’ or ‘diaphanous’). It’s been my experience that we should never use big fancy words when concise and concrete ones will do. Hope you don’t mind my sharing of opinion. I’m by no means an expert of anything, just an avid reader.

  16. don potter says:

    The noise on the front porch startled me. In the time it took to walk across the room to the door, I recounted the events of the past few days.
    It all began when my friend, Roger, signed up for a Twitter account. Rog, like me, is no technophile; and rather than read instructions he plunged into tweeting with both feet, or I should say both thumbs.
    “This is a great communications, tool,” I remember him saying.
    “Be careful,” I warned, “anything that goes out on Facebook, YouTube or other social sites, as well as Twitter, can be read by anyone and it stays in cyberspace forever.”
    “Come on. Get with it. This is the new way to say whatever you want to the world.”
    “Hey, you only have one hundred and forty characters worth of space,” I said.
    “You’ve got to use abbreviations like the ones people use when texting on their phones. BTW means ‘by the way’ and OMG is shorthand for ‘oh my God.’ Things like that.”
    “I never use those phrases.”
    “It doesn’t matter the whole idea is to get a bunch of followers. So you say things that’ll make them keep following you. But you can’t use lots of words to do it.”
    “Sorta like a billboard?”
    You could say that. I wouldn’t. But you might.”
    “I just did.”
    “Right. Let’s stay on the topic. To tweet or not to tweet that is the question?”
    “As far as you’re concerned, it is the answer.”
    “Learn how to tweet and you’ll be swimming in the mainstream of life.”
    A few days later Rog called me and said, “Someone I don’t know is tweeting me.”
    “It’s probably coming from a fake account or something,” I said without the slightest idea of what I was talking about.
    This morning Rog came over to the house, quite agitated.
    “I just received this tweet,” Rog said and held his phone for me to see.
    “Who took this picture of us in your living room?”
    “That’s the point. I don’t know. It came from someone out there,” Rog made a sweeping gesture to indicate he was referring to cyberspace.
    “I’m not worried; they don’t know where I live.”
    That’s when I heard the noise on the porch and rushed to the door.
    “Who’s there,” I called out.
    “The LAPD.”
    “This is not a tweet, spell it out.”
    “The Los Angeles Police Department.”
    Without warning the front door was smashed in.
    “FUCK,” I shouted.
    “What?”
    “That’s twitter talk for First U Could Knock.”

    • frankd1100 says:

      Clever and witty repartee. Flows from start to finish. Well written!

    • nice dalog, Don, I like how it flows and the how the duo feed off each other.

    • smallster21 says:

      This is a nice exchange of dialogue. Two friends traversing the unknown, frightening territory that is the Tweeterverse. I do see something that might be a continuity issue. Rog received a tweet of a photo of the two friends in his living room. Since, they don’t know who took the photo, I assume it is the sender of the tweet, so the tweeter would know where Rog lives, since s/he took the photo, so I feel the MC might naturally be nervous regarding this, but he isn’t. On the other hand, you start with, and follow through to the end, on a light and comedic tone, so his nonchalant reaction would fit, making it more comedic. So I would adjust, or leave it alone, depending on what you are aiming for. Enjoyed the back and forth banter between the two friends, it was cute :)

      • don potter says:

        “Who took this picture of us in your living room?” This is what MC asks Rog — that’s why MC thinks the tweeter doesn’t know where he lives.

      • Pattypans says:

        I’ve been wanting to say this for a while, but have hesitated, because I don’t want to a) seem rude, or b) single anybody out by putting it under his or her post. But here goes: An MC isn’t the same as a narrator, and what some have been calling the MC is really the narrator. If you don’t believe me, look it up in a reputable dictionary. :)

        • don potter says:

          I agree with you, Pattypans. However, in my story the MC and narrator are one in the same. On another topic, I suspect most of us view the weekly prompt as a fun exercise designed to expand our imagination and sharpen our writing skills. I first got involved a couple of months ago because the prompt looked like a good way to stop work on my latest novel and focus on something else, if only for a little while. Since then I have enjoyed writing the prompts and reading the efforts of other writers in various stages of development. I try to look at this diversion in a fun, positive way rather than as work. I believe many of us use this forum as a place where we can try new things without fear of being graded in a way that highlights the nits and nats rather than creativity. For me staying under 500 words is an important discipline, others focus on grammar or spelling. But let’s not worry so much about the details as we do the story. After all, isn’t that what fiction writing is all about? That’s my opinion. What’s yours?

          • smallster21 says:

            Don, I view this forum as a way to better my writing and to comment on the writing of others, so that we may catch the mistakes we are making in our stories and grow as writers. I also believe as writing prompts, these help us to come up with ideas to turn into longer stories. As you said it is a way to expand our imagination, and I agree, and posting these ideas on here lets me know which ideas might be worth exploring depending on the reaction of others and the comments they make, especially constructive criticism, help lead me in the right direction should I decide to go with one of the prompts. That is how I use it, and the way you are, as a break from your WIP, is fine too. There are others on here, who use the prompts to help further their current WIPs, as I’ve seen them string them together, post them on their blogs.

            I sometimes comment on the mechanics, because as a writer, I appreciate other writers pointing out the storytelling mistakes I don’t see myself making, such as Pattypans pointing out the difference between the MC and the narrator–some people might not be aware of this. Also, Pattypans pointed out a mistake I made in my story with the vanilla bean. I save these prompt ideas, so if I visit it in the future, I will know to change my description of Ann’s skin to the ice cream and not the bean. Pattypans’ comment also made me think about the description. I realized vanilla bean ice cream is filled with black speckles…not my idea of flawless skin. So, I like that the comments get me thinking about how I can better what I’ve written and pay closer attention to my descriptions.

            When I can, I try to offer my thoughts on a story, what I, as a reader, thought might be something the writer might consider should they work on the story further. Sometimes, my comments are simply subjective, commenting on what confused me as a reader, and I don’t expect anyone to accept what I say, it’s only a comment coming from a reader of their story, who’s offering them what confused me or something that might benefit from more clarification should others comment on the same thing.

          • Pattypans says:

            My opinion? I figure pressing the post button is pretty much like publishing in a sense, so we might as well have all the aspects of the story the best we can make them. Probably most of us don’t spend a whole lot of time on these, because they’re short, but we might as well do our best. Also, we know other people will be spending their valuable time reading, and possibly even commenting on, our ‘published’ stories, so doing our best also shows a measure of respect, courtesy, and consideration to them.

        • smallster21 says:

          I only abbreviate main character MC when I don’t know what his/her name is. This is in first person, so I was referring to the point of view character who was speaking with Rog. That is a good point to bring up Pattypans. While reading a story there is a distinction between the narrator’s voice and the point of view character, and distinguishing between the two, in regards to what opinions/voice belong to either the narrator or character, can get confusing. I’ve been reading Orson Scott Card’ Character’s & Viewpoint to help me tackle this aspect of storytelling. I’m trying to work with different points of view in a few of my WIPs, uncharted territory for me, so I’m trying to make sure I do it right, because I’m not an expert on the subject.

          • don potter says:

            Smallster, thanks for taking time to so beautifully express your POV. You laid out all the key reasons for doing what we do. There’s little I could add. I love this space and want it to be a comfortable and productive forum all. I’ll try to do more part as we all walk down the creative path together.

    • loadsafreckles says:

      I like the dialog in this. It made me smile

    • DMelde says:

      Funny ending. Almost all dialog and it was easy to know who said what. Very well done.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        I agree with you Don. The story reigns as king on these prompts. At least that’s my reason for writing them. I’ve had twenty prompts so far and I know I want to expand at least five of them and submit them. It’s been a great exercise in cranking my imagination up and pushing, shoving a story into 500 and having it make some kind of sense.

        As far as your story, it’s a blast. Kerry

    • Amy says:

      Excellent comments, guys. It’s so fun to have a positive environment to write in, but I also like the sort of competitive edge that comes from being surrounded by good writing and good writers. It’s great to read feedback from newbie and experienced writers alike as we all delve into the creative fray. I find myself pointing out grammar mistakes as well as other technical issues, because I feel that it is such a basic and essential part of being a writer. You have to nail the mechanics and it has to be second nature before you can work on the actual aspects of a story and what makes a good one, in my humble opinion. I never set out to make anyone feel bad or inferior in any way when I comment on a story, and I hope my fastidious nature has not offended anyone here!
      That said, don potter I enjoyed your story and the ending made me chuckle. Dialogue was refreshing and snappy. Kind of made me wonder why the LAPD would be tweet-stalking someone, though…

      • don potter says:

        It’s heartening to have writers respond the way you did. I understand each person’s POV and the spirit in which folks in this forum communicate with each other. It was not my intention to suggest that anyone offended me. I appreciate comments and criticism alike. I must admit I make grammatical and technical mistakes that I should catch or an editor would not let slip by, but that doesn’t concern me as much as getting the story concept right. This is the way I look at the creative process, but it’s not the only way. I hope we all keep experimenting and growing by helping each other.
        Regarding the LAPD and tweet-stalking, there are a number of reasons the police might be doing this; but I wanted the reader to apply their suspension of disbelief to this unanswered question. Is that a cop (bad pun) out or what?

        • frankd1100 says:

          You have, in my opinion, hit on a key element of the ‘creative process’. Early in the process of writing a short story, or any piece of fiction, preparation and instinct drop one off the edge, away from a set path, and the writing takes on a life of its own.

          Known writers say they are at times surprised by the direction a story has taken.. Or, as in real life, how frequently a story’s end can be ambiguous, unsatisfying, left up to the reader’s imagination for a solution.

          I’ll be the first to say I envy the art of great writing and, though my writing does not reach such lofty heights, I love the freedom offered by this site to ‘run with reckless abandon,’.

  17. codrin dreit says:

    Perfect weekly challenge discovered in the aether.

    ‘Delusional trap’

    We looked at each other and I knew I was the only one of us who knew what hides behind that door. I felt a sudden rush to snicker as I usually do when I’m facing impossible events, but I was proud of myself after realizing I was actually acting as surprised as she was. This allowed her to behave naturally, although as predictable as people usually are in apparent common situations.

    “Don’t ask me!” I quickly answered to the delayed question that was just about to shape itself on her lips. But the tone of my voice, properly modulated to her igniting fear, discontinued the tightening of the muscles and the only part of it which was granted entrance to an audible world was ‘Who…!?’

    After her fleeting confusion, but before continuing our inevitable reactions, a second knock was heard. This time it was a tad gentler than before. This clearly was a sign that I was offered time to direct the scene. I was offered encapsulated freedom, although I was clearly surprised how well they knew me. Being knowingly manipulated is definitely more gratifying than blindness beyond comprehension, but it also comes with its own degrees of discomfort sometimes.

    This was not one of those times. I quickly just accepted it (as it was expected of me) and I focused on her. “Go in the kitchen,” I whispered theatrically, “find the knife you used to cut yourself with and make a shallow incision on your right arm, but enough to squirt blood.” I knew how absurd it could seem to her and it might have even amused her, but I had to risk it. To emphasize my thoughts non-verbally, I pointed towards the picture that she was showing me, then to the door and then finally to her. Never in the existence of humanity has there been a gesture more ominous than mine in that particular moment. It might have easily been ridiculous had I not been oozing a compelling sense of premonition from more pores than I actually had, literally or not. She didn’t have a chance to doubt my ludicrous words and her self-preservation instincts that were inoculated in her subconscious for almost two and a half decades (adding to those already acquired by simply being born an animal) have been obliterated, or at least pushed away into a more vicious universe inside her skull for safe-keeping.

    While she was turning her back to me, visibly trembling, I remembered to add “Enough to drip on the floor!” That was to trivialize the act, but also to give her an objective picture of the following self-inflicted wound. Counting drops of blood always beats weeping or screaming.

    I diverted my sight towards the door and approached it. I offered her now only my sense of hearing. Her stumbling steps wailing as a ghost that dies once again in the shadows, the violent opening of the drawer with screeches like a cornered dying hyena, even the pause in which she realized the knife was actually on the table was squalling in its own way.

    The moment is approaching. I heard the muffled sound the knife makes while piercing the skin. A feminine shriek was lost from this world because she kept quiet. The first drop of blood met gravity. And I opened the door.

  18. codrin dreit says:

    Perfect weekly challenge discovered in the aether.

    ‘Delusional trap’

    We looked at each other and I knew I was the only one of us who knew what hides behind that door. I felt a sudden rush to snicker as I usually do when I’m facing impossible events, but I was proud of myself after realizing I was actually acting as surprised as she was. This allowed her to behave naturally, although as predictable as people usually are in apparent common situations.

    “Don’t ask me!” I quickly answered to the delayed question that was just about to shape itself on her lips. But the tone of my voice, properly modulated to her igniting fear, discontinued the tightening of the muscles and the only part of it which was granted entrance to an audible world was “Who..!?”

    After her fleeting confusion, but before continuing our inevitable reactions, a second knock was heard. This time it was a tad gentler than before. This clearly was a sign that I was offered time to direct the scene. I was offered encapsulated freedom, although I was clearly surprised how well they knew me. Being knowingly manipulated is definitely more gratifying than blindness beyond comprehension, but it also comes with its own degrees of discomfort sometimes.

    This was not one of those times. I quickly just accepted it (as it was expected of me) and I focused on her. “Go in the kitchen,” I whispered theatrically, “find the knife you used to cut yourself with and make a shallow incision on your right arm, but enough to squirt blood.” I knew how absurd it could seem to her and it might have even amused her, but I had to risk it. To emphasize my thoughts non-verbally, I pointed towards the picture that she was showing me, then to the door and then finally to her. Never in the existence of humanity has there been a gesture more ominous than mine in that particular moment. It might have easily been ridiculous had I not been oozing a compelling sense of premonition from more pores than I actually had, literally or not. She didn’t have a chance to doubt my ludicrous words and her self-preservation instincts that were inoculated in her subconscious for almost two and a half decades (adding to those already acquired by simply being born an animal) have been obliterated, or at least pushed away into a more vicious universe inside her skull for safe-keeping.

    While she was turning her back to me, visibly trembling, I remembered to add “Enough to drip on the floor!” That was to trivialize the act, but also to give her an objective picture of the following self-inflicted wound. Counting drops of blood always beats weeping or screaming.

    I diverted my sight towards the door and approached it. I offered her now only my sense of hearing. Her stumbling steps wailing as a ghost that dies once again in the shadows, the violent opening of the drawer with screeches like a cornered dying hyena, even the pause in which she realized the knife was actually on the table was squalling in its own way.

    The moment is approaching. I heard the muffled sound the knife makes while piercing the skin. A feminine shriek was lost from this world because she kept quiet. The first drop of blood met gravity. And I opened the door.

  19. smallster21 says:

    Telekinesis Institute? Interesting :) I’d make the setting more alive by having things float around the quad, books flying about their heads in the library, tackling the Id with a multitude of objects to defeat him, or himself?…lol, very clever. Nice take on the prompt.

    I liked having the beginning, middle and end all here, because I’m an impatient reader, so I like getting to the action. Though, it did feel rushed…but, that is with all our stories, suppose it depends on what aspect of writing you want to work on with the prompt. For this story, I’d say you came up with an unique setting and your plot is definitely interesting. It is an idea worthy of further exploration, and I enjoyed reading it :)

  20. smallster21 says:

    “@theCableGuy—YOU WILL BE HIS FRIEND”

    Lewis positioned Ann in front of him, watching the reflection of her brown waves tumble onto the sheets of the bed as she shifted her weight onto her hands and knees. She refused to make a video, but didn’t mind Lewis enjoying the live action from the alternate views his full-length mirror provided.

    He squeezed her hips—her skin smooth as rose petals under his fingers—as she lifted herself up and arched her back—the mirror giving him a full frontal view. The springs of the bed creaked, and he inhaled the soothing scent of her lavender shampoo as he examined her body—creamy pale like vanilla bean and flawless.

    Lewis, however, had a farmer’s tan and hairy chest. He cringed at his own reflection.

    “Stop that.” She caught him in his moment of unmanly insecurity. “If I didn’t like the way you looked, I wouldn’t be in your bed.”

    He nibbled her ear playfully, then shoved her back down; her gasp of surprise sent a stream of excitement through his lower body.

    His eyes moved from the mirror to Ann’s red dress crumpled on the green, shaggy carpet in front of the closet door. He smirked, thinking of how he’d ripped it off of her as quick as a matador teasing an enraged bull.

    “What are you doing?” Ann was frowning, watching Lewis from within the mirror. “You’re not paying attention.”

    “What?” Lewis smacked her ass and growled, “I’m so into you baby.”

    A rustling sound came from the hallway. The door was open, but it was a black rectangle painted upon the wall, impossible to see through. A faint smell, like a shed filled with rusty, old tools, wafted into the room. He craned his neck to see around the corner, where he thought he saw a faint glow.

    His phone vibrated from the nightstand—a new tweet. Lewis grunted. He was starting to get annoyed with Twitter. He joined a few weeks ago, and immediately started receiving tweets from some Cable Guy freak, who desperately needed friends. After twenty tweets in one hour yesterday and an invite to go bowling, Lewis had tweeted, “Ya, when my feet are nailed to the ceiling, I’ll be your friend. Freak!” He hadn’t heard from @theCableGuy all day.

    After half an hour, Ann fell on top of him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

    His phone vibrated again. Snatching it from the nightstand, he found that the tweet contained a photo. Hmph, I don’t get it, Lewis thought, Why would freaky McFreakerson send me a picture of a door?

    A muffled squeak vibrated in Ann’s throat as she grabbed Lewis’s wrist, pulling the phone close to her face; her eyes darted from the screen to the closet. When Lewis opened his mouth, her hand shot up from under the covers to silence him; her nails dug into his cheeks.

    He finally realized why Ann was trembling like a frightened, clingy cat. His skin began to ignite as he took stock of the details in the photo—the closet door, the shaggy, green carpet, the balled-up red dress.

    It was the closet door in his bedroom.

    Also, visible—on the far right of the photo—was a sliver of the mirror’s shiny surface. And, in the mirror was a reflection—a hand, holding a phone, pushed through the thick curtain of the black void beyond the door.

    Click.

    The lights went off overhead.

    The repetitive thud of heavy boots neared the bed.

    Then, several heavy objects fell into Lewis’s lap, clanging and echoing off one another.

    Lewis’s hands wrapped around the objects—the cold, gritty rust of railroad spikes.

    Of course, Lewis thought, nails wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of my body.

    Ann screamed, and the last thing Lewis heard was the crunching sound of the hammer against his skull, cracking it open like the thin layer of an eggshell.

    • Kerry Charlton says:

      Hot, Hot, Hot and scary, scary, scary. Lewis is somewhat of a klutz. His attention should have been only on Ann, like the male Praying Mantis, when the female rips the male’s head off and then, he makes love to her, in his dying moments. This story derailed my computer for a moment and I lost contact with the web for a minute or two.

      Your story must have melted some of the connections in my lap top. That’s how powerful it is.
      I love the opening sentence and “her body—Creamy pale like vanilla bean and flawless.”

      If I have to have my laptop repaired, I’ll let you know which wires melted.

      • Pattypans says:

        I absolutely don’t mean to be critical here, but just in case you use this story in other venues, all the vanilla beans I’ve ever seen are dark brown, inside and out, and homemade liquid vanilla made from them is, too. Maybe there is a cream-colored one I don’t know about, though.

        • smallster21 says:

          Pattypans, do be critical. That is the point of posting on here. I’ve received very harsh criticism before, had my little writer heart broke & repaired, so I’ve learned to take everything with a grain of salt, and apply the criticism I feel will enhance my stories. And, I am glad you brought the vanilla beans up. I had meant vanilla bean ice cream. I didn’t specify. Vanilla bean ice cream is pale, creamy yellow, which was the color I was going for. But, now that I think about it, vanilla bean ice cream usually has the black specks of bean, doesn’t it? Which would mean, I would be saying she is creamy and covered in black freckles! Lol! Good catch :)

          • Pattypans says:

            Haha, believe me, I thought of vanilla ice cream, but that’s because I really like ice cream!

      • smallster21 says:

        I only know about the praying mantis doing that from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (my fav. show) haha! It was about a teacher who is really a big bug, lures virgins back to her lair, then rips their head off after they fertilize her eggs.

        …sorry for melting your wires. My stories are insured if you want to bill my insurance company. Thanks for your comments. They made me laugh! :)

    • Cindy_The_Great says:

      Wow, wow, wow. First it was steamy, then scary! Really exciting to read and well written. I loved it!

    • Barouches says:

      Wow! The unwary reader is enticed into a virtual condition of voyeurism then grabbed by the scruff of the neck, and thrust into pandemonium! Great read Smallster!

    • don potter says:

      Steamy, scintillating and sexy. Then you scared the daylights out of me. Great story.

    • This was a particularly fun read, smallster. A little racy, a little frightening and a whole lot of hell-yeah.

    • loadsafreckles says:

      you never expect a steamy story to turn into something so scary. Loved it. well done

      • smallster21 says:

        Thanks loadsafreckles! I did debate on whether to have the ‘steamy’ scene or not. I just wasn’t sure if focusing on their sexcapades would disrupt the tone of the story. From everyone’s comments, it seems to be okay, so yay! Lol :)

    • DMelde says:

      Well written, great story! It starts off in a loving direction, then BAM! in your face terror ending. That’s what I call taking friendship to a new level.

    • Amy says:

      A good read, smallster. Descriptions are good, (save for the vanilla bean, but we won’t get into that again ;) ) I especially love the skull cracking open like an eggshell; so morbid and wonderful, haha. For some reason, the line, ‘Of course, Lewis thought, nails wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of my body,’ bothers me. I just don’t think I would spring to that conclusion if someone dumped a pile of railroad spikes in my lap in the dark. A fun and chilling story.

      • smallster21 says:

        Funny you mention that line, because I was unsure about whether it fit into the story or not, but my issue with that line is different. I just wasn’t sure if it is something you would think when a maniac is in your bedroom about to kill you. As far as how Lewis came to that conclusion, the spikes tie back to his comment to @theCableGuy. Lewis told him he’d be his friend when his feet were nailed to the ceiling, and since the weirdo was quiet all day, and just showed up in his bedroom, I figured he would come to that conclusion about the spikes, that @theCableGuy is there to nail him to the ceiling. Of course, what is clear to me, might not be clear to the reader, since I have the story in my head, so thanks for pointing that out. I’ll definitely consider your comments.

        Glad you found the skull cracking open wonderful. Lol! It is because we are storytellers, we can say such things and not be viewed as serial killers or crazies.

        • Amy says:

          Ohhhhhh. Makes sense now, and I feel a little sheepish. For some reason, I didn’t tie it to the line about nailing feet to the ceiling, but since you pointed it out, it doesn’t bother me as much anymore. Still not sure if that would occur to someone in the heat of the moment, but it doesn’t feel so out of left field anymore. Thanks for the clarification, I get a little scatterbrained sometimes. ;)

  21. Pattypans says:

    This is the corrected version of my previous post.

    Where is She?

    Colleen wasn’t one to get worried very easily. But as we walked home from school that afternoon, I could tell something was bothering her.

    “I wish I’d never gotten that stupid Twitter account, Katie,” she said after we shut the front door of her house and tossed our backpacks in the hall.

    “Why? What’s wrong?”

    “Yesterday I started getting tweets from somebody who never even asked to follow me. Once an hour, at exactly 3 minutes past whatever hour it is, I get the same one-word message.”

    “Weird,” I admitted. “What’s the message say?”

    “’Listen.’ Just that: ‘Listen.’ The user name is mama. And look at this, Katie. Last night, just before I went to bed, whoever it is posted this photo.”

    When she showed me the photo of the two of us playing in the sprinkler in her back yard, my mouth fell open. “We’re three years old in that photo, Colleen! It is really strange, but all we have to do is find out who has copies of that photo— probably your relatives—and ask them who’s playing this trick on you.”

    “I thought of that too, Katie.” As she spoke I followed her to the den, where she took an album from the wooden bookshelves that lined the wall. “See? The picture’s still here. It was taken with an old-fashioned camera, not a digital one, and it’s not a family portrait or anything. I don’t think any copies were made. It was taken just hours before Mom was killed, and for a long time my father had bigger things to worry about.”

    I felt awful for having forgotten that, even if it was twelve years ago.

    Suddenly the front door knocker boomed through the house. “Must be Anna, the little neighbor girl. I told her I’d help her with her homework today,” Colleen called over her shoulder as she walked towards the front hall. Normally she would have asked who was there before opening it, especially since we were alone in the house. But, expecting Anna, she opened it without that precaution. I was behind her by then, and was shocked to see a tall, dark-haired woman with a long gypsy-style skirt and a scowl on her face.

    “Colleen O’Connor?” she said, and the scowl was in her voice, too.

    “Before I tell you who I am, suppose you tell me who you are.”

    “Never mind my name. I’m a person who connects with people from the other side, and I have a message for you.”

    Colleen motioned for me to follow her out to the front porch, then shut the door behind us. She was white, and clutched at her skirt with both hands, as though to keep them from trembling.

    “Little girl, I don’t have all the time in the world. And I’m not going to ask you if you want to hear the message. I get it, I give it, ready or not. ‘I know you’ve been told I was murdered, Honey, and I know it’s been like a hot coal in your heart. You’ve wanted to find out who did it, and you want to see them get justice. But Honey, it wasn’t like that.’” And that cold-hearted woman turned around and started down the porch steps.

    A few seconds later Colleen ran after her, calling out, “Wait! Please, wait!”

    The woman turned around, and there was something softer in her eyes. “Look, little girl, that’s all I know. If I hear any more, I’ll come back. Maybe she wants to see if you’ll believe this before she tells you more.”

    • Cindy_The_Great says:

      Nice twist at the end. I think the only two (minor) critiques I have would be your character dialogue and your description of the woman with the gypsy skirt. When Colleen is talking to Katie, she says her name in the dialogue about three times when they are speaking. That became repetitious and made that part of the dialogue not flow as freely as I assume you would want it to. As for the woman with the gypsy skirt, you described her as “white, and clutched at her skirt with both hands, as though to keep from trembling”. Your transition from her being “white” to “clutching her skirt with both hands” seemed like two different thought processes. Was her pallor white as well? In a cold, creepy sense like the scowl in her voice? I’m guessing that is what you wanted to get across. I think your overall idea is solid, and those mistakes are minute, so all in all, I enjoyed it. Also the fact that you posted it a second time to correct certain things shows that you’re determined and, you’re ideas are unique pattypans!

      • Pattypans says:

        Cindy, thank you so much for your feedback! Point very well taken about the repetition of the name in dialogue. I think that must be something I need to watch out for in general. Thanks for pointing it out.

        As for the other point, the “she” who turned white and clutched her skirt was Colleen. I thought that was clear, since Colleen was the last person mentioned. But it was probably the ‘skirt’ that made it unclear, since I’d just mentioned the gypsy’s skirt. I had thought of saying that it was the skirt of her school uniform (though I admit I didn’t consciously foresee the lack of clarity), but I was already over the word limit by about 100 words! (First time I’ve done that on one of these prompts–and I had already pared it down!) I probably should have mentioned the fact that it was her school uniform skirt anyway. The whiteness and the hand thing were to show how nervous, even maybe afraid, Colleen was.

        Thanks again, Cindy! I love feedback!

    • smallster21 says:

      Loved your take on the prompt! Nice idea–Twitter messages from the ‘Otherside’! Only thing I see as possibly being a continuity issue is that if the mother is able to tweet, why would she send a gypsy to deliver a message? This really didn’t stick out as I was reading, but I thought about it afterward, and I think the reason it didn’t bother me too much is, because it can be explained away. Being an avid ghost hunter/adventure watcher, I know entities need to absorb energy in order to communicate, and maybe this is the case with the mother. This actually makes sense in your story, since she is only sending one word per tweet “Listen”, so if that was your intention, then awesome. Just wanted point that out in case you expand this into a longer story–to make sure the tweets stay consistently short. All in all, this had an interesting plot :) Enjoyed it!

      • Pattypans says:

        You nailed it, Smallster, with the “Listen”. Very intuitive of you. The mother is sort of preparing Colleen for the first message from the gypsy, and the gypsy’s parting comment will, we hope, prepare her for the next ones. If I were to continue the story, I don’t think there would be any more tweets from Mama.

        Thank you so much for reading and commenting; I’m glad you enjoyed it. I wasn’t really planning on responding to this prompt because at first it seemed mind-bogglingly complicated to come up with an idea. And then it just came to me, which encouraged me.

    • don potter says:

      I pray that there is no social networking or technology in heaven. If there were, I guess it might be called hell.

    • Pattypans, this was a great write. The dialog was believable and flowed well for me.

      • Pattypans says:

        Thanks, Doug. I’m glad you enjoyed it. One thing I’m enjoying about these prompts is that they push me to write in voices (the opposite sex, widely varying ages) that I might not choose to write in myself. It’s been a long time since I was in high school!

    • DMelde says:

      Good story. I’d like to hear what happens next.

    • Amy says:

      I liked your story because it held my interest the whole way through. I also noticed the repetition of Colleen addressing Katie by her name every time she spoke to her and it was a little off-putting. Believable dialogue is a must, in my opinion, and I don’t know anyone who addresses people by their name every time they say something to them. I would have liked to have had a tiny little snippet more to go on at the end when the message states that the mother wasn’t murdered the way the daughter thought, just to begin to point me in another direction, but maybe that is what you intended and a good thing that I am wanting more.

      • Pattypans says:

        Thanks for your input, Amy. I really do need to watch out for over-using names within the dialog. It’s great to see my writing from others’ points of view and see what does and doesn’t work for them!

  22. Pattypans says:

    Where is She?

    Colleen wasn’t one to get worried very easily. But as we walked home from school that afternoon, I could tell something was bothering her.

    “I wish I’d never gotten that stupid Twitter account, Katie,” she said after we shut the front door of her house and tossed our backpacks in the hall.

    “Why? What’s wrong?”

    “Yesterday I started getting tweets from somebody who never even asked to follow me. Once an hour, at exactly 3 minutes past whatever hour it is, I get the same one-word message.”

    “Weird,” I admitted. “What’s the message say?”

    “’Listen.’ Just that: ‘Listen.’ The user name is mama. And look at this, Colleen. Last night, just before I went to bed, whoever it is posted this photo.”

    When she showed me the photo of the two of us playing in the sprinkler in her back yard, my mouth fell open. “We’re three years old in that photo, Katie! It is really strange, but all we have to do is find out who has copies of that photo— probably your relatives—and ask them who’s playing this trick on you.”

    “I thought of that too, Colleen.” As she spoke I followed her to the den, where she took an album from the wooden bookshelves that lined the wall. “See? The picture’s still here. It was taken with an old-fashioned camera, not a digital one, and it’s not a family portrait or anything. I don’t think any copies were made. It was taken just hours before Mom was killed, and for a long time my father had bigger things to worry about.”

    I felt awful for having forgotten that, even if it was twelve years ago.

    Suddenly the front door knocker boomed through the house. “Must be Anna, the little neighbor girl. I told her I’d help her with her homework today,” Katie called over her shoulder as she walked towards the front hall. Normally she would have asked who was there before opening it, especially since we were alone in the house. But, expecting Ana, she opened it without that precaution. I was behind her by then, and was shocked to see a tall, dark-haired woman with a long gypsy-style skirt and a scowl on her face.

    “Katie Warren?” she said, and the scowl was in her voice, too.

    “Before I tell you who I am, suppose you tell me who you are.”

    “Never mind my name. I’m a person who connects with people from the other side, and I have a message for you.”

    Colleen motioned for me to follow her out to the front porch, then shut the door behind us. She was white, and clutched at her skirt with both hands, as though to keep them from trembling.

    “Little girl, I don’t have all the time in the world. And I’m not going to ask you if you want to hear the message. I get it, I give it, ready or not. ‘I know you’ve been told I was murdered, Honey, and I know it’s been like a hot coal in your heart. You’ve wanted to find out who did it, and you want to see them get justice. But Honey, it wasn’t like that.’” And that cold-hearted woman turned around and started down the porch steps.

    A few seconds later Colleen ran after her, calling out, “Wait! Please, wait!”

    The woman turned around, and there was something softer in her eyes. “Look, little girl, that’s all I know. If I hear any more, I’ll come back. Maybe she wants to see if you’ll believe this before she tells you more.”

    • Pattypans says:

      I’m very sorry, everybody, but I switched the names around in a lot of the dialog. I certainly should have proofread better…and maybe not posted after my bedtime, ha!

      Please disregard the above and consider the next post the proper one. Thanks, and again, I’m sorry. And embarrassed.

      Editor, please!!! Please give us a way to edit our own posts! We are only human!

    • don potter says:

      I want to know who killed Katie’s mother and why. Please tell us more.

      • Pattypans says:

        Are we even sure she’s dead? She said it wasn’t the way Colleen thought, so either she isn’t really dead, or it wasn’t murder. Because we already know that the family doesn’t know who did it if it was. At least it seems we know that.

  23. JRSimmang says:

    Fool Me Once,
    by JR Simmang

    Well, at least the coffee was hot.

    Carl was never one to freak out. But, this morning, he freaked his shit. Right after we heard the knock on the door, he dropped his phone on the floor, put his hands to his face, and screamed like a little girl. I sipped my coffee.

    “That’s… that’s the… p-p-p-person who took the p-p-p-picture!”

    “Yep, probably.”

    “How can you,” and at this point, as if it would help, he dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “sit there like that?”

    “I dunno.” I took another sip of coffee. “Don’t care. They’re bound to go away.” And, almost on cue, the knock came again, a little more aggressively.

    I couldn’t help but be a little entertained. Carl was dancing frantically, making little whiney noises, like what a pig would make wallowing in the mud, if the mud were complete uncertainty and almost certain doom. “Backdoor.” He breathed. “I’ll go out the back door.”

    “Good idea, genius. We’re in an apartment.” Then, the knocking came again, this time with a jiggle of the handle.

    “I wish I would have listened to my parents and bought a gun.”

    “To do what with? Shoot at the door?” Man, this prank was far more entertaining than the exploding toilet.

    “Um, um,” and he ran into the kitchen. He rustled around for a little bit then came back with a frying pan. “There. I have a plan.” The knocking was insistent. Randy was certainly playing his part well.

    “A frying pan. Because you don’t like knives?”

    “A knife! Great idea.” Carl ran back into the kitchen and returned with a knife in his non-frying pan hand. “Okay, you open the door and I’ll rush out wailing!”

    “Okay,” I giggled to myself. “Whatever.” I stood up, walked to the front door, and unlocked the deadbolt. The door flew open, knocking me to my ass, and that’s when I heard the gunshot.

    I shook my head. Standing in the doorway, Randy had a pistol aimed at my chest. Then the pain washed over me. It was indescribable, a cross between a hot poker and little fingers tearing a small hole into a larger one. “Randy?”

    Carl walked over to me and knelt beside me. “Oh, Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack. Shh. Conserve your strength. You’re going to need it when we throw you over Crabapple Point. You see, it’s not a good day to be my twin.” He stood up. “Oh, and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I don’t like pranks, you asshole.”

    I was bleeding heavily. How was I going to get out of this one?

    • don potter says:

      I really liked the way you described how the gun shot wound felt. You used “Yep” in the story. Does anyone, except an old cowboy say yep, howdy or reckon any more?

    • DMelde says:

      Hmm, let me guess who the bad twin is. jeepers, I feel bad for Jack, Good story.

    • smallster21 says:

      Hahaha, oh my goodness, I was laughing so hard picturing Carl doing his little girlie freak out dance with Jack sitting there so relaxed and amused. Carl’s frantic behavior and comments are friggin’ hilarious!…but, the tone of the story changed very, very abruptly, maybe too abruptly, but that is my own subjective opinion. I also tip my hat to your GSW description.

    • Amy says:

      Loved your story, JRSimmang. Very creative and the ending was very unexpected. The sudden shift in tone didn’t bother me a bit; if anything, it fueled my interest. Excellent dialogue. I am jealous of your comedic skills.

    • JRSimmang says:

      Thanks, everyone. I was a little concerned about the turning point myself. Perhaps, I should have Carl and Randy enjoy a nice sassafras soda over Jack’s blanching corpse. Amy, thanks for the compliment; I wasn’t convinced the humor was coming across. Doug, Don, Small, D, thanks!

  24. blanderson says:

    I sat slack-jawed, incredulously looking at the image on the screen. It was me and David, laughing while having a beer in his living room. The photo wasn’t remotely scandalous, but it was peculiar nonetheless. Who took that photo? Who sent it to him? And why?

    David was a reasonably clever guy. He was good with computers, but neither of us were especially tech savvy, so we’d have to enlist someone to help us identify who the person was.

    I called David.

    “Go!”

    “David. I got the tweet. What the hell, man?”

    “No idea. That photo was taken just last week, and I’m sure no one else was home.”

    David lived in a downtown condo with two roommates. He was in his early 30s and, frankly, should probably mature a bit. Living with two twenty something guys, partying every night…it was kind of sad in a way. Still, he was a good friend, and though I was now married with a kid, we had a good time together.

    “I didn’t think so. Let me think about it.”

    I hung up. I knew David smoked pot on occasion and had a rather lengthy record with women, but none of this struck me as particularly motivating to stealthily get an anonymous photo and send it. Someone must have been fucking with him. That’s really the only explanation. But, again, who and why?

    There was a knock on the door. My little girl Riley wanted to play with me, so I hopped off the computer. The issue gnawed at me all evening, but I couldn’t solve the mystery.

    The next morning I received a text on my phone. The message from David read, “Got it!”

    “What? The tweet?” I responded.

    “Yeah. Let’s meet at Harry’s for happy hour after work.”

    That was David. He couldn’t just answer the question. The answer had to be drawn out, and usually revealed in some social setting. Always an excuse to grab a beer, or catch a game, or whatever.

    I was able to leave the office at about 5:15 and headed over to Harry’s. This was a local hotspot, with all the suits lined up at the bar by 5 (often by 3:30 or 4). I grabbed a spot near the end of the bar, ordered my favorite microbrew and waited.

    David was late. This was not altogether unusual, but still frustrating. I texted my wife about the developments. Surely annoyed, she replied, “OK, but get home soon.” I waited another half hour and still nothing. I had texted David a handful of times, but got no reply.

    What the fuck?

    I checked Twitter and Facebook. No communication from David, but nothing unusual. My wife texted me, “??!!” I knew I better get home.

    I arrived home to an excited daughter, an even more excited dog, and a kiss from the wife. I didn’t even notice David driving around the corner away from my house as I arrived.

  25. loadsafreckles says:

    “Who was it?”
    “Dunno…..there was nobody there”, John said as he closed the front door.
    “Probably just kids. So, back to this photo?”
    There was no reply from him.
    “John?”
    “Uh-hu?”, John was distracted from the phone call as he pulled back the curtains and looked out the window. He could not see anyone in the darkness.
    “JOHN”, I shouted. “The photo?”
    “Oh yeah, sorry Kate”. He was back to our conversation
    “So you have no idea who this person is ?”
    “Not a clue. His twitter name is @Smileydog. The only other person I know with that name is my brother. I mean….was….my brother”.
    The tone of his voice changed.
    “Are you ok?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Joh…”.
    “Shush……”. Silence followed. “I think I heard someone”, he whispered.
    I stayed silent.
    “I will call you back”.
    Clunk, he put the phone down.

    John walked up the stairs cautiously, one step at a time. He paused when his foot hit the squeaky step near the top and cocked his ear to see if he could hear anything.
    Then he laughed to himself, ‘Stop being an idiot’. He went into the bathroom. Leaning over the sink he threw water on his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move from underneath the doorway. John Froze. He could feel his heart beating faster inside his chest as he held his breath. Opening the door slowly, he peered out into the hallway. It was empty. He ran down the stairs and dialled Kate’s number. There was no answer.

    John sat on the sofa, clutching his phone in his sweaty palms. He wished Kate was with him. He always felt at ease when his best friend was here.
    Beep
    The message from his phone made him jump. He flipped it open. It was a tweet from @Smileydog , with another photo. John opened the link and looked at the photo. He could not make it out. He turned the phone sideways, and back again. It looked like a man sitting down but he could not see the face. John zoomed. The man had his back to the camera. The more he stared at the photo the more visible things became. The room was familiar. Had he been there at some stage ?
    Suddenly, the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood up.
    It was himself in the photo, in this house, in the same clothes he had on now.
    He dropped the phone and went to run for the door. A sharp pain struck John’s head. The room spun. He fell to the floor.

    They say that just before you die your past life runs through your mind. I hope in John’s case it did. I wanted him to relive the day he murdered his brother, the day he hit him with his car and left him for dead. The day he took my love from me.

    I looked down at John as he lay on the floor, blood spilling from his head.
    “K..a…t…e….”.
    I leaned towards him. He reached his arms out to me.
    “That’s for Alex”, I whispered, and I left the house.

    • blanderson says:

      Really nice. Good motive, plausible. Well done.

    • Cindy_The_Great says:

      Loadsafreckles, I believe I recently read something of yours from a past prompt that almost made me tear up, and now this has actually frightened me, which is hard to do. You are a great writer.I don’t usually leave comments longer than a sentence, but your work is really really good. Flawless writing, stimulating plot, and it kept me on the edge of my seat for sure. I actually get excited now when I see you post a response. Amazing!

      • loadsafreckles says:

        wow, thank you again. I struggled with this prompt a little so I was prepared for more negative feedback so thank you so much. This is my 2nd prompt so I’m trying to figure out what suits me so any feedback you have, whether it be negative or positive is greatly appreciated.

    • this was a great read, loadsoffreckles. I got the chills from this one.

    • don potter says:

      Good read. As they say, revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold. That is if you’re into that sort of thing and Kate obviously is.

    • DMelde says:

      Great story. Well written. I loved the whispered line at the end. She got her revenge in a grand, wicked way.

    • smallster21 says:

      The pacing was perfect for me. You strung me along, slowly making the goosebumps appear on my skin, and the hairs stand up on my arms. Love when a writer can do that! Not sure how I felt about the POV changing three different times. It starts in first person, shifts to third, then back to first person. I might consider starting in third person from John’s POV, then switch to Kate’s after she knocks him unconscious. It just switches POV really fast, making it difficult to get established with the character before switching to the next. Overall, fun read! :)

      • loadsafreckles says:

        thanks so much for your comment. I’m glad you mentioned the POV. I struggled with this as I didn’t feel it sat right but then I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking it or not. I’m glad you said this as it was taught me to trust my instinct in future and not doubt myself when I feel something is not right. Thanks again.

    • Amy says:

      Excellent story and very chilling. My only criticism is that the POV seems to shift abruptly from Kate’s perspective to a sort of omniscient, outside view, and then back to Kate’s again. That was a little jarring to me, but otherwise a great read.

      • loadsafreckles says:

        Thanks Amy. I agree 100% with you. I felt it wasn’t right myself but then I started to doubt myself and I left it. You are the 2nd person to mention it and I’m relieved so at least I know now that if something feels wrong, I should take it out/change it instead of doubting my own judgement. Thanks again. These comments are a great help in helping us all to grow.

  26. DMelde says:

    Edythe lived with the Fox River People during the Neolithic Age of humanity until she was twenty three years old. She lived a wonderful life that was filled with love and family, and a spiritual coexistence with nature. Then, during the annual spring flooding, she slipped on a wet rock and fell into the swift, raging water to her death.
    “Such a wonderful life!” Edythe thought afterwards.
    Edythe didn’t really die because she was an exceptional human being. She couldn’t die as her ancestors had died throughout the centuries. She was the end product of technology and evolution, a human being of pure thought. Her life span rivaled that of the stars. Her death in the Fox River valley merely created an opening for another exceptional human to join them in their simple life. Adam, the engineer who created the Neolithic matrix, had one strict rule; no one could be born until someone else had died. The population of the Fox River People thereby was kept constant, with a long waiting list of people wanting to join.
    “Where should I go now?” Edythe wondered.
    Among the many destinations for Edythe to choose from, she decided to try a new matrix built around the dawn of the Internet Age. The Internet Age fascinated Edythe. Before the internet, human knowledge had doubled every ten years. After the internet, world knowledge doubled every eighteen months. Then, when internet two began, knowledge doubled every eleven hours. What was impossible to do at breakfast time became possible to do by dinnertime. This happened daily, until humans had advanced so far that they roamed among the stars like gods, but they never forgot their humble beginnings, and for them their human history became a major fascination.
    Edythe entered the Internet matrix in a quiet neighborhood of a small town along the coast of Portugal. She breathed in the fragrance of flowers and saltwater air. She noticed, sitting at an outdoor cafe, a young man frowning at his cell phone.
    Walking up to him she said, “Hi, I’m Edythe, mind if I join you?”
    “Not at all, please sit down. I’m Jon.”
    “It’s nice to meet you Jon. I couldn’t help but notice you frowning at your phone. Is everything okay?”
    “Oh, everything’s fine. It’s my new Apple phone. There’s a glitch in my twitter app that I can’t quite figure out. I keep getting these weird messages.”
    Edythe smiled. Software glitches, she loved it! So far this looked like an excellent matrix.
    “You know what the weirdest part is? Jon asked. “These messages are all about you. How can that be? We’ve never met before have we?”
    “No, I’m sure I’d remember you.” Edythe said.
    Jon’s phone beeped and, looking down, Jon frowned again.
    “I just got a picture. Here, look at this.” Jon said.
    Edythe looked at the picture. It showed the two of them sitting at the cafe.
    Edythe smiled again. “It’s the matrix engineer,” she thought, “playing matchmaker. What a hopeless romantic!”

    • Kerry Charlton says:

      What a refreshing breath of air. The reader gets swept along with your story, waiting for the next sentence to play. I love the sentence,”until humans had advanced so far, that they roamed among the stars like gods.” But your emphasis about love, wraps the story in a warm, fuzzy blanket. Leaves your reader with a smile. Maybe we’re turning a corner here. Great job.

    • Barouches says:

      I love your stories DMelde; such an easy flow to read, and interesting concepts to provoke thought within the reader.

    • smallster21 says:

      Completely off-the-wall. Lol, in a good way :) Interesting concept. I love this idea. Very sci-fi and seems to play with dimensional string theory. I think it would add to the story if you mention something about Edythe’s background in the romance department at the beginning of the story. It would tie nicely into the ending if she is yearning for an emotional connection. She may describe her life as wonderful, but adding some layers and emotional depth would make her seem more human and easier to connect with. This is only a suggestion, and for a short, short story, this was very imaginative. I really did enjoy the plot; I read it several times!

    • don potter says:

      A wonderful piece of storytelling.

    • I like how you stitched together a sci-fi piece, dmelde. nicely played. *tips hat*

    • Amy says:

      Really imaginative and different. Kudos for standing out.

  27. J.E.T. says:

    Tim opened the door and two men in dark suits and dark sun glasses entered from the night. They threw Tim against the wall and the guy with a gun tattoo on his cheek grabbed Tim by the hair, “What did you think? Think this is 2013 where tweeting negative comments against senators was okay?”

    Andrew made a run for it yelling, “Tim I told you no naughty political satire on Twitter!”

    Tim turned his face to breathe. “I’m sorry, I will vote for Senator Kaskill. I was joking on the tweet. He doesn’t look like an old lady.”

  28. Barouches says:

    “Here’s another one!” Gerry said sitting in front of his computer.

    “Another what?” I said, nursing my swollen ankle on his thread bare couch. A few days before, we’d been having a rough-and-tumble game of football with the Kappa Alpha guys next door, and I was beginning to wondering if a trip to the doctor was in order.

    “I thought you said this Twitter thing was fun. This isn’t fun, this is creepy.” Gerry said in disgust.

    “Let me see.” I put down my cell phone, hoisted myself from the couch, grabbed one of the old crutches that Gerry had dug out of his closet for me, and started to amble over to the computer screen. “What’s goin’ on?”

    “Look.” He said pointing to the screen. “Almost as soon as you helped me create this account some whacko started sending me messages. At first it wasn’t too bad, but it’s getting out of hand now.”

    “What’ve they been saying?” I asked as I tried to get closer to the screen to see.

    “At first it was just word games, like ‘who am I talking to’, and ‘well, who do you think this is’, but then it got more threatening.”

    “And this was just over the past couple days?” I asked scrutinizing the computer screen over his shoulder.

    “Yeah, but the worst has been this morning; look at this!” He pointed to a picture of himself making eggs in the kitchen that very morning. He was still wearing the sweats he had on in the picture. Below the picture was tweeted, ‘the countdown begins….tick, tock, tick, tock’.

    “Dude, what’s that supposed to mean? We need to call someone!” I said.

    “This fucker has been in my house! There’s gotta be a camera, we’ve gotta look for the camera!” Just as Gerry completed his thought a forceful knock erupted at the door.

    “Who…” I quietly began, but Gerry put his finger to his lips. Anger and annoyance had broken down into raw fear.

    “Who is it?” He asked in a voice fraught with tension.

    “Police.” Gerry relaxed marginally, and rose to answer the door.

    “I was just going to…” He didn’t have time to finish, for the moment he opened the door, the police woman planted her foot in his chest and pushed him backwards, which sent me reeling backwards onto the couch again. He sprawled without grace upon the floor, and with the speed of a cat she was on him, strong armed him into his chair, and applied the cuffs.

    “I need YOU! I need the police!” He stammered. “I was just going to call you! I need the police!” She reached around and drew her gun on him, and he erupted in a high pitched yelp.

    “Shut up.” She demanded, while planting her foot on the chair at his crotch.

    “Yes ma’am.” He whimpered looking down the barrel. With her unoccupied hand she reached around and pulled out the bun she’d been wearing, and her black hair cascaded onto her shoulders. She then re-holstered the weapon, and began to unbutton her uniform top; but it was the expression of Gerry’s pure non-comprehension that started me laughing.

    “Dude, you should see the look on your face! Relax and enjoy it lug nut, I set you up. I admit it, it was me all along.”

    “All of it?”

    “All of it.” Gerry’s body expelled the tension in one giant gust.

    “This was all your doing?” Using his head to gesture at the stripper, then the computer.

    “Dude, it’s your birthday; I had to do something!”

    “Jeez man, what’s wrong with you? You could’ve just gotten me a gift card!”

  29. tytisha28 says:

    “Well I wonder who that is at the door?”; “I wasn’t expecting any company!” He quickly picks up the phone and starts calling to see who it may be. He knows what has been going on twitter and knows how crazy people can be. He calls his friend from the picture, “Hey is that you outside?” “I know we did not have any plans today, or at least you did not say you were coming over!” “Nope his friend answered”, as the knock continued and got louder by the minute! “Well someone is knocking at the door, and you know what I been going through with this weird person on twitter!” “Yes I know”. “You think I should answer because they are still knocking?” “No”, his friend shouted! “That person sent a picture of us both and don’t even know us, you better not open that door!” “Well how do we know it’s him?” “You don’t know but don’t want to take chances like that”. “Okay, what should I do, because I’m scared?” “You probably should call the police”. I’m on my way and maybe I could see who it is as I’m coming up to the house”. “Okay bye!” As the knock continued, he wanted to call others, but was too scared. “Who is it?” No one answered! “What do you want?” He asked frantically! “The police are on their way right now!” No one said anything once again, but continued to knock louder and louder! “Oh Lord”, he thought. He dialed his friend number again to see if he was on the way, but got no answer. It was a very unusual knock, because most people would knock a few times and if no one answered would leave. “Oh, I forgot to call the police!” He began to dial 911, and the knock came so hard that he dropped the phone and was too scared to pick it up! Then the person knocked and continued one after another. “Who is it?” he asked again and then again! No one said anything! “Man, I’m going to just see who it is”. He opens the curtain on the door just a little and peeped…”Oh my God, mom!” He opened the door mad, but happy also. “Mom I kept asking who was it and you did not say anything, you had me scared mom!” “Well I’m sorry son, but I just wanted you to open the door, and quickly!” “Mom, there is some crazy maniac on twitter that is stalking me and don’t even know me”; “On what son?” “Never mind, how are you doing ma?” “Well son, my hearing is a little up and down from all those firecrackers people were shooting for the forth”. “Well that’s why you could not hear me”. “Probably” his mom said. “Well, this is one day that I am glad to see you”. Then another knock came at the door. “It’s probably my friend; he was on his way over”. “Who is it?”

  30. slayerdan says:

    The knock at the door was no coincidence.

    Rick looked again at the tweet picture and back at the front door as the knocking repeated, this time louder and harder. Heart pounding, sweat beading on his forehead Rick knew it was time.

    Wiping the faint stream of tears from his eyes and taking a last look at the pictures of his wife and children on the living room wall, Rick bolted for the kitchen. Gnarling up his left hand into a fist, he slammed his hand into the backdrop wall over the stove. A dull ache lasted but a moment as his hand broke through. Pulling it out as the rest of the backdrop gave way, Rick produced a small gym bag.

    The knocking on the door was louder and harder yet again. Rick knew that was the last of the knocking. Unzipping the gym bag, he reached inside and made sure it was still there. He held the silk pouch in his hand, its contents still certain. A calmness washed over him as his hand moved from the pouch to the gun inside. Removing the gun from the bag as he zipped it and placed the strap over his head, Rick took note of his wifes coffee mug. He ran his fingers over the rim of the mug as her image once again danced in his head.

    He truly hoped they allowed her to live.

    Peering out the glass in the kitchen door, Rick saw the three men positioned at nine, twelve, and three o’clock.
    Their cover was questionable and Rick knew none of it would stop the rounds in his gun.

    Exactly as he had planned.

    This wasn’t the first time Rick had to run, and he knew probably not the last. He knew his escape routes and knew how recovery teams liked to position themselves. Unlocking the door and cracking it barely, he took three steps back. Taking a deep breath he charged the door, busting it open as he dove to the grass outside, rolling to his feet as he unloaded 6 rounds.

    Two each to nine, twelve, and three o clock.

    The bodies of the team were almost silent as they crumpled or fell to the ground. Rick sprinted past their downed bodies and through the opening in the back hedges that led to the next street over. Grabbing his cell, he managed to pull up Dan’s number. Dan answered on the first ring.

    “ It’s them,” Rick said in between breaths as he neared Dan’s house,” and I’m almost there.”

    “Understood,” Dan replied. Rick ended the call.

    Rick slowed his pace and ducked behind a parked SUV as he peered to the end of the street. The other team was surrounding Dans house. It was the same as seven years ago. Dan was trapped, maybe his current family too. Rick speed dialed a preset number on his phone and tossed it under the SUV. Looking down the road, a twinge of guilt and loss winked at his conscience. He patted the silk pouch and its precious contents through the gym bag.

    Then, running again, he became part of the night.

    • Pattypans says:

      Maybe I’m just dense about these things, but I would definitely like a little more information to help me understand what’s going on. I understand the limitations of the 500 words, and that some things can remain a mystery. But two things especially puzzled me: Why did he tell Dan he was on his way over (as if to help him, it would seem) and then just keep on going past his house, leaving Dan and his family trapped inside? And what was going to happen as a result of the phone’s being tossed under the SUV? I think it would have been good to have clarified at least those two points. But I could be wrong. Just food for thought.

      Also, you have a noticeable large number of present participles (verbs ending in -ing used as adjectives). I’d suggest rewording many of those. A simple example: Instead of “Wiping the faint stream of tears from his eyes and taking a last look at the pictures of his wife and children on the living room wall, Rick bolted for the kitchen,” how about “He wiped the faint stream of tears from his eyes, took a last look at the pictures of his wife and children on the living room wall, and bolted for the kitchen.”

      It sounds like a very interesting situation this guy’s in. I’d like to hear more!

      • Pattypans says:

        Oops, sorry…didn’t read my post over before hitting the post button. I meant noticeably large.

      • slayerdan says:

        I purposely left things to the readers imagination. Yeah, why didnt he go on to Dans? Seems maybe Dan was expendable, like other people before. Why did he toss the cell there? I try to stay close to the 500 words, and sometimes to do so, just have to leave some stuff up to the reader.

        I agree about the participles–100%. Over used for certain. Rereading it made that very apparent. Thanks.

    • Barouches says:

      Saw the scene where he punches the wall and retreives the gym bag in a movie. Nice writing style. Maybe develop this one into a short story for one of the contests, you’d have more words to work with in order to develop it.

    • smallster21 says:

      The action sequence is easy to follow, vivid, and fast-paced. You kept my attention throughout, and part of that is because I wanted to find out what was going on. I like leaving things up to the reader’s imagination, but not when it comes to the overall plot. I wouldn’t mind if you went over the word limit to develop the story and round it out more.

    • don potter says:

      You have a distinct voice, which is great for pulling the reader into the action. Don’t let the rules get in the way of good storytelling.

      • slayerdan says:

        In the draft there was a line about the phone being traced, so he made a call and tossed it under the SUV so if it was, it would go there. The narrative hints several times that he has been on the run before and while he was headed to his friend, his friend was now on his own.–thus the line “same as seven years ago”. What I found amusing is no one wondered whats in the silk pouch. And when I started here, there was an emphasis on staying close to the 500 limit—that was the challenge, tell a good, short story and then self edit. I always try to stay within 10%, or 550 or less. I have went over, but its not the norm. There are some amazing things Ive read here that are 600/700/800 or more words–and they are great, but not in the spirit of the weekly prompt. I took a little break from all writing due to a family death, and am glad to see the prompts have been getting so much action—Ive been reading through the last couple of months and some really good stuff there–really good. Anyway–thanks for the words from everyone, and here’s to the next pronmpt!!

    • I liked this one slayerdan. I haven’t seen many posts from you lately. welcome back.

      • slayerdan says:

        Thanks Doug. Ive been reading the past few weeks prompts and it seems I missed about 8 weeks—time can get away from us now and again. Life is back to normal, so should be here regularly. Glad you are still here. :)

    • DMelde says:

      Welcome back Dan. I’m sorry for your loss. I figured the phone was a timer for an explosion to distract away from Dan, to give him his chance to escape too. As for the contents of the silk pouch, diamonds was the first thing I thought of. Good, well written story.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Great, fast paced story, Slayerdan. I also figured the phone would set off an explosion and eliminate Rick’s house to divert those surrounding Dan’s house. As far as the silk purse, I imagined perfectly matched black pearls from Tahiti. I ramped my imagination up and finished my own version. A lot of fun that way.

    • Amy says:

      Welcome back, slayerdan. So sorry to hear of a loss in the family, and hope all is as well as can be at this point for you. Good writing, as usual. Very action packed and mysterious. You have a knack for describing things well without the overuse of adjectives and adverbs. I agree, to keep to the limit, sometimes you just have to cut and let the reader make their own assumptions. Nice work.
      Side note, I am curious about what is in the pouch…

    • Pattypans says:

      Slayerdan, my condolences on your loss. I’m glad you’re writing again.

  31. Kerry Charlton says:

    DOUBLE JEOPARDY

    ‘Why would the Telekinesis Institute at Penn State even bother with me’ I thought, still in bed from cramming till two last night. ‘I have a hard time getting up for class, let alone having the ability to move inanimate objects with my mind.’

    “Hello Piper,” I said, catching my cell on the first ring.

    “Brad, I’m worried.”

    “About what, baby?”

    “Someone I don’t know is tweeting every hour.”

    “Sounds like harassment, Piper. I don’t have a class until noon. Can you meet at the library in twenty minutes?”

    “Thanks Brad, I’ll be there.”

    The walk across campus invigorated me. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed Piper about Twitter,’ I thought. ‘Why would someone try to upst her?’

    Fear etched Piper’s eyes as she hurried to my side.

    “You’re not going to believe this,” she said, placing her smart phone before me.

    “Do you have an identical twin?” she asked.

    The photo showed me on one side of Piper at her fourth of July party last week. On the other side, a carbon copy of me, glared at the phone.

    “No. of couse not,” I answered. But I had seen my image in my shaving mirror yesterday, standing behind
    me. I thought at the time, it must have been a mirage or double vision.

    “Go home Piper. Lock your door and don’t let anyone in; promise?”

    “Why Brad?”

    “There’s something I need to check on. I’ll call as soon as I can, okay?”

    She nodded her approval and rushed out of the library. I ran to the Telekinesis lab on the fourth floor of the science center, to Dr. Montgomery’s office.

    “These experiments you’ve put my mind through, have materialized part of me in another person,” I said. “I’m afraid it’s not the good side of me, professor.”

    “Fascinating,” he said. “We actually split your personality into two living forms. I’m afraid it’s your
    Id.”

    “What are you going to do about it, professor?”

    “Come in tomorrow and we’ll study the issues,” he said.

    “The hell with you and your experiments. I’ll solve this myself,” and I walked out. Running back to my dorm, I grabbed my Bowie knife and sprinted toward Piper’s apartment. Her phone didn’t answer and I feared the worst when I saw her door battered in.

    “Let go of her,” I said. My image stood across Piper’s living room, holding a knife to her throat.

    “What are you going to do about it,” he said. “Kill me and you destroy yourself.”

    “That’s what you think,” I said.

    I watched every move he made with his eyes. Piper winked at me and shoved her elbow into the Id, leaving him in clear range. My Bowie knife hurtled across the room, burying itself in his chest, spliting it like a chicken. His hand gripped the handle and his body crumpled to the floor like dirty linen. And everything turned to black.

    “Can you hear me darling?”, echoed through the cobwebs of my mind. “You,ve been in a coma for three days but the doctor says you’ll be fine in a day or so.”

    I saw enough of Piper’s face to assure me.

    “I love you, I said and fell back to sleep.

    • Barouches says:

      Clever take on the prompt. I admit, this one has me vexed.

    • frankd1100 says:

      Would be an exciting episode on ‘Fringe’… Nice writing, Kerry.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Thank you Frank. Goes to show, I can write a little testy when I need to. I’m waiting for a prompt on banshees so I can go full throttle.

    • smallster21 says:

      Telekinesis Institute? Interesting :) I’d make the setting more alive by having things float around the quad, books flying about their heads in the library, tackling the Id with a multitude of objects to defeat him, or himself?…lol, very clever. Nice take on the prompt.

      I liked having the beginning, middle and end all here, because I’m an impatient reader, so I like getting to the action. Though, it did feel rushed…but, that is with all our stories, suppose it depends on what aspect of writing you want to work on with the prompt. For this story, I’d say you came up with an unique setting and your plot is definitely interesting. It is an idea worthy of further exploration, and I enjoyed reading it :)

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Thank you smallster. It’s very tempting to push the 500 to bring more color to the stories. Sometimes, I think my plots are too involved for flash fiction. I’ll certainly redo the story. It should and can be around 2000 to make it complete. Always look forward to your review. [Wires still melted]

    • don potter says:

      Those Penn State boys are tough. Enjoyed your story.

    • This, for some reason, reminded me of Ghostbusters. no particular reason past the character of Peter Vinkman. This was a great write, Kerry.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Thanks Doug. I’ve used the Bowie knife before to expel bad characters. Not an easy way to die. I still wish I had another two hundred to expand this story.

    • DMelde says:

      Ah, I wonder if the professor has been in the background talking with Brad’s doctor. I’m sensing something here. Maybe Brad, the experiment, isn’t over yet? Great story!

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Hi DMelde, Have you been entering my mind when I write? There is a sinister plot that the professor is up to. That’s why his ‘off the wall’ answer to Brad is so weak. He doesn’t want the experiment to end. I admire your insight into this story. Thanks for posting your thoughts.

    • Amy says:

      I feel a little bit like I did the first time I watched “Total Recall”… was he in a coma from trying to kill his Id and it backfired on him, or was the whole thing a dream while he was in the coma??? An enjoyable read, to be sure. On a side note, Brad and Piper need to stop saying each others’ names every time they speak; it really disrupts the otherwise suspenseful flow. Great originality.

      • Kerry Charlton says:

        Thanks for your comments, Amy. I am guilty of using names too much. I appreciate the critique there. You are excellent in your analysis of stories. I agree that once we push ‘post comment’, the ship has sailed.

        I thought killing a part of his mind, [Id], would put him in a coma. But both avenues are possible and I leave it up to the reader to decide.

  32. BandyB says:

    When the photo popped upon the screen Jim leaned into the screen examining it closely, his eyebrows pulling together on his forehead. “You are not going to believe this Lissy.” He said, his voice rough like he needed a glass of water. Lissy rolled her eyes walking toward the desk in his den at which he sat.

    “Gosh Jim welcome to the twenty first century, twitter isn’t really that hard.” She said her voice drenched in sarcasm, though she was only kidding. “Look all you have to do is…” Lissy stopped when her large doe eyes landed on the screen. On the screen was an image of herself and her friend. “What is…” She was cut off, this time by a loud knock on the door. She gave Jim a worried look when he got up walking toward the stairs. The knocks came again this time more rapidly. “Jim don’t answer it!” She hissed, fear holding her feet to the floor like superglue. The photo on the screen had to be taken in the last few minutes because this was the first time she had warn her Hellokitty tshirt, and it was the same in the photo.

    “Well I cant just sit here.” He said walking slowly up the stairs, he grabbed a baseball bat off the was, that was there for decoration. Lissy moved, finally, grabbing a candlestick. It wasn’t a very practical weapon of choice but she was hoping she wouldn’t really need one. “Who is it?” Jim shouted, his voice sounding more stern than normal. Slowly he grabbed the knob, holding the bat tightly with the other hand, turning it until the door opened with a click. Jim pushed it open with a bat but no one answer, nor were they in sight.

    “Jim just lock the door.” Lissy said. At the same time the computer chimed, she turned her head another picture had popped up, this one like before was unmistakably new cause it was of her holding the candle stick. She dropped the wooden candle holder and it split in two. “Oh my god Jim, we need to get out of hear.” She cried running up the stairs. At the moment Jims parents jumped out Yelling real loud and laughing. Lissy sighed, they had finally got back at them for the hot tub prank.

  33. tytisha28 says:

    “Well I wonder who that is at the door?”; “I wasn’t expecting any company!” He quickly picks up the phone and starts calling to see who it may be. He knows what has been going on twitter and know how crazy people can be. He calls his friend from the picture, “Hey is that you outside?” “I know we did not have any plans today, or at least you did not say you were coming over!” “Nope his friend answered”, as the knock continued and got louder by the minute! “Well someone is knocking at the door, and you know what I been going through with this weird person on twitter!” “Yes I know”. “You think I should answer because they are still knocking?” “No”, his friend shouted! “That person sent a picture of us both and don’t even know us, you better not open that door!” “Well how do we know it’s him?” “You don’t know but don’t want to take chances like that”. “Okay, what should I do, because I’m scared?” “You probably should call the police”. I’m on my way and maybe I could see who it is as I’m coming up to the house”. “Okay bye!” As the knock continued, he wanted to call others, but was too scared. “Who is it?” No one answered! “What do you want?” He asked frantically! “The police are on their way right now!” No one said anything once again, but continued to knock louder and louder! “Oh Lord”, he thought. He dialed his friend number again to see if he was on the way, but got no answer. It was a very unusual knock, because most people would knock a few times and if no one answered would leave. “Oh, I forgot to call the police!” He began to dial 911, and the knock came so hard that he dropped the phone and was too scared to pick it up! Then the person knocked and continued one after another. “Who is it?” he asked again and then again! No one said anything! “Man, I’m going to just see who it is”. He opens the curtain on the door just a little and peeped…”Oh my God, mom!” He opened the door mad, but happy also. “Mom I kept asking who was it and you did not say anything, you had me scared mom!” “Well I’m sorry son, but I just wanted you to open the door, and quickly!” “Mom, there is some crazy maniac on twitter that is stalking me and don’t even know me”; “On what son?” “Never mind, how are you doing ma?” “Well son, my hearing is a little up and down from all those firecrackers people were shooting for the forth”. “Well that’s why you could not hear me”. “Probably” his mom said. “Well, this is one day that I am glad to see you”. Then another knock came at the door. “It’s probably my friend; he was on his way over”. “Who is it” he asked. But no one said anything.

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