Complete and Utter Chaos

The March 2020 issue of Writer’s Digest is now arriving in mailboxes and on newsstands! The issue theme is chaos, with features by Jonathan Maberry on switching genres and Jessica Strawser on building suspense with out-of-character behavior. This week’s writing prompt will make use of chaos.

Creative Writing Prompt: Complete and Utter Chaos

Create a scene of chaos. Perhaps a character is panicking, a bunch of different things are going on at once, there’s a huge mess, or someone is running out of time—or all of the above!

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

20 thoughts on “Complete and Utter Chaos

  1. Avatarrgh

    The park above the city was peaceful, serene really, just before the worst afternoon ever. The sky, azure blue, held puffs of white clouds so high they appeared like small caricatures. A light breeze rustled leafy maples throughout the area, where families and couples relaxed and played and lay on manicured lawn.

    Jenine sat next to Makao, letting his warmth melt inside her. She turned to him, and he smiled back, set his book down, and reached.

    The ground rumbled, a minor event that nobody responded to except the animals. Jenine watched as squirrels darted up trees and dogs laid to the ground and whimpered. There was a horse drawing a carriage next to the park. It stopped and wagged its head as if saying no. The ground shook again and dogs began to howl. The horse launched in panic, yanking reigns from the driver’s hands and lurching the carriage, tossing its inhabitants and upsetting the wagon onto its side. Sparkler-like fireworks jetted from metal axles, the horse flattening a group standing dumbly in its way.

    Dirt heaved, separating Jenine and Makao, her ground rose, and his fell away as a large fissure opened, weaving its way across the park. Makao disappeared into smoke and fire.

    A hundred people, maybe more, woke from their peaceful dreams, darting to and fro, senseless and without direction. Some chose poorly, following Makao into the steam and smoke-filled opening. They screamed, but not for long. Jenine rolled away from the edge, grasping the lawn for purchase as the world tilted inward. Her legs burned as she climbed, finally reaching the top and leaping a two-foot crack onto safer ground.

    “My baby!” a woman screamed. Jenine stood paralyzed and gazed back at the small cart conveying a tiny infant into the abyss. The woman fell to her knees and covered her face, muting her cries. A maple came down not feet from her, but she didn’t move, still sobbing into her hands. Another crashed, and she went quiet.

    The rumbling continued, geysers of hot steam and smoke and ash flaring from random locations. Men, women, and children ran without direction or meaning, as random as a thousand coins dropped to the street. It made no sense. Jenine sat, centered in carnage and chaos and sipping bad air, knowing her choices meant nothing. She was nothing, and her running about wouldn’t change her fate.

    An hour passed and she remained, still alive. A thin gray mist settled across ragged terrain and the area was quiet. No whimpering dogs or screaming people. She breathed in and coughed. It burned, acrid and sulfuric, probably toxic. Animals, with their quick breathing probably went first, followed by the crowd that had panicked, running through thick clouds of poisonous gas and gulping air. In the end, it was only her. The mist lifted and dispersed, drifting southward, revealing the fallen herds. She walked to the park’s edge and peered into the valley, it’s air thick and gray with smoke.

    1. AvatarCyberlover77

      “It’s a terrifying world out there” her mother often told her when the news would play something tragic such as another teenage suicide due to reckless usage of social media by cruel people or another paramilitary plot costs countless lives both young and old and from various backgrounds. And afterwards her mother would become convinced that there is a bomb beneath her white Toyota. Janine would be the one to comfort and assure her that nobody is interested in doing such things to her, but her mother was harshly set in her ways and once an idea presented itself in her head there was no stopping it.
      Now she’s gone who’s gonna comfort and assure Janine?.
      The lights are still green and those metal death traps are flying at what should be illegal speeds.
      What happens if someone loses control of their car and it tips over, crushing those waiting patiently to cross. Two other people are standing next to her. Both of them men. Janine knows their intention before they could even show it. She knows the intentions of every man that walks through her line of vision. Meat. And her meat at that.

      One of the men. A tall brutish looking man dressed from the neck down in tattoos and an unflattering haircut to match. One side of his head has hair dripping down to his shoulder and the other is almost bald. From his nose hung a septum ring covered with snot and rust. On the other side stood a man shorter and closer to her height at 5’9. Unlike the other man he wasn’t sporting a crazy trend or disgusting body scribbles. He looked smart. Wrapped in a beige trench coat that almost touches his ankles.
      Glasses big enough to weigh down his head sat promptly on his nose. Both of them more interested in whatever their phones are showing them instead of the thin raggedly dressed woman with death pale skin and baggy eyes and unclean black hair. The gruff one looks up from his phone realising the button hasn’t been pressed at all and that he’s been standing waiting for nothing. He stretches his muscular arm towards the light to press it and suddenly the clatter of shoes can be heard ahead.

      Everything froze around her. All sound was drowning out but still fighting to keep itself in hearing distance. Any movement had become a blur. A strange sense of calm befell her. Car’s narrowly swerved and blasted their horns. Others flipped her off and some broke to a halt all together. Oblivious to the danger is flowing around her in unknown quantities.

      When one of the blurred shapes narrowly missed her but a small part of it managed to smack against her thigh. Janine snapped to. Shouting could be heard from behind. Warning her to “get off the road” and “your fucking crazy”. When the lights turned green she could feel the two men approaching. Their unsavoury desires practically echoing with their footsteps.

      Before either of them could grab her. Janine shot off like a bullet. Grocery’s slipping out in the process. Heart pounding and her insides tying themselves in tighter and deeper knots over what happend. What do they think of me? The idiot who ran out in front of a bunch of cars? Well maybe if they knew what those men intended to do to me they would think differently.

  2. AvatarM.P. McCarthy

    The ear-splitting crash of stacked plates hitting the hard tile floor blared throughout the kitchen. All eyes briefly looked toward the noise, instantly registering the same fear. A tall pile of aluminum pans teetered on the edge of a stainless steel shelf, threatening to follow the lead of their ceramic cousins. Miraculously it stayed in place. The newly hired dishwasher breathed a sigh of relief, realizing his clumsiness wouldn’t cause further damage. It was Saturday night, and the hottest new restaurant in Manhattan was hopping.

    Deliberately concealed from well healed patrons, the cramped kitchen stood in stark contrast to the grand expanse of the lavish dining suite. With a full compliment of staff, twelve people shared a space meant for six. A busy weekend surge forced a vigilant weave, where even a small misstep could end in disaster. Sharp knives, boiling liquids and hands supporting carefully balanced trays added danger to the dance.

    Searing meats, clanging utensils and whistling steam caused voices to be raised, the rising crescendo deafening in the confined hotbox while merry diners feasted, blissfully unaware. Soundproofed walls enveloped the workers.

    Just as things couldn’t get worse, an odor wafted and chocked the human sardines. Two of the waiters began visibly gagging, while the sous chef actually vomited into the food prep sink. This caused a chain reaction of general unpleasantness. Some were able to run out the back door, seeking the freshness of outdoor air. This turned out to be a mistake, however, as the root cause of the smell was revealed to be a back up of the main sewer line. The external grease trap had overflowed and mixed with raw sewage escaping from a nearby manhole. The foulness of the indoor air had intensified by the opening of the exterior door.

    Seeing as things had quickly gone sideways, it was only fitting that one of the more prominent diners took this exact moment to loge a complaint regarding her dish.

    “My Coq Au Vin is off temperature” she said with a tonality combined of superiority and disgust. “By at least five degrees” she added, arrogantly distinguishing her culinary knowledge.

    The waiter on the receiving end of her critique smiled and apologized to her. “Would you like another dish prepared, Madam?” He asked in his most pleasant manner, simultaneously hoping she hadn’t detected his dripping sarcasm. He was having a rough enough time this evening, and he was now watching his rapidly diminishing tip shrink away to nothing.

    Focused only on her own demeanor, she remained oblivious to his concern. “Yes I would, you can’t seriously think that I would eat this, do you?” She said, her hand passing over the food with a magician’s flourish.

    Her gesture, combined with the overall craziness currently taking place in the kitchen, instantly caused a most human reaction. With no more thought of a tip, he began to laugh. And the more he laughed the funnier it got, and the funnier it got the more he laughed.

  3. Avatarfreelancewriter0972

    Ruthie Benecort was hoping for a somewhat relaxed evening at home so she could begin writing her first byline for the style section of the local newspaper. She had interviewed five chefs about the changing dynamic of the restaurant scene in Washington, DC. Before she left the house that morning, Ruthie had cut some vegetables and placed them in the crock pot along with a roast. Her mouth had been watering for that roast all day. She knew her husband Jeff and son Quentin would enjoy it too.

    She got home around 5:30 that evening. She washed her hands and wanted see how the roast looked after cooking on slow in the crock pot all day. But to her surprise, the crock pot wasn’t even plugged up. ‘This is great,’ she thought sarcastically. Now she needed to come up with a quick meal she could prepare. She decided on a shrimp stir fry. But no sooner that she could assemble the ingredients, her phone rang. It was her son-in-law Maurice. “Hi Mom. I don’t want you to panic, but the baby has decided on arriving a few weeks early. Lisa is in labor. Can you meet us as the hospital?” “I’m on my way,” Ruthie said excitedly. Her mind was a whirlwind, wondering who she could get to watch nine-year old Quentin. She decided to give their 16-year old neighbor Brianna a call. When Brianna arrived five minutes later, Ruthie quickly explained the situation to Quentin, and left Brianna enough money to order a pizza.

    After several attempts, Ruthie finally reached her husband. He had a flat tire on the way home, and was at the gas station. “Meet me at the hospital. Lisa is in labor already.” She knew Brianna had her own schedule and would not be able to stay with Quentin all evening. So she called her sister Janet and asked her to stay with him.

    Four hours later, after a chaotic evening, Ruthie and Jeff’s daughter gave birth to their first grandchild; welcoming her son Maurice Jr. into the world.

  4. AvatarEmmageek

    “Mi…Mic…Michael. His name is Michael,” I gasped out, “Help me.”
    The man pulled my gripping hands off his shirt.
    His next words were not my native tongue.
    Michael’s sweaty, chubby hand clasped mine as we strolled through the bazaar. The weeks of being a convalescent in an unknown town were over. We were free to explore. What an adventure.

    I looked down and his dad’s brown eyes looked up at me and he smiled. His front teeth popping back through. Then, his hand slid out. The masses swelled in on me, pulling Michael away. Gone.
    The throng had taken him.

    The market’s colors, spun around, kaleidoscope style. The Tower of Babel as people pushed me away. I struggled through them, the salmon of people pushing up-river. I was ignored. Pushed, pulled, shaken. My knees hit the gritty dirt. A gentleman with a gun at his side took my hands, pulling me to my feet.

    “My son was just here. I can’t find him. We must look for him. He’s going to be so scared.”
    The sound of his voice was the white noise of the spring monsoons, white noise. The humidity pressed in on me, the colors continued to spin. The fabric of the man’s shirt was all that held me together.

    “Please help me. Call my husband, Chad. He should be here. Where is he? Where is everyone?”
    The wails erupted and tore through my soul. The man pulled his phone out, dialed frantically.
    “Mrs. Nicholson.”
    An ebony face appeared from the crowd.
    “It’s okay. Chad is on his way.”
    A pinch on my arm and the colors slowed down, the face cleared up.
    “Joseph?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Nicholson.”
    A blissful fog filled the empty, hollow space inside me.
    The click of the lamp woke me. An old man sat down on the bed. His cool hands took mine in his.
    “Dotty. There you are.”
    His soft, pleasant voice eased me. I felt a click inside of a lock opening.
    “Do I know you?”
    His smile didn’t falter, and he pulled my hands toward his chest.
    “We’re old friends.”
    “Oh, I think I would remember if we were friends.”
    A man moved by the door to my room.
    “Do you remember, Joseph?”
    “Yes, the nice man from the bazaar.”
    My heart pounded in my chest.
    “Where’s Michael?”
    “He’s not here, my sweet.”
    The wisps of memory formed thoughts, wiggled their way, each wisp a memory. I grabbed at more and more of them, spaghetti through my mind’s fingers. My heart swelled as I looked at the man.
    “Chad, is that you? When did you get so old?”
    This time, the wrinkles crinkled up. His hand touched my face.
    “What day is today?”
    “Valentine’s.”
    The sorrow, the antiseptic smell of hospitals. Voices of a hundred people. The loss of a little boy. I remembered.
    “How many years?”
    “Thirty, my sweet.”
    “And you’re still here.”
    “Always, my love. Now, sleep. It will be better in the morning. It always is.”

  5. AvatarJD

    They say in space, no one can hear you scream. And it’s true, sound doesn’t travel in a vacuum.

    Lt. Halberd screamed anyway.

    She was fixed to the outside of an orbital space station, screaming into her helmet as the gravitational rotator spun her against the bulk of the hull. Not far away was the hole she’d been sucked through during prep for a spacewalk. Halberd had just clipped the helmet shut and pressurized it when the hull tore. By pure dumb luck, her arm had been punctured by a maintenance strut as she flew by.

    She felt a pinprick in her neck as the suit injected painkillers. The facial display lit up. Words overlaid the speckled abyss of space, the wreck of the station.

    ‘ASSESSING.’

    The fire in Halberd’s arm started to subside; at least the drugs were quick.

    ‘VITALS ELEVATED. SERIOUS INJURY TO LEFT ARM. SEEK MEDICAL HELP IMMEDIATELY.’

    “No shit,” thought Halberd.

    She strained her eyes toward the hole in the ship. Flickering lights showed the interior airlock doors still closed. Debris hung from the walls like dead limbs in water.

    “Think. You can’t hang here forever. Have to get back inside, find out if the rest of the crew are okay.”

    Except Halberd had no tools, no propulsion pack, and a metal rod through her arm. She got on the comm.

    “Station, this is Halberd. Does anyone read me? Can anyone tell me what the hell’s going on?”

    The warning about her vitals still flashed, but the suit had relegated it to a small, red square at the corner of her visor. A microphone icon next to it showed comms were on. The channel was open, but no one responded. Not even static.

    ‘Ok, reevaluate. What’s first?’ She looked at her arm. ‘Definitely that.’

    Halberd picked up movement in the corner of her eye. One of the dead hands from the blown airlock reaching into space. Toward her. Were the painkillers making her hallucinate? It drew nearer, and Halberd saw it for what it was. Not a hand. Not debris.

    McMillan. The ship’s mechanic.

    He hadn’t secured his helmet before the explosion; his face was a rictus of shock and fear. But it was him, and something long and thin was attached to his body. Halberd narrowed her eyes against the painkiller haze. A toolbelt. Halberd braced against the hull, waited for the body to drift past, and reached.

    The wave of pain and nausea from her bad arm triggered another shot of painkillers and nearly made her pass out. She hung there for a while, fighting unconsciousness before she was able to collect herself enough to pull the belt to her. If he had what she thought he did…yes!

    Halberd dug the laser knife from McMillan’s belt and clicked the switch. A bright, steady beam of pure energy, focused and hot, emerged from the handle. She silently thanked McMillan’s corpse, let the body spin away, and turned to her arm.

    Halberd gauged the distance to the next strut. it looked close enough to reach, once she cut the one impaling her arm away from the hull. She flexed the fingers on the injured arm and immediately wished she hadn’t. Spots danced in front of her eyes. The damn suit yelled at her to get medical attention again.

    ‘Don’t think. Just do.’

    Positioning the blade as close to the suit as she dared, Halberd swept it through the metal.

  6. Avatarrlk67

    Attention, Crew.
    The deadline for the April Edition is being moved up three weeks. Must submit articles and such by Monday.
    Your editor,
    Hank

    ******
    Silence.

    Screams.

    People running through the aisles, cubicle walls falling over. Rudy tries to use the printer on Arthur’s desk, but dismantles it by mistake. More screams. Pens and scissors go flying. Marie is sitting by the elevator crying. Joan is babbling to the editorial assistant who is then tackled by Jack. Oomph! Coffee rains down on everyone.

    A typewriter soars past. Typewriter? Old man Morris must really upgrade. Louder screams. The art director is eating her beret as the photo editor tries to comfort her. The cooking section director shoves a gourmet grilled cheese down her throat and bangs on her processor about a sumptuous texture.

    Workers crashing. More screams. The puzzle editor howls clues for 5-across and 37-down. The blood pressure cuff gets passed around. Moaning. Chad does the Heimlich maneuver on the cooking editor.

    ******
    Bob sits with his coffee reading the April magazine next to his wife.

    “See, honey? I should’ve been an editor. These guys work in a quiet office, relaxed atmosphere.”

    “You’re right, Bob. Why DID you ever go into teaching? This stuff’s a piece of cake!”

  7. Avatarjhowe

    “I’m afraid I’m busy next month too,” said the well-padded brunette with the too tight come hither dress and bedroom eyes. I was certain she’d succumb to my charms. Oh well, her loss. The bleach blonde with the crooked eyes across the room looked promising, although I thought I saw her an hour ago hanging on Ricky, the scarred Vietnam vet who owned the house where we partied as the clock struck eight.
    As I approached an over-boobed redhead chugging Boonesfarm from the bottle, the cat squealed piercingly as I stepped on her black tail. I bent to comfort her and my pants split wide open. I heard snickers behind me and possibly someone wretched. No more commando for this guy, that was for sure. I backed to the door and made my departure amongst howls and calls for an encore.
    I pulled out my cell phone to call a cab and the battery was completely dead, not even a glow. The bus stop a few blocks away was in the process of being pillaged by three hooligans with ill intent. I turned to walk the other way and was stopped by a bedraggled hand on my arm. “I’m pregnant with you baby,” said a soiled women wearing everything she owned. “I need two hundred dollars for an abortion.”
    The hooligans were looking my way, growing tired of the gnarled bus shelter. “How about ten?” I said.
    She took the money as I walked quickly away. “Your ass is showing,” she called after me. With luck I thought not possible, an empty cab drove by and pulled over as I hailed it. I got in and gave the man my address and he took off like a shot.
    “Hey man, take it easy,” I said.
    “Screw you,” said the driver. “I just found out my wife is boinking my brother.” His hands clenched the wheel and his rage tore on. “My freaking brother!”
    “Hey, calm down man, you’re going to get us killed,” I said. I searched for the seatbelt but there wasn’t one.
    “Don’t tell me to calm down, asshole.” He increased his speed, rounded a corner and drove toward an apartment building with the apparent goal of ramming it. At the last second I dove to the floorboard and covered my head with my arms. The crash was deafening.
    I kicked open the car door and debris tumbled onto my legs. I looked into the driver’s seat and the big man looked bad; probably dead. Voices shouted and a siren wailed in the distance. I stumbled out onto the floor of the building and managed to squeeze out beside the ruined cab onto the street.
    “Hey buddy, are you ok?” said a man from the sidewalk. As I ran my pants continued to tear as the siren grew nearer. I rounded a corner and headed towards my apartment. A mile and a half later, I made it, my pants tattered to the knees; I was almost completely exposed. Some kids loitered on the steps to my building. One of them took my picture with his cell phone as I entered.
    My keys were gone. I leaned my head on the locked door and screamed. I used every ounce of strength I had left and hefted a concrete planter and heaved it at the door. It crashed open, splintered wood flying. I walked in, marveled that the lights turned on and fired up my computer. I retrieved the e-mail from the deleted files. It was from my cousin who always sent me these stupid things. I read through it again, saw the part about bad luck if I didn’t forward it to ten people and forwarded it to everyone on my list.

  8. AvatarPete

    I walk into the gym at 5:29, having changed clothes in my car after a long day at work then the slog of a commute to the local Y. Not for the first time I second guess my decision to coach youth basketball—I’ve been skittish since Meet the Coach pizza night a few weeks ago.

    Now, as I walk in, clutching a clipboard of all things, the freshly opened Walmart whistle around my neck, I took inventory of the group.

    Fourteen of them. All between the ages of 5-7. Everyone with a basketball, launching it at the goal, balls ricocheting every direction. I have a clipboard, which I will soon learn comes in handy for banging against my head.

    “Hey guys,” I start. No one looks. I have grand plans for these guys. I have a speech, somewhere, in the recesses of my head, about hard work and discipline. Fundamentals and the results of drills and routines. But that will have to wait, because two kids are licking the floor.

    I clear my throat. “Over here, Suns.”

    The Suns, our team name. It seems fitting because this whole thing is about to crash and burn. Even my own kid isn’t paying attention. In fact, he may just be the worst of the lot because unlike the others, he knows my true colors, that I’m not a disciplinarian.

    I reintroduce myself, trying not to stare because some of the kids are almost rabid. One monster is eating Skittles by the handful, a rainbow of color around the lips, a glittering, Apocalypse Now sort of craze in his eyes. Two twins—because of course I’d get twins—are tumbling around the court with cones on their heads. Cones my wife brought for dribbling drills. The only dribbling is the line of spit flowing from Skittle Kid’s mouth.

    “Okay, um. Let’s run some layups. Or better yet, just run.”

    I line them up. Or, I try to line them up but that would take four men on horseback and a couple of Australian Shepard’s. But eventually I get them to one side of the gym. All have a basketball and no intention of dribbling it. In fact, they look like foot soldiers about to charge a battlefield.

    I get out my whistle, give it a little spurt, and they erupt.

    They come in waves, screaming, laughing, shouting, tripping and pouting. I’m pulled one way because Will stole the ball, then the other because Is it time to shoot yet? Someone unties my shoe, I’m kicked in the leg then spun around. My arms are yanked free from all the little reaching hands because I’ve only just finished the two-hour Appropriate Touching video and there are some clear violations taking place.

    I blow the whistle again, then again, desperately, like a traffic cop in Times Square until for the most part they get lined up again, minus the kid licking the wall.

    I check the clock. It’s 5:34.

    There’s no way. I can’t survive this. Practices. Games. Team pictures. A quick glance at my wife, a second grade teacher, who either cannot or refuses to hide her smirking.

    “Let’s take a water break.”

    Only they don’t want water. These kids are out for blood.

    We regroup. Mia, the only girl on our team makes a layup. I tell her that was great and try to coax her back to the line. “Who’s nex—”

    She’s crying. Head down and sobbing. I rush over to her. I’m not used to little girls, but this one is devastated. I look over to her mother, who’s on the phone and making the most of her reprieve.

    “Would you like, would you like another turn?”

    In a blink Mia breaks free and skips to the front of the line, where she grabs the ball and winks—I swear she winks—then flits to the goal.

    A teaching moment for Mia. She’s learned the coach is a sucker.

    Eventually I corral them. I teach proper form, the bounce pass. A basketball hits my head. We practice dribbling. We take another water break. We huddle up, and I look over the panting faces. This is my team, huddled and squirming, reeking of sugar and feet, looking to me to lead them through the season. And so I set my hand out and they set their little hands out.

    “Suns on three. Ready?”

    They all nod.

    “One…”

    “Suns!”

    1. Avatarjhowe

      Great, Pete. I’m sure a lot of this can relate to this. My gig was soccer. I knew nothing of soccer, but got through it. I had more problems with the parents than the kids. “My kid played less time than his kid!” (I left out the expletives).

  9. AvatarJennifer Park

    20.

    The more the meeting went on, the more doubtful Jennifer became. One by one her purported disciples introduced themselves to Jennifer, explaining what had driven them to the movement. They were mostly earnest ex-creatives, some post-neurectomy. There were also the usual misfits that populated all protest movements. And then there were the admitted profiteers, staking their prosperity in the chaos that would ensue, should…

    There was a sudden and loud, “Riiiiiiiip!”

    Jennifer shrugged it off, but some of the conspirators sitting opposite from her stood up as one, and began to run away.

    Another “Riiiiiiiip!” came from a different direction.

    This time, Jennifer could see it. One of the walls was being torn down. More people stood up and started to run, as panic started to ripple through the gathering.

    Just in time, given that the floor started to upheave, tossing a few off their stride, and toppling the few who were still trying to get up.

    “A raaaaaaiiiiid!” someone yelled out unnecessarily. It was just a waste of valuable energy at a time every calorie needed to be expended on absconding.

    Also wasteful were a series of unprintable profanities and screeches as another wall came tearing down. That was the wall with the exit.

    A flood of light came pouring in. The pandemonium shirked away from the light as best they could, but it was too late for some of them, who vanished into the blinding light, never to be seen—or see—again.

    Jennifer, miraculously, stayed in her seat without an ounce of disturbance. The reader had crawled into her coat pocket, albeit with a few of his prized books left pouring onto the floor. She puzzled over the fact that just a few over a couple dozen people had been here when the meeting had started, but there seemed to be more and more people running around in random directions. Many had disappeared into the darkness, and many into the light, but there were far more people in the room now.

    One of them almost tripped over Jennifer’s chair, but caught themselves and went off in another random direction.

    By now, floodlights were coming in from all directions, mopping up the fugitives the best they could, but doing a lousy job of it. If anything, the attempt to chase after the loonie bunch was scattering the lights around, making openings for escape.

    And for a moment, Jennifer saw a clear pathway out of the building.

    She made a run for it.

    It did not take long for her to get behind the line of Enforcement officers.

    And away a few blocks.

    That brought her back toward and past the Enforcement Headquarters, still encased in white-out.

    “Man, I left my lunch in there, you know?” said an officer standing near the bus stop.

    Jennifer was too out of breath to greet him properly. “Fetu…” Instead, she fell into his embrace.

    “I’d say trouble sure follows you, but that’s true of me, too, you know?”

    1. Avatarjhowe

      The prompt called for chaos and chaos was what you delivered. I’ll admit, when first sudden and loud riiiip occurred, I thought it might be something else. Thank you for making it the wall. A very fun read.

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