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Rescue Mission

I have no idea why I torture myself but I decided that this week’s Indie Chick Lit writing prompt should be a flash fiction one…for me at least. I shot for under 250 words and managed to come in just under that. It is so much damn fun getting to write again…I needed it. Here is my response to this week’s prompt: You’re given a super power for only 2 hours. What power is it and what do you do with it? If you want to try your hand at it head to our prompt page and join up, you have until Sunday at noon to link.

 

“This will wear off in a few hours and you have to be back here by then. Once this stops working I won’t be able to track you any longer…you’ll be on your own.”

“Dad, I know how this works.” I took one last look at the pill in my hand then tossed it into my mouth, swallowing it dry. Immediately I felt it, my muscles strengthen and my senses heighten. I’d need them both if I was going to get in and out of the compound with my mother in tow.

I had no way of knowing for sure, but I could only assume they’d have her sedated, weak. I couldn’t count on her to help us fight out way back out and that was if I made it to her. The pill made me stronger, faster, and smarter but it didn’t make me bulletproof.

As if sensing my doubt my father took my hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, a gentle reassuring pressure.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this. I wish I could do it for you, for us, but there are some things even the pill can’t strengthen.” Sadness filled his voice as he looked down at his withered legs and wheelchair.

I bent to kiss him, hearing his unsteady heartbeat, feeling the sheen of anxiety on his skin, and whispered,  “I love you. I’ll see you soon, I promise. I will bring her home.” 

 

Coming Home

Indie Chick Lit runs  a weekly prompt that provides inspiration for a post and then allows you to link up so that you can read other people’s posts, and they can read yours. It’s a great way to stretch your writing wings, get creative in your blog posts, and save you from dreaded writer’s block. I will be participating in the prompts as often as possible and posting here. Writer’s block for this blog…solved! This week’s writing prompt is below followed by my short fiction story it inspired.

You arrive home after a long day of work to an entirely empty home. There are no indents on the carpet, no wine stains–no sign that you or anyone lives there. Write this scene.

“You have no idea, Jess. I honestly cannot wait to get out of these clothes, pour myself a fucking glass of wine, and forget that this day ever happened.” I moaned as I navigated traffic.

“I don’t blame you. That office you work in is absolutely insane. You have got to look for a new job, they’re making you crazy.”

I sighed, “I know. In a perfect world I could up and quit but for right now I’m going to just bend over and take it up the ass until I can make a move.”

“Whatever you think is best. Take a bath tonight, put on a face mask, and try to bring down your blood pressure.”

I laughed before agreeing to do just that and hanging up. By the time I pulled up into my parking spot I was ready to take off my heels and sink onto my sofa in a heap of stressed out tears. After getting my bags from the backseat I made the walk through the courtyard to my condo’s front door. I raised my hand to wave at Mrs. Lehn, gardening like always, and shrugged when she didn’t acknowledge me. Old ladies, they’re finicky creatures.

I turned the lock on my door and walked over the threshold, turning to lock it behind me and dropping my purse on the table by the door. The thump of my purse hitting the floor jarred me. I spun towards it and realized there was no table. I looked up, expecting to meet my shocked reflection but there was no mirror on the wall either.

Cautiously I walked down the hallway, glancing right into a spotless but bare kitchen long enough to see that there was no coffee maker, no toaster, no wine glasses hanging under my cabinets, no collage of pictures on the refrigerator. Where was all my stuff?

I kept moving, slowly, into a living room that was absolutely bare. No sofa, no flat screen TV, no ottoman, no DVD racks, and my bookshelf; all missing. Not a single thing left behind, not a single magazine thrown on the floor. Who breaks into a place and takes everything, including the magazines?

I started running, down the hallway, past the bathroom without even glancing in, past my office without so much as a sideways look, and into my bedroom. I stopped short when I saw it was as empty as the rest of the apartment. No dresser, no jewelry box, no bed. I walked, slowly, to my closet but I knew before I opened the door that I wouldn’t find any clothes in there.

I fought shaky legs and the desire to sit down and cry, and walked back to the foyer and my purse. Picking up my phone I dialed 911 and asked for the police to be sent to my house, that I’d been robbed.

“And that is exactly what happened. That’s how I got here. I don’t understand what is going on.”

“Ma’am, we hear what you’re saying, “ said the officer from across his desk as I gave my statement, “but we’ve spoken to the leasing office, we have spoken to your neighbors, and there is no record of you ever renting that condo.”

“That’s not possible! Why would I have the key then? You saw that I had the key! I have pictures on my phone of myself with friends in THAT condo. Look, they’re right here.” Pulling out my cell phone I pulled up the photos and start scrolling through the pictures.

“No, that doesn’t make sense…they were right here.” I flip the phone around showing them the screen even though there are no pictures of my condo on there. “They were right here.” I say softer now, less sure.

“Okay ma’am. We are going to figure this out. We’ll figure it all out. In the meantime we want you to sit right here, okay?”

I nod, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be here.”

I’m not sure how much time has passed but an idea comes to me. I turn to the other officer and say, “Wait, what if I pull up my bank statements? You can see that I’ve been paying rent. You’ll see that I live there!”

“Sure, ma’am, we can do that for you. Right now though we want you to talk to our friend Doctor Fisher, she’s really nice and maybe she can help you.”

Shaking my head I ensure them, “I don’t need a doctor, I need my stuff, I need my home back.”

The doctor steps forward and places her hand on my arm, “We’re going to help you, we just need you to come with us.”

…it was happening, again.

Link over to Indie Chick Lit to see who else participated in this week’s prompt or join up yourself.

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