(Kinda) Bi-weekly writing exercise thread #1

[Strazio Rockwell]

Greetings Omniverse!

As some of you know I posted a thread a few weeks ago trying to drum up potential interest in a bi-weekly writing exercise thread, well, here it is. The way this will work is every (roughly) 2 weeks I'll create a new thread with a new prompt or constraint, and you lovely Omniversians will create prose following said prompt or constraint. Some weeks these will be simple and others they will be more difficult and complex. Ideally this would provide a platform to improve your writing, and also allow everyone to get a gander at your work outside of the O-verse. Feel free to offer/request critique or just give props to anything you think deserves it. Also don't be afraid to ask for clarification on any prompt.

I'd also like people to post their finished pieces using to spoiler tag to avoid walls of text suffocating questions or critiques.

The Prompt
[spoiler]Alright, so we'll kick this off with an excersise from Stephen King's book "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft."

In the particular chapter that this exercise is given, Mr. King talks about the merits of situation-based writing over plot-based writing. He refers to stories (and subsequently situations) as fossils; they already exist buried in the ground and it is the job of the writer to excavate them intact. In his words "A strong enough situation renders the whole question of plot moot." He goes on to say that very few of his books were ever plotted, not a single note on a single scrap of paper for most of them, just pure narrative storytelling generated from an interesting situation.

Mr. King offers the reader a location to a fossil and I will pass that location onto you. He says to write 5-6 pages concerning this fossil, but that seems a bit excessive for a bi-weekly forum exercise, instead I ask for 1000-3000 words of unplotted narrative. You'll have to dig for the bones to see what they look like, but I'm sure you can do it. 

You'll be familiar with this story as it seems to unfortunantly crop up every other week in the media. A women, call her Jane, marries a man who is bright, witty, and absolutely charming. We'll call this guy Dick. Unfortunantly Dick has a dark side, he's short tempered, a control freak, perhaps a bit paranoid. Jane tries her best to make the marriage work, why she tries so hard is something you'll have to find out, and I think she'll tell you if you ask nice enough. They end up have a child, and things seem to get better, but when the girl gets to be around 3 the abuse begins again. First verbal and then eventually phsyical, perhaps Dick thinks Jane is sleeping around? At last Jane divorces him and gets custody of their daughter, little Nell. Dick responds by stalking her and Jane eventually gets a restraining order against him. Finally, after an incident that you will write in vivid and scary detail, Richard the schmuck is arrested and jailed. All of this is backstory, how you work it in and how much you work in is up to you.

This is the situation. One day, shortly after Dick's incarceration in the city jail, Jane picks up little Nell from the daycare and takes her to a friends house for a birthday party. Jane then takes herself home, ready to enjoy the several hours of peace and quiet, maybe she decides to she'll take a nap. Something pings at her, just below the level of consiousness, as she lets herself in. Something uneasy that she can't quite put her finger on, maybe just nerves from the fallout of her five years in hell with Dick. Before taking her nap she decides to brew a cup of tea or coffee and watch the news. The lead item on action news in a shocker, three men escapes from the city jail, killing a guard in the process, two of the three were apphrended shortly afterwards, but the third is still at large. None of the prisoners are identified by name, not in this news cast. But, Jane, sitting in her empty house knows that one of them was Dick. She knows, because she has recongnized that ping of unease that she felt. It was the smell of Vitalis hair tonic, Dick's hair tonic. Jane sinks into her chair, frozen with fear as she hears Dick's footsteps coming down the stairs. She thinks, "only Dick would be vain enough to make sure he has hair tonic, even in jail." She needs to run, but she's paralyzed in terror.

That's a halfway decent story already, but fairly generic. What I want you to do for this exercise is swap the sexes of the antagonist and protagonist. In other words, make the ex-wife the stalker. Perhaps its a mental institute she's escaped from instead of a jail? Make the husband the abused and frightened one. Write this without plotting, let the situation and that one unexpected inversion carry you along and I'm sure you'll do just fine.[/spoiler]

[Revan Noctis]

The magic in insanity

Ben worked as the manager of a grocery store, almost every day he would see countless people shop for their daily needs.
This place to him however was more then just work, over a decade ago he had met who he thought was the absolute love of his entire life.
A red headed woman named Mary in a black cardigan had locked eyes with him on her way in and by the time she was leaving he had practically chased her out of the store, having given in the young employee had finally met a girl he found exciting.
Sadly now older and as a manager those days were like a dream, single and taking care of their daughter Susan by himself life was not the happy dream he had hoped it would be.

After work closing up shop Ben found himself driving on the road of his small town, the street lights were far and few between.
Being a Friday night Susan was at a friends house for a sleepover and that meant nobody was awaiting him but his own reflection.
Turning up the radio a sad song played but before it could be enjoyed it was quickly taken over by a far more deeper voice which was unmistakenly one of a male news reporter.

"Today at the Braxbury rose asylum five patients escaped together, two have been found closer to town and it is believed the others may still be roaming the streets." The reporter did not seem very worried.

"While most patients at the asylum are considered harmless one escapee has a history of violent behaviour." The message finally clicked in Ben's mind. 

Mary was back and he knew it. Pulling the car into the driveway of the suburban home and running across to the front door all seemed safe, the door was locked and the street was silent and after turning the key and peeking inside there was no inner noise to be heard. He wasted no time running to the phone and dialed the number of where Susan was staying.

"Greetings Ben." Said a kind sounding woman he recognised as the mother of Susan's friend.

"Hey Casey I was just wondering are you and the kids alright?" He asked trying not to sound too panicked.

"They are fine but what's got you all worked up?" She asked clearly noticing his panicked tone.

"I heard on the news the rose asylum lost a few patients, they fled into town and haven't all been found." He explained as calmly as he could.

"So you think Mary is with them and might try to reach Susan, I got the place locked up tight we will be fine." Casey seemed as sure of herself as ever and he certainly appreciated it.

"Thanks Casey I suppose I might swing by later just in case though." He posed the suggestion looking to see how it sounded.

"You were going to stay tomorrow for lunch anyway but I think you need rest instead, you might want to lock up yourself though if your truly worried." She was probably right putting the kids on alert was probably unfair.

"Tomorrow for lunch it is then." Said Ben before ending the phone call.


The bed was untidy but was a welcome relief as he climbed into it snuggling under the covers. Believing that he was safe he fell fast into a deep slumber. It must have been only an hour or perhaps two when Ben shot up quickly, the smell of food had woken him. Getting to his feet he was drowsy but knew all to well that something was very wrong. The stairway creaked as he moved down the stairs to the lower floor directing himself now far more awake toward the kitchen.

The table was set up as if a romantic dinner was going to take place, candles and a fancy red tableclothe covered the table with what looked like pots and frying pans and plates on the bench full of vegetables and chops. Ben had no need to ask why this was here as the table was set up just as Mary had done back when she lived with him.

Running again for the phone and wasting no time he prepared to call the police, there was no way to make the call however as he peered over he could see the line was cut. Rushing for his mobile phone he locked eyes with a recognisable figure down the hall, Mary in a red dress was staring right at him with a fierce expression of anger.

Ben found himself simply frozen in terror at the sight, the woman had cooked dinner and snuck into his room and taken one of her old dresses without him knowing. He crept back toward the front door slowly until he came to it, sadly the door was locked and he knew exactly where the keys would be.

"I made us dinner." The voice sounded sweet and innocent enough but he knew that Mary had proven herself to be dangerous at the best of times.

"I'm not interested." He said only a moment later wishing he hadn't.

Mary's expression didn't change but she did take a step forward, in her hand was a large kitchen knife that had clearly been used in preparing a meal. She seemed displeased at his answer cause her other hand rose pointing toward the table.

"Don't make me ask again." She said forcing him to accept the risk and move toward the table.

Mary's expression changed to one of a happy woman and one might have suspected at that point she was normal but when she began serving the food a hint of malice beamed off of her. Ben wanted to leave the house or call for help but he also knew that if he did anything there was a high chance he would end up being stabbed or worse.

"I am glad you have taken care of Susan." She said taking her own seat at the other end of the table.

"I did my best I suppose." Ben said nervously not wanting to touch the plate now in front of him.

"Casey seems nice too, she called you again you know but you were obviously asleep." Mary's face was once more contorted in one of pure rage.

"She's just a friend." He said knowing that Mary was probably going to be looking for blood at this point.

"Eat your food." Mary replied her eyes fully locked with his.

Ben wasn't about to eat, he was too frightened to even if he had been hungry, he had no idea how this was going to resolved.
Looking at the plate for a moment then glancing back up at Mary he made it clear he wasn't going to touch it, strangely she seemed to not mind and merely rose from her seat placing her plate back on the bench.

Mary turned and her blue eyes washed over him as he noticed her grip the knife a little tighter before she began making her way over to him. Approaching him she looked him over as if he himself was hiding something.

"It's been awhile since I've seen you." She said sounding like she was about to let loose some tears.

Ben wanted to say he was sorry but he knew that this was not the right situation. An apology would solve nothing and they both knew it. Mary leaned down and brought the knife higher, surprisingly she brought her lips to his and quickly made an attempt to make out with him, he had certainly loved her but this seemed wrong she was not herself and he himself had changed not that it stopped her.

"Do you no longer love me?" She asked having broken their kiss.

"I don't know if your you." Ben replied truthfully not caring what reaction his answer may have caused.

"You have changed too, you used to enjoy my cooking." She smiled though a hint of sadness still remained.

[Gildarts]

question on the prompt! [spoiler] OOO I OWN THE BOOK REFERENCED (and I got all excited, I haven’t read it yet because I am lazy and consumed with busy things! I better whip my ass into shape this summer before the fall!) Good prompt, I like how his name was fittingly dick XD also it is quite dark o.o

So prompt: revamp/reinvent the story you told? Or add more to where you left off?[/spoiler]

[Strazio Rockwell]

It's a great book and I recommend it to anyone wanting to improve their writing. As far as the name King describes it as "the most Freudian name".

So the first bit (with the protagonist's marriage, divorce, and the antagonists incarceration) is all backstory. It's up to you what and how much of the backstory you want to weave into the story. Your story will begin sometime in the future after the protag picks up his child from daycare, if you want to start further down the road than that (say after he has dropped little Nell off at her friend's house) that's up to you. Basically the idea is to give you the rough outline of a situation and then you take said situation and do with it as you see fit, forming a proper story generated from a situation rather than an A to B plotline.

Also I edited the opening post to be a bit more clear about how to post submissions as it was a bit confusing beforehand.

[Gaston]

Alright then, let's do this.
(Mature)
[spoiler] Ben yawned, stretching his arms out. He was just finishing work, at a grocery store. It wasn't a great job, but he was an aspiring author, and this was just to help him as he was writing a book. Ben quickly walked outside, fumbling around for his keys. He got in his car, and began the short drive to his daughter's day care. Quickly, he arrived, looking up at the cheerful sign saying "Sunnyside Acres". He walked in, going up to the front desk, seeing the usual worker there.
"Hey, Ben, here to pick up Angela?"
"Of course."
"She'll be right back there." the woman said, pointing to a back room. Ben walked in, and Angela, his daughter, ran up to him, a greeting which he embraced by grabbing her up in a hug.
 "Hey,buddy!" He said, holding her up. "How was your day?'
"Hi Daddy!" She cheerfully replied. "Ready to go?"
"Why such a hurry? It's not like you're going to a birthday party later, or anything like that."
"Daddy!" Angela said, somewhat loudly. "Of course I do! I'm going to Sophie's birthday party!" 
"What? I don't know what you're talking about?" Now, Angela had realised he was joking.
"Alright Daddy, I guess we can go home."
"Wait! You have Sophie's birthday party!" Angela let out a chuckle, walking with Ben out to his car. He hoisted her into her seat, buckling her before quickly going back around to the front to drive. In a few minutes, they had arrived at a pale blue house, with white siding and several windows in the front. Ben walked around to Angela's side, unbuckling her and taking her out of her seat. She walked to the front of the house, her father close behind. The door opened soon after Angela had gotten to the front, Sophie's mother leaning out of the door.
"Hi Angela!" She said. "Come on in! Presents can go on the table."
"Bye, Angela," Ben said, waving to her. "Mind your manners!" He said, as she began to walk inside. When he saw that she was inside, he began to walk back to his car, climbing in and starting it up. He began the short drive back to his house, turning on the radio. But just as his favourite song, Bohemian Rhapsody, came on, the voice of Freddie Mercury was cut out by that of a news anchorman.
"We apologise for interrupting your normal programming, but this is an urgent message to everyone in Foxburrow County, 3 people have recently escaped from a local jail, killing a guard on the way out. They are still on the run, and should be considered dangerous. Citizens are urged to stay inside and lock doors, as to avoid attention from these escapees." Ben quickly sat upright in his seat. Something about that... bothered him. For no apparent reason, he got an uncanny feeling from that broadcast. He quickly dismissed it, pulling into his driveway, and walking inside the house. Strange, he thought. The door was unlocked. He must have simply forgot to lock it before going to work, he assured himself. Sitting down on a couch he pulled out his laptop, preparing to write, working on a new novel of his. That was when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of the cheap plastic stiletto shoes. It was her. Memories flashed in Ben's mind, her standing over him, holding a knife to his throat, her smacking Angela. 
"Hello honey!" She cheerfully said, walking down the stairs as though she were meant to be there. "I missed you while you were at work!" 
Memories came again. That same voice, coming down the stairs. 
It had been a few years now, 4, maybe 5, since he had met her. He had been doing a brief stint as a fast food worker, when he had seen her walk in. As soon as he saw her face, he was sure, certain, that he was in love. Ben had done as much as he could, to try to get her attention. And it worked. For a while, everything seemed great. So good, even, that they got married! That was when the troubles started. She began to demand to know where she was at all times, easily irritable and quick to resort to violence. For a while, Ben had considered divorce. But then, as if it were a message, she had a child. His child. He knew then, that he couldn't leave, for his daughter would need him. He reminded himself that every time the beatings, the abuse got too much. He was willing to take it, for his daughter. But something horrible started. The same things she had done to Ben, she began to do to Angela, his little girl. Finally, he built up the courage, to just get a divorce, leaving her and her abuse behind. That just made it worse. She began following Ben, a shadow in the corner of his eye everywhere he went. But he didn't hesitate this time. He got a restraining order, the minute he knew it was her. For a while, it seemed like the problem was solved. She couldn't follow him anymore, there was no way for her to hurt him. By this time he began dating again, and was in a relationship with a woman named Susan. One day, Angela was at daycare, Ben taking some time off, Susan having asked to come over. Then she came, back into his life. She came while he was taking a short nap waking him up with a slap to the face.
"You've been a very bad boy," She snarled, wiggling her finger in a mock gesture. Seeing that woman Susan, while I was gone? You can't cheat on your wife like that!" She nearly screamed into his face. Suddenly, Ben saw that she had his baseball bat in hand, an old one he had gotten signed. "And you know what happens to bad boys, don't you?" She had mockingly asked. "First, let's make sure you don't get any ideas with that Susan." She yelled, hoisting up the baseball bat and bashing it against Ben's groin. He yelled, in pain, and she did it again, and again, to the point that Ben thought it would never stop. But, eventually she did. Only to pull out a knife from her pocket. She held it against his throat. "Now, you're gonna do what I want, okay? Let's have some fun time, just like we used to." Suddenly, the door flung open, and Susan walked in. Her eyes grew wide with shock, and she quickly called 911 with her phone. Then she raced out off the back door, Susan and Ben staring in shock. Ben was shot back to reality when he once again heard her voice. He sat there, paralyzed.
"I hope you've been good since I last saw you!" She said, with such a fake, horrifying joy. "Because if you weren't... well, we remember what happens to bad boys, don't we?" She pulled out a knife, the same type as the one she used last time. 
"Now, get up!" She yelled, and Ben slowly got up, forced to listen. But no. This time, he wouldn't just stop. He wouldn't let her get to him. Not again. Ben picked up his laptop off of his couch and threw it at her, not looking to see if it hit as he began running away. To the backdoor, in the kitchen, he had run, only to find it was locked. He fumbled with the locks, opening all but one of them when she walked in. A fresh bruise was on her shoulder, so Ben knew the computer had hit.
"That's a bad boy!" She scolded. She walked towards him, pulling out her knife. "Now, come here like a good boy and take your punishment!"
"No." Dan muttered, softly.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!" She screamed, more angry now than ever.
"No. I won't listen to you. Not again." Ben grabbed the nearest thing, a wooden spoon on the counter, and threw it at her, running right past her as it slammed against her eye.
"BAD!" She screamed, "BAD, BAD BOY!" but Ben was running now, too far from her. He threw open the front door, racing outside out of his yard, down a street next to his house. His neighbors were having a barbecue, he noticed, racing past their house. 
"HEY!" He yelled to them. "CALL 911! NOW!" But he didn't wait to see if they did, he kept running, down the street, before tripping on a rock. She caught up to him now, getting on top of him and digging her knife into his shoulder.
"You could've made this better," She said. "You could've been a good boy, and we wouldn't need this, and I could have you. But you weren't, and now I need to get rid of you." She ripped her knife out of his shoulder, being sure not to come out of the exact same hole, making more cuts. Ben screamed, and one of his neighbors ran outside, a tall, skinny woman. She watched what was going on, and started to race over towards Ben.
"SLUT!" She screamed. "YOU WANT HIM FOR YOURSELF, DON'T YOU YOU DIRTY WHORE!" She had screamed. The woman got wide eyed, and then she came after her, holding the knife out, beginning another chase. Then, a miracle happened. The police managed to show up, just then, several officers swarming around her, each with guns aimed. She screamed, stabbing one of the nearest officers, when one shot her in the foot. But that only made it worse. She hobbled, but it was just as fast, fueled by rage. She managed to, somehow, stab 3 more of the police, before one finally shot her in the chest. She fell to the ground, with no more screams, only the silent siren call of death. Ben raced over to her, seeing if she was alive. 
"Kate..." He said, quietly, taking her hand. "It's better now... It's better..."
[/spoiler]

[Gaston]

Alright then, let's do this.
[spoiler] Ben yawned, stretching his arms out. He was just finishing work, at a grocery store. It wasn't a great job, but he was an aspiring author, and this was just to help him as he was writing a book. Ben quickly walked outside, fumbling around for his keys. He got in his car, and began the short drive to his daughter's day care. Quickly, he arrived, looking up at the cheerful sign saying "Sunnyside Acres". He walked in, going up to the front desk, seeing the usual worker there.
"Hey, Ben, here to pick up Angela?"
"Of course."
"She'll be right back there." the woman said, pointing to a back room. Ben walked in, and Angela, his daughter, ran up to him, a greeting which he embraced by grabbing her up in a hug.
 "Hey,buddy!" He said, holding her up. "How was your day?'
"Hi Daddy!" She cheerfully replied. "Ready to go?"
"Why such a hurry? It's not like you're going to a birthday party later, or anything like that."
"Daddy!" Angela said, somewhat loudly. "Of course I do! I'm going to Sophie's birthday party!" 
"What? I don't know what you're talking about?" Now, Angela had realised he was joking.
"Alright Daddy, I guess we can go home."
"Wait! You have Sophie's birthday party!" Angela let out a chuckle, walking with Ben out to his car. He hoisted her into her seat, buckling her before quickly going back around to the front to drive. In a few minutes, they had arrived at a pale blue house, with white siding and several windows in the front. Ben walked around to Angela's side, unbuckling her and taking her out of her seat. She walked to the front of the house, her father close behind. The door opened soon after Angela had gotten to the front, Sophie's mother leaning out of the door.
"Hi Angela!" She said. "Come on in! Presents can go on the table."
"Bye, Angela," Ben said, waving to her. "Mind your manners!" He said, as she began to walk inside. When he saw that she was inside, he began to walk back to his car, climbing in and starting it up. He began the short drive back to his house, turning on the radio. But just as his favourite song, Bohemian Rhapsody, came on, the voice of Freddie Mercury was cut out by that of a news anchorman.
"We apologise for interrupting your normal programming, but this is an urgent message to everyone in Foxburrow County, 3 people have recently escaped from a local jail, killing a guard on the way out. They are still on the run, and should be considered dangerous. Citizens are urged to stay inside and lock doors, as to avoid attention from these escapees." Ben quickly sat upright in his seat. Something about that... bothered him. For no apparent reason, he got an uncanny feeling from that broadcast. He quickly dismissed it, pulling into his driveway, and walking inside the house. Strange, he thought. The door was unlocked. He must have simply forgot to lock it before going to work, he assured himself. Sitting down on a couch he pulled out his laptop, preparing to write, working on a new novel of his. That was when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of the cheap plastic stiletto shoes. It was her. Memories flashed in Ben's mind, her standing over him, holding a knife to his throat, her smacking Angela. 
"Hello honey!" She cheerfully said, walking down the stairs as though she were meant to be there. "I missed you while you were at work!" 
Memories came again. That same voice, coming down the stairs. 
It had been a few years now, 4, maybe 5, since he had met her. He had been doing a brief stint as a fast food worker, when he had seen her walk in. As soon as he saw her face, he was sure, certain, that he was in love. Ben had done as much as he could, to try to get her attention. And it worked. For a while, everything seemed great. So good, even, that they got married! That was when the troubles started. She began to demand to know where she was at all times, easily irritable and quick to resort to violence. For a while, Ben had considered divorce. But then, as if it were a message, she had a child. His child. He knew then, that he couldn't leave, for his daughter would need him. He reminded himself that every time the beatings, the abuse got too much. He was willing to take it, for his daughter. But something horrible started. The same things she had done to Ben, she began to do to Angela, his little girl. Finally, he built up the courage, to just get a divorce, leaving her and her abuse behind. That just made it worse. She began following Ben, a shadow in the corner of his eye everywhere he went. But he didn't hesitate this time. He got a restraining order, the minute he knew it was her. For a while, it seemed like the problem was solved. She couldn't follow him anymore, there was no way for her to hurt him. By this time he began dating again, and was in a relationship with a woman named Susan. One day, Angela was at daycare, Ben taking some time off, Susan having asked to come over. Then she came, back into his life. She came while he was taking a short nap waking him up with a slap to the face.
"You've been a very bad boy," She snarled, wiggling her finger in a mock gesture. Seeing that woman Susan, while I was gone? You can't cheat on your wife like that!" She nearly screamed into his face. Suddenly, Ben saw that she had his baseball bat in hand, an old one he had gotten signed. "And you know what happens to bad boys, don't you?" She had mockingly asked. "First, let's make sure you don't get any ideas with that Susan." She yelled, hoisting up the baseball bat and bashing it against Ben's groin. He yelled, in pain, and she did it again, and again, to the point that Ben thought it would never stop. But, eventually she did. Only to pull out a knife from her pocket. She held it against his throat. "Now, you're gonna do what I want, okay? Let's have some fun time, just like we used to." Suddenly, the door flung open, and Susan walked in. Her eyes grew wide with shock, and she quickly called 911 with her phone. Then she raced out off the back door, Susan and Ben staring in shock. Ben was shot back to reality when he once again heard her voice. He sat there, paralyzed.
"I hope you've been good since I last saw you!" She said, with such a fake, horrifying joy. "Because if you weren't... well, we remember what happens to bad boys, don't we?" She pulled out a knife, the same type as the one she used last time. 
"Now, get up!" She yelled, and Ben slowly got up, forced to listen. But no. This time, he wouldn't just stop. He wouldn't let her get to him. Not again. Ben picked up his laptop off of his couch and threw it at her, not looking to see if it hit as he began running away. To the backdoor, in the kitchen, he had run, only to find it was locked. He fumbled with the locks, opening all but one of them when she walked in. A fresh bruise was on her shoulder, so Ben knew the computer had hit.
"That's a bad boy!" She scolded. She walked towards him, pulling out her knife. "Now, come here like a good boy and take your punishment!"
"No." Dan muttered, softly.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!" She screamed, more angry now than ever.
"No. I won't listen to you. Not again." Ben grabbed the nearest thing, a wooden spoon on the counter, and threw it at her, running right past her as it slammed against her eye.
"BAD!" She screamed, "BAD, BAD BOY!" but Ben was running now, too far from her. He threw open the front door, racing outside out of his yard, down a street next to his house. His neighbors were having a barbecue, he noticed, racing past their house. 
"HEY!" He yelled to them. "CALL 911! NOW!" But he didn't wait to see if they did, he kept running, down the street, before tripping on a rock. She caught up to him now, getting on top of him and digging her knife into his shoulder.
"You could've made this better," She said. "You could've been a good boy, and we wouldn't need this, and I could have you. But you weren't, and now I need to get rid of you." She ripped her knife out of his shoulder, being sure not to come out of the exact same hole, making more cuts. Ben screamed, and one of his neighbors ran outside, a tall, skinny woman. She watched what was going on, and started to race over towards Ben.
"SLUT!" She screamed. "YOU WANT HIM FOR YOURSELF, DON'T YOU YOU DIRTY WHORE!" She had screamed. The woman got wide eyed, and then she came after her, holding the knife out, beginning another chase. Then, a miracle happened. The police managed to show up, just then, several officers swarming around her, each with guns aimed. She screamed, stabbing one of the nearest officers, when one shot her in the foot. But that only made it worse. She hobbled, but it was just as fast, fueled by rage. She managed to, somehow, stab 3 more of the police, before one finally shot her in the chest. She fell to the ground, with no more screams, only the silent siren call of death. Ben raced over to her, seeing if she was alive. 
"Kate..." He said, quietly, taking her hand. "It's better now... It's better..."
[/spoiler]

[Gildarts]

[spoiler]                  
                                                                                                             I

Warm fingertips fell on my cheek, delicately caressing my freshly formed stubble, soft as the pillowcase behind my head, as comfortable as a pillow. I feel myself smile, delight set into my chest as though it was being tickled with love and joy. The glow of the sun bore into my eyelids, and I welcomed the morning as she often kissed me awake so sweetly. Suddenly there was a pillow was over my mouth, suffocating me, pressure invaded my lungs and smothered over my face. The pureness of complete joy froze instantly, evaporating before complete terror overcame me. My screams were as muffled as my breaths, my strong arms flailed aimlessly, searching for the source, for the one who was holding the pillow over my mouth, denying my right to air. She was waiting for me to go limp, to give me CPR, like my life was a high-stakes game that she was destined to win, every time.

Yes, she was sick, but somehow these nightmares were getting more and more real. Still, I heard myself screaming, begging for air, powerless, helpless. I awoke. My bright eyes opened and my torso swept alertly up, the covers fell to my lap, leaving my skin bare, sleek and chilled with the disgusting sweat of true horror, the kind that stays with you long after your torment is gone.

To wash off the repulsive stink, I jump in the shower and lather up every inch of my body from head to toe. My dark hair, which hung around my ears in a very modern style, soaked up the soap and was rinsed out by the showerhead. I half-heartedly closed my eyes and tilted my face up to the showerhead, as though praying to the water’s divinity to baptize me here and now, to cleanse me of my sins. The cold water dripped down to my chin, waterfalling past the arcs and curves of my muscle, and splattering on the slippery floor in the uneven patterns of my movement.

Soap, hot water first, then cold, had cleansed me past the layers of my skin. Yet, the memories still haunted in my mind, and caused a jittery ache to my heart.. Elizabeth would never let me be free, not even in my dreams. My hand reached for the knob I knew was there and hesitated out of irrational trepidation to complete my reach. Fear for what I might find in its place. I open my eyes to absolve my fear and complete the twist. The water stopped. I was alone in my silence. Frigid with fear and devoid of much else. My morning would be hollow, yet I’d fill myself with tasteless coffee and thoughts full of remorse.

I didn’t shave, because I couldn’t think about the razors being that close to my neck. The blood drooling out of me if I’d nicked myself. My day was over before it even started. I opened the fogged up mirror, which hid my medicine cabinet, a lifetime of pill bottles came overflowing out. I always perched them far from the edge and somehow, they all rolled out like a landslide every morning, as though they were as on-edge as I was.

They all hid behind my tainted reflection, these were the skeletons in my closet. The doc said they were for PTSD, depression, chronic pain from that injury when she’d torn a ligament in my shoulder that had never quite healed right but it had been an ‘accident’ and well, the last bottle had been for insomnia. Those ones, sure, they put me out, but it was an unsettling slumber, like the one I’d just endured. No amount of pills would free me from the prison she’d set in my mind, the well-placed trapdoors, the immovable cadavers, the untrust I built my walls on to keep everyone out.

Fact is, no one believes a guy when he’s been abused. And if they do, they say “You should’ve settled it, smack her around and show her who’s boss,” or they silently judge you for being weak enough to take it for as long as I did.

I’d deteriorated into a blurred mess of who I used to be and I was only twenty-eight. I thought about her, Eliza, I thought she’d been the love of my life, she was charming, romantic, and actually had a brain for a change, unlike any of the other girls I’d met in the past. But here I was, a silhouette without essence, one who’s darkness was filled with more shadowed memories than the motivation to create new ones. I didn’t blame her, not for this, but I did resent her. The thought of her brings a piercing bitterness to my tongue, I recoil as the image of her face flashes in my mind as obtrusive as the sun’s beaming light through my kitchen window.

I had been eaten alive and like a seagull, she’d tossed away the shell of a man, and well, now I was doomed to live out my sufferable life in this burdening ache. Suffering had become my religion. Part of me begged for this all to be over, six feet under, she couldn’t touch me, but then, I’d leave no legacy. I was an only child and my parents had died young, an unfortunate plane crash in ‘08. I thought Eliza had been a great way to start my future, I’d landed a great job with a big business, even made it on Wall Street, but that was when things got freaky.

I’d been working late every night to secure my job and she’d accuse me of sleeping with prostitutes like I was some bigshot in the latest Dicaprio movie, I assured her my job was far from that much fun, and she’d taken it the wrong way. It was our first fight, she’d yelled so loud it blasted my eardrums and from that day, the fighting never really stopped. Even now, I grappled with my mind, trying to set it free by soothing it with the lies that she was locked away forever, that she couldn’t get a hold of me. I’d moved two thousand miles, changed my last name and filed a restraining order, still, she was Sherlock level smart, and if she ever escaped, I knew it wouldn’t be long.

One of these days I’d wake up and there really would be a pillow over my face.

                                                                                                          II

Surprisingly, the day had gone well, I commuted to work, though, it was nothing like my last two jobs, which reaped grand rewards and placed everything on the line. I had liked that thrill, but she’d worn it out of me. I grabbed coffee at lunch with a girl, she was delightful, pretty, but behind her smile, I saw all the traits Eliza had, it became a trail of breadcrumbs I had to follow in my mind, leading me to the wicked witch’s house of caramelized-cards. It was hard to think this girl wanted nothing more than a coffee, the way she sized me up physically with her piercing gaze. She saw through my suit as though it was invisible, she saw the scrawny, weak man I was and deemed me inadequate, before we’d even ordered. The judgement was tangible in her eyes, behind the lines of her smile.

I’d had enough of this. After work I went to the store and dropped three hundred on an old, well-polished revolver. It was steel with a wooden handle. I’d purchased a holster, and they’d told me to take the concealed-permit class if I was going to walk around with it. Frankly, I didn’t know what I was going to do with it yet, but I was done being driven insane by my own thoughts. I needed to seize my life back.

I thought about it. Yes, that, I’d thought about it before too, overdosing on pills, but that never seemed like my way to go out. Plus, like I said, my parents were dead and watching over me. I’d prayed to God, asked him for redemption, asked him for my mind to be cleaned. Even went to confession and spilled my guts to the priest. Take a guess if it had been any help, while I hold this gun in my hand and get in my car, driving along the coastline, searching for the end of the horizon.

There were six bullets in rung, one in the chamber, I hadn’t cocked it. There was no threat. I was challenging myself to be strong, driving down roads I didn’t remember, passing by beautiful babes and tanned surfer dudes. California was great, even if you could just hit the beach once a week, it’d change your way of thinking, so they told me, so they’d told me.

How do you live with a life you don’t want anymore? How do you promise yourself things will be different when every morning they wake up the same? You tell yourself you’re here for a reason, that someone somewhere down the line will love you as much as you should love yourself every day. You wade in the ocean of denial until a tsunami of reality hits you, threatens to drown you, and then somehow, you’re breathing enough to know you got out alive, barely.

Well, here’s how. You change it. You tell yourself you have a choice, the ultimate choice. The one that resides in your doubt and darkness, dwells even in your moments of kindness and light, and you promise yourself if things ever get bad enough, that you’ll just end it, and be reincarnated as a bird or someshit. But the thing is, you never have the balls to do it, because it is a dishonor to the resources the world has poured into you, a dishonor to the good memories, the smiles you’ve shared with your buddies from college, the cheers at the bar when your football team wins the superbowl and you brag to all the losers, and they buy you a beer from the bet you’d both shaken on.

They’d mean nothing, no other individual had the same view as you. There are eight billion people in the world, and if you stood them all along the coastlines of the world, they’d each see a different perspective. You’d hop from person to person, seeing the beauty and wounds they’d endured in their lives. Cancer, paralyzed from the waist down, allergic to every food in the book and fearful of every bite you took being your last. Then you can go back to your own perspective, and realize, your choice hasn’t won you anything. So why would you choose self-pity over self-worth?

Why did I choose it every goddamn time?

The answer was simple, because I really was worthless, but if it was gonna be her or me, do you know who I’d choose? Self preservation was a special kind of curse and it had won in glory-less victory every time. My foot eased into a touch to the breaks and I took the revolver in my hand. Its potential, its emancipating beauty radiating in the setting California sun. I could see my blurred hand in the stainless steel reflection of the thing. Funny, it looked just like the mirror when it was sprayed with mist.

Yes,  I sure thought about it. Every fucking day, but never again.

                                                                                                           III

Miles and miles of dark pavement sprawled behind me, I looked, for the first time, in a long time, at the trees and unfurling road before me. It had been over a day and I still hadn’t taken my meds, Hell, I hadn’t even slept, but insomniacs like me thrive in the sort of element that deprives them not of sleepless hours, but of days. It was the first time in a long time, that I felt excitement thrill my body instead of fear. The first time ever, I’d gone this far for a woman. Ha!

Still, the delivery wouldn’t exactly be roses, now would it? All the mirrors in my car angled behind me, never settling on my face, but choosing random stray bits of my features to reshape with a slight curve. My car drove with a lovely hum, she was silver and had taken me all the way here. The only girl I still loved was this baby, but after this, I can’t be sure I’d be driving her for a while. This was fine, she wasn’t destined for commutes anyway.

The sun rose again on the tree-laden horizon and I felt my face crack with a smile in return to its warmth. I passed a road sign which read, “Welcome to New York” and just underneath it, a deer had fallen in the face of car or truck likely going eighty miles per hour. It never made it to the other side, but it had died trying. I felt the crunch of bone and gore splatter on my car’s undercarriage as I drove over it with two thuds.

Maybe after this, finally, I’d get a good night’s sleep.



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[spoiler]Not sure I want to end it there but it feels like his intent was pretty finalized, though I don't imagine it happening like the story might lead the reader to believe. Overall, surprised about how well I feel it turned out. I usually go overboard on short stories. What do you think?
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