This week's prompt, as stated before: You're in a motel.
Go.
He comes here every Thursday like clockwork. He walks in the room, takes off his trench coat, and throws it on the broken armchair.
He thinks no one can see him.
But I do.
From under the bureau I can see him. I can smell his cologne.
He pushes the rickety bed across the floor with a screech.
Every time.
The trapdoor is exposed. He opens it and lowers himself down gingerly. He stays down there for forty-five minutes exactly, a constant thump thump below the floorboards. He climbs up and moves the bed back to its original position, as if nothing happened. He lies on the quilt, wiping the sweat off his brow, a serene grin on his face. He dozes.
He thinks he's alone.
He thinks he's free.
He thinks no more.
Go.
~~~
He comes here every Thursday like clockwork. He walks in the room, takes off his trench coat, and throws it on the broken armchair.
He thinks no one can see him.
But I do.
From under the bureau I can see him. I can smell his cologne.
He pushes the rickety bed across the floor with a screech.
Every time.
The trapdoor is exposed. He opens it and lowers himself down gingerly. He stays down there for forty-five minutes exactly, a constant thump thump below the floorboards. He climbs up and moves the bed back to its original position, as if nothing happened. He lies on the quilt, wiping the sweat off his brow, a serene grin on his face. He dozes.
He thinks he's alone.
He thinks he's free.
He thinks no more.
~~~
I know, it's really dramatic for a comedy blog, right? Eh, but what're ya gonna do? Another thing we like to do is Amy (whom I have now dubbed Crown Grandmaster of Writermonies) will show us a picture and we have to write a line or so based on the picture. I wish I could show them to you, so instead I will describe.
The first week was a picture of a broken window in an old wooden house. This is my response:
"Hello, again," he whispered with a smirk, his pliers grasped firmly in his weathered hand.
The second week we saw a picture of a white sandy beach with mountains in the background. Pretty much a screensaver.
The scenery is beautiful here. Rumbling waves, the green mountains, the sand. . . The sand that is currently in every annoying crevice of my body as I'm buried up to my neck, completely alone and helpless. Oh no, my nose itches!
Kinda lame, but whatevs! And finally, this week's picture prompt was a pair of red loafers placed neatly leaning against a plaster house near some white ropes and some stairs.
Maybe no one would notice that his dark red boating shoes had once been a pristine white.
Soooo I'm sensing a pattern here.
Apparently everything I write has to involve death or murder in some way (with the exception of the sand one. Well, maybe he dies if the tide comes in.). I need to stray away from this madness! Not every story needs murder! "Only the ones worth telling," says my creeper murderous alter-ego. "Who doesn't love a good murder?"
Yesssssssssssssss. . . *Insane creepy grin*
Yesssssssssssssss. . . *Insane creepy grin*
Okay so I'm gonna go attempt to work on my play for NaNoWriMo again. We got 21 days left and I still have 12,500 words left! Aaack!
P.S. Next week's prompt is this:
Once, when no one was watching. . .
All roads lead to murder!
All roads lead to murder!
