Gravity by Carolyn Glass

I had never really thought about gravity, well you don’t do you? It’s just there, we’ve never known any different, it’s not something we’re short of on planet earth. When it gradually started to disappear, we didn’t really appreciate what was happening. It was a long time before scientists let us know what was going on; we actually scoffed at the idea, like we had global warming centuries earlier. They don’t really know why it is happening, but we better hope they find out soon, before we all start floating away. It sounds silly but how will the earth work without gravity? What will small animals do? I’m sure some people will have endless fun with it, imagine being able to jump over your house, and there’s bound to be some way for criminals to exploit it. Not much of a legacy for future generations, our parents left us global warming and extreme weather; we’re going to leave no gravity. Perhaps it’s time to evacuate while there is still a population to evacuate.

Gravity by Lesley Whyte

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation you're in. You can't expect..."

My brain goes spinning off into space. It's a stupid expression, really. What IS the gravity of a situation? I mean, seriously, what does that actually mean? Where does it come from? It's a stupid expression. If we really were in space and there was no gravity, I'd be able to swim away from her super-fast. She'd never catch me. She'd never have managed to get me in her office. I bet I can air-swim a thousand times faster than she can. Of course, I'd have nowhere to go, but still.

She's still talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" I say.

Her lips pinch together. Her eyebrows pinch together. "I think you should probably be paying attention. I mean, you have been arrested for murder."

"I know. And the gravity of the situation is like...super gravity-ish."

Day Thirty-One

And the final prompt is...

Gravity

Memento by Carolyn Glass

It was another one. Just the same as always, abducted, restrained, left to die somewhere and later dumped. But we were sure he would make a mistake soon. The intervals got shorter, the dump sites more public, we were trying to find a link between the victims, or the place he was holding them, but zilch.

As usual it was overconfidence that got him caught. He always took a souvenir, the ring finger of the left hand, complete with rings. All the victims’ families agreed there was at least one ring taken.

A very shaken jeweller tipped us off, he had been offered a ring, and he rang the secret alarm under the counter which got us there in minutes. He said he would not have realised the significance, had he not noticed the guy wresting it from a finger which he then placed back in his pocket.

Memento by Lesley Whyte

She left her cellphone in my room. A little souvenir, a memento of our time together. Of course, she didn't just leave it on my nightstand or dresser like a normal person would have done. Oh, no, she had to tape it to the underside of my bed. Where I wouldn't see it. Where I wouldn't even know about it until after the cops found it.

Well played, Cass. Well played.

Day Thirty

And today's prompt is...

Memento

Seven by Lesley Whyte

TO DO
1. Shower
2. Eat breakfast
3. Prep garden
4. Kill Arthur
5. Bury Arthur
6. Shower
7. Wine

Seven by Carolyn Glass

Having made sampling the seven deadly sins my bucket list, I should have thought about the order more carefully. I think I’ve just about covered gluttony and sloth, trouble is weighing in at 32 stone and being housebound will seriously impede my chances of completing the other 5.

Day Twenty-Nine

And today's prompt is...

Seven

Stoker by Carolyn Glass

I never realised what a dirty job it was. I had always wanted to ride in a steam train, not in the carriages you understand, up front with the driver, wind in my hair type of scenario. So when a mate said his dad could get me a ride on the local Steam Railway, I was mega excited. I was told I needed overalls and sturdy boots, but that was fine, I was fulfilling a long held ambition. So I pitched up on Sunday morning, all smiles and reported to the driver, he thrust a shovel in my hand and said, the coals their (and pointed at a truck behind the engine) get shovelling. I didn’t see a thing the whole trip, I was shovelling the whole time with my head down, I was glad to get off at the end of the journey, I was completely knackered, and black from head to foot! They wouldn’t even let me get in a carriage for the return journey, “how do you think we can make the return journey without a stoker?” They laughed. I’ll bet the last guy is in prison for bashing the drivers head in with a shovel!

Stoker by Lesley Whyte

I walk around and around the dregs of the fire. The heap of ashes are hot, I can feel the heat on my legs from a foot away. They're smouldering gently. I drag the poker behind me, drawing an almost-perfect circle in the black sand. My feet itch and sting, but I have to draw the marks while the ashes are still hot. I can't wait for them to cool. The circle is drawn. I take a breath and then close my eyes as I cross it, my feet sinking into the burning dust. It has to be done. It has to be done. I cross the circle again and again, dragging the poker behind me until a star is drawn in the ash. A pentagram. I stand in the centre and drop the poker. I open my eyes and look up at the starry sky.

And then I wait.

Day Twenty-Eight

And today's prompt is...

Stoker

Friends with Kids by Carolyn Glass

I never realised how much I hated kids, not kids in general, I mean the ones I’m forced to spend time with, because their parents are my friends.

It wasn’t too bad at the start, new babies are pretty quiet, and you can take them to parties and just leave them in the bedroom and check on them now and then.

Then when they get a bit bigger, you can’t really do that anymore, so you end up having to go to places that are “child friendly” or even worse, having to go to their homes because it’s awkward for them to go out because they can’t get a babysitter.

I mean let’s be honest, child friendly just means no place for normal people, and homes with small children or babies are no place for normal people either.

Today was the final straw, I was asked to hold a screaming infant (who needed a nappy change) while his parent sorted out the demented toddler who had just been refused more chocolate. As soon as I got home, I founded a new site on the internet; No parents allowed; a meeting place for sane individuals to seek sanctuary from friends with kids. I’m sure it will be a hit.

Friends with Kids by Lesley Whyte

"So, what do we have planned for the weekend?"

"Well, Marcy's boy is having his Christening on Saturday morning, then we're supposed to skip out early to go to lunch with Helen and Joel to celebrate their upcoming bundle of joy. Saturday afternoon, we have to go buy a gift for Lena, and we'll have to spend a lot of money because her college friend is getting her the pushchair. You know, the one I showed you online? They don't even talk anymore. We're going to have to really step up our game. I was Googling for ideas all day, but I've got nothing. Anyway, it's her co-ed baby shower on Saturday evening, so we both get to go. Which is kind of nice, actually, and it means we only have to give one gift, unlike at Sarah's shower, when she and Ethan expected separate gifts at their stupid separate parties. And then there's Sunday, which is just-"

"You want to go away this weekend?"

"We can't. People are expecting-"

"So tell them I surprised you. Blame me, I don't care."

"I...really?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking somewhere with a beach that serves cocktails."

Day Twenty-Seven

And today's prompt is...

Friends with Kids

Hereafter by Lesley Whyte

"And then you just need to sign here and then we're done. You're completely signed over to us - you don't have to worry about doing anything for yourself anymore. We'll make all your decisions for you, we'll take care of everything. You can just relax and enjoy things. Hereafter, we'll make sure you don't make any mistakes. Won't that be nice?"

I hesitate. I booked my holiday for the wrong weekend. It cost me an absolute fortune. I simply can't be trusted to do things on my own. This is for the best. I don't care that everyone says they want control of people for nefarious reasons. I just know I can't be trusted as we go forward.

I sign the paper.

"There. That was easy, wasn't it? From now on, nothing will be more difficult than that. We'll take care of you, we'll take care of everything."

Hereafter by Carolyn Glass

From now on; after this; eventually; henceforth; in the course of time; in the future; ultimately; at the end of the day; in the long run; someday; sometime; sooner or later; when all is said and done. It doesn’t matter which way you say it, the bottom line is it’s your responsibility to empty the dishwasher, so stop prevaricating and get on with it.

Day Twenty-Six

And today's prompt is...

Hereafter

Clash of the Titans by Carolyn Glass

There had never been an Oscars ceremony like it, Batman punching Thor on the red carpet, being egged on by Robin and the Avengers. All because Batman caught Thor chatting up Catwoman, I don’t think either of them will be getting an award tonight. 

Clash of the Titans by Lesley Whyte

"We'll come around from the left, they won't be expecting that. Look, see how they've set up ninety per cent of their defences on the right side? Protecting the moutain pass? That's the obvious way into the capital, because it's the stupid answer. I know that sounds silly, but that's warfare for you. Why would we attack them head-on? We'd try and sneak around through the mountains, surprise them, so they'll expect us to do that and in fact they're there, waiting to ambush us. We need to surprise them by doing the obvious. That's how wars are won."

"Dude, it's just a game."

"So?"

"So...stop acting like we're saving the world or something."

"You just don't get it."

"True. Very true."

"I don't think I want to play with you anymore."

"Really, because I'm sure I don't want to play with you."

"Fine, go away, then."

"No. I can sit here."

"I'm on the computer."

"And I'm just sitting near it."

"I hate you. Get away from me."

"No, screw you."

"I'll tell Mum."

"And I'll unplug your stupid game."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"MUM!"

Day Twenty-Five

And today's prompt is...

Clash of the Titans

In Time by Carolyn Glass

It will get easier they said, you’ll get on with your life, it will be ok eventually. Time is a great healer. Maybe it’s true, but I can’t see it, how does one recover from something like this? My political career was just reaching its peak, then that bloody sex tape hit the internet. I’m pretty sure that’s the end of the line for my aspirations.

In Time by Lesley Whyte

I finished the test in record time. Seriously, like twenty seconds. All the other suckers spent aaaages filling in the little circles. Like it's hard. You just have to pick one of the four at random, right?

Right?

Day Twenty-Four

And today's prompt is...

In Time

Notes on a Scandal by Lesley Whyte

The defendent looks confident. At ease. He's looking around the courtroom as if he owns it. The judge looks bored. From here, I can see him scrolling through Twitter on his phone. From the rest of the courtroom, it probably looks like he's asleep. The key witness is clearly ruffled. Her skin is flushed a bright red as she answers questions. She is clearly uncomfortable discussing the nature of her relationship with the defendent. It's not her fault, she didn't think anyone would find out. But then, I suppose, neither did he, and he looks perfectly comfortable with the way this is playing out.

God, I hope they find him guilty. Slick son of a bitch.

Day Twenty-Three

And today's prompt is...

Notes on a Scandal

The Lives of Others by Carolyn Glass

It started as a game in the pub, people watching. We would give people names and histories, we never spoke to them, and it would have ruined it if we knew anything about them. We sat in our own little bubble, interacting only when we went to the bar.

I don’t know why I started to find it unsatisfactory, I pretended to enjoy it still, but was more and more driven to find out the truth about these people and their real lives.

I started by listening in to their conversations, Sarah soon got fed up with me not listening to her so I went to the pub on my own. I still didn’t want to speak to them, just wanted to know their names, and work out their relationships to each other.

Soon that wasn’t enough, I was following people, finding out there they lived and worked, seeing them socialising in other places, seeing them with their children. Nothing creepy about it I was just interested; everyone seemed to have much more interesting lives than me. It was a bit like when you’re in the supermarket and the person in front of you has more nicer things on the conveyor, or when you’re eating out and the food delivered to the adjoining table looks better than yours.

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that I wanted to try someone else’s life, just for a short while, just to see what it was like. I decided to keep a low profile; it wouldn’t do to draw attention to myself. It might spoil my plans.

When it came down to it, it wasn’t like I imagined at all, it would have been alright but everyone seemed so resistant to the idea, I couldn’t see why they found the idea so repellent, where was the harm? They shouldn’t have been so abusive; I was forced to subdue them, which made trying out their lives pretty difficult. Perhaps I’ll have better luck with the next selection. This one hasn’t worked out at all well, at least no-one saw me arrive at the house, and the family will never identify me, actually, it may be difficult for anyone to identify them now, since the fire.

The Lives of Others by Lesley Whyte

Melanie is wearing a green dress today, with strappy sandals. She looks like she's ready for a date, a summer date, despite the fact that it's January and below zero out there. Her skirt wafts around her knees every time the door opens. She keeps checking her phone, anxiously, while she waits for her coffee. He hasn't arrived yet. He's late. She's getting a coffee so that she doesn't look like she's waiting for anyone, she's embarrassed by the fact that he's not here yet. She sat for ten minutes, looking at her phone every few seconds, before she decided to get up and grab a coffee. It's not Melanie's fault that nobody loves her. She's pretty and friendly and fun and outgoing. She should have someone that loves her. There must be something actually wrong with her. Something that chases men away and leaves her sitting alone in coffee shops on Thursday evenings.

David, however, is in a rush today. He's dressed in a suit, but he's undone the tie and his top button. His cheeks are decorated in black stubble, but his hair's greying at the temples. His cheeks are pink from the cold, but his skin is grey everywhere else. He's been struggling recently, since losing his job. Nobody is hiring right now. He can't afford that triple-shot expresso he's waiting for. He used to jiggle his keys in his hands while he waited, but he doesn't anymore. He sold the car. He sold his pride and joy, a silver Ferrari. He's stopped wearing his wedding ring, too. Poor David. He grabs his coffee without thanking Hayley, the barista who works at the coffee shop and the music store downtown, when she's not studying for her psychology degree.

"Natalie!" A shout comes from the kitchen.

Hayley hurries through the door, and I hear someone, a man, telling her to take the muffins out before they burn. Huh. I always thought she looked like a Hayley.

Day Twenty-Two

And today's prompt is...

The Lives of Others

Easy A by Carolyn Glass

I have worked so hard for this moment; in the envelope is the result, the culmination of the effort of 13 years of formal education. If it is not what I hope for all will be lost. I open the envelope carefully, slowly, wanting to know but afraid of finding out, I unfold the sheet, and there it is, my passport to my dream course, triple A. Easy.

Easy A by Lesley Whyte

It was so easy.

Too easy.

I can only imagine what would happen if I actually worked hard and studied for class. I'd be unstoppable.So, okay, yes, I got caught switching my paper with Emily Taylor's, but spotting the opportunity to do it was pretty damn special. Not everyone would have had the intellect, the quick wit, the fortitude to erase Emily's name as she passed her test forward and write my own on it.

Okay, so I don't technically know what fortitude means, but whatever.

Day Twenty-One

And today's prompt is...

Easy A

The Lion King by Carolyn Glass

In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight? Tosh! Everyone knows lions don’t live in jungles!

The Lion King by Lesley Whyte

"Why's it called The Lion King?"

"Because the lion is the king of the jungle."

"Lions don't live in the jungle."

"I...shut up."

Day Twenty

And today's prompt is...

The Lion King

Watchmen by Carolyn Glass

Horologists are surely close to extinction? Plumbers are still needed; mechanics are still needed; computer programmers are still needed; but horologists? Watches are a throwaway item for all but the super rich. Machine tooled in the main, I really can’t see why you want to waste time learning how to fix watches in this day and age. Learn to do something useful!

Watchmen by Lesley Whyte

The dials spin and click and tick. Tick tick tick. No tock. Never a tock. Just tick tick tick. Everything fits together, each piece a perfect piece. The dials spin and click and tick. It looks so delicate and intricate, and it is, it truly is, but it's also maddeningly simple. Anyone could put this together if they took the time and the care to try. But they won't. Because people are maddeningly simple. I spin the dial and all the others move, ticking around and around and around. Tick tick tick. They said it couldn't be done. They said I was mad. But it's ready. They're ready. My clockwork army. Ready to take on the world. Just listen to them click and tick. Tick tick tick.

Day Nineteen

And today's prompt is...

Watchmen

The Conjuring by Lesley Whyte

When he produced the rabbit from his hat, we applauded.

When he cut the lady in half, we cheered.

When he impaled Uncle George, we laughed.

When he levitated Aunt Miriam, we gasped.

When he made Great-Gran crawl out of her own grave, we screamed and ran until our legs hurt and our lungs felt like they were going to burst.

When we saw on the news that Great-Gran ate the magician and then disappeared, we decided it was time to change our surname and skip town.

Day Eighteen

And today's prompt is...

The Conjuring

The Rum Diary by Lesley Whyte

DAY FOUR
Things are getting tense. We're running out of food, but there's still plenty of rum. Jimmy's decided we need to ration it, he says we won't survive if we keep drinking but don't eat enough. We'll be sick and then we'll be stupid and then we'll die. I think we should eat Jimmy first.


DAY EIGHT
Amelia and I had sex. Running out of rum, too.


DAY FIFTEEN
The food is gone. I hope I never see rum again. Amelia's being a clingy bitch. Something about her being the last woman on earth and how I should feel privileged that she chose me from the group.


DAY SEVENTEEN
New arrivals. No food. No water. No rum. Four new women.


DAY TWENTY-SEVEN
We had to eat Amelia.

The Rum Diary by Carolyn Glass

I modelled myself on Bridget Jones; it seemed such a good idea at the time, having a blog, it would encourage me to write every day. My life was so boring; it was a nice hobby, harmless. The trouble was, my love life was non-existent, I’d never smoked or taken drugs and was completely teetotal. So I decided to embellish a little. It was a little harmless fantasy, it was for me, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to take an interest in my blog. It was anonymous, so where was the harm?

I was pretty surprised even a little excited when a magazine editor, mentioned it in her editorial. I was flattered that she had been amused by my small efforts. I never gave a thought to what would happen next.

Once she had mentioned my blog, a lot of people started to take a look, it was a few weeks before I realised there was anything wrong. One Friday I witnessed a huge argument going on as I left the office, I knew the guy slightly and I assumed the girl was his wife or girlfriend. It looked like a pretty big argument.

The next Monday, security escorted a number of people from the building, no-one would talk about why, but they were all from the planning office, two floors above mine.

The penny finally dropped when I was called into the office of the managing director, and questioned about whether I had ever been subject of unwanted sexual advances from my line manager. I fervently denied that poor old Mr Jones had ever done anything inappropriate and couldn’t wait to get out. I feigned illness and went home early.

I went back over my blog, there it was, I had claimed an affair with the guy I had seen arguing with his wife/girlfriend; I claimed I had snorted coke with guys from the planning department; I claimed Mr Jones was a terrible letch who made unwanted advances to the female juniors in his department. How could I have been so naïve? I should have made sure the names were completely changed; I really didn’t expect anyone to spot links between the names in my blog and people they worked with. Obviously people weren’t as dumb as I gave them credit for. As long as they didn’t work out my name I would probably be alright, how could they track me down, it was all anonymous, I just needed to keep my nerve and abandon the blog or do one final one saying it was all fantasy. I’d sleep on it and it would all blow over.

I was awakened by a loud bang and shouts of “armed police” Oh dear, they must have found the post about my mythical terrorist boyfriend who was planning a suicide mission.

Day Seventeen

And today's prompt is...

The Rum Diary

Leaving Las Vegas by Carolyn Glass

It was the holiday of a lifetime. Los Angeles, to start, we did all the touristy stuff, A Lakers game, Venice beach, a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive, a walk down the Hollywood Walk of fame, picking out our favourite stars.

Then we moved on to the Grand Canyon. It was all we had been promised, we spent three nights under canvas, and spent the days horse riding through the canyon. We tried our hand at white water rafting, but the most exhilarating part was the helicopter tour, it was a real buzz made you realise how small and insignificant you really are.

The final part of the holiday was a cruise around the Hawaiian Islands, starting from San Diego, which left us with a few days to chill, that’s when we thought of Vegas. It was pretty much on our route to San Diego anyway, we might never be this close again, why not?

We found rooms in the Bellagio, and went out on the strip to soak up the atmosphere. We planned to visit as many of the famous hotels as possible and maybe take in one of the shows. We never really thought about gambling, it wasn’t something we had ever done, apart from the odd lottery ticket (with very little to show for it) but if you’re going to try gambling, where better than Vegas?

It started with a few dollars in the slots, then a few hands of black jack, and then we found the roulette table. It didn’t really seem like gambling, we were given a few chips to play with, and then we bought a few, then a few more, the first hint that all was not well was when we maxed out our cards, but the house let us borrow a bit more, (guaranteed against our kids' inheritance) we won a few (and ignored the fact that we lost a lot more) That was 3 weeks ago. Our cruise ship must have left without us, we never really noticed the passage of time in the casino, it was always lit the same way, day or night. So now here we are, on the top of the Bellagio, what a disappointing way to be leaving Las Vegas.

Leaving Las Vegas by Lesley Whyte

The dazzling lights, the tinkling of slot machines paying out, the cheering people crowded around the craps tables. The whole place is bright, colourful, dizzying. Magical. It's packed tight with people and the noise is unbelievable. I've been out here for a year now and I still haven't gotten used to it. I weave through packs of guests, distributing colourful cocktails and clearing empty glasses. I'm as much a part of the place as the dealers, the pit bosses and the pirate ship.

I'm nobody, just another face, but I'm a part of things.

Without me, that high roller wouldn't get his champagne.
Without me, the bride-to-be would remember this trip.
Without me, lounge singer would lose her voice.

I've never been important before. I've never been an integral part of anything. I might be a small part, a very small part, but I matter. I do. And I've never had that before. It's an amazing feeling. So amazing that even after a year of being out here, sleeping in grubby motel rooms and serving drinks to people who don't even glance at my face, I still feel excited every time I set foot on the casino floor.

I just hope my parents don't track me down.

I'm not ready to go back home to Indiana just yet.

Day Sixteen

And today's prompt is...

Leaving Las Vegas

Gone in 60 Seconds by Carolyn Glass

It was a little embarrassing really, everyone always joked about my “hollow legs” but they were all a bit shocked by the speed at which I demolished that king sized mars bar.

Gone in 60 Seconds by Lesley Whyte

This is torture.

"What was that? What? I can't hear him. What's he saying?"

"I don't know, I can only hear you."

Seriously, they could use my father to torture dictators into giving up their secrets. Or, you know, killing themselves to end their suffering. It's not a bad idea. I think longingly of the Remington 783 in our garage. Assuming they haven't changed the combination for the locker, I could have that sucker in my hands in seconds. I could end this torture. I could be gone in just sixty seconds.

Gone in 60 Seconds by Aimee Topham

“Hey, you know, I was thinking, maybe we should move in together.” She smiled coyly and leaned in closer. Jared’s eyes shot open. “I know it’s only been a week, but I really like you, and they say you never know a person until you live with them! I was thinking, maybe I could come live with you? That way we could save on rent until we’re ready to buy a bigger place…?”

Jared coughed. “Erm, Yeah. Listen, Katie?” He smiled weakly, and started the whole speech. To be fair, his was pretty original. No “it’s not you, it’s me – “ like David. Or, was it Michael? Katie’s exes were many and varied, though all clingy. This was her third break-up this month. No, Jared went with the actual persuasive, logical argument. Quoting taxes, rent, and how much they actually knew each other. Mentioning flats that were bigger and of a similar price… Katie’s forehead knotted. But then, she started nodding. And responding.

Bugger.



“Katie! Hi! Fancy seeing you here! You know, I was just talking about you! We need to catch up soon, come to the bathroom with me?” I grabbed her arm and marched her off. “What the hell are you doing? Sixty seconds to get rid of the guy, that’s what you told me!”

“I know,” Katie whined. “But he’s really persuasive!” She was taking the opportunity to fix her hair in the mirror. I glared at the back of her head. 

“You need to get rid of him. He’s a clinger, didn’t you say? A ‘draining, leeching slob’? And that being clingy yourself would put him off?” My voice was going so high, my throat was starting to hurt.

“Just cause you can’t get a boy to move in with you in sixty seconds.” She whipped around and stared at me, eyes challenging.

I grinned back. “Sixty seconds…. You’re on!” I turned to saunter out of the bathroom and threw my last remark over my shoulder. “Just… get rid of the clinger.”

Day Fifteen

And today's prompt is...

Gone in 60 Seconds

127 Hours by Lesley Whyte

127 hours.

That's how long the journey takes. It sounds like a long time, but that's what...like, five days? Five days is nothing. A blip. And you'll be asleep for most of it. If you think about it, you won't even be aware of what's happening. You'll be fast asleep and dreaming. It'll be nice. Peaceful. You'll feel so rested when you wake up, ready to face anything. You'll wake up fresh and ready to face the brand new world when you arrive.

At least, that's what I've been trying to convince myself of. It all goes flying out of my head when they approach me with the tube that fills my lungs with that horrible cold gunk. Cryogenic liquid, they called it in briefing. Horrible cold gunk is more appropriate.

127 hours.

Five days.

Just five days, Mags. You can do it.

127 Hours by Carolyn Glass

5.29 days, 127 hours, 7620 minutes, 457200 seconds. Now that’s the definition of sad, counting down the seconds till the new Bradley Cooper film is released.

127 Hours by Aimee Topham

One hundred and twenty seven hours in two weeks. That’s at least nine hours a day, seven days a week. Straight. Seeing the same faces, going through the same motions, having to have the same ‘genuinely interesting’ conversations with customers, who always remark on what a lovely place this must be to work.

And yes, it’s gorgeous. The roaring fire, candles, oak furniture and soft jazz music all make it a very atmospheric place to live my life.

But, after one hundred and twenty seven HOURS here, I need a break. I need to get away from the pumps, the endless cleaning of glasses. I need to get away from the chefs, the moaning customers, the crying children who drop food all over the floor.

I need the pub.

Day Fourteen

And today's prompt is...

127 Hours

Harsh Times by Lesley Whyte

It was just so unexpected, really. I mean, I can't believe he'd do that to me. What kind of father just cuts up your credit cards? I know things have been difficult since he lost his job, but really, what am I supposed to do now? He told me to get a job. A job. Can you believe that? He doesn't even have a job and now he expects me to get one.

Watermelon Sunrise, please.

He says I'm going to have to start paying my own rent, that I'll probably have to find a cheaper place to live. He wants me to leave my home. I've had to sell everything. Everything. My car, my jewellery, my couture. It's barbaric. This is the last luxury I have left, getting my nails done. Who knows when I'll be able to afford it again? I might have to start painting my own. I mean, can you imagine? What kind of lawless heathen actually paints nails?

Oh, no offence, Mara.

Harsh Times by Carolyn Glass

I’m sorry, Miss Jones, but the only option is redundancy, business is down and we simply have to cut costs, and our biggest expense is salaries. No, I wasn’t aware that you were getting married next month or that you’ve just taken out a hefty mortgage based on your current salary here. 

Well, we all have to make sacrifices, I’ve had to forgo replacing my Jaguar this year, and I’ll have to holiday in Europe rather than my usual 6 weeks in the States this summer. Please stop making a scene, the customers will think there is a problem. Perhaps it would be better if you left now rather than working out your notice, don’t worry, I’ll deduct the rest of the month’s salary from your final pay cheque, don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

Day Thirteen

And today's prompt is...

Harsh Times

The Next Three Days by Carolyn Glass

Only 3 days to go, what could possibly go wrong? Well I’m glad you asked me that. So far, the bride's dress damaged in a mystery dye spill accident (will be discovered by the shop owner tomorrow, shame she had just made her assistant redundant), a number of the guests suffering from suspected food poisoning after the hen night (shouldn’t be too difficult to spike the champagne in the club tonight and then persuade everyone to eat kebabs at 3am), the venue for the nuptials firebombed (tomorrow along with 2 other churches, probably be considered a hate crime with any luck). And if the bride and groom insist on staying cheerful, dealing with each incident calmly? An accidental death, preferably hers, (then I could sweep in and offer consolation and support) but his would be ok at a pinch. He’d regret passing me over one way or another.

The Next Three Days by Lesley Whyte

The next three days are vital. Everything has to be perfect. You have so much to plan. You don't have much time to do it in. You can't allow this stuff to go unplanned. Can you imagine what will happen if you do? Can you? You can't let that happen. You can't. It will ruin everything.

EVERYTHING.

So, with that in mind, which centrepieces do you prefer?

Day Twelve

And today's prompt is...

The Next Three Days

Brave by Carolyn Glass

The trick was never to show fear. As a youth he had always been the first to try something new, he was never afraid to wade into a scrap to sort it out. In sport he was always in the thick of it, taking on guys twice his size in tackles. He was a decorated soldier; he had rescued an injured comrade when their vehicle has struck by a missile. He had later been captured and interrogated, they got nothing from him.

None of this had prepared him for today. He was shown into a small consultation room, where a man was reading notes, he looked up and told Max to take a seat. Max thought he could hear his own heart; it was beating so loudly, surely it must be audible to everyone. He was almost paralysed with terror, when he heard the instruction, “just open wide, it won’t hurt a bit.”

Brave by Lesley Whyte

"So, like, why was it called Brave?"

"Are you serious? Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Is it because the main character was a ginger princess? I mean, that was a pretty brave move by the people who made it."

"That's racist."

"I don't think you know what racism is."

"Whatever. So, was it the ginger princess thing?"

"Yes. Yes, it was."

"Oh. Okay. Good movie."

Day Eleven

And today's prompt is...

Brave

Madagascar by Lesley Whyte

There once was a lonely penguin. He lived in the zoo in Central Park, along with 64 others. There were King and Chinstrap penguins, and even a few Gentoo. He was the only Rockhopper. His mate had died when they were integrated into the exhibit, and so he had been alone ever since. Children would come and peer at him through the glass. They'd look at all the penguins, squawking with delight, but then they'd see him. They'd see the wild tufts of yellow hair sprouting from his head and his bright orange eyes.

"What's wrong with that one?" they'd ask. He was different. Their parents would shush them and point at the other penguins, pointing out the baby Gentoos. There were so many baby Gentoos.

The lonely penguin just kept swimming around the tank, dreaming of escape. Dreaming of a friend, but at the same time terrified of the prospect. His mate had not survived entering the tank, and he was afraid others might die. He tried to embrace the loneliness, but it was too hard. He died not long after, with no apparent cause, but the other penguins understood. 

The lonely Rockhopper had died of a broken heart.

Day Ten

And today's prompt is...

Madagascar

Freaky Friday by Carolyn Glass

If I hadn’t overslept, I would never have walked under that ladder while fixing my face, then I would never have trodden on the black cats tail, resulting in my dropping and breaking the mirror. Seven years bad luck, I always laughed at people with Triskaidekaphobia, never again.

Freaky Friday by Lesley Whyte

Put yourself in my position, please. I mean, really, just take a moment and really think about what happened. You'll see. You'll see that I had no other choice but to hit your dog with my car.

First of all, I acted on instinct. You see a child running out in front of you, you swerve. Tell me you wouldn't swerve. Tell me. Tell me. See, you can't. I swerved. I hit your dog and once again I am sorry about that, but honestly, wouldn't you rather I killed your dog than a small child? Even a strange one. When it comes down to it, kid versus dog, you gotta kill the dog.

Secondly, perhaps more importantly, your dog should not have been out without a leash. That is on you.

Third...well, look, I'm sorry but there is no way your boyfriend and your dog swapped bodies for a day, on that day of all days, and I really killed your boyfriend instead of your dog. There's no way. No way in hell. You're just trying to get the press and the public's sympathy, because you know you've got no case against me. I wasn't trying to kill your dog. I'm not a menace on the roads. I saved a child's life yesterday.

If you think about it, I'm a hero.

Day Nine

And today's prompt is...

Freaky Friday

The Ugly Truth by Carolyn Glass

Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

Good job it can’t answer back, I couldn’t handle that disappointment day after day.

The Ugly Truth by Lesley Whyte

You are not a special snowflake.

You are only the centre of your own universe.


You are just one of seven billion people on this planet with only superficial differences.


You are average.

Day Eight

And today's prompt is...

The Ugly Truth

Scream by Abbi Outen

He's not breathing. He was, and now he's not. I just needed him to be quiet. Just for a minute. Just so I could think. There was so much noise and I just needed it all to stop. But it's quiet now. Too quiet. He is turning cold and heavy in my arms. I can't put him down. I can't look at what I've done. All I can hear are my own thought thundering through my brain. And all I want to do, is scream.

Scream by Aimee Topham

I brushed away my daughter’s concerns as I lowered myself awkwardly into the wheelchair. Today was Sophie’s day. The seven year old skipped along beside me as her mother pushed the chair through the crowds, chattering animatedly about ice-cream, photographs and hundred-foot drops. I didn’t mind at all being the bag and coat moniter for the day, not at all. I was touched that Sophie had even thought to invite her Gramps to her birthday outing. I squinted around at everything as I was wheeled along, curiosity getting the better of my stiff neck. Such huge monstrosities, barely starting up this early in the morning, towered over us. At ninety five, I was too old for a place like this. I had never set foot in a theme park before in my life, and horror stories that I’d heard echoed ominously in my head as we moved along the paths. A carriage whooshed along a suspended track above our heads and fifty voices screamed in terror and excitement. My back stiffened, my nails dug into my palms as my mind hurtled back to the autumn of 1917.

Back to the trenches, watching Oliver cowering against the solid earth with muddy hands pressed tightly to his ears. His eyes were screwed up, tears tracking clear lines down his dirty face as he shook his head in denial. “No, no, no, no, no…” I remember, he kept muttering to himself, desperately trying to convince himself that he couldn’t hear it. I knew better than to try. Oliver was a new boy, just turned seventeen, only arrived a few days ago. I knew better than to hide from the screams. The cries carried on through the night. We never slept the night before going over the top; nerves tightened our stomachs, brave attempts at cheerful singing and last attempts at shared reminiscences of home filled the dark, and it seemed wasteful to spend what few hours we may have remaining in slumber. 

The screams made sure that we survivors didn’t sleep either. They stayed with us for years, echoing through our nightmares and our quiet moments. I remember Oliver, his eyes screwed up, trying to block out the desperate screams of the dying, mutilated friends we’d left behind.

I’d pulled his hands away, made him listen. He’d kept chanting, “No, no, no..” as if it would have made the begging shrieks for mercy and death stop.

“Listen.” I’d said. “Listen, and remember. Remember how they died. When someone talks about the glory of war, think of this moment.” Oliver had shaken his head, trailing mucus and mud as he wiped his nose on his sodden sleeve. The screams mixed with sobs.

As the memory fades, I find myself back in my wheelchair. A young man is holding something cool against my head, and talking calmly to me. I don’t listen to him. I try to push back the memories of those screams as I seek Natalie in the crowd. She moves into my eyeline and my eyes water in relief at the sight of her. My daughter nods reassuringly at me. “It’s alright, Dad.’

Scream by Carolyn Glass

Tonight was the night. He had been preparing for weeks. She was his dream girl and tonight he was going to show her just how special she was.

He dressed carefully, he had made sure the venue was ready, he had fuel in the car and he was sure he had planned for every eventuality.

He was waiting for her in the basement car park when she finished her shift, she approached swiftly, heels clicking, earbuds in, mouthing the words to whatever she was listening to. She never even heard him move up behind her, swiftly injecting something into her neck and then pushing her into his car boot. He hoped he had given her enough; it wouldn’t do if anyone were to hear her scream.

Scream by Lesley Whyte

It's late. I can't find my phone to check the time but it just feels late. Like, four or five o'clock in the morning. It's just so dark. I roll out of bed and pad carefully across the floor, determined not to stand on my phone and break it. Again. I make way down the stairs, running my hand down the wall to keep my balance. I don't want to turn the lights on and disturb anyone else. Into the kitchen, the floor cold against my bare feet. I struggle to find a glass in the cupboard so I go and turn on the light. I turn back just in time to see it hurtling through the window. I don't have time to scream before it rips my throat out. I lie on the floor, bleeding heavily, my life force pouring out of me as it devours my flesh.

My last thought, conscious thought anyway, is that I shouldn't have turned the light on. Now everyone in the house will die. If they're lucky.

Day Seven

And today's prompt is...

Scream

Mean Girls by Abbi Outen

Y'know I think my favourite thing is exploring someone's body. Seeing what makes them tick, in the bedroom, so to speak. And hey, they say knowledge is power so I never pass up an opportunity to ... Educate myself a little more. What can I say? I'm a man of learning. Let me get you ladies another drink.

We were out of Diet Coke but don't worry, I had Coke Zero. Oh! What are you-? Why are you-? When I said I was an explorer, I meant of ... Friendly territory. Home ground? You have it all wrong. What I mean, girls, is that I'm gay. So please, put your mysterious forests away and we can pretend it never happened.

Mean Girls by Carolyn Glass

The best days are the ones where I‘m invisible to them, when they find someone else to torment because their face doesn’t fit, or they don’t wear the right labels, or do too well in class.

I used to be part of the group, but then Dad lost his job and I couldn’t keep up with the latest fashions, and decided that I needed to get some decent qualifications so that I could have a chance of the future and career that I aspired to. First the invitations stopped, they knew I couldn’t afford to go out so much, and if I did, I couldn’t keep up in the fashion stakes. Then the snarky comments, finally outright scorn and ridicule whenever they could spare the time to torment me.

Mum said they only tease because I react, that they will soon lose interest if I ignore them. Well she must have forgotten what it’s like to be at school, because ignoring them isn’t helping at all. So today I’m going to make a stand. They’ll see I can be a mean girl too, the ones that survive that is.

Mean Girls by Lesley Whyte

Apparently not every school has a clique problem, but ours did. Ours really did. And it wasn't the cheerleaders, as you might expect, if you've ever watched a movie or TV show or - God forbid - read a book that's aimed at teenage girls. We're taught to expect the cheerleaders to be bitches. To torment the clever, the plain, the unworthy. Our cheerleaders were actually pretty nice. If they found time to speak to you, of course. They were serious about their sport. For them, it really was even more than that. They were driven and focused and just didn't have time to waste on ruining other people's lives.

No, it was the pretty, apathetic girls you wanted to watch out for. The bored, spoiled ones who had no hobbies and interests except for making other people miserable. And they were very, very good at it. The worst was Tyler Prince. She was terrifying. People were scared to speak in front of her, afraid that it would somehow come back to haunt them. She was beautiful and terrifying.

She and her friends did all the usual things - spreading rumours, hiding clothes, stealing textbooks, sending fake emails, writing words like SLUT or WHORE on lockers in bright red lipstick. You know, the usual. But then, occasionally, they'd go just that bit further. They'd work their little brains up in a frenzy, the smell of smoke following them for days, and come up with something a bit more creative.

I think the worst thing they ever did was the fortune cookies. I still don't know how they managed it. It was decided that the entire junior class would have Chinese food on the last day before summer break, I suppose Tyler and her friends decided that, seeing as she was class president - a role that required really very little of her. We ate our shrimp lo mein and sweet and sour chicken balls, and then the fortune cookies came around. All the girls had...shall we say, personalised messages.

And not friendly ones. 

Mine said You're worthless and always will be. Why bother?

I still don't know how they managed it.

Day Six

And today's prompt is...

Mean Girls

Enchanted by Carolyn Glass

Annie had always been intrigued by the wood. As a small child she had been able to see it from her bedroom window, but had never been allowed to venture there, and her parents had never taken her. They moved away before she was old enough to make the journey on her own. She used to imagine the magical creatures that lived there, she was sure there must be centaurs and fawns maybe even nymphs and dryads, she had read about them in the CS Lewis books and had always wanted to meet them, there might even be a unicorn!

Now here she was just starting university, about to start her first archaeological dig and back in the village where she had once lived. They were staying in rooms at the pub just down the street from her old home. On the first evening in the bar, they had asked the locals about the area and its history, they were surprisingly reticent about it, there were shifty looks and whispered remarks, the landlord had only taken the pub recently and knew very little. One old lady was muttering about strange creatures and enchantments but the others hushed her and told the students she was losing her marbles.

Annie was pleasantly surprised that the dig was in the meadow near to the wood, it would be nice to lunch in the shade of the old trees if the hot weather continued, they might even explore, she need not tell anyone else she was hoping to find mystical creatures, she blushed as the thought came to her, not a very scientific thought and not one she needed to share with the group.

The hot weather did continue and all were grateful for the respite the trees offered during breaks. By the fourth day, everyone seemed restless and cranky, the heat wasn’t helping, so Edwin suggested they venture further into the wood, they could take their lunch with them and look for a stream, and maybe have a cooling paddle. The canopy was very thick so even just a few feet into the wood, it was quite gloomy. Annie shivered, despite her initial excitement, she was now beginning to notice the silence, where were the birds? She suggested they go back to the fringes of the wood, but then Carrie spotted a path, barely visible through the ferns and mosses, but definitely a path, it was almost weird how keen they all were to follow it, wondering where it would lead, they sped off, Annie taking up the rear, she was nervous now, but didn’t quite know why, she kept catching things in her peripheral vision, but when she tried to look they were gone, maybe dryads and nymphs were living in these woods, she shook herself she knew she was just being fanciful, then there was a flash of white just up ahead, she almost stopped breathing, it was a unicorn! She was sure of it, why hadn’t the others seen it? Why didn’t they say something?

The unicorn was suddenly bathed in sunlight as it entered a clearing, her friends followed still seemingly oblivious to the Unicorn. She called out but it was as if they couldn’t hear her, perhaps she was making no sound, perhaps the silence had enveloped her, she stayed at the edge of the clearing calling to the others to come back, she had a bad feeling about this, the unicorn stood in the centre of the clearing, completely still, head raised as if it was waiting for something. While Annie watched in dismay, her friends were now standing hand in hand forming a circle around the unicorn, they wore glazed expressions, and had started to chant, before her very eyes they seemed to dissolve into vapour and be sucked into the trees. Annie wanted to scream, but still she could make no sound, suddenly at her elbow the old lady from the bar appeared, “well dearie, you always knew this wood was special, enchanted, and now you know where the tree spirits come from. You are very special my dear in that you were able to resist the spell, sadly you cannot be allowed to report what you have witnessed, the old landlord tried and was prevented.” Annie stared at her wondering how this old lady could stop her, then she felt a sharp pain in her chest as the unicorn ran her through.

Enchanted by Lesley Whyte

We met online and we were soon deeply in love. I was utterly enchanted. He was everything I'd ever looked for in a man - young, attractive, royal. He lived overseas, but that wasn't a problem. I'd always wanted to travel, to see new places and experience new things. And above all that, he was sweet. Kind. Genuine.

Well, it turns out he was also full of shit.

Guess it should have been obvious when he said he was Nigerian prince. Live and learn.

Day Five

And today's prompt is...

Enchanted

American Psycho by Carolyn Glass

Amoral

Mercurial

Erudite

Reprobate

Insolent

Charming

Arrogant

Narcissistic

Profligate

Salacious

Yuppie

Carnal

Hedonistic

Overwrought

Yes, that was a good summing up of his prospective business partner, just like every other New Yorker he had had the misfortune to meet this week.

American Psycho by Lesley Whyte

The thing you have to understand about me is that I'm a good guy. I am. You've probably heard all sorts of things, terrible things, but you don't understand. I can explain everything. Every single thing you've heard, I have an explanation.

A perfectly simple, perfectly innocent explanation.

Penelope is a liar. She's lying about me. I don't know why. Why would she say such awful things about me? Why? I don't understand. I never did anything to her, you have to believe me when I say that. I knew her, of course, everyone knows Penelope, but I didn't do anything to her. We had a couple of drinks. It's not a crime to buy a pretty girl a couple of drinks, is it?

I didn't think so.

We flirted a little, perfectly innocent, though I could tell she wanted more. I suppose I was happy to oblige. So sue me. She was pretty and flirty and unattached, as far as I knew. She didn't have a boyfriend, I didn't...well, my own personal situation is beside the point. It is not a crime to go home with a pretty girl. It is not a crime to buy her a couple of drinks, it's not a crime to find her attractive and it's not a crime to want to go home with her. It's not a crime to go home with her.

Penelope's a liar.

We dated. I can prove that. Ask anyone that knows me. She was my girlfriend. My girlfriend. And yes, all right, she did end things with me and I did not take it well, but I didn't hurt her. I didn't harm her in any way. I haven't even seen her since that night in the restaurant. I go past her house sometimes, yes, but it's on my way home from my favourite bar.

What am I supposed to do? Drive home instead? I can't help it if I walk slow when I've been drinking, that sometimes I linger outside her door and think about how much I miss her. But to accuse me of stalking her, of harrassing her is crazy.

I mean, yes, there was that incident with the brick and the window, but as I told the police at the time, that wasn't me. I just happened to be there when that homeless man threw it. I chased after him, for Christ's sake! I tried to catch him so he could be brought to justice! And instead she accuses me of the most awful things, the most awful. We were dating, I was in love with her.

I still am.

I can't believe she would accuse me of trying to harm her, of frightening her. A restraining order is completely unnecessary. I'll find another bar if necessary, just to placate her, but really, I'm not a danger. Not to Penelope or any other woman. I'm worried about her. I'm afraid...well, I'm afraid that this is all in her head. I'm afraid that she's not well. All I want is for her to be well. I'd never harm her. Never.

American Psycho by Nick Trussler

…and she knew when she saw him that he was different and she knew she would end up back at his place but she realised she didn’t care. She enjoyed the hunt. And he came over, as she knew he would, and he gave the same story as everyone else and asked the same questions and she replied like all the other girls did and laughed at his teasing which, when she really thought about it, wasn’t funny at all and a very easy thing to do but it made him look clever and made him feel confident and was supposed to make her feel insecure so she let him think she was, for that was how the game worked. And so the inevitable happened and he leaned in for a drunken kiss and his mouth tasted bitter because of the beer but she tried to ignore it and they continued like this for some time until he whispered in her ear, slurring, to go back to his dorm and she agreed and then the hunt truly began. And she followed him back like a shy and nervous freshman, who had had too much to drink and a long distance boyfriend, should follow a confident and drunk senior and she entered his room and there were socks and boxers littered on the floor and there was an unusual aroma of processed cheese in the air. And he pushed her down on the bed and pulled down his jeans and she gave it a few tugs and he murmured something about the alcohol so she put it in her mouth and it soon became hard and it tasted salty which was a better taste in her mouth than his tongue. And after her jaw had become sore and he had grabbed and pulled at her hair she pushed him gently onto the bed and pulled down her panties and took off her top and bra and climbed onto him and he grabbed and slapped at her ass and she pretended to be lost in ecstasy and her hands ran over his chest and then rested on a pair of scissors on his bedside table and she wondered why he kept them there and then looked down and realised he trimmed his pubes and she couldn’t help but laugh to herself and he laughed too and called her a bitch and she carried on laughing and didn’t stop even when she had picked the scissors up and plunged it into his chest and stomach, her hand rising and falling with each thrust she gave him and though he screamed and tried to get her off him she pinned him down with her thighs and carried on laughing and with each fresh spray of blood that covered her bare breasts and body her orgasm grew and before she climaxed she slit his throat open and finished as the cloud of blood that had erupted from this last cut fell down onto his body and through into the soaked bed sheets beneath them.

Day Four

And today's prompt is...

American Psycho

Hook by Carolyn Glass

She noticed the hook when she first checked in, that was the thing with these quaint old hotels at the seaside, full of leftovers from a previous use of the premises.

This place was on the quayside and had been some sort of warehouse; the hook had been part of a block and tackle, used for lifting goods from the ship to the shore. All that hung from it now was a antique bird cage, with artificial ivy trailing from it.

She was looking forward to this weekend, the wedding of an old friend, she had arrived a day early to make sure she got chance to explore the area and use the hotel facilities. She needed a break, things had been stressful recently. When her husband had left her it had been a shock, but she was determined to make a fresh start, and this weekend might be the kick-start she needed. She had gone down the traditional route of anti-depressants etc. When all was said and done, she was better off without him if he didn’t want to be with her, why should she get depressed? She had been a little hurt that he had gone off with a younger woman, but now she was fed up with everyone being so understanding, they were treating her like she was fragile, crushed by circumstances, in need of sympathy. They would soon see she was fine and ready to get on with her life.

She had a quiet dinner and a few drinks, probably more than she should, certainly more than she was used to. She returned to her room and flicked the switch, a slight flash then nothing; there was sufficient moonlight that she could make her way towards the phone, to call reception for assistance. She had just lifted the receiver when she noticed the shadow. She replaced the handset and turned towards the window. There, hanging from the hook was a noose and underneath, the stool which earlier had stood beside the dressing table. She was drawn towards it like a moth to a flame, she reached up to touch it, it was soft, silky, she realised it was one of her own scarves; she was a little dizzy, confused, why was the noose there? What did it mean? She climbed onto the stool, planning to remove the scarf and complain to the hotel management that someone had been in her room, but the hook seemed to beckon her and she touched it, cold and smooth, the scarf tightly fixed to it. Almost in a trance she placed the noose around her neck, still staring at the hook, it was almost a relief when she realised the stool was no longer beneath her feet.

The chambermaid found her the next morning; she ran screaming from the room. Everyone was very upset but not altogether surprised. Jenny had been in a very dark mood since Gary had walked out on her, everyone knew she was on medication to help her cope; the final straw must have been the thought of attending the wedding. Poor Jenny, Gary shouldn’t blame himself in any way, she was obviously unstable, and who could have anticipated that she would react so badly to the breakdown of the marriage?

Gary was a lucky fellow, no messy divorce, no sharing his property and pension with his former wife, he could marry Angela, and now they could have an extended honeymoon. It was quite useful that she was a medical rep, who sometimes carried samples. She had told him about one particular batch of anti-depressants which were being discreetly withdrawn, as they had left people in a trance like state. It wouldn’t do for her to find out that he had helped himself to a few, or that he had been hiding in Jenny’s hotel room on that fateful night. He couldn’t believe his luck when she had put the noose around her neck, he had thought he might have to push her from the window while she was examining the hook and noose, all he had to do was kick the stool and it was all over. No it wouldn’t do for Angela to find out; he might tire of her eventually too.

Hook by Lesley Whyte

"Okay, so it's a love story. Boy meets girl and-"

"What's the hook?"

"Excuse me?"

"The hook, the USP. What makes your story different from the million other boy meets girl stories out there?"

"Oh, I see. Well, okay, yeah, so the boy's really smart. Headed for an Ivy League college, his parents have money, he's always had the best of everything. But the girl's poor, her parents have nothing and they've always had to scrape by."

"I know of ten books published this year with that exact story. You have to give me more."

"What if the girl had a rare blood disease? And he's working on a cure for it, and that's how they meet?"

"Eh, it's okay, but...well, the guy saving the girl? It's been done to death."

"So flip it."

"There's nothing sexy about a young guy with a rare blood disease."

"But it was fine when it was the girl? You know what, never mind. Not a blood disease. Maybe he's in a wheelchair or something? You never see heroes with disabilities, do you? That would be different."

"True. But maybe there's a reason for-"

"And maybe she could be black or hispanic, maybe. Just not white."

"A disabled male and a non-white female fall in love? I just don't see it. Maybe we should scale it back, stick to the boy meets girl. I'm sure someone somewhere will love it."

Hook by Nick Trussler

Hook: A Short Play

The scene takes place on a pier. JAMES is trying to hold ELISE’S hand.

ELISE: Let me go you creep!

JAMES: God’s sake, Elise! I may have a hook for a hand, but is that all you care about, a piece of metal?

ELISE: It is when you’re trying to grab my hand with it!

ELISE lets out a piercing scream

JAMES: Oh god…it’s happened again!

ELISE: It’s gone through my hand!!!

JAMES: Well, you said lets hook up

ELISE: What?? Get me to a hospital you freak!

JAMES sighs and pulls his hook out of ELISE’s hand. She runs away crying.

JAMES walks to the end of the pier, holding his bloody hook with his other hand.

JAMES: Maybe I should just become a pirate and go and find a remote island, far far away but where somehow children have formed a stable island community, managing to survive and thrive in a place with very little natural resources and without bothering to hunt or farm…and no one ever ages though no one bothers to find out why, and I could vent my repressed sexual desires by having an irrational fear of crocodiles and an ineptitude when it comes to sword fighting and actual pirating…yes…that sounds like a plan…

Day Three

And today's prompt is...

Hook