494 words “There isn’t time,” he growled. The punch surprised him, snapping his head to the side and addling him for a moment. “Bullshit, there isn’t time!” Derek snarled, winding up for another swing. Marcus caught his hand this time and squeezed hard, making a few of the younger man’s knuckles pop. It was enough to dissuade him and Derek backed off a step, still looking furious and rubbing his sore hand. “There isn’t time,” Marcus repeated, an apology somewhere under the gruffness of his voice, “If there was, believe me, I would be the first to go back for them.” “How can you just leave them to those… those things?” Derek demanded weakly, tears pooling in his eyes. Marcus’ answer was cut off by a high pitched, wailing howl that was much too close for comfort. “Like I said, no time,” he said in a harsh whisper, turning and bolting off through the trees only barely pausing to grab that pack he’d dropped when Derek had punched him. “Move!” For once the lanky boy didn’t argue, following close on his heels. “Are you sure we can make the fence in time?” “How badly do you want to not be ripped apart and eaten?” “Point taken.” Derek decided to stop wasting his breath talking. His lungs were already burning and they still had a half mile to go. He didn’t want to think about the distance, or the ache in his legs, the stitch in his side. The sound of the huge slavering monsters crashing through the brush after them was a marvelous incentive. “They’re getting closer!” “They can’t go past the fence, come on! Move your ass!” A groan of pain and a rush of adrenaline and Derek kept moving. He couldn’t help taking a dark sort of comfort in the fact that Marcus had the pack, the vials they’d all risked their necks to get hold of, and all he had was himself. If he tripped or wasn’t fast enough, those monsters would stop to take care of him. Marcus would make it. Marcus would get the vials back to the compound and the others… back to Jennifer. That was all that mattered. And all at once he felt a small measure of relief; running for his life through the dark, breaking though the tree line only a stride ahead of the screaming, shrieking, half-formed shadows. There it was, just ahead, a line of green lights blinking faithfully atop their tall steel polls. ‘The fence. They can’t go past the fence. We’re there, we’re going to make it. Jennifer, I’m almost home.’ He couldn’t help smiling. And then Marcus tripped, only yards from the fence but the beasts were too close, he didn’t stand a chance. Derek felt only a moment of fear before he stopped and turned to face the howling shadows leaping at him, all of the foul things focused on him, ignoring his prone companion. “I’m sorry, Jennifer. Goodbye.” New first sentence: This was, by far, the sloppiest crime scene she had ever seen in her career.
Oops... I've just replied to the second previous prompt. And so, I've deleted. It's on my blog for anyone interested.
Words: 242 This was, by far, the sloppiest crime scene she had ever seen in her career. Detective Niamh Walters had to wonder just which idiot decides to throw someone off the roof of a fifty-storey building, which was fair enough, put thirty rounds in the same person, which was fairly unreasonable even before you factor in that he'd been thrown off a building, and then, somehow manages to get run over by a bus. That was the bit that she was struggling with. "How the hell does someone back into an oncoming bus?" she asked nobody in particular. "Might not have heard it coming." suggested Dennis. This made Niamh put her face in her hands, whether out of the morbid hilarity of the situation or out of the the sheer exasperation of Dennis' suggestion, he couldn't be bothered to figure out. "Because you can totally not hear something which sounds similar George Bush singing." came a sarcastic cry from behind Niamh. She only had to look at Connor once for him to stop talking and continue collecting evidence, though truth be told she couldn't see why you'd need evidence against a corpse. Speaking of the dead... "Anyone got any theories for how a skull managed to embed itself into the bus?" Niamh asked the two officers at the bus. The shaking of two heads was enough of a response to make Niamh sigh. This was starting to turn out to be the worst day she'd ever had. First sentence: The door opened just as a head slammed into a table.
[247 words] The door opened just as a head slammed into a table. "Detective." The man in the brown suit stood in the doorway with a glare that could have melted the face of anyone weaker. Fortunately, I was used to it. "I'm fine," I said regaining my composure as the suspect moaned, his lips still kissing the table. "Just lost my cool. The son of a bitch has an ugly face. It just brings the anger outa you, y'know?" The brown suited man closed the door behind him, his gaze rolling to the one way mirror to his left. "I'm not tolerating your bullshit anymore, Detective," he said, eyes still on the mirror. "We're letting him walk and you are going home for a few days." I smirked, "I've been knee deep in this shit for three weeks! Who else are you gonna get for this case, huh? I'm all you got." "This isn't a discussion. This is the third suspect you've physically assaulted. You're tired, angry and miserable. Use this time to get some rest." I scoffed and gave the mirror the finger. "Man does all the work and then the bigger men sweep him under the rug." "It isn't like that--" "Save it. At least I won't get kicked outa the diner tonight when I order a burger the way I want it." I shut the door behind me knowing the man was exactly right. My sanity needed a break and I was going to enjoy a good night's sleep for a change. Prompt: He gazed over the roofs of skyscrapers and stepped onto the ledge.
He gazed over the roofs of skyscrapers and stepped onto the ledge. The wind gusted his coat and caused it to whip around his head. He scanned the sky and glanced at his watch. Eleven o'clock. The seconds ticked by as he desperately tried to see something, anything in the vast abyss of stars above his head. "I'm here!" he screamed into the night sky. "You told me to be here and I listened! You promised to take me with you!" The wind sprung up and almost forced him off the ledge. Through the adrenaline and the beating of his heart, a voice echoed in his head. You will stay. "Stay?" he said. "No, you promised me! I can't stay here, they'll kill me!" You will stay. He hung his head. "Why? Why must I stay? Didn't I do everything that you asked?" You will not suffer. Your distress will be temporary. "Temporary? What does that mean?" They are here. He couldn't believe it. How could they be here already? He was aware of the cold night air entering and exiting his lungs. With every breath, the tiny alien viruses were already implanting themselves into all his major organs. He clentched his fist. "You never intended for me to come with you, did you?" You were needed. "I was a fool and I should have killed you when I had the chance." Now you will be free from anger, pain and emotion. You will be free. "No," he said silently, "I won't." He outstretched his arms and closed his eyes, letting his own weight carry him over the ledge. He felt the wind try to hold him in the air and he felt the freedom that the rest of the world would never feel again. New First Sentence: There was something about the way she cut through the bone that made him uneasy.
CAUTION, ADULT CONTENT (the dialog) There was something about the way she cut through the bone that made him uneasy. His arm automatically reached for his groin and touched it. His whole body shivered at the thought how this knife could cut through his most precious and fun body part. “Honey, I swear to god it wasn’t my fault.” He knew he sounded ridiculous, but the knife in her hand was making him nervous. “Realy? So your penis just happened to find its own way to her vagina?” “No, I helped him,” he tried to be funny, since he knew they solved most of the fights that way. He made her laugh and then hugged her and kissed her. This time he knew he made a mistake as soon as he finished the sentence. “What?!” she yelled and turned towards him, knife in her wet hand looking even more dangerous as it flashed in the bright kitchen light. “No, no, I mean… C’mon honey, won’t happen again.” “You helped that poor little thing, you say?” “No I didn’t…” “Ah, so he made it by himself? “Yes. I mean no, no. Nothing happened, really. Emily listen, it was a mistake,” He didn’t know what to say anymore, the game was completely in her hands. “Nothing happened? I saw you Daniel! You were screwing her, as if she had the most beautiful welcome matt placed right in front of her stretched vagina!” Daniel looked at his wife while she was waving with that big knife of hers all over the kitchen. “Honey, could you please just put the knife down, you’re being unreasonable and it makes me nervous.” Suddenly Emily looked at him, her eyes were the same as of a crazed animal. She lost her temper, ran towards him and knocked him flat down. “I am making you nervous?!” Emily shouted while knife was going up and down, up and down. “I am being unreasonable?!” Her face was now splattered with blood, her blonde hair was almost completely red and knife was no longer shining. "You promised me thousands of times you will stop cheating and you say I am making you nervous?!" She stabbed him one last time and then slowly stood up and started cutting again, as if nothing happened while the big red pool was getting bigger and bigger. Next first sentence: "I said I'm fine mom, I fell of my bike, it's just a bruise," I tried to be convincing although I knew she wouldn't believe me, the wound was too deep.
.. like shame. I had no desire to bother her with the incompetence of any peers who would kick anyone that didn't obey the architecture of supposed established social structure. She wasn't going to pick me up to examine the injury. She couldn't be blamed. She saw right through me and she thought covering up the truth resembled lying. Our trusty bond denuclearized, and I never knew it could. Hurt, she left me alone, I wasn't mommy's little boy anymore. I traveled along safe hidden trails that hadn't been passed for great generations before. When the infection healed, apart from an occasionally itchy incrustation, I had not shown my face a while around. Patched up to meet my peers again, carefully I sought the place where the power struggle happened. Pretentiously a benign teacher, unlike my mother, or so I prayed. The initial rowdiness of the place dimmed down when I appeared on scene. I didn't regret coming here: some looked at me and started to prioritize along the scalar of activities around the yard. No one had missed my return but frankly no one seemed to have trouble compensating for my period of absence. There was no obligation to attend the site of playful demonstration of children's natural hierarchy. I had nothing to loose, except my inhibited dignity and integrity that is challenged and admired in high regard. Showing up here still accounted for courage, but I was desperate too. My careless reaction to the bullies rendered their initial degradation useless. Did they notice that I was not touched by their intimidation even though they touched me? They didn't need me, obviously, but I wonder if anyone ever needed them. It was clear how the freak-show looked. Frankly I didn't want to play anymore. I felt the comfort to be nonconformist. But, I needed to stand up for my rights, even go as far as sacrificing my inhibited sense of self-worth and security. I approached the most infamous goon and challenged him. Up next, mercilessly I got acquainted with every corner of the courtyard and some other people I would have otherwise never met. My mother would render the battle for fame and high regard useless, it meant nothing to her. Broken, sputtering, I returned to her and faced her indignant frame of mind. I knew she didn't deserve it. "It doesn't hurt anymore". She smiled, squatted to my level, intimidatingly looked into my eyes, and hugged me. There was only this moment, the promise I was mommy's little boy again. Next first sentence: When are you expected to return?
"When are you expected to return?" the voice on the other phone asked. "Dunno, whenever Abbey decides to talk, I guess," a surly Jack replied, staring straight ahead with such a fierce glower that it honestly surprised me the wall didn't burst into flames. He had put the phone on speaker so I could hear, but I couldn't have made a sound if I'd wanted to. "She still not responding?" "Not really." He cast me an exasperated glance. "She's in there somewhere. Sits up, looks around, feeds herself. Walks. But if you touch her she loses it and she doesn't talk. Not a word. Don't think she even squeaks anymore." After what had happened, could anybody really blame me for panicking every time someone touched me without first seeking my permission? The rest was damage I was still getting over. I had no voice. I didn't think I would ever regain it. And I did not want to go home. Home meant going back to him. LOOONG way below the minimum words but oh well. Next prompt: "Shaddup, idjit," the Sherriff growled at the drunk.
