Sunday, June 1, 2014

IntShoWriMo 2014: Day 1

DAY 1: Toxic
  
Today’s Prompt: Fifteen years after a toxic spill in a small town, strange things are happening.
                                                                                                            —Courtesy: Writing.Com
 Word Count: 1,534
A man was standing in the middle of the road when her SUV came bumping along busting on the scene from a sharp corner. She was doing approximately, 120 miles an hour and barely had time to coordinate her reflexes and slam down the brakes to avoid running over the man who as it turned out was totally unaware of the situation. All he did was stand by and watch like the whole incident was playing out on one of those big screens you spotted at a movie drive-in. Her final thought, before she rammed the bumper into the railings and went flying off the road into the cliff below, was, Oh God, I’m going to die. Not this way, oh God, please. She was wrong on both counts.

            “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
She opened her eyes to blinding darkness. She was lying face up on a bed. She said the only thing that felt reasonable in this peculiar situation. “How did I get here?” And immediately, her mind supplied an answer. I must have survived the drop off the cliff. “What’s that rumbling sound? Is there a mill of some sort close by?”
            “No. that’s the sound of the train coming down the track. And don’t worry, nobody’s catching a train today, the rail’s a few miles off this place.”
Something struck her funny about the voice talking to her. It had the timbre of a child’s voice yet, bore the weight of maturity.
            “Where are your parents?” She turned her head as much as the racking pain in her body allowed her but all she made out in the darkness was a silhouette.
            “I am my parent. Who are you? Where are you from? How did you get here?”
            “My name is Ayara.” She didn’t know if she could trust this strange personality but given the circumstance, she didn’t have a choice. “I had an appointment to meet a client. Shortcuts are my fetish.” She shrugged like that ought to explain the details.
            “Shortcuts can be wrong cuts.” The kid-man said, not unkindly.

Read the rest of the story here: IntShoWriMo 2014

Eneh Akpan
June 1st, 2014



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