Saturday, November 1, 2014

Write Your Way Out Of This!

Read the situation and write your solution—that’s what two WWK bloggers did within fifteen minutes—off the top. What would you have written in that timeframe?

Situation: The man with the machete focused on me. He advanced, walking closer. I took a step back, felt a wall behind me, and looked him in the eyes. No depth. No soul. He flashed me a manic grin and raised his weapon.

Solution: E. B. Davis

Flossy had told me he was mentally unhinged. I hadn’t believed it. Why wasn’t he locked up? The Virginia Tech massacre and high school shooters came to mind. Some crazies lurked on the fringes. Even if they were known—until they did something illegal—there was nothing anyone could do.

I’d tried to calm him, talking to him with sympathy and reason. My efforts only provoked him.

Oh well, a gal has to do whatever. I reached to the small of my back, felt my 9mm neatly hidden in the bulk of a boxy cotton knit sweater I’d found at Neiman’s for a steal, and aimed at his heart.

He wavered when he saw the gun. Taking a step back, his lower lip swelled as if he were pouting. He tossed the machete to the ground and put his hands on his hips. “You’re no fun. You’re supposed to be the victim.”           

I hadn’t wanted to shoot him, but that remark gave me incentive. I wondered if I still could and get away with it.

Solution: Gloria Alden

I stared at him. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. I
looked both ways. The street was empty. Not even a car was coming down the road. I should have been more careful about where I walked this late in the evening when all the businesses were closed. I probably should have left when the rest of my fellow workers left, but I had just that one more thing to finish.

The man stepped a few steps closer. I started to laugh so hard I doubled over. “Eddie, is this for a tryout for that new horror show your friend is filming?”

“Damn! How did you recognize me?” he said as he peeled off the rubber disguise he’d glued to parts of his face as well as his fright wig and extra padding on his shoulders and chest.

“It’s your nose, Eddie. That cute little turned up nose. You’ll have to use a fake nose if you really want to look scary, you know.”

“Have you had supper yet?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Let’s go get a bite to eat at Frankenstein’s Fine Food.”

Together we walked arm and arm laughing and chatting like the friends we were.

As a writer—how would you get your MC out of this situation?


Kara Cerise said...

Those are great solutions, E.B. and Gloria. I was inspired to write this bit of gore after handing out Halloween candy to trick-or-treaters dressed as the walking dead.
What is it about a full moon that brings out the most aggressive zombies? If I had a silver bullet for every time the undead tried to accost me under a bright moonlit night...

I glared at the monster. "Stand back you stinky, wretched thing or you'll be dead meat."

He took a halting step closer. With my back literally against the wall, there was nowhere to go. I yanked a small plastic water pistol from my clutch purse. Usually I carried a modified Super Soaker, but it wouldn't fit in the trendy little Coach bag I had chosen for the evening. I had only one shot to get it right. If I missed, the dead head would kill me then eat my brains. I would become one of THEM.

Aiming for his right eye, I pressed the lever. A green stream of anti-zombie elixir found its mark.

The lame brain dropped the machete as his eye popped out of its socket. Both of his hands fell off followed by his arms. His knees buckled and he swayed right then left in a macabre dance of death. He finally toppled to the ground with a thud.

I holstered the water pistol into my clutch and stepped over the crumbling zombie mess. Victorious, I lived to fight another day.

E. B. Davis said...

That was wonderful, Kara. I never thought to make the knife-carrier a zombie! My son had many Super Soakers during his adolescence. We lived through it, but they were much too big for even a bank-breakingly large Coach bag.

Warren Bull said...

He didn't appear so frightening lying on the ground in a bloody heap. When I ran for the office of Sheriff I promised to lower the rate of assaults and murders. I guess it took longer for some people than for others to figure out that I meant what I said.

E. B. Davis said...

Short and sweet with a fatal accuracy, Warren. I bet many people would vote for your sheriff!

Gloria Alden said...

I had forgotten that today was the day this would be up. I loved yours Kara. Perfect for the day after Halloween.

Warren, as E.B. said,it was short and sweet, but said enough.

Margaret S. Hamilton said...

I braced myself against the alley wall, palms pressed on the brick. He slowly approached,his eyes blank slate. I fingered my only weapon, a jar of dried basil, my purse locked in my car. I reached for the lanyard around my neck holding my car keys, watching, waiting, breathing in and out. A cell phone rang, shattering the still air. He instinctively groped in his pockets with his left hand as I spun my key-laden lanyard around my head and released it in his face. I hit the ground and rolled forward, swinging my heavy hiking booted foot around the back of his legs, knocking him to the ground. I kicked the machete under the dumpster and ran.

Shari Randall said...

I so enjoyed your zombie story, Kara! Any story that pairs a supersoaker and a Coach bag is right up my alley.
And Warren - short, sweet, and deadly.

I'll add mine:

The man swung in front of me and turned. I took a step back, felt a wall behind me, and looked him in the eyes. No depth. No soul. He flashed me a manic grin and raised his weapon.

He had the nerve to roll a toothpick from one side of his wolflike grin to the other.

Somebody’s seen too many tough guy movies, I thought.

I held out my handbag, making sure it shook, at the same time I plastered on a deer in the headlights look. “Please, please, just take it.”

“That’s not why I'm here.” How on earth did he keep that thing in his mouth while he talked?

I pulled the bag to my chest and sighed. “Yeah, but I’ve got to practice for my theater group sometime.”

A split second of disbelief added another furrow to his deeply scarred forehead. A split second was all I needed to whip my bag into his face.

Spin into a roundhouse kick to the side of his shaved head.

Donkey kick him in the solar plexus.

Drive my elbow into the back of his neck.

Pull my trusty stiletto from my boot and finish him off. Machetes were too messy.

I rifled his jean jacket pockets, pulled out the wad of cash I’d seen the drug dealer hand him. So easy to lure him down the alley. I caught my reflection in the puddle that was now swirling with red. Golden curls, big blue eyes, heck, I’d mug me, too.

I picked up my bag and inspected it for scratches as I hurried from the alley.

Gloria Alden said...

Margaret and Shari, what a great ending to the prompt. Both of you did super excellent jobs.

E. B. Davis said...

So violent! Wow, I'm impressed with your MCs, Margaret and Shari. Messing with your MC is hazardous to villains' health.

Linda Reilly said...

This looked fun, so I'm taking a shot at it:

The man with the machete focused on me. He advanced, walking closer. I took a step back, felt a wall behind me, and looked him in the eyes. No depth. No soul. He flashed me a manic grin and raised his weapon.

My heart vaulted over my rib cage. What kind of idiot was I to walk through the cemetery this late at night? That machete looked sharp and deadly.

“So what do you do now, Lainie?” he rasped, drool hanging from his lip. “Still think I’m too creepy to go out with?”

Lainie. He knows my name. Oh God, it was Percy—that weirdo from the lab. “Creepy?” I swallowed back a lump of terror. “You? Of . . . of course not!”

Moving closer, he lowered the machete. He reached out a hairy paw to caress my hair. “I always liked your hair, Lainie. It’s big and fluffy.”

Stifling a gag, I forced a grin. “Thank you, Percy. That’s a real nice compliment. You know how I keep it so big and fluffy?” I slipped a hand into my coat pocket.

He shook his head, just as I whipped out my extra-hold, double-duty hair spray. “With this!”
I emptied the can into his dead eyes.

The machete flew from his hand, zinging off a nearby headstone. While he screamed and cursed and dug at his eyes, I made a like a cartoon character and split.

E. B. Davis said...

Hehe--I love deadly hair spray, Linda. Nice touch! The cemetery--creepy to go with your lab. Suspense, horror, and a bit of slap-stick for humor. Love it.

Gloria Alden said...

What a great ending, Linda! Loved it.