Chuck didn't upload a prompt for us this week. Sooo, I thought to do one from his emails. However, I've done a few of those lately... soooooo, I pulled out Jack Hefron's book: 'The Writer's Idea Book'. This is a great book I found years ago, and use it for when I'm kinda stuck. This week I was stuck, grabbed a prompt from it and here it is: write about a character whose appearance and actions are far different from their interior self.
enjoy.
“I don’t want to do this.” It came out more
of a whisper to myself than to anyone else.
“What?” he asked from the chair I had tied
him to.
Turning from the table, I saw the bleeding
wounds and bruises which were only going to get worse the more I worked on him
to get answers – answer he clearly didn’t know, “Nothing.”
My doubts were beginning to show as I
glanced up at Renny, who had been watching me closely the whole time. His face
was blank, eyes the deadened appearance of a killer, “Tick, do it.” He said to
me outside the door, “Just as we had planned it.”
“Right.” My voice echoed in my head as I
licked my dry lips and sighed, “Right.” I mumbled to myself, running my fingers
over the knuckle-dusters, the gun with the silver rounds in it, the all-famous
Colt, and Holy Oil and Holy Water. This shit didn’t work on just anyone, it
mainly worked on demons, shapeshifters and other silver-hating creatures which
killed humans.
But for some reason, I was put off killing
this one – let alone pushing it to its limit for information about where its
.... Alfa ... was; if there was such a thing!
“Tick, are you okay?” Renny asked.
I glanced over at the replica of my partner
in crime covered in blood and bruises, “Yeah... it’s looking like you now. It’s
offputting.”
He sauntered to the table, picked up the
long silver blade and gave it to me, “Make that bastard talk. He took out most
of a high school cheer squad before we spotted him... her... it.”
I took the knife and walked to the creature
as he gave me Renny’s friendly ‘fuck-yourself’ grin, “You’re never gonna get
out of me what you want to; not while you doubt yourself, bitch.”
Fiddling with the tip of the blade, I turned
the knife a little so it glinted in the little light of the room we had, “I
will get the information out of your sorry ass and you will tell me where your
Alfa is... and then I’m going to skin you while you’re still breathing, so you
know what those girls felt like as you devoured them.” Smiling I grabbed him by
the shoulder with my leather-gloved hand and sunk in the knife – the silver
sizzling through the flesh of his shoulder, as he screamed in agony, his blood
draining from his face – and I felt nothing.
“Please
takeitouttakeitoutakeitoutakeitout....” his pink drool spilled into his lap as
his head tipped down, sweat dripping from his hair, his brow...
Blood dripped from the slippery hilt of the
silver dagger to the floor and Renny watched with fascination as the newspaper
we has laid out beforehand sucked it up in little red dot – looking like
flowering poppy, growing from a tiny dot, bleeding into the paper and
newsprint.
I stood there feeling sick at how we had
treated this creature – torturing him instead of just killing him outright –
when it was clear he didn’t know who the Alfa was.
He?
She?
It?
Exactly what were these creatures? I didn’t
know and the more I thought about them, the more my head hurt from thinking
about them.
The coppery smell of his blood was making me
feel as though I was going to throw up. I cleared my throat, “I don’t think he’ll
talk.”
“Nah... he won’t.” Renny snorted.
“He’s too bruised and bloody to be let go.”
“What? Make an example of him...” he said, “To
show what will happen if the others don’t pull the line.”
I spun, my long hair snapped over my
shoulder, “Renny that will get then all on our case. And once they start
hunting us down, those fuckers won’t stop!”
He grabbed the Colt and shot the captive shape
shifter before I could block my ears. The sound of it going off echoed around
the basement, a loud ringing in my ears causing what Renny said next mean
nothing to me until I grabbed his arm and turned him to face me, “I said, are
you sure you tied up the right one.”
I didn’t need to turn to find the other gun.
The clip was full of silver rounds.
I couldn’t take any chances.
Besides, there was only one bullet in the Colt – it was empty – and he had used it on the guy tied up.
I yanked out the knife from the dead shifter
(I think it was a shifter), threw everything into my weapons bag without
cleaning it and left the two bodies where they were.
On the way out the door, I picked up the
Colt and found Renny’s car keys and wallet – filled with money and his ID. As I
turned the corner of the next street, the sirens had started up in the
distance.
This is not the real me.
I promised my sister I’d do just one more job and ... it’s been fifteen years. Now, she’s dead. My folks are dead; and my partner in crime (whichever one it was) is dead.
I don’t know if I can start again... if I can find the real me, of all those years ago – before those shifters made me into a hunter.
