Writing prompt.
How I hate boredom. I guess I’ll deal with it by trying a short writing exercise. There’s this wonderful site called TVTropes, you see. I’m going to go there, select a random page, and spend 20 minutes writing a story around whatever it is I get. Starting… now:
Roses. The sweet smell of roses. It was the first thing I noticed. Pain was next. Aching, throbbing, piercing pain. Then loss, then guilt. My mental faculties returned to me over the next few minutes; soon I had gathered enough strength to open my eyes. The blinding sunshine drove them closed once again. I struggled to my feet, feeling around for something to use to help balance me. My hand happened upon something sharp and soon I felt the familiar warmth of blood dripping out of a wound.
I cursed, then once again opened my eyes, this time focused squarely on the ground. Seemed like I was outside. The whistling of a light morning breeze confirmed it. I glanced around, taking note of my surroundings. There was a flowerbed just a few feet away, filled with roses. I was in the middle of nowhere.
A meadow surrounded me, waving gently, almost hypnotically. The soil by the flowerbed showed signs of tampering, as if someone had dug a hole. I checked my hand over once more, noticing a light cut across the palm. I bent over, checking through the soft, verdant field, searching for what it was that made me bleed. It only took a minute. I lifted the bloody knife near to me eye, nearly dropping it when I realized. It was coated in blood — not just mine. Dry blood, long-since turned brown. I tossed it aside, back into the grass, resuming my search. Why was I unconscious next to a bloody knife?! There had to be something else.
I found it. A shovel, still caked with dirt and mud. I turned to the mound of dirt, horrified. I began to dig, ignoring the searing pain in my hand that had just sunken in. I felt bruises across my body, aches and muscle pains, as if I had been in a struggle. Dig, dig, dig. Ignore the pain. Ignore it.
*Thunk*
I hit something. Something soft, something organic. I dropped the shovel on the grass and continued the digging with my hands. I pulled away clump after clump of dirt, tearing them out from the tightly-packed soil. With each grab, I was closer to finding what had been buried. At last, it gave way, and I simply screamed. My eyes filled with tears as I saw a man’s face staring back at me, his eyes still open but completely unmoving.
Then it hit me. I realized who he was. I knew this man. I knew what I was doing here. I knew why he was buried. The tears stopped.
“Oh. It’s him.”
The man who had married my love. My angel, my dream girl. It was him. I did this to him. No one can make her happy but me.
I remembered how I had kidnapped him, dragged him kicking and struggling into my car. I beat him senseless, then stabbed once, straight through his heart. I drove to a meadow, far from anywhere else, and I dug. I dug for hours, my hands badly calloused. I covered him with dirt then collapsed from exhaustion.
My plan had succeeded. She’d be mine at last…
(END)
Well, that turned out darker than I thought it would. Kinda ran out of time at the end. The ‘random page’ was this one: Murder the Hypotenuse, which I hope I captured rather well. It’s basically a love triangle where A and B are in love with each other, but C is in love with A — C kills B to get A. I’m not really pleased with what I wrote, but it’s not bad for 20 minutes.
