Writing Prompt #1 — One. Last. Time. — Derek Barton 2020

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I realize it has been awhile since you’ve read anything new from me — either in post, novella or even novel form. Then I ran across this “writing prompt” which piqued my interest.

A writing prompt to those that are unfamiliar to the phrase is a small paragraph to motivate or inspire a writer — a fill-in-the-rest-of-the-story exercise.  Thought this might be a fun way to get some “new” material out while I am still writing, editing, publishing my horror and fantasy series. On a side note, Evade Part One will be out next month!!

ENJOY!!

 



(Writing Prompt provided by tomiadeyemi.com)

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands. A long serrated hunting knife rested in the grimy sink.

“One last time,” she whispered to herself. 

One. Last. Time.

Evelyn Diane Joyce, or “Evie” as her friends called her, stood in the restroom, staring at her rain-drenched reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself, covered in mud, grease on her clothes and leaves in her dirty, haystack hair. Dried blood caked under one nostril and her chin was scuffed raw from an earlier fall.

They were in the Calamine Mountain Park. It was around 8 o’clock at night and a surprise rain storm chilled the fall evening air.

One. Last. Time.

He was here. Somewhere hidden among the park’s trees and brush.

Evie knew he’d make his way there. It was the only real structure in the park and on the way to the parking lot. He’d come for certain.

The fluorescent lights suddenly flickered and blinked a few times before completely turning off.

Holding her breath, Evie retrieved the knife then crept over in the blind dark to the nearest stall and went inside. She then climbed onto the toilet seat and crouched behind the door. Waiting was the worst part. All of the exertion weighed upon her and her body shook. Her muscles tightened in her chest as her heart beat furiously. Any moment now he’d walk in, but she wondered if she could actually do this. Sweat trickled down her neck and between her shoulder blades.

Moments later, her ears picked out a whisper of fabric. Then in spite of the pelting rain, she heard the subtle squeak of his sneakers. He was already inside the doorway to the restroom structure.

One. Last. Time.  Was she ready?

The hum of the lights filled the restroom as its motion sensor started the lights back on. He stopped — probably looking around. Jackson Allan Joyce always played it safe. Predictable and yet prepared. Always a slave to compulsive order and rules.

Across the stalls was a line of urinals. Satisfied that he was alone, he stepped over to one directly across from Evie. She peered out at him through the stall door crack. His back was to her. He rested his head on one arm stretched along the wall as he leaned into the urinal. Exhaustion written all over his form. His cyclist spandex suit was ripped at the shoulder and down the back. His arm was covered in drying blood as fresh blood pumped out of a long gash.

It had only been two hours before when they had taken their mountain bikes together along the North Face Trail. After a couple miles up, his bike tire popped when Jackson hit a sharp, partially buried rock in their path. He tumbled and bounced down the cliff then laid unconscious on the side of a rocky trench below the sand trail. Scrub brush and desert weeds shrouded him. She rushed to climb down to him and felt for his pulse. It was there but thready. His cheek and left eye were already bruised and swollen from the initial impact.

As she scrambled back up to their packs, she heard him call out. “Evie, help me. Evie!”

He sounded weak and vulnerable. Her mind whirled with possibilities.

She went to her backpack and from a sheath stowed inside, she removed the hunting blade. “I’m coming, Jackson. Hold on!”

At the bottom again, Evie knelt at his side. He looked confused, his eyes searched her hands spotting the blade. Before his first question, she thrust the knife aiming for his heart. His instincts were stronger and quicker than she expected. The blade pierced his arm as he raised it in defense.

Evie wasn’t done though. She pulled and twisted the knife handle, frantic to free it. When it gave up and popped free of his forearm, she was flung backwards into a small pile of boulders. Jackson wasn’t done either. He bolted up onto his knees then leaped onto her. They tumbled further down the incline of the trench as they wrestled for the knife.

She won the contest when she caught him with a surprise knee to the groin.

Evie ran. She ran not for her life but ran for another chance, another opportunity to escape the cushioned cage that was her doldrum life.  She would kill him. 

She would be free and have a new life. One. Last. Time.

All night, stalking and attacking him, she tried several times to ambush the son-of-a-bitch. Now they were near the parking lot. At the edge of the park.

He was exhausted. She was exhausted. They were both determined to live. Relentless in their endeavors.

Her legs were coiled beneath her, her muscles were taught, her breath captured in her burning legs. The knife was slick in her hand.

With a predatory smile and flash of gnashing teeth, she exploded from the stall…

One. Last. Time!

 

 

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