Here we go, folks.
The INDIE 500 begins! The prompt is shared again below. Please use the prompt however you will, create your story of 500 words or less, post to your page, place a comment here with a link to your page, then sit back and enjoy the action.
The story which receives the most votes will be used as the prompt for next week. Voting will be closed as of Wednesday.
I’ll lead with the prompt, then below will be my posting.
Please remember to VOTE, even direct your followers to help in the voting if you like. The more the merrier. Also, remember to have fun with this.
Did I forget to remind you to vote?
The Green flag is waving…and…they’re off ! !
The First Prompt:
Jacob MacManus, a sophomore attending Dartmouth College and one hell of a fabulous golfer, was traveling south on route 91 in his father’s hand-me-down yellow Saab 900 SE Turbo convertible. The sky was blue, the mountains were a blurred green and Jacob was sifting among words to help him explain to his father his new found desire. His fingers rapidly tapped at the leather wrapped helm as David Grohl lamented through 8 acoustically engineered speakers about ‘One of these days’. Just as the machine crested another rise Jacob discovered a sight he would not soon forget. Two parallel and very long stretches of blackened rubber still smoldered in the morning air. Just beyond them lay a dark heaped something in the road.
And now, my personal entry:
Jacob pumped the brakes and shifted lower through gears, the engine whined. He slowly rolled passed the mound which appeared to be made of canvas, searching for a clue. He halted the vehicle a few feet beyond and set the brake of the Saab.
“What the hell?”
He was looking through the rear-view mirror, edging down the Foo Fighters, and thought he saw the sack move. Maybe it just shifted or something inside settled. Jacob released his seat belt and turn to look over his shoulder.
It moved again.
Jacob exited the driver door and cautiously observed the sack. It was grungy, probably from use and travel experience. It resembled one of those bags soldiers used to port their belongings into war zones, nearly four feet in length and thick like a fat greasy sausage link. The sack showed no signs of having been tossed out of a moving vehicle or having been run over; there were no rips of canvas or tears of the heavy stitching. It seemed to have been just dropped here. Left behind. Or forgotten. But what of the skid marks? Instinctively, not expecting and answer, Jacob called out, “Hello? Is there anybody there?”
Branches rustled with the morning breeze. He approached closer and circled half way around. It shifted. Then, something inside moaned.
Jacob leaped back. “Shit!” His fingers drummed against his thigh as he thought what to do. He could simply hop back in his car and drive down to New Haven, spend the weekend at his father’s place with his daughter-aged new wife, Kelly, and just act as if this all never happened. More moaning, this time the sound was more drawn out and pathetic and ended with a cough.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Somebody was inside the bag. Jacob could now see protrusions beneath the surface of the canvas, and elbow, a knee, the base of the sack appeared to hold something round like a head. Jacob did what any good boy would do, he hesitated. Then he inched closer and inspected the latch on the top of the sack. Metal riveted circles pierced through folds of canvas were slid over a small metal post and secured by a clasp. He unhooked the clasp and unfolded the flaps. The first thing he saw was a scuffed running shoe, then a sock which sheathed a foot, then a hairy leg.
“Holy Christ. Hello?” Jacob unwrapped this weird present, pulled at the legs and slid the bottom half of a man from the sack. “Are you okay?” The body was clad in shorts and a windbreaker pull-over. This person, whomever it was, seemed to have been badly beaten. His hands were bound and there were abrasions and welts and trickles of blood all over the exposed legs.
Jacob pulled the sack completely off, like the whale expelling Jonas, the body slid upon the pavement, then the body rolled.
A battered yet very familiar face appeared.