INDIE 500 : WEEKLY PROMPT

Posted: May 4, 2012 in dark, fiction, INDIE500, writing
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

INDIE 500:  Weekly Prompt

The race continues!

Thank you to those who entered their 500 words or less story. And, thank you to those who visited, read, commented, and voted. The INDIE 500 would not work if not for all of your participation. We invite you sideline observers to participate this week. Give it a shot. Jump in. Even if your contribution is only 100 words. Come out and play.

Also, this is a work in progress. If you have an idea on how to make this prompt concept run smoother, please, please, please let me know!

OK, back to the INDIE 500…remember, the winning story selected from the previous week becomes the prompt for the coming week.

Below is the ‘checkered flag’ story, based on the rating votes. Please read this story, use it as your prompt, begin your submission for this week where the story below ends.

I will make another INDIE 500 posting on Monday. This posting will have my contribution for the week. On Monday, you should post your contribution to your page, then come to mine and place a link within the ‘comments’ section. On Wednesday I will use the wordpress rating report system to tell me which story has the most votes/highest rating, and that story will be the ‘checkered flag’ winner, and thereby, become the prompt for the following week. Capice?

Readers, please use these links to visit the blogs of the other contributors, read their stories, then come back to my page and vote. How? Within the comments section on my page, where you found the contributor’s link, you can express your appreciation by simply clicking on the yellow rating stars. That is where you vote.

 

Without further adieu…the winner and prompt for this week:

 

**********************************************************

 

Homeward Bound

 

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 dirty and scuffed, 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 of canvas. 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 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.

 

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Comments
  1. Fay Moore says:

    Ha! Had I just waited a week with my first submission, it would have worked out just fine. 🙂

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