Flash Fiction Challenge from Chuck Wendig -- Random Sentence

The very first sentence of this piece of flash was my random sentence. It was a great writing exercise as well as a step into a different tone and genre of writing. You can check out Chuck Wendig's writing challenges, writing advice, and general thoughts of things at www.terribleminds.com.



The anxious confidence originates. It’s so easy to be detached when you use those ten dollar words. I know what’s really happening. I’ve been planning for this for months, maybe years. Nebulous fantasizing that just recently crystallized into a sharp-edged plan. Each step engraved in my mind. Each step a map towards freedom.

I had my tool. I had chosen it with the precision of a master artisan. This would be my masterpiece, my Pieta. This would be my crowning moment! Hell, this would be my equivalent of a Kentucky Hot Brown. Perfection.

I could hardly wait, but wait I must.

In the dark, I could feel my heart racing with excitement and fear. I could taste the bile as it rose, pushed up as my nerves unraveled themselves. I was too close to let my traitorously weak body ruin things. I had planned for everything. Nothing was left to chance. I took a slow, deep breath, inhaling the musty scents of the ancient clothes in the closet. Dust tickled my nose and made my eyes burn as I stood there and waited. I pressed the pillow against my stomach, trying to quell the sudden pangs of hunger. If, no, when I finished, I would reward it for not growling or emptying. In fact, there was a diner that made a decent hot brown. I held that image in my mind’s eye as I continued to wait.

I cradled the pillow closer. It was gorgeous. Heavy brocade fabric that should have given a designer home pop instead of being relegated to a bargain bin. That’s what the rich and famous called it when they added a pillow or something with a bold color. Adding pop to a room. I was going to add a different kind of pop, but the pillow was beautiful and suited my purpose. I had heard that a master always treated his tools as though they were works of art. I don’t remember where, maybe I made it up. Hmm, it was a good quote. I’d save it and use it again.

Silence pressed against me in the dark of the closet. I could hear nothing from the other side of the door. Could it be? I pressed my ear against the door, ignoring the rough wood. No, I heard nothing. It was! It was time!

the door was silent as I pushed it open. I had oiled it that morning. Like I said, nothing left to chance. It was there. I could see it sprawled on the bed without a care in the world. My cares were soon to be extinguished. Closer I stepped. I kept each breath silent and slow. Even closer I stepped as I raised the pillow. I could see its face, almost feel its breath. I steadied my grip on the pillow even as I steadied my own breath.

Without a final thought, I brought the pillow down with all of my strength.

Copyright 2012

Erika Napier

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