Fiction Friday #3

Fiction Friday #136
A text message pops up on your character’s phone in the middle of the night. It reads “you have 30 days left to live. Use them wisely.”

Gunfire cracked and popped throughout the warehouse, pinging off the empty walls. Dust explosions puffed up intermittently, obscuring Jack’s view, and his breathing, and he rolled behind a large crate, flicking the safety of his gun back on.

Silence. A bird cawed and took off in a kerfuffle at the other end of the building, but then nothing. Jack took a deep breath, quietly letting it out through between clenched teeth. There was movement from the others, the ones following him. He could hear their shuffling, hear them reloading their guns. But he was too intent on following the path of the bird, trying to find the quickest, and quietest way out.

The crates packed up just to his left reached nearly to the ceiling, and then just above that, he could leverage himself up onto the gangway that ran across the roofline. If he could up there without them noticing him, then he could follow the gangway all the way across to the manhole and out through the roof, and they wouldn’t even know he’d disappeared.

Holstering his gun, Jack tried to judge the height of the first crate. Once he was on top of that one, the rest would be easy, but this first crate was the challenge.

“Beep beep” Jack’s mobile phone message tone reverberated throughout the empty building.

“Shit!” Jack pulled out his gun again, flicking the safety as a volley of shots were directed towards him. Shards of wood, breaking off from the crates protecting him, were suddenly just as dangerous as the bullets. Shading his face with his forearm, Jack flinched as a splinter embedded itself in his thigh, and he lunged for the safety of another crate.

Releasing the empty clip, and reloading another one, Jack pulled out his phone. Tapping the screen, he pulled up the message.

“You have 30 days to live. Use it wisely.” Jack scrolled down to check the sender, but he didn’t recognise the number.

“Fuck, 30 days? I’ll be lucky if I get through today,” he whispered to himself. Quickly glancing around the corner of the crate to target the others, Jack shoved his phone back in his pocket. He glanced over at the crate which was the first step to his escape. If he could get across to it, he could still get out of here. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Jack stood up, firing, and ran towards the crate. Taking a giant leap, Jack grasped the top of the crate and swung himself up, flattening himself against the top as the barrage of machine gun fire was again aimed towards him. Scrambling around towards the wall, Jack hurriedly started to climb, keeping the gangway clearly in his sight.

Reaching the gangway, still with gunfire following him, he flung himself up and over. Only metres away from the manhole leading to the roof, Jack stood to his full height, and sprinted, flinching away from each bullet that grazed past him, but keeping his goal in mind. Risking a quick glance behind him, he noticed the others beginning the ascent up the crates, following his own escape route. Reaching the manhole, Jack turned and fired several shots at his attackers, slowing them down as they ducked for cover. Taking one last look, and memorising several of his attackers faces, Jack reached up, grasping the edges of the manhole. Pulling himself up through it, he took a gulp of fresh breath, before vanishing up onto the roof, and out into the night.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“What the hell do you mean, you can’t track it? It shows the bloody number?” Jack threw his hands up in the air, furious.

“Jack, calm down. They’re working on it, it’s just going to take a bit of time.” Jack’s superior, Robert Lampole, sat down at his desk, placing his hands tightly across his stomach. His heart was pumping away madly, the tension in the room was palpable, and Robert was beginning to get hot. He flicked on the little desk fan, and aimed it directly at his face.

“Robert, this is ridiculous. That text message nearly got me killed, only to tell me that that’s exactly what is going to happen in 30 days time. After the last week, I can’t deal with anymore. I’ve been shot at, arrested, blown up – twice – had my car rammed from every direction, my boat was sunk and my motorbike got run over. I’ve had a train come off it’s tracks at me, I’ve had a helicopter fall out of the sky on me, and yesterday morning the milk I put into my coffee burnt all the way through not only the bottom of the mug, but also my benchtop.”

“When was the use-by date of the milk?” Robert asked.

Jack narrowed his eyes at his boss. “The milk wasn’t off, it was full of acid.”

Robert sighed. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hand tiredly across his face.

“Jack, I’m sorry. I know it’s been a tough week, but we’ve got everyone working on it. We will find out who’s after you soon enough.”

“Robert, I know you guys are working on it. But at the moment, soon enough isn’t going to be good enough. My life is on the line, here, and I’m getting tired of having to sleep with my gun underneath my pillow. I nearly shot the dog last night, coz she rolled over into me. I need to get away.”

“Jack. I can understand that you’re a little stressed out right now. But we can’t run the risk of having you out of contact. If something happens, and we can’t get hold of you, well…”

“I think that’s Jack’s point, Robert,” Rebecca Truscott was standing at the entrance of Robert’s office.

Rebecca Truscott was altogether the most attractive woman on the face of the earth. Today, she was wearing blood red stilettos, unnecessarily extending her already very long legs. Her black pin stripe suit was elegantly cut to the current fashion, and aforementioned legs disappeared seductively underneath the very short skirt. Her crisp white blouse was buttoned to ensure enough cleavage was showing, and the white pearls she wore around her neck dangled enticingly between her breasts.

“Rebecca,” Robert slowly stood up to shake hands with the striking woman at his door. “What brings you down here?”

“T.O.T sent me down. Apparently there’s an issue with a text message?” Rebecca looked across at Jack, before turning her full attention to Robert. Striding to the middle of the room, Rebecca sat down on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“T.O.T? I don’t think that’s really necessary, Rebecca.” Robert shut the office door and went back to his seat. Having to look up at Rebecca was far easier on his heart than having to look down at her. “We’ve got it under control.”

Rebecca cocked her head towards Robert, and leaned forward, just enough to set the pearls to swinging. “It doesn’t really matter what you think, Robert,” she replied, her voice dripping with honey. “The directors sent me down here to sort it out. Jack’s safety is of utmost importance. Until we can determine exactly how to remove the chip in his brain, we can’t afford to let anything happen to him.” She turned to Jack, her long blonde hair floating after her. Standing up, she grasped Jack’s chin in her fingertips, and looked deep into his eyes.

“If Jack needs a holiday, then a holiday Jack will have.” Rebecca smiled at him and turned back to Robert. “We’ve already got it under control.” She dropped a folder onto Robert’s desk, Jack’s name clearly printed across the front of it. She winked at Jack, and then turned to leave. At the door, though, she turned back. “Oh, and Robert, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Robert sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Jack slumped down in the chair in the corner of the room. He looked across at Robert and laughed.

“So, boss, where am I going?”

Fiction Friday #2

Fiction Friday #133 – Start your story during a religious ceremony…

Lucy turned around in her seat, to watch everyone file in through the double doors and down the aisle. The fake holly leaves and tinsel strung between the pews was beginning to look depressed, drooping in the middle and bare in spots where children had sat. Marie was talking to an older couple, their heads were bowed towards her and they were listening intently. She looked up briefly, and caught Lucy’s eye. Smiling at the girl, Marie turned back to the couple, and wound up the conversation.

Making her way back over to Lucy, she pulled a Santa hat and elf ears from her bag. She leaned over and carefully placed the elf ears on top of Lucy’s own ears and then touched her nose to Lucy’s. Lucy smiled and hunkered down in her seat, feeling a little self-conscious at the show of affection from Marie. But no one seemed to notice, and Lucy straightened herself in the pew.

A few moments later, the strains of “we wish you a merry christmas” filled the room, and Lucy watched the orchestra in amazement as they continued to play more Christmas carols, drowning out the chatter and eventually taking control of the sound within the Church. Everyone had stopped to listen to them, and some people had started to light candles, the waxy scent permeating through the must that somehow belonged to the building.

Outside, the clocktower opposite the church boomed midnight. Red and green globes flicked on and off in the windows of houses, and little boys and girls were curled up tight in their beds, waiting for the sound of slieghs and reindeer on their roof.

Lucy tucked her hand into Marie’s elbow, and pulled her feet up underneath her on the chair. Resting her head on Marie’s shoulder, she closed her eyes, trying to remember a moment like this in her own past. Christmas had never been anything other than another day for Lucy. Marie had introduced her to a tradition that was more than just setting up a tree and buying presents. It was about being with the people that needed you, and being there for them as well. It was about showing how much you cared, and how much they meant, simply by spending time with them, and telling them that you loved them.

Lucy didn’t know anything about that. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt safe with anyone. But she felt good around Marie – safe, loved, entrenched in her life. A lady with long black hair approached them, and gestured to Lucy to scoot across. Marie leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and the black haired lady smiled.

“Kerry, this is Lucy,” Marie nudged Lucy, and she put her hand out for the black haired lady to shake. Even though she was smiling, there was a certain level of sadness that was underpinning this woman, and Lucy went cold the moment their hands made contact. The black haired lady looked at Lucy quickly, sensing the drop in temperature that suddenly enshrouded them.

“You can see her, can’t you?” she asked, and Lucy nodded. Marie looked at both of them, noticing that something was being exchanged between them, but not sure of what it was. When she saw Kerry tear up though, she knew. She grabbed for their hands, still linked, and quickly pulled them apart. Heat began to flood in around them and the colour that had drained from Lucy’s face returned.

“Who was she?” she whispered.

“My daughter,” Kerry replied. “She was killed 5 years ago, today.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy stood up and moved past Kerry, into the aisle. “I’m sorry, Marie.” She looked at her friend, willing her to understand, and then headed up the aisle and out the doors. The carols were still playing, soothing in a way Lucy couldn’t explain, so she didn’t go far from the church. Finding a spot out of the entrance, but still in view of the doors, Lucy sat down. Before she could even register it, the tears had started to slide down her cheeks, and she ached for the warmth and comfort of her mother.

Fiction Friday #1

I came across this blog last week, and decided that it might be useful for my writing, if I participated. Last week, I ran out of time, but this week, I was determined to succeed! So, yesterday at lunch, I sat down… I may have written for longer than 5 minutes, but I don’t suppose that is really a bad thing…

Fiction Friday for December 4… Include in your story: “I can’t see anything,” sobbed the figure on the floor.

At some point in the night, I realised that Lucy was crying. I’d woken up a couple of times because of it, but hadn’t registered specifically what it was.

I’d like to blame it on naivete, not having had another person, let alone a vulnerable teenager, in the house for a long time, but the reality, I think, was just exhaustion.

Either way, once I realised that the sobbing was coming from Lucy, I slowly climbed out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown. She had quieted, to a low whimper, but she still sounded distressed, so I opened the door to her room without knocking.

Lucy was curled up tight around Lady, who was sitting across her, a distressed look in her eyes, and her concern evident from the attention her tongue was lavishing on Lucy’s hand. However, I was surprised by the fact that Lady seemed at ease, and I realised with a start that she was, quite possibly, used to this.

I mentally berated myself again for being a poor carer. God only knows how Lady had managed to survive my obvious lack of maternal sills.

I stood at the door, watching Lucy for a few moments, and slowly, under the careful administrations of Lady, she began to settle. Unfurling herself from the tight ball she had squeezed herself into, Lucy knocked Lady, and the dog yelped.

Lucy sat bolt upright, awake, but not clear-eyed. She noticed me with a jolt of recognition, and promptly burst into tears. I crossed the room in one stride and gathered her up in my arms. Lady jumped in between us and started nuzzling into Lucy.

“I can’t see anything,” sobbed Lucy. “Anne’s just gone, and in her place is just this black gaping emptiness.”

I let Lucy cry herself out before I started to talk, thinking that if she had no more tears, she might be more coherent.

“Lucy, Anne’s dead. She has been for 80 odd years,” I quietly pointed out.

“I know that. But I still see her,” Lucy tapped her forehead. “And I haven’t seen anything, not her or any of the others, since I’ve been here.”

“The others?” I asked, althought I had a feeling I knew what Lucy was going to say. She nodded.

“The other ghosts.”

I pursed my lips and looked at the girl thoughtfully. I was guessing this wasa bad thing, that she’d stopped “seeing” everyone, even though she had initially seemed to want that. Separation anxiety, maybe?

Either way, I had to figure out how to help Lucy control this, how to turn it on and off at will, because we couldn’t continue like this.

I stroked her hair for a bit longer, until her breathing started to slow down. Then, leaving her in the capable care of Lady, I headed down to the Library.