Writing prompt #1
She approached the unfamiliar door and nervously took the key from her pocket. She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, paused, then opened it. To her horror she saw…..
She approached the unfamiliar door and nervously took the key from her pocket. She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, paused, then opened it. To her horror she saw a dimly lit room with a body sprawled on the floor. Next to the body were what seemed to be shards of broken glass scattered across the room. It looked like there had been a struggle. She made her way over to the lifeless body, carefully stepping over the shards. The room was starting to get hot, as she could feel drops of sweat rolling down her back. When she got closer to the body, she noticed a dried up puddle of liquid underneath. She let out a loud gasp. “Could that be blood?” she thought. Something wasn’t right.
Suddenly, there was a jab at the door, and the sound of keys could be heard dangling over the lock. Someone was trying to get in. She quickly scanned the room, desperate for a hiding place. She found a huge cubelike metal box standing at least 7 ft tall. It looked like a perfect spot, large enough to cover her frame, so she went behind it and hid.
After much struggle, Chris was able to get the door to his studio open. “I need to fix that lock,” he thought to himself. There at the entrance of the room was a light switch. He walked up to it and turned it on. He looked round the room and sighed. The mess he made was still there. Two days ago, he had been preparing for an art exhibition, putting his props in order, when he slipped and crashed into his human sculpture. In the process, he knocked down a bucket of paint, which now lay splattered everywhere. Since the day of the incident, he avoided the room like the plague. He couldn’t bring himself to accept that the sculpture he had spent ten sleepless nights working on now lay broken in pieces on the floor. It was supposed to be his entry for the exhibition. He was finally putting himself out there.
With shoulders slumped, he walked over to the rubble and started picking the pieces. To him, it was a revolutionary moment. It felt like picking up the broken pieces of himself. It had taken a lot of courage and self-affirmation to bring himself to the studio today.
There, bent low to the ground, he noticed a leg sticking out behind one of his other sculptures, which he called ‘THE BOX’. He tiptoed towards it, trying his best to be stealthy. When he got to ‘THE BOX’, he looked behind and saw a terrified woman crouched down. With eyes bloodshot from crying, clothes soaked with sweat and trembling hands, she muttered, “please don’t kill me.”
Photo from Pinterest.