I was given a progressive story to finish recently. This is what I had to work with:
- 2 love-struck teachers, John and Angela. They’d been kissing for the first time, in the school break-room, when
- an explosion had occurred and they’d been knocked to the ground. Angela had been impaled, and John was also much the worse for wear.
- Enter cleaner, George. He tells them he’s called the ambulance and encourages the two teachers to talk to each other. They declare their undying love (yeh, I added the adjective here because hey! irony!)
- explosion number 2.
Oh – and finish the story in just 300 words.
So now what? What would YOU do?
If you’re interested in my take on the story, read on below. If not, that’s fine! Have yourself a fantastic week, dear Reader!
Now it was George’s turn to be thrown to the ground. He landed heavily on his vacuum cleaner. John, who’d finally managed to stagger upright, was blasted down again. This time, his temple hit the corner of the lunch table. He’d never rise again.
Angela, disoriented, bleeding profusely from multitudes of cuts, tried to rise but couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t support her. She could feel her body growing weaker. In her pain, she didn’t notice a man stride into the destroyed room, gas mask covering his head and a thick black coat disguising the rest of his muscular body. He kicked John’s body out of his way.
George, regaining consciousness, groaned loudly. Leaning over, the man hauled him to his feet. “Leave.” George, spluttering, quickly decided this was not a man to trifle with. Eyes wide, he took the stranger’s advice and fled.
Not even bothering to watch, the stranger had calmly sauntered over to Angela’s broken body. He removed his mask, his face flushed with hatred. “I told you,” he spat.
“Henry?” Angela’s whisper held pain and confusion. “What…? Why?”
“When you broke my heart two years ago, you promised me ‘never again’,” he roared, over the wail of approaching sirens.
He grabbed the piece of window frame embedded in her abdomen and twisted it slowly, painfully. “You lied.”
“No,” he snarled. “You’d promised. It was easy enough to get the gas contract for this stupid old school. A piece of cake, letting it leak into this break room over the past several weeks. Just waiting for today. For you. And him!” His eyes glittered crazily; her eyes, tear-filled, lost their sheen of life.
The sirens stopped, replaced by screeching tyres on the gravel outside.
Henry, smiling grimly, surveyed his handiwork, then slipped silently out the back door.