Monday, March 15, 2010

Writing Prompt #3

Writing Prompt #3

A woman buys a gun for home defense, but two days later she can’t find it.

The slamming of the old door jarred her from her sleep. Opening her eyes, she groggily looked over at the glowing clock propped on her bedside table. It was three in the morning. She had only been asleep for an hour. With a groan, she reached her hand behind her to swat at her husband. His side of the bed was empty. Confused, she rolled over to see the untouched pillow and neatly folded blankets. Then she remembered. He was away on a trip for the weekend with some buddies, off fishing and camping along some random lake’s shores.

Wiping a hand across her drowsy face, she threw the blankets off and placed her feet on the cold wood floor. Stumbling a moment, she finally got her bearings and headed to the bedroom door. The air was crisp and cold, causing her to shiver as she stepped into the hallway. Eyes barely open, she made her way to the front door. The sight waiting there finally brought her completely out of her half-awake stupor.

The door stood open an inch. Wood was cracked and chipped around the lock, which had been kicked in with such force that it was now just a hole in the old door. The wood chips had sprayed all over the entryway. Before she realized it, she had stepped on one, its sharp edge digging into her soft, bare foot. Yelping in pain, she hopped to the living room and sat down on their worn couch. A rosy drop of blood oozed from the small stab, falling to the ground and splattering onto the thin area rug.

Her mind reeled as she pressed a finger to the wound on her foot. The door was completely broken in, but no one was in sight. Heart pounding so hard she could feel her head throb with every beat, she stood and made her way to the kitchen. She flicked on the light. Everything looked normal. Still, calling the cops seemed the logical thing to do. She made her way to where the phone charger sat next to the humming fridge, only to see the base empty. The receiver was nowhere to be seen. Cursing under her breath, she turned to head back to her room. It might be there still, leaning against the clock as she waited for husband’s missing phone call.

Something creaked down the hall. It was the unmistakable sound of a footstep.

Icy disbelief shot down her body. This couldn’t be happening to her.

Then she remembered. Two days ago, just before her husband had left for the trip, he had brought home the gun. Though she had argued against it, he ignored every word, declaring it was something he wanted. Quickly she turned and made her way into the pantry. Tearing food off of the shelves, she found the lock box in its place, hidden behind the cans of tuna and soups. With a sigh, she pulled it down and sat on the hard floor. Her hands fumbled with the lock, spinning the numbers too fast and having to try four times before it finally clicked and the lid popped open.

There was nothing inside.

All she could do was stare in disbelief at the empty foam. The shape of the gun was still imprinted on its surface. She knew it had been put in there. She knew it. So where was it now? Down the hall she could hear her bedroom door creak open. Her breath caught in her throat, threatening to never make its way back into her burning lungs. Suddenly, something sounded behind her.

The click of the safety being let off echoed in the silent kitchen.

(Word count: 616)