Every Monday morning I send out a prompt for subscribers to use to write a story. This is part of our challenge to write 52 short stories in one year. If you do write something using this prompt, I’d love to read it. Drop a link to your writing in the comments—or, hey! If it’s short enough, drop your whole story in the comments!
She never saw me either- “I was just sending a quick text” she cried as the police questioned her afterward.
I have to admit I was a little disappointed when I saw the bright light— it all just felt a little too on the nose. But I guess this is what exiting this mortal coil is like after all. The people I’d pointed and laughed at on daytime TV were right after all. Great.
I will say that the waiting room has good lighting. And nice music. As I sat there, I wondered if this was going to be like “Defending Your Life.”
Sidebar: Will they still whisper that I was “so, so young” after citing a 31 year old movie?
So there I was in full Daniel Miller mode—and half expecting to spent eternity sweating— when a voice called out:
“Prisoner 7498265, your sentence is over. You're free to go."
Go where? Back? I didn’t wait to ask; death would win someday, but that day was not today, so I ran (spoiler alert: your injuries don’t follow you to heaven).
I came to a few days later. And I realized that while I’d never been to jail, I’d been a prisoner my whole life; of other’s expectations, of capitalism, of all of it.
I was released on Wednesday evening. I turned in my resignation the next morning. Listed my house that night. The car, too.
I’d been released and was going to make the most of my parole.
The shock was immediate: I would have fallen over without my third knee holding up my weight. I swiveled my dome to the right to see the guard mech floating.
"That," I breathed "was... awful."
"A common feedback from prisoners," replied the mech.
I waved my arms in a loose swirl of compliance. "I never want to go through that again! I'm reformed!"
The mech merely floated.
Then one thought occurred and my elation disappeared, replaced by deep sorrow. It was pointless to resist. I sighed, much like the humans did.
"An unusual emote," the mech remarked.
"It's just..." I paused, unsure.
"Go on..."
Frustration welled up inside me and I blurted the unthinkable: "I wanted to know the real identity of Raymond Reddington! There was only one season left! Who was he really...."
Bright light, a universe of pain, then darkness. Again.
I should never have mentioned the forbidden name.
A new light has appeared. Suddenly I am without mind and words, constricted and screaming, violently re-emerging into that awful world once again, weak and wet. But inwardly, before consciousness fades, I am excited by the possibility of knowing the true identity of the Forbidden One.
I never saw the car that ran me over.
She never saw me either- “I was just sending a quick text” she cried as the police questioned her afterward.
I have to admit I was a little disappointed when I saw the bright light— it all just felt a little too on the nose. But I guess this is what exiting this mortal coil is like after all. The people I’d pointed and laughed at on daytime TV were right after all. Great.
I will say that the waiting room has good lighting. And nice music. As I sat there, I wondered if this was going to be like “Defending Your Life.”
Sidebar: Will they still whisper that I was “so, so young” after citing a 31 year old movie?
So there I was in full Daniel Miller mode—and half expecting to spent eternity sweating— when a voice called out:
“Prisoner 7498265, your sentence is over. You're free to go."
Go where? Back? I didn’t wait to ask; death would win someday, but that day was not today, so I ran (spoiler alert: your injuries don’t follow you to heaven).
I came to a few days later. And I realized that while I’d never been to jail, I’d been a prisoner my whole life; of other’s expectations, of capitalism, of all of it.
I was released on Wednesday evening. I turned in my resignation the next morning. Listed my house that night. The car, too.
I’d been released and was going to make the most of my parole.
The shock was immediate: I would have fallen over without my third knee holding up my weight. I swiveled my dome to the right to see the guard mech floating.
"That," I breathed "was... awful."
"A common feedback from prisoners," replied the mech.
I waved my arms in a loose swirl of compliance. "I never want to go through that again! I'm reformed!"
The mech merely floated.
Then one thought occurred and my elation disappeared, replaced by deep sorrow. It was pointless to resist. I sighed, much like the humans did.
"An unusual emote," the mech remarked.
"It's just..." I paused, unsure.
"Go on..."
Frustration welled up inside me and I blurted the unthinkable: "I wanted to know the real identity of Raymond Reddington! There was only one season left! Who was he really...."
Bright light, a universe of pain, then darkness. Again.
I should never have mentioned the forbidden name.
A new light has appeared. Suddenly I am without mind and words, constricted and screaming, violently re-emerging into that awful world once again, weak and wet. But inwardly, before consciousness fades, I am excited by the possibility of knowing the true identity of the Forbidden One.