Hello! I know I'm a day later than I said I would be, but my mind has been full of cement these past few days, and I can't seem to come up with anything new! So, in order to get back into writing new things, I found some prompts that I'm going to do for a while. This might be once or twice a week, depending on time and work and things like that. I want to keep myself practicing. Right now, I'm focusing mainly on first line prompts. The first line of a piece of fiction is one of the hardest things to come up with, and so I wanted to make things a little easier on me for now.
Today's prompt is: "The pen hadn't been worth stealing." Enjoy!
The pen hadn’t been worth stealing.
I ran into the utility closet, trying to stifle my laughter all the way. I couldn’t believe it! I’d taken his stupid pen and now he was—seemingly—trying to kill me! It wasn’t even about the pen anymore…at least, I didn’t think it was about the pen. As I sat in the dark room, I noticed the smell of bleach and plastic and-
Was that smoke?
What the hell? Where was the smoke coming from? I didn’t feel any heat in the room, nor could I see any fire. I didn’t dare turn on my flashlight though, still terrified that he was going to find me and beat my ass, verbally. He didn’t have a chance in a physical fight against me.
Focus!
Right, where was the smoke coming from? I flashed back to elementary school and put my hand against the door. Immediately, I pulled my hand away. Shit, that’s hot! I blew on my hand, hoping that would alleviate the pain. I sat up and listened at the door, being careful not to touch my ear to it. Where there had been chaos and screams, there was suddenly silence. I didn’t even hear the crackle of flames like I would have expected. Did flames crackle? They always did in the movies but—
Again, focus! Get yourself out of here!
I shook myself out of my thoughts and reached for what I thought was the shelving unit. I had seen this closet a thousand times while I worked here, but of course I hadn’t ever paid attention to where anything was except for what I was looking for. Got it! I felt a shelf and pulled myself up into a standing position. I did remember that there were towels in here, and I felt for something, anything soft or thick enough to protect my hands from the heat. I found a mop head—Good enough—and wrapped it around the door handle.
One, two, three!
I yanked the door open and saw him looking down at me. I awkwardly waved.
“Hey, boss, what’s up?” I tried to run away, but he was quicker and grabbed my arm.
“Give it back. Now.”
I sighed and reached in my pocket. The pen landed in this hand with a small tap and I looked up at him.
“Where did the fire go?”
He blanched then turned away from me. “What fire?”
“Ha, ha, very funny. I know what I smelled. I smelled smoke!”
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Did you hit your head in there? There was no smoke out here.” He still wouldn’t turn to face me.
“Uh-huh. You’re not going to tell me the truth, are you?” He turned and smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was sad, and it was tense. What was wrong with him?
“I am telling you the truth. Let’s just get back to work, okay?” He walked away quickly, leaving me in the hallway. I looked out the window at the city. All of this trouble over a pen? I ran after him. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to tell me the truth, and he was going to tell me now.
I hope you liked this little snippet I was able to come up with. I can see this scene in a larger work, and so I'm definitely going to keep it in mind as I move forward. Let me know what you think in the comments! Bye for now!