"On Sunday, June 26th, post a 500-1000 word scene of your characters being interrupted - doesn't matter what they're doing, doesn't matter what's interrupting them (end of the world, knock on the door, little voice in their head...), they just need to be interrupted."
My entry:
“Did you hear that?”
“No,” I snap, frowning at the paper in front of me. Too much ramble, too much diplomacy. I can’t understand those politicians, always trying to make something out of nothing. Can’t they speak straight-like for once?
“I’m sure I heard something,” he insists.
“Go away!” I snarl. “I’m trying to do something here!”
“You’re crabby,” he says, cool as ice water. He stands up and hefts the only weapon in the room.
“Put that down.”
“Yes, Commander,” he says, knowing that’ll get to me. I glower at the paper.
I do hope you understand the nature of my request—
I manage to read that much before he knocks me to the ground. He shields me as there’s some great explosion outside the building, but I shove him off and snatch the weapon from him.
“Are you crazy?” I demand.
“Are you crazy?” he says, glaring. “A just bomb went off! Barely 20 meters away, if I had to guess!”
“Nothin’ we can do,” I say, sitting down again at the table. “If those dratted alley boys got themselves into trouble, it ain’t our problem, is it?”
“You’re the one who’s so insistent on keeping people safe.”
“Yeah, but I don’t get myself chased by riot police, now, do I?”
It’s true. I don’t, but some people don’t have a whip of sense, now, do they?
Moments later: “I don’t like it here,” he says, like there’s something I’m supposed to do about that.
I throw down my pen. I thought I had gotten through one of the blasted politician’s lines and he interrupts me again, distractin’ me from my thoughts. “Go away.”
“And do what?”
Sigh. He’s always got to have some kind of truth in his words, no matter how short those sentences be. Infuriating when people are like that, ain’t it?
“Something,” I snap.
All’s quiet.
I even get some words down in response to the politician’s letter. I’m quite impressed with myself. Who knew my poor ol’ brain could come up with In response to your courteous letter recently forwarded to us, we have decided . . . er, what we decided.
Okay. Not totally finished, eh?
There’s lots of peaceful silence. Until he declares he hears a military convoy approaching.
“You’re always hearing things,” I say, shrugging. My reply is evaporating as he distracts me.
“I really do think—“
“I really do think you should be quiet!”
“Sorry, Commander.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Yes, C—“
“Shut up.”
“Got it.”
“Didn’t I just say to shut up?” I snarl. He meets me gaze with a demure, open expression, like, How could I possibly be affecting anything here?
Infuriating. I hate him.
Just a little.
But he nods, and we’re at peace again.
“What’s a fancy, politician word for ‘decline’?”
“You would know that better than I do.”
Sigh again. Maybe . . . “We feel your proposal is too hasty?” I suggest.
“Try ‘abrupt and without the consideration we feel is due for the situation’. It sounds more like a politician phrase.”
I nod. He’s right, don’t you think?
“I think I hear that convoy again.”
“Be quiet.” Note that I don’t say shut—
“Duck!” he shouts, and I’m thrown to the floor a second time.
Dang it. I just wanted to finish that letter, and here I am with this irritating boy on top of me, soldiers outside the door, and . . . oh yes, gunshots. Those are gunshots, right?
“Gunshots,” he whispers, too close to my ear.
“Shut up.”
A bullet digs into the wooden walls behind us, and he presses himself harder against me, like that’s going to help stop a bullet. It’s just going to squash me like a bug.
Honestly.
“I think they’re gone,” I whisper, after a while.
I feel him nod. Then he’s off me, and I creak and groan and protest and generally look horrible to make him feel guilty.
He looks guilty. I feel some satisfaction. I sit down at the table again.
Aw, to heck with it.
I write:
Our answer is no. Please don’t bother us again, okay?
Not politician speech . . . but hey, it works.
Right?
(699 words)
***This is the same character in my entry for a writing contest HERE. It's just a scene I've been thinking about for a while, and I've gotten attached to her voice. If you're wondering why there's no name . . . I haven't given her one yet.***
-----The Golden Eagle
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