Free Write Scene

“Hurry,” Jimmy tugged me along the waterlogged sidewalk as he rushed us toward the theater.

“Why are we hurry to get to some horror flick?” I should never have agreed to go to it in the first place. He should never have asked to take me. He knew I hated those kind of movies.

“Come on you will love it. I promise, Norm.”

“Don’t call me that.” He also knew I despised my real name. He was about the only one who dared get by with calling me it. Okay, he was the only one, besides my mother when she was ticked off at me, who could get by with addressing me by it.

“I love your name, honey.” He yanked me under the awning of the Shadow Theater.

“See, no one else braved this God-awful weather to come see such a horrible movie,” I whined as he wrapped his arm around my waist, nuzzling my neck.

“I will be there to keep you safe and sound from all bogymen. I promise.” He nipped the hallow between my neck and shoulder. “Let’s get our tickets.”

“You don’t stop that display of affection, you won’t get into my theater.”

“Come one, Mr. Henderson,” Jimmy chuckled and held his hand out to old Mr. Henderson, who had owned the theater since before me and Jimmy were born. My mom told us Mr. Henderson had been a young man when he bought it when she was only a child.

“How’s this weather treating you, Mr. Henderson?” I gave him a nod as I stepped away from Jimmy, more out of respect than having to. Mr. Henderson didn’t care how much the consenting adults fooled around outside or inside his movie theater. It was the younger ones he cared about and those who did not consent that ticked him off the most. Still, I felt respect was demanded, even if he joked around with us each time he saw us.

“Weather is a bitch. Each time it rains or snows my old bones act up, but I’m not one to complain, I’m still up and moving, so I’m better off than most my age.” And he was. My mom, who was much younger than him was already bedridden, but she had a hard life full of triple jobs with double shifts most of the days to keep me and my two brothers supported after my father was killed by a drunk driver.

“Big night for you boys?”

“Nah, Sir. Just some old scary movie, which you could ban from your theater if it was okay by you.”

Mr. Henderson chuckled, winking at Jimmy, who gave him this humorous smile. One I only saw on my lover’s face when he was up to something.

“What’s going on, Jimmy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You gave yourself away, my little conniving lover.”

Free Write Scene

“Colton!”

Shoot. What had he done this time? Every time Jason shouted Colton’s name the two of them began bickering. Hank would rather them come to blows than shout and scream back and forth until the wee hours of the morning. He had to get some sleep. Some people did have to work to pay the bills. If only he could afford an apartment where the walls weren’t so thin he heard every move and sound his neighbors made.

“You worthless piece of crap!” Jason's words stung as they flowed through Hank’s bedroom wall and into his head. 

A dark, red-haired woman might have well stood over his bed, waving a single sheet of paper with a single red mark on it shouting those very same words. His mom never let him forget how sorry of a person he would become for failing to get perfect scores on all assignments in school. Look where her berating got him, in the midst of a dump apartment, listening to a couple of men fight each night while he works his rear-end off each day to try and save up enough money for night school thanks to his mom gambling away what money his dad left him when he died.

Weekly Free Write Scene

Free Write Scene

The Eagle sat on the long, slender brown tree branch watching me through its unusual sky-blue eyes. It felt as if someone watched me from afar from a pair of binoculars. Creepy and eerie to the point a shiver ran down my spine. I jumped up from my swing porch and rushed inside, slamming my front door, and locking the deadbolt.

“Ronald is dead.” I whispered into the empty room, taking in two slow deep breaths, staving off the panic attack I felt tugging at me. “Ronald has been dead for five years.” I reminded myself a second time. “You killed him. You shot him dead the last time he invaded your home in Texas.”

I shoved the image of the blood gushing out of his chest and over his sides onto my shiny hardwood floors. It’d been a long time since those images had rushed my mind. It was understandable why they crashed to life then, but I didn’t need them bringing me to a standstill or causing my life to spiral out of control again. I’d spent two long years trying to regain my life after that awful night. I’d spent five days in the hospital after Ronald’s beating that horrid night.  The law in Texas tried to blame me for killing him, even though the evidence supported my self-defense. My father had hired the best lawyer in the world to defend me and he got me off, but not until after a yearlong trial, which would never had happened if Ronald hadn’t been the son of the Senator of Texas.

A soft knock on my door caused me to jerk away from the door all but leaping two feet into the air. Who in the world could it be? There’d been no crunching of gravel. No closing of car doors. No clomping of feet on the front porch. Where had someone came from?

“Who is it?” My voice came out as more of a croak.

“You have no reason to fear, Mr. Jameson.”

No one around here knew me by my given birthname. I’d changed it when I moved to some small town at the foot of some mountain in North Carolina. I wasn’t even sure of the name of the town I lived in. That’s how little I mingled among it. I knew the closest biggest city I lived near was some four hours away and that’s how I liked it. My nearest neighbor was half an hour away and I loved that. So where had this intruder of my space came from.

“I am here at the behest of Mr. Chamberland.”

That was a name I knew all too well. He’d been my lawyer and became a great friend of mine. Our close quarter work over that year and his aid in getting me help with my PTSD and depression was more of a help than my father had been to me. Oh, my father tried to aid me, but everything he did seemed to make things worse. He seemed to think telling me to get over it would work. It was laughable and aggravating at the same time.

I slid the chain across the door, still a bit caution because I didn’t know the man outside my door he could be anyone who knew to toss around the name of my friend and unlocked the door, opening it just a bit.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Andre Thomas, I am an associate of Mr. Chamberland. Mr. Chamberland sent me here to watch over you because there has been a bounty put out on you.”