October 26, 2016

Writing Prompt #9

Hey, y'all, the following prompt was given to me in my intermediate creative writing fiction class early this semester. What's great is that my prof is pretty loose about us following the prompts she gives. This was a one-liner, and I changed it slightly so it sounded more natural in the dialogue of my piece. Hope you enjoy!

Prompt: "It may not have been a child."

Marco stared at the destruction he’d once called his room. His posters were torn, clothes were everywhere and trampled, and his priceless comic book collection...well, he didn’t even want to talk about that. He knew whom to blame for the wreckage, though.
“Kate!” he bellowed.
A moment later, his sister’s head came into view as she climbed the stairs. Her brown eyes were cautious, and she wiped her hands on a dishtowel.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Look! Look at this!” Marco said, gesturing towards the doorway. “Ever since you and Adam moved in, it’s been a nightmare. I don’t care if he’s my nephew; he’s a wild animal. He whines all the time, he terrorizes the dog, he wakes me up in the middle of the night for glasses of water even though you’re his mom, and now this!”
Kate surveyed the damage. Her jaw was clenched, but her breathing remained calm. Her eyes were tired, though, and Marco felt sorry for his big sister. It couldn’t have been easy, going through a divorce and getting stuck with a Tasmanian devil for a son.
“Marco,” she said finally. “I don’t think a child did this.”
“Then who did? Quincy couldn’t have; he doesn’t have opposable thumbs. Besides, he’s trained.”
Kate turned to him. She had to look up to meet his eyes—she’d had to for a couple years now—and she crossed her arms over her round body. She said, “I think someone broke in. Did you even notice the broken window? You were robbed, little brother.”
Marco felt his cheeks flush. “Oh,” was all he could manage to say.
“I’ll call Mom and Dad. You call the police,” Kate said with a sigh before disappearing back downstairs.
Marco pulled out his phone. He scanned his room again, and his eyes lingered on the filing cabinets where he’d kept his comic books. He suddenly had the idea that he hadn’t been a random target; the burglar had wanted something very specific from his collection.

So...what did you think? Do you think I should continue this piece?


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