The Ones is a writing blog game in which participants receive a story title, a little wrinkle to up the challenge factor and then must create a single draft story in no more than one hour from the prompt. They then trade stories and post someone else’s entry on their website. My guest is Alisia Faust.

Pistol in holder

Lisa Larson via Creative Commons

Hello, can you hear me? Is anybody there? Please help me. I think I’m with a very bad man, and I’m afraid.

He came into my house in the middle of the night, tip-toeing on silent cat’s feet. I don’t know why the alarm didn’t go off. It should have! But it didn’t, so he pulled me from my bed and stuffed me in the back of his car. Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid! Why hadn’t I made any noise? I accidentally go off all the time! But I was confused and surprise and so scared. They took my brother too. He’s back here with me. If only I had said something, I wouldn’t be here. If only…

The car is stopping. I hear him loud and clear. It’s a one-sided conversation on the phone.

“Hey, I’m here. Yeah, around the corner from Starbucks. Where are you? Well hurry up, man! I’ve got the–Alright, alright, just hurry up.”

The faint click of disconnection, and a string of words that would make a lady blush tumble out of his mouth. Do you need to know everything he said? I’m not comfortable repeating that last bit.

Anyway, nevermind that! I know where we are. We’re by Starbucks. Please, tell the police and get us out of here! Oh shoot, I don’t know which Starbucks. If only I weren’t in the trunk.

I’m not sure what they want with us, but I have a feeling they’re going to use me for something horrible.

Muffled crunch of boots on gravel crawl up to the car. That must be who he was waiting for. The front door slams, sending echoing waves into the silent night. I jump at the sound, but I hope that means someone’s heard us.

“You ready?” The first man asks.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” The second man says. His voice quivers like an arrow shot from a bow.

“C’mon, man, it’s way too late to get cold feet. Besides, I already got the–y’know.” He opens up the trunk. Silver threads of moonlight filter through the two men looking down at us. The first guy is about a head taller than the second. I can barely see their faces, but I think the second man sports the shadow of a beard. With a sigh, he nods.

Tall guy disappears to the front seat. “Good, put this on.”

Beardy catches something dark in his hands and slips it over his face.

Dread washes over me as understanding dawns. I can see the luminescent glow of a Sunoko off in the distance. The 7-11 sign shining brightly beside it.

No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

Beardy snatches both me and my brother out of the trunk and keeps us up front with him. My nightmare is coming true, but all I can do is fret silently. I try my hardest to explode with a bang, but my safety’s on.

It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? The gun’s fear is to be used for robbery. Well, not just robbery–general misuse. I’m afraid of being used for murder too. I’m meant for protection. I don’t want to cause harm to anyone, especially not children. Children and I don’t along well–they play too roughly–and I become agitated quite easily. When it builds up too much, I go off and somebody gets hurt. Luckily, I don’t see any children around.

Oh god, they’re pulling into the station now. Beardy stays in the car, my brother clutched in his hand. Tall guy walks calmly into the store. Please, somebody come now! Stop it before it even begins! I’m begging you! He’s strangling me with his grip. I can’t escape.

“Give me all your money!”

God, oh god, oh god, why me. Please put me down. Don’t point me at him. I’m so sorry. I see the whites of his eyes. His hands fly up, but I can see him trembling.

“Please,” he says, “my children… please don’t hurt me. They need me.”

Tall guy flicks me towards the cash register. “The money. Give me the money and nobody needs to get hurt.”

Carefully, the shop keeper lowers his hands. I’m feeling dizzy. Tall guy’s knuckles turn white as he keeps his death grip on me. I can feel myself shaking. Is it me? No, it’s him. He’s shaking. No, don’t shake. Please don’t shake. His finger is still on the trigger. My heart leaps to my throat. Stop shaking!

Suddenly, the room freezes. I think I can hear it, and so do they. The blare of sirens. Beardy runs into the store. “We gotta go. Forget the money! Let’s go!”

I drop to Tall guy’s side as he high-tails it out of there.

Thank you, whoever you are. You heard me. You’ve saved me.

 

To read the next entry in the circle, click here. To go straight to my story from this prompt, go to Kishan Paul‘s blog.

Alisia began writing when she was between jobs with too much time on her hands. Now she’s juggling three different writing projects at once. She is primarily a flash fiction writer, partially because it caters to her ever shortening attention span. More of her work can be found at eurasianflavour.com, or follow her on twitter @eurasianflavour.

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