Story a Day begins in less than four hours, EST.
I have my pens, legal pads, brainstorming list, creative space, and most importantly my tea. Bring it on.
To warm things up I thought I’d share one of the stories I wrote last year for Story a Day. The Turning is a flash fiction story, still in rough draft. It is dark and gritty– not a story for those easily disturbed.
I never envisioned my life ending this way—tied to a bed, blood pooling beneath me. Every inch of my skin writhed in pain like a thousand razors embedded beneath the surface. I tried to shift my weight only to realize my right femur was in two pieces. Voices outside the door stifled the scream growing in my throat.
“She can’t stay here. Get rid of her now!” said a familiar voice.
“You said you wanted the girl, Chaz. You didn’t say how you wanted her.”
Chaz. This was worse than I thought.
“Are you a complete moron? She’s an agent. For all we know she could have a tracking device hidden on her.”
Chaz wasn’t just the boss, he was the brains too. Some how he’d figured out I wasn’t who he thought.
I forced my one good eye open and scanned room. No windows. No furniture, save the bed. In the middle of the ceiling a dim light bulb hung still and lifeless. Enough light illuminated the walls to reveal streaks of blood from top to bottom. The shades varied from dark brown to crimson.
“I want this taken care of by the time I return.” Two sets of footsteps echoed down the hall and then disappeared.
A ball of fear swelled in my throat. This was a torture room. I glanced down at my broken body and knew I had only one option if I wanted to live. There would be no going back.
My tongue caressed the false molar implanted by the agency. I bit down hard, clenching my teeth till I heard the tooth crack. A vile liquid hammered my taste buds and sent my body into convulsions.
One. Two. Three. Then darkness.
My death lasted only minutes. The serum coursed through me rebuilding bone, muscle, and tendon. When I my eyes opened again they burned with rage. I ripped the chains from my arms and went in search of my tormentors.
© Amanda Makepeace