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The Legacy of Androva Series

Spooky Quilling - Worst Fear

Welcome to the second prompt in the Spooky Quilling challenge! A big thank you to Savannah at The Book Prophet for coming up with such an awesome blogging idea in the run up to Hallowe'en. You can read all about it here and there's still plenty of time to take part. If you're reading this and considering whether or not to sign up, all I can say is: Go for it! You've got nothing to lose, and it's a lot of fun 😊

The second prompt involves writing about a character experiencing your worst fear. It also has to be written in the second person point of view, which I have never done before. Yes, I was scared before I even started!

When I sat down to think about it, I figured out that I don't really have a "worst fear." Not because I'm amazingly fearless or anything (far from it), it's more that I'm scared of a lot of things, so it was kind of hard to pick just one. I settled on the fear of being powerless/trapped and then started writing. I'm incapable of being a plotter, even when it's not a full-length book.

Before you read on, there are a couple of things I want to mention. First, a warning. This is probably the most horrible situation I've ever written about, even taking into account the other villains I've created. Everything is implied, so there are no gory descriptions, but it's still unsettling. (At least, it was to me!). Second, although this will be my shortest prompt, I was surprised by how effective the second person point of view was. I'm so glad I gave it a shot. Next week (the third prompt) will be a longer, more character-driven piece about survival, and I'm already looking forward to writing it. Thank you very much for reading today's post!


You can’t even remember exactly how you got here. That’s how scattered your thoughts have become. All you can think is that it must be a dream. It’s not possible for this to be real.
“Nearly ready,” he says. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”
You would ask him why he’s doing this, but you can’t speak. You can’t move. You can’t even turn your gaze left or right, or blink away the tears stinging your eyes. You can only breathe in sharp, shallow puffs of air that scrape against your throat. You don’t know if it’s because of your fear, but the act of breathing seems to be getting harder.
He leans over you, blocking out the light. His breath smells sweet. Not a nice kind of sweet. More like the sweetness of decay. “Very close,” he whispers. “Aren’t you? You’re very close now.”
The sting where the needle entered your neck has faded to nothing. At first you thought a bug had gotten trapped under your collar. Sometimes the flies got drowsy in the late summer heat and crawled unnoticed into places they shouldn’t. You got off the bus one stop early and shook out your jacket. The bus had been too full anyway. Every seat was taken plus standing room, and the air-conditioning was barely coping.
You didn’t notice him following you. You started to feel light-headed, but you’d skipped lunch in favor of getting off early like you always did on Fridays, so you didn’t worry too much. It wasn’t far until your street. As soon as you were home you’d fix yourself a snack.
The van was parked on the corner. It was just a van. White, no markings, very clean. You were looking at the van when your legs collapsed. From one step to the next, that was it, as if your bones had melted.
You opened your mouth to exclaim in shock, but nothing happened. You had the thought of reaching for your purse to get your phone, but your arms and hands never moved. You realized you were looking up at the sky. It was blue. Not a cloud to be seen.
“Up you come,” he said. He grasped you firmly under your shoulders and knees, rising to his feet with you in his arms, a grotesque parody of a lover’s embrace. No one had held you like this since you were a child. His sleeve was rough under your cheek. You tried to move. You tried to scream. Your teeth ground together and you tasted blood. Your tongue? You didn’t know.
He put you in the van. You tried to scream again. Your thoughts tumbled over and over each other in an attempt to make sense of what was happening.
You don’t know how long the journey lasted or where he brought you. You’re trapped. You still hope you might wake up from this nightmare, but that hope is diminishing the longer this goes on. You don’t know what he’s going to do. You don’t know if you’re going to die. You don’t know if he’s going to kill you or if the drug he gave you will do it for him. You don’t want to die.
“It’s time,” he says. He moves away. It sounds like he’s rummaging inside a bag or maybe a cupboard. When he returns and you realize how he’s going to kill you, you change your mind. You want to die. You want to die right now. But you don’t. And he begins.

2 comments:

Savannah Aleksic said...

OH MY GOD THIS IS TERRIFYING!! Somehow the 2nd person pov makes it more terrifying. Nice job!

Alex Vick said...

Thank you! It was such a great idea to make one of your prompts second person pov!

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