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 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
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
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.
OH MY GOD THIS IS TERRIFYING!! Somehow the 2nd person pov makes it more terrifying. Nice job!
Thank you! It was such a great idea to make one of your prompts second person pov!
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