I'd make a list of words. 10-15 of them and they would have to be included in the storyline. Occasionally I would set the genre. Sometimes I would set the scene up. Maybe where I stopped in the middle of the sentence.. such as,

''Frank woke up from a dream. In a place he simply shouldn't have been dreaming in the first place. Frank opened his eyes and saw.... "

The word list would likely have preceded this scenario so that the author was already formulating what was about to come. Or maybe they would follow so that the author simply couldn't figure out how they could possibly fit them in. The words would have randomly been chosen from a dictionary with no rhyme or reason to why they were there except that they themselves chose to be chosen.

(Letters)

Or a good prompt that could look fun but difficult would allow an author to try and jot down a story of around 250-500 words in which you can not push a common alpha such as "E" throughout a story or stanza product.

(Decided to go back and remove the "e" from the piece and it was kind of hard to come up with words to make sense out of the challenge prompt.) Then realized there were more and had to remove them also. It's a horrible idea.. just forget it. LoL

My hardest interview question is "Tell me what happened." Someone always wants to know the story of the night I became a murderer. The why and how. Sometimes I think pure morbid curiosity allows me to sit in the chair across from them. I don't get called back. "It's not up to me." They say.

I don't mind the question. I've told the story too many times. I've lived through the night over and over again for more than twenty years. I don't like the question, because the story becomes a game of justification. I don't lie about it, but I have to explain the why so they understand. I have to give an excuse where "sorry" doesn't cut it.

I always lose eye contact. I find a spot and explain it to the spot. The interviewer always sympathizes with me. Tells me they don't blame me. Tells me about their own abusive relationship. Tells me they would have done the same thing. How they almost have done the same thing. How close they were to being me.

Then they never call. These almost murderers working a job I'd prefer to be doing. These people who now have my story inside of them. I wonder if it festers inside of them the way it festers inside of me. My toughest interview question will always be the one that keeps me from becoming more than my resume.

I must remain quiet. Still. I take the smallest of breaths because I am afraid he can hear me if I breathe to deeply. I'm not sure how I ended up here. My hand wrapped around the safest part of this knife.

I tracked him here. Minute details that started adding up. The tally marks that began to form an army to back up the demons in my head. The demons wielded the tally marks and poked me from inside my head. "We told you so." they mocked. "We told you; you couldn't trust anyone."

And so they did.

But I like to think I am smarter than them. That I will prove them wrong as I track his location and I see him there more than once. Working late but not at the store apparently.

I knell beside a bush my knees wet as the mud soaks into my jeans. I keep telling myself to leave but I can't. I need to see him. To prove to myself the truth. To see if the demons are right. They drove me here. Followed his little dot and here we are.

I hear the door open and stop breathing altogether as he walks out the door. She is right behind him and he turns to kiss her. His hand rests on her cheek and I rise up. He must hear me breathe. Or maybe he hears my joints creak. Or it could be the demons he hears as they grasp their tally marks and scream.

His eyes fall to the blade and his lips move but I can't hear anything over the wailing in my head. I begin to move towards him and he runs. Not for his car but deep into the woods that stand on one side of the house. I take a deep breath and charge after him. The hunt is now on.

I began my first day in the world as a nervous wreck. For eighteen and a half years I had no real choices. I was told where to work and when to go there. I was given a certain attire to wear and there was no alternative than the white, but slightly dingy, clothes I was handed.

Now I was in what we referred to as "the free world". I was handed a cell phone and my son called I didn't even know how to answer it. I walked around talking on speaker phone while holding the phone to my ear because I didn't know any better.

I didn't know what I wanted to eat. Really wasn't even sure if I could eat. The world seemed as if it would swallow me whole any minute now.I didn't even know what size clothes I wore. COVID had closed down dressing rooms but the lady sympathized with me and led me to a bathroom wear I could try on some jeans.

The choices were overwhelming. Deodorant, toothpaste, tampons, socks and shoes. I asked my mom what had happened to all the cheap stuff. Apparently nothing was cheap anymore. For years there was very little choice. There was no chaos. But now I was facing my first day of irrational and overwhelming fear because I had no idea what to choose.

My first day of freedom had also been my last day of incarceration. I left the world I knew so well and walked out into a place that didn't move in straight lines. A place where I had to make all of my own decisions. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. The first day came and went as did my first year and then my second. I can still feel the overwhelming weight of my first day but I am glad I had it.

(Somehow this thing got out of whack and wasn't followed properly. But since F is missing I shall claim it.)

Finally, Friday football finds foothold.

"Flinging for Franklin's Fiery Falcons... Freddie Fowler!"

'"Forty-four fantastic first-down fuel-filled field furies for fans."

"Freddie Fowler fakes for field goal. Finally finds fast footed friend Fifty-five for familiar flip!"

"Future famous footballer fires for fourth-quarter feign. Floating football falls firmly for forty-four finale."

Football final: Falcons: Forty-four

Foxes: Four

Friday football's favorite father figure's final footnote: Full focus for football fans? Friday's Falcon: Future "famer" Freddie Fowler.

I did it. I finally reached the far-fetched dream I dangled in front of myself ever since I was a child. My name in print. My shadowed face on a book jacket. I received the check today and this check laughs at the one framed on my wall from when I won my first monetary award.

This check pays off my truck. This check is an oxygen mask I can finally breathe. No longer do I need to pray for a deer to run in front of me and challenge myself not to hit the brakes. This check says for once I can grab a Starbucks coffee rather than a cup of Folgers topped off with whatever creamer was on sale.

Yes the check is gone in one single minute, but it will live in infamy for the next five years. Sixty months of struggle will disappear from the road in front of me. I can take a day off. I can brag to my friends. I can afford Christmas this year and the next and the next. I can go to the mall instead of Temu. To Amazon instead of eBay.

I dreamt of a loft apartment in a big city with too many windows. I saw myself drop my leather jacket on the white sofa as I walked into my living room. That was the child's dream. The future I saw. Now I just see this impulse sitting in my driveway and I choke myself with the bills. This check is the hand which loosens the noose.

I am not rich. This check left my bank account as quickly as it slid into it. Yet, each month the money will now be a steady climbing line instead of a jagged red heartbeat. The check paves the road I drive on and fills in all those potholes. I am not rich, but I am no longer drowning.

Welcome little one

I hear your cries of freedom

As I hold you close

You take your first steps

And you never stop running

The clock is ticking

Life will beat you down

Life will once again lift you

Then laugh as you fall

There is happiness

Sadness hangs around your soul

As people pass on

Old age cripples you

Memories of your youth rise

To kiss you good bye.

As

I sit on this flimsy mat atop a sheet of metal and wonder what exactly I have gotten myself into. The cackling of inmates yelling fresh meat and making cat calls as I walked along the corridor. I had practiced sleeping in darkness and without a fan before I came here. Not knowing it was never dark and never quiet.

I looked at the steel toilet in the corner and realized I wouldn't even be able to take a shit in peace. I couldn't fart, cough, or cry without this lump of flesh that slept above me seeing, hearing,or smelling me. My shoes were too big, my elastic pants dug into my waist. The sheets they gave me were supposedly white at one time but were now littered with tiny balls and leftover hair. The dark streak in the middle led me to believe they'd never actually been washed. They were just passed from person to person and each one added to the ghost of an imprint left by the ones before.

I had a Bible and a roll of toilet paper. The toothbrush they gave me was not even as long as my first finger. I looked at how the lump of flesh had tried to decorate the place. A couple of pictures stuck to the wall. Radio,hot pot, and fan all just haphazardly placed where it saw fit.

A loud clang jolted me from my thoughts and the officer yelled "Count Time!' I had no idea what this meant and she yelled it again. The lump of flesh slid from the upper bunk,her feet came down on my mattress and she walked to the door and flashed her ID at the guard and rattled off some numbers. Then she stepped on my mattress and pulled her self back up above me.

"Show me your ID!"the officer yelled. "And tell me your number."

I went to the door and showed her the plastic id they had given me. I told her my social security number because I no longer had a phone and didn't figure she wanted that.

" No, the number on your ID."

I could feel her impatience but I figured there'd be some kind of orientation about how and what to do. But there was nothing. Just "here you go" and "Welcome to the zoo."

I knew nothing and I had a feeling I better learn something real quick. The lump of flesh would obviously be no help. Who knows what atrocities she had done to get here. I was on my own. I laid down to add my own imprint to the sheet.