The Prompt:
You’re searching through your closet and find an old stuffed animal or doll from your childhood. It starts to bring back a warm memory of a specific night that’s near and dear to your heart. Suddenly, your stuffed companion begins to talk and says, “There’s something you need to know about that night.” Write this scene.
The Story:
Yes, I’m Officer ----, as I am known to you, the general
public. I’m the one that stupid monkey
is blaming all his “problems” on. If
that stupid ape would have kept his mouth shut, none of this would have ever happened. And now, thanks to his big mouth, I’m currently
on a forced leave, confined to my home and surrounded by a bunch of rookies who
will most likely shoot my neighbors before they successfully defend any assault
on my home. Not that I’m worried. I’m well prepared for that idiot whenever he
grows the balls to come find me. He
knows where I live. He thinks he’s
instilling fear on me. He thinks I am going
to be sitting around consumed with worry now that I “am the prey,” as he termed
it in that rambling manifesto he posted on his FACEBOOK page. His FACEBOOK page! We’re supposed to be scared of an idiot who
uses FACEBOOK to post all his “accusations.”
Grow up. And stop drawing this
out and come get me.
I currently have two pistols strapped to me. My Bushmaster AR15 is waiting for me in my
king size bed, just under the comforter.
But right now I’m searching my closet for an old service revolver handed
down from my grandfather. He would love
for me to bury a slug from that gun in that man’s thick black skull. And I find the case, in the back left corner,
next to a dirty old teddy bear. I grab
the case to the pistol but I pause at the teddy bear. It’s dusty and dingy. I press my lips tight and pick it up. It’s a lot heavier than I remember, which is
odd. I remember it as a young girl, a
young girl who used to cling to a silly stuffed animal for comfort when all
those around her made fun of her size and shape. But those days didn’t last long. Soon that little girl realized her “big bones”
and towering height really only meant one thing: she was that much bigger and stronger than
all the brats that sought to bully her.
So by the third grade, my teddy was no longer my source of
encouragement, but my secret confidant, whom I would whisper my school yard
beat down victories to. I have been kicking
chests and heads for a long time now.
One of the most popular, prettiest girls lived down the
street from me. She always had a handful
of friends with her. On one night, when
I actually brought my teddy outside, that smart little priss started running
her mouth, thinking the support of her friends would be enough to keep her
safe. Me and teddy did a good number on
them.
He was really heavy.
I smiled at him. I brought him in
for a tight squeeze. Only one bully
trying to pick on us now. Upon squeezing
him I heard a slight click.
“There’s something you need to know about that night.”
Had my teddy just talked to me? I pulled it back. Then I realized I recognized the voice. A recording of his voice began a quiet rant about that night; that night I kicked
some piece of trash who wouldn’t stop running his stupid mouth. I tossed the teddy away, but not soon enough.
I never heard the explosion, or felt the pain. All I knew next was darkness. A lifetime of protecting those I felt needed
the right kind of protection. I would be hailed
and praised in the Heavens, ready to see my grandpappy again. But for some reason, I wasn’t heading toward
a tunnel of bright light; I was heading toward a hot flaming lake of fire.
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