A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 17

“An Unexpected injury leads to an equally unexpected family discovery.”

The call came late in the afternoon, while Richard was settling into a lunch to entice a new client to use his company. He had been chasing them for months. Wooing them with gifts that consisted of cookies, flowers, concert tickets. Ultimately it would have put him in the back seat of a limo if he had gotten them. Unfortunately life doesn’t stop moving for anyone else either.

“Mr. Massano?” said a female voice after he had answered the phone call.

“This is he,” he said. He held up a finger, stood, and stepped away from he table. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Massano, this is Angela calling from Southwest Medical Emergency, I’m sorry to inform you that your partner, Sean, has been injured and is currently in the ICU.”

For Richard it felt as though the floor had a trapdoor he had just triggered. His mind whirred furiously trying to find words, any sound of the English language, to speak.

“Mr. Massano, are you still there?”

“Yes,” he choked. “You said you’re from southwest?”

“I did indeed.”

“I’ll be over immediately.”

Richard faced his potential clients with a pale complexion.

“Is everything alright?” One remarked.

Richard could only shake his head, his mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, this meeting will have to be postponed. I apologize. A family member is in the hospital.”

The balding man, with a snowy Vandyke, held up his hands for a moment.

“We understand.”

Richard excused himself and hurried to the hospital.

Normally the trip would have taken just under forty-five minutes, but Richard managed to do it in under ten minutes. The entire journey was a haze for him. All he could think of were the horrible, graphic, scenarios that would have befallen his husband. How badly was he hurt? How did it happen? Will he be okay?

He hustled to the information desk and incquired about his husband, who the nurse explained was on the first floor at the end of the hall.

“In room number one hundred twenty-six.”

With his hands clenched into fists, he stormed through the hallway to the room, where he found his husband of three years laying in a hospital bed. His face was puffy and purple. A cut marred his face from hairline to the bottom corner of his left eye.

“Oh my god,” Richard said, “what happened?”

Sean didn’t lift his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the imperfection of his blanket. His slim fingers picked at it incessantly.

Richard walked around the end of the bed and grabbed a chair. It scraped sharply across the pristine linoleum floor.

“Seany,” Richard said, “Baby, talk to me please.”

His husband glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His frown began to tremble as a tear jumped to the sheet.

“I don’t want to tell you.” He said.

“Why not?”

The sound of the heart monitor filled the silence between the two men.

“When did this happen? Where were you? I thought you were out of town for the day.”

Sean swallowed.

“I was cruising.”

Richard felt like he was falling again. Every muscle in his body tensed and he wanted to scream. He wanted pick the chair up and throw it at the wall.

“This guy, attacked me and stabbed me with a knife. Some kids playing at the park heard me crying for help and got their parents.”

“How could you do this,” Richard said, “Again.”

“I know,” Sean said, shutting his lids. “I deserved this. I am a horrible person. You trusted me, took me back, and all I do is break that love.”

“Yes, you do.”

Sean’s tears ran down his battered and bruised face.

“You didn’t deserve to be beaten, Sean,” Richard said. “But I don’t know how we will be after this.”

Sean nodded his head.

“I just don’t understand. We were doing so well together. Do you not love me? Is it that you just want to cause me more agony? Evidently it’s your goal in life to make sure I never have any happiness.”

“Rich, I promise I love you. This was,” he stumbled over hi words, “this was such a big mistake. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop. These places pull me. I love you. I truly, with all of my heart want to be with you. For whatever reason these urges won’t go away.”

“Am I not enough for you?”

“You are,” Sean tried to reach a hand out to him, but the IV tugged at his skin, tethered to his sick bed.

“How long has this been going on?”

Sean covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

Richard couldn’t take the emotion roiling in his chest. It pulled him toward rage. It beckoned him. But that was the last thing he wanted to do. The anger and agony were more than he could bear. The only thing he could think of was to leave, and without another word did just that.

That night his phone seemed to never stop ringing.  Eventually he broke down and just turned it off and then unplugged the land line for good measure.  The only thing he wanted to think about was his task.  He had taken it upon himself to remove every one Sean’s belongings from their marriage room into the spare room.  Before the dawn of the next day he had managed to wipe all evidence that another person had shared his room.

He took the next day off.  The weight of his pain was too great that he couldn’t get out of his bed.  All he could think about was what he didn’t know.  How many men had their been?  Every line of thinking took him to the conclusion that he was unloveable.  Worthless.  What other reason could there be?

Then words echoed across his mind.  It was what Sean had said, that he couldn’t stop. What did that even mean?  That lead him directly to the internet to do a search.  Top of the list were the tales of celebrity sex scandals.  Their reasoning, sex addiction.  He rolled his eyes at the thought.  Blaming your inability at fidelity on addiction was preposterous.  But for humors sake he found medical journals that published extensive data and research.  There was even a book written by a one Doctor Patrick Carnes.  He himself suffered from the same mental obsession.

All he could do now was to read the book and attempt to understand.

The following day, Richard dressed in his best jeans and t-shirt, the ones Sean had bought him for his last birthday, and took a trip to the hospital.  With a bouquet of his favorite flowers, lilies, he entered his husbands room.

“Hi.” He said.

This one is… Well, it’s weird.  I thought the prompt was WAY specific.  It even gave me a name for this particular character.  Granted, I could have been any perspective other than him, because as specific as it was it didn’t tell me where the perspective of the story came from.  For instance, I could have been a bum to witness the murder and spend the story running from Tim.  I had actually thought about telling the story from the point of view of John H.  Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I didn’t.  I think the story would have been better for it.  Oh well.  These aren’t meant to be amazing.  I’ve come to accept that this year is going o be an exercise of finding my voice and to just get myself in the habit of writing everyday.  The only way I can become good (or return to my former glory) is to write, write, write.  So, here it is…

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 14

“Only two weeks had passed into the New Year and Tim had already broken his first resolution: Don’t kill anyone. Write this scene.”

Tim clutched the phone in his bloody hand and dialed his sponsor. He lifted the receiver and pressed it hard against his ear. There had been a moment of hesitation for Tim to call John H., but he had assured him if he slipped that he should give him a call. Although it should have been before it happened. Tim knew that. He had told himself as he prowled the back alleys of Chicago to call him first.

On the fifth ring he picked up and sleepily mumbled into the phone.

“John, it’s me. I,” he said his voice breaking, “I broke my sobriety and killed someone.”

“Oh, Tim,” he said, “it’s just a slip. We can get through this. Don’t let this be the thing that throws you off the wagon.”

Tim began to cry. The inevitable remorse was setting in and he regretted his actions more than he ever had before. This was 2015, the year he was going to get clean. Just two weeks from the turn of a new age and here he is with blood pooling around the souls of his shoes once again.

“Can we get coffee?” Time said.

“Yeah, yes we can, buddy.”

“I’ll meet you at the diner on Limerick.”

“See you there.”

John H. ended the call and the line went dead. It’s termination signaled by the double beep.

Tim pocketed the phone and looked down at the man at his feet. The gash in his throat smiling at him like a second mouth, with blood drool pouring from the open maw. He had to get rid of the body. If he just left it here someone would spot it before he made a quick getaway.

Tim grabbed the man’s ankles and pulled him to the side of a dumpster, heaping with trash. If he just lifted him on top it would be even more obvious. Like the many times before, Tim rushed to remove some of the debris and pile it off to the side. Once he dug a space big enough for the thirty-something, he lifted him over his shoulder and dropped in the stranger. Much to Tim’s chagrin the small action pushed out even more blood. He could feel it soaking into his clothes as it ran down his back.

“Damn it,” he said, tears forming again.

What am I going to do now? Trying to be sober had made him sloppy. In the past he may have been a mastermind at keeping himself clean from his dirty deeds, even though it tarred his soul, this time he wore his mistake all over him.

Tim rushed down the alleyway, sticking as much in the shadows as he could. With any luck he could find someone else along the way that he could just choke out to steal what they wore.

No! That’s more pain, he thought, And how do I know I would stop before it went further. It’s never just choking someone out.

Plus he also was very aware of DNA captured in skin flakes would be all over his current duds.

Just run home.

In a city so well lit and thriving with so many people, it was amazing how much one could get away with. Not a single person took a second look at Tim, or even a single glance for that matter. Most he came across, sticking to the darker parts of the city as possible, had their eyes glued to their smartphone or talking loudly to some other person.

He got to his flat and rushed upstairs. For a split second he thought Mrs. McNeal would catch him as he stuck his key in the lock, but luckily her small dog Bitsy, tried to escape and drew her attention away.

Safe in his one bedroom apartment, devoid of any kind of furnishings, other than a single plastic chair, lamp, and a mattress in the other room, Tim melted against the door with relief.

Get your clothes off idiot!

Tim stood up and ripped off his clothes. He balled them up and dropped them in the kitchen sink, where he turned the water on and squeezed a spiral of dish soap over the mound.

While the sink was filling he jumped into the shower and rinsed off any sign of what he had done.

By the time he was out, dripping wet with no towel, the sink was just about to overflow. He shut the water off and then swished the clothes around, spilling some soapy water onto the floor.

Satisfied that all it needed is time to soak, he went into his bedroom. His trash bag of clothes stood with a pair of brown boots in the corner. He picked out a suitable shirt and a pair of pants, grabbed his shoes, and threw them on. Appearance was nothing to him. At this moment, all he cared about was a calming chat with his sponsor.

The diner was just around the corner from his home. His choice of venue wasn’t deliberate but turned out to be a subconscious decision that he was thankful for. Walking any further would have been too much for him.

John sat in a booth in the far back.

Tim rushed around the dining counter, ignoring the greeting from the night time waitress, and took a seat opposite the man with the answers.

“So,” John began, “why didn’t you call me before? We talked about this. You need to think a slip all the way through before you do something.”

Tim fought back another wave of tears.

“I know,” he said, voice shaking.

“It’s alright. You can do this. The program works.”

Tim nodded.

“Where are you with your steps?”

“I can’t find a higher power.”

John nodded. He sighed and leaned forward, propping himself up on the table.

“It is a hard thing. You think that no god could ever love me after what I’ve done.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You can’t think like that, Tim.”

Tim wiped away the mist pooling under his grey eyes.

“You can’t let this break you. You’re letting this thing control your life. We both know you are not this person. These are not normal urges.” John paused. “You have to pick yourself back up and get back on the wagon. Just take it one day at a time.”

“How did you get sober?”

John made a sarcastic laugh.

“It was tough going. I had been raised in a hit-man household. It was all I ever knew. When I wanted to stop,” he shook his head, “it was extreme agony. I kept a journal. I prayed to God. I dealt with the stuff that was boiling deep down in me. You need to do the same.

“Don’t worry about how long you can go without killing someone. Just worry about not doing it now. Now is all that matters to you. Remember that.”

Tim nodded.

“Right now, to make sure you don’t do it again is you’re going to go to a pay phone and dial the police.”

Tim went wide-eyed.

“It’s part of the process. Just don’t leave any finger prints. Used a towel to dial. Once you do that I want you to go home and write down everything that’s bothering you. Everything. Try and piece together what it was that made you want to act out. You and I will get through this together.

“Remember, one day at a time.”

Today is going to be a quick one. Mainly because I have a headache, but another reason was because I wasn’t feeling this prompt. Just a quick heads up, this is going to be a dark one.

Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 13

“Write a story featuring an author, the ocean, and an antique weapon.”

Xander sat waiting, seated in the overstuffed leather chair facing the front door. Held in his right hand was a pistol, the hammer pulled back, ready to be fired. For the past four hours he had sat perfectly still, running the scene through his head; the phony would come home to his beach house, wanting a vacation, and Xander would bless him with a peaceful rest.

A smile stretched across his lips.

Once his story had been printed under the name of someone else he wanted nothing but vengeance. He tried the legal route, but when one has no money coming across competent legal aid is difficult. In the end he knew what it was he had to do.

Keys jingled and scraped into the lock, sending Xander’s heart into his throat. His index finger hovered nervously over the trigger.

Gregory Dreck opened the door and was met with a puff of smoke, a loud bang, and a metal bullet whizzing by his head.

Xander gulped and forced a smile.

I don’t know what’s up with me.  This one was rough.  Although I think this time isn’t on me and more on the prompt.  We just didn’t see eye to eye.  Much like the exchange between the two below.

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 11

Literary Road Show – J.D. Salinger Edition

“…one author’s stray lines become your source of inspirational gold?”

“C’mon, I’ll take ya home. No kidding.”

“I can go home by myself, thank you. If you think I’d let you take me home you’re mad. No boy ever said that to me in my entire life.”

“Probably because you’re a raging bitch.”

Her eyes widened.

“How dare you say that to me. Do-“

“Yes, I know who your father is and no I do not care. I don’t have to offer you a ride home after you brutally rebuff my advances, but I thought it’d be the gentleman thing to do.”

She began to storm down the wet sidewalk, her heels clicking on the cement.

Richard sighed and hung his head. At one point he had been madly in love with this woman, which was why he had mustered up the most courage he could offer to ask her out on a date. Then he lets his ego get to his head and he becomes a bully.

“Lily, wait.”

He chased after her and she only picked up the pace.

“You are ridiculous. You call me filthy names and expect me to stop.”

He placed a hand gently on her shoulder to stop her. She in turn reached a hand into her purse to retrieve a pink sparkle pepper spray can. The red spray arched over his right shoulder and onto the cement below.

“Hold on there, I am not going to hurt you. Please, let me just say one more thing before you decide to end whatever this could be.”

She held the can aloft, pointed threateningly at his face.

“I have been in love with you the moment you stepped into the library.”

Her angry expression lessened some.

“The past two months I have tried desperately to work up enough courage to ask you out. I do know who your father is and that is terrifying to me. Father’s in general are terrifying to the potential man whom may steal his daughter away. It’s just a fact of life.

“I know this night has been nothing you’re accustomed to. I don’t have the kind of money some people do at times. My money requires careful thought and planning. This whole night was planned from the get. The walk along the river, the dinner at Rivera’s, and I had planned a poetry slam before you, for some reason, decided not to enjoy my company any further than it had gone.”

Lily closed her eyes, lowered the can of mace, and sighed.

“Rick, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had such strong feeling for me. If I had known that I wouldn’t have agreed to this.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I only agreed because I’ve seen you around campus and I knew what type of person you are. My father is an ambassador and would have hated the very idea of me being out with you.”

Richard’s shoulders slumped.

“What I didn’t expect was to enjoy the night as much as I have. I felt terrible that I had even given a thought to use you as some sort of pawn. It was terrible of me. That was why I had decided to just end the evening.”

Richard stood silent for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“But you said you were having fun.”

Lily laughed.

“I did indeed.” She paused. “I’m sorry I tried to mace you.”

“I’m sorry you’re a terrible shot.”

The two looked into the other’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch. Can we please start again?”

Lily bowed her head.

“Another time perhaps. But I would gladly let you walk me home.”