“I’m not crazy,” he says.
Funny, I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours trying to convince myself that this was all just an alcohol-induced delusion, and the first thing out of his mouth is he’s not crazy.
One of us has to be sane. And since I’m not the one with a dead body in my trunk, I’ll take the bait.
“Am I your prisoner now?”
“I’m sorry.” He rubs his thumbs against the raw skin of my wrists underneath the handcuffs. “I had to be sure you weren’t like them.”
“Like the woman you killed?”
He nods. “There are more.”
The A to Z Challenge is back, and this year, I’m giving you 26 drabbles (100-word stories) using some of my favorite unused or underused tags.
Today’s tag is “prisoner.”
Stay tuned for “Q” tomorrow!
Grant hesitates at the entrance. The chamber is filled with rows of chairs similar to church pews. From the back wall, men dressed in dull green jumpsuits file through a steel door.
“How do they keep them from running off?”
“They shoot,” Grant’s mother says flatly. She pushes him forward to follow the guard, who shoulders a rifle.
The guard sits them across from a middle-age man scratching his graying beard. Sunlight pours in from the window and reflects off his handcuffs.
Grant blinks several times to refocus his vision, then stares into the familiar dark brown eyes. “Hi, Dad.”
word count: 100
I’m back from a long hiatus with another Friday Fictioneers story.
Friday Fictioneers challenges you to write a story in 100 words or less using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own.