The day started much like any other. First there was the rude and increasingly insistent alarm, then the soothing pleas of warm sheets longing for further attention. After came a precisely timed spritz of Spanish to enliven the mind and a sluggish withdrawal from the duvet into the unflinching clutch of frigid 7am carpet pile.
Things took a sharp turn from the expected around midday. A knock on the front door – as if the door bell wasn’t obvious enough. A gentle amble to greet the visitor. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, but then I opened the door.
A man was holding a gun and what looked like an aged black leather attache case. The gun was not pointed at me per se. Held aloft in my general direction but not directly at me.
“Can I help you?” It was the first phrase that came to mind. I was surprised anything surfaced from within the emotional void that was rapidly smothering my senses.
“Come with me.” The man motioned over his shoulder to a small muddy green hatchback.
“And take this.”
He offered me the attache case. As I placed my fingers around the handle, a sudden chill sprinted up my arm. A slick metallic substance rippled over my skin and in a matter of seconds, the attache case was part of me.
By this time emptiness had consumed my ability to think. I stood frozen, eyes transfixed on my block-shaped limb. The man pointed the gun barrel directly at my foreheard, tightening his grip on the trigger.
“I see we need more time.” The man growled. “Back into the house. Five steps. Slowly.”
My feet obeyed their new master. I reversed into the house. He pushed past me, shutting the door with a measured pull and in one deft move, turned me to face him.
His eyes were opal green. A mask covered his nose and mouth. A sturdy beard sat proudly on a sharp jaw, joining forces with a slicked-back forest of matted jet black hair.
“Do you have your house keys?”
“Yes.”
The man relaxed his shoulders. “Have you left anything running that might overflow or catch fire?”
The blanket covering of fear began to lift from my mind. I retraced what I’d been doing when the man knocked the door.
Congratulating myself for a productive client meeting. Enjoying a fresh midday espresso made from single-origin microlot coffee beans. Bracing for the typical afternoon melee of adhoc video calls and instant messages. That’s what I’d been doing.
Now I had an armed madman staring point blank into my eyes and a vintage briefcase melded with my arm.
“Well? Have you left anything…”
“No!” I interrupt.
“So now we go.” The man briefly threw his gaze towards the front door and gestured with his gun. It looked heavy, clinically clean and dispassionate. It seemed almost too large for his stubby gnarled hands.
“Go!” He shouted.
I sighed. “You know what? I don’t want to.”
The man became a blur of movement. I felt sharp pain then slipped into darkness.
512 words (Scrivener count)
Written for the Open University Future Learn course “Start Writing Fiction” . Week 2
Be First to Comment