The Writing Prompt Boot Camp: Day Two

In an effort to battle the evil tempter, Mara, the creator of procrastination, I've decided to take matters into my own hands. A quick Google search uncovered The Writing Prompt Boot Camp: Two Weeks of Craft, Creativity, and Discipline, a free PDF from Writer's Digest. 

For the next few weeks, I'll be posting the work I do through out the boot camp. 

I'll admit up front, I've already missed a day. Yesterday, I got preoccupied with family time. I should be uploading day three today, but shit happens. I'm not going to cry about it or give up and wait to start fresh on a Monday, which is my go-to excuse for getting out of stuff. I'm going to push through, accept my mistake, and move forward. This is quickly becoming my new mantra: "Accept and move forward. Accept and move forward." 

So, here you go, Day Two. 

Oh, fair warning, this one is short and creepy. It's written in the first person present tense, so the sentence structure and grammar is very odd, because it is inside some ones head.

Day 2

The One That Got Away

You bump into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day—the one whom you often call “The One That Got Away.” What happens? 

The One Who Got Away

by Cruz Andronico Fernandez

     There's never anything good in the video store these days. I've been looking at the new releases for about an hour. The classic section for about thirty minutes. Spent almost two hours in the independent section. I think the clerk is going to ask me to leave again.

    I don't want the cops to come today, so I hunch down a little so they can't see me over the racks of VHS cassette tapes. Put the movie back on the shelf. O.k. I think I'm alright.

    "Excuse me, sir."

    Shit. Right behind me. It's a girl. I forgot about the shift change. Don't turn around. My hand hasn't entered my pants the entire time I've been in the store; I should be ok.

    "Sir, could you turn around, please."

    I'm turning around. What the hell?! I didn't mean to do that. It's her voice. It commands me.

    "I thought I recognized you!"

    Stepping away.

    "Rod, right? From West High."

    Stop.

    "Oh my god! I'm so happy to see you!"

    A hug. Wow.

    "I've thought about you a lot after graduation. Do you still play guitar? Still in the band? God, what were you guys called? Shit you guys were bad-ass."

    Sweating.

    "Do you want to catch up? I just started my shift, but Harry stares at my tits all day. If I let some nip slip he'll let me take off for a few. What do you say?"

    I walk out side and light up a cigarette while I wait for her to ditch work.

    Plastic. Duct tape. Sweating.

    I remember her. Of course I remember her. Always there at band practice. I remember that night.

    "So, you still smoke? You got another one?"

    Pack. Light. Suck.

    "God, I used to love having a smoke after you guys would jam. You'd all be sweaty and high. Fuck you all were sexy. You should start playing again."

    I close my car door and walk around to the driver's side. I get in. Turn the key.

    "You look good. Skinny. Like Iggy Pop."

    Her hand is on my crotch. I feel nothing. Slam her face into the dashboard.

    "Please- Please- What the fuck are-"

     Shovel more dirt into the whole. Banging on the box. I remember that night. Not again. Won't let her get away again.

Told you it was short and creepy. Ha, that's what I tell all the girls!