rage

Fandango’s Story Starter — Hell Hath No Fury…

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I usually don’t post responses to my own prompts, but as I was reading how others responded to this prompt, something different came to mind. So for my most recent Story Starter prompt, where the prompt is, “Susan’s gaze locked with the stranger’s across the crowded restaurant, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful emotion,” here is what I came up with.

It was the kind of restaurant with fine linen tablecloths, starched napkins, hushed lighting, and chandeliers that looked like they’d been lowered from the heavens. The kind of restaurant she had only read about in reviews. The kind her husband would never take her to.

Susan sat alone at a small table, nervously taking a sip of wine from the glass that the tuxedo-wearing waiter had just brought her. Her husband, Carl, was in Denver at a three-day conference. Back Friday. She had decided, spontaneously, to treat herself. She deserved that, at least.

Then she saw him.

At a round table several tables from hers, Carl sat facing his dinner companion, smiling, locked in conversation, his eyes dancing with laughter. His companion was a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, maybe. Auburn hair. Red lipstick. The kind of woman who didn’t look at prices on menus.

Susan froze mid-breath. Her fork slipped from her hand and clattered onto her plate. Carl glanced her way, almost absently. And then their eyes met.

For an instant, the whole room disappeared.

He blinked. She didn’t.

And then the heat came.

A slow, molten rage rose from her gut to her temples. Susan stood. The table wobbled. Her wine glass fell, shattered. Heads turned. She didn’t care. She was already moving toward him, toward the lie, toward the woman who wore her husband’s grin like it belonged to her.

Six Sentence Story — By a Microscopic Thread

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Detective Fred Morrisey looked over the crime scene, his eyes narrowing on a single blond hair caught on the blouse of the victim, a redhead.

Otherwise, the apartment was spotless, no fingerprints, no signs of forced entry. Just that one strand, glowing under the forensic light.

Back at the lab, DNA analysis matched the hair to a high-profile local chef who claimed that he had never met the victim.

Morrisey dug deeper and discovered the victim had filed a noise complaint about the restaurant below her apartment just a week before.

Under pressure, the chef admitted that an argument he had with the victim turned violent, and in a moment of rage, he’d struck her.

With a single hair and relentless instincts, Morrisey closed the case, justice sealed by a microscopic thread.

Written for the Sunday Six Sentence Story prompt from Girlie on the Edge, where the prompt word is “strand.” Image credit: ChatGPT.

SoCS — At the Movies

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Our challenge for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt from Linda G. Hill is to use the words “in line” in our posts.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Brian said to his wife. “We could have bought this friggen’ movie on Prime Video for twenty bucks and watched it in the comfort of our home whenever and however often we wanted to rather than standing out here in the freezing cold waiting in line to get in.”

“Oh stop your moaning and groaning, Brian,” Allison said. “This is the perfect movie to watch on the big screen in a movie theater. The line is not that long and it’s not that cold. They will be letting us in the theater in a few minutes.”

“Hey, did you see that?” Brian said in a loud voice. “That guy just butted in line. He is not going to get away with that!”

“Wait, Brian!” Allison yelled, but Brian was already headed to confront the man he saw butt in line. Allison couldn’t hear what was being said but she could see that things were getting heated between the two men. She saw her husband take a swing at the guy and then all hell broke loose.

******

Brian and Allison were at home sitting in their living room a few hours later. “He had dropped his pregnant wife off and she was holding their place while he parked their car, Brian. He wasn’t butting in line.”

“Yeah, I know that now,” Brian said, holding a bag of frozen peas over his swollen, blackening eye. “Sorry, but when I saw that guy step in line ahead of us I flew into a rage.”

“Well, you’re lucky that he agreed not to press charges when the cops arrived,” Allison said. “Too bad you caused us to get banned from that movie theater. I really wanted to see that movie on the big screen.”

“Give me the remote,” Brian said. “I’ll spring for the twenty bucks and we’ll watch the movie on TV.”

“Forget it. It’s not the same,” Allison said. “I’ll be in the den reading a book.”

MLMM — Story Starter — Fit of Rage

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In a fit of rage, she smashed her champagne glass on the marble floor and stared defiantly at him.

“What the hell, Caroline?” Marcus asked. “What is your problem?”

“My problem is that you’re flirting with every woman at this party,” Caroline said. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“Flirting? Caroline, this is a party of people I work with. I’m not flirting, I’m just talking, socializing, being friendly,” Marcus said. “This is what normal people do at parties. Even married couples. We came here together. We’ll be leaving together. Please don’t let your insecurities and jealousy ruin this party for both of us.”

“Well how would you like it if I started throwing myself at other men, hanging all over them, giving them that come hither look?”

“Go ahead and do what you want to do, Caroline,” Marcus said. “Laugh and sing, have fun. But while we’re apart, don’t give your heart to anyone. If someone asks you if you’re alone and wants to take you home, say no. Remember, it’s me who will be taking you home and in whose arms you’re gonna be, so, my darling, save the last dance for me.”

Written for Mindlovemisory Story Starter Saturday Mix. Image credit: Leonardo.Ai.

FOWC with Fandango — Rage

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FOWCWelcome to May 5, 2020 and to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed to fill the void after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.

I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).

Today’s word is “rage.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Or you can simply include a link to your post in the comments.

The issue with pingbacks not showing up seems to have been resolved, but you might check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. You will marvel at their creativity.

Run Away

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C108B371-E106-45E2-AB9C-6D6529C8AB05Okay, yes, I was in a jealous rage when I hit him with my putter, but I only meant to hurt him, for crissake, not to kill him. Oh how I wish I could go back in time and return to those more innocent times. I’m feeling so nostalgic for those wonderful days when we were young newlyweds. We were oh so happy. But now, I see my reality and realize that I can’t escape the present. I look down and see the blood oozing from the wound on his head, a wound I put there. I am going to have to run away, to take flight. I’m going to have to disappear from this world and go someplace where I will be forever safe, where I’ll be alone, and where nobody knows my name.

Written for these daily prompts: Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (jealous), Ragtag Daily Prompt (putter), Swimmers (kill), Word of the Day Challenge (return), Your Daily Word Prompt (nostalgic), and The Daily Spur (flight).

Murder He Wrote — Part Two

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7EA72AEF-4548-4769-98D3-9D05EBB29BB8This is part two of a story about a crime of passion. It stands alone, but if you care to, you can read part one here.

As soon as the shock of Brian’s threat to kill her passed, Emily began laughing hysterically. “Emily, please stop laughing at me,” he pleaded. But she didn’t stop.

With tears streaming from his eyes, Brian ran from the living room into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Even with the door closed, he could still hear Emily laughing.

Brian braced his back against the door waiting for her mocking laughter to stop, which it finally did. After a few minutes of silence, Brian sat down on the edge of the bed, barely breathing, wishing he could just disappear. Then he heard her heavy footsteps as she walked by the bedroom toward the kitchen. He held his breath.

The refrigerator door opened and closed. Pressure was released as another bottle of Pepsi was opened. He heard her walking back to the living room, where she planted herself down onto the couch.

“You bastard,” Emily called out. “I missed the first half of my soap.”

Brian knew he didn’t have it in him to kill Emily. He couldn’t even kill a cockroach or spider. He’d trap them and then open up a window and toss them outside. He took a deep breath, gathered himself, and marched from the bedroom to the living room and positioned himself between Emily and the TV.

“What do you want now?” Emily asked.

The tone of her voice knocked some of the confidence from Brian, but he cleared his throat and said as calmly as he could, “I want a divorce.”

Once again, Emily burst into laughter. Brian looked at her sprawled out on the couch like a beached whale. What was left of his confidence was replaced by raw hatred.

“You want a divorce?” Emily said when she finally stopped laughing. “First he wants to kill me and now he wants a divorce,” she said as if addressing some imaginary third party in the room. “The impotent little mouse gets fired, comes home, and announces that he wants to kill me. But he doesn’t have the balls, so now he wants a divorce. What a brave little mouse he is.” Glaring at Brian, Emily demanded, “Now get out of my way so I can watch my soap.”

“Emily, listen to me,” Brian pleaded. “I’m serious.”

Emily looked up at Brian. “And what is my brave little mouse going to do if I refuse? Threaten to kill me again? Now move so I can watch my damn soap.”

Deep down inside Brian knew that Emily wouldn’t agree to a divorce. Why would she? She pretty much controlled everything in their lives. Emily repositioned herself so that she could see the TV.

Feeling nothing but contempt, Brian’s eyes darted frantically around the room, unable to focus on anything in particular. He was looking for something, but he had no idea for what. He was having trouble deciphering the noises swirling around his head.

Unable to organize his thoughts in any rational way, he turned away from Emily and almost mechanically started walking toward the kitchen.

As if in a trance, Brian went to the cabinet with the pots and pans. He searched until he found a heavy skillet, which he picked up and held in both of his hands, not sure why he’d reached for it.

“Brian, what are you going to do now?” Emily appeared in the kitchen door, her shrill voice breaking his trance. “Are you going to cook something?” she said mockingly.

“I, I, I’m going to, um, make some pancakes,” Brian stammered.

“Give me that, you idiot! What do you know about making pancakes?” Emily said as she reached for the skillet. “First you get fired, then threaten to kill me, then ask for a divorce, and now you want to make pancakes.”

“I’m warning you, Emily,” Brian said as Emily moved to take the skillet from him. “Keep away from me.” His voice was cracking and he began sweating profusely.

A grin came to Emily’s face and her smile evolved into a subdued chuckle. “Is this another death threat, mouse?”

“Damn you, Emily. Quit calling me that”

“Well stop acting like one,” Emily snapped back.

“Shut your mouth you over-stuffed cow!” Brian’s tone surprised even him.

“How dare you speak to me like….”

“Shut your goddam mouth, Emily.”

The sting of Emily’s hand striking against Brian’s face was fiery. Without thinking about what he was doing, Brian raised the skillet and started swinging it in a wide arc toward Emily’s head.

“Brian, what? Brian, NO! Bri….”

The skillet hit the left side of Emily’s face with crushing force. Her body went limp and she fell back across the kitchen table. Brian lifted the skillet over his head and brought it down on his target a second time. And a third. And then a few more times. Until his rage subsided.

Covered in blood splatter and brain matter, he dropped the heavy skillet, walked over to the kitchen sink, and puked his guts out.

50 Word Thursday — The Ring

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DC722FF8-487C-4F60-BF89-E9686866E692If I’d stopped to think I might not have done it, but fury is a great disregarder of caution. I jumped into the murky water from the houseboat we’d rented to try to retrieve the diamond engagement ring my fiancé, in a fit of rage, threw overboard.

I decided to confess that I’d had sex with her sister, but tried to explain that I, in a moment of weakness, was seduced by her sister. That was no reason for her to toss that expensive ring into the water. 

Now my whole body is covered with welts from jellyfish stings.

(100 words)

Written for Deb Whitman’s 50 Word Thursday prompt. The idea is to respond to the prompt in multiples of 50 words – maximum of 250 words. Deb provides a photo and a random phrase from a book she is reading. We can use either or both. This week’s phrase is, “If I’d stopped to think I might not have done it, but fury is a great disregarder of caution.”