Daily Prompt 2-17-2016

Evasive Action

What’s the most significant secret you’ve ever kept? Did the truth ever come out?

He stood in the shadows, watching the building beyond, half-hoping nothing happened, other half hoping he might see the man he’d been tracing for so long. The night was dark and drizzly, water dripping from the rim of his hat, soaked his shoes.

He should have worn better shoes.

The building remained dark, a looming cliff-face in the thin glow cast by rusted streetlights. It was hard, knowing things, secret things he could not share. Sharing meant death or at least the loss of his job. He’d prefer the loss of the job but one never knew.

Why hadn’t he worn better shoes?

A light flicked on in a window on the first floor. He tensed, struggling to discern cause through the drawn shade. A shadow passed back and forth and then another two in quick succession. Three?

Shit shoes.

He considered moving closer, attempting to gain access to the building, but held back. Too dangerous when he didn’t know the identity of the third man. Woman?

His socks were soaked in his shit shoes.

Two forms materialized in front of the shade, shadow-boxing. A punch was thrown. Another. His hand went to his belt and the gun there.

What happened to waterproof shoes?

One form raised an arm, something clutched in one hand. Dark spots splattered onto the shade. Frick, he just hoped it wasn’t his man down.

Didn’t he have better shoes at home?

The first form collapsed. The third entered the screen, tackling form two. He’d labeled them one, two and three according to their appearance, not even sure which shadow was his man.

Tomorrow, he’d have to get better shoes.

The forms struggled back and forth. Hands wrapped around two’s neck. Two collapsed. There was a gun shot. Form three fell. No need to worry about that secret anymore. Kicking off soaked shoes in his car, he drove home.

Tomorrow, he would get rain boots.

Three shadow forms stood behind he shade, watching him go.

 

Invasive Action

JSW Prompt June-22-2015 Response

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It all started the day the cat ran away.  That’s when the house started shrinking.  Don’t ask me how; I don’t know.  But each hour the rooms seemed to get a tiny bit smaller; walls closing in; ceiling encroaching on head-space. My girlfriend told me I was going crazy.

Going?  I thought I was already there.

The day grew darker.  The house got smaller.  I walked in circles, thinking as long as I walked I could keep the walls from crushing me.  My feet wore a path along the carpet.  And then my knees.  Hands and knees.  Belly crawl. Slithering like a snake.

Now I lay here, stretched between kitchen, hall and living room, wood from the door frames pressing into my shoulders, back and legs.  Trapped.  Out the window of what used to be my living room, I watched the sloping meadow beyond. The sky looked grey and angry.  Was it angry at me?  The cat?

I dozed.  Woke.  Dozed again.

When I woke this time, I realized the door frames no longer ground into my body, threatening to cut me into a multitude of sausage-like pieces. In fact, the constrictions around me felt, if anything, looser.  A surge of joy washed through me.

The cat must have come back.  The house was expanding!

No, not expanding.  I was shrinking.  Shrinking like the house, smaller and smaller and smaller.

A huge grey paw reached in through the broken living room window, claws like saber blades.

 Searching.