Hello you,
Here is, as promised, my first prompt written in the style of a specific genre. I posted a poll on my Facebook page for you to choose which genres are your favorites and the genre that had the most votes today was ‘Crime’ !
—
Prompt: Write a piece in the style of a crime novel.
—
Frank jerked up out of a dream and into hell. He opened his eyes, but there was no light. Nothing. Not even through the sick slit in the ten-foot-thick cement wall, which gave no more moonlight than he did.
Frank pushed his starched sheet down from his chest and propped himself on his elbow, facing out from the top cot of the ten foot by ten foot cell room. Frank saw The Smiler in his mind, down on the lower bunk on the opposite wall. The Smiler was a long, spidery man who Frank knew even then in the pitch was smiling like a puppy in deep, upside-down sleep.
Frank turned his mind’s eye to the cot directly across from him. Fitness. Fitness was a real hard cat from somewhere in the evolving East, like New York or Seattle, or some place like that. Fitness slept still. Frank never heard a sound from Fitness’s cot in the night, in the dark, and Frank knew he must be dead exhausted after the uncountable number of squats and jumping jacks Fitness did non-stop in the light.
Finally, Frank turned his adjusting eyes downward, to his wall-mate, his bunking buddy, Mumbles. Mumbles was the problem. The Cell dynamics were civil, downright calm at times, but just as things would start to look good, or Dr. Jives and Frank would finally have something to talk about, Mumbles would come in and fuck it all up. Frank couldn’t see Mumbles in the dark, even when he cautiously rolled his weight to the edge of the cot and peered down. Frank wished he could see Mumbles. He wished he could look him in his stupid face and tell him to finally shut his mouth.
Mumbles was the reason Frank was in cell twenty-four on the thirteenth block of the Nevada Springs Correctional Treatment Facility. Mumbles was the reason, but try as he might, Frank cannot seem to convince the doctors that it was Mumble who killed his wife, that it was Mumbles who beat Frank’s son and poisoned him with alcohol when Frank was sleeping.
Frank saw all of this in the dark, in his cell, number twenty-four, and he lay back down in his cot and pulled his stiff sheet up to his chest again.
“Mumbles,” Frank said.
” … ”
“I’m going to weed you out brother.”
” … ”
“You just wait. I am going to take you down, and you will pay for what you did to my family.”
” … ”
The lights suddenly crash on and Frank is blinded by the white fluorescent bulbs lining the ceiling.
“Mr. Talbot? Frank Talbot?” Frank knew the voice. It belonged to Rebecca, the evening nurse. A kind woman who grew up in an abusive home. Franked liked Rebecca. Frank realized then that he would very much like to see Rebecca and he fought to open his eyes in the light-infused room and give her a smile, to show that he was alright, to show her that Mumbles was wrong about him.
—
Whew, that was interesting. I hope you enjoyed reading, and please vote for your favorite genre on my Facebook page!
Cheers,
Caleb
Leave a Reply