Welcome to Fictional Fridays. The day that I just so happen to make a complete fool of myself through the power of the written word…
Today’s writing prompt/given story beginning:
He sprinted away, not daring to look back, his footsteps, echoing down the hallway like distant gunshots. He just had to get to the back stairway and up to his office on the second floor where… (this is where I finish the story) ….where he knew he’d left it. His guts lurched back and forth, and he slammed a palm on his stomach as he pressed on. What had just happened was a night mare, and he needed to protect himself from it happening again. That one guy from accounting, whose name he could never get right, was heading in the completely opposite direction, towards disaster. He couldn’t warn the poor sap even if he wanted to. When he reached the stairway door, he panicked to discover that it wouldn’t open. He pulled and pulled, terrified that they would catch up to him. After a good solid round of tries, he was ready to throw in the towel.
“It’s, uh, push. Not pull.” He turned behind him to see the receptionist, with a mug in one hand and a cellphone in the other.
He thanked her and pushed right on through, not bothering to stick around for what else she might say.
Each stair was agony, as he descended closer to freedom but not quite there yet. Until finally he was through the door, and his desk was in plain sight. He would do an Irish jig for joy, if it weren’t for the pressing matter at hand. He was so close he could smell the faux leather from his chair and taste the coffee stained wood grain.
“Phil, a word.” His shoulders slumped as he recognized the voice calling his name. “Yes sir, one second please.” He pleaded, forcing himself to make eye contact with the brawny man.
“Now!” His boss demanded, and he helplessly obeyed.
He took a step forward, and that’s when it happened. He was sure someone screamed. Another fainted. The shot rang out, filling every employees ears with the horrendous sound. When the smoke cleared, all of the watering eyes were on him, on Phil.
If only he would have been able to reach the Beano in time.
Yes. You just read a story about a guy with gas. Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?!
(And there goes anyone who was following this.)
The moral is mostly whatever you make it. But here’s just a little lighthearted way to kickstart the weekend.
See ya (maybe) Monday!
***Do you have anything you’d like to see written? Whether it’s a short story, poem, song, or random rambling- send your prompt to me either by commenting on this site or contacting me through my social media accounts located on this page