It feels good to be back on this blog, even if it's for just a little while.
Just so you know, I do plan on doing a "12 Days of Christmas" very short series, where I use each line of the 12 Days of Christmas song as a writing prompt. I've written the first two or three days, and I'll post them here on each of the 12 days, beginning on Christmas. You guys might actually enjoy them. :)
For now, here's the writing prompt that Mary sent me:
She asked me to do one of the first five (thank you Mary ily), and I chose the fifth. This one-shot may or may not have been influenced by the fact that I watched Jack Reacher: Never Go Back last night. Anyways, Chloë is terrible at writing intros, so here's the lil short story.
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“I’m feeling very holy today,” he said with a wink and a wince.
“YOU JUST GOT SHOT!” I yelled. “NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO MAKE JOKES!”
“How long until I get my halo?”
“SHUT UP.”
“Fine.”
I was fed up. I had just sat down to a relaxing evening watching Doctor Who when this strange man busted through my window--my third story apartment window, no less!--and passed out on my living room floor. After I’d finished screaming, I had tugged him onto my couch, but I hadn’t put a towel down, and now there was blood all over the cushions, which I angrily mentioned to him.
“Hydrogen peroxide removes blood stains,” was his response.
Under normal circumstances, I would be pleased to have such a dashingly handsome man in my living room, but these were not normal circumstances. He had better be glad I’d watched a lot of crime shows and knew how to take care of bullet wounds. I felt his dark brown eyes watching me as I muttered frustrated comments and tied on a tourniquet. I’d even had to rip up one of my sheets to get enough material to stop the bleeding.
He would probably just run out as soon as I fixed him up, without so much as a “thank you.” He was probably going to go rescue some beautiful model gagged and tied to a chair. There might have been a gang involved, or maybe the FBI, or something high-tech and government-related. Why else would he have a bullet wound? I was just a side character in his adventure.
This evening was not going how I had planned.
“So…what’s your name?” he asked.
“Meghan.” I glared at him and yanked the knot on the tourniquet tight. He winced again.
“Nice to meet you, Meghan. You’re a ray of sunshine.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m Jason.”
“I said shut up.”
“Oh, sorry, I thought you asked me what my name was like a polite young woman would do in this situation.”
Gritting my teeth, I sat down on my coffee table and crossed my arms. “Well? Go on, rush out and go save your girlfriend, or take down the government, or kill a secret agent, or whatever.”
“Actually, I’m at a stopping place right now.” The man propped himself up on his arm and looked at me. His hair was covering one of his eyes. I idly wondered how he could fight crime when he could only see out of one eye. I also wondered how old he was. “Are you busy?” Jason asked.
I gestured to the television. “Well, I was about to watch some Doctor Who when you broke my window and got blood all over my floor.” I added some bitterness to my voice. He probably had a model for a girlfriend. I didn’t need to waste time on being interested in a stranger.
“Hey, I love Doctor Who!” He brightened a bit, sitting up straighter on my bloody couch. “Can I join you? The agent I was chasing escaped right after he shot me, and I don’t have a girlfriend, and taking down the government can wait.”
I tapped my finger on my crossed arm. He was handsome, and I would like some company, even though the company would need medical attention in the morning. Anyway, he’d need someone to drive him to the hospital to get that bullet removed.
“Fine. But I’m sitting on the floor. You’ve completely ruined my couch.”
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Unless I recover my will to write, I'll be back on Christmas!
Kudos and hugs to anyone who still even follows this blog <3
~~Zoë Wingfeather
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