Sharing an Excerpt of My Crazy Ballerina WIP

It’s post #7 for Women’s Horror Month. Man, time goes fast! Sticking to my promise of showing more vulnerability as a writer, I’ll be sharing an excerpt from my Crazy Ballerina suspense work-in-progress.

If you’ve read any of my books, you know a running theme I love writing about is obsession. My pre-teen Loren character is no exception. After her brother Franco dies, she terrorizes her younger sister Kina. The Carey family will never be the same…

Here’s my excerpt:

In the wee hours of the morning, my feet slid across the carpet in the hallway. I ignored the family portraits hung up on the wall. I walked past Mom and Dad’s master bedroom. There was no point going in because no one was there. They were both sitting on my bedroom floor, probably asleep by now. All night they had taken turns watching over me to make sure I didn’t fall asleep. I made it to the bathroom and turned on the light, then I left a small crack in the door. I did that in case Mom or Dad peeked their head into the hallway. My cover story of having to use the bathroom would sound more real if they saw the light on.

I crept to Angela’s closed bedroom door and opened it. Her Winnie the Pooh alarm clock was the only light in her room. She was snoring lightly. I took a deep breath and placed my hand over my heart. My beautiful little sister. I’d have to keep telling her stories of Franco, so she wouldn’t forget him. I slowly shut her door because I didn’t want to disrupt her peaceful sleep.

I made my way to Kina’s closed bedroom door and balled my hands into a fist. If I was a cartoon character, gray smoke would be coming out of my ears. If Kina had a heart, she would be crying to herself in bed. Or she would be praying near the window.  When I turned the knob, I wasn’t surprised the little brat was sound asleep. Her lamp on her nightstand was still on. Her iPad lay near her pillow.

I folded my arms across my chest, then I stomped to her bed. I wasn’t afraid of Kina, and it was time to prove that to her. If anything, she should be afraid of me. You see, Kina was sneaky. Never in a million years would I have thought she could be so ugly inside. She had that naïve personality that showed innocence. She was probably laughing at how things worked out with Franco. She was probably plotting what to do next. The thing with sneaky people was that they worked on schedules, and sometimes they manipulated other people to do the dirty work for them.

 If there was a war between us, I’d win, no doubt. I wasn’t sneaky. I didn’t plan first. I acted on impulse. And when I think she’s not worth breathing anymore, then I’ll end her life and not even give it a second thought. She could end up like worm food, what she resorted my brother, my best friend to become.

I leaned down. Her breathing tickled my nose hairs. If I didn’t know any better, Kina was smirking. She definitely looked evil.  I whispered, “Kina.” My voice sounded like acid. I wanted to scare the bejeezus out of her.

She yawned and stretched, then slowly opened her eyes. “Loren, I’m happy you’re home. I love you.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“I hate you.”

Sadness and hurt reached her eyes. What an actress.“Why?” She frowned.

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t. Please tell me.” She hugged her teddy bear, probably trying to squeeze it to death with the black buttons popping off and the cotton oozing from the insides. Franco had given her that Build-A-Bear a few years ago. How dare she hold on to it. It was probably her trophy. Watching Law and Order: SVU I knew  killers liked their trophies to always remember their murders.

I snatched the bear out of the little brat’s hands and threw it on the floor. Kina leaped up. Her mouth was open and her eyes were wide. I leaned even closer to her. “You killed Franco, you little bitch.”

Kina looked like she was gutted. She began crying.

What a joke? She couldn’t fool me any longer.

I pushed her down, so she would lay down again. “If you tell Mom or Dad about our conversation, I’ll hurt you.”

I left her bedroom and let her “cry” alone.

******

What do you think?

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary…Wait I’m Too Scared To Say It Five Times!!!

It’s day three of Women’s Horror Month. When I think of horror, ghosts come to mind. The most popular ghost I know is Bloody Mary. Watching too many scary movies, I believe the urban legend is real. You’ll never see me looking into a mirror and chanting her name five times. No siree.

However, I can definitely write about Bloody Mary. I am a horror writer after all haha. For the past couple of years, I’ve been working on an urban legends novella, on and off. A serial killer terrorizes students on campus using urban legends for motivation.

If you follow my blog, then you know I hardly ever share any work in progress excerpts. Hopefully, by the end of this month, I’ll learn to be more intimate with my blog readers. I hope to show more vulnerability as a writer. So…today I’ll share a scene from my Urban Legends (working title) story.

Here goes:

Surrounded by lit candles, the group of six sat cross-legged in a circle. The floor was dusty, and the lights were off in the abandoned building. The group—three girls and three guys—had brought a full-size mirror with them. They had it leaned up against the wall.

They were in the next town over from Independence University. A group of high schoolers who wanted to seem cool by doing the tradition of trying to contact Bloody Mary on a full moon night.

Unbeknownst to them, someone was already waiting on them in a dark hallway near the room they were in. Dark shadows hid him well. Even if they were to walk past him, they probably wouldn’t notice him. He wore a long wavy wig and a baggy dress with combat boots. He had to look the part of Bloody Mary, even though there was nothing he could do about his male frame.

 His partner, knife in hand, stood in the other hallway. No matter what—these six were trapped, a fatal trap.

He trusted his partner, no questions asked. That person wanted him to become a famous author and would do anything to support him. There was nothing holding him back.

A simple Google search had helped him plan for tonight. The group had blogged about trying to summon Bloody Mary as part of their high school senior hazing. They thought they were daredevils. Yeah right. If they were true daredevils, then they wouldn’t be stalling all night.

His right thigh was starting to cramp. He’d been standing still for an hour straight. He could only imagine what his partner was going through. Probably had to pee due to a small bladder.

Since the building was abandoned, the floor was weak. Any movement would cause a loud creak. If the teeny boppers heard it, then they’d be on high alert. Adrenaline could help them fight back.

And, he couldn’t have that.

He was a fighter, but being realistic, he probably couldn’t take six people all at once.

“I’m definitely getting laid after this. A straight up orgy,” a goofball said.

Sweeny Todd heard a loud slap.

“Ouch. What was that for?” Goofball asked.

“Stop acting stupid,” a snobby girl said. Her and Savannah could probably be friends, if Savannah was still alive.

“Let’s start the summoning,” a natural leader commanded. If any one was getting laid, it’d more than likely be him.

A few minutes passed, and the group still chanted some nonsense. Still stalling, he chuckled to himself.

Then it came. Music to his ears. “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.”

Silence.

Sweeny Todd could imagine them huddled around the mirror, anticipating what would happen next. All wide-eyed like the scaredy cats they should be.

Counting to three, he snuck up on them, tip-toeing, so he wouldn’t get caught. All their backs were facing him. This would be easier than he thought.

He stood directly behind a jock, who wore a letter jacket. Probably a dumb football player who bullied his classmates who he deemed lesser than him. The douche bag should die on principle.

Sweeny Todd raised his butcher knife, then struck it through the back of Jock’s head. As the metal sliced through his bony skull, there was a loud crunch sound. He yanked the knife out. Jock slid down to the floor in slow motion like a horror director timed that scene perfectly.

“Looking for me?” Sweeny Todd imitated a young woman’s voice, all high and shrill. He might as well go all out.

A guy and girl glanced back and screamed. Loud noises would ruin his plans. He had to nip that in the bud quickly. He sliced the guy’s throat and watched him fall to the ground.

More screaming, but he was starting to enjoy the challenge. Besides, the abandoned building wasn’t near anything. It was isolated on a deserted farm. No one could hear the screams anyway.

He looked at the girl, who pleaded for her life. Like cowards, the other three ran towards the hallway where his partner was patiently waiting. He heard their screams, plus the thuds as their bodies hit the floor. He heard his partner still slicing and dicing. Sweeny Todd was proud—Bloody Mary was known for torturing her victims after all.

“Please don’t kill me.” He recognized the voice—the snobby bitch.

“But I’m Bloody Mary. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

“All your friends are dead, of course, there’ll be an investigation whether you talk or not. At least if you don’t talk, there’s no chance for the cops to figure out it was me. No witnesses.”

The floor creaked as his partner strolled up to them. His partner grabbed the snob from behind.

“Surprise. Your summon was so on point that you brought out two Bloody Marys. You should be proud.”

A tear slid down the snobby bitch’s cheek. “Please…”

“Please. Pretty please with sugar on top. Please torture me, so I can be a legend, one of Bloody Mary’s victims.” He tilted his head. “Why yes, I can arrange that.”

He grinned as he struck the giant knife into her stomach. He stabbed and stabbed. His partner did the final blow of slicing her neck, then pushed the bloody dead body onto the floor.

Snob laid beside Jock like a twisted Romeo and Juliet story.

He high-fived his partner. They scanned the room and admired their work. His partner stood in silence as Sweeny Todd sat on the floor away from the bloody puddle. He opened up Google Docs, his cell phone illuminating the room. He typed furiously away, afraid he couldn’t remember every detail of this perfect night:

The horror in their eyes. The fear in snobby bitch’s voice. Some couldn’t even process what happened, dead before they saw the knife coming towards them. I killed three, and my partner killed three. I’ll have to get details from my partner, but I heard everything. The knife slicing through skin. The warm bodies that will turn cold before morning, falling to the floor.

He added more sensory details in his notes. This story would be awesome. A best seller. Readers would feel every murder. They’d feel like they were experiencing the pain with his characters.

He looked up at his partner to signal that he was finished.

His partner smiled a warm smile. “You’re crazy. You know that? You look so funny in your costume.”

“You’re crazy too,” he said, not annoyed. He was amused that his partner could tease at a time like this. His partner was probably more demented than him.   

Just the way he liked it.

They didn’t bother to clean up their mess. The only thing they did was wipe off both butcher knives, then they laid the knives beside the victims. They wanted the cops to find the crime scene. They wanted the cops to find the murder weapons. They wanted the town to panic.

That was the only way to create history.

They walked out of the abandoned building towards some bushes and weeds. They changed into normal clothes, then stuffed crimson soaked Bloody Mary outfits into their book bags. No one would think to search them as they walked back to Independence University.

*****

What did you think?

This is only a second draft. I still have a lot of work ahead of me for revisions. I’ve been editing three novellas at once–Six Plus One, my urban legends, and my crazy ballerina one. Surprisingly,  I haven’t gotten editing block 🙂

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Weekend Writing Warriors Excerpt #31

I’m back! The Weekend Writing Warriors is an awesome site that allows writers to share their 8 to 10 sentence excerpts, published or unpublished, to the blogosphere. If you’d like to join or would like to read wonderful talent, please visit the WeWriWa website on Sunday, 1/8: http://wewriwa.com.

This week I’ll be sharing my WIP of my sequel Six Plus One. Alta and her friends leave Voy on a road trip to Green Bank, West Virginia. They plan to film footage for their popular alien-centric web series. What should be a get-in and get-out situation turns into a deadly nightmare.

Here’s my excerpt:

“We didn’t forget the wireless mics, right?” Alta’s cell phone rang. She picked it up on the second ring. “Hey, dad, what’s up?”

“Wanted to make sure everything’s okay. Kendrick’s following the speed limit, correct? You guys aren’t bringing attention to yourselves, right?”

“We’re going to isolated woods to contact aliens. What could go wrong?”

“I’m serious, Alta…”

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Three Babes in the Woods by Yawatta Hosby

Three Babes in the Woods

by Yawatta Hosby

Copyright 2016

Three Babes in the Woods

If I shut my eyes, maybe Mommy will forget about me. I only need her to forget about me for about ten seconds. Well, I’m not very good with math, maybe it’s an hour. I squeeze my eyes tighter and tighter. And, I hug my red fuzzy Elmo tighter and tighter.

Elmo. Yikes! I throw him away from me in the back seat. He hits the side of the door with a thud. Oh no, the thud may get Mommy’s attention. I can’t open my eyes, so I can’t tell if she sees me or not.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“You can see me?”

“Of course, honey, are you playing a game?”

I wish it was a game, but I’m scared to dea—Wait I don’t want to say death. Oh no, I said it by mistake. I don’t want to die. Maybe if I don’t answer Mommy she’ll forget about me.

“Honey?”

I open a eyeball. Mommy’s looking at me through the rearview mirror. I can’t hide anymore. I may die.

“…I throwed Elmo.”

“Why? He’s your favorite toy.”

“He’s scary.”

Mommy laughs. She stops when she sees I’m not laughing too. “Why is he scary?”

I hide under my coat by pulling it up over my head. Then I point out the window, afraid to see the scary sign. We go on this road every day to get home, and I didn’t know it was scary until yesterday. Bennie, my older cousin, warned me about Elmo leaving his three daughters in the woods to die. That the scary blue and yellow–I mean gold, is it gold or is it yellow? I haven’t learned all my colors yet in school–sign near the road is proof that it happened. Bennie says if I become a burden on Mommy and Daddy, then they may leave me in the woods to die too.

“What are you pointing at? The woods? You love the woods, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Did we passed the sign?”

“The sign? You know what the sign means?”

I stop hiding under my coat. Mommy needs to see me shake my head yes.

“Oh, Samantha, you’re too young to understand. How in the world did you hear about what that sign means?”

“I know-I know that Elmo killed his three daughters because they were a burden. Mommy, how does Elmo have daughters? Did he get married?” I reach out for Elmo. The seat belt cuts into my chest, but I manage to get him. Mommy needs to see who I’m talking about. No more lies, Mommy.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Elmo. He’s just a toy.” Mommy frowns. Oh no, is she lying?  “I wish I could’ve explained things when you’re older, but let me try to now. I don’t want you afraid. Nothing bad will happen to you, honey.”

“But-but something bad happened to those girls. They died in the woods. Can I die in the woods too?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. Me and your daddy.”

“If Elmo’s just a toy, then who killed those girls?”

“Elmo Noakes was a man from California. He took a road trip with his three daughters and girlfriend. They ended up here in Pennsylvania.”

“Why did he kill them, Mommy?”

“In 1934, I want to say it was the Great Depression, but I’m not sure. I was never good in History class. I think… Mr. Noakes was a desperate man. He couldn’t afford to support his family…it was a tragedy, but you have to know me and your daddy love you very much. You never have to worry about us abandoning you.”

“Even if I’m a burden?”

“You’ll never be a burden to us, honey. Never.”

Did Elmo ever tell his daughters that? What if Mommy changes her mind? Bennie said it could happen at anytime. I never want to go camping again. I never want to drive on this road again. I never want any fur coats either.

And, I hate the color green. Green used to be my favorite color, but not anymore. Those three girls were found by a green blanket. Why couldn’t it have been a blue blanket? The awful scary color blue. Scary blue and scary yellow or scary gold. I really need to learn my colors.

My best friend in pre-school is scared of frogs. My cousin is scared of dogs. My little sister is scared of the boogeyman. I’m scared of Mommy and Daddy, thanks to my cousin Bennie. I’m scared to die. What if I become a burden and they decide to leave me in the woods to die? What if Mommy is lying about Elmo? I look at my red fuzzy toy. Is he going to kill me? Is he going to leave me in the woods to die if I become a burden?

What does burden even mean? I’m scared to ask Mommy. She may lie. Shutting my eyes tight doesn’t help me disappear. I’ll have to come up with something else. Only when we take this scary road that passes that scary blue and yellow—or is it gold?—sign. The sign that says On This Spot Were Found Three Babes in the Woods. Nov.-24-1934. The only reason I remember is because last night my cousin Bennie made me say it out loud a billion times until it stuck in my head.

How can I disappear? And what does burden mean? I’ll ask Bennie the next time I see him.

THE END

Nico’s Blood by Yawatta Hosby

Nico’s Blood

by Yawatta Hosby

Copyright 2016

Deanna slammed the bathroom door shut as someone pounded on her front door. She muttered under her breath, exhausted with the morning’s events. She could only hold the producer off for a couple more minutes–she was under contract after all.

She walked towards the door, her hand on the knob. Before she opened it, she happened to glance down at her shirt and gasped.

Blood stains all over her gray v-neck!

“I’m coming,” she yelled through the door, then proceeded into her bedroom. In the hallway, she made sure to pause for a moment to stare at the bathroom door.

Could she pull this off?

Her freedom depended on it.

It didn’t take long for her to change into different clothes. Within a minute, the producer, camera man and sound guy of the popular reality tv show Married At First Glance were in her living room, setting up equipment. Deanna dreaded filming days–her “husband” Nico was such an asshole. Where had the casting director found him?

Deanna and the producer sat on the couch. She offered him something to drink but he refused.

She glanced at the sound guy who was taping a small microphone onto a lamp near the wall by the bathroom!

Deanna’s heart beat quickened.

A few steps further and he may open the bathroom door! It’s not like she could stop him. Or could she?

“I’m sorry to say, but Nico isn’t here.”

The producer rolled his eyes. It’s not like this wasn’t a common occurrence. Nico believed in the philosophy that every rule had loopholes. Like he could be “married” on a tv show but during non-filming days leave to screw his ex-girlfriend who had conveniently found love for him again since he became a star. “Where is he?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“I’ll be right back.” The producer stepped out of the living room into the kitchen in a haste, frantically whispering into his cell.

Good. The kitchen was far from the bathroom. She looked over at the sound guy again–he’d made his way closer to the bathroom door!

Deanna slumped into the cushions, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. She was too afraid of showing nervousness by fidgeting. Just then, her feet kept tapping the wooden floor. Just then, a bead of sweat fell into her eyes, stinging her vision. Just then, a tear fell down her cheek. Just then, the smell of blood invaded her nostrils.

She breathed heavily again. No stop that. Take deep breaths. Act normal, damnit.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she took deep breaths and counted slowly to ten. The long winded kind…one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four-Mississippi, five-Mississippi, six-Mississippi, seven-Mississippi, eight-Mississippi, nine-Mississippi, ten-Mississippi.

When she opened her eyes again, the producer was standing in front of her, looking down at her with an amused expression dancing within his eyes and smile. “I couldn’t get ahold of him,” he had hesitated as if he was debating if he could get away with teasing her or sticking to just the professional banter they’ve always had.

Sexual harassment was a sticky situation, after all.

Deanna gulped, wiping her eyes, trying to stop the stinging to no prevail. She gave a nervous grin when the producer sat beside her again.

Even though he wore cologne, all she could smell was blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Nico’s blood…

All she had to do was stall long enough for them to leave once they realized they couldn’t film without the “couple.” All she had to do was hold it together. Hold it together, Deanna, her thoughts mocked her.

Or was it Nico playing tricks in her mind? Like he was haunting her from the grave? His grave–the bathtub.

What a mess!

But he deserved it!

Deanna got a little kick out of that thought and gave a wicked grin. Catching herself, she bit her bottom lip and turned her face away from the producer.

Keep it together, Deanna.

Stop mocking me, Nico! You suck, you dead bastard!

“Are you okay, Deanna?”

Afraid her voice may betray her, Deanna simply nodded. She braced herself (thank goodness for meditation and yoga lessons) then met the producer’s gaze, as if nothing had ever happened.

As if there was no dead body in the bathtub.

Did she even remember to close the shower curtain to hide the evidence in case someone walked in?

Did you remember, you stupid bitch?

Nico stop mocking me! Nico, you dead stupid bastard!

“So…I don’t want to get him into trouble but I haven’t seen him all night. He never came home.”

“Do you think he’s at her place?”

Deanna liked how the producer said “her” as if the ex-girlfriend’s name coming from his lips would be a betrayal of her trust.

Deanna was the laughing stock of this social experiment. She heard through the grapevine that the other two contestants got amazing, attentive husbands, so why did she get the jackass?

I’m not a jackass!

Shut up, Nico! Nico, you dead rotten bastard!

Come in the bathroom and make me. Make sure someone follows you in here!

“Shut up!” Deanna covered her hand over her mouth, realizing she said it out loud.

Damn you, Nico! Damn you, you dead rotten bastard!

“I’m sorry to mention it. Don’t worry we’ll find Nico.” The producer hesitated before patting Deanna quickly on the arm. He leaned over to whisper, “Don’t worry. We’ll give Nico the bad edit, but I’ll deny ever saying it if you blab that secret to anyone.” He winked.

Deanna’s heartbeat calmed down. She gave a genuine smile, pleased that the producer was on her side.

“And if you don’t?”

“We will. There’s no show without the stars.” The producer winked again.

Deanna wondered if winking was his go-to defense mechanism in a crisis.

Oh no, she hadn’t been paying attention to the sound guy. It only took a second. A second for her life to be over. A second for someone to find her haunting secret.

She had to get them out quickly!

“Should you go looking for him?”

“I have assistants for that.”

She bit her bottom lip. There was no way they’d stay the full hours required to film, would they?

Would they? Would they? Would they? They smell the blood too! They’re just toying with me!

“Oh okay.” Deanna tried to hold the producer’s gaze but failed. She scanned the room. Camera guy by the door. Mic guy still by the damn bathroom! Producer on the couch.

She rested her sight on the mic guy. When  he looked at her, she said, “Would you like to sit?”

He leaned into the wall. “I’m okay, ma’am. Thanks though.”

Ha Ha!

Shut up, Nico! Nico, you dead rotten bastard!

“Please sit down. It’d make me more comfortable.” She hated that she had to nag him but it was the only way. He had to sit. What if Nico was right? What if guys who stood did have a sudden urge to pee?

She only had one bathroom!

The bathroom with her dead “husband” spawned in the bathtub–guts and blood pouring out of his body like a sausage.

Deanna gave a wicked grin. She was happy that the mic guy attempted to stand up from the wall. Before he could move, the producer said, “You guys can take a break.”

“Thanks boss.” The boys didn’t hesitate to leave her apartment. Two down. One more to go. The stubborn producer.

He’ll save me! You killed me! You killed me, Deanna, and you will pay for it!

Shut up, Nico! Shut up, you damn rotten dead bastard!

More sweat fell down her forehead. “What happens if you don’t find him? Seriously.”

“If he doesn’t show up soon, I have no choice but to call Mr. Poe and get my ass chewed out over spoiled Nico.” The producer patted Deanna on the arm again. “But it won’t come to that. He’ll come. I know it.”

Blood invaded Deanna’s nostrils again. She glanced over at the bathroom door. The door that taunted her.

Open me. Open me. Open me. You know you want to. Look at your bloody masterpiece. Come on, you know you want to. Ha ha!

Shut up, Nico! Stop taunting me. You dead rotten bastard!

“Do you need a break? I mean, I don’t want them to get the wrong idea with you alone with me.” She was desperate, pulling the fear card. Her life was at stake.

All because of Nico. Nico, the dead rotten bastard.

The producer gave a poker face and stood up, avoiding Deanna’s gaze. “I should take a break. I’ll be back soon.”

Yes, he’s walking away! I win! I win, Nico, Nico–you dead rotten bastard!

It was perfect. She stared at the producer’s back, he never glanced back, his hand on the knob.

Turn it. Turn it, damnit.

But he just stood there with his back still facing her. Seconds seemed like an eternity. She counted to ten–the long winded kind…one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four-Mississippi, five-Mississippi, six-Mississippi, seven-Mississippi, eight-Mississippi, nine-Mississippi, ten-Mississippi.

Like a horror movie with the most intense scene being played in slow motion with the creepy music in the background to give the full effect, the producer turned around. “Before I leave, can I use your bathroom?”

Noooooooooo!

Yessssssssss! Ha ha! Justice after all!

Shut up, Nico! Shut up, you dead rotten bastard!

Deanna stood. If she had to, she’d physically block the door. The door that haunted her. The door that taunted her. The door that smelled of Nico’s blood. Nico, the dead bloody bastard. “The toilet’s broke.”

Taken aback, the producer said, “Oh, well I can look over it. My dad’s a plumber.”

Noooooooooo!

Yessssssssss!

Shut up, Nico! Shut up, you dead rotten bastard! I’ll make sure to hide your body so no one can ever find you. No proper burial for you. No closure for you or your spoiled family.

Good luck with that. He’s going to save the day. I knew there was a reason I liked him.

Shut up, Nico! Shut up, Nico, you dead rotten bloody bastard!

Noooooooooo!

Yessssssssss!

The producer shifted his stance to his left foot. “Well? Do you want me to look at your toilet?”

Yessssssssss!

Noooooooooo!

Yessssssssss!

Noooooooooo! “Noooooooooo!” Deanna coughed. “I mean no. No offense but I’d rather have a professional look at it.”

She sighed in relief when the producer sheepishly exited her apartment. The apartment with the bathroom door that haunted her. The door that taunted her…The door that smelled of blood. Nico’s blood. Nico, the dead rotten bloody bastard.

THE END

 

Flash Fiction Prompt #4

1/4/16

Prompt: Restraint

It’s my own fault, I guess. I have a habit of bottling up my feelings, so one small thing can set me off–just from built up anger.

It may not be true, but I think I better stay silent. I better remain calm and not show any emotions.

Because let me tell you, I’m pissed the fuck off.

The stranger on the bus is yelling at the driver, causing him distress. If the stranger makes the driver lose concentration, then heaven forbid, the driver accidentally runs through a red light or runs off the road.

What is the asshole, sitting in front of me, thinking?

That’s the problem–I don’t think any thought process is going through his brain. The stringy gray hair asshole is probably drunk. Bipolar. Or just an entitled asshole.

Around ten minutes ago, I had turned up my iPod to tune everything out, but the guy’s screaming surpasses my Wale verse.

I look out of the window. Why won’t the driver take an exit and pull over? He needs to kick this guy off the bus. Why continue arguing with him? I just don’t get it.

A mile later–only fifteen minutes away from my Walmart stop–the bus stops in the middle of the busy intersection!

The driver stands and turns toward us. Pointing his finger at the asshole in front of me, he says, “Get off the bus! I’m tired of hearing your disrespect.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not getting off. Drive the damn bus!” He rises from his seat and rushes to the front of the bus.

Still no one intervenes. Not even me. I close my eyes and sigh. This can’t be happening right now…

I open my eyes and gasp. A mac truck is heading right our way! It slams into the bus, forcing us forward. I land on top of a young woman and her small boy. We’re squished between the seat and the bumper of the truck.

I say a little prayer before I take my final breath.

THE END

If anyone would like to join me and local author MT Decker in the 42 A Day Flash Fiction Challenge, then please let me know.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Flash Fiction Prompt #3

1/3/16

Prompt: Shiny

“What are you talking about?” Kendra asked, setting the dish cloth on the sink.

If her roommate Danielle asked her one more time to wipe the stove when it was already shiny, Kendra would scream.

Absolutely scream!

In a calm voice, Danielle pointed at the left end burner and said, “See right there. There’s a spot.”

Kendra screamed.

Danielle covered her ears.

She didn’t even try to stop Kendra. She didn’t even show any emotions. She simply continued to cover her ears.

After a short while, Kendra stopped screaming, satisfied that she got on Danielle’s nerves.

Danielle put her hands in her pockets, twirling her right foot. “So…that spot. Please clean it.”

Kendra hated everything about obsessive compulsive disorder, including her roommate.

THE END

If anyone would like to join me and local author MT Decker in the 42 A Day Flash Fiction Challenge, please let me know.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby