As you can tell, I’ve been skipping/missing days in this whole Writing 101 gig (but I did say early on that I’d be doing this as I could and never promised to get to each and every day)… I did take a look at yesterday’s assignment but then I never did do parts one or two so three was sort of out of the question (unless I take the time to go back and do the other two)…
“What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears. If you’re up for a twist, write this post in a style that’s different from your own.”
I guess the main things that I am afraid of (or things I fear) would be snakes (more specifically venomous kinds), being stuck or entrapped (different from claustrophobia – I’ll refrain from explanations on this at this time), and fear of dying (well more the fear of suffering)…. Guess you could say pretty typical fears. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Going to attempt to write something with this in mind that may or not be my typical style (as I am really not entirely sure yet what my “style” is…
The door was stuck…. again…. How many times had she begged and begged for the door to be fixed. It hadn’t been the first time Norma had found herself unable to open the door, but usually her husband was there to open it for her. But this time he wasn’t there, no one was…. No one would be for days.
“Why had she picked this time to, stupidly, go into the basement? Why hadn’t she just waited until Jack got home.” Norma tried to swallow down panic as she tried, yet again, to open the door but to no avail. Panic welled up even bigger than before… Refusing to be pushed aside.
Suddenly she heard a hissing sound followed by an unmistakable rattling sound… Again and again Norma shoved her weight against the door the hissing & rattling sound grew stronger louder She was going to die down here alone. A slow painful death. She hadn’t even thought to bring her cell phone with her. A scream lodged in her throat….
“Sweetheart, wake up. You’ve been dreaming again.”
Norma’s eye’s flew open, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Sweat dripping from her brow. She wasn’t in the basement. There wasn’t even a basement in this house. And she wasn’t alone. Her husband, Jack, was right there next to her pulling her into his arms his lips tenderly brushing against her forehead as he gently rocked her back and forth.
It’s a bit rough, but let me know what you think.