One Exercise That Will Change The Way You Write Forever
Todd Brison

There is no place like home I muttered as I heaved my suitcase into the trunk of my VW in the dark empty parking lot. Rain made the car key slippery in my hand as I fumbled to open my door. The only sound was the hiss of rain racing threw the atmosphere and pattering on the cold dark pavement.

I slide into my seat, pulling my door shut and silencing the noise of the rain beating runnels down the windshield. I sat there in the muffled pattering on the cold seat, and wondered how I had come to be in this place and this situation. Heaving a deep sigh, I turned my key to the sound of …nothing. I turned my key harder as of the lock had not heard me the first time and there was nothing. No click, no whir of the engine and no life.

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes and rubbed, my long black hair dripping wet and sticking to my face. I tried to block out the world to the palms of my hands. I was not going home tonight, and maybe never.

A tap on my drivers window brought me up in a start, for a split second my brain spun loose trying to find traction. A dark figure was standing beside my car in the pouring rain, one hand on the door latch, one hand on the side of my car. Electricity shot down my spine and hit my heart I reached for the fish fele’ing knife I kept in my left door pocket and folded the dark blade into palm of my hand. A deep muffled voice came through my side window that said, “ Let me in” and then I knew I had not escaped, it had come with me.

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