Image by Still Burning via Flickr

Today’s prompt for my drabble is:

“What if you’re going to write a story about infidelity with a female paramedic as the main character and a pair of boots as the key object?  Set your story in a prison cell.”

My little mind had to work overtime to come up with 100 words (exactly) of concise genius to meet this challenge.

Eva’s steel-toed paramedic boots echoed as she followed the guard down the tiled hallway to the prisoner holding area.

“Well if it ain’t my lovely wife.”

“Why Stan?  Why would you kill your best friend?”

Stan moved closer to the bars that separated them and pointed at Eva’s footwear.  “Manny’s wife will want to bury her husband in those.”

Eva’s eyes widened as she sat down and removed her right boot.  The name inside was not her own but that of her co-worker, Manfried O’Toole.

“I can explain…”

“Manny already did when I asked him why he was wearing yours.”

Image via Wikipedia

So my writing buddy, Aimee, tweeted me today asking what I would be writing about in my blog now that I’d finished the 30 Days of Writing series. Stumped, but only momentarily because I am a true problem-solver, I decided to do writing exercises to prepare for NaNoWriMo. This means a six day series since next Monday kicks off NaNo frenzy and I won’t be writin’ no flash blog fiction while that’s going on. Snippets I’ll give you, NaNo battle re-enactments I’ll share, but that’s it. Okay, maybe I’ll still do the Sunday night stuff if only to escape THE novel.

With that in mind, I searched for and found this website that has 346 (why not 365??) prompts. One need only hover over each of the numbers to reveal a different writing prompt.

My goal is to write a daily drabble, a story of 100 words, using the prompt. Quick reads for you, quick writes for me.

According to my calendar, today is the 299th day of the year. Therefore today’s prompt is:

“liberal activist daughter moves in temporarily with parents”

This one is 100 words, exactly:

Misty kicked aside the Wall Street Journal with disgust and threw her hip against the front door.  Unlocked as they’d said it would be.  She peered inside and sighed.  They’d redecorated…again.  Didn’t they know how many textbooks the paint alone could have purchased for impoverished school children in Guatemala?  Gah, such conspicuous waste.

A woman in a ladybug apron burst from the kitchen brandishing a Colt 45.   “Who are you?”

Misty froze, eyes wide.  “Who are you?  Where are my parents?”

“Misty?  Little Misty Fairfax?”  The woman clicked the safety back into place.

“Yes…”

“You’re in the wrong house, dear.”