Freewrite [very] short story

Note: A reminder, the Freewrites are written with little revision and are simply words being put down with ideas that pop into my head. Enjoy!

Tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Simon looked down at his keyboard.

Backspace.

"If only I could come up with an original story," thought Simon.

Tap, tap, tap

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap,tap

He got it.

It goes like this:

The winds blew softly on her soft skin as Layla sat on the springy, green grass under a warm sun. However, where most people enjoyed a nice day in nature, Layla could not care less. After all, the wind did what she told it to. It always did. So did the grass. And the trees. And the sun.

Layla stood up, bored with it all and walked down toward the path ahead, or rather the path that would be ahead. All it took was a push here, and shove there, and the path was made. The dirt just did what it was told. So boring! So unresponsive to what she felt in her heart.

Layla thought a jog might clear up her mind, maybe help her think of how to solve this longing. Oh how she longed for companionship, for love.

She did have her two friends. They have always been here too and could also do what she could. They all felt the same.

She spoke to them during her jog. It's a telepathy thing. Being one with each other and all. She needed them. They had an idea.

They appeared next to her, jogging and keeping pace. It's a teleportation thing.

They would create a new place, a place whose inhabitants would choose to do what they asked, instead of mechanically responding. A piece of cake? Not so much.

The three talked. It would be risky. The outcome was certain. At some point, the inhabitants would rebel and not do as asked. And when that happened, their newfound rebellious nature would carry them to destroy each other, where they lived, and worst of all, themselves. What to do, what to do?

One of them would have to go to that place and become one of them. Piece of cake? Not so much.

Layla looked up and saw Simon writing the story and told him how it would go.

Layla, and by this course of action the two friends (as they are one), would go to the rebellious world that would choose a destructive fate, and save any who would choose them by giving them new bodies and new natures, and later bring them to a new place, recreated as their bodies and natures were.

The cost of this transformation? Layla would have to die, and all three of them would experience it, dying themselves. It was simply the way things worked. Like gravity. A life to save life, but for the ones that would choose, it was worth the cost. Afterall, it was all about love. What she felt in her heart. What would feel in their hearts. Fulfilling each other. Yeah. That'd be worth it. Do it. Get it over with. Pain for eternity so that there would be even more love for eternity. Go for it.

So she did. And then She came back. The story is a bit different in reality, but that's the gist of it. I'm sure you've heard of Jesus.

Notes: I'm not a big fan of allegories. They tend to sacrifice story for a message, but when I started this freewrite it all kinda came together, and the message is one that is worth telling. I hope the story illustrates the point well. Anyhow, thanks God!

Freewrite poem

Darkness comes before the light.

We stumble,

We fall,

Because we cannot see.

Hitting walls.

Pushed by the unseen.

We walk. We run.

Light triumphs over darkness,

Blinds the eyes,

And causes them to see.

Sometimes the worst pains are felt before our vision is restored.

Sharp, quick.

Forces us to look away for a moment.

Then we see that we are surrounded

By Loving Arms

And Scarred Hands

And Comfort.

-SL

Freewrites are coming again

That's right! For all 3 of you who already my previous (and poorly written) freewrites, be excited! I am beginning freewrites again and am very excited to see where it all goes. Once again, not looking to type out anything groundbreaking here, just some interesting narrative, or poetry, or whatever the heck I want or am lead to write. So … enjoy! And prepare for more REAL (read: not link-based) blog entries.

Freewrite #4 Jack Fletcher Series pt.4

IMPORTANT: If you have not read both Freewrites #1,2, and 3, go back and read them first. The order of the freewrites is the by DATE PUBLISHED. They are not in chronological order.

Freewrite #4

Today

The clouds started to part. It had stopped raining. White moonlight shined through, reflecting off of the wet, oily street.

Jack ran down the street., not sure of where he was going. He only knew that must not go with that man, John Fischer, whom he had spoken with almost 3 minutes ago.

Something about the man's voice didn't sit right with Jack.

And what about the man he had punched? He seemed familiar, though Jack didn't know why.

Jack didn't even know if his name really was Jack. It was just a name on a wristband. Jack Fletcher, #431.

The sun would be up in a few hours. He had to get out of sight. A near barefoot man wearing all white would stand out like a sore thumb here.

Speaking of which, where was “here” exactly?

A car could be heard in the distance, gaining on Jack.It was the doctor.

Jack ran hard. The black Honda's headlights were 300 yards away, and gaining. It would only be a couple of seconds now.

Shots rang out. Jack dove to the ground, , not knowing whether this would be a leap towards heaven or a fall to hell. He expected the latter.

Bullets whizzed by on his left and right. The headlights went out.

The bullets stopped.

Jack heard a car reverse and head in the opposite direction. It was the Honda!

Jack had survived!

Jack stood up, white clothes stained black by the wet asphalt. His socks had several new holes in them and his feet had developed a few blisters. Still, he lived! And the car was gone which meant Jack could relax for a moment.

Then Jack remembered what had just happened, why the car had left.

That's when several men emerged from the two alleys ahead where the bullets had flown from.

They closed in on Jack.

Freewrite #3

IMPORTANT: If you have not read both Freewrites #1 and #2, go back and read them first. The order of the freewrites is the by DATE PUBLISHED. They are not in chronological order.

Freewrite #3

Two Weeks Ago

Three men wearing white coats stood outside the room.

The second of the three men held a clipboard.

The third clenched a black and white BIC pen.

The first held nothing.

“When did he come out of it?” said Number One.

“We're not quite sure. He seems to have no recollection of where he is or who he is.” said the second, eyes squinting behind thick, broad rimmed black glasses. He stared at his clipboard.

“The polygraph says he is telling the truth.”

“We figured that there would be memory loss. The question was never 'if,' but 'how much?' Now we know.” said the third, shrugging.

“Still,” said Number One. “We can't be too careful. We have to make sure that this worked or it'll be our heads. Put Thompson in his room. See if he can get anything first. If that doesn't work, schedule a breakout.”

“A breakout? Are you sure? We don't know what kind of condition he is in, what kind of damage he can do.” said the second.

“It's the only way we will know.” said Number One.

A Note about the Freewrites

So, here's the deal:
I write these with the first word or image that pops into my head and go from there. There isn't a story board or much of a general outline. I have a couple ideas about what I want to write, but when I say a couple of ideas, I mean a COUPLE (maybe a Few) of ideas.
Anyhow, I can't tell you exactly where the story is going because, honestly, I don't even know.

My brief disclaimer: Any characters that appear in this story have no relation to anyone in the real world. Names that actually happen to exist in the real world are simply coincidence.

So with that, let 'er roll.

Freewrite #2

IMPORTANT: READ FREEWRITE #1 BEFORE READING #2. THEY ARE IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

Freewrite #2

The injured man stopped crying and started to stand up.

"Here, let me help you." said Jack, with an outstretched arm, holding the baseball cap in his other hand.

The man spat on the hand. "Crazy lunatic. I Never should have listened to him. " Then the man walked off, opposite the way he had come, as if nothing had happened...

Listened to who?

A phone lying under a covered sidewalk rang. Sounds of Vivaldi's Four Seasons filled the atmosphere, underscoring the rainy weather.

Where did the phone come from?

It must have been that guy's. Strange that it landed on the sidewalk instead of the asphalt.

Jack picked up the phone.

“Who is this?” asked Jack.

“Hello Jack” answered a deep, calm voice. “How have you been? 'Things feeling a bit out of place? That's because they are Jack. Things change with time."

“Time? What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Jack responded.

“Oh? You don't remember? Jack, you've been a patient at the ward for three years. Please, come back and we will sort this all out.” said the voice.

“Ward? I don't remember any ward. Who are you?” said Jack.

“My name is John Fischer. I'm your doctor. And by the look of things you could use my help. You pack quite a punch!” said John, tone and pitch raised.

“I see. You are my doctor, and I am the simple patient who has lost his memory? That's pretty convenient. I will say, you have me on the memory bit. I can't remember a thing. But answer me this ... ” Jack said looking sideways at a black Honda across the street. A man with short, brown hair sat inside on a cellphone.

Jack looked forward.

“What kind of doctor stalks his patient?”

“The kind who cares.” said John, deeper again.

Jack glanced at the car once more. Something was different. Sitting in the passenger seat was a man in a brown fedora. It was him!

“Don't run Jack.” said John

“Run? Why would I run? You're just a doctor, right?” said Jack.

Jack ran.

Freewrite #1

Freewrite #1

Splash! Splash!

Splash Splash!

It was raining. And it was windy. And those were puddles. Puddles make noise. And he didn't want to make noise.

For man-on-the-run Jack Fletcher, this fit right in with his day. It wasn't bad enough that he was being hunted by some deranged killer. A man with blood on his hands. Quite literally.

It had been almost fifteen minutes, just past midnight, since the would-be assassin with the brown fedora had cornered him in a dark alley behind Jim's Pizza and Eatery.

Why was he chasing him? What had he done now?

This day made no sense. Neither did the white jumpsuit he was wearing or the fact that he was only wearing white socks.

Why can't I remember anything, thought Jack.

Pulling a memory over two weeks old from his brain was like wrestling a pit-bull from a raw, sirloin steak.

Forget it. 'Can't worry about that now. Stay focused Jack and we'll see if we can't keep you alive another day.

Jack rounded a blind corner. A perfect place to get the upper-hand.

Wait for it Jack. Wait for it.

Splash! Splash!

Here he comes. One more second.

A rounded head wearing a brown fedora peaked its head out of the corner.

Slam!

Knuckled flesh struck a glass jaw. A left hook connected with the man's nose. The fedora went flying.

The man hit the ground. Out cold. But that didn't stop the blood from gushing out of the assassin's broken nose.

Jack followed the blood as it mixed with rainwater and flowed downhill, across the street.

Jack stood, bewildered.

Did I just do that?

The man's eyelids cracked open. His mouth followed close behind.

“Ahhhhhh!” screamed the man. Though whether it was a cry of pain or a cry of anger, Jack didn't know.

Tears began to flow down the man's face. His wails grew louder.

No, thought Jack, this is definitely not the sound of anger This man is in pain! Well, serves him right for trying to kill me.

Jack kneeled down to get a closer look at the man who could have been his end. Who would dare try to kill him? Who had the guts? Didn't this guy know who he was?

I wish he did. At least then I might be able to get some answers.

Jack stood still for a second and looked at the man directly in the eyes, and recoiled.

This isn't him! This isn't the same person!

Jack looked over at where the fedora had landed, except it wasn't a fedora. It was a New York Yankees baseball cap.

What is going on? thought Jack.