Simple concept: Take the same start of a story, elaborate differently every time. See how many times you can do it. Simple, right?
The constant: The slow crunch of grass broke Jeffery’s concentration. A step was the culprit. It came slowly, inevitable, so sure of itself. Jeffery didn’t look back.
He knew this day would come.
9/21 – The cock of the revolver followed the threat. Jeffery slowly looked back at the man who had his life in his metallic hands They locked eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Charlie.”
Charlie’s lips furled. He looked back at the old man with jaundice eyes. He trembled as he struggled to keep the .45 caliber gun aimed at Jeffery. The weight of the piece impaired his balance.
“You’re dying. The bullet wound’s septic. You need help…”
“I’m not the one with a gun pointed at him so you oughta thing about yourself more than me, Jeff.”
Jeffery took a half step towards Charlie, both hands in the air with his palms exposed. This had to be done right.
“Not with Annie here.”
Charlie peered over and watched the small girl stare back at them, confused.
“It’s okay, baby. Everything is okay.”
“She needs to see this! After all, she needs this.”
“You need this, you mean.”
“Shut the FUCK up!”
Anne broke the tension and began to cry. She dropped Jefferey’s hat and ran over to cliing to his leg. She stared defiantly at Charlie with wet eyes.
“Annie, sweetie, that man is now who you think. He’s a bad man. A very bad man.”
“No, he’s not! He’s my friend. He protected me from the metal men. HE took us somewhere safe. He’s my…”
“Charlie, enough of this shit. You want me, meet me by the gas station. You know the one.”
“NO!!” Annie grabbed on tight, her grip had made her fingers into white.
Jeffery crouched down and whispered, “Remember to point to the sky, Annie. I’ll find you there.”