Finish That Thought #2-5

I’ve found this fun site through a fellow writer where they post a first line story prompt and you must finish it in under 500 words. Now this is a great word count for easier done, for me, than the 55 word count challenge I still do on occasion. Though the following stories did not win their weekly challenge, I wanted to share them with my followers.

1. Start with the given first sentence.
2. Up to 500 words
3. Keep it clean (nothing rated R or above)
4. Optional Special Challenge
5. Stories submitted must be your own work, using characters and worlds that you have created. Sorry, no fanfiction.
6. Include: Twitter/email, word count, Special Challenge accepted
7. The challenge is open for 24 hours on Tuesday EST

Oh, and feel free to change pronouns, punctuation, tense, and anything in brackets to fit the story/pov/tone. I’m not going to be TOO picky… Our judge however…

Each week the winner of the previous week sets the prompt.

If you’d like to participate in the fun you can find the prompts Here.

This weeks prompt:  [She] whisper[s], “I forgive you,” as [her] hand slip[s] out of mine.

Your SPECIAL CHALLENGE from the judge is:

Invent two words and use them in your story. They should come across as natural. Extra difficulty: No proper nouns or food names.

My Story

Rebel Rebellion

Vodka whispered “I forgive you” as her hand slipped out of mine. She turned away looking to the horizon and the dirigible as it lumbered ever nearer. I said nothing until she faced me.
“You forgive me?” I snorted. “Good luck with that because I don’t forgive you. Ya little shit.” She’d given us up.
“Go to hell.” Sasha put both hands on my chest and shoved me hard enough that I stumbled back knocking my head against the wall. She looked at Vodka and spat at my feet. Before Sasha could run, I grabbed hold of her wrists and wrenched her close that she could smell my putrid breath.
“Vodka was wrong and you know it. I’m not the one who needs to be forgiven. Fuck that. I’m not the one who sold us out and I’m not the one who made the bad deal to begin.” I wasn’t. But I also hadn’t voiced my objection.
“You—“ Vodka halted at my look.
“That dirigible isn’t bringing us supplies. We both know why the Polaris is sending the troops. To clean the rebel scum. Us.” I snapped my head at Sasha’s tug on my shirt sleeve. The lights on the transport were flashing meaning they were readying to drop trough. We heard the crunch crunch of long guns loading their bombbags. Death was imminent if we didn’t flee quickly.
“Make your choice Vodka. You can still run with us or you can face—“ I jerked my head toward a sure fire death by burning metal. “There’s a slim chance we’ll escape and can try again.”
She stiffened, stood taller, and smoothed down her ruffled dress against the strap holding her side piece. Her posture spoke volumes. I didn’t stop her when she marched toward the fray and a guaranteed end of conflict.
“Two weeks wasted for what?”
Beside me Sasha shrugged.
I checked the display on my comblaster. Then I covered a gasp with a cough realizing the damn thing was still connected to MOTHER. My last mission was to infiltrate their outer base, connect to Mother Of The Home Eternal computeR, download the plans for the defense logistics, and find a slip so the assassin could end a life. And stop the destruction of our entire planet by a governing body who was stripping our every natural resource to the bone. My bone.
In exchange for my talents, the rebels (Us. The indigenous species) would have a voice on the council and a hope for continued life, sans captivity. I knew we’d be double crossed. There was no honor amongst thieves. We’d swap one invading alien presence for another on our planet. But I held it. And up until now, I’d believed Vodka had given our location just as I’d completed my analysis of the retrieved data. I hung my head in shame and let my knees buckle.
I was still connected to MOTHER and it was clear from the approaching troops, they’d followed me back.

2 thoughts on “Finish That Thought #2-5”

  1. You do have a way with punchy shorts.

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