Ian D Scofield, Writer

Fantasy/Science Fiction/Thriller and Freelance

Tag: Response

We Were Friends, Then We Were Dead

You and your three closest friends decide to go camping. You arrive and set up camp nearly three miles away from where you left your car. Late that evening, as you sit around the campfire roasting marshmallows, one of your friends reveals a deep dark secret that turns what was to be a fun weekend into one of the scariest weekends of your life.

~Writer’s Digest Prompt

This is actually only the second or third time I have ever tried to write a horror thriller piece.  Most of the thriller pieces I have written in the past have been action thriller.

I hope you enjoy this writing prompt.  It is a little different than most of my work.


Riding in a car with four other people shoved together always gave me mixed feelings, now being around the campfire, I was able to be free.  Sharing stories and being with friends in the great outdoors is the best way to get to know those you care about.

Jim stood up with a marshmallow on a stick and leaned towards the fire.  For a second the circle was quiet as we all watched the marshmallow turn brown and then catch on fire.

“Dude, that’s on fire.”  Someone yelled but Jim just held the marshmallow in place.  He didn’t look up and at first didn’t say anything in response.

Then with his head tilted up and a sinister smile on his face, Jim started to speak.  “I want to tell you all a secret that I have been hiding for a while.  One that I need to get off my chest.”  He paused for a minute as his eyes made contact with each of us.  Something told me not to respond though, and I think the rest of my friends got the message too.  “You know all of those disappearances around town?  I have been practicing my ability to kill, to end life in various ways.  All to lead up to this weekend.  To a great hunt in the forest.”

Nervous laughter filled the circle.  Ghost stories at the campfire had been tradition for ages after all.  But when I saw his face I knew he was serious.  Only someone with a mind for killing could have a face like that.  I don’t know how I knew it but I knew it.  Plus, the fact that there had been actual disappearances around town, it just clicked.

“The hunt starts now.”  Jim said as he stood and moved slowly towards the car.  So casually in fact, that it didn’t fit with his statement.

I looked at the other three around the campfire and as our eyes met we knew we had only two options.  Fight or run.  While Jim’s back was turned there was only one option.  Run.

Hastily I grabbed Austin’s hand in mine and pulled her towards the tree line with me.  For our first three years in high school I had had a thing for Austin but now that we were seniors I had only just started to flirt with her.  Early bloomer, I know.

We disappeared into the forest but a loud bang from behind, I knew not everyone had made it out of the circle.  One of the other two weren’t as fast as I had been.

Together Austin and I did our best to become one with the forest.  We found a large bush that could serve as a hiding spot and were able to hide there until daylight.  When the bullet finally came, the only warning I had as I looked into Austin’s eyes and took in her grey irises, was the bang that preceded the bullet by only a second.

The blood, the loss of life in her eyes was only mine to take in for a second before everything went dark.

[WP] Ass Hole Protagonist

Write me a story with a really likeable protagonist until the very last sentence, where he becomes a huge asshole

[Link]


 

As I strode onto the bridge of the USS Joyceton I was happy to finally make it onto the bridge of a ship.  My service record was exemplary with successful missions from around the world.  I had done everything from providing aid to rescuing hostages.  The Joyceton was a wonderful ship to, a new class of destroyer that the fleet had just put into service.

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Non-Fiction Prompt Response: Childhood Discoveries

Prompt

http://www.pw.org/writing-prompts-exercises

Write a nonfiction piece of no more than 500 words. It could be anything from a single scene to a complete micro essay—either way, try to utilize the same techniques and structure that you would for a full-length piece. For inspiration, check out Brevity, an online journal dedicated to the art of flash nonfiction.

Response

As I sat in my room playing with my toys I imagined that I was fighting unknown wars and saving princesses from castles.  Footsteps fell on the stairs.  Who dare intrude on my castle for I had taken it for mine upon rescuing the princess?

My mom appeared at the top of the stairs.  The arrival of my mother instead of a monster or barbarian signified play time was over.

“Come over here Ian.”

My mother summons me to a chest sitting against the wall by my stairs.  I hoped the chest would reveal some long-lost treasure but in lieu of gold or diamonds it held a treasure of a different type.

From inside the chest my mother produced a manilla folder full of documents.  Could it be classified files from a spy agency?  It looked like it, but no.  The files inside were labeled with some hospital in Florida’s name along with Suncoast Adoption Agency’s logo.  Lines were crossed out in thick black pen and pieces were filled in with handwritten sections.

“Ian, this is all of the information we have on your birth parents.  You were adopted.  That means someone else gave birth to you and we raised you.”

What was I to think of this?  I was eight or nine years old and had no connection to my birth-parents for I did not know they existed.  The only parents I had known were in this house.  Best solution to what to think: think nothing.

For years I kept this fact in mind but would do nothing with it.  I would just identify as someone who had been adopted.  What I would remember though, is what came next.

Pointing at a specific page my mom’s face began to turn sad as she spoke.  “You had a sister before you were born.  She died after birth.”

“What was her name?”  I asked, not processing the full magnitude of what had just been said.

“Her name isn’t on here.  I don’t know.”

“Could her name have been Sarah?”  My crush and one of my best friend’s had been names Sarah.  It was a school yard crush.

“I guess it could be.”

This fact too would continue to live in me for years to come.  At times taking different roles.

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