Monday, July 9, 2012

The Interrogation

Flash Factory Friday was late this week due to travel (a wedding and a vacation by the host and the judge respectively) so I ended up writing this at 11pm on Sunday night. I'm actually shocked at how well it came out. I was brainstorming and thinking about it during the day on Sunday, but I didn't have time to get to writing until late...and I only wrote it then because I was having a birthday party for my eldest this morning and knew that there was no way I was going to have time to write anything then...So if I wanted to enter this week...well... That said, I really liked it. It flowed fairly quickly and while I had to tweek some things it came out pretty much whole. That was nice because I didn't have time for editing. The word prompts this week were: Patriot, apple, congestion. My brain built a lot of backstory, but I didn't include most of it. I may have to revisit this world in the future! :) Oh, and I won again! :) Yay! *does a happy dance* This flash fiction stuff is rewarding! I'm looking forward to sharing my novel with the world someday as well! :)

“So, you consider yourself a patriot, I assume?” The man paced back and forth in front of me asking questions, yet expecting no response.

Perhaps that was why I answered, “Of course.”

The pacing stopped. “Of course? Some would call you a traitor.”

“I know.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

I shrugged. What was the point of arguing? The man would only hear what he expected to hear. I wasn’t going to change any opinions today. That was coming.

“Do you know how dangerous that stunt you pulled was?” The man said it as though he assumed I had no idea what that bomb could do as well as no actual desire to cause harm. Like it was some game.

I shrugged again.

“If that area had been congested with people, you could have killed—“

“Oh, please! There’s no congestion during the sleep cycle!” Perhaps I hadn’t wanted to kill anyone, but I did intend the damage.

The interrogator lunged and stopped short of my nose by mere centimeters, “Who are you working for?”

Was that supposed to work? That intimidation thing? I shrugged again.

The interrogator pursed his lips and stood. “Fine.” He walked to the door and opened it. I thought he would leave me to stew, but instead he turned back into the room. He was holding an apple. An honest to God apple! Not that reconstituted mush they serve below in the grunt cafeteria, but a shiny, beautiful apple. My mouth filled with saliva and my stomach rumbled. “You hungry?” The interrogator said casually.

I swallowed and paused, gritted my teeth and shrugged.

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