Wednesday, September 17, 2014

TwitterShort Challenge 4



                After spending forty-five minutes in a high intensity workout on the treadmill, I thought I would reward myself with a cup of hot tea. Naturally. Because after working out your heart to near explosion and sweating your ass off, it only made sense to drink a scalding hot beverage. I was going to show those bathroom scales who the boss was. Afterward tea always seemed to be the right way to calm myself.

                I had just placed the teapot from the cupboard on the counter when I heard a noise from the front room. My roommate was visiting family in Peoria, and I knew she wasn’t supposed to be home for another day. My jacked up heart rate only went higher. I couldn’t remember if I had locked the front door or not. And someone was definitely in my brownstone.

                I looked all over my kitchen for some kind of weapon. A travel coffee cup wouldn’t amount to much. Neither would the staple gun I’d brought from school since it was empty. The only thing left to grab was the cast iron pan.

                I grabbed the heavy skillet and headed toward the living room, hoping the intruder was still in the hallway. My first floor made a circle with the front door hallway, dining room, kitchen, and living room. I didn’t dare peek from the dining room to see if he was there.

                I crept as quietly as I could. My naked feet were soft on the Persian rug that covered the threshold between the kitchen and living room. I saw a shadow of the man thrown on the wall by the front door. I clutched my pan with both hands and drew it back over my shoulder. My knees were shaky. I was so jacked up on adrenaline and fear that I felt like I had no bones. I was certain a rubber chicken would have more ability to stand upright.

                I summoned all the courage I could and charged the man. I swung the cast iron with every bit of strength I had. With that one swing I remembered why I never made the softball team. Total whiff.

                “Jayzus Krryss, Eleanerr! Whahter y’doon?” the figure shouted as he ducked.

                There was no mistaking the accent.

                “Holy fuck, Tommy. I’m so sorry.” My face turned scarlet as my neighbor turned to look at me.

                “I goht a piece a’ yerr mail. Saw th’ door wa’zohpun.”

                “The door was open?” I asked, fear one more grabbing my heart.

                Suddenly a crash came from the kitchen.

                Someone, or something, was definitely in my brownstone.




  1. Replies
    1. This one was a blast to write. You'll have to get in with the next TwitterShort Challenge.