Image by Stephen Stacey
Last week, I made a promise that I would deliver a short story of at least 500 words based on a specific writing prompt. Well, I decided to free write and let the story take me where it wanted to go. There’s only one problem with that plan--I wrote myself into a corner and am not sure how to get out of it. In the meantime, the deadline snuck up on me.
But a deal is a deal (even though my blog is brand new and I don’t have many people waiting breathlessly for me to finish my story.)
Regardless…
I am posting my half finished story here and may, or may not, finish it soon. If you have any suggestions on how you think this story should go, I would love to hear them. I also welcome any form of constructive criticism that you can give me concerning this story.
So, without further adieu…
Based on this writing prompt:
“Well, if you could accuse anyone of being downright evil, it would be him.”
is my half-completed story titled:
BETRAYAL
Dear Judge Lopez:
I’m sorry that it has taken me so long to write this letter to you. I didn’t know how to write this letter, truth be told. What do you do when no matter what you do somebody ends up hurt? I guess you would call it a conflict of interest. But it’s something that I can no longer keep quiet about. So here goes.
Remember the day that you handed down your sentence on the finest man that ever lived? (Case you forgot, his name is Charles Lockhart). Well, I thought that my heart couldn’t break anymore. Until I got home and turned to my mother for comfort. Oh, she comforted be alright. Here, I thought she was as heartbroken as I was. But no. After I poured out my grief to her, the first thing that came out of her mouth was…
“Well, if you could accuse anyone of being downright evil, it would be him.”
Her words stung me. How could she say that about her own husband--my father?
“And now they’re gonna kill him.”
“Stop it, Mom. Stop it!” I sprang up from the floor and dropped his picture that I had been clutching ever since the verdict came in. Guilty. Death by lethal injection. “We can’t let them kill him.”
Mom gave me a sad, lopsided smile and leaned forward in the rocker. “We don’t have a choice, baby girl.”
“We could get him a better attorney, one better ‘n asshole Drefuss.
Hell, anyone would be better ‘n fresh out of law school, Dreyfuss. With all due respect, Judge, he couldn’t try a case if his life depended on it, let alone Dad’s.
“And no money.”
“We could raise the money. Arrange benefits, hold raffles--“
“And your daddy will die just the same.”
“What is the matter with you?”
I glared into her gray eyes, ones made all the grayer by her disposition. Everyone said that I took after Mom in the looks department, what with her bony narrow nose, deep set eyes, and cleft chin. Well…maybe I did. But damned if I’d favor her negative--no, hateful--personality.
“Do you want him to die?”
Mom dropped her eyes to her favorite floral skirt and folded her hands in her lap. I waited for her to say something, but nothing came out of her normally venomous lips. I heard the clock ticking as I stared at Mom staring at her hands.
Then I noticed the piece of paper peaking out of her folded hands.
“What’s that?”
Mom jerked her head up. She acted guilty, like she had been caught doing something very wrong.
She had.
Before she could say anything, I snatched the piece of paper out of her hands.
“Let it alone, Lori,” Mom wailed.
But I was never one to let anything alone.
I turned the scrap of lined notebook paper over in my hands. Written on the paper, in pencil, were the words Not Guilty.
And it wasn’t Mom’s handwriting.
…too be continued
Recent Comments