A couple months back a new member showed up at the Puyallup Writer's Co-op and invited us to a local writer's event. Part of the event was a flash fiction contest, which I entered. I didn't end up winning (my writing buddy Joe did though!), but I'm pleased with my story anyways. I'll probably spend some more time with these characters and the world I've hinted at in the story.
Anyways, here are the rules I had to follow:
Anyways, here are the rules I had to follow:
- Your character's names are Emma and George
- They can know each other or not
- Their age: your choice
- Setting: any library
- They find themselves accidentally locked in the library at closing time.
- An ensuing storm knocks out electricity to building--the only light comes from outside streetlights
- George's cell phone is dead; Emma only has one bar left on hers
- They end up spending the night at the library
- What happens?
- Write their story; not to exceed 750 words
Besieged
“They’ll come through the windows any minute now,” George said.
“So you say,” Emma replied.
“Is this really necessary? If you’d untie me I could help.”
“If you hadn’t fallen asleep in the library I wouldn’t have had to tie you up.”
“I’ve nodded off in a fair few libraries between here and Boise City, and I can’t remember ever having been tied up for it.”
“This is a Carnegie library. Only just built. We have a higher standard.”
“I know it’s a Carnegie library, that’s why I chose it. Nice thick stone walls and the only door a good eight feet above street level. Very defensible.”
“Not many people visit the library for its ability to withstand a siege. You make me suspect you all the more, Mr...”
“DuBois. George Washington DuBois.”
“George Washington? After the failed revolutionary general? Your parents must have had some sense of humor.”
“They had none, in point of fact. What are you doing?”
“Trying the lights. They don’t seem to be working.”
“Electric? Fancy. I had no idea Lake City, Iowa was so up to date.”
“Just the library and City Hall. And the streetlights in the square, which seem to be still working…”
“So they’ve cut the power. Figures. They prefer the dark. Least a dozen of them last night. Got my horse. Nearly got me. Be more of ‘em tonight.”
“Them. Them. Who is ‘them’, Mr. DuBois? You’ve not been very specific.”
“I don’t rightly know who they are. Agents, most likely.”
“Agents? Which government is after you?”
“Don’t know that either. They ain’t exactly the talkative type. Probably not British, though.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. DuBois? Are you a citizen of British New England? Your accent surely doesn’t give you away.”
“I’m no Limey, but the guy who gave me that little box was. Asked me to carry some papers to New Amsterdam for him. That was right before the ghosts got him and I ran to Boise City on my own two feet. Rode the rails to Omaha where they finally caught up to me. Stole a horse and rode it hard until last night. All of which I told you already. Have you thought your way to untyin’ me yet?”
“You do tell an interesting tale, Mr. DuBois, but you leave out the good parts. What does this box do? And what, precisely, do you mean by ghosts?”
“The box don’t do a thing anymore. You may have noticed the bullet hole in it, leaking purple blood. Once upon a time it was a kind of long-talking device. A live telegraph if you will. That British guy what gave me the papers said I could use it to call his employers for help. It don’t work so well anymore.”
“Yes, well, getting shot will do that.”
“Speaking of getting shot, what was that you shot me with? It was plenty painful at the time, but I notice a distinct lack of holes in my person. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“It’s a Tesla gun.”
“The Prussian?”
“You surprise me, Mr. DuBois. I hadn’t figured you for an educated man.”
“I’m full of surprises, Miss.”
“Emma.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My name is Emma. Emma Mae Chatsworth. I suppose you’d better call me Emma.”
“And why is that, Ma’am?”
“It just seems like you should be on a first name basis with someone before you engage in a gunfight.”
“You’ll loose these ropes then?”
“I suppose I’ve no choice. I don’t know what it is I’m seeing out the windows, but it ain’t natural, and it don’t seem like anything friendly would go sneaking around in a storm such as this one.”
“Ah. That’s better now. Let me get the feeling back in my fingers and I’ll be at your service, Emma.”
“I suspect you’d best hurry. Why can’t I see them? They just look like a smudge on the night air. Kind of a vibrating smear.”
“It’s the engine they wear strapped to their backs. Why I call ‘em ghosts. Whatever that thing does, it makes ‘em near impossible to see and damn hard to shoot.”
“Maybe I’d best call for help.”
“How you figure to do that?”
“You aren’t the only one with a magic box, Mr. DuBois. I haven’t used this in years. Probably no more than one good call in it. Been savin’ it for a desperate time.”
“I think now might be that time. There’s a rifle on my pack when you’re finished.”
“So you say,” Emma replied.
“Is this really necessary? If you’d untie me I could help.”
“If you hadn’t fallen asleep in the library I wouldn’t have had to tie you up.”
“I’ve nodded off in a fair few libraries between here and Boise City, and I can’t remember ever having been tied up for it.”
“This is a Carnegie library. Only just built. We have a higher standard.”
“I know it’s a Carnegie library, that’s why I chose it. Nice thick stone walls and the only door a good eight feet above street level. Very defensible.”
“Not many people visit the library for its ability to withstand a siege. You make me suspect you all the more, Mr...”
“DuBois. George Washington DuBois.”
“George Washington? After the failed revolutionary general? Your parents must have had some sense of humor.”
“They had none, in point of fact. What are you doing?”
“Trying the lights. They don’t seem to be working.”
“Electric? Fancy. I had no idea Lake City, Iowa was so up to date.”
“Just the library and City Hall. And the streetlights in the square, which seem to be still working…”
“So they’ve cut the power. Figures. They prefer the dark. Least a dozen of them last night. Got my horse. Nearly got me. Be more of ‘em tonight.”
“Them. Them. Who is ‘them’, Mr. DuBois? You’ve not been very specific.”
“I don’t rightly know who they are. Agents, most likely.”
“Agents? Which government is after you?”
“Don’t know that either. They ain’t exactly the talkative type. Probably not British, though.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. DuBois? Are you a citizen of British New England? Your accent surely doesn’t give you away.”
“I’m no Limey, but the guy who gave me that little box was. Asked me to carry some papers to New Amsterdam for him. That was right before the ghosts got him and I ran to Boise City on my own two feet. Rode the rails to Omaha where they finally caught up to me. Stole a horse and rode it hard until last night. All of which I told you already. Have you thought your way to untyin’ me yet?”
“You do tell an interesting tale, Mr. DuBois, but you leave out the good parts. What does this box do? And what, precisely, do you mean by ghosts?”
“The box don’t do a thing anymore. You may have noticed the bullet hole in it, leaking purple blood. Once upon a time it was a kind of long-talking device. A live telegraph if you will. That British guy what gave me the papers said I could use it to call his employers for help. It don’t work so well anymore.”
“Yes, well, getting shot will do that.”
“Speaking of getting shot, what was that you shot me with? It was plenty painful at the time, but I notice a distinct lack of holes in my person. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“It’s a Tesla gun.”
“The Prussian?”
“You surprise me, Mr. DuBois. I hadn’t figured you for an educated man.”
“I’m full of surprises, Miss.”
“Emma.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My name is Emma. Emma Mae Chatsworth. I suppose you’d better call me Emma.”
“And why is that, Ma’am?”
“It just seems like you should be on a first name basis with someone before you engage in a gunfight.”
“You’ll loose these ropes then?”
“I suppose I’ve no choice. I don’t know what it is I’m seeing out the windows, but it ain’t natural, and it don’t seem like anything friendly would go sneaking around in a storm such as this one.”
“Ah. That’s better now. Let me get the feeling back in my fingers and I’ll be at your service, Emma.”
“I suspect you’d best hurry. Why can’t I see them? They just look like a smudge on the night air. Kind of a vibrating smear.”
“It’s the engine they wear strapped to their backs. Why I call ‘em ghosts. Whatever that thing does, it makes ‘em near impossible to see and damn hard to shoot.”
“Maybe I’d best call for help.”
“How you figure to do that?”
“You aren’t the only one with a magic box, Mr. DuBois. I haven’t used this in years. Probably no more than one good call in it. Been savin’ it for a desperate time.”
“I think now might be that time. There’s a rifle on my pack when you’re finished.”
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