This blog would suffer for a lack of updates if not for Creative Copy Challenge.
My favorite word prompt site always makes me smile.
The latest challenge words are shown in bold.
What did he hope to achieve? Her family was not rich. She was nothing special. Why kidnap a preteen with so little means? Why jeopardize his freedom for an act that was so senseless?
Margo had heard him arguing on the phone. That is when she learned of his parole. The woman on the other ended screamed so loudly that Margo did not have to strain to hear. She used words that would have Margo grounded for a week. Right now, grounding sounded divine. At least she would be home.
Margo struggled against the restraints, but the bindings remained secure. A lone tear trickled down her face as she fought against the fear threatening to overwhelm her. Would she ever get free?
Her heart beat so fast, Margo worried he would surely hear it. She had to get away before he hung up the phone. The consequences of being caught were less frightening than giving up. If she could work her bound hands around her legs, she might have a chance.
Never had she been so grateful to her gymnastics coach for his unrelenting discipline. With muscles screaming over the sound of labored breathing, Margo rocked from side to side, wishing for longer arms. The residual strain of repetitive routines on the uneven bars paled in comparison to what she felt now.
Suddenly, like a whip’s backlash, her bound wrists snapped over the rise of her feet. Margo worked furiously on the plastic ties encircling her feet. Her frightened soul smothered the disappointment of not being able to shout out loud upon their release. But, she could not silence her horrified gasp when she heard him slam the phone down in a fit of rage.
Uncaring about the sheer asininity, Margo launched her body through the bedroom window. Shattered glass fell like falling snow as her body bounced down a winding path of weeds and rocks, coming to rest in a ravine far below her prison’s walls. A terrified mind slapped her awake to the sound of her enraged predator.
“Run,” it screamed, “for God’s sake, run.”
If I were to filch a friend’s fine phrase, would finite flak fall free?
Would my friend furiously flake out or find forgiveness?
Can my fabricated forgery flame the finished phrase toward fame
And flee from the fast flick of forgotten faith and the flinch from a fading form?
Shall I forever fling friendship aside for the flow of a fraudulent frame?
Will fortune be a fortuitous fluke found in a friend’s fine phrase?