Night time. This seems to be the spot. You’re standing at the entrance of some old warehouse in the middle of nowhere. How appropriate, you think. You light a cigarette and take a couple of steps towards the darkness of this abandoned joint. As soon as you get in, your footsteps start echoing. There’s a constant sound in the background - the noise of the nearby river stream gives you a cold chill. (1) _________________, you mumble to yourself.
Suddenly, a noise. Both brain and guts tell you that it sounded just like footsteps. Maybe you aren’t by yourself after all. You weren’t followed… no, you couldn’t have been followed. You made sure you weren’t. But still, your guts are telling you that someone’s in there with you. You face the back of the warehouse, trying to spot anything in the dark. You think about the cigarette smoke and start feeling like a lighthouse. In a second, two lights flash in front of you. You turn your back to them covering your head with your left arm, and reaching your jacket with the right.
(2) “_____________________________” you shout.
Your see your shadow stretching on the ground, as far as the warehouse exit. You grab your gun. Suddenly you hear a “click!” coming from your left and a familiar voice echoes through the warehouse.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” You recognize the tone. It’s her.
“You know something, I’ve always liked you better in the dark,” she says, “now drop the gun.“
(3) “_____________________________” you reply. You get the uncomfortable feeling that your gun won’t help you. You hesitate. And you love the tone of her voice.
“Don’t be stupid, and drop the gun!” she insists, coming a bit further. You can see her face now. You can also see her hands holding a pistol of her own.
At first, you don’t know whether to drop your piece or not. She could have been alone in there from the beginning… turning the car lights on, then stepping away from the vehicle in the dark, and finally drawing your attention. Maybe there’s a chance to – no. Not a chance! This ain’t a movie. She ain’t that dumb to come here all by her lonesome self. There has to be one or more goons watching the whole thing.
(4) “_____________________________” you reply. You finally drop your gun to the floor and take a step back. You then look at her straight in the eyes.
“That’s smart of you. Now where’s the money, honey?” she asks.
(5) “_____________________________” Your remark just adds more wood to the fire.
“Cut it, or I’ll… I’ll shoot your leg. You think I won’t do it? Try me… just try me!” She (6) _____________________________ .
(7) “________________________” - ___________ .
“Don’t count on it! You know, you always put on that indifferent look, convinced you’re pulling the strings… well you ain’t! Not this time, buster!“
(8) “_____________________________” – she’s getting nervous. Her hands tremble. And you can see in her eyes that she hates your guts. Women… forsake ‘em and bless ‘em, you think.
“Cut the small talk, will you! Tell me where the money is!“
(9) “_____________________________”
“No… I don’t think you’re crazy enough to bring it with you. I know it won’t be that easy, but I’ll do whatever it takes… where is it?“
(10) “_____________________________”
Now she’s really jumpy. She shoots the floor right in front of your feet. Either you’re very lucky, or she can actually shoot (you wisely decide that it’s better not to share this with her).
“THE MONEY, YOU BASTARD!!!“, she insists. The gun in her hands is really shaking now. A furious dame with a loaded gun. What a swell Saturday night.
(11) “_____________________________?” you ask.
Right then - and before you get a proper chance to develop the idea of trying to reach for your gun - a man’s voice comes up right behind you.
“I’m sick of this and I ain’t got all night!” you hear him say.
And what feels just like a giant paw suddenly touches your shoulder with uncanny gripping skill. The last thing you remember is turning around quickly and get a glimpse of five hairy, fat, folded fingers headed your way. In a heartbeat you spot a shiny ring on one of them, coming to greet your face… and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Your last thought is (12) _____________________________
And then… black.
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Title shot is a Googled image (edited) of actress Charlotte Rampling
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RULES & HINTS
Leave your answers on the comments section (“Leave response“)
For example, “(1) Dear Lord, where am I?!
(2) You do not talk about Fight Club!” [...] and so on.
Write according to your creativity: use humour, sarcasm, irony, etc.
Try not to write much! Use your common sense, see what fits best in that part of the story.
In some time, I’ll choose the best answers and publish the chapter with those winning punchlines!
