What Happens Next? Can You Write a Mini-Story About This? [Creative Writing Exercise]

    creative writing exercise

    It’s time for a creative writing exercise! Whether you write fiction or non-fiction, you need to boost your creativity.

    Take a look at the image above.

    What happened next?

    Can you come up with a mini-drama of not more than 350 words?

    Please share your creation in the comments section of this article.

     Now for the ground rules:

    • Your story must be 350 words or less.
    • WTD provides an encouraging and safe environment for writers to grow and learn from each other. We’d love you to comment on other people’s submissions in a friendly and supportive manner.

    Boost your imagination with this creative writing exercise

    Can you weave a compelling story around this image in 350 words or less?

    I can’t wait to read what you come up with, so please copy your story into the comments section of this post.

    About the author

      Mary Jaksch

      Mary Jaksch is best known for her exceptional training for writers at WritetoDone.com and for her cutting-edge book, Youthful Aging Secrets. In her “spare” time, Mary is also the brains behind GoodlifeZEN.com, a Zen Master, a mother, and a 5th Degree Black Belt.

    • Miranda says:

      Despite the recent storm, and the lingering damp chill in the air, Elizabeth drove her silver convertible with the top down, and the heater blasting. The best of both worlds in her opinion.
      As she lazily followed the road around a curve, she saw a figure at the side of the road. There was nothing to distinguish him, and at first glance he looked like a young college student from the neighboring town looking for a ride. But she would know that self assured stride anywhere. He knew she was there, his gray hoodie was dry indicating that he hadn’t been waiting for her long. It used to fill her with dread when he did things like this, but after so many decades, she was used to it. Resignedly, she slowed and stopped just in front of him. She kept her eyes on the road, avoiding his smug smile of greeting as she heard her new passenger settle in.
      “I really should have known I would see you today.” She said in way of greeting as she pulled back onto the highway, already mourning the loss of the peaceful, solitary drive she had anticipated.
      “I’ve missed you too.” He replied and she could hear the smile in his voice. “I like the ride. This is acceptable.” He stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned his weight back into the seat as if he were stretching the car to fit him.
      “I’m glad you approve.” she glanced over at him then, no longer able to resist the sight of his handsome face. It had been far too long. “You’re here for the counsel? Why not just shift yourself there?” She tried not to sound sulky, “I mean, for an all powerful Immortal whatever you are, there are better ways to travel.”
      “This will give us a chance to talk, we have a lot to catch up on.” He put his large warm hand on her thigh, and she knew that this was going to be a very long drive.

    • Olivia says:

      David had never meant to kill anybody.
      But it didn’t really matter what he had meant to do, did it? He had still killed Amy. He had not wanted to, but he had still did it.
      David looked up as a car honked, startling him out of his thoughts. There, parked on the side of a road, was a red Sedan. A man with baseball hat had stopped, having seen David’s outstretched hand.
      “Why’s a guy like you hitchhiking?” The man asked.
      David adjusted the straps of his backpack before answering. “L-lost my car.” He dug his fingernails in the palms of his hands.
      “You lost your car.”
      David shook his head. “I mean, no, I – I had a friend who ditched me, and I need to get home.”
      The man laughed. “So you didn’t lose your car?”
      David shook his head again, sure that the man would somehow guess that only an hour ago, David had been crouched over a corpse with a knife in his hand.
      But the man didn’t question him further. “Gonna ride shotgun?”
      David nodded, walking to the other end of the car. He opened the door and stepped inside, settling himself on the seat. As soon as he got in, the man started the car and drove.
      “Where you heading?”
      “Redville,” David responded, “I guess.”
      “You guess?”
      David shrugged, staring at the ground.
      “The name’s Paul. I’m heading for this farm out North, bit further than your Redville.” David didn’t respond, but the man continued anyway. “I’m heading there ‘cuz my fiancé’s parents live there, but the thing is -”
      Paul’s eyes widened. Before he could even scream, he slumped over on the wheel, the Sedan crashing into a tree at the side of the road. Blood splattered onto the window.
      In an nonchalant gesture, David pulled his knife out of Paul’s chest and cleaned it with the bottom of his shirt.
      Before he exited the car, he said one last thing.
      “I didn’t mean to.”

      Word Count: 331

    • Grace says:

      It was his fault he ended up on this remote stretch of road with nothing but his small pack; he had been screwed over and he had no one but himself to blame. He had waited for hours on the small side highway and had no luck. Around 10 that night a car full of slightly drunk teens had offered to get him to the next city and because of the rain, he accepted the ride. Now here he was, his passport, notebook, map, and small keepsakes his only companions as arm tired from holding his thumb out for non-existent cars and his damp sweatshirt rubbed against his neck.

      The fall day was gearing up to be warm, he was thankful for that at least. When was dumped out of the car around midnight the rain had stopped and he had taken a nap under some thick foliage where the ground was still dry. He pushed his hood back he ran his hands through the stubble of recently chopped hair. He closed his eyes and enjoyed a moment of the sunrise as it soaked into his damp bones. His stomach rumbled with hunger; he walked up the road, keeping the sun to his right.

      Time passed, cars passed, but he just kept walking until he reached the border. He pulled his passport out of his pack and opened it to the picture page, shook his head and tucked it into his back pocket. Cars approach the small portal through a border fence that disappeared into the woods in both directions. He pulled his hood up again disappeared into the trees.

      The sun was setting when he saw the fence that bisected a swath of identical looking woods. He pondered the situation a moment then set his foot and started to climb, hoisting himself over the chain link. No one but a curious fox saw him disappear into the woods on the other side.

      In a patch of crabgrass by the US-Canadian border a passport with a picture of a sheepish-looking 16-year-old Alexandra Abrams was left unneeded.

    • Christian King says:

      I stopped my car along a lonely road, heading no where in particular. The door creaked open as I stepped out into the winters night.The snow fell around me, blanketing the frozen concrete. The obscurity of the dense coppice surrounding me was eerily quiet and dark. My headlights illuminated the empty road and lit up the feathery snow crystals as they glided to the ground. But, as beautiful as this dark winter wonderland was, a midnight stroll along a deserted road wasn’t my intention. I slowly walked to the front of my car ,kicking up soft down like snow around my feet. Truth was ,I didn’t want to make it to the front of my idling car. I was afraid of what I might find, afraid that what I stopped for was actually real. My heart hammered relentlessly causing me to breath deep into my lungs to relax the anxiety. As I reached my destination I looked down and my breath caught in my throat. Instantly my arms were covered in goosebumps and chills coursed my body. I turned around and marched back to my door cold shivers following me as I made my escape. In the car I put the gear shift to indicate reverse and backed up ten feet then stopped again. Gathering my nerve I waited a minute or two put the car in park and entered the night once more. I made my way back to investigate what I had saw. Footprints smaller than my own were left in the snow next to where my car was. No longer feeling alone I followed the prints with my eyes. They led away from me but ended up ahead turned around toes facing the car with no one in them. I forced my eyes closed for a few moments then opened them again. A woman stood before me golden hair glowing in the lights. I walked to her , no words were spoken. She turned towards me leaned in and kissed me. Tears were on my face for here was the woman I had loved and lost years ago.

    • Theresa says:

      September weather, the leaves had turned russet brown in a flash and the weather colder.
      James had to get Leeds today and the $20 in his pockets was not it.
      Standing on the way, tapping his foot impatiently, trying to thumb a lift, the sign of the itinerant traveller. His surveyed the landscape. Gosh, the road was bare, he looked down the road, praying for a ride. He had been standing there for the last twenty minutes, hoping to get the early morning risers. Company in exchange for heat was a win-win for the driver and the wannabe passengers today, he surmised.
      The whistling trees provided some shade from the wind and noise to keep him company, but his hand was freezing. His hoodie and the bag on his back provided some warmth, but was not ideal for this weather. His things were mostly at Jennie’s. James shivered in his trainers. He recalled the phone call, he received two hours earlier from his brother.
      ‘Dad is really ill, you need to come home,’ said Jacob.
      ‘Look, it is not ideal right now,’ he replied.
      ‘His lungs are giving up, the Doctor said he does not have much time,’ said Jacob.
      ‘Ok, but last time, i spoke to him, he was doing very well,’ he frowned.
      ‘Well, that was a year ago,’ he bellowed.’I don’t want to go into that right now. Get yourself home today.’
      Next thing James knew he was listening to the dialling tone. He stared at his phone and hung his head in resignation. Staring at the disarray in front of him, he had planned to move in with Jennie this weekend.
      He sent a short text to Jennie, he stuffed his backpack with an extra pair of Jeans and a T-shirt, he made hi
      He and his Dad had some issues and he was not quite ready to revisit them but he had to go. Jacob rarely made a fuss and he might not get another chance.
      Twenty dollars in his pocket, no chance of a bus home. If only someone would swing by!

    • meridave says:

      It was getting cold because the sun is setting. I do not know where exactly I am going and why I left. when I stumbled on to this road I was relieved because I finally felt a sense of direction. I have on this main road for one hour and there seems to be no cars or anything that drives or crawls on this quiet road. I am trying to get out of the dark road as fast I can but it seems to take forever to reach the end of the tall towering trees . I was getting closer to the end of the dark road when I heard some thing rustled in the woods. some breaks in the wood.
      the sound was getting closer and I had to stop put on my hood on. I walked much faster but it seems to stop at first when I stop to put my hood on. all of a sudden I heard the most wonderful sound. I was happy for the first time I left the party my dad didn’t want me to attend.

      it the sound of dark fan coming my way.

      I turned around because I do not want any one to see the two inches cut on my face. I had to turn and stick out my thum out. I was surprised when the fan stopped.

      a few feet passed me an honking their horn.

      taking that as a que that I am hitching a ride in their black fan. I was a little scared bat I had to because I was afraid that guy will catch me anytime soon, because I left him bleeding unconscious behind the house.

      I do not want to remember what I did. I only feel sorry for J.

      I walked up to the driver and said ” hey where you heading?”

      and that when I realize me mistake.

    • I tried to yank my hitchhiked thumb back into my hoodie.

      Lucky for me, my worst nightmare was already pulling over. “Get in boy, I won’t bite… less ya want me to.” he yelled out from the driver side window of his 80’s model Allegro Bus.
      My immediate thought was “I better figure this out quick, before Walter White starts cooking me for an early bird dinner.” Which happened to be my favorite time to hunt.

      In the middle of his hillbilly rant about Trump becoming President, I cut him off, “Shut up.” I started in a calm tone, loud enough for him to hear. “Excuse me?” he snapped back. “No one gives a single fuck about what you say. You’re worth…” and plunging my ice-pick deep into his throat I interrupted my own sentence, to kill. The fact that we had come to a red light being the deciding factor. I checked his review, completely clear. He struggled but I could smell blood. My adrenaline kept me keen enough to shove my hitchhikers thumb into his eye. He screaming spat deep crimson blood, as I now sitting on his chest began the final push. Who would slaughter a poor innocent passer-by who tried to give a ride to a seemingly helpless man? Unfortunately for him, the good-samaritan met a bad, seemingly helpless man.

      I am helpless. I cannot live unless I kill. I hate myself, but then again, I don’t even know myself anymore. The bloodsport has changed my person. I know that, because early on, the beginning of the kill was the hard part. The feeling of flesh when you’ve pierced it with something sharp made me feel sick. Now I love that sensation. The start is art, but the final death squirms, I loathe the idea of all those I’ve seen have them. Most of all, I hate hearing the last breath. The deep sigh, accompanied by the exhaled soul, that sound torments me. For I know, my soul left me a long time ago with that same last breath sound. What I didn’t know was why?

    • Jason says:

      Hi there, I log on to your blog like every week.
      Your story-telling style is awesome, keep up the
      good work!

    • Lilly says:

      He walked alone along the roads, only ever sticking his thumb out to the occasional passing car.

      So far, no one wanted him in their vehicle. He didn’t blame them, the road was notorious for its ghost stories.

      A favorite urban legend of the next town over was of the dead hitch-hiker that begged passage along the lonely mountain road. Those that denied it to him were allowed to live, whereas those that let him into their car would soon suffer a horrible car crash.

      He sighed and bowed his head as a car drove past him. His long, black hair fell into his face as he stuck his thumb out.

      The car slowed to a stop. The window opened. A teenage girl around his age stuck her head out.

      “Where you going?” she asked.

      “Next town over?” He sounded too goddamn hopeful. It made him want to slap himself.

      She smiled and jerked her head at him. “Get in.”

      He grinned at her and did as she said.

      She liked to talk, which became abundantly clear once he entered the car. It was two hours to the next town over, and she seemed intent on talking the whole way there.

      He didn’t mind. It made him smile.

      “So how long were you waiting back there?” she asked.

      “80 years,” he answered easily.

      She froze. Pressed down on the breaks.

      He had said the wrong thing. Again.

      “You–you’re that…”

      “Ghost?” he offered. She nodded. He shrugged. “I just need to get to town. I can’t walk there.”

      “Am I going to die?”

      “Why would you?”

      265 word count, unedited

    • Oliver says:

      “350 words or less”
      “350 words or fewer”

    • mala beads says:

      hi there, i love this article. thank you so much.

    • Rachel P says:

      I stand against the cold November wind determined to break the curse of destiny . The icy abyss of passed time masquerades as a blanket of fall leaves cloaking the life I once knew. The past is frozen and untouched, but there are whispers beneath the frost. Beyond the swell of color and tall trees hovering over this time bending road, my memories exist on in a loop though I am missing from every frame. There is a woman I left behind with the ghost of a baby whose cries freeze her and the entire town in despair. I never admitted what happened to the child that day in the wheat fields. Instead, I escaped into a future which had long forgotten the day baby Rain’s body was found, and the missing field hand with bullets for eyes whom everyone was sure killed her. Today, I’m hitchhiking waiting for the time of day when the sun glimmers gold and first begins to set. I see a baby doe and mother across the street nearly camouflaged by the trees. As I cross, intrigued by the vision, the sun washes gold. Before I can react I hear horses galloping and whinnying, then feel the blunt pain of being trampled under hooves. I succumb. My backpack is stuck under the wheels of the stagecoach. I pass out with a cold sinking feeling and darkness encroaching on the backs of my eyelids. The last thing I remember is chilled hands with callouses like ice crystals caressing the side of my face, and a baritone voice bellowing on the wind “woe, woe!” When I open my eyes I see a grey woman with eyes like caramel candies and face softly wrinkled standing over me each crease is painted on with the strokes of a fine brush, as if time had been kind and gentle with her. “Going out to the fields today?” she asks with a smile in her voice more fitting for a wheat harvester than a child murderer. It’s then I realize that time’s coach hadn’t brought me to face justice, but given me another chance to change the inevitable.

      • Christian king says:

        This is really good! I feel as though 350 words wasn’t enough .

    • Denyse Shannon says:

      I don’t normally pick up boys on the side of the road. I drove along the deserted stretch of highway, thinking only that I was hungry, I didn’t know what for. When I came upon Adam, hitchhiking across the state, he was on his way to visit his sister. He looked and smelled like he’d slept in the woods, but I let him sit in the passenger seat and asked my beagle, Damian, to move into the back. Poor dog protested as he’s had that seat since my husband Cecil died – rest his soul.

      Once buckled into the seatbelt; his backpack stowed beneath the seat, Adam started to talk. He talked about his family, his life since college, his wants, and desires. He spoke to me as though he knew me – of course, he couldn’t. His gangly arms and legs, shifting and fidgeting while he talked; he looked puzzled when I stopped the car.

      For nearly an hour Adam hadn’t stopped talking about himself. He wanted me to know him, but I needed him to know me; though it wouldn’t matter long. I told him I needed to take Damian for a walk; and would he mind going along? He agreed, stepping out from the passenger seat. Damian followed and bounded into the woods, knowing I’d follow. The sound of the leaves beneath my feet echoed in my ears. About 100 yards from the car Damian hunkered behind a tree to wait.

      I turned toward Adam, whose eyes grew wide when he saw the flash. He turned to run, but not fast enough. He gasped just once and then fell to the ground. A little trickle of blood oozed from his lips. His head fell just left of the spot where I dropped Cecil the same way.

    • Taide Rodríguez Gabarrón says:

      Muy interesante, haré los ejercicios. Grracias por recordarme.Taide

    • Terry Fisher says:

      It had been five and half years since he’d been down this road. Six more miles of walking and he’d be crossing the front gate and walking up the porch. Scott wondered if Mom still had that delipidated porch swing or if Dad finally convinced her into replacing it with a couple Adirondack chairs.
      The last time he sat in that swing, Emma Cook sat on his lap and the two fell in love under a blanket of stars and the serenade of crickets and pond frogs. After she broke his heart, he could never sit in that swing again, could barely drive his dad’s truck, and never went back to the pier–anywhere her memory was vivid and torrid was off limits.
      Her memory was everywhere in this town, like a fog that envelopes every tree, and there was no escape in this forest. Scott needed to leave, do something for himself, leave the heartache behind–clear the fog.
      Boot camp was brutal, but tolerable and he accomplished what he set out to do. Scott the Airman was grown and mature. He’d been around the world, trained with leaders in the Air Force, and saw the beauty of the world. He was ready to come home.
      Five more miles.
      Finally, a car rounded the corner. He couldn’t wait to sit on that front porch swing–or those Adirondack chairs. The car pulled up and the familiar face behind the wheel peered back at him in disbelief. The fog.

      Scott climbed in the passenger side, and stared at Emma Cook. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and they could tell how much each other had grown.
      Scott buckled, “You home for Thanksgiving, too?”
      “No,” Emma said. Her hands squeezed the wheel, “Just been driving this damn road every holiday waiting to see you.”
      Scott just smiled. It had been five and half years since he’d been down this road.

    • Saurav Mishra says:

      I will write a horror story.

    • New Year says:

      What a mind-blowing story. Keep it up man 🙂

    • The old blue Beetle coasted to a stop. The driver leaned out and said, “Heading for Doon. If that’s where you’re going, get in.”

      Dave was taken aback by the interior. Spick and span. There was another surprise when the driver set off. The trademark tinny chirpiness of the engine was sweet and strong. The car lunged like it had been launched off a carrier.

      “You can’t be running away from home,” said the driver. “There are no homes where I picked you up.”

      “I was trekking with friends and my dad somehow reached me on my cell phone. My mum collapsed this morning and is in Isabel Hospital.”

      “Sorry to hear that. Tell you what, I’ll drop you off at the hospital. It’s just a minor diversion.”

      “That is very kind, thank you.”

      Dave had the distinct feeling the car was flying. They seemed to get to the Hospital in no time. Dave said thanks, tumbled out and ran to the entrance. He looked back to wave, and the car was not there. He had not heard it go, and the approach road was long enough that the car could not have reached the exit by the time he turned to wave, yet it was gone. Odd, he thought.

      His mother died that night, content her only child had made it in time.

      Three weeks later, Dave and his were cleaning her cupboard out when he came across some albums he had never seen before. He went through them, throat tightening at some snaps, when he saw the driver. The same driver, same craggy face with a big grin, same long dark hair tied back, same thick mustache and stubble. Even looked like the same plaid shirt.

      Leaning on that same blue Beetle.

      “Dad, who’s this?”

      His father took the old snap. “Bertie,” he said. “Your mum’s brother. Her all time favorite. You know they were orphans, but he was always there for her, made sure she got everything she wanted.”

      “Where is he now?”

      “He died about a year before you were born.”

      • Judi Ring says:

        Good suspense. The foreshadowing just before the exposure was well-done. Couple of typos to clean up and I’d like to see you expand it into a longer story so I read what you do with it.

    • Charlotte Conley says:

      Sticking to 350 words was HARD!! I love writing short stories, but this felt like I was gutting my prose. It took way too long, but it’s done and submitted. 🙂

    • Charlotte Conley says:

      Charlotte Conley

      Charlotte Conley

      I had one of Mom’s old CDs playing when I saw him. The kid looked exhausted and far too young to be walking this deserted mountain highway all alone, especially after nightfall. I know the dangers of picking up strangers, but something about this kid made me pull over anyway.

      “How far are you going?”
      “Are you heading out towards Truckee?
      “No, but I can take you as far as Spaulding.”
      “That’ll work. I’m Gabriel,” he said, extending his hand through the window, “But you can call me Gabe.”.

      I reached over and took it with a grin, “Hi Gabe, I’m Leni. Now throw your stuff in the backseat and lets get going!”

      We rode in silence for a while, then I asked, “You’ve got a long way to go before Truckee, and these mountain roads are dangerous. Why are you out here all alone?”
      “I’m just trying to get home.”
      “I understand, but there are lots of ways besides walking…”
      “No,” he cut me off. “I had to come tonight, and this was the only way.”
      “Okay, suit yourself,” I replied, stung a little by his rudeness.

      As the miles ticked away the rolling countryside of the Sierra foothills was replaced by towering evergreens that closed in over the highway, blocking our view of the stars. Thick tendrils of fog rose up from the river, gathering in hollows and blanketing the roadway in white mist.

      Out of nowhere a huge elk leaped out and ran directly in front the car. I swerved, but lost control. I remember turning over and over. I must have blacked out, because I woke up dangling upside down, choking on gas fumes.

      The whole thing could go up in flames!

      I tore at the seatbelt but it wouldn’t budge. I tried squirming out of the harness, but my foot was trapped in crumpled metal. “Oh God,” I screamed, “HELP ME!”

      That’s when the door was torn off it’s hinges and Gabriel reached down to pull me from the wreckage. When the gas tank exploded, he gave me shelter beneath the shadow of his wings.

    • Sharon Enck says:

      It is a weekend of firsts. The first time I’ve ever been fired, the first time I’ve ever walked out on someone I love and now, a not-as-impressive first, hitchiking.

      Not something you would expect me to do. Accountants are safe, dependable people that you can trust me with your life, your money and your dreams. Embezzle money? No. Walk out on their families? No.

      Armed with just the few things I could gather before she came home, I stuffed it all in a backpack and here I am on some backwoods road heading to nowhere.

      It feels great.

      I feel the crunch of gravel beneath my feet, the pounding heartbeat in my ears, wind tickling my face and the dull ache of muscles too used to sitting at desk. They don’t know where I am.

      The clients whose money I mishandled, my wife whose heart will inevitably break when she realizes I am gone and the boss who would have fired me and turned in me to the cops.

      It will be dark soon and I didn’t bring a flashlight. It’s odd what I did bring, my dog eared copy of Jack London’s Call of the Wild, a notebook, an old photograph of me as a kid, and a half eaten bag of chips.

      I am not going to win any survivalist contest this way.

      My shoes are old and my hoodie is thin. It gets cold out here in the woods and I didn’t even grab a proper coat. I am pretty sure my wallet is still on the counter.

      None of that matters. There are a hundred things I can do for money. Give a farmer tax advice and sell fruit on the side of the road. Make crafts out of the wood I find here. The possibilities are endless.

      I hear a car and stick out my left thumb. The thrill is almost unbearable. It’s a silver mini-van. One like I used to have. It’s slowing down!

      The door opens and I hear a woman’s weary voice “Marvin get in, you can’t keep doing this.”

    • Halle says:

      I immediately thought of a chainsaw. Let’s see what else I come up with. Hopefully an HEA.

    • “My entire life has been lies,” thought JJ as his boots tapped out a rapid tattoo. “It’s a sham, a false reality that everyone has purchased a slice of. There is no path to success. It’s just consumption, power mongering, and environmental destruction.”

      JJ had left a monument in the center of his neatly made bed. His diploma from Wharton University, crumbled into a ball, and his wallet. Inside it was $250 in cash, his credit cards, and his driver’s license. JJ’s vehicle registration and passport completed the assembly. On top of everything, he’d left a cryptic note, Mom, you won’t be able to find me where I am going.

      At the time that JJ had written it, he’d been seething with anger, wanting to lash out. Even in that highly charged state, he realized that it sounded like a suicide note. He didn’t want anyone to assume that he’d taken the easy way out. JJ added, When I find what I am looking for, I’ll be in touch.

      His backpack was light. It contained a Swiss Army knife, a flashlight, a set of magnets his father had given him on his sixth birthday and the tiny ceramic jar (containing his baby teeth) that his mother had saved.

      On the deserted road, a car’s approach could be heard from a long way off. Confidently, JJ made a fist with his thumb pointing up, holding it out.

      A wind kicked up in all directions. The air buzzed and crackled. But JJ didn’t look around, he kept striding. A bright light appeared in front of him.

      That made him stop. A large bubble, about fifteen feet in diameter, emerged. It undulated as if it were alive, growing increasingly fatter, straining at its surface.

      With a pop, it burst. In its place, stood JJ’s dream car.

      It made no sound as it crept forward, stopping at his side. The driver’s side door opened. When JJ leaned down to peer inside, he only saw darkness. For a moment, he thought about his note, maybe it was a suicide note…maybe not.

      JJ got in.

    • “Marvin hated driving this stretch of highway, but until they finish the inner state he had no choice , he put on his favorite CD and filled his cab with praise music , the rain was coming down harder so he flipped on his whipper’s ,and switched on his high beams . What is that a person or an animal darting across the road? Either way , he slid to a stop , he had his rifle , right next to his door , just in case. The person ran , and got in the open door . Thank, s sir, I’ve been out there for hours. The voice was that of a girl , she took off her hood and turned my way, I gasped , she was the spitting image of my Katie , who had died 2 yrs. ago . How’s it going pop she said exactly what my Katie used to say. tears began down my cheeks . I had to pull over I couldn’t see , she jumped out , see you around I love you pop , then she was gone . I sat there for awhile suddenly a calm came over me , I thanked God and moved on.

    • Gylliayn says:

      I was in Seattle driving my car down this winding road in the forest going for a mini road trip.
      Suddenly out of no where I see this young teenage Chinese boy hitch hiking with a knapsack.

      I pulled over and asked him , “Are you OK?
      He immediately replied ,” Look Miss!, Can you give me a ride or what?”
      He look frustrated and did not want to answer or deal with my questions.
      He said , “I need to back to Pike Place Market, so just get me to any bus station or whatever, can you take me?”
      I said the hell with it, “Get in!”
      We drove off.
      We did not say anything for about a half a mile.
      I put in a mixed cd I bought from the flea market
      asking him if he knew who Bobby Brown was?
      He turned to me with a look on his face to stop asking him stupid questions.
      So, I got right to the point-
      I asked him,” What’s your story?”
      I wanted him to trust me after all he is sitting in my car.

      “My name is Oliver from Taiwan.I am the oldest boy which has a lot of responsibilities.
      I came to Seattle on my own, my parents wanted me to start my life, the family business and get married.
      I met a girl, a white girl. They do not accept.
      They are visiting this weekend. Before they arrived, my girlfriend and I went to Olympia for a few days since I would not be able to see her.
      I came to see my family and we started arguing over my white girlfriend. I took a bus back up here to see her. My parents since turned off my credit cards.
      They do not understand love, only responsibility. I love my girlfriend and with that comes responsibility. To have responsibility without love is emotional suicide.
      And Yes, I do know who Bobby Brown is.
      We gave each other a high five.
      I turned up the music and we cruised through the mountains on our way back to Pike Place Market!

    • Benjamin Paratore says:

      I was driving down some backwoods country road, a road I had no business being on. If the authorities caught me I’d lose my license and my truck. Winding around curves and down narrow roadways I spot a figure up ahead, standing by the side of the road. As I get closer I notice it’s a young man in a hoody with a knapsack hanging off his back. His hand outstretched, the thumb pointing in the direction I’m heading. I’m debating if I should stop and pick him up. I’ve gotten into trouble in the past when picking up others. Most of the time these aren’t normal, sane people begging for a lift. I get a sudden sense I need to stop for this one and my truck rolls a couple feet past him to a hiss of air brakes. He runs up to the passenger side door, opens it and begins to climb in. Not so fast sunshine, I say to him, stopping him midway into the cab. His shoulders drop as fast as his happiness that someone was stopping for him. Please he pleads, I need a lift as far as you’ll take me. I’m too busy scanning him over to respond. My father just passed and I need to get home for my mom. She’s all alone. I’ve finished my inspection as the thought crosses my mind I’ve heard this story before. He stands on my running board, the knapsack weighing him down. The look in his eyes conveys a sincerity I’ve never experienced before. Where you headed I ask. Hummelstown PA he replies. Hmm, never heard of it but get in, I’ll take you home to your mom.

    • June says:

      Oh, right. Yes, that’s me in the photo with my left arm extended, my thumb out. Hitchhiking after my car broke down.

      Name’s Sunny Knight.

      I know. All kinds of jokes, especially during middle school, about my name. Didn’t bother me. Stopped my sophomore year of high school when I became the star quarterback.

      Back to the subject at hand. (Yes, kind of a joke…) The photo. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to the almost nonexistent volume of traffic on this lonely road.

      Who would have guessed that a serial killer would be the one who would come along?

      One minute I’m hitchhiking and the next I’m flying through the air. I hit something, but I don’t remember what. Probably one of those trees in the photo. Maybe I left a blood splatter when I hit.

      Maybe someone will notice. Figure out what happened.

      So now I’m lying here in this dark, dank box-like room. From the smells, I’d say I’m underground.

      I can’t move. Not my legs. Not my arms. Not even a finger.

      Guess my quarterbacking days are over.

      Oh? How do I know this guy’s a serial killer? That’s just a guess, but I was able to open one eye after he loaded me into the back of his truck. What do I see? Two blondes. Bloody. Dead. Their eyes missing.

      All the marks of a serial killer, I’d say. Guess I’m a bonus.

      He grabbed my hair, jerking my head, showing me this photo. And yelling, but I couldn’t make out his words.

      I could bleed to death in here. I don’t feel pain, but I’m guessing I have massive internal injuries. In fact, I don’t remember taking a breath in a minute or so.

      Everything fades in my mind. That photo…

    • Headlights approaching from the rear and the sound of a car slowing, told Ike he might have a ride.
      “Where are you headed?”, asked the driver.
      “I don’t know.” replied Ike.
      The driver, a clean-cut young man in his late twenties, responded with “I’m headed to Kansas City.”
      “That’s OK”
      “Been walking long?”
      “Since last night.”
      “Running away?”
      “From what?”
      “Whoa! That’s a lot of running”, laughed the driver.
      “Let’s start smaller. My name is Bill, by the way. What’s yours?”
      “Pleased to meet you, Ike. Now tell me what is chasing you.”
      “My hometown makes me crazy,” began Ike.
      “Everyone just wants to sit there. You know – finish high school, get married, make babies, then die.”
      “You don’t want that?”
      “No. My dad wants me to work the farm or get a job in the factory, and start paying rent.”
      “What’s wrong with that?”
      “It’s not for me. I want to go places, … see things, … meet people, … make something bigger out of myself.”
      “Well, you have to feed yourself. How are you going to do that?”
      By now the rising sun was shining brightly into the windshield, making the skyline of Kansas City a close-up silhouette in front of them.
      “Ever thought about joining the Army?”, asked Bill.
      “No, why would I do that?”
      “They give you food, clothing, training, and a job. And you get to see a whole lot of the world.”
      For the next ten miles, Bill talked about the Army. Ike listened, growing more interested with every minute.
      “How do I get in the Army?”, asked Ike.
      “See an Army recruiter.” said Bill as he parked his car at the curb on a street in downtown Kansas City.
      “Where do I find one?”
      “You already did,” smiled Bill. “This is my office. C’mon in.”
      “Ike is your nickname, right? What is your full name?”
      “Eisenhower. Dwight Eisenhower”
      “Do you think I can make something of myself in the Army?”
      “I’m sure of it,” replied Bill.

      Word Count: 337

    • Fillipo says:

      Well thanks for posting such an outstanding creative idea!

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