SURPRISE!! I’ve got another writing prompt for you! 😀 Since I missed a few weeks I wanted to post again today to catch up with my usual blogging routine. All back to normal now! Phew!
This week’s writing prompt is…
It’s time to vote for my next #writingprompt! My interpretation will be on my blog next Monday 🙂
— Sarina Langer (@sarinalanger) March 14, 2017
Thank you to everyone who voted. The next poll will go up next week Monday on Twitter, so keep an eye out!
As always, if the prompt sparks an idea please feel free to use it. If you do and publish it, please link back here so I can be nosy ^-^
(m., mountain goat)
Jael’s head was heavy. His body refused to get up, his eyes watering from the slim sliver of light that had found a way inside his cabin. It seemed far too bright for his dark home, even if it was sunny outside.
“What the–” Why was he on the floor in the first place? His head felt as abused as it would have done after a night of heavy drinking, except he hadn’t touched a single drop in ten years. Alcohol was hard to come by when you lived halfway up a mountain and only rejoined society when you absolutely had to. Jael usually found a reason not to.
He struggled into a sitting position, and his hands scratched against something on the ground. There were pebbles on his hard-wood floor. He forced his eyes open despite the headache the light caused, and blinked. He wasn’t inside his cabin. He was outside. But the view–
His body still screaming in protest, Jael pulled himself up. The view was the same. He saw the same scenery every day he left his cabin to go hunting, to start a fire to roast that day’s catch, or to just admire the stars above. The night sky was one of his favourite parts of living alone up here. The silence and solitude were the others. Even in his current state he couldn’t confuse where he was.
But his cabin was gone. His whole bloody cabin had disappeared.
Jael inspected the ground where his once-proud home had stood. It was perfectly even, like nothing had ever occupied the spot.
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
Who in hell went around stealing cabins? When Jael had first left the city his wife had tried to dissuade him. There are monsters in the mountains, Jay, she had said. She had been convinced something would eat him alive and had even thrown Big Foot around a couple of times in her last, desperate attempt to get him to stay. In reality the most dangerous creature Jael had seen in his fifteen years here had been a bear, and she hadn’t cared. Jael doubted any monster would be interested in stealing his cabin, smoothing the ground to cover its tracks, and knocking him out before it made off with his house.
But something had taken his home, and it hadn’t left a trail. Panic rose in his chest. If his cabin was gone–and it evidently was–then everything inside was gone, too. His notes. His drawings. His incoherent ramblings from his worst days. They had taken everything. He couldn’t cope without them. He needed them to stay sane, to remain himself.
He slumped against a tree and slid down the trunk. Something caught the sun a few steps away, and got his attention. There was no glass up here. He had hand-crafted all his furniture from the lumber he had chopped himself. Jael moved closer, and spotted a letter addressed to him inside a plastic bag.
No one had his address. He hadn’t told anyone his exact location when he had left, and even if someone did know where he lived, stealing his cabin and leaving a letter was just absurd.
Jael tore it open. Whoever had done this, they were cowards to leave nothing but a note.
The letter was simple, and made no sense. It read:
Your hunt has begun. Start running.
He glared at the piece of paper and tore it into pieces.
“Like hell I will!”
He sat down where he stood. If they had something to say to him, they could bloody well do it in person–and return his cabin while they were at it.
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