Writing prompt: Not extreme, just dumb

This is the day where I share short stories, bits of things, or my writing from various prompts.

This one was inspired by a writing prompt in my writing group. I’ve been working on character a bit, diving deeper into character building and thinking outside the box a little bit of my writing.

Feel free to write your own and link it back over here. I’d love to read something from you!

The prompt is: That’s not extreme. That’s just dumb.

She’s right. I am a terrible person. I’m a megalomaniac, bent on enslaving others to my own will. It’s what I live for.

If I can’t control it, it’s not worth doing. If I can’t bend it to my will, it’s not worth doing. And if anyone gets in my way of doing things my own way, I cut them out, push them out, do my best to get rid of them.

I’m Anna, and I’m a megalomaniac.

Or at least that’s what the therapist here says. What the hell does she know anyway?
I pick at my cuticles, legs bouncing as I sit on my bed. Soon. It’s time soon. I’ll make plans soon.

I hear the buzzer sound. Meal time. My door slides open, metal clanging against metal. So loud. I stand up, the scratchy fabric of the jumper grating across my skin. At least I’ll get to see the gang, for an hour anyway. Meal time, get out in the yard a bit, and then back to my room. Lots of plans to be made in here.

I step out into the hallway and look up and down – yep, everyone else is here. I spy a shy-looking girl at the end. I think she’s new. Make a mental note of that. I’m sure she could be useful.

I walk down the hall, down the steps, and into the cafeteria, picking up my pre-loaded tray and walk over to a place to sit. They’ll all find me. They always do. Sure enough, not two minutes after I sit down, our table is full. I scan – all the usuals are here. Good.

“Where’s Lydia?” Carmen asks.

“Wait,” I say. “Right, where IS Lydia? Did she take infirm duty and not tell me?” My heart starts to pound and I feel my hands shaking. Setting my jaw, I look around slowly. I don’t see Lydia anywhere. “Greta, go find her.”

“On it,” she says, her thick red hair in a braid. That’s right, Greta, leave your tray. No one eats until Lydia is found. I watch everyone pick at their trays, no one daring to take a bite without me doing the same. I tapped my spoon on the tray, the sharp clacking causing girls all over to jump. I stare at the door, waiting for Greta to come back. My one eye twitches just a little, a habit I’ve decided to use to my benefit.

Finally, Greta comes back and sits down. “She’s not in there.”

“What the hell?!” I scream and throw my tray across the room. “Where is she?!”

Two sets of hands grab each of my arms. I feel my face burning with rage and I tug against them to no avail. “Let me go,” I growl.

“What’s the matter, Anna?” a deep voice purrs into my ear. “Cut your temper tantrum short?”

“Go to hell!” I spit back over my right shoulder.

“You gonna escort me there?” he replies.

That’s it. I snap. I lean heavy to the right and swing my leg out to the left, taking out the new guard. Alex was prepared and lands heavily on me, pushing all the breath out of my lungs. I try to bite at him anyway. I hate his damn face. I spit at him when I can’t get my teeth close enough.

“Third strike, Anna,” he says, smiling at me. “Too bad for you, huh?”

I hate his voice. My eye twitches. What is up with these guards? Think they own the place or what? Alex hauls me up and cuffs me and we take the long walk all the way across the cell block, down the steps, into the hallway downstairs.


The door slams closed and all the light evaporates except a small sliver through the bottom of the door. I pound on the door. “Who do you think you are?” I shout at them. “What? Think you own the place?? I own this place! These bitches are mine!”

Silence greets me.

No matter. I own this place.

“These bitches are mine.”


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