I attended a writing workshop last fall in which Vic DiGenti suggested several methods for developing an outline for works of fiction. The following is a short story I wrote using his ‘Fairy Tale System’. The first sentence is a writing prompt from that workshop.
Trouble was lurking in the shadows of O’Malley’s bar, waiting for me to enter. I knew he would be waiting in that same spot, at that same table, a silent reminder of an inescapable future. Whilst in his favor, the rewards were plentiful, but only the dense or desperate failed to see that his wrath was inevitable. Trapped in this town full of his worshipers, I had dutifully played along, pretending not to care about those who had fallen from his esteem. But the last of my binds had painfully burst earlier that morning. My poor father finally succumbed to the illness that had first put us into the monster’s debt. As I laid him to rest, I knew I had nothing left to lose.
I took one last glance at the bar where the band’s music thumped a lively beat. As I had expected, the entire town was already inside. Readjusting my pack on my shoulders, I followed the silent road out of town. The old forest quickly surrounded me in its own shadows. I shuffled along the edge of the road, hardly daring to breath in the strange silence.
“Do you even know where you’re headed?”
I stumbled over a rock and landed hard in the brush at the side of the road. A light pierced the darkness, revealing Jones’s imposing figure as he glared at me from a few yards up the road.
“I…”
He chuckled. “Of course you don’t. You’re stupid and poor and incapable of thinking any farther ahead than where your next meal’s coming from.”
I dragged myself off the ground and matched his gaze. “I won’t listen to any more of your lies! Everything you say—”
“Is utter truth. You’re just the daughter of some incompetent farmer from an inconsequential nowhere town. No one out there,” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the nearest city, “cares about any of you.”
“That’s as may be, but you’re just a thug in that same nowhere town. Your cronies don’t hold any power out there either.”
I had so much more I wanted to say, but he quickly closed the gap between us. His hands shot out and wrapped around my throat before I finished drawing the breath to continue my rant.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I’m no thug…not even a man,” he said in my ear, his voice frighteningly low. “I am immortal. I have been worshipped by thousands and will continue to be long after you and your nowhere town have turned to dust. Those who are loyal servants reap the rewards; those who are not become my sustenance…Any ideas which category you fall into?”
My head swam. I flailed, pounding my fists into any part of him I could reach. One of my blows caught his stomach, and his fingers released my throat. I shoved him as hard as I could and ran in the opposite direction, leaving my pack where it lay. I stole through the woods, no longer worrying about staying on course. My feet slipped in mud and brambles tore at my clothes and flesh, but I barely noticed. I could no longer hear him behind me, but I dared not look back. I rushed over a rise, scuttling over loose rocks like the world’s clumsiest mountain goat.
He was waiting for me on the other side.
“How…”
He only laughed and reached out to me with one hand. Dumbstruck, I stared as he flipped his wrist and clenched the outstretched fist. Something within me snapped, and pain shot through my chest. As my world grew dark, I watched the monster consume the last of its light.
Vic DiGenti is the author of the award winning Windrusher series and, under the name Parker Francis, the Quint Mitchell Mystery series. He is also regional director of the Florida Writer’s Association and travels the state giving talks to help aspiring and growing writers. To learn more about Vic DiGenti’s writing approaches and his works, please visit his website.
