*stares into the empty room*
*Mom waves from the back*
As I often do, I attempted Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction challenge this week. Unfortunately, I failed the challenge since I don’t have a complete story ready. However, I did start the story, so I thought I would share with you the beginning, with the intention of posting the rest at a later date.
A little background. The challenge was to select one of 10 story starters created by the Wendig Community. I selected number 7, courtesy of LP (thank you very much–an interesting starting point).
I was also excited to see that the first sentence I contributed was chosen to be among the 10 (it’s number 4). Thank you, Chuck!
Anyway, I give you the beginning of a story. Enjoy.
Every building has a secret entrance, one even the architects somehow overlooked. Christianne knew this because she’d been alone in the city for over three years. And each night she would find her secret entrance, gaining access to the most exclusive and well-guarded buildings in San Lou.
The first time she had found a secret entrance, she thought it was luck. She was cold and wet and hadn’t thought far enough ahead to figure out a place to stay. The building had called to her.
Christianne spent the next thirteen nights in that building. She could have snuck into it forever with no one ever finding out. But she moved on. At the time she didn’t quite understand why she would leave the safety of a sure shelter for the night.
She could feel the call coming from somewhere else. She approached the second building from an alley. Of course the secret entrance wasn’t in the alley. That would have been too easy. But she felt that it was there. She circled the building clockwise, letting her hand trail along the broken bricks. Her thoughts retreated from the rest of the world. Her world was her hand. Feeling. Feeling.
She walked across the front of the builidng. She knew this in the back of her mind because her hand had encountered something smooth, a not-brick, and that certainly couldn’t be what she was looking for.
Then she found a corner, felt the rough, sharp edge against the pads of her fingers. Pieces of the old cement mortar crumbled away as her fingers brushed it, tiny pieces of dust.
Someone was coming up behind her, yelling. But she was almost there. They were running toward her, boots thunking against concrete. And then she found it and slid into the entrace meant only for her. No one followed.
Feel free to leave your comments below! Where do you think the story is going? What’s Christianne running from?