TLT: Public Service Announcement

three line tales photo prompt: Scrabble tiles
TLT week Nine photo prompt by Moritz Schmidt 

throughout April
expect quiet* – I’m off to Camp
writing Scarlett

***

*  What I mean is expect haiku and other short stuff. Maybe even the occasional novel excerpt.

USP

100 words about love conquers all
photo by Trina Christian

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know how to do this.’

‘Course you don’t. You’re not supposed to, that’s your whole USP – from what I’ve heard.’

‘USP?’

‘Unique selling point. No ties to family and friends, no emotions – the perfect soldier who’ll do anything for a mission to succeed because she has nothing to live for.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘Well, they messed that up, then. And you’ve something – someone to live for now.’

‘I still don’t know if I can do it, Olli.’

‘I believe in you.’

‘I have no idea how relationships work.’

‘Nobody does. We’ll figure it out.’

Check out Nortina’s Moral Mondays challenge and write your own 100-word fable – it’s fun.

 

Twelve Years Old

‘If you tell me any more stories about being twelve years old, I’m going to have to punch you.’

He holds up his hands.

‘Please don’t, I’m banged up enough as it is.’

She scans his face. He looks a lot better.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not bad. But not good enough to withstand punches.’

‘Why did you leave? Sounds like you used to love it.’

‘I turned thirteen. I wanted to see the world. I wanted something better. Something more thrilling.’

‘Wanna know where I spent all my time when I was twelve? Locked up in a bloody cage.’

Her Three Most Important Songs

‘I can’t find my little music player.’

‘I didn’t know you had one.’

‘I don’t go anywhere without. One of the scientists didn’t need hers anymore. She wanted to throw it away. But then she looked at me and asked if I’d like to have it.’

‘Had many songs on it?’

‘Three songs and the Choral.’

Herman looks question marks at her.

‘Beethoven. Wow. Something I know that you don’t. Finally.’

‘I don’t listen to classical music – boring.’

She scoffs.

‘And three songs? That all?’

She shrugs.

‘In that case, don’t worry. I can afford to pay for your songs.’

Not Hell Again

Her table manners are atrocious, according to Herman. He had to explain what table manners are. She’s trying to remember to eat ‘like a civilised person’. But she gets so hungry. She shovels in as much as she can to get rid off the pangs.

‘I found a recipe for banana oat bars. Should try those. Might help.’

‘So, did someone video me?’

‘There’s a picture. We might have to go away for a while.’

She doesn’t like the sound of that. Last time someone told her she’d have to go away for a while, they sent her to Hell.

Potty Mouth Angel

In my humble opinion, that’s …’

He signals me to stop.

‘Listen, this is important, Scarlett. I don’t want you to swear.’

‘Why the …’

More signalling. And I’m too damned good at following orders.

‘You look like a delicate angel. You look like someone who doesn’t know any filthy words, let alone use them.’

‘So? I’m all about the contradictions.’

‘People’d notice. They’d remember the angelic girl with the potty mouth. And we mustn’t draw attention.’

‘I see,’ I say, and for once, I do.

‘Be best if I keep my mouth shut, then.’

‘I’m afraid so. It’s for the best.’

The Hard Way

‘Do we have to hide on the roof?’

‘Drop it.’

‘Window’s open. I could jump in, be done in no time.’

‘Target might have company.’

She tunes out the traffic noise, focuses on the first floor flat.

‘One person.’

Isolating the target’s scent’s trickier, takes a few seconds.

‘It’s her.’

‘We’ve set up. We’ll watch and wait.’

‘Why? It’s too hot.’

‘Because I say so.’

She swallows her anger. He wants her to get thirsty. He wants to coax out the savage she’s trying to subdue.

She could kill him instead. Tantalising thought.

If only she didn’t depend on him.

***

Scarlett‘s making her second appearance on FFfAW. She’ll be back again, no doubt. Find out what everyone else is writing here.

The Hitman

‘What did I tell you about killing?’

She takes another sip. He doesn’t want an answer, he’s pausing for rhetorical reasons.

‘You mustn’t go out to pluck random people off the street. What if someone sees you?’

She laughs. It sounds like a cough.

‘As if,’ she mutters. ‘I was thirsty.’

He points at the bottle of Glenmorangie.

‘Doesn’t quench it.’

‘Don’t get lippy.’

His voice’s gone squeaky with agitation. And he thinks he can control her. He paces to calm down.

‘I hope it didn’t ruin your appetite. We have another job.’

Killing’s okay when he tells her to.

Report Filed by “Mother”

Daily Report

She’s rebelling. This morning, she didn’t take the children to school. She’s never liked doing it, but she has never refused before.

‘Try and make me,’ she replied when I confronted her.

Her animosity goes beyond her being a hormone-fuelled teenager. I caught her eavesdropping on her father yesterday afternoon, her ear pressed to the study door.

‘I’m sick of the secrets you keep ,’ she said. She didn’t try to make up an excuse. Tonight, she’s giving us looks as if she’s planning to kill us.

Her father suggests to tell her. I disagree.

Please advise ASAP.