Reddit Writing Prompt: Empty Hometown

The following is a writing prompt from Reddit, offered up some time ago. I wrote a rough short story based on the prompt. Enjoy!

Reddit: [WP] Took a wrong turn while hiking and got stuck in the woods for 24hrs. You found your way back only to find your hometown deserted.

HOMETOWN (DESERTED)
by David W. Henderson, (c)2019, All Rights Reserved.

I stumbled out of the woods and onto the two-lane road. It looked familiar, but lack of sleep and food kept my mind too cloudy for clear thinking. I lumbered along for a while before coming across the familiar green metal post sticking up out of the ground with the the blue and yellow "48" on it. I was on County Road 48. From the looks of things, I was heading into town rather than away from it, so I chalked that up to good luck and kept on walking.

The cows in the fields on either side of the road stood by their barbed-wire prison bars, chewing on grass and doing all they could to ignore me. Every now and then, one would raise its head and look at me for a moment with huge round eyes that appeared too big for the sockets they occupied. Birds chirped from the trees. Wind rustled leaves. No cars came by, which was a bit odd. It was a smaller road, but it was paved and served as the main way into or out of our sleepy little town. I kept walking.

Eventually, I saw the town gradually take shape before me. Nondescript brick storefronts, most of them empty for decades, came into view and I quickened my pace. Though much of the town had dried up and blown away, we did still have a couple gas stations, a school, several eateries, and more than handful of antique shops selling wares which reminded the people of what life used to be like when the town a bustling city.

The clock on the bank showed 8:30, but all the streets were empty. No cars drove from place to place. I didn't hear children playing in yards. No one sat waiting for their turn at the gas station pumps. I could faintly hear music playing somewhere in the distance. No one was outside.

I walked to the gas station nearest this end of town, a Shell station as of late, though it had been many brands over the years. I opened the door and walked into the brightly lit convenience store. The counter was empty, but that wasn't unusual. The workers were often in the back dealing with stock or in the restroom taking care of their own business.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice reverberating off the metal shelving half stocked with various treats and supplies. No reply. "HELLO? ANYONE HERE?" I yelled. No answer. I knocked on the bathroom door and opened it when I heard no reply. Empty. I walked to the back where the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign hung above a door and called out again, "Hello? Anyone here?" Nothing. I looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. I stepped through the door. The stockroom was full of supplies but that was all.

I came back out front and grabbed a twin pack of chocolate cupcakes--the ones with the white swirls on top--and a Yoohoo from the cooler. I walked to the counter and waited. Looking through the large windows to the outside world, I couldn't help but noticed how quiet everything seemed to be. Or how dead. Nothing was moving except for the occasional stray dog or cat that walked along the road. No people, though. I looked around inside. Still no signs of life in here, other than myself.

"HELLO!?" I yelled out again. Something wasn't right. I took five dollars out of my pocket and put it on the counter. That was more than the total cost, but I wanted to get out of there quickly. "Close enough," I said to the register as I pushed my way through the front door. The traffic light to my right and one block up went through its cycle, though no cars passed beneath it.

I ran across the street to the hardware store and tried the door. It was locked. That was unusual because the store regularly opens at seven o'clock. People have things to do, you know. Or, HAD things to do, it seemed now. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and hit the "wake" button. Nothing happened. I remembered that my battery had died earlier the day before. I had set out for a hike in the woods and had forgotten to charge my phone first. Brilliant.

I decided to head for Jack's house. Jack lived a couple blocks away and was one of my best friends from high school. This was a small town. Most folks stayed here. Where else would we go? What else would we do? Sure, there was an open road and a world around around us, but staying trapped within the confines of city limits proved to be the norm rather than the exception. We did the best we could with what he had and we took pride in what was left of our town. It's hard to explain to folks. Growing up here, one is a part of the town as much as the town is a part of the person.

I knocked on Jack's door, but no one answered. "Jack!?" I called out. No answer. I hollered again, hoping someone, anyone would hear me. Silence. I picked up a rock that lined the sidewalk to Jack's front door and turned it in my hand. As the bottom came into view, I pulled open the cover to where he had kept his spare key. taking the key, I went inside. Everything was in place. Nothing seemed to me knocked over or messed or missing. Except Jack. I searched the house, calling out every so often to see if anyone else was inside. Of course, no one was.

I found Jack's car keys hanging near the garage door, so I took them, went out into the garage and got in his car--a newer model Ford Mustang convertible. I figured if I was going to drive around town and figure out what was going on, I might as well do it in style. Besides, it sure beat walking.

I drove. I stopped at random houses. I honked my horn, well, Jack's horn, to try and get some attention. Nothing. I stopped by the courthouse, the police station, the post office. Nothing, or more to the point: no one. The town was empty. It was as if the rapture had taken place and I was the only one left behind. I kept driving. I spent the full day exploring the town I had lived in my whole life, discovering parts of town I had never seen and visiting the old haunts of my youth. In none of this did I encounter another human being. I drove home. One would think the first place i would have driven was home, but I wasn't thinking straight. I'm not sure what I was thinking. But, now, I drove home.

The ranch-style house haunched on the top of a small hill. I drove up the driveway, honking the horn the whole time. I pulled under the carport, hopped out of the car and unlocked the door. I rushed in, hoping someone would be there.

"Kara?" I called out, hoping my wife would answer. "Scooter? Shawn?" I called out for my son, first by his nickname then by his given name. No answer. I searched frantically, knocking over lamps and tables and anything else in my way. I pushed through doors and searched through closets. Empty. I must have searched for more than hour before collapsing in a heap of spent adrenaline and tears onto the living room couch. My eye caught the cordless phone on the table beside me. I picked it up, turned it on, and got a dial tone. I dialed 9-1-1.

An operator on the other end said, "9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

###

For information regarding usage, publication, distribution, etc, please contact me: davidinark@gmail.com

"A Game of Tag" to be published in Nov 2017!

So excited and honored to have "A Game of Tag" included in this collection coming out SOON!! http://gallencook.com/2017/10/29/hardclay/

Gathering of Authors Event - Oct 28 2017

I will be at the Gathering of Authors event at the Texarkana, Arkansas, Convention Center on Oct 28, 2017! Come out and meet more than two dozen authors, enjoy snacks, and help us raise money for these two wonderful charities!

100% of my book sales will go to charity at this event!

A "nameless" college

In the Fall of 1987, students learned that Loretto Heights College in Denver, Colorado, was being sold to Regis College and subsequently to the Japanese University (or vice versa).

In any case, the Spring of 1988 was difficult for the students who had come to love attending the small, private Liberal Arts college. I took a creative writing class that semester under the leadership of Dr. Bob Johnson. He was, by far, one of the best writing profs I have ever had.

We had an assignment to write about the closing of the college. I don't know what ever happened to my paper, and I hate that I did not keep it. It talked of crumbling sandstone and broken hearts. It also spoke of what I saw of my future.

I wrote that I would ultimately graduate from some "nameless college." As life's irony would have it, not only did I not graduate from a nameless college, I graduated from a university with MY own name! Twice.

In 1990, I transferred from University of Colorado to Henderson State University. I had not planned to graduate from there. I was enrolled in order to help get my grades back in line after majoring in "socializing" at CU-Boulder.

I actually came to enjoy attending Henderson State, met the woman who amazingly agreed to marry me, and in the Spring of 1993 I graduated with my Bachelor of Arts - Mass Media Radio.

In the Summer of 2003 (or thereabouts), I walked out with my Master of Liberal Arts - English (or, listed as "General") degree from Henderson State University.

And now, our son attends that same university.

Not only did I *NOT* end up at some "nameless" university, but the university with my own name has proved to be one of the pivotal points over the course of my lifetime.

Playing with #750Words

Greetings!
  It has been several YEARS since I last updated this blog. I have decided to give it another go. My source of inspiration comes from a site called "750words.com" which asks you to write at least 750 words per day.

I am going to start posting my entries (or at least some of them) as a way to show not only what runs through my brain when freestyle writing, but to hopefully provide some thoughts and insights as to the writing process as well.

All entries are copyright David W Henderson, Prescott, AR. Feel free to contact me regarding usage, etc if you are so inclined.

Tonight's entry:

Elmer Johnson washed his hands in the dirty bathroom basin. The mirror above the sink was a piece of polished stainless that had long ago lost its lustre. Now, as he looked into it, a ghostly image stared back. Actually, stared is too strong a word, for the surface was so scarred and so disorienting, one could not make out any specific features at all. So, instead of seeing his own defined reflection, there were mere impressions of his being looking back at him. He could not make out eyes nor little, round wire-rimmed glasses nor the bald head with a taunture of hair on each side above the ears. He simply saw an ill-defined shape that shifted when he shifted. He smiled, and the reflection made no noticeable change. This made Elmer scowl and then he spat on the mirror.

Looking down, he rubbed his hands under the running water. Blood washed off in sheets and streams and rivers and tributaries. It fell into the sink, splashing all around, leaving ribbons on the side as the blood found its way to the drain. He tried using the soap dispenser, but it was long empty. As the faucet continued to run, he grabbed a few paper towels out of the dispenser on the wall. He rubbed and he wiped, using circular motions that reminded him of a scene in a movie he had once seen. In the that scene, a boy washed and waxed a car in specific circular motions as commanded by his teacher, his sensei. He smiled again. There was no sensei, no master here. Unless, of course, he counted himself the master, which he did not. He shook his head to show himself there was no master, least of all one Elmer Ray Johnson.

He turned off the water and used more towels to clean up the sink. The thing was so grimy, he couldn't tell where the blood stopped and the filth began. By the time he finished, the sink was as clean as it must have been the first day they installed it, save for the cracks and dents and dings that time so ungraciously provided to it. He considered wiping the stainless steel mirror, but thought he had already wasted too much time in this rest stop restroom. He gathered the used towels and stuffed them into the pockets of his light jacket. He looked down to see his shadow puddling around his feet as the fluorescent light above shone down from the ceiling.

He turned around, unbolted the door, and opened it. As he did, the day's light filled the space and flicked the switch on the wall to turn off the light. He walked briskly to his car, not because of what had just transpired but because the temperature had fallen a great deal while he was in that bathroom. He watched as his breath made vapor in the air.

"Lower than 40," he said out loud to no one. The sky above had grey, smooth clouds. In fact, everything seemed to have taken on a decidedly grey look to it, as he had noticed seemed to be the norm as the season changed from Fall to Winter. And here it was, the first real sign that winter had arrived: monochromatic scenery and smooth clouds overhead. Snow would come. He squinted against the bright, reflected and refracted light around him. If there had been snow, surely he would be blinded by the light all around him. He reached his car and unlocked the door. After getting in, he laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

When he woke, he shivered a moment before opening his eyes. As he began to come back into the world, he realized he hadn't driven anywhere. The bright, grey light was gone. Left behind, the dark sky overhead, still covered he presumed since he could not see stars. His windshield was covered in a light layer of snow, easily brushed away with the wipers once he started them. He put his key in the ignition and turned it. The wipers raised up from their hidden place and wiped away the snow. The engine hesitated once then came to life. The headlights automatically lit the way before him. He reached over to the center console, flicked the temperature dial to the large red section, indicating maximum heat then he turned the fan to maximum. He punched the button that split the airflow between the windshield and his feet. Curling his toes inside his shoes against the rush of cold air, he threw the car into DRIVE. He hit the gas pedal so hard, his tires spun out on the icy surface beneath them for a moment before catching a dry spot, lurching the car forward.

(Note: at this point, we see that the story is TELLING and not SHOWING. To remedy this, we need to go back and add thoughts, dialog, etc. We need to show more of the surroundings. What does he hear, smell, feel?)