Prompt 13 of 31

I have to say... yesterday's prompt, for me at least, was good. I liked my enthusiasm and it was the first one that I brought to some real conclusion without losing interest halfway through. I guess it's because even I had no idea where it was going. I like those moments.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 164 "The owner of a large factory is informed by an EPA representative that he needs to install expensive, higher quality emission controls or shut down immediately."

Start time: 9:29

When the verdict was delivered by the judge seated behind his monstrous podium every one in the court room was shocked, except for the opposing council. Jared Munthin Jumped up from his chair and fist pumped the emptiness above his head. His loose fitting beach pants and matching sport coat over his Hawaiian shirt moved rhythmically with his over zealous gestures.

"That's right, candy corp," he said thrusting a finger at the defendants. "Suck on that sour candy!"

Jared danced began to dance around the desk when the judge banged his gavel.

"Mr. Munthin," he said, his jowls flapping, "Sit down immediately or I will dismiss this case and my verdict.

Jared dropped his performance and sat down, but held his hand up flat to shield the middle finger he gestured to the other side.

"Mr. Snookums of Candy Corp you are given 30 days to comply with the courts decision for lower emission controls or risk the closure of your factory or jail time."

The people seated in the audience looked absolutely dumbfounded. The posters with the disembodied smile of the Candy Corp logo, peppered through the crowd, slowly began to lower to the floor. One gentleman was even wearing a giant smile. His arms flopped over the lips at the canines.

"Dismissed," the judge shouted.

Without another word he left the court room.

Jared turned to the people behind him.

"You're welcome," he said, opening his arms wide.

The man wearing the giant smile pointed at him. "Get him," he said and launched himself forward and over the banister dividing the court room. He collided with Jared to whom he immediately began wailing back and forth, his hands covered in large white gloves.

It took every ounce of Jared not to laugh from the spectacle, besides the fact that every punch was so well padded he didn't feel a thing.

Prompt 12 of 31

I'm doing everything but writing, it would seem. Especially since I missed the last four days of writing my prompts because I was in Las Vegas carousing with my two best friends. Our evenings were spent gambling, drinking, and laughing. Only a third of the entire trip is a mindless blank. Either way it was such reckless abandon that kept me from my self assigned task. Now, back in the real world of obligations and schedules I am forced to pick up where I left off and I can do little if any at all. I'm worthless right now. I want to just sit and stare off into space but that will gain me nothing. Well, it would if I was letting my mind wander through a new story but I doubt that will happen. Only through working on a new prompt will my mind and writing be tested. So thus I give you number 11 of 31 (I will most certainly pull double duty soon to get my prescribed amount.)

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 110 "A train travels from Paris to Rome. there are several interesting characters staying in the sleeping cars. Write about what happens to each of them during the night: 1)an older married couple... 2) two young women who agree to share a room... 3) a football goalie who, earlier, that evening gave up the winning goal."

Start time: 9:07

The tiny serpent, Malk, with glowing red eyes slithered through the ducts of the train. It's small ears listened intently over the soft scratches of the budding spikes on his back against the metal of the tube. He was sent on a mission to find those deemed fit for departure to another place. Yet none were viable specimens. MOst had been asleep as he passed by their portion of the sleeping car. He thought of listening to their thoughts while they dreamt but that had always proven deadly in the past and would not root out a worthy candidate anyway.

"Ridiculous," he hissed quietly to himself. "Why couldn't he do it."

Finally he came to a compartment with an elderly couple readying for bed. The man helped his wife slip off her dress and shoes and into a silk nightgown with frilly sleeves. The wife did the same for her husband.

Malk rolled his eyes and curled up to watch. They had been the first to be awake and he wanted to make sure that they weren't the ones.

"What did you think of the Eiffel tower tonight, my love?" The man asked as he sat back with care.

His wife sighed happily.

"Even more exquisite as ever. I remember when you proposed to me," she looked at him wryly, "And how on the train ride home we made love."

The old man beamed his crooked smile.

"Would you like to do that again, my sweet?"

His wife gasped and looked about the compartment as if to see if others were about.

"I don't know if we should."

"I still can," he said.

Malk's stomach gave a lurch and bile rose up through his throat. He gulped it back down and slithered away as fast as he could. He knew they would have been a waste of his time, but he had to at least make certain. One time he had missed an opportunity when the husband had descended onto his nagging wife, choking the life out of her. Afterwards he had emerged from the compartment screaming that his wife had died in her sleep. He would have been perfect. Although the two never gave any such sign of animosity.

The next compartment was bursting with activity. He viewed it through the slats in the grate. On one said sat a blonde with her knees pulled up to hide her chest, with her arms wrapped around them. On the opposite side was a girl working intently on her cell phone, her thumbs flying madly over the glass screen.

"Are you sure there's nothing else?"

The girl glanced up from her phone for only a second. "Yes," she replied tersely.

The girl shifted in her seat and lowered her legs for a moment to throw them onto the bench of the compartment.

"This is ridiculous. Why can't you ride somewhere else? Certainly you could stay in the dining car. You seem like you would enjoy that."

The girl with the phone froze in place. Through Malk's eyes he saw the tension between them growing like a black orb, pulsing and swirling like a dark sun. His scaly skin tingled with anticipation.

"Yes," he whispered.

The two girls looked up at the vent.

'What was that," the girl with the phone said.

"Probably the air kicking on. It's insanely hot in here. You take up a lot of the cool air."

The girl with the phone gave her a sour look.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes it does! I'm saying you're a fat cow."

The girl with the phone dropped it to the seat. It bounced once before settling in the crack.

"You want to say that again? I could take your skinny ass."

The other girl rose and quickly discovered that the other girl may have been bulky but she had also had height to portion it out. The two exchanged glares until the compartment door slid open and a young man poked his head in. The short girl's mouth fell open and she froze.

"Hello, Michelle, my belle," the boy said. He took a step in, while he held onto the side of the entry.

"Bonjour, mon ami," the girl with the phone replied.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing. I so appreciate you finding another car to stay in. It's not every day I get to see my family. I didn't know they were all going to come to Rome for the concert."

"no a problem."

"Do you need anything?" the boy asked.

The girl smiled and shook her head. And with that the boy left.

The shorter girl spun around furiously and rushed toward Michelle, who quickly responded with a right hook across the girl's chin. She spun around and fell into the bench seat.

Malk shifted excitedly. He knew his moment was about to arrive.

BUt the shorter girl was not deterred she quickly rose to her feet and, keeping a safe distance, smiled excitedly at Michelle.

"You know Aaron Rose? You TRAVEL with the greatest singer of all time?"

Michelle looked taken aback. Her brow met above her pointed nose.

"Perhaps." Michelle looked unsure.

The shorter girl screamed and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the stranger and bouncing her up and down.

Malk hissed angrily and slithered to another compartment. He hated teenage girls. They were always hot and cold. One minute they were the most vicious conniving creatures and the next joyful and friendly the next.

The next few compartments were the same, filled with sleeping riders. Frustration began to buzz behind his eyes and he wanted to bite the next person he saw. But he knew if he marked an unworthy human his master would be angry. He might even punish him with eternal agony. He could hear his master's word echo across his memory. "I'll send you back to the depths where I found you if you fail."

Malk was determined and picked up his speed. The next few compartments were duds. One even had a football player in it. But all that radiated from him was disappointment and failure. Strong emotions, sure, but they would not be worthwhile to Malk's mission so he kept on. Finally he reached the end of the car and had to travel through the vent at the end and carefully make his way to the next.

Once he was safely inside he found more compartments of the same, except for one. A man quietly rose from the bed with a sleeping woman. He dressed just as carefully and slipped out the door. Malk could tell something was amiss and followed him down the hall, peeking in through the vents to make sure he still had sight of him. He found him in the restroom. The man looked both ways down the hall before he stepped in and shut the door.

The man went to the mirror and examined himself with a smile. The pride and anticipation radiated from him in red hot waves. Malk was exuberant.

"What is your secret," he hissed quietly. The man, so enraptured with his own image, didn't seem to notice.

A knock sounded at the door and he rushed to open it. He stuck his head out first and then returned with a woman in his wake. She threw herself into his arms and the two began kissing passionately. He moved his hands up her body, simultaneously lifting her dress.

"Did your wife notice," the woman said in between kisses.

"No," the man said. He pressed her up against the wall and squatted before her, kissing her as he went.

Malk couldn't believe his luck. Betrayal. Lies. Pride. HIs master would be ecstatic at such a find. With that he closed his eyes and breathed out all of the air in his body, turning his being into a dried up husk. A black cloud of smoke moved through the spaces in the grate and traveled in a whisp across the small space. He lingered for a moment, letting the man get more of his indecent pleasure in before he was marked.

The man stood again and the two kissed.

Now he thought and he dove for their heads.

The smoke gathered about their heads and set their eyes burning. The two secret lovers hacked and coughed, separating for just a moment, allowing Malk to escape out the crack at the bottom of the door.

He quickly traveled to the end car of the train where his master sat amongst the luggage and other things. He was crumpled up weak in the corner. A blanket over his bony shoulders. His skin was tight against his skull and pale white. His purple eyes protruded from their sockets, staring emptily into space.

"Master," Malk hissed.

The shadow of a man moved only his eyes to the whisp of cloud moving through the car.

"Is it done," he said, with a hoarse voice.

"Yes," Malk hissed.

The ceatures master stood up slowly.

"Join me," he said.

Malk's Master made his way to the marked strangers with his hand against one thing or another, with the other clutching his shawl.

When he reached them he threw open the door and stepped inside.

The woman screamed and man got angry.

"Get the fuck out of here," he screamed shoving Malk's master against the door.

The feeble man began to chuckle and then plunged his hand, with it's sharp talons, into the man's chest and wrapped his fingers around the man's beating heart. The cheating man gasped as a dark matter coursed through Malk's Master's veins. The man turned to dust and fell to the floor. The woman screamed again as her blue eyes looked in terror at the man that had turned a deep hue of blood and sprouted tiny horns from his forhead.

"Your turn," he said and descended upon the woman.

Malk watched from the corner as a thin whisp of cloud praying to his Master that he would be rewarded.

Standing before the whisp of cloud was a fully formed monster, the likes the world hadn't seen for over centuries.

"Did I did well," Malk said.

The purple eyes of his master settled on him. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of dagger-like teeth.

"Yes," he said.

He opened his mouth and stuck out a forked tounge that tasted the air. In a tiny explosion Malk returned to his former serpent form over ten times the size. He landed on a toilet that crumbled beaneath him.

"Let's take the rest of them," his master said and stepped into the hall.

Prompt 11 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 107 "An elderly woman decides to rebel against the conventions of socially acceptable behavior."

"It happened in church, Bella May, it surely did." Clara Anne said, while she daintily fanned herself in the shade of her massive hat.

"Oh, my," Bella May said, clutching at her pearls.

The two elderly ladies, with broad brimmed hats of vibrant colors, with matching dresses and pumps, sat out on a fine spring afternoon in Clara Anne's beautifully kept garden. Beneath a gazebo she begged George to build for her, the two ladies shared the local gossip of the small parish of Jefkey.

Placed before them were two large glasses with sweet tea and cookies baked fresh that morning.

"The ruckus she must have caused," Bella May took a sip of her tea. He pinky held up ever so delicately. "And that poor Reverend Smith."

"It's Smithe, Bella May. Smah-Eye-the."

"Yes, him too."

Clara Anne rolled her eyes and fanned herself ever faster.

"Sissy Jons stood up in the midst of a full congregation and began speaking at the top of her voice."

"-Oooh-"

"Jabbering on. We thought she was drunk on the spirit the way she was carrying on so. George thought she was speaking in tounges. Turns our she didn't have her teeth in at first."

Bella May snorted from a stifled burst of laughter, causing a gob of snot to run out of her nostril. She quickly grabbed her laced hanky from her purse and wiped it away.

"Did you hear what she had to say?"

"Darlin', you know you would have known if you had been there." Clara Anne raised and eyebrow over the glass she set to her lips.

Bella May wiped the subject from air.

"Preparation for the Ladies Society function. Being head chair has it's obligations."

"Surely," Clara Anne replied.

"Well obviously you didn't hear-"

"You must be pulling my leg, Bella May. The congregation was so overtook by her sudden outburst that every one got utterly silent. You could have heard a church mouse fart."

"Oh, Lord."

"Once her teeth were placed securely in her jowls she knocked her large caboose around to get to the end of the aisle. Poor Mr. Longley got a mouthful of buttock."

"I daresay he probably liked it." Bella May said. She smiled mischeviously.

"Oh, Bella," she swatted at her playfully, "How dare you. He's currently caught betwixt the widow Douglas and Ambbey. They are totally in the dark. I even heard," Clara leaned in closer, "That Mrs. Douglas arrived with a platter of finger sandwhiches right after a very vocal love making session."

Bella's eyes widened.

"I heard it from Yvonne Smirk after the book club."

Bella took a cook and ate away. She waved her hand at her dear friend and sad with a mouthful of cookie, crumbs flying all over the lovely lace table cloth, "Back to Sissy!"

"I'm getting there," Clara said, "DOn't stretch out your girdle." She took a deep breath. "Well once the poor woman finally freed herself from the pew she bustled up to the head of the congregation and nudged Reverened Smithe right out of place. The poor man was so overcome with shock he just stood there gaping."

Bella May chewed and shook her head absolutely enthralled.

"That's when the woman leaned against the pulpit. For a second I swear she pushed her teeth back in but George says I'm big fishing. Either way she opens her mouth and says, 'What the hell are we doing here.' I was just shocked. George still thought she was drunk on the spirit but I saw right through it. Now no one said a word so she went on. 'I have been coming here since I was born,' she said, 'and for the life of me I don't know why I kept coming. I've heard every story this book has to tell me at least three times each and not once has it made my life any better.'

"That's when the Reverend stepped in. He tried nudging her aside but Sissy just wouldn't budge. Instead she went on sayin, 'Instead of spending my days living life out with people that just enjoy life I have spent seven decades listening to all of you ladies just jabbering on about the other. One cruel thing after another. How dare you call youselves Christians. If there was a God I don't think he would want to spend a minute with you.'"

"I can't believe she could say such a thing."

Clara tucked her tongue behind her bottom lip and nodded, her eyes intense.

"And can you believe it, I look at George and he has this puzzled look on his face as if he's thinking it over. I give him a quick smack and he looks at me as if I'd been the one sayin such horrible things. The nerve.

"Sissy goes on to say, 'If there was a god I don't think he'd even want us to be reading from a book so easily manipulated by mankind. The verses are so generic they can be twisted and turned into anything you people feel petty enough to complain about. It's despicable.'

"Can you believe she has the gall to call us despicable."

"How do you know she was talking to you?" Bella May inquired.

Clara Anne's mouth hung open like a caught fish.

"She was gesturing to everyone in the church," she assured her companion.

Bella nodded.

"Finally someone takes it upon themselves to stand up and say something, but before old Mr. Clekney could get a word in edgewise Sissy swoops on in and cuts him off. 'Do you agree Mr. Clekney? I have heard you many a time tell me how tiring you get of your wife and her friends gossip. And how you feel that we should be taking on the poor people of our parish and caring for the poor. Has this place ever given you the opportunity or the chance?'

"the poor man was dumbfounded. Probably because he's been smoking the marijuana. I smell it, wafting into my bedroom window night after night."

"You don't think it might be your grandson Michael? His parents were very liberal ones. His mind might have been poisoned."

Clara's eyes and mouth narrowed to thin, severe, lines.

"My Michael is a holy man of God."

Bella held up her hands, "I meant no offense, Clara. It wouldn't be your doing. But his parents. May they rest in peace."

Clara turned her head to the side.

"It was that husband of my daughters. He corrupted her."

The two sat in silence for some time. The wind blew through the weeping branches of the willow creating a high pitched chorus that went along perfectly with the birds chirping in it's bows.

"Was that all?" Bella asked finally.

"Oh no, the woman went on and on bad mouthing the lord and the bible. It was amazing that more people didn't get up and storm out."

"You didn't?"

"Lord, no. I had to see the train wreck til the end."

"You know, Clare, I don't think it was such a thing. She just had an opinion and needed to get it out."

Bella May readjusted herself in the wicker chair.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's right, I don't know why we've gone to that church for so long. We were just raised that way."

Clara sat up straight in her chair and looked down her charp nose at her table mate.

"We?"

"Sissy and I."

Clara was stunned.

"She and I have had it with all of you. It's finally time that we just come out with it. We're tired of you busy bodies. I'm just ashamed that I wasn't there to see her finally stand up and do what is right. I for one am proud of her."

"Surely you are joshing me."

"No, as a matter of fact."

Bella May stood up, her bag already in hand.

"Thank you for the tea and cookies."

Prompt 10 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 223 "While eating at the counter of a busy diner, a deaf man reads the lips of a fry cook who's telling a co-worker about the broken glass he folded into the omelet of a belligerent customer."

Start time: 11:19

"What're we doing here?" Garith said, as they stepped into the diner.

His sister, who had been looking at her feet, bumped into his back and nearly knocked him down.

Derrick strode in with all the confidence of the world and looked at him.

"Are you both okay?" Derrick asked.

Janithyn half smiled and nodded her head. Her black hair hanging like curtains about her face.

"I'll be fine," Garith said, waving his hand through the air to dismiss the topic.

"Do vampires eat food?" Garith said.

Derrick looked around nervously. He put one hand on Garith's shoulder and a finger on his lips. HIs friend pulled his head away and rubbed the bottom half of his face.

"Damn you're cold," He said.

"Be quiet," Jan said, "You don't want to give it away. Do you know what these people would do to him?"

She glanced around the diner.

Everyone in the joint was engrossed in their own lives not even paying attention to the strange patrons that had entered. Derrick nodded with approval and walked to the last booth and slid in. Garith took the other side and Jan stood at the end for a moment before she took a spot next to her brother.

"So the book wasn't at your place," Derrick spat out. He rubbed his cheek and blinked furiously as his mind processed and formed a new plan.

"What do you think could have happened to it?" Jan said. She brushed her hair behind her ear.

Derrick shrugged.

"At this point I don't know."

"How are you even sure that this book could have undone," Garith struggled to explain without stating the obvious. He gestured at Derrick with his right. "This."

"I went to see a psychic."

Garith rolled his eyes.

"You have got to be kidding." He said. His brow met above his hooked nose. "They're nothing but phonies, charlatains, and fakes. DOn't believe a word they say. There advice is as useless as... Well, I don't know what but it's not worth a damn."

"I understand that," Derrick said, "But it was the only thing I could think of."

A commotion drew the attention of the friends to the opposite end of the café. An unkempt man had trapsed into the establishment with two of his friends, his arms draped around their shoulders. It was obvious by the dull expression with a pirate's smile that he was three sheets to the wind. His friends weren't as far gone but just as annoying. They were talking too loud and making far more noise that was necessary.

"Where the hostess," the drunkest of the three said.

The waitress behind the counter attempted to get their attention to no avail.

"You seat yourself," one of the patrons said.

The two others had been locked in a giggle fest of a joke of their own and no one heard him.

Finally after more needless explanation they took a seat. Much to derrick's dismay it was next to them.

"Great," Garith said.

"Ignore them," Jan said in her usual quiet way.

The three tried to do just that but the moment the conversation found some sort of potential destination the three men would begin to hoot and holler, banging their fists on the table. When the waitress finally took their order one of them grabbed her ass, and when she jerked away from his rough hand she neglected to think of the other on the opposite side of him. He instead slid his hand up her dress.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, pointing her pencil threateningly in his direction.

The three men burst out laughing. The whole situation was a hilarious joke to them.

"I wonder what they're like when they're not wasted," Derrick said, more for himself.

"Exactly the same I Imagine," Garith said.

Derrick thought back on his living life. He had been one of those guys at some point or another. Liquor did things to him he couldn't quite explain. It was dark and wonderful and made every one of his pains disappear. Now if he wanted to drink it would taste like ash in his mouth. He could do it if he wanted but there would be no point.

A sense of guilt and shame draped over Derrick's shoulders. He wondered if he had ever crossed such lines with his friends. He wasn't a bad guy. During any sober moment he would have been a gentleman. At least, he thought.

"Maybe we should go," Jan said. She had pulled herself tight, almost as if she was trying to disappear

"Guys could you keep it down?" Garith said.

The three men looked at them with puffy red eyes.

"Shut the fuck up," one of them said, and all three burst out into laughter.

"Yeah, let's go," Garith said.

It was at that moment that Derrick heard before the man at the bar did. The cooks in the kitchen pointed fingers at the men and laughed. Their eyes were watching mischievously as the waitress brought out their plates of food.

"That was fast," one of them said.

The man at the bar had watched her the whole way. He jumped up from his barstool and bolted to the man that was about to shove the entire breakfast burrito into his face. He knocked it out of his hand and sent all of it's contents across the café floor. The man was so angry by the situation that he didn't notice the pieces of glass tinkling to the floor amongst the egg and sausage.

"You got a lot of fucking nerve," the man said, rising menacingly from his seat.

The man opened his mouth to speak but made no noise. Instead he began to sign to the man. He tried to emphasize what had almost happened.

Derrick watched enthralled. The man was being a hero. He didn't know that these men deserved to be punished, but not like that.

The man pulled back his arm and threw a right hook at the deaf stranger, knocking him straight to the floor.

Derrick was on his feet gripping the man's arm before the drunkard could blink. He squeezed his arm with all the strength her could muster.

"Do you know what he just did?" Derrick said through gritted teeth. "He just saved you from stuffing your pie hole to death."

The man screamed in agony as he dropped to a knee. Derrick twisted his arm behind his back. He shoved him down and forced him to look at the contents of his late night meal.

"See what was in there," He said.

Sadly the man couldn't have been able to since his eyes were shut tight from the pain Derrick was inflicting upon him.

"Please let go of my arm," He screamed.

Derrick shoved him down and released his arm.

The three men quickly got to their feet and scuttled from the diner.

Prompt 9 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 98 "A traveling businessman throws his laptop out of the hotel room window."

Start time: 9:44

I'm really not ready for this today. I walk down the hall, on the fifth floor, of Hotel Hayworth trying to find the room of the person that had thrown a laptop out of their window. The mother of the child that had been hit, and subsequently knocked into the deep end of the pool (of course he couldn't swim), rushed into the lobby begging for my help. I bolt outside as fast as I can to find the child laying on his back. Luckily I have been trained in CPR and he was breathing in no time. Too bad the father didn't know anything. You would think having kids would prompt you to know life saving techniques but to each his own.

I found the black laptop broken in half at the side of the pool. An older model which lead me to believe it was an older person that owned it. Most people around my age tend to replace their electronics like tissues.

"Did you see where it came from?" I asked the woman.

She was near hysterical, like the kid.

I looked up at the hotel and tried to see if any of the windows had been opened. Of course they weren't. Obviously this person chucked their machinery and didn't want it to be returned.

The mother had been insistent that she was going to find the person with me but I told her it would probably be best if I went alone.

"I assure you, mam, that I will notify you when I find who threw this."

"Shouldn't we call the police?" The father had said.

I had to fight myself from rolling my eyes.

"No, there is no crime. It was a mistake and once I know you can speak with him."

end time: 9:56

I'm not digging that plot line. I'm going to try a different tack.

Start time: 9:57

Reggie Waltz hated the confounded thing. He was forced to take it even though he had insisted that it would do him little to no good.

"I don't even know how to work the thing," he had told his boss.

Regardless he was forced to take it.

End time: 10:00

I'm not enjoying that one either. Man. This is a strange prompt for me. I don't want to do the obvious... but in reality it's probably the best.

Start time: 10:01

Sam had had it with the job, with his boss, with the whole damn trip. He slammed the lid of the mac on his bosses face and stomped to the window where he opened it and threw the computer out into the wind and rain. He immediately shut the window and didn't look back.

He stood with his back to the view, his breath furious. The gravity of the actions in the situation became very aware to him. His initial emotion was regret and panic but as he felt the gaping hole that it's absence left in the room it was as if a giant weight had lifted from his shoulders. The tether was gone. And it didn't matter how he was going to get home or if he still had his job. He didn't care.

Pulling his shoulders back and smiling he headed for the door. Although right as his hand was about to touch the knob the phone rang. Not his personal phone. He had refused to bring that with him. It was still sitting in the arm chair back in his house, half a world away.

He turned to look at the ringing handset. It didn't take a psychic to tell him who it was. That was obvious. But as it stood right now he had had the last word of the conversation and he wanted it to stay that way. So, he let the phone ring and headed out onto the town.

Since he had arrived in Edinburgh he had yet to visit the local pubs or sites. It had all been business with some douches in a building downtown. It had been meeting after meeting after meeting. The past four days had been the same as the last, mundane.

He hadn't wanted to come anyway. He had protested but Julian had insisted that he take the trip.

"Only you could do it," he had told Sam.

"Only me," he whispered to himself as he walked down the street.

This trip was the first time he had ever been out of the country in his 45 years on the earth. He regretted it.

Prompt 8 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 47 "As two teenagers sit on the front porch of a house, a car with tinted windows pulls up. The doors open, and two men in black suite get out and start walking toward them."

Start time: 10:52

Jeremy threw tiny pebbles at Foster's window. His head darted back and forth to make sure no one noticed his efforts at this ungodly hour. They had planned to meet secretly in the meadow on the other side of town but Foster failed to show. Jeremy was certain that he wouldn't have done it on his own. Something had stopped him. He was taking a giant risk coming but he had some resolution.

A white blur moved in the darkened bedroom and grew larger through the window. It opened slowly and without a sound.

Foster looked through the small opening. He pointed a finger to the front.

"The porch," he whispered.

Jeremy ran around the side of the house eagerly. Hew didn't stop his wariness of his surroundings. Anyone could be watching.

He reached the steps and stopped. The wood was faded and old. He feared that if he walked upon them that it would make a sound so he waited. His heart raced in his chest. His mouth went dry and his head swirled with worry and panic.

Foster slowly opened the door and snuck outside. He took the steps of the porch like a cat, soundless. He lifted his arm to Jeremy who took it without thinking. Foster led him up the steps and to the far corner. When they reached the beam holding up the porch Foster threw Jeremy against it and the two kissed.

Even though he didn't want their moment to end Jeremy had to know. He had to.

He pushed him away gently, his hands sprawled on his chest; but he got one more kiss in before he spoke.

"Where were you."

Foster's overjoyed expression fell away. Replacing it was regret.

"I tried to tell my father that I had to work late with inventory. But he insisted that the mandated curfew negated that and my boss was being a tyrant."

Jeremy's brow furrowed. "He'd risk you losing your job?"

"He said the likelihood of that happening was one in a million. The curfew is iron clad." Foster suddenly became aware they were in the open. He looked around nervously.

Jeremy hated seeing the pain on his face. He leaned in and kissed him. In that moment only the two of them existed. The world around them fell away and it was bliss.

"Let's leave tonight," Jeremy said slightly above a whisper.

Foster put his fingers to Jeremy's lips and looked around.

"I don't think I should," he said, "At least not tonight. It's nearly dawn. We would most surely get caught."

"Not if we run."

Foster pondered for a moment, chewing his bottom lip.

"We can just say we are brothers. No one will know."

Foster looked back at the house.

"What if they put out an alert?"

Jeremy followed his line of sight.

He hoped that wouldn't happen but in all likelihood Foster's father would notify the authorities.

"I don't care," Jeremy said, "I have to be with you. We can make it on our own."

The two looked into the other's eyes.

A smile spread across Foster's face.

"Let's go."

Foster lead them down the steps and when they reached the bottom they kissed. With their foreheads pressed together Jeremy said: "We can do anything."

The black sedan with tinted windows roared up the road and screeched to a halt before the house. The boys instinctively parted but it was too late. They knew that the driver's had seen.

"Go, Foster, run."

Jeremy shoved on his lover's chest but he stood there frozen. Horror was etched on his face.

"Run!" He screamed.

The doors flew open and four men got out of the car, their weapons drawn.

"Get on the floor sodomites," said one.

Jeremy complied without a fight.

The men wore white plastic masks over their face, concealing their identities. Large red crosses were sewn on the right chest of their long black pea coats, tightly buttoned against their bodies. And their feet were encased in thick, shiny, black leather boots with spikes on the toe, and cleats on the bottom.

Foster decided then to run. He made it halfway around the porch until two of the men broke off and bounded after him with haste.

Jeremy realized that it was true. The selice were in fact genetically advanced.

The two grabbed each of foster's arms and threw him to his knees. He tried to fight against them but it was feckless. They were too strong. They didn't even have to fight to keep him in place. The moment they strapped the metallic collar about each of their necks Jeremy knew it was over. They were doomed.

"On your feet faggot," one of Jeremy's guards said.

He had heard stories of those that had followed without complaint and their less painful treatment.

The men bound the two boys to the roof of the car with magnetic bindings about their wrists and ankles. Once they were certain that they were unable to escape once they departed they got back in the car.

Jeremy heard muffled speech and managed to hear every other word. But he didn't need to know what was to happen to them now. They would be stricken from memory and record. IN the morning the authority would alert their parents of their disgusting ways and the members of their family would be forced to wear symbols to prove they were spreaders of the degeneration. Then the men would be sterilized to prevent any further offspring.

Everything that happened after was a blur to Jeremy.

The men drove the car through the city to the airport on the south end. Once they were there the boys were loaded onto a plane which was bound for the island. It was there that they would be exposed to hell on earth. But before they took off they were given a short film with footage of what they were to expect.

To Jeremy's surprise they were not the only ones on the flight.

end time: 11:45

Prompt 7 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 68 "You are riding a crowded subway with a huge wad of cash in your inside pocket."

start time: 10:24

I know I shouldn't, but I keep looking down regardless. I check and recheck to make sure that the bump isn't visible from the outside. The more I look the more in begins to protrude from my left breast pocket, hidden within my trench coat. My heart starts to pound in my ears and my breathing is quick and deep.

I look up and around at the subway. I try not to meet anyone's eye but I invariably do. People have that sensor in their brain that tells me they're being looked at. I meet the eye of a pregnant woman nursing another baby in her arms. The cloudy eyes of a man looks up at me from behind his crime novel. Then a man leaning against the banister by the automatic doors. His hands are tucked securely into his armpits, his arms tight around his chest. Each one acknowledges my glare and returns to their task.

They know. I know they know.

BUt do they? They don't know that I had stabbed a man in the alley to get it. NO one would expect a man with a suite and tie, pressed slacks, and a cashmere scarf to be a culprit of such evil. Neither would I if I saw such a man. But as I catch the look of my own eyes in the reflection in the glass across the crowded subway car I see a killer.

I quickly look away. I see the evil lurking in the eyes. If I can see it as can they. I look down and keep it down.

This is my second kill. Completely at random. I've watched so many crime dramas and I wonder what my motive it. What is my M.O.

I shake my head. I don't have one. I'm not going to do this again. I said I would do it til I had enough money to put back in the petty cash.

I close my eyes tight.

Fuck. I am an imbezzeler too. To top it off I used the cash to pay the credit card I had used on the business retreat in Las Vegas. I was supposed to be building a bond with my team instead I built a bond with the madam and three of her girls. Crystal. Revy. Caramel.

God, if my wife finds out...

I shift nervously.

The elderly woman in front of me glances at me out of the corner of her eye. I look at her and force a smile and nod. She does the same before moving her shopping bag to the other hand.

"I'm not a bad guy," I tell her.

She looks at me confused.

"I know what you're thinking and I mean you no harm."

"Good," she says and takes a small step away from me.

I look up and around. Everyone is looking at me.

"I'm a good guy." I say to everyone.

Everyone is still. There eyes blinking like Christmas lights.

I lower my head again. I shut my eyes tight and stare into the darkness.

The subway begins to screech to a halt. The overhead speaker announces the stop under the sound of static. If I didn't hear it everyday I wouldn't have known it was my stop. I quickly get off. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets I rush through the station and up the steps to the streets above. The winter chill is growing. My breath steams out of my like a locomotive as I scurry through the streets.

Then in a blur I see a hand shoot out like a viper and grip my arm. It rips me into the alley.

The hand multiplies and grip my lapels and throw me up against the wall.

"Hey there, Justin," Big Bowie says.

I look into his cold blue eyes. They narrow at me as he sneers.

I look to my right at the foot traffic hustling past uncaring.

"Where is my money?" he says close to me. HIs breath hot and humid fills my visison and nostrils. It reeks of garlic, cheese, and bile.

I gag.

He shoves me against the wall again and repeats himself, louder. As if that will somehow produce better results. I never understood that.

"Let me go," I say.

"Oh," he says cheerily, "So you do. That's good to hear."

"I didn't-"

"I know that Mickey wouldn't like to know you flaked on him for a third time." He holds up three fingers. "You're out."

He begins to reach into his pocket.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash. This wasn't what it was for but I could die.

I slap the wad to his chest. He fails to grab them and they flutter to the damp asphalt.

He sniffs and leans forward to pick it up. That's when I pull the knife from my pocket it and plunge it into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He screams and the passerbys look into the dim light of the alley, but they fail to stop.

I quickly pull it out and he stands up. I shove the knife into his gut and use my free hand to remove him from the blade and simultaneously shoving him backward. He stumbles and falls.

I drop to my hands and knees and pick up the money. I shove each bill into my pocket.

I crawl like a dog to him and dig into his pockets. He tries to fight me but groans and screams in agony.

"Help!" He screams.

My hands slither up to his mouth and muffle his screams. I follow them up and climb onto his chest. That's when I start to punch him with a left and right. I hit one after the other putting every ounce of fear, panic, pain, suffering, anger into that his cries begin to stop and his eyes begin to bleed.

I pull back exhausted. My arms stiff. I catch my breath and catch sight of the crowd gathering at the mouth of the alley.

"What're you doing?" Someone says.

"Someone call 9-1-1!"

I get to my feet and head down the alley.

I hear footsteps of someone chasing after me. Two sets. There pattern becomes intermitten.

I try to look but I can't see. I stumble over some debris but catch myself before I can fall.

Their paces match mine. I can even hear them huffing away.

There is a grunt and I am tackled to the street. The money gushes out of my as a fall. They flutter all around me as green confetti. The man spins me around and I look up into the face of my neighbor and brother-in-law.

"Justin?" He says, his eyes wide.

I am caught.