Who The F**K Is Marie!?
Unknown assailants are chasing Kate in a high-security facility, and she doesn’t intend to be caught. | Thriller | Flash Fiction
As some of you know, I made it past the first round in this year’s NYC Midnight’s 500-word competition where you must create a 500-word story in 48 hours and include the prompts given.
“Who the F**k Is Marie!?” is that story.
Unfortunately I did not make it to the final round but I had a lot of fun competing and I’m proud of what I created.
My Prompts were:
Genre: Thriller/Suspense
Action: Looking Up At Someone
Object: Backpack
Let me know how you think I did in the comments!
A headache.
Goosebumps. Fast, sharp breaths. Bare feet slap the linoleum of a barren hallway.
Kate is sprinting. Agents chase after her. She can’t stop, but the steel door with bulletproof glass ahead of her disagrees. She smashes her fist against it and glares at the keycard slot—her chest expanding and contracting rapidly.
The white jumpsuit she wears but doesn’t recall putting on has no pockets.
No pockets. No keycard.
The agents' heavy footfalls, like concussive bombs, inch her closer to annihilation. There is another hallway to her left.
Where the fuck am I?!
Her mind is foggy. A crown of tension squeezes her temples. She has to escape.
She runs down the opposite hall and turns the corner. On the other side, an abandoned security station. She launches herself over the counter and tries a door behind it.
Locked.
She tries another.
Bingo!
The closet holds laptops, books, scissors, and a backpack. Kate closes the door, grabs the pack, and stuffs it with everything she can fit.
“Marie, we won’t hurt you,” a muffled voice on the other side yells.
Marie?
Kate zips the backpack, switches off the light, and waits in the darkness.
Who the fuck is Marie?
The door cracks open. Agents creep into view. A thin ray of light expands to reveal Kate, poised to fight.
She charges, her backpack a battering ram, and collides with her targets, splaying them like bowling pins. Triumphantly, she steals a keycard off a belt clip, pulls scissors from the bag, and heads for the door.
The keycard light turns green. The door buzzes. It slams shut as Kate collapses against it. Her eyes close as she sighs in relief.
“You can’t escape, Marie.”
Kate hides the scissors behind her as she looks up at a tall, broad security guard holding a baton. Next to him is a short nurse holding a syringe.
They are the only obstacles between her and the exit. She stands and advances.
They’re yards apart, then only feet.
The nurse lunges at Kate’s thigh with the syringe. Kate dodges and drives the scissors into the nurse’s right shoulder. Blood sprays across Kate’s face and jumpsuit—the syringe drops.
The nurse screams as the guard clobbers Kate with his baton. He lifts and slams her into the wall.
He stops, looks down at the syringe stuck in his abdomen, then back up at Kate.
“You disassociated bitch.”
She smiles and jams the plunger down. His eyes grow lazy, his legs heavy. He crumbles to the floor.
Kate has blood all over, some of it hers. She looks up and squints at a sign over the entrance: Western Forensic Psychiatric.
Goosebumps. Fast, sharp breaths. A headache.
Adam, the guard, lies dazed on the floor. Sheri, the nurse, bleeds across from him.
Marie stands over them in her stained white jumpsuit. She tosses a keycard at their feet. They look up at her as she shakes from adrenaline.
She says, “It happened again, didn’t it?”
This is another one of my favs now.
Always entertaining!