When I pulled the genre poll for the month, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with the Historical Fiction. Unfortunately, that clarity didn’t extend to the other genres that my patrons selected. And while I’m eager to return to Samuel’s journey, I need to pen a Drama. While I fully intended to stick to my schedule, life refused to cooperate. When I finally carved out some time to think about my tale, my mind kept drawing a blank, so I sprinted over to the Writing Exercises, Random Plot Generator.
Since I’ve used this site before to generate some interesting ideas, I clicked the Situation and Setting buttons and got the following:
The story begins in an abandoned warehouse.
Your character discovers some unpleasant truths.
With those two simple sentences, the beginnings of my drama unfolded in my mind. But it didn’t become clear until I created the cover image. With the location established, the tale flew from my fingertips. This story’s conflict boils down to an internal struggle for Nathan to reconcile his beliefs and unchanging facts. Sit down and get comfortable as we follow Nathan’s battle between facts that he perceived to be true and truths shoved into his face.
Nathan plowed through all the hints of his journey, and at the end he enters a dingy and dark warehouse to find a chair bathed in light…
Nathan’s fingers poked through the cobwebs clinging to the doorframe. He clenched his fist gripping the webs and tore them free. With the strands emerging from his grasp, Nathan kicked the door, sending it deeper into the shadows. As it dragged to a halt, he rubbed the clingy fibers between his palms as his eyes flittered about the towering and grimy walls. He tossed the ball of webbing onto the floor and rushed to the seat, bathed in sunlight.
As he approached, Nathan eyed the file resting on the cushion. He squatted in front of the chair and gawked at the full folder. Nathan took a deep breath through his fingers and shifted to his knees. He slid a finger into the packet and lifted the top. As his eyes tried to focus on the text, Nathan’s head whirled about, searching the darkened room.
While the hair on his neck jumped to attention, Nathan pulled the first piece of paper off the pile and sat down. After reading half of the sheet, Nathan hopped to his feet and yanked the dossier off the chair. Nathan paced about the shaft of sunlight, tearing through the packet and dropping each sheet as he finished it. When the last one flittered out of Nathan’s fingers, his knees buckled.
Footsteps sliced through the spacious building, echoing off the dingy walls.
Nathan lifted the folder and tossed it at the seat. As it sprawled open and drifted to the ground, Nathan rubbed his neck, “None of that propaganda can be true.”
To continue reading head over to my Patreon page and become a patron, $2 a month will give you access to this and other flash fiction stories.