Writing Sprint Wednesdays & link up

The Writing Sprint prompt appears at the end of this post and offers an opportunity for you to freewrite for 15 to 45 minutes without the so-called help of your inner critic. No overthinking. No stopping. No editing. No worries.

{a quick p.s. If you’re joining the link up, please grab the Writing Sprint logo below and include it on your blog post, along with a link back to this page. Thanks!}

laptopWriting Sprint Prompt: One Moment, Please

The detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress’s arm and said…

{Before I get started, I will say that in order to keep my writing within the 15 to 45 minute time, I have created a playlist on Spotify that allows me to put together songs that come close to 45 minutes. When the final note plays on the last song…I stop writing}

{start}

Cream and Sugar

The detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress’s arm and said, “Cream and sugar.”

“You can do this,” he added. She had large brown eyes that appeared even larger as she watched the man with the 9mm currently standing by the window and peering through the blinds at the growing army of police surrounding the diner.

“Remember, cream and sugar, Phoebe,” he repeated almost under his breath as the gunman turned around. He pushed his way through the two-tops still cluttered with the morning breakfast rush dishes. He hoped that she’d heard him and wouldn’t freeze when the time came. So far, she’d held up well given all that they’d been through so far. Her name tag and uniform was smudged with the cashier’s blood, the first casualty of the day.

“Get up,” the gunman told her and grabbed her under the arm, shoving her in the direction of the counter. She glanced back for only a moment and met the detective’s eyes briefly. “Turn around,” the gunman said. “Coffee.” He gestured to the empty pot behind the counter with his gun.

Without a sound, Phoebe poured out the burnt remnants from the pot. Within minutes, the smell of fresh coffee filled the air and, with it, a sense of calm seemed to settle on the girl and the diner, giving Detective Miller a few minutes to think. The gunman sat on the stool closest to Phoebe, his head leaning tiredly against the hand holding the gun. “Coffee,” he said as the brewing slowed.

Slowly, carefully, Phoebe took a cup from the shelf that held several towers of brown and white striped mugs. With only a slight hesitation, she placed the coffee in front of him and then slid the sugar across the counter. When she reached under the counter, he started and cocked the pistol, “Don’t!”

“Creamers,” she told him, her gaze steady.

“Black,” he replied.

“Sure.” She took some napkins and held them out to him. “You’re brow,” she said. “It’s bleeding again.”

He took the napkins from her and pressed them against his head. Even from where he was sitting Miller could see that she was blinking back tears and he willed her to hold on.

“I’d love some of that,” Miller said from his table, and the gunman started again, aiming his pistol at Miller’s head. “Just coffee,” Miller said. He raised his cuffed hands as high as he could from the side of the chair. “Long day.”

Phoebe watched the gunman who gave her a slight nod and finally lowered his gun. As she poured the coffee Miller called out, “Cream and sugar.”

This time, Phoebe started, glancing over at him and then back to the gunman. He was off his stool and around the counter in seconds, pushing Phoebe out of the way. “Where?”

She stood, frozen, and he turned on her, waving the gun again and she flinched.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She cleared her throat. “Second shelf,” she said at last and shoved her hands deep into her apron pocket. The gunman leaned down and time seemed to slow down as Phoebe pulled out Miller’s revolver and raised it to the gunman’s back. The gunman’s hand was just coming up over the counter with a large handful of creamers. Phoebe looked over at Miller and back to the gunman. She grasped the gun with both hands, her index fingers on the trigger. Miller closed his eyes willing her to squeeze.

The gunman turned. Phoebe gasped. The gunman’s arm swung up with his pistol. Phoebe squeezed the trigger. The explosion echoed in the metal confines of the galley area.

“Why?”

The gunman fell back against the counter. Coffee sloshed from his cup onto the counter. The question fluttered in the air and Miller wondered if it had been Phoebe or the gunman. Phoebe squeezed the trigger again and the gunman fell forward. His hand grabbed Phoebe’s hair. Miller yelled. Phoebe screamed. Glass broke and windows shattered.

Phoebe grabbed the coffee pot behind her and swung it at the gunman. He let go of her and she dove past him toward Miller who was standing, dragging the chair with him. Cops swarmed in, a tide that pulled Phoebe away from him as the diner filled with chaos.

He couldn’t see her, but he knew the tears she’d been fighting were flowing from her brown eyes. In the uproar he heard her crying and he closed his eyes again.

{Stop}

This Week’s Writing Sprint: One Moment, Please

The detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress’s arm and said…

Give us what you’ve got with as much detail and dialog as you can muster in 15 to 45 minutes. Most of all, have fun. Free your writer from your inner critic. When you’re done, come back and link up what you’ve got! And remember to give some encouragement to at least one other person in the link up community. You can post to the link up party until next Tuesday night. Hope to read you there!

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