Picture courtesy of David Stewart
Bucolic, peaceful, and oh so domestic. Of course, I had to take a twist.
Word count: 100
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Swimming upward from darkness, eyelids scraped like sandpaper as he struggled to see clearly. Head throbbing, he evaluated his situation. Tied to a chair in his classroom, a towel stuffed in his mouth, it was late afternoon by the look of the light through the window. Fragments returned, the argument, the accusations, the blow to the head with the fire extinguisher.
If he could shimmy the chair to the window, he could reach the bell and call for help. Slowly, he inched toward it. Fear prickled along the back of his neck, he recognized the smell of smoke. No time now.
© Erin Leary
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