Above is last week’s blog hop photo prompt, below is my story that goes with it. Enjoy!
Mandatory words: construction, quantity, huff, letterhead, crock
Sharp pain pierced through Sandra’s index finger as she tried to adjust her position. With her knees scrunched to her chest, ankles crossed and bound, she found the quantity of floor space behind the driver’s side less than adequate. They had tied her hands behind her back and wedged her onto the backseat floor like a human pillow, though she was far less comfortable. If she could turn just enough to let her knees release just even an inch, she’d be able to breathe allowing her to think more clearly.
“I don’t understand why we had to take the damn girl, Russell. She’s just going to complicate matters,” said the driver to his partner. The man’s voice had a gruff hoarseness that reminded Sandra of the foreman she’d met at her brother’s construction site last month.
“Dude, trust me. She’s the perfect leverage we need to get exactly what we want. She’s low risk with high value. Don’t be such a wuss,” said Russell.
Sandra shifted her body clockwise so she could face the backside of the driver’s seat. Stinging pain shot through her middle finger this time. Stifling her yelp, she let out a huff of and winced. What is that? She wondered. Carefully she felt around for the source of her pain behind her back. A thin yet sharp piece of metal protruded from the bottom of the backseat’s bench. I wonder if I could cut this stupid twine off my wrist.
Slouching further against the seat bench, Sandra positioned her hands below the metal object and felt for the tension between the twine and sharp metal. She missed and pierced her right wrist. “AH!” Sandra cried out.
Russell turned in his seat to face her. “What the hell is your problem liddle lady-ee?” he asked with condescending emphasis; yellowish-brown rot surrounded a gaping hole where his left incisor should have been. “Shut-up and don’t be rude. We’re talkin’ up here.”
“I’m telling you, man,” said the driver. “I think your plan is crock-a bull, and this whole thing is gonna bite us in the ass,”
“DUDE. Shut up!” yelled Russell.
Sandra took a deep breath. The lingering sting in her wrists clued her into where the binding was in relation to the metal. She began slowly sawing at the twine. As she worked, she looked around for a final identifying clue. Her eyes fell upon a sheet of paper with blue letterhead: Russell Black Stump Grinding
She felt the twine slip off her wrists. Wrapping her hands around her thighs and reaching for her ankles, she found the knot in the bind and concentrated on unthreading. Then she waited.
When she felt the truck slow down, Sandra yanked the door handle and popped open her escape. Like a flip of a pocket knife, she unfolded her body and hopped out of the car, running as fast as she could and ignoring the needles of pain traveling down her legs.
Word count: 493