Reddit has a pretty interesting creative writing subreddit. Someone just proposes a very generalized idea for a piece of creative writing and you’re allowed to do and say what you may in order to flesh out the generalized concept. It’s a practice and a way to both inspire as well as hone one’s writing skills.
An example of things is the below piece of creative writing. The Subreddit entry went on the concept of thus: “You wake up in an unknown place, tied to a seemingly random stranger. You have no clue what is going on, but the stranger does.” Rather ambiguous, no? But it also opens the doors to whatever your imagination kicks up to why things were that way. Here’s what I came up with:
I hate waking up in twilight, I always sit and stir in the shadows of the predawn light, yet things were off. This was not my bed, this was not a hotel and … Just what was it?
The events of the night before didn’t even pop into my head. Shock at the unfamiliarity of the right-now led the charge: A stone floor, bare walls, light trickling in from a window and… Handcuffs?
I had tried wiping sleep form my face with my right and felt the steel restraint and the weight dragged by it, the wariness of the moment was erased by way of shock and fear and horror. Where in hell was I and who was this in my prescience?
She was a woman, I had no recollection of meeting her, I did not know her, she remained slumbering — was it from a drugging? — as I continued my growing awareness of the moment. She had a mess of a curly brunette hairstyle and seemed disshelved but in a pleasant state. I guessed it was dreaming but that was a guess!
“Oh, Christ…” I muttered as I looked around again and tried to assess it all. The ceiling was exposed wood studs, the stone floor was ragged, and the room itself was only maybe 10 feet wide and was completely bare. The walls were painted white (well, the morning light made it look that way) and I could not spot the external view from the windows; just the light trickling in.
Last night, last night… That flashed over me that I needed to remember last night because dear Lord where the hell am I??
A pleased murmur came from the woman lying next to me on the floor. She kept her eyes closed as she began stretching. She wasn’t undersized or curvy, she was in-between… Just normal. She wore a jacket over a loose bluse and a knee-kength dress that had been pushed up and out of place.
I hadn’t been with her, I was pretty sure of that. I don’t drink. I don’t do the one nigthers. My friend Scott had mocked me in the past because of this and–
“Hello Love,” she spoke. A British accent tied to a morning daze and contentment.
“What is this? Who are you?”
“You don’t recall, Love?” Contentment stayed on her face. The situation was absurd and random and she was just fine with it. what the living hell was going on??
“No, no!” I shot back, panic swept across me. I started pushing away but dragging her arm out by the action and putting some pain across her face stopped my reaction.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, she had let out a little yelp and it sobered me up from the state of lost state of things. “I’m just… I’m just.. I’m completely lost here. Have we met? Do I know you?”
“No, you don’t know me a’tall,” she shot back. Her facial expression had changed from pleasant to cross. Her free hand seemed to go searching for something. “But we do have a link.”
“Well no shit,” I quipped.
“Scott had sent me to get you,” the cross state of her complexion seemed to increase. “Said you’d need a hand and had passed out.”
JFK suddenly popped into my mind, long lines in prep to get to a flight to the UK. Scott had —
“Ya’ don’t take to altitude much, do you love?” The woman reached for the cuffs and unlocked her side. Those things were hers? “You’re a lot of baggage to handle.”
“Why the cufs, why the…” I trailed off. I had a flight. Scott had moved to some country place in the UK, I.. What? Where?
“You’re a chore,” she roled her eyes. “They wanted to put you in the bloody hospital for it. You didn’t even come to with salts. What the bugger is wrong with you? You lost and murmuring. They got you a bloody wheelchair and I told them I’d get you where you were going. Thank Scott for the leads and telling me, having him is a dream.”
It’s true, I do have a weird thing with altitude. To get through an International flight is distressing. It was coming back to me… Not all of it, but…
“But wher eare we?” She unlocked the cuffs from my wrist. “What is it with handcuffs anyway?”
“It’s a drive, love,” she started to straigthen herself out and get to her feet. “It’s a bloody drive and I couldn’t pull it off. We’re at a farm.” She peeered out th windows, in a cautious fashion.
“But not at Scott’s place?”
“An hour south,” she kept peering throughout he glass. “Bradford, me cousin, owns the place. I called him from the car. Pissed him off right good for doing it so late. Said we could stay but only in the spare room.” She smirked with that. “At least he doesn’t keep anything in here. Bloody beasts and birdies.” She told me how her cousin helped her drag me into the spare place just 3 or 4 hours earlier.
“I’m Deborah,” she offered me her hand. “I’m Agatha’s sister. Scotty’s fiance?”
The wedding! Out in the British Isles! Jeez, it all came back to me. I let out a cry but it was form a different realization of the moment: I had a hotel room in London, a ways form Heathrow. Deborah didn’t know about it. She didn’t have to drag my ass anywhere. I facepalmed, Scott’s wedding to Agatha was this week. I had duties with this thing so I flew out early. Security swept back over me in knowing the where and when… Eing on a stone floor in the country made no sense and being handcuffed to a random woman was not in the plans.
“What are the cuffs about anyway?” I got to my feat with a groan.
“I didn’t want you runnin’ off in a without me, love,” her face went blank. “I always have a pair with me, hobby of mine.” She shot me a wink and headed for the door.
I wiped my face with my palm and thought to myself I was in for one hell of a week in the days ahead if this is how it starts.