Over at Speculative Fiction Emporium we have just finished our very first ever “Writing Prompt Challenge” where we find a writing prompt online, usually Reddit, and set a word count limit, challenging authors and writers to step out of their comfort zone and flex their creative muscles. Each writer uses the prompt as the basis of their story and seeing what they come up with is a pretty exciting experience! We love being able to pull the community together and breed creativity rather than “just another pimping group.” After all entries are collected, we have the entire group vote on a winner to remove admin bias. We will be doing these each Wednesday in the group, and posting them on Fridays.
This week’s writing prompt was:
“You accidentally kill a reclusive millionaire and manage to cover it up so it’s untraceable to you. The next day, however, it’s all over the news that the millionaire you killed had left his fortune to whoever killed him. Now, you set out to find a way to prove it was you.”
This week’s winner was Genea Michael and this was her entry.
“One minute, I’m getting a surprisingly good fuck from some rich, old fart. Next minute, the bastard is clutching at his throat, fumbling in for his pants for something. I tried to do CPR but it didn’t work. I probably should have called the cops, but I panicked, you know? They’d have probably thought I did it on purpose. A girl like me? Yeah, there’s no way they’d have thought it was an accident.
So, I started cleaning up. I watched a lot of crime shows so I figured I knew what I was doing – I wiped down every fucking thing I touched (and even some things I didn’t). Wine glasses were washed. I grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed his body, paying extra attention to… you know, down there. I made sure I hadn’t lost any jewelry. I knew that the video cameras had been turned off before I showed up – the old man didn’t want to take a chance of someone hijacking the feed and getting a free show – so I didn’t have to worry about my face showing up.
Then I saw the headline, about how he was leaving his fortune to whoever had killed him. It was enough money for me to take care of my family and get out of this line of work. Permanently. I hesitated to call – if I were arrested, I probably wouldn’t be able to get the money. But turning myself in would be the right thing to do. I read the article again and saw that the police had no leads, that the killer had done a thorough job of cleaning up. They didn’t think it was professional and were looking to the public for help.
Several days passed and I lost count of how many times I started calling the number in the article. Fear always stopped me, though. Then I started getting paranoid, thinking I was being followed, jumping every time someone knocked on my door. After a couple of weeks, I decided to call. Yeah, I was a ‘companion’, but I was a good girl. I didn’t have a rap sheet. Not even a parking ticket. I just couldn’t do it.
The voice on the other end of the phone sounded kind and the next thing I know, I’m spilling everything – from what I was wearing when I showed up, to the way I carefully let myself out. I was crying by the time I was done. The lawyer was skeptical, of course, since I was obviously not some serial killer used to cleaning up after myself. His skepticism vanished when I explained that about 15 minutes before I’d arrived, I’d eaten quite a few peanut butter crackers. No one knew that one of the wealthiest people on the planet had a damn peanut allergy.
Peanuts! I mean, that’s a kid allergy, right? I guess I shouldn’t complain, though. Those crackers made me a very wealthy woman.”