Monday, December 8, 2008

In an Igloo

From the Writer's Digest writing prompts:

You awaken with amnesia in what looks to be an igloo. You have \$4 and a rock in one pocket, and a toothbrush in the other. Someone is staring at you. Write this scene.




You awaken to a low rumbling. The unfamiliar ceiling above you flickers faintly with reflected lanternlight; the lantern, beside you, itself gutters unreassuringly, in no better condition than your pounding head. It's also terribly cold, and you have the vague idea that you should be in a warm hotel room.

You try to remember how you got here, and fail. You try to remember where you were, and fail. You try to remember who you are, and then stop because not remembering that would be a good deal more terrifying than merely waking up

In an Igloo (in a sleeping bag)
About twenty feet in radius, this igloo seems to have been in use for some time: the melted and refrozen sheets of ice that make up the ceiling above, though quite solid, give the appearance of dripping. Furs are scattered about here and there, to give a place to sit other than the bare ice floor; a sleeping bag (which you are currently in) rests atop one.

You see a panther here, reclining idly on a fur, rumble-purring as only a large cat can. You appear to have his full and undivided attention.

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You are carrying:
\$4
a small stone (humble and true)
a toothbrush


Edited 2008-12-09: finished an incomplete sentence.

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