So, my goal was 1,500 words in 30 minutes. I got ALMOST 1,300 words.... Ah well, there's always tomorrow, right? And C. Bai was distracting me! Anyways, here's my prompt and my ALMOST 1,300 words.

PROMPT:

Things are always more attractive when they are out of reach. Faith had never before noticed how beautiful her city was after the sun had set. Now the buildings were all aglow, and the cars crawled past with their lights glimmering off the wet streats. There was beauty in every building that scraped the sky, with each carefully designed spire and window.


As Faith gazed, longingly, out the window, she wondered about the people inside each of those windows. Some still had the lights on -- were they reading? writing? simply sitting in silence? watching teleivision? playing games? There were an infinite number of possibilities.


Were any prisoners like herself?


"Stop your moping," a dry voice said in a Scottish accent behind her, "It will do you no good."


Faith turned back to the man sitting at the table. His feet were propped up on the table, and he was fiddeling with a silver ring he wore on his right hand. His red hair was spiked, and his freckled face was surprisingly pleasent, considering his line of work.


With a sigh, Faith returned to gazing out the window. Her own reflection looked back at her, pitiful after only a few days of captivity. Face pale with fear, dark hair unkempt, green eyes full of longing.


"You were more interesting when you were angry," the man continued.


Faith said nothing.


"Oh, stop your sulking. Have you ever been stuck in a room with a sulking person? It's no fun at all. C'mon, don't blame me. This wasn't my idea. Come play some cards, forget about your troubles for a while."


"Whose idea was it, then?" Faith asked, without turning away.


"Huh?"


"Whose idea was it to capture me? And why?"


"My boss. You don't need to know his name, and even I don't know why. I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. C'mon -- d'you know how to play Speed? Slap Jack? Poker? I'm up for anything, here! I'll play Go Fish if you want!"


"I'm not six," Faith said, before she could stop herself.


"How old are ya'? C'mon, a bit of conversation can't hurt anything. If you want, I'll tell the others you were sullen the hole time, but I'm dying of boredom over here!"


"Nineteen."


"Yeah? So... you goin' to college, or what?"


"I plan on it next year. We couldn't afford-- Well, I just decided not to go this year."


"I hear ya'. I only got this job to see myself through college... but it's starting to look like that's not gonna' happen."


"How old are you?" Faith asked, surprised by his statement. Surely, he couldn't be much older than herself!


"Twenty-one. But the boss ... well, it just probably wouldn't work out. What I didn't realize when I started into this group is that there's not much of a way to get out." Her guard looked surprised, "But here we are talking about me! What about you? I didn't even get your name!"


"It's Faith. I didn't catch yours, either."


"Doesn't matter, much. I'm just one of the grunts, only kept around for babysitting jobs like this."


"I resent that!"


He laughed. "My name's Reginald."


"Aren't you Scottish?"


"Well... yeah. It's kind of a long story. See, my mum... Well, never mind! So, what do you plan on studying in college?"


"Does it matter? It doesn't look like I'll ever make it there!"


"Oh, I see your point. You never know, sometimes the boss has his soft moments."


"You really don't know why he captured me?" Faith moved to sit down at the table, and Reginald took his feet down.


"No," the latter said, "I'd tell ya' if I did. You don't suppose it's for ransom, do you?"


"Couldn't be. Then they'd capture someone rich. My family couldn't pay a ransom if they wanted to. And they probably wouldn't want to." Faith blushed, "Not that it-- I mean to say...."


"No worries. Every family's got problems."


"Yeah."


Placing her chin in her hands, Faith stared at the smooth, wooden surface of the table, wondering if her family had even noticed she was missing. She had threatened to move out so many times, they probably were just thinking that she had been serious. Except that all her things were still in her room.


"Don't look like that," Reginald said, "Things'll be all right."


Faith laughed. "You're not much of a badguy," she said.


"I'll work on that."


"It suits me fine," Faith smiled, "But it's a wonder your boss puts up with it. I bet you couldn't shoot someone if you wanted to." She gestured to the gun he wore on his belt.


"I don't suggest you try anything. I'm sorry, sis, but my life's more important to me than yours -- and the boss wouldn't hesitate to kill me if you got away."


This comment took all the warmth out of their conversation, and Faith went back to staring at the tabletop, feeling uncomfortable. Most people are not comfortable to find that the person they have been chatting with is willing to kill them.


The door of the appartment opened, and a group of men dressed in clothes varying from business suits to the apparel commonly found on hobos to the garb of a hotdog vender. There were six or seven men in all, and none of them looked very friendly.


"You!" one of the men in beggar's clothing said to Reginald, "Come with us. Derik, stay here."


"Yes, sir!" A man in a business suit said.


Another man went to the fridge and began pulling out cans of beer, passing them around the group. Faith noticed that several men went without, including Reginald. She wondered if this had to do with them being against drinking, or the fact that they were not of high enough rank to deserve a drink.


The group filed out, Reginald giving Faith a seruptitious nod before leaving.


"So, was that guy your boss?" Faith asked her new guard, Derik, referring to the man dressed as a hobo who had been doling out orders.


Giving her a disgusted look, Derik drew a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and stuck it in his mouth.


"Don't mind me," Faith muttered, and returned to staring out the window.


What she wouldn't give to be free!


*


Walking down the streat with his hands in his pockets, Gregory smiled. He was in a singularly good mood, for no particular reason. The sun had already set, and the city seemed to be just waking up.


Stepping into a cafe, he ordered a latte and sat at a round table, pulling a notebook from his pocket and staring out the window at the rain-washed streat. Shifting his gaze to the windows above, he wondered about the people inside each room. What they might be doing.


Putting pen to paper, he began to write. For a moment he wrote in a frenzy. Then he stopped, reread the words, and scribbled them all out furiously.


His drink was ready, and the server was calling his name repeatedly, but he didn't notice. The creative struggle was driving him crazy.


"Sir," the waiter said, approaching his table, "You're coffee is done."


"What? Oh, thanks. Uh, yeah, thanks." Gregory looked up at the man, noting his messy red hair and pleasent face. He even had a Scottish accent. Turning back to his notebook, Gregory began a sketchy character outline. What he wrote couldn't have been more wrong.


*


Reginald sighed, wiping down tables. The last of the customers were gone, and he had some time to think before returning to his real job.


How simple his life would be if he had chosen to lead a normal life! What would it be like to actually work at a cafe like a normal person? What would it be like if he were to wipe down these tables and then return home, to watch some television and perhaps call some friends.

Love you!

The Hot Girl in the Comic Shop

Thanks http://www.feath.com/idea/prev/archive/108.htm for the prompt!