Hump Day Kick Start – The Talk Edition

Hump Day Kick Start – for your muse, a writing picture prompt, or just a visual treat.


Doing today’s prompt a little different this Hump Day.

Who wrote this and what is it they need to talk about? This could go in any direction. Is a relationship about to end? Did a roommate put a dent in the car? What if this was a message from a stalker? Could this be a note from the meter maid? Go. Run with it. Tell a tale of what you think this is about.


10 Responses to Hump Day Kick Start – The Talk Edition

  1. Jenn, that message I left for you wasn’t to be shared! We’ll talk when I get back!


  2. jbrayweber says:

    Ooops. Haha! My bad.


  3. Sarah Andre says:



  4. rekenjura says:

    Hi Jenn, thanks for the prompt, It’s helping me get back into Angels of Death. Stacey have a wonderful trip
    We should talk. Such simple words. Heartfelt? Maybe? But really, what was there to talk about? He’d cheated. Plain and simple.
    She pulled out her cell, oh she’d call him back. There were a number of things she had to say to him.
    And when she was done, his contact would be deleted. He’d be erased from her life. Anger ripped through her, heart pounding, hands quivering as she waited for him to answer. Damn. His voice mail. His damn voice mail. Well she wouldn’t leave a message. No, what she had to say to him she would do in person.
    Anger fled, replaced with panic and fear. A whisper, not soft and tender, but curled with evil brushed against her skin, “I left you a message? We need to talk. And so much more.”
    She fought, twisting left-right-left, vise like arms held her. She tried to drill her spike heels into his right foot, but his stance was too wide. All she hit was the pavement.
    “Don’t fight, I really don’t want to hurt you. Not yet. Not when there could be so much more.”
    Tears burned her eyes, traveled down. Oh god, she didn’t want to die. She bit his thumb making him move his hand. She tried to scream, opening her mouth Then the darkness descended, blocking the lights, the world, her hope.. Distant voices faded. She was floating. Floating into the depths of hell.


  5. jbrayweber says:

    Ooh. Dark. Just the way I like ’em. Love it, Ruth!


  6. Sarah Andre says:

    Writing the three words on her window was Johnny’s last ditch effort. Probably lacked creativity. Definitely tanked on the bravery scale. But after their last fight she’d blocked his cell number, unfriended him on every social media site and changed her email address. Guess he should be impressed she hated him so much she’d go to the effort of changing an email address she’d had for years. You know what they say about the thin line between love and hate. But it stung in that ‘finality sense’ and made him see red. They were meant to be together-he was damned if she wasn’t going to hear him out.

    Johnny didn’t like to think of himself as a stalker, but he didn’t know how else to get her attention. When she left work he was leaning against a lamppost across the street. The first time, the second their eyes met, she swiveled around and hailed a taxi. It had screeched to a stop and she’d ducked inside before he could bolt between the honking drivers. The next time he loitered close to the entrance of her office building. Someone must have ratted him out because she walked out with a bruiser of a guy, who didn’t leave her side until she was at the door of her apartment.

    Every evening the rest of that bitter cold week, and the same guy walked her home. They weren’t dating, Johnny knew her too well. Knew her type, which- fyi- was him, not some hulking older man. And they walked too far apart. Walked like friends would. The man never even brushed up against her sleeve. Smart guy. Johnny kept half a block back every day but she never turned around, never looked hurt or annoyed or furious. It was the indifference that got to him. He dreamed of her every night, thought up endless ways to let her now how much he still loved her, but she was done.

    Then came the day he found out through a mutual friend (who’d told him, btw, she never mentioned his name; “she’s over you, dude,”) that she was moving. Had transferred to the same position but in another state. That was it! There was no way he was allowing this shit. He waited outside her apartment all weekend–we’re talking frigid temps, folks, and she never left. Not for her Saturday morning Starbucks or her weekly grocery shopping…God knows how Hans, her German Shepard got any exercise…

    Sunday night Johnny went home half-frostbitten and wrote her a long letter on how much their love meant and how she was right, he was too controlling and jealous and insecure, but he’d change. He’d do anything to get back together. Anything to keep her in the city. They belonged together! He inserted a picture of them in the upper left corner and stuck the thick stack of sheets under the windshield wiper of her seldom-used car that she’d parked near the entrance of her apartment. She never drove the damn thing because she said she’d never get such a great parking space again. Thing hadn’t been moved in three months.

    Figuring she wouldn’t pick up the letter if he was still out there stalking her, he left that day and gave her some space. Sure it was the first time he’d left her alone since their breakup–first time he’d walked away from HER, but you gotta lose a battle once in while to win the war, know what I mean?

    When Johnny came back the next morning it had snowed overnight and there was the f’in letter, untouched. His heart chilled at the ominous sign. He glanced up at her apartment window and saw a flutter of lace curtain. She was looking out!

    That’s when he leaned in and wrote those words on her windshield, then shoved his freezing fingers in his pockets and stared up, jaw clenched, willing for her to just come down and TALK about it. A minute, 48 seconds later the outer door buzzed him in.


  7. jbrayweber says:

    Ack! I want more! I want to know what happened next? Sarah, you are both amazing and awful.


  8. jeff7salter says:

    Leeza was stunned. And terrified. Notwithstanding the inclement weather, there was no way she’d climb into her newly acquired car and go anywhere. Not with that message on the windshield.
    It was Aunt Tilly’s old sedan and Leeza inherited it one year ago today.
    The night Tilly died.
    The night in the hospital, her beloved aunt — prone, with a tangle of tubes and lines and monitors — beckoned her close.
    Leaning in so closely that Leeza could smell the harsh medicines on her aunt’s labored breath, Leeza asked, “What is it, Aunt Tilly?”
    “We… should… talk,” Tilly replied haltingly.
    “About what, Aunt Tilly? I’m right here. What do you want to tell me?”
    “We… should… talk,” said Tilly, and then breathed in her final gasp.
    Leeza was alone in the room with her aunt at that moment and she’d never told a soul about their final conversation.
    So who had written this message on her windshield?
    One year after Tilly’s passing?


  9. jbrayweber says:

    Ooh… Goosebumps! Just the way I like it, Jeff.


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