A few days ago, I promised @f3nix, from the @bananafish team, that I would participate in a contest they promote every week. Finish the Story Contest has 49 editions! And I really wanted to.
I wrote my story. That is, the end of the story started by @gaby-crb, and I must say that I found it an excellent start to a crime novel, left at a point of high uncertainty, very suggestive. However, successive power cuts, with Internet connection drops, in my country, which hit my city hard, prevented me from uploading my post so far. The electricity was restored, with faults, just a couple of hours ago and here we beg you to keep it.
Well, I leave my symbolic entry and hope I can make it in time for the fiftieth.
Bases here, I recommend participating. It is very exciting.
Friends of @bananafish, I don't forget them!
I am grateful for the opportunities they open for reation!
A hug.
Here it goes!
Condensation clung to the window, occasionally releasing a surge that cleared a path making the outside world visible. The cold white light refracted in the tiny water droplets. It was pretty, Shannon thought, as her breath spread across the cold window.
She checked her phone, the bright screen dazzling her. Her eyes darted to the mirror. The baby didn’t stir, still sound asleep in his comfortable car seat. She checked the time, the numbers read 23:46. There was no message.
She slipped it back into her coat pocket, wrapping her fingers around each other in an attempt to bring them back to life.
The CD stopped playing, the story finished. She pressed replay. The kid would no doubt wake up if it went silent. The story started up from the beginning. It was one she had listened to herself as a child. The narrator had a soothing voice, Shannon felt calm despite her predicament.
She checked her phone again. Still no message. Her eyes darted back to the boy, his blond hair showing underneath his fluffy hat. His cheeks pink. His blue eyes hidden beneath heavy eyelids.
A gloved hand rapped against the window. Shannon jumped, she quickly rolled down the window.
A clean shaven man ducked his head down to look at her.
“You have the package?”
His eyes glanced around the car, resting a few moments on the sleeping boy before returning to her face.
She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. This was the first time she had done something like this.
She removed the key from the ignition and opened her door, the man stepped out of the way. She was not surprised to measure up as shorter than him. She fumbled with the key in her hand. She found it hard to swallow.
“How many times do I have to do this?”
Her voice shook. She wrapped her arms around herself, giving her hands something to grip onto.
“Until you’ve paid what you owe.”
His voice clawed at her insides. He stepped closer, a hungry look in his eye.
Shannon shivered. She was mentally kicking herself for getting into debt. But there was only one thing she could do now.
My end
The man grabbed her chin and showed her a tiny plastic container.
"The boy is bait. She will give you a chip. No chip; no baby. Is that clear?"
She wanted to get away, but she held back.
The baby pouted, restless. They both fixed their eyes on him. Was it a small blue spider that came off his eyelid? She wasn't sure of anything. Abstinence had wreaked havoc on her mind. He introduced half a body through the window and turned up the volume of the player. Only after verifying that the child was asleep, did she sit in front of the steering wheel. She was sweating under her coat.
"Move, Miss America", he told her. "You'll be a bastard", she said, as for herself, but pretending that he would listen to her.
She looked in the rear-view mirror. Yes, he seemed irritated, and also... worried? Scared, perhaps? His heart accelerated.
Contrary to what he thought hours before, she would have liked to qualify for Sergei's brothel. However, she was nothing like the luxury dolls he hired. She was short and had a flat ass. A baby trafficker fitted her better, as Serguei said. How stupid she had been!
She was already going up the main street of the Mont Blanc residences.
The councillor's house was surrounded by cypresses. It looked like a model with ambitions. At the edge of the road a middle-aged woman, wrapped in an elegant white coat, waved. Her face seemed to have been swallowed by the pink scarf around her neck. Her short, blond hair looked disheveled, and the slippers she wore were out of place in the cold.
Shannon parked. She checked the baby.
"Let me see him". Her voice, through the window, sounded desperate. "Broken," Shannon thought. She unlocked the locks.
The woman was quick. Before Shannon got out of the car, she had already released the baby and was squeezing him against her chest.
She rocked him almost violently. She kissed him. "Your cheeks are frozen," she said, and looked at Shannon reproachfully.
The baby was starting to wake up.
She handed her a chip, almost in anger.
Shannon gave her the plastic container and opened her mouth to say something. An explanation. A warning... For some kind of modesty, she didn't want the woman to think she was a kidnapper. But she closed her mouth.
Suddenly, the woman's equanimity broke: she cried. She was holding the baby too tightly and the baby was shaking his legs, uncomfortable.
Shannon looked at his sunken eyes. She must have had a long time without sleep. Her mouth was a loose, wrinkled line. Little blue spiders that escaped from the baby's coat climbed up her cheekbones and hair. She didn't seem to notice.
Shannon opened her mouth again and closed it again. The woman fled among the cypresses.
The baby's cry was a ghostly echo in the cold.
Freedom for my country!
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/2019/03/28/symbolic-entry-for-finish-the-story-contest-week-49-the-promised-is-debt/
