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A Short Story: The Survivor
Author’s Note: I lucked into a treasure trove of writing prompts recently. The process is simple: Draw two cards from a box of several hundred, and write whatever comes to mind based on the combination of the two prompts. As a creative exercise — one that I hope inspires you to put fingers to keyboard as well — I wanted to use this space to share the output from some of these sessions. Today’s first entry: “Prisoner of war” and “Tourist.” Below is my interpretation of that combination. I’d love to see yours! You’re welcome to share in the comments.
Time heals all wounds — wouldn’t that be nice? Charlie Montoya wasn’t so sure. He could still hear the explosions; sometimes just a whisper in the distance, other times loud enough to rip him from the deepest sleep. His jaw clenched, his palms sweat. Unpredictable, his fits would fall upon him without warning. Suffocating, paralyzing. They had a name for it: PTSD. For Montoya, it was just life. His new life, far from the battlefield, ever tormented by its grip.
Montoya had little use for an alarm clock. He’d wake up most mornings between three and quarter-to-five whether he wanted to or not. He enjoyed the peace of those early morning hours, though the first seconds in the waking world always filled him with dread. In those moments — a few fleeting seconds before his eyes opened — he was transported. The feeling was the same…
