Monday, September 10, 2012

Week One

Getting Your Money Back
You slide your card into the ATM and attempt to with draw cash, only to find that you account is empty. Something is wrong, as just yesterday, you had $5,000 in it. Only one person could be responsible for this-and without hesitation, you are off to confront that person and get your money back.

My Creativity
I stood there in the rain, mascara running down my face. My hair hung limply to my shoulders and my clothes clung to tightly. I hadn't even realized that it started raining so hard. I stood staring at the ATM screen 'insuficiant fund'. It wasn't even possible. However, I'd tried three times and three different ATMs, each one gave the same response. I could swear the last one was written in flashing bold letters so I'd finally register it as true. It couldn't be, only yesterday I had $5,000.

As the thunder crashed overhead, my heart skipped a bit. Not in fear, but in anger. I knew that there could only be one person responsible for this and there was no way he was going to get away with it. Lightening must have struck something close by, because the static in the air was enough to give me the push I needed. I was off and running.

It didn't take long for me to reach his apartment. I don't even recall stopping at crosswalks. I was lucky that there'd been no cars coming. Perhaps they felt my rage and hid. I pushed the button for his unit, but there was no answer, no buzz to open the door. I held my finger to it, swearing silently under my breath. What game was he playing at?

Moments before the hail started, the tenant from across the hall walked up the steps. I tried to smile, "I forgot my key, and I don't think he's home." Having seen me enough times, she didn't question this, she simply held the door open. She headed towards the elevator and I headed towards the stairs; I knew my adrenaline would get me there before any elevator. I took the stairs two or three at the time and the burst through the hallway door. I tried to calm myself as I approached his door, but the anger was clearly visible in my eyes. When I got to his door, I knocked. There was no answer, not even a sound. I knocked again, still nothing. Could he really be out?

I placed my hand on the door nob and turned it slowly towards the right, it opened easily. I didn't notice that there hadn't even been a click. As I stepped into the room, my anger disappeared in a flash. The place had been ravaged. The couch torn apart, the tables split in to, drawers emptied and thrown across the floor. Papers lay everywhere. I started to walk backwards, fully intending on leaving the apartment, and that's when I saw it. There was blood on the walls.

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