Mrs. Stash Hershberger

Podcast Sprint 3.27.20

I’m going to start keeping my writing sprints for The Christian Indie Writers’ Podcast here. Join in if you’d like! Take a stab at the prompt then post to TCIW’s social media accounts.

REMINDER – the rules state NO EDITING before sharing, so this is likely rather rough. For example, this week, people’s names change.
Here Goes:

PROMPT – RE-WRITE a Bible story.

Silence like a shroud, covered the village.

Marisol crept from her hiding place and peered through the blind, trying to look beyond the grim display the son had shown her in all its radiant glory earlier that day – Ma in her rocker, taken blissfully unaware by an early ricochet, and Papa, struck down before he could aim his rifle to avenge Ma, draped over the porch rail like one of the drunks he used to visit on Sunday afternoons, bearing a dishtowel-covered plateful of potluck.

He’d come bursting into the house from the back door as that first bullet sent Ma home to glory, commanding Marisol get to the safe space, which she’d dutifully done. She’d silently prayed through God only knew how many hours as the sounds of war raged on in the nearby valley. 

How has it gotten so bad? She wondered. The uprising had been mostly contained to the city and the valley between it and her village.  No one had expected any disturbance to their peace.
God, protect me, she now prayed, aloud, over and again, as she paced the floor and considered what her next step should be. 

She was heading for the desk where Pa kept his important papers when her front door exploded inward. She shrieked in surprise.

“Hello,” the man’s voice was thick and phlegmy, as though he had not spoken to another soul that day.

He circled the room like a shark, examining its contents before pressing himself uncomfortably close to the shrinking Marisol.
“God give me strength,” she silently prayed.

“I am Captain Shalaza. I will be commandeering your home. 

He tipped her chin upward with two long, bony fingers.  “And its contents.”.

Marisol swallowed hard. She was young, but not too young to understand the consequences for young ladies possessed by the enemy.Almost without thinking, her hand flashed out and snatched Pa’s letter opener. With a movement faster than a chicken on Sunday morning she swung her hand up in a wide arc. The tip of the opener made contact with the Captain’s right eye.
Marisol did not have time to scream. She gathered her Papa’s papers and ran out into the night.