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 Category:  General Fiction
  Posted: April 10, 2020      Views: 20

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I was inspired by an old story contest writing prompt.
"Trapped" by BigPoppaJrock



The front door slowly creaked open, she could hear whispers and giggles of drunk people trying to be super quiet as they entered the room. She glanced over at the digital clock and it read 11:11 pm. The anger inside her blood began to fester, as her pulse vigorously throbbed against her temple. Laying motionless she took several deep inhaling breaths, held them in for a few moments before letting out one lengthy exhaling sigh. She was trying her best to slow her heart rate, to curb the massive rage monster growing inside. Too many times before, she had not stopped the beast and she had paid dearly.

How could he do this to her again? He knew darn well what kind of savage beast rage monster that lived inside her. Really? Had their couples counseling done nothing for him? Is he that disrespectful? Or is he just plain foolish? The disbelief started blurring her vision, she wiped her eyes as she was shaking her head. Is this really happening?

They had made plans for the night right after the appointment. Dinner was being served at 7:30pm. She was making homemade corned beef and cabbage with colcannon (a winter vegetable casserole), and black pudding. They were going to stay in drink very little and enjoy a traditional Irish dinner on the night before St. Patrick's Day. They were supposed to have some quality time together, some one on one time. A chance for him to woo her and make her feel special again. According to Tara Rayus LMFT, all the couple needed was to spend more quality time together. Go back to the way it was when they first started dating. Recreate some of their best times, slow down, and focus on each other. Simple little things, like having date nights or sending flowers just because.

Having a date on St Patrick's Day just would not work for them. Once Anne and Connor Walsh start drinking alcohol, it turns into a circus, a full-on dumpster fire. For them to make this relationship work it had to be tonight. They could not wait, and he blew her off, just like so many times before. Just like that, her temper was swelling again. Then she thought about all the missed calls and unread texts from tonight and she lost it. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU STUPID SON OF A *bleep*!! I CAN' T BELIEVE YOU *bleeping* DID THIS!!" JUST YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOUR PUNK *bleep*!", she yelled out.

Before she could finish her yelling tirade she was half way down the hall and gaining momentum with each stride. Passionate tears of anger raced down her cheeks, her fists were fiercely clinched, and her teeth were grinding back and forth. She was out for blood. Connor's drunken party entourage tripped over each other as they bolted out the front door. The sounds of a drunk girl losing her balance and falling down an entire flight of stairs were muffled by Anne's rage beast being awoken. "Calm down Anne, relax, deep breaths. You know we don't want this beast to rear its ugly head again. Take it easy Anne, let me explain.", whimpered Connor.

Not hearing a single word, he said, Anne lounged straight for his throat. Now in a full-blown hysterical crying fit, she was shouting jumbled obscenities that made no sense. Her hands tightly gripped his throat, the two of them crashed to the floor. Luckily for Connor, Anne was able to see the terror in his eyes as she was laying on top of him trying to squeeze his head off. Pushing herself off Connor, she shouted, "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US? I AM SO ANGRY WITH YOU! I GUESS OUR LIFE TOGETHER MEANS NOTHING TO YOU! I MEAN NOTHING TO YOU! I WISH I COULD HATE YOU!"

Anne fell back into the recliner burying her face into her hands, she sulked deep into the Lazy Boy. Her body fell limp, she was finished, completely done. She had officially given up. Her sobs had turned from pure anger to sobs filled with deep hurt and misunderstandings; she was crushed. Connor rose to his feet ready to pounce and beat her down. His blurry eyes gained focus and he was able to see the beaten down shattered shell of his partner laying in the chair. Connor collapsed to floor, falling onto his knees and began to weep.

The two of them were motionless, crying until they could no longer produce tears. Eventually they were able to gaze deep into each other's eyes. Connor could only focus on the cold and empty darkness behind Anne's once vibrant loving eyes. He was paralyzed by the emptiness that filled her soul, this dark hollow black hole which was once the center of his entire universe. Her passion was his lifeblood, they had been through so much; all the abuse, verbal and mental. All the adulterous affairs and one-night stands, yet she never wavered.

Shaking his head side to side Connor knew it was over. He had lost her love, her trust, her admiration; but most importantly he lost her will to keep fighting for his love. He did it, he finally tamed that blood thirsty rage monstrous beast; but in doing so, he suffocated her soul's passion flame. Grasping for the meaning of what he had just done, Connor rose up again to his feet. He turned and headed for the door, his feet barely lifting off the floor step by step. Crossing over the threshold, Connor reached back and pulled the door closed behind him. He slowly made it down the stairwell and out the front door, he was in a trance and noticed nothing around him. Connor made a left and headed down the sidewalk, he was heading back to the same bar that captured his attention earlier in the night.

Once reaching O'Brien's Pub, Connor kept on moseying down the side walk. Where was he going? He did not know; his mind was complete mush and his entire body was tingling to the point where he felt numb. Connor was in such a deep zombie-like trance that he did not hear his entourage yelling at him. They asked, "are you ok?"

He did not flinch when they shouted out to him that the rest of the night's drinks were on them. He just needed to come on back and hang out. Onward Connor marched right into oncoming traffic without hesitating, he almost got smashed by the public transit bus. The blaring horn as it zoomed by did not faze him, he continued his way across the street. Scared patrons of the bar raced in and told the Pub owner Patrick O'Brien what had happened. Fearing the safety of one of his most popular patrons, Patrick phoned his wife Lara and begged her to follow Connor. After some negotiating of chores and promise of jewelry, Lara obliged.

When Lara caught up with Connor he was nearly two miles away from O'Brien's Pub, heading out towards the country. She pulled along side of him and rolled down her window, he did not even acknowledge that she was there. She continued to follow him closely for another 4 some odd hours to make sure he did not get injured or worse, killed. Connor finally stopped and looked around, and shouted out, "WHERE IN THE WORLD AM I?"

Lara pulled her car up alongside Connor and let him know it was Lara O'Brien, Patrick's wife. She let him know that he had walked roughly 6 miles out of town. She also let Connor know that Patrick had asked her to follow him. He thanked Lara for following him and asked for a ride back home.

Sitting in the front seat staring off into nothingness Connor gently bounced his forehead off the window. What was he going to do now? How could he fix this? How was the Walsh family going to celebrate St. Patrick's Day? Where was he going to live? Was Anne leaving him or kicking him out? As his mind filled with all these questions to the point where he could no longer sit still, Lara called out, "Connor you are home."

He thanked Lara again for all she had done and headed towards the front door. He made his way up the stairs, stopping short of his front door. There he stood for an eternity trying to decide whether to open the door and go in, or not. Eventually, his throbbing feet made up his mind, his feet were in intense pain. His Irish Setter work boots were not made for walking several miles. He opened the door, and there was Anne still sitting slouched back in the Lazy Boy, right where he had left her. She did not move even as he got close to her. He was standing right over her, he could see that her eyes were wide open and starring at the wall. Anne's eyes were puffy and red but what caught his attention was that blank empty stare she had. He waved his hand in front of her, still nothing. He hesitantly called out, "Anne? Anne are you ok?"

Still she did not respond, he reached out and gently shook her calling her name. This startled Anne and she sat up. Her eyes were darting side to side, like she was searching for something trying to focus on. She was looking for something familiar. Anne had no idea where she was or what was going on. Finally, she spoke as she was standing up, "Well hello Connor, good morning. How are you? I bet you must be starving, here let me make you some breakfast. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come home. Happy St. Patrick's Day baby."

Anne sauntered her way into the kitchen and started to cook breakfast. Connor stood there in a state of shock and confusion. What in the world was going on? Before he knew it, Anne set down his plate of corned beef hash and eggs on the table. She got him a cup of hot coffee, set it down and headed off into the shower. As she was stepping into the shower, she hollered out, "Don't let your food get cold. Hurry up and eat we have a busy day ahead of us. Also, Connor do not forget to put your green on, I don't want to have to pinch you."

Feeling a bit scared and uncomfortable, Connor figured he'd better heed Anne's advice. He woofed down his breakfast, grabbed his coffee and was off to the bedroom to change. He quickly changed into his St. Patrick's Day attire. Just as he was finished tying his shoes, the bathroom door was opened. In walked Anne, completely naked with little water droplets on her body. She sashayed past him, looking back over her shoulder in a sultry soft sexy voice, she whispered, "Hey big boy."

As beautiful and sexy as Anne looked, Connor was still mesmerized with that dark and hollow look in her eyes. She winked and blew him a kiss, Anne turned and started to get dressed. It was St. Patrick's Day, their most cherished holiday. An entire day, an opportunity to get completely drunk and obnoxious. Connor was unsure on how this day would unfold, let alone what their future would hold.

Connor switched on the TV, something to break the awkward and uneasy silence. After several St Patrick's Day themed beer commercials, the Governor's emergency press conference cut in. "Effective immediately I am issuing a shelter-in order for the entire state. All bars and restaurants will be closed. However, these establishments will still be allowed to take delivery and take out orders. There will no longer be social gatherings allowed. We need to slow the curve of COVID-19 and keep our citizens safe.", said the Governor.

What? Is this real? What the heck is going on? Am I in some other parallel universe? What is really going on? Connor just stood there trying to figure out what all this meant. It was St. Patrick's Day, and the bars are closed. Anne was moving around and acting like nothing happened, but she had the look of an empty soul. Was he dreaming? Were they really on lockdown in their own apartment? It was March 17,2020 his town, his state, his country, the entire world was being quarantined, put into shelter-in-place orders, he was trapped.

Connor Walsh was trapped in his apartment with his wife Anne, well at least the physical being of Anne. He had no idea how long they would be trapped alone. Connor wondered how they would interact with each other, what would they do? Would they address the day before? What was going to happen? Was she going to poison him or murder him while he slept?

Each new day different businesses close, and people are being laid-off from their jobs. Unemployment numbers are hitting new all-time highs, cleaning products and toilet paper are being hoarded. Certainly, these are unprecedented times. Connor checks everyday to see if this is just a dream, it is not. He also checks to see if the orders have been lifted, they have not. It is April 10, 2020, day 23 of quarantine, 23 days of being trapped with no end in sight. Connor Walsh is forever trapped in his regrets.





Author Notes
Here is the prompt: Write a story about someone that is somehow trapped. Do they get out of the trap? Or not? What happens and to what lengths will they go to make things better?
The picture is downloaded from the internet, it is not mine. I did a search for trapped artwork and found it. Here is the web address.
https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&id=F750AB23AFBACB0CA0F930FE9CBA1D0D49EB5578&thid=OIP.lThJdrH8ZoR4FeKxtIEsyQAAAA&mediaurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwizupworks.files.wordpress.com%2F2014%2F09%2Fimprisoned-mind.jpg&exph=480&expw=358&q=Trapped+Artwork&selectedindex=178&ajaxhist=0&vt=0&eim=1,2,6
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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