The late evening traffic is beginning to thin to a point you think you’ll finally be able to keep your promise and be home on time.

“Hey. I know you’re in there. If you let me in now I won’t be mad...well not too mad.” The door rattles. “You hear me!” The door rattles even harder. I hold on to the door trying to lend it any strength I possess in my adrenaline soaked arms.

The young man sat on a tree stump and ate a piece of barley bread. An older man sat next to him and nudged him before extending his hand. The young man tore a piece off of his bread and handed it to the older man.

The fluorescent lights cast very bleak shadows against the back wall of a men’s room.

If anyone would like to send short writing prompts they would be welcomed. I’ll tag you in the comments when your idea

(Drip drip drip) The sounds of the water leaking out of the faucet was the only sound in the room.

An old man sits on his favorite chair.

A leaf falls from the oak tree and lands softly on the ground. The crisp autumn air makes promises of the cold that will soon blanket the land.

Jonas sat with his back against a tree. His musket lay against his right thigh where he has dropped it. The wet would be doing a number on the barrel, but the Ston arrowhead in his shoulder kept him from caring.