Five Items

This is my first attempt at a writing exercise using a prompt. I used one from WritersDigest.com. They have a lot of interesting ones on there, and I already have ideas for a bunch. Check them out: www.writersdigest.com/writingprompts

The Prompt: "You wake up in jail and have no memory of how you got there. As you pace around the cell, you find five items in your pocket from the night before. As you look at each piece, the night slowly comes back to you. Write about your night, why you have these five items and how you ended up in jail." (500 words or less)

My response:

   My head felt like it had exploded. Then put itself back together and was on the verge of exploding again. Bright light broke in through the miniscule openings of my eyelids. I was afraid to open them. I was so uncomfortable. I must not have made it to the bed when I got home.

   When I got home… When did I get home?

   Did I get home?

   Oh, shit.

   I flung myself up into a sitting position and my eyes flew open. Immediately my head exploded all over again and I fought against a wave—more like a tidal wave—of nausea. I squinted against the fluorescents as I absorbed my surroundings. Grey cinderblock walls surrounded me on three sides. A stainless steel toilet sat in one corner. And on the fourth side… bars.

   Jail. Terrific.

   I lay back on the metal slab and tried to recount the previous night’s events. The last thing I remembered was driving to the office for the annual holiday party.

   Oh, no.

  The holiday party. That explained why my brain had been repeatedly beaten with a baseball bat, while being mercilessly squished in a vise.

   I sighed and let my hand rest on the pocket of my slacks. That’s when I felt something in there.

   I reached into the right pocket and pulled out three things: a receipt from a parking garage, a business card for someone named Jack Turner at Roto-Rooter, and lastly, a red thong. A lacey red thong. No exactly my style, at least not while I’m sober.

   I sat up again, spreading the three items out in front of me on the bench. The receipt was addressed around the corner from the office, time-stamped at 8:03pm 12/22/10. The thong… Ew. I flicked it away, into the corner, making as little contact with it as possible. The business card. That was a little difficult. I had no use for Roto-Rooter at home. My plumbing was behaving just fine. Unless it wasn’t the plumber who gave me the card, but the man behind the plumber. Jack… I concentrated for a moment. Yes, Jack, I remembered him. He had flirted a little, but I didn’t remember taking his card.

   On a hunch, I plunged my left hand into my left pocket—and winced. Pulling my hand back out, I looked at it closely. The knuckles were swollen and raw. Did I punch something? Or someone?

   Using care, I slowly reached into my left pocket again. There were two things in there. A miniature candy cane and a pair of balled up green tights. When I saw the tights, I realized. I had lost this year. The infamous Hockler & Stevens Holiday Party Chug Off. The loser dresses up as an elf for the duration of the party. That explained the thong and the tights. And possibly Roto-Rooter. But who did I hit?

   “Anderson! You made bail!” The door opened, and I stepped out. “And stay away from Roto-Rooter,” the guard advised.

498 words! Phew! Just made it! What did you think? I figured, in the spirit of Christmas, and having just been to my "company's" holiday shindig, I'd go with that theme. Can you piece together what probably happened? It makes sense to me, but then, I'm the writer.

Leave some love!

Ren