I’m addicted to the Writer’s Digest writing prompts. Every week (theoretically. Lots of times they’re late- not top priority over there) they post a new topic idea and you’re supposed to come up with a short story of no more than 500 words to explain, etc.

It’s actually harder than it sounds. It’s nice to have a framework. And I’ll be honest, it’s a bit of an ego stroke, because some of the posts are flat out awful. Charlie doesn’t see the point, and really, he’s right. I’m sure no one of importance reads them, and half the time I just ship ‘em over to him to look at anyway, and not even post them.

But I’m looking at it more as a limbering-up exercise. Yeah, I should be doing real writing here, and not playing in the sandbox, but if it gets words across the screen, does it matter so much where they originated?

Anyway, here’s a sample:
Today’s Writing Prompt: After returning from work, you walk into your house and notice an item that wasn’t there when you left in the morning. What room were you in, what was the item and how did it get there? You can post your response (500 words or fewer) here:

Closing the door behind her and tossing tonight?s takeout bag on the table, Melissa briefly wondered if she could barricade herself inside.

Sighing, she decided that Chinatown’s finest would have to suffice as balm. Besides, what good was barring the door when the world could just slither through any number of cables to get to you?

“Don’t even need wires to getcha,” she thought as her cell vibrated on her hip. On the way to the kitchen, she started unraveling office emergencies while unwrapping chopsticks, plugging in the microwave and zapping dinner back to life.

?No, that report?s already on my desk- do not try pawing around to find it- I?ll get it for you in the morning,? she said, rooting around for a spoon.

“Well, the presentation isn’t ’til 11, which is plenty of time to…” She looked around uneasily, feeling that something was- not wrong exactly, but off.

She pushed it away, dropping onto the couch with the rest of dinner.

“Alex, look- those figures need to be on my desk in the morning. All I?ll just plug those numbers into… Plug them into…” Something about that tickled her mind. Plugs. Plugging.

“What? Sorry,woolgathering. Why don’t you get on that info, let me wolf down dinner. Don’t panic.” She hung up, ignoring his protestations.

Her assistant hadn?t learned that it was her head on the block at these pitch meetings, not his. Likely it was his anxiety rubbing off on her that had jangled her nerves.

Melissa decided a little of her guilty pleasure was in order. She snaked her hand under the couch cushion, searching out the remote, coming up empty. Growling, she pulled the cushions out, finding nothing. Shoving them back into place, she glanced at the coffee table and her blood froze.

There was the remote control, sitting atop the paper?s TV section. Melissa never used the damn thing- why would she when the ‘guide’ button was at her disposal?

Suddenly, other changes leapt out at her. The framed photos on her sideboard were neatly staggered- and now she realized they’d been rearranged, too. The college-era pic of grinning, semi-sloshed friends which usually had pride of place was completely gone.

Not just the photos- everything seemed touched- examined- and put back just a little out of place. An entire flock of geese charged across Melissa’s grave as the extent of the violation came clear. Not just the living room, she realized- her silverware had been relocated from the sink to the drawer.

The final piece slid into place when she recognized what had been making the little hairs on her neck stand up- the unplugging. Who did that? And anyway, what intruder would possibly be interested in these bits of minutia?

There could be only one answer- Melissa thought she?d put enough distance between them to be safe; she should have known better.

Bracing herself, Melissa turned toward the stairs, knowing she?d have to face this invasion alone.

She shuddered, calling up the stairs: “Mom”?