Devina Divecha's Journals

This is how it works: We select three prompt sticks from three different piles for ‘opening’, ‘transition’ and ‘drama’. We pick the first card, then have five minutes to write. After five minutes, we pick the second card and take another five minutes to write. Repeat for the third. At the end of 15 minutes, you’ve produced a bit of creative writing.

I wrote this on 28 December 2023 while attending the Writers’ Group meetup. The prompts have been highlighted in bold in the copy:

There were 17 cats living in Larry’s basement. They were of all colours, shapes and sizes. White. Black. Calico. Grey. Chonky. Slim. Draped over the sofa. Curled up under the chair. Perched on a shelf. Snuggling up to the heater. Once anyone walked in, it would be hard to not trip over one. Or see a fluffy tail slink away.

Only… for the longest time, Larry had no idea they were there.

He had moved into this lovely country house just two months ago. It had taken all his savings, many fights with his now ex-girlfriend, and a few broken glasses. But he was here. His own home. Well, also the home of the local felines.

They were startled out of their blissful habitation of the sprawling 5-bedroom home, when Larry showed up with a moving truck. Pluto, a tuxedo cat, was curled up by the living room window that day. His ears perked up, then his one good eye twitched open. And he opened his mouth and yelled, “We’ve got company!”

“It wasn’t so much that I had been blind to the truth, it was that I had seen the truth differently,” said Larry, years later, when he was being interviewed about the events that followed him moving to Sunset Valley.

“Well you were a bit blind – more blind than one-eyed Pluto,” added Venus, a glossy cat – all white except for the Batman-esque black mask on her face. Larry stroked her affectionately, rubbing her under her chin. She purred, arched her back and rubbed her nose against his elbow.

And for a time, he had been. He simply had, like he said, chosen to see reality in a different light.

The first night Larry tucked himself into a sleeping bag and lay in what would eventually become his bedroom, he wondered if he made a mistake. He definitely wondered when he heard hissing and spittle and claws raking against metal. Was moving out in the middle of nowhere, and nowhere with an awful reputation, a horrible idea?

The time Fred went to a car wash and never came back was a big talking point in Sunset Valley. But Larry had chosen to ignore it and moved out here anywhere. The big city had creeped up on him, grabbed him by its frantic, soulless claws and dug its pointed nails so deep, he was scarred by the entire experience. And so, despite the love of his life, Sandy – or whom he thought was the love of his life – threatening to leave if he moved to Sunset Valley, he did it anyway.

She had a point though, he thought. It was vaguely known as the small town where people disappeared nearly every month in the most mundane of circumstances. And all that was left behind in the spot they were last seen was, oddly enough, a cat.

I haven’t edited it at all, so this is the raw copy from 15 minutes of writing, errors and all! And while it’s obviously not perfect, I really liked the premise and what I did with it, and think I might develop it further. Any thoughts? Let me know!