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Exercise #160 : Suitcase From the Attic

It turns out there was a trap-door in the ceiling that had been disguised by the plaster. Once opened, the door revealed an attic. And in the attic, far in the back, behind a curtain of cobwebs, there was a suitcase. They brought the suitcase down into the house. How did they open the suitcase? What was in it? Write the scene.

This reminds me of an old post I did a little while back. It was Exercise #124, and I actually ended up submitting it for #fridayflash. Feel free to go read "Rain of Rubber Chickens" if you have a moment.

Continuing on with today's exercise, 1,2,3, GO!!!
"There's a lock on it," he said, trying to angle the suitcase so that the overhead light shone more brightly upon the metal surface of the lock.
She sighed and blew a puff of air quickly out of her mouth in an attempt to remove her bangs from her line of sight. The hair flopped stubbornly back in place, directly over her right eye. "Of course there is."
The suitcase was an antique, its leather cracked with age in places but supple and soft in others. Who knew what it was concealing?

"Well?" she said.

"Well what?"

"Pry it open, I guess."

"I can't do that," he said. "It's an antique. Maybe the key is still up there."

"I highly doubt that. Even if it was, we'd never find it."

"Look," he said, standing, "Tampering with the lock could seriously lower the worth."

"Yeah, but what if something even more valuable is inside?"

He considered this a moment.

"Well, I guess we --"

"Good. Crowbar?"

He motioned toward a door on the other end of the hallway. "Basement. On the back wall." She disappeared down the dark steps behind the door before he had finished giving directions.

Whil he waited for her to return, he studied the lock. Surely there was a way to bypass it without ruining it.

Moments later, she heard her bounding noisily up the stairs, and she appeared at the top, crowbar in hand.

"Hey," he said, "if I had a bobbypin, I could probably --"

Without even so much as an "excuse me," she shouldered him out of the way and hungrily wedged the curved end into the crack of the suitcase.

One sickening crack later, the lock ripped from the leather and fell to the ground. She knelt down and threw the top open, revealing several folded articles of clothing.

Visibly deflated, she picked up the top layer of clothing, a thin, cream-colored shirt with a lacy collar and held it limply in her hand.

"Really?" she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, these are totally worth more than the suitcase."


I feel like there's something more to this story. Perhaps an attempt at short fiction is needed?

What do you guys think?


P.S. Sorry I've been a lazy writer for the past 2 weeks. I've been on a kind of writing hiatus (aka complete and utter lack of control over the English language), and I'm feeling a lot better now on a literary standpoint. I'm hoping to get the exercises back up and running this week. Also, since I have weekends off, I'm thinking of posting on both Saturday and Sunday. We'll see how the literary genius lurking around inside of me feels about that.


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