This is a fictional short story.
Blank.
The page is blank.
I have been writing for hours in my own head. There are so many stories that I want to tell. If only I could find where to begin. I heard once that writing was like painting a picture, but with words. I guess I could start with where I am.
Let’s see. I look around and there is a lake. I like writing here because it is always quiet, calming even. What else? Some trees on the other side of the water with a bench, or is there something under it? It’s hard to see. The reds and yellows of the leaves are beautiful, though. Taking another look across the lake I notice that someone is sitting on the bench. I focus on them. They have long, dark hair. Were they there before?
It starts getting late, so I decide to head back home. I began my walk, but something is wrong. The roads and stores are unusually empty for this time of day. Maybe one of those obscure holidays that I don’t know about? Even so, it’s still creepy. It feels like I have been walking for a while now. I don’t live that far away.
Wait. What? Is that the lake? This time I’m on the other side with the tree and the bench, but there is no one here. It’s almost completely dark now. I can barely see enough to write. Where is my phone? I can’t find it.
There is a flashing light from the other side of the lake. It’s the person from before! I still can’t see their face, but they start moving towards me. They head straight into the lake. The light is still flashing under the water as they move closer. I try to move but my legs are knee-deep in thick mud. The light starts to resurface on my side of the lake. I’m scared. They walk up to me. I can see their face now. I can’t get away.