Fifteen Minute Writing Exercise 1 - Untitled

15 minute exercise that went in a radically different direction.
I may flesh this out later.


Prompt: "The dragon is slain, I return the princess now to claim my prize!"

--

"Hello?"
His voice echoed against the walls and he carried the box under his arm nervously, the other hand twitching slightly against the doorknob. The room was large, empty, and vacant. Even the trod-upon carpet, worn down by the area where a couch would have been, it's imprints set into the floor for all time now, was quiet, and the broken table, one leg remaining, seemed to share his discomfort with a creaking sigh. He licked his lips nervously.
Gregory Pencilar, seventeen, was not a particularly studious young man, and he often found himself in more trouble than he thought he'd wind up in. He ran with whatever crowds tended to pass by and peak his interest, but this time he considered that he'd run too far. This was the right house, wasn't it? He knew a couch had been in that spot and that table was awfully familiar, from when Trisha had been lounging on it, her skirt hiking up past her thigh slightly, and if she'd just have moved her leg a little more he'd have been able too--
"Fuck.." He muttered, and shifted his weight, biting his lip as he looked around the now abandoned space. What had happened? Everything looked okay on the outside, just a little overgrown, and now everything was dark and empty. It unnerved him greatly. He swallowed his pride and moved in quietly, the door swaying back in forth with hesitation between open and closed. His lips were still dry, despite running his tongue over them, and he stumbled across something with a soft swear that resounded in such a way to be uncomfortable.
It was... Shit! What was that? It was just lying there like, like someone had dropped it or had it roll away.
He bent to pick up the flashlight and furrowed his brow. Who'd have left a flashlight by the door? Seemed stupid, careless, and he knew a thing or two about being stupid and careless.
His gaze flickered casually to the wall where the TV and a row of pictures had been sitting. Out of interest, and because the disheveled venetian blinds weren't allowing much in the room but the occasional sunbeam and row of dust-motes, he shined the beam against the empty space. The pale lilly-white shadows of pictures-that-had-been reflected at him, an eery reminder. Man, Eric's uncle had been in that one, and Joel and Eric in the one below it, on a hunting trip, crouched over that big boar they'd shot, short of a miracle. Where were Joel and Eric now? His stomach churned, uneasy. This had been their house- They should be here. He'd have known in Joel and Eric had left, the party had only been a day or two ago, right? Yeah. He remembered, because his mom had grounded him for a week when he got some, smelling of smoke and ...stuff.
George fumbled for his phone, tucking the light under his arm as he meandered back to the door warily. He didn't think he should be here, not with everyone else missing.
That was where the side-table was, he though dully as he stood in the crook of the door looking out to the sun setting across the street, and frowned. It'd had a vase of-
A splash of yellow caught his eye and he looked away from his phone. A single, solitary sunflower sat on the ground. It was half-rotted, petals crisp, flies surrounding it. He grimaced and moved away, nostrils flaring in disgusted retaliation. How had he missed that? It was right there..
He looked back to his phone. The entrants for contacts skipped right over Joel and Erics- Even Eric's dad, who was despite the mess, a rather cool guy, was missing. His dad had been in prison once or twice before, and was pretty understanding of the kids parties and hangouts. Trisha said he gave her the creeps but Greg had just dismissed her as being mouthy; it was the kind of girl she was. She complained a lot.
"Hey, Greg!"
Greg nearly jumped a foot as he turned sharply- Joel and Eric's dad leaned against the kitchen doorframe. The living room was clean and bright, the blinds were up, and the room was full of light. The vase was up against the wall again and the pictures smiled across the room at him. Greg blinked- Whoa, whoa. Maybe he'd caught a whiff of the stuff he had under his arm before he came over or something? Must have been it. He hadn't been sleeping well; it helped keep him awake. Yeah! Yeah. Of course! How could he have been so fuckin' stupid? Greg laughed to himself and waved,
"Hey, man! Joel and Eric around? I bought 'em some stuff for..Science."
He had ended that a little lamer than he'd meant too, but their dad shook his head and laughed,
"Don't need to lie to me, Greg! I know what you kids are up too. It's alright."
He walked over and clapped a hand on Greg's shoulder, chuckling,
"Really, what's being a kid without experimenting a little bit? C'mon, let's go into the kitchen. I'll call in the boys.."
As Greg was walked back to the kitchen, something caught his eye by the door.

A single sunflower sat across the floor, half-rotted, crisp and gray. He blinked slowly, and the hand clapped against his shoulder again, causing him to stumble- And again, causing him to cry out. Again, causing his knees to buckle.
Again. His back ached. Again. Further up against his neck. Again. He could feel bruises. Again. It was getting dark.
Again. The pictures were gone.
Again. Trisha had screamed.
Again. The table was splashed with blood.
Again. It was getting darker.
Again. Something broke.
Again.
The boys were gone.