Prompt inspiration: 642 Tiny Things to Write About by The San Francisco Writers' Grotto
Prompt: Write yesterday's fortune cookie. It got everything wrong.//Write last year's fortune cookie. It got everything right.
Summary: You never really believed in fortunes and miracles until you were tied up and dying and your door was busted down.
O N E Y E A R A G O
"What does your fortune cookie say?" Your friend asked, laughing. Your friends were more than a little tipsy. You weren't drunk, just very warm. Shout out to the alcohol you'd consumed–you were generally freezing.
You unfolded the slip of paper, smoothing it out against your knee. "Remember the fate of the early worm." You laughed. "Wow. That sounds a little ominous, doesn't it?"
Your friends all laughed. "Sounds like somebody's going to get eaten by a bird, Y/N." The one sitting next to you on the couch nudged you.
"She won't mind, as long as he's hot." That launched you all into hysterics. You shook your head and tossed it aside. It was just a stupid fortune cookie.
Y E S T E R D A Y
"What does your cookie say?" You leaned over your friend's shoulder, trying to read the slip of paper in her hand. You fell into her lap, laughing. A year later, and you all still liked to hang out on Wednesdays for Chinese food and alcohol. Immature, yes, but it was fun, and the company was always fantastic.
"The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all." She was smirking.
"Huh?" One of your friends looked up from the floor.
"You don't meet a girl like that every dynasty!" Another of your friends shouted back from the kitchen. She came in and handed you another beer, then stretched across you to hand the other bottle to another girl.
"Seriously, guys?" You laughed. "And you all wonder why you're single."
"I have a good reason to." Said the girl on the couch beside you. "I'm one hot piece of ass."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." You waved her off and grabbed a packaged cookie from the table. You tore open the wrapper and cracked the cookie in half. You tilted your head to the side. "Hm."
"What?"
"There is always something you can do, no matter what the situation may be." You read.
"Why does Y/N always get the freaky ones?"
"They're fake." You flicked it aside. "Anyway. What movie do you guys want to watch?"
T O D A Y
The rope dug into your wrists. Blood had caked on the thick bands that held them to the arms of the chair you were tied to. The gag in your mouth was a dirty strip of an old shirt, smeared with blood from your cracked lips. The pain was unbearable.
God, the pain. You didn't know how long you'd been locked up in the dark, windowless room. You could feel the weight of your watch on your wrist, but the lighting was too dim to see the little hands, and it wasn't like you could move your head, anyway.
You could tell that there was some schedule for your captor, some timetable they had somewhere, maybe an alarm set on their phone to let them know when to come back down for you. Six visits ago, you woke up down here. Four visits ago, you'd stopped struggling. Three visits ago, you'd given up hope.
YOU ARE READING
Supernatural Oneshots | ✓
Fanfiction"Saving people. Hunting things. The family business." ✪ (originally written on my tumblr, then brought over to here)
