Yay! It’s the weekend!!! So that can really only mean ONE THING!!

It’s time for the #weekendfreewrite!

Each week @mariannewest gives three #freewrite prompts and you have to write for five minutes using each prompt - but no cheating and looking at the next prompt UNTIL you have finished with the first one!

You can find this weeks first prompt here: @mariannewest/weekend-freewrite-1-19-2019-part-1-the-first-sentence

…

"A whitish porridge is consumed in the uncooked stage as the basic food. Deal with it.”

That was what she said to me as she closed the door, leaving me alone in the cold room, empty aside from a bed (wooden slats, no mattress) a bucket (still containing someone else's turd floating in someone else's urine) and a bowl of the aforementioned cold whitish porridge.

I sat down on the bed and picked up the bowl. I sniffed it, but there was no smell to detect. There was also no spoon to eat it with. Despite the unappetizing nature of the porridge I was hungry. I put the bowl to my lips and tried to pour the gunk into my mouth. The texture was mildly unpleasant, but not quite as disgusting as the taste. I put down the bowl and stared at the door.

I wondered how long it would take before anyone would notice I had disappeared.

…

"But the utmost reach of her imagination did not go beyond picturing her usual life in a new setting."

I stood up and looked around me, searching for the source of the voice. "Hello?" I said, unable to find anyone in the room with me. I looked for hidden speakers. Perhaps this was one of those new psychological ways of torturing people, I had read about. I could only be thankful they weren't playing some dreadful music from my "can't bear to listen to" list.

"Hello?" I said again. But the voice was silent. Then I heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone blowing bubbles underwater. Then a cough.

"Could you help me?" the voice said. It sounded female, young too.

"I'm sorry," I said, still looking around me, confused. "I have no idea where you are."

"Look in the bucket," the voice said.

…

I laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" the voice said.

"I'm not an idiot," I said.

"No one said you were, Red."

I didn't reply straight away. "Why did you call me Red?" I asked, trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

"That's your name, isn't it, Red?"

The voice was coming from the bucket. Was there a speaker in amongst the piss and shit? Why would they do that?

"No one calls me Red," I said. This was true. The only person who had ever called me Red had never existed. An imaginary friend I had had when I was five years old. Was I going mad? Had someone put something in the porridge?

"Come on Red," the voice said. "I want to get out of here."

Looking around, in vain, for hidden cameras (although I was sure they must be there, I couldn't locate them), I inched my way towards the bucket. I peered into it, holding my nose, to try to prevent the smell inducing vomit.

"Hello Red!" the floating turd said.

...

As usual I used themostdangerouswritingapp.com to write each five minute freewrite (and then tidied it up a bit in google docs afterwards):

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