Let's write a story together.
Rules: I'll write the first paragraph, you continue with the next one, then I continue yours. No planning ahead, no deleting plot twists, and we're not allowed to kill the story just because we've run out of ideas. 😭😂
The story begins
The first time I met my future husband, he was trying to convince a police officer that the dead woman in his passenger seat was his wife. The problem was that I was standing right beside them, very much alive, and he kept looking directly at me as he spoke.
Your turn. 👀
Then the officer slowly turned toward me, then back to the man, his hand drifting toward his belt. “Sir, are you telling me your wife is dead, or are you telling me this woman standing here is not your wife?” He smiled like he’d been waiting for that exact question all evening. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a photograph, and handed it to the officer.
Next turn😌😊
@jhemye The officer looked at the photo. Then at her.
Same woman. Same dress. But in the photo, she was smiling. In front of him, she wasn't breathing.
"That's my wife," the man whispered. "She died in this exact spot 2 years ago. Car crash. You were the officer who brought me her things."
The officer's hand dropped from his belt. His face went white.
"Impossible," he said. "I buried that photo with her."
your turn
@thebookpolitics For a moment, nobody moved. Then the woman in the passenger seat slowly turned her head towards the officer. Her lips parted, and a thin stream of blood trickled down her chin.
“You promised you wouldn't tell him,” she said.
The officer stumbled backward, shaking his head. “No. No, you're dead. I saw your body. I signed the report myself.”
“I know,” she replied. “You also changed the time of death.”
The man's expression hardened. “What is she talking about?”
The officer said nothing. He was staring at the woman, tears gathering in his eyes, while she pressed her palm against the window. Beneath the blood on her wrist was a small tattoo: a date.
My birthday.
Next turn, this is interesting🤭
@jhemye I froze.
That tattoo — it was my birthday. 12.10.26. In 3 days.
"How do you know my birthday?" I asked.
She looked at me and said, "Because I'm your mother. He told everyone I died in labor. I didn't. He killed me."
The man broke down. "It was an accident!"
The officer didn't look at him. He pulled his gun — on the man.
"Sir, on the ground. That accident report? I wrote it. He paid me."
your turn 😂😂
this is going everywhere seriously
@thebookpolitics I stared at the three of them, the man who claimed I was his dead wife, the dead woman who claimed she was my mother, and the cop who had just admitted to being dirty with a gun still shaking in his hands and i realized at this point that none of them were actually looking at me anymore.
They were all looking at the passenger seat.
Which was empty.
The door was open. The seatbelt was still buckled. And on the leather seat where the dead woman had been sitting was a single, damp hospital bracelet, smudged with blood.
Your turn
anywhere it goes it goes lol😂