Your writing challenge for the day: questions and answers.
Mine is based on a dream I had Sunday morning, just before I woke up. There was actually a lot more to it, so I might pull the 'full' version together and post it as an opening chapter on Protag for others to play with.
We walk out the front gates of the prison, the warden giving me the evil eye. The bastard hadn't even said goodbye, just See ya later.
Quentin points me toward a black sedan - must be new, I don't recognize the model - and we walk toward it in silence. I look around, uncomfortable with such distant horizons, but rejoicing in it at the same time.
"So what's the good word, Questions?" I ask once we're protected by his ride's leather interior. I hate that I'm more relaxed in here.
"They don't call me that no more," Quentin says, starting up the engine. I raise an eyebrow and wait as we pull out of the parking lot. "I'm The Solution now."
"Sounds like you've done well for yourself these last twelve years." I didn't mean for that to sound bitter. But I don't care enough to clarify.
"Yeah, thanks to you," he says, keeping us under the speed limit. "Mostly."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Those names you been feedin' me have all been solid - except one."
"Who?" I ask, but I'm pretty sure I already know.
"I told you I wasn't sure about him!" Yelling is probably not a good idea, but it feels good. "I told you to make sure!"
"Relax, Jailbird. It was one little mistake, it ain't nothin' to worry about."
"Mistake? An innocent man is dead!"
"Ain't nobody innocent in this big bad world of ours. Besides," Quentin leans over and pops open the glove box to reveal two handguns, "Mister Hunter has given us the opportunity to set things right."
"Us?" My voice is weak and thick with fear.
"Welcome back to the real world, Jailbird."