Today we write something to do with: scrambled.
It's been a long and tiring day, so I'm just going to get on with it.
Rudy sat in his darkened living room, the drapes drawn tightly together, listening to the static on the radio. A writing pad sat teetering on his lap, threatening to fall after every nervous tap of his pen.
Outside the streets were silent, aside from the distant footfalls of soldiers enforcing the curfew. Rudy hadn't heard a shot fired after sundown in weeks, which meant either the army had made their point or the rebels were getting more clever.
He didn't even dare to think which side he privately rooted for. It was silly, he knew, but his survival relied on caution.
Which was why he was on edge that night.
The stranger's instructions had been simple: write down the words in the exact order they were spoken, then deliver the transcript to him the following morning. It would mean nothing to Rudy; the stranger would unscramble the message himself.
His threat had been even more clear: tell anyone and his entire family would die, Rudy last of all.
The static faded and was replaced by a female voice, speaking slowly, carefully, with an accent he didn't recognize. Without pausing to think, Rudy began to write.