Day 1

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: takes place in a museum

Step 2: add a character who is injured

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Stella walked toward the Impressionists room, avoiding eye contact with the security guard. She kept her pace slow and measured, looking around her with suitable awe at the floor to ceiling works adorning the entranceway. Eric shuffled behind her, hands in pockets, head down.

"Stop looking so suspicious," she hissed, turning to point at a work as if commenting on it. "Beautiful lines!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he said, looking to where her finger pointed.

"You're an idiot," she said. "I'm trying to look like I belong. You are sticking out like the sorest thumb there ever was."

"We should have kept driving," he muttered, glancing briefly at the large scene of women standing on a beach, their long summer dresses blowing behind them as they held onto their hats.

Stella pulled Eric toward her, whispering in his ear.

"No one here knows about the hold-up. They will be looking for us on the road, not hiding in plain sight at a museum. So stop being such an uncultured asshole and pretend to like the damn art."

She smiled at him, her lips stretched thin, then turned to walk into the next gallery room. Eric pulled his hand through his hair, but removed it quickly when it caught on a shard of glass hiding near his scalp. They hadn't intended to shatter the store door as they made their getaway, but he had been running on adrenaline and had somehow managed to put his boot right through the glass front door. They had immediately shaken off the glass that clung to their shoes and pants, but it hadn't occurred to him that pieces could have flown as high as his head.

He began to brush at his head, trying to shake loose the big shard of glass, and any others that might be hiding in there.

"Ow!" he cried, as a shard scraped against his scalp. He plunged both hands into his hair, then, but could not find the offending pieces of glass. When he pulled his hands back out, he saw that they were covered in blood. He also saw the security guard turn to look at him, so he tucked his hands into his pockets and turned his gaze to the paintings. When the guard looked away, Eric dashed toward the room where he last saw Stella disappear.