Bonus Fiction: The Commandant's Last Stand
This month's Fictionistas story prompt comes from a mystery murder game.
At the Fictionistas October Let’s Write Together, Nicole Rivera provided a prompt inspired by a murder mystery game. I provide the prompt and the game at the end of the story
By Vince Wetzel
Copyright 2024 OT Press
The order was given early this morning. Max told me as I came in from my evening patrol.
“The Commandant has ordered everyone to remain inside,” Max said. “The Commandant believes the attack will come today.”
“Are you sure? Nothing seemed unusual. No troops were assembling outside the perimeter.”
I loved my job as sentry. Each night, I patrolled the perimeter looking for anyone or anything suspicious. The night is scary, but I reach out to my network of scum who are looking to rat out a fellow lowlife. They’re just looking for a score, but sometimes I like to toy with them. Most of the time they squeal, letting me know that they haven’t seen anything.
Sometimes, I find some pussy who’s looking for a cat like me. I’m happy to make her squeal too, but it never gets in the way of my job. I know who supplies the chow. The Commandant has my every loyalty. I’m a devoted follower.
“Yes, the Commandant said today is the day,” Max said. “The enemy is going to storm in here and take out the Commandant. So go the Chow Hall, get your grub and come to the front gate. That’s where we expect the enemy to breach the perimeter.”
I sighed. Once a week, the Commandant pulled this crap. The Commandant always thought the enemy was on the verge of attack. And each time we readied for battle, only for the day and night to pass and still no attack. It was no wonder some of the trips were becoming indignant and sometimes defiant of the Commandant. If it wasn’t for the chow and the opportunity to patrol, I might feel the same.
The chow line was getting worse. Chaos enveloped the line. Every soldier for him or herself. It was emblematic of the palace and the Commandant. Over the last few months, the Commandant had become more erratic, the palace in more disarray, and even the bathroom facilities were becoming unbearable. The Commandant was more focused on preparing for attack than for the palace’s upkeep.
I met Jasmine in the Chow Hall. Jasmine was my inside source. She spent most of her time at the foot of the Commandant.
“What’s the word Jasmine?” I murmured. I couldn’t afford to be too loud. The commandant could be listened. “Is there really going to be an attack today?”
Jasmine rolled her eyes and sighed. I knew Jasmine would give me a true answer.
“It’s going to be today,” Jasmine said. “The Commandant is weak. The enemy knows it. They are coming today.”
“We’ve heard that before,” I said.
“No, if the enemy is coming, now is the time to strike. The Commandant is drifting in and out of consciousness.”
That was new information. I was glad to know Jasmine. I hooked up with her sometimes too. We all did. The worst-kept secret was that the palace was one big orgy. The Commandant didn’t care and if the Commandant was going to condone it, then it was going to happen.
“Thanks Jasmine, I guess I had better prepare,” I said.
“Good luck,” Jasmine said, bringing her face close to mine. She kissed me. “Depending on what happens, I’ve always enjoyed you. If we survive, maybe we’ll find each other again.”
“Plan on it,” I said.
I stepped away dreaming of another opportunity to be with Jasmine when I heard Max screaming, “The enemy is at the gates. The enemy is at the gates.”
Before I could react, there was an irritating pounding at the gates, causing me to shake my head and close my eyes. When I opened them again, I watched as the enemy burst through the gate and into the Commandant’s palace with a large metal contraption on wheels. It was ominous and I knew it was not good for the Commandant.
“Oh no, were we too late?” said a voice from behind the invading force. It was a woman, the spy, we liked to call her, who came three times a week, preying on the Commandant’s weaknesses. She asked questions on her health and made her weak by shooting liquids into her veins. “I knew we should have come earlier, but she said not to come. That she was fine.”
“Ma’am, we’re going to ask you to hang back,” said one of the men. “Your mother is unconscious. We’re going to try to resuscitate her.”
“Can you actually help get some of these cats out of here?” asked the other. “God there’s a lot of them.”
The Commandant’s daughter went for Max first, who darted toward me. His eyes were wide. “They’ve got the Commandant. Every soldier for themselves.”
The woman then came for Jasmine, followed by my brothers Jeff, Chris, and my half-sister Carol. I stood, transfixed on what the men were doing to the Commandant. They pulled out a box with two white paddles attached by curly cords. There was beeping and orders exchanged between the two men. It made an awful squeal as they flipped a switch.
“Oh my god,” said the Commandant’s daughter.
She was no longer trying to rid the room of us soldiers. Instead her hands were to her face as she watched the men with the Commandant. Suddenly the men pushed the paddles on the Commandant’s chest. There was a large crash, and the Commandant’s body jumped from her chair with more violence than I’d ever seen in my life.
“No,” I screamed, causing the Commandant’s daughter to look at me. Her eyes were filled with tears.
More words and the machine emitted a singular tone. Another squeal. Another crash and a violent jump of the Commandant’s body. The Commandant’s daughter came toward me, not to shoo me away, but to sit next to me on the couch. I needed comfort and I pushed against her. I needed tenderness and she held me.
The other soldiers began to wander in, as the men continued to work on the Commandant, all gathering around me and the Commandant’s daughter. We all sensed the end was here. It was an honor to serve the Commandant. She was a great woman, who cared for us, provided for us, and gave us love from her floral-printed throne. Some, like Max, had been around for years. Some, like me and Jasmine, had been here our entire lives, The time to understand the future was not now. At the moment, all we could do was mourn.
“Goodbye, Commandant,” I said. I was followed by all of my comrades in a chorus of farewells.
The Commandant’s daughter looked at all of us and gasped.
“How many cats did Mom have?”
The Prompt
This month, the Fictionistas took a card game and converted it into a writing prompt. It’s not too far of a stretch, because the game “Murder We Wrote” is called “A True Crime Podcast Party Game!” and what is a true crime podcast without a story?
Here are the cards for this month’s writing prompt:
“Murder We Wrote” cards. The “Victim/Suspect” card says “A Lady With Too Many Cats.” The “Cause of Death” card says “Conspiracy Theories”
The Prompt
Your Victim or Suspect is “A Lady With Too Many Cats”
Your Cause of Death is “Conspiracy Theories”
The Process
Typically, an idea forms in my head quickly. But for this, I was a little stumped. Well, to be honest, my first idea involved a certain Presidential candidate who was prone to conspiracy theories and who has talked about cats lately. I spared everyone and decided to go into a different direction.
In this case, I thought it would be fun to tell it from the cat’s perspective, but one who doesn’t tell it like a cat, but from a soldier’s perspective. I enjoyed taking a cat’s personality traits and overlaying it onto this character’s narrative. I hope it worked.
Thanks for reading
If the Fictionistas writing prompt party brought you here, stop on by:
Salted Wetzel with a Side of Mustard
Original Fiction: All of my novels and short stories take place in the same universe. The novels are the tent poles that come out every couple of years and these stories will fill out the tapestry. I’ll be updating you on characters you know, while introducing characters from future work.
Fridge Philosophies: What started as a passive-aggressive way to provide some helpful advice to my teens by placing inspirational quotes on the refrigerator has become a weekly mantra for me to work better, live intentionally and be present. I’ll be sharing these Fridge Philosophies along with what they mean in my life.
The CHOW: Either it will be my own Clueless Hack on Writing, where I will provide updates on projects and my struggles and triumphs… Or it will be Creative Heroes on Writing with writing friends sharing their perspectives on the creative process.
Extra Mustard: A roundup of podcasts, shows, books, and movies I’ve enjoyed the past month, plus additional thoughts and ideas to share.