First writing prompt for my creative writing class. Motel Room
Motel Room
“Welcome, welcome, to the Prickly Pear Motel!” announced a voice through the heavy downpour, “Voted best in service since 1902!”
Halting his stride, Jericho stood in the middle of the cobblestone street and looked in the direction of the croaky voice, glimpsing a man standing under the tattered canopy of a rundown motel. He was a skeletal character with a greasy appearance. Jericho on the other hand had an outlandish look, dressed in a muddy rain soaked duster and a wool fedora hat; a heavy western saddle slung over his shoulder. Shifting its weight, he continued down the stone boulevard, stopping in front of the shabby brick building. He fixed the man into his dark brown eyes.
“How much for a night?” asked Jericho in a dismissive tone.
“Thirteen dollars, my good sir,” said the dark-haired man, rubbing his emaciated hands together greedily, “Come in, come in, and warm yourself by the fire,” Springing into action, the aging man pushed open the doors to the motel and motioned for Jericho to follow.
Jericho followed him inside and down a short hall of wood paneled walls with threadbare carpeted flooring. Entering the lobby, the man quickly scurried behind the half circle oak desk and opened a leather-bound ledger.
Running his crooked index finger down a scrawled list, he stopped half way down the page and tapped the page with triumph, “Room thirteen is vacant!” he announced, looking up from the thick volume, “how will you being paying? Cash or trade?”
Removing his hat from his head, Jericho snapped the residual water from it with a flick of his wrist, “Cash,” he replied, putting his hat back on and then reached into the upper right breast pocket of his coat, pulling out a crumbled twenty dollar bill. He thumped the damp bill onto the desk and asked, “Where is the nearest train station?”
Snatching the money, the man stuffed it into his pocket and said, “Station’s in the next town over,” Turning around, he looked up at the rows of keys on the wall and snatched a brass skeleton key off the hook, “Isn’t none of my business,” he said, stepping from out from behind his desk, “but we don’t get many folks like you around here—save for the occasional escapee running from the long arm of the law,” Again, he motioned Jericho to follow.
“My business is my own,” said Jericho, following him down another hall.
Walking down the hall flanked by doors on either side, the man stroked his chin in curiosity, “What happened to that horse of yours?”
Shifting the weight of the saddle, Jericho continued following the man and mid-point down the hall, he answered indifferently, “Ran the poor bastard into the ground,”
Coming to the last door on the left, the man inserted the key, unlocking the room door, “Here we are,” Opening it, a gust of stagnant air rushed out, “We don’t get many patrons anymore—but I’ll call housekeeping at once. He stepped to one side and flipped the light on.
Stepping into the disheveled room, Jericho dropped the heavy saddle carelessly and said, “This will do,” Removing his wet hat, he looked at the thin man, this time, his eyes were hard and unreadable, “Housekeeping isn’t necessary,”
Slightly stunned by the stranger’s tone, the man nodded in acknowledgement, handing him the key, before leaving in a flourish. Closing the door behind him, Jericho set his hat down on the seat of an old wooden chair by the door, and then removed his coat, draping it over the back of the same chair. The one window room was indeed disheveled; the walls and ceiling were damaged from unattended leaks, causing the wallpaper, once an elegant hunter green with gold Fleur De Les, to warp and peel, exposing cracks and mildew stains along the walls. The floor boards were well worn and creaked beneath his weighty boots.
Stepping to his left, Jericho made his way towards the bathroom, where a tattered drape on a tension rod acted as the door. Pulling the tattered cloth to one side, he entered. A small broken window above the shower stall provided no protection from the winter air outside. A layer of grime and dust coated the effects of the lavatory. Leaving the filthy room, Jericho stood in the main room once again and walked over to the bed, a full-sized mattress on a four poster bed frame. He eased onto the bed, unsure if it would buckle beneath him. Laying back, the coils squeaked loudly. The light fixture just above the bed flickered and a faint buzzing sound accompanied each blink.
I believe I stated that motel room more than once. ;-)
You certainly have the start of an intriguing story, it seems to be a composite of all of those stories of a stranger arriving in town and faced with a dubious place of business to deal with. It certainly doesn't constitute a story, the beginning is there, but the middle and conclusion aren't. At first, I couldn't believe the price of the room because, even though the time period isn't given, it's too much for a place that will give you bedbugs. But then I saw the significance of the room number 13 and the price of $13. You did mention the broken mirror in the bathroom or that the motel happened to be addressed, 13 El Morte St.
If you continue the story, I would be interested in reading additional posts.
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