“That’s how it’s scripted,” he snapped. “Just try to follow direction.”

Rolling my eyes, I took my position standing across from him and we restarted the scene. The director and rest of the cast had long gone home, leaving only the pair of us on the stage to rehearse over and over. I stayed silent as he spewed his lines at me, malice coating his tongue like poison. I understood it was a tense scene but I couldn’t help but feel he legitimately wanted me dead. A chill shivered up my spine and shook my shoulders.

He groaned. “Are you kidding me? You have one direction. One! Be. Still.”

Despite the heaviness of his diatribe, I didn’t feel hurt. Flames stirred in the pit of my stomach. I was sick of his attitude. With each word, he had stepped closer to me. Fueled by a trembling fury, I lifted my hands to his chest with every intention of shoving him away. But before I connected, he grabbed my wrists, drawing my arms up. He released me there, whether or not he meant to, and we stood nose-to-nose, my arms hovering around his neck as I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his.

The flames stirred into a blazing fire, sparked by anger and perpetuated by the heat between us. I pushed against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and drawing him nearer. His fingers dug into my side, equal parts infuriated and fiery.

I pushed away, actually able to shove my hands against his chest this time.

“Oh,” he said.

My breath was quick. “Still want me to be still?”

Warmth radiated from the redness on his face, and a smirk flickered across his face. “Only where it’s scripted.”

He smiled, and so did I. We restarted the scene. This time, I didn’t waver.

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Hello, friends, you bet I’m late again. I’ll get back on track one of these days.

Today, I used all of the prompts: scripted, be still, and diatribe. The word scripted made me think of a theatre and for some reason the idea of being still and diatribe brought an argument to mind. But thanks to a good friend of mine, all I could think of was her theatre romance, which is nothing like this but which crept its way into the characters’ argument anyway.

As another friend of mine once told me, hate is closer to love than apathy. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between anger and passion. Both have very strong energies. Still, best to be careful with the line between them, something I’m sure these characters will not do.

Anyway, I finally posted the video about this challenge if you’re interested in watching. Please feel free to leave your own responses to the prompts below, as with any of the prompts. Writing is kind of the point of the whole thing.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading!