I wrote a short story for my Writing Mysteries and Thrillers class. It was the final assignment and I had some serious trouble getting traction on an idea to start. When I got the idea and started writing, I wasn't sure how it would go, whether my idea actually would make sense to anyone but me.
But I wrote it, and in the interest of calling myself a writer, here it is:
(EDIT 12/17/2020 - I just received my grade for the class - 100%. I must have been doing something right.)
She
snaps a fresh glove down over her wrist, the sound echoing in the nearly vacant
room. Surveying the scene, she narrows her eyes. She holds herself erect, her
face a blank slate. There’s no room for emotion here. She doesn’t take any joy
or pride in this particular part of the job. But it needs to be done.
Her
right hand fists at her hip, pushing back the right quarter of her suit jacket,
exposing the pocket of slim-fitting pants. With the turtleneck underneath, the
suit she wears is a stereotypical look - if she were a man. But she enjoys it.
She is far from typical.