Promptness

I've browsed a few other writing blogs, and there seems to be a trend in writing from prompts. I think I may start doing this, and I'll make it a series if you readers are interested. I'm going to draw my prompts from the Forward Motion Writers generator, or maybe a few from the example sentences in my Mac dictionary when I find them (they're quite curious sometimes) and then write an unedited drabble that may or may not have anything to do with the actual story of a character.

So, my first shot, the prompt being "Crowds are funny things. They can be chaotic, unpredictable, unma[n]ageable. And they can be dangerous, [especially] when rumors and complaints are running like water through them.

Today, your character finds themselves smack in the middle of just such a crowd, the threat of a riot all but certain. What they do about it is up to you."

and my randomly-chosen character being Michelle:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Michelle had some basic riot training, of course. With the streets eternally clogged with crowds, and few of the citizens made any happier by this fact, general discontentment could spark into destructive anger within a few words. It was something that happened and something that forced her to sort damage reports. A common nuisance, nothing more.

At least, that was how it looked when she was behind police office doors or sturdy, clear shields. When she found herself standing unprotected in the middle of the crowd, the idea of a riot was a bit more worrisome. The lack of zap in her system—and, judging by the trembling arms across the throng, in the others'—did not help the situation, either.

A man with a shaved head a bit darker than her skin pounded at the front door, which looked more like an overgrown wooden shutter than a proper barrier. It would probably buckle quickly once those in the front decided to bust it down. But no—there was a secure metal door just behind it. Wasn't there, the last time she was inside? That was right, yeah...

Dangerously close to losing her balance, Michelle tried to keep up as her part of the group approached the knocking man in the front. What were they going to do when they found the door wouldn't come down? How was she going to get out of here before things escalated? How was she going to get out of here at all if she didn't get her fix?

The crowd had just come to a stop when she heard the shouting. Rising above the grumbles and cries of the rest, a man's voice called for them to unite. To strike. They all deserved another helping of zap no matter what the organization was trying to do, and together they could secure it. Even if the addicts had to claw every brick from the walls, they would get inside. 

It took little more convincing before the horde was crushing itself to get closer to the building. Everyone was eager to do his part in the distribution of just rewards, even if to do so he had to send his fellows sprawling and ready to be trampled. 

The sweating bodies pressing in on her, the feeling of air going thin in her lungs, and the roar of excitement finally sent Michelle forcing her way past those in front of her. As if these grungy, reeking zapheads deserved to get their fix more than her! They were leaving others to die so they could get a little closer, while she was a perfectly good policewoman who saved people. She would put the energy to much better use than any of them.

She never faltered in that thinking as she fought past anyone in her way.

If only her coworkers could see her now.