Just Gotta Touch

I picked up a new game. It's called the Writer's Toolbox. With a series of writing prompts and an egg timer, it lends itself to a lot of activities. This particular one has you pick a fist sentence at random. Write for 3 minutes. Draw another sentence. Three minutes. Another sentence. You get the idea. Click here for my sister's story. This is my result.

Just Gotta Touch 

There I was just standing there when what I wanted to do was forbidden. My arms tingles. Anticipation? I was filled with a longing and as the seconds ticked, I scarcely trusted myself. I seriously doubted I would be able to restrain myself. The crowds moved behind me oblivious to the battle that played out in my mind.

In front of me, long and sleek, was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I wanted to touch it. The sign above the cage warned people of the danger. Perhaps that's why the urge was so strong. Perhaps it was because it was forbidden. Perhaps it was the thrill of the danger, but I sincerely felt it was because so few can boast that they have actually petted a tiger. I wasted to be among the few. There was something so rare and exotic about it. There was something about the tiger that looked like just a giant pussy cat.

I slowly reached my hand between the bars holding my breath, my fingers trembling slightly. It was like placing the top block of a precariously stacked pyramid. It was like lighting a candle in a tornado. It was like skating on thin ice. So basic, so easy, so outrageously impossible.

The tiger wasn't the only danger. The zoo security riding around in zebra striped golf carts could have me thrown from the premises for violating a clearly marked warning sign. I was just building up the final ounces of  needed courage when a head popped up behind the tiger.--A second tiger! Now I would have to choose. Oh dear. Well, they were both the same, I decided.

Inches from the orange and black fur, I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder. I spun around now face to face with an orange and black striped shirt. The stranger wearing the shirt didn't say a word. He didn't need to. His left shirt stopped abruptly, armless.

These were the sentences I had to work with:
FS. There I was just standing there when what I wanted to do was forbidden
NS. He was walking on thin ice, that's all I'm saying
NS. Well it was all the same, I decided