Your character is in a kitchen, could be their own, a friend’s, a restaurant’s, etc., you choose, and they think they hear an intruder approaching! They grab. . .what! Rock the characterization with this simple choice.
Genie paused, soup spoon half to mouth, ramen dangling precariously, and listened. The drip-plop of a noodle landing back in the bowl obscured only for a second the creak she thought she’d heard, but nothing silenced it a third time.
Ice seared her system and she burst out in goosebumps. Who the hell was in her house? Would he know where she was? Her gaze locked on the doorway to the kitchen. Hide or fight?
Part of her mind tried to reason that she might be able to escape if she ran for the door now, but she was too scared to move toward the sound. She could maybe scramble through the kitchen window, but she couldn’t for anything turn away from the doorway and expose her back to the potential threat.
The creak came closer.
Soup spewed when she dropped her spoon and pushed away from the table with both hands, shoving herself backward before standing.
Weapon. No knives. Weapon. No knives.
Law & Order: SVU and CSI: Miami had drilled it into her brain. People who didn’t know how to use knives were more likely to get themselves injured than their attacker.
With her gaze bolted on the kitchen entrance, all she could see was the mug of cooking utensils she kept in the corner of the counter. She grabbed the heftiest item in there—the potato masher. Maybe she could bash his head in with its wavy edge. Maybe if she caught him on the top of his skull. Maybe if she bashed him with all the spastic, strangling fear rushing through her limbs so fast they shook.
Against the revolting of her stomach she kept her back plastered against the counter and crept along toward the refrigerator, inching closer to the doorway.
She needed surprise, it was her only hope.
She was near to hyperventilating and three feet short of her goal when she locked up, unable to make herself move any closer to the doorway. She should hold the potato masher in her right hand and cock her arm back, ready to lunge and brain him the sec he came into view. Instead she gripped it in both fists, holding it in front of her like a shield. She couldn’t fight the instinct to curl inward and protect her core.