writing prompt

A Clue

Frank was sick. His nose was running, his throat hurt, and he felt generally lethargic. An early night would probably cure him of the worst of it, he thought. Just a cold.

It wasn’t until he got up in the morning and looked in the bathroom mirror that he realized there was something more serious going on. He wondered what kind of a doctor he’d need to see for the three toes growing out of his forehead. Perhaps a podiatrist.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Tree

I shrug on my fall jacket and step outside the door only to remember why I dread the idea of going out today. My allergies hit my sinuses full force and I struggle to separate the wad of tissues I extract from my pocket to catch my sneeze.

I promised my best friend, Amanda, that I’d go with her to meet an uncle she never knew she had. Amanda has been on a kick lately, looking up her family tree. Her dad died when she was very young and he wasn’t close to his relatives. Since her mom passed away, she’s been giving her all to one last ditch attempt to connect with someone.

On the way over to pick her up, I think about what I’m going to say. How cheerful I’m going to pretend to be. Shit like this is something a person only does for a best friend.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Shadow

How is a shadow any less real than that which casts it? Of course it’s real, I would have said six months ago. But it has no life of its own. Now I know different.

It was a warm evening last March. My girlfriend, Amanda, and I were sitting in her basement apartment trying to get a breeze to blow through. We gave up eventually and sat down to watch TV. She rolled a joint and we sparked it up. I thought I was that – that I was too stoned and I was seeing things, but she saw it too.

Our shadows, cast by the bluish light of the TV screen, got up and left without us. Life ever since has been like something out of a horror story.

Author’s note: From October 4th to the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Break

“I want to break through.”

“Don’t you mean you want to break free?”

“Ooooh, there’s an idea.”

“See? You DO need me!”

“I don’t need you. In fact, I’ve fallen in love.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. I’ve fallen in love for the first time. This time I know it’s for real.”

“You’ve fallen in love?”

“God knows. And that’s why I’ve got to break through.”

“Free.”

“Right. Free.”

…says a character to her author

you see me. i know you do. you feel my pain, you know my joy so intensely that you can express it. you understand what i’m going through – you see past the facade.

so why won’t you get me out of this fucking situation? just do it, damn it!

Craving – run-on sentence poetry

When crisply chipping off
bits of crackers and
crunching,
munching,
scratching down the throat
is what appeals,
yet all that’s
in the fridge
disagrees
sweetly and
softly with your craving,
it’s time
to go
to the store.

Creation

Tired of waiting, for you
(whoever you are)
to come into my life,
I shall create you.

I will knit for you, a cape
(made of feathers)
to drape upon your shoulders,
to give you form.

I will dream for you, a castle
(with a dragon)
so that you may rescue me,
and kiss me awake.

I will sing for you, a song
(full of love)
to rouse you into dance,
so that you may hold me.

I will bake for you, a feast
(of drool-worthy delectables)
and get you drunk on wine,
and whisk you away.

Ah, but to knit, a cape
(castle, song, feast)
for a love such as yours,
is a labour of a lifetime

yet unfinished

#SoCS – Panic

I wanted to go. I was ready to go, to cut the cord between me and my family. Scholarship in hand, I stood with my mom, dad, and baby sister in the cool autumn breeze at the bus station. It was going to be my first time away from them apart from the occasional sleep-over at my best friend, Sharon’s house. At least I had Sharon. She was already on the bus. She knew to give us some space to say good-bye.

I hugged them each in turn and pasted a happy smile on my face. Dad might have bought it, but my mom and sis weren’t fooled. I could tell by their own fake happy faces.

It wasn’t until the bus started moving that the panic began. What if I never saw them again? What if I wasn’t happy at college, if I hated my professors, my courses… my life? I started to cry, but then Sharon put her hand over mine on the glass.

“It’ll be okay,” she assured me. “Just like when we were having sleep-overs.”

She smiled a real smile and I relaxed. Only then did another thought occur to me.

“What if we’re not in the same dorm room? Or the same dorm even? How will I survive without you?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she whispered.

We both cried all the rest of the hundred miles to college.

socsbadge2016-17

This horribly bleak Stream of Consciousness Saturday post (which is totally unedited) was brought to you by the prompt here: https://lindaghill.com/2016/09/23/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-2416/
and The Daily Post prompt here: Panic

Jump

Yours are the hands, mine are the feet.

You extend your arms for an embrace and I walk into them.

You paint a pretty picture and I tap dance around my praise.

You throw a ball of kindness and I run to catch it.

You snap your fingers, I jump.

You screw it on tighter, I chase down whoever can lift the lid.

You grab, I fetch.

You clutch, I scram.

Yours were always than hands that took, mine were the feet worn down to stubs in your service.

Stylish

“What, in the hell, are you wearing?”

Ginny looked down at herself and back up to her BFF, Miffy. “I know. My mom made me put it on for picture day. She thinks it’s ‘stylish’. Can you believe it?”

“We HAVE to get you out of that… thing. What is it anyway? Overalls with a skirt? Your gym clothes would be better.”

“It’s a ‘pinafore.'”

“UGH!”

“I know! She did give me this to put on over it, if I really wanted to.”

“What is THAT?”

“A cardigan.”

“Oh. My. God. Ginny. You’ve got to go home and change.”

“I can’t. My mom will kill me?”

“How would she know?”

“I don’t know. But she will. I just know it.”