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Discussion Starter #1 (Edited)
Writer’s challenge/Writer’s prompt

I am having a hard time loosening up to write, let’s get those creative juices flowing!
I will add a new prompt every few days, whenever we get tired of one.
I’m excited to read people’s posts and get inspired!
Prompt #1.
What was she doing at his family’s Thanksgiving dinner? He hadn’t seen her since the day he had left high school....”
 

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Discussion Starter #2 (Edited)
What was she doing at his family’s Thanksgiving dinner? He hadn’t seen her since the day he had left high school....”

...I stared at her. She looked good, Amy Lennon. Smooth walnut colored hair and eyes. I remembered playing BS with her during play practice and one night making out in a corner behind some curtains in the dark. That had been fun right before graduation. She was staring back at me intently, i broke the gaze finally, realized that my family was arranging the food busily on the table and finding places to sit. My brother, Zach, was sitting next to Amy, my mother was bringing mashed potatoes to the table. My younger sister sat looking obliviously at her smartphone.
”Well if it isn’t Amy Lennon here to listen to family politics and eat sweet potato pie! How are you, Amy? Hey moron, scoot over.” I said to my younger brother.
“Nothing doing, Chuck, I’m sitting next to my girlfriend.”
The girl spoke for the first time. “Hi, Nice to meet you. I’m Sara.”
“Since when have you gone by Sara?” I asked.
“Since always.” The girl looked at me curiously. There was an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry, but what was your name again?”
“Sara Hockins. I’m Zach’s girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry but you look just like someone I know.”
“Who? Amy Lennon?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“You used her name earlier. Also, I know almost everything about Amy Lennon.” The girl turned to face me,smiling. This was incredible. This girl didn’t look like Amy, she WAS Amy, i was sure of it. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Zach was busy talking to grandma, my father was ordering my sister to put down her phone and as if in a world of our own Amy Lennon stared at me, smiling, pouting her lips and saying slowly, “I can say hi to Amy if you want, Charlie.” One eyelid dropped in a quick wink.
 

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Discussion Starter #3 (Edited)
Really you guys these are just supposed to be fun and spontaneous--- just for loosening up. Plus I want to learn from you all! The prompt is just to be used as a springboard for anything you want to write. You just use the prompt for inspiration and you just do it on the fly to get limbered up to write your "real" stuff.

Prompt #2. "He/She studied his/her face in the mirror."
 

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What was she doing at his family’s Thanksgiving dinner? He hadn’t seen her since the day he had left high school....”

...I stared at her. She looked good, Amy Lennon. Smooth walnut colored hair and eyes. I remembered playing BS with her during play practice and one night making out in a corner behind some curtains in the dark. That had been fun right before graduation. She was staring back at me intently, i broke the gaze finally, realized that my family was arranging the food busily on the table and finding places to sit. My brother, Zach, was sitting next to Amy, my mother was bringing mashed potatoes to the table. My younger sister sat looking obliviously at her smartphone.
”Well if it isn’t Amy Lennon here to listen to family politics and eat sweet potato pie! How are you, Amy? Hey moron, scoot over.” I said to my younger brother.
“Nothing doing, Chuck, I’m sitting next to my girlfriend.”
The girl spoke for the first time. “Hi, Nice to meet you. I’m Sara.”
“Since when have you gone by Sara?” I asked.
“Since always.” The girl looked at me curiously. There was an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry, but what was your name again?”
“Sara Hockins. I’m Zach’s girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry but you look just like someone I know.”
“Who? Amy Lennon?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“You used her name earlier. Also, I know almost everything about Amy Lennon.” The girl turned to face me,smiling. This was incredible. This girl didn’t look like Amy, she WAS Amy, i was sure of it. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Zach was busy talking to grandma, my father was ordering my sister to put down her phone and as if in a world of our own Amy Lennon stared at me, smiling, pouting her lips and saying slowly, “I can say hi to Amy if you want, Charlie.” One eyelid dropped in a quick wink.
My trance is broken by a pat on the back from Dad who has just entered the dining room.

"Take a seat, Charlie." Dad tells me as he pulls himself a chair.

I sit across Sara, trying hard not to stare. I look around the room and, behind Zach and his girlfriend, I see the familiar mahogany display cabinet with mother's old china, complementing the matching Hepplewhite dining chairs. The worn-out carpet underneath the dining table looks as if it had ceased to erode since I last dined in the room some three years ago. The familiar surroundings of my family house help me regain some of the composure I had lost in this perturbing encounter. Just then my mother, who is now sitting beside me, passes me the pot roast. Apparently, they had begun eating.

"Charlie, you've barely taken any; here, have some more." My mother starts filling my plate ignoring my protest.

I have lost my appetite so I pretend to eat for a while before I excuse myself and head out to the yard for a smoke. I light a cigarette as I step through the french windows into the yard. An involuntary sigh escapes my lips as look up at the sky and spot the crescent moon surrounded by its twinkling companions. The rose bushes bordering the yard look as lovely as I remember them. The rhododendron trees on either side of the white gate, and the queen's wreath climbing up the garden's fence still retained their pink blossoms. I go to the farthest end of the yard so as to escape the notice of my parents if they decide to come looking for me. I hear laughter coming from the living room and soon afterwards, I hear the humorous sound of my dad playing Beethoven's rage over a lost penny on the piano; I let out a chuckle.

I notice someone coming through the french windows and then I see Sara coming out, talking to someone on the phone. She doesn't notice me. I light another cigarette as I wait for her to finish her call and go back inside. She finishes her call and spots me as she's turning around to go back. I wave at her and she waves back and makes her way towards me.

"Hi!" She says, smiling as she approaches me.
"Hi" I return the smile.

"Cigarette?" I offer her my pack, she takes one. As I lean over her to light her cigarette, I catch a whiff of something that I recall smelling somewhere a long time ago but I am unable to place it. She coughs as she takes her first drag. I chuckle and tell her that she doesn't have to smoke; she takes another drag.

"You must be wondering how I know Amy Lennon"? She asks me breaking the awkward silence.
"You think?" I reply.
"Well, it's a long story but, to put it briefly, Amy Lennon and I happen to be monozygotic twins who were adopted by two different families; we were unaware of each other's existence until quite recently when my parents decided that I should meet my sister." She replies.
At that moment, I see Zack headed towards us. Sara quickly throws down the cigarette and crushes it beneath her heel.

"I have been looking for you all over the house." Zach says to Sara as he approaches us. "Mom wants us to come in for some coffee and cake."

We head inside and find the rest of the family in the living room. My mother and sister are sitting on the settee leaning over some magazines. My grandmother is napping on her wingback chair, and my dad is sitting at the piano, studying a score. My mother gets up to serve dessert as we enter the room. Sara walks over to my dad and I hear her start a discussion on music. I grab a cup of coffee and settle down on a chair beside my grandmother with a book from my dad's Chomsky collection. When I look up from my book after having read for quite some time, I see my dad excitedly pointing out something on a score to Sara. They seem to be having the time of their lives. I walk over to them and join in.

"So, Sara, what did you say you were studying?" I ask her.

As Sara tells me about the research she's doing; my eyes fall on dad who's looking out the window with an expression betraying such anger that it scares me. Our eye's meet, and for a moment there I feel as if he's going to hit me; then quite suddenly, his anger is replaced by a look of utter confusion. Perhaps noticing my disinterest, Sara excuses herself saying that she's going to go check on Zach.

"Are you alright, dad?" I ask tentatively.
"Yes, yes, quite." He replies, all the while looking down the carpet with his brow furrowed.

I go back to reading my book but find myself unable to concentrate. I begin to feel a rush of emotion stirring inside me that I am unable to put a finger on. I look across the room and see Zach and Sara huddled together on the sofa, speaking in hushed tones. My abstruse emotion quickly turns into envy coupled with murderous rage towards my little brother. I rush out of the room into the kitchen for a drink of water. I gulp down a glass of water and sit down on a stool sipping my second glass of water while trying to make sense of what I was feeling. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps behind me. I look around and see Zach standing in the doorway, who had apparently followed me to the kitchen.

"So, what do you think of Sara?" Zach asks.
"Seems alright." I shrug.
"Alright? I thought you two were best buddies now." I detect sarcasm in his tone.
"What makes you say that?" I ask.
"I saw you two smoking together in the yard. Sara doesn't smoke." I notice the colour rising in his cheeks.
"I was smoking, I offered her a cigarette. She's a big girl, Zach."
"Stay away from my girlfriend, Charlie."
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief
"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I don't know what came over me."
"That's alright, don't worry about it. I think I'm going to go to bed. I'm not feeling very well. Say goodnight to everyone for me."

As I turn around and walk towards my room, a very strange thought occurs to me. I feel as if all three of us, Zach, my dad, and I are somehow competing for the same woman. I'm about to shrug off the idea as some ludicrous notion arising from a particularly long, tiring day when something occurs to me. I return to the kitchen and find Zach sitting on the stool, staring into space.

"Zach, how did you and Sara meet?"
"Oh, we met ... " Zack stops mid-sentence looking as if he's struggling to remember something. He looks up at me in bewilderment.

"I don't know." He says.

[HR][/HR]


Over to you, @Alesha, or anyone who wants to give it a go. :laughing:
 

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Really you guys these are just supposed to be fun and spontaneous--- just for loosening up. Plus I want to learn from you all! The prompt is just to be used as a springboard for anything you want to write. You just use the prompt for inspiration and you just do it on the fly to get limbered up to write your "real" stuff.
So Ne … :tongue:

I don't think I ever wrote something on the fly in my life. Have an amended mirror-prompt response -- after thinking about it and deciding what I want to do with it, as un-spontaneous as ever possiple. :happy:


Three hours on the main line, and the train takes you home; a blink of an eye for something new, an eternity for something old.

Behind the window, unseen, the country rushed past, a blur close, sedately afar, fields and woods and villages; the distant mountains, clear as if carved into the steely blue sky at first, glowing golden soon after, now hidden beneath the blanket of darkness they had unfurled to cover the land.

The lights in the compartment were on, spots that shone in the window like tiny stars, showing what was within without; the compartment and its ghostly twin, a reflection in glass: The chequered seats, blue and orange, the brassy luggage rack, with that single black briefcase that was missing the left clasp, and his own face; always the same, never changing. And just as monotonous the rattling of the wheels on the tracks, iron on iron, constant, never changing.

Across from him, the young woman sat, engrossed in her book. He studied her face in the window: The strand of hair that had escaped the somewhat sloppy bun, and now framed her face, dark blonde, though ash-coloured in the window, irritating her, for she brushed it behind her hear, an absent-minded gesture made a thousand times before; the lines from her chin to her cheeks clear and direct, giving her an energetic appearance; the tiny crease on her forehead, reflecting her opinion of whatever just happened on the page.

She suddenly looked up, and their eyes met in the window.

There was a tiny spark – an instant in time, the span between two heartbeats, this sudden rush of uneasiness, nervousness, excitement and expectancy that came and went, always there and always the same: the collision of something new and something old, something known and something unknown.

He wondered if she had felt it.

He turned his head towards her, finding a hesitant smile. He was sure his looked much the same.

“Where are you going?”

Three hours on the main line, and the train takes you home; an eternity for something old, a blink of an eye for something new.​
 

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Discussion Starter #6
So Ne … :tongue:

I don't think I ever wrote something on the fly in my life. Have an amended mirror-prompt response -- after thinking about it and deciding what I want to do with it, as un-spontaneous as ever possiple. :happy:
[/INDENT][/INDENT]
Point taken, Ti =)
An enchanting piece. Please post again. =)
 
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I am having a hard time loosening up to write, let’s get those creative juices flowing!
I will add a new prompt every few days, whenever we get tired of one.
I’m excited to read people’s posts and get inspired!
Prompt #1.
What was she doing at his family’s Thanksgiving dinner? He hadn’t seen her since the day he had left high school....”
So I'm way off topic but here goes

It was storming cold outside- my car is running out of gas...no wait it's out of gas ...great what now?
I realized that I'm only 5 blocks from home . Okay that's not bad, I can walk. Why didn't I bring an umbrella ? Or coat? It's freezing outside. Why did I choose to wear flip flops in the rain? Ugh . Suddenly I saw a house with lights on and saw a young gentlemen , he had long brown hair, was wearing plaid green pajamas and was eating dinner alone with his Persian cat - wait is that
Fidel ? You must be kidding me-
Fidel was my high school sweetheart, he left without any notes or goodbyes 10 years ago . Is it possible that he's having dinner with his cat alone on Thanks giving?
I should go, I told myself. Just then it started hailing ! Great just my luck . I don't care I need a place that's warm and there is no way in hell - that I'm able to walk for 5 blocks in flip flops when it's hailing.
Soaked in water , and freezing cold- I walked up to his front down and knocked. He haven't seen me since high school, I wonder does he even remember who I am ?

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Thanks for posting these. Going to take advantage of them because I really need to get back into writing. Have been ignoring my stories for way too long...

Prompt #2. "He/She studied his/her face in the mirror."
Skye studied her face in the mirror, lips pursed, her left eyebrow slightly raised.

She really didn't look that bad, all things considered. Her new bronzer had done a pretty good job at faking the tan she should have had from spending half the summer by the beach, and the blush on her cheeks made her look almost presentable. Besides, no one today would care what she looked like anyway. Certainly not her sister, who Skye was sure was already intent on making this day all about her. And certainly not Evan, who'd made it clear through a series of cryptic texts that he planned on bringing a date.

Skye sighed, applying one more coat of lip gloss before pushing her bangs out of her face. It didn't matter who she was, Evan's mystery girl. It never mattered who she was. She was tall and poised sometimes, or short and funny and talkative. She was always different, a polar opposite from his last girlfriend. And she would stay in Evan's life for an average of 4.5 months, Skye knew, because of course, she had done the calculations. Evan's longest relationship had been with Crystal Dawson: 1.5 years, a temporarily shared apartment, and a breakup so bad he still shuddered whenever he heard her name. And his shortest had been with Maya Trevor, who dumped him only hours after they'd finally hooked up at Ashley Stevenson's going away party.

Skye knew all of this of course, because Evan always told her.

At least he used to always tell her, until that night on the beach a few weeks ago that changed everything.
 

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Discussion Starter #9
@Dissenter I loved the character development and the details, good strong voice. @Northern Lights I loved the descriptions and detail and focus in thought. Very Ti-Se and I learn a lot from that, I think. I especially loved the lights like tiny stars showing what is within and without and kind of a sculpted feeling to the descriptions-- very tangible. @ai.tran.75 I liked the whimsical voice with humor and other emotions laced into all of it without even needing to name emotions. @Whisperdream28 It's an intreguing lead-in. with character development.
I would love to hear more of everything you've got in each of your stories. I think you're each really talented. It reminds me that I need to READ more too as a writer. And read more from authors who are a variety of MBTI types-- because that can only help broaden my abilities.
And I know these are just fun--- but you can't help but care about everything you write, right? And I think these are awesome and would all make great stories if they were longer....
New prompt coming up....
 

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Discussion Starter #10
New Prompt: "She'd have to hitch a ride home."
 

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Thanks for posting these. Going to take advantage of them because I really need to get back into writing. Have been ignoring my stories for way too long...



Skye studied her face in the mirror, lips pursed, her left eyebrow slightly raised.

She really didn't look that bad, all things considered. Her new bronzer had done a pretty good job at faking the tan she should have had from spending half the summer by the beach, and the blush on her cheeks made her look almost presentable. Besides, no one today would care what she looked like anyway. Certainly not her sister, who Skye was sure was already intent on making this day all about her. And certainly not Evan, who'd made it clear through a series of cryptic texts that he planned on bringing a date.

Skye sighed, applying one more coat of lip gloss before pushing her bangs out of her face. It didn't matter who she was, Evan's mystery girl. It never mattered who she was. She was tall and poised sometimes, or short and funny and talkative. She was always different, a polar opposite from his last girlfriend. And she would stay in Evan's life for an average of 4.5 months, Skye knew, because of course, she had done the calculations. Evan's longest relationship had been with Crystal Dawson: 1.5 years, a temporarily shared apartment, and a breakup so bad he still shuddered whenever he heard her name. And his shortest had been with Maya Trevor, who dumped him only hours after they'd finally hooked up at Ashley Stevenson's going away party.

Skye knew all of this of course, because Evan always told her.

At least he used to always tell her, until that night on the beach a few weeks ago that changed everything.
Thumbs up. Keep writing.
 

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Discussion Starter #12
New Prompt: "She'd have to hitch a ride home."

@angelcat says she writes in present tense, going to give it a go.

“Damn Collin, just...damn him!” I look down at my legs, scratched up from being pushed out of the car onto the gravel road at speed. There is actually a bloody drip from a pea-sized gash on my leg and it stings. My hands have tiny rocks stuck into them. “Damn Collin,”. Comes from under my breath again. I can still catch glimpses of his car dimly in the darkening light headed down the winding canyon road as I think the words, “Never again. Never again, damn it! I knew I should never have taken him back.” My hands brush the small rocks off in frustration. It’s no use standing around in the middle of the mountains at dusk, now is it? Better head down the road and hope for a car, don’t panic. Breath deep and walk. I will have to hitch a ride if the opportunity comes. Look at my filthy shoes! I’d chosen what to wear so carefully. Collin had said that he would take me out on the town to a fancy-schmancy dinner and concert. I don’t think my shoes will recover, I’m not sure my feet can stand much more either in them. Three inch stilettos, cobalt blue to match my dress. My favorite dress. This dress looks good at a concert, here in the mountains I look like bait, just trash. Pure trash, that’s how he treats me. What would anyone else who comes along on this road think? 40 miles from home on a gravel road in November freezing in a tight low cut and high hemmed dress.
What will my mom say? Will she say sorry? That I was right? When I get home. God, please, I must get home tonight. Surely some car will come by?
The pines along the road look tall, darkening silhouettes against the last gray light of the evening. I cannot figure our if they look like a refuge or like danger. The sunset had been beautiful from up here. Had Colin known he was going to do this to me tonight? Had he said let’s skip the concert and watch the sunset from Cottonwood peaks knowing he would get irrational? Did he offer to carry my cell phone for me knowing that I wouldn’t have any pockets in a nice dress. Had he planned this? As I had chatted with him and as he watched me so carefully putting on my make-up? The way he had planned to tie me up a year ago. Tie me up to scare me to “see what you do when scared.” He always claims there’s method to his madness, a reason to what he does.
I teeter, almost slipping. This is ridiculous. I slip off my shoes and nylons, my fingers brush against the coldness in my feet. I’m shivering and picking up the shoes and nylons walk gingerly stepping with long careful strides. The gravel is sharp against my feet, the grass at the side of the road stickery and uneven. I can’t do this. I put the shoes back on, I drop the nylons, who cares? Or wait, will I need them as rope or something? Will I be forced to tie branches together with them for a bed? Should I sleep in the forest? There might never be a car tonight. Pray to God, No.
Just two months ago Colin had made that awesome pink birthday cake and asked for my forgiveness in the lovingest way possible. He had paid one of my mom’s credit cards off. He’s always so kind to her. Why did he do this to me? Thinks nothing of doing this to me? I think of his smile. Last week he was happy. Happy and attentive to Zoey picking her up and making her laugh like she never laughs with me alone.
A misty rain now flicks my face in minute tiny explosions of coldness. I throw my head back in it. Let’s see if I can lick the rain? I could get thirsty out here. What if I walk all night? I still wouldn’t even be half way home. But what else is there to do? Who knows what will happen to me tonight because I let Colin have me one night when I was mad at my mother and got wasted at a bar and got pregnant on our first date? Madness! Sometimes it seems my daughter was born out of insanity. Zoey. She’s all that matters. No matter how she got here. No matter who her dad and mother are. My black haired darling little drama queen. No matter how stupid my own decisions. She’ll cry to herself for hours tonight if I don’t get back, and my mother will be annoyed, saying I take advantage of her babysitting. When I tell my mom about tonight she will say it’s my fault, that I pissed him off, that he only does these things to teach me something. Almost like a joke.
Maybe it is a joke. I see some headlights coming up the hill. Please be a woman, please be a middle- aged compassionate woman! Please God! The car is a truck, not Colin’s, the engine slows down, humming.
“Hey there, Missey! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? All dressed up, isn’t she?” He says to his buddy. I get an impression of beards and mustaches some beer and voices that sound like they have decided there is a county accent here even when there is not.
Please be kind... as I hoist myself up into the truck seat I wonder: Did I ever have any choice ever? The choice to try to raise Zoey with no money? The choice to not get angry at my mom? The choice to never get into this truck?
But I have to get home to Zoey, so I must find a way out of this.
 

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New Prompt: "She'd have to hitch a ride home."
I was driving on highway 9 when I first saw her- she told me her name was Marie. She was wearing a white dress with flowers in her hair , her long auburn hair was let wild and loose and her eyes as green as emerald- she stood about 169cm . It was 4 am, foggy and lightly sprinkling when I first saw her- I was driving home from a late night shift ...she was walking barefoot along the grass
"Are you ok ? " I asked her
" I'm fine, just kinda cold ." She answered "can I hitch a ride with you officer Lee? "
I hesitated but then I saw the look in her hopeful green eyes and thought perhaps the young lady needed a ride home .
" where do you need to be drop off at ?" I asked her
"you can drop me off on oak street , it's just a few miles down ." She told me
" why are you out so late ?" I asked her " how old are you? " the girl couldn't be more than 16
" it's my birthday today ," she said " I just turned 16 , my name is Marie by the way. "
" you shouldn't be out at this time, " I told her
" you should be home with your wife ," she retorted back
I looked at my ring finger , my wedding band was on
" I should but I need to drop you off first," I told her
" my stop is right here sir," she said
I looked at the poor girl - lanky and shivering in her light garment- I offered her my coat
" thanks officer, " she said .
I dropped her off and drift off into sleep in my car
The next morning I woke up, I realized that I'm parked in front of Madronia Cemetary. That's odd I thought, I need to call my wife , I thought to myself, but there wasn't any reception . I got out of my car, and walked a few block down into the cemetery. It's quite peaceful here in the morning I thought, most of these tombstone are dated back to the 1800s I notice .
Suddenly I felt a small chill down my spine- I looked down and saw my jacket and the tomb stone in front of the jacket said Marie Murphy (December 5 1803-december 5 1819)
Just then my phone worked
" hello ? " my wife answered her phone
" honey you cannot believe who I saw this morning ," I told her
" who ? "
" your great grand aunt Marie."



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@angelcat says she writes in present tense, going to give it a go.

“Damn Collin, just...damn him!” I look down at my legs, scratched up from being pushed out of the car onto the gravel road at speed. There is actually a bloody drip from a pea-sized gash on my leg and it stings. My hands have tiny rocks stuck into them. “Damn Collin,”. Comes from under my breath again. I can still catch glimpses of his car dimly in the darkening light headed down the winding canyon road as I think the words, “Never again. Never again, damn it! I knew I should never have taken him back.” My hands brush the small rocks off in frustration. It’s no use standing around in the middle of the mountains at dusk, now is it? Better head down the road and hope for a car, don’t panic. Breath deep and walk. I will have to hitch a ride if the opportunity comes. Look at my filthy shoes! I’d chosen what to wear so carefully. Collin had said that he would take me out on the town to a fancy-schmancy dinner and concert. I don’t think my shoes will recover, I’m not sure my feet can stand much more either in them. Three inch stilettos, cobalt blue to match my dress. My favorite dress. This dress looks good at a concert, here in the mountains I look like bait, just trash. Pure trash, that’s how he treats me. What would anyone else who comes along on this road think? 40 miles from home on a gravel road in November freezing in a tight low cut and high hemmed dress.
What will my mom say? Will she say sorry? That I was right? When I get home. God, please, I must get home tonight. Surely some car will come by?
The pines along the road look tall, darkening silhouettes against the last gray light of the evening. I cannot figure our if they look like a refuge or like danger. The sunset had been beautiful from up here. Had Colin known he was going to do this to me tonight? Had he said let’s skip the concert and watch the sunset from Cottonwood peaks knowing he would get irrational? Did he offer to carry my cell phone for me knowing that I wouldn’t have any pockets in a nice dress. Had he planned this? As I had chatted with him and as he watched me so carefully putting on my make-up? The way he had planned to tie me up a year ago. Tie me up to scare me to “see what you do when scared.” He always claims there’s method to his madness, a reason to what he does.
I teeter, almost slipping. This is ridiculous. I slip off my shoes and nylons, my fingers brush against the coldness in my feet. I’m shivering and picking up the shoes and nylons walk gingerly stepping with long careful strides. The gravel is sharp against my feet, the grass at the side of the road stickery and uneven. I can’t do this. I put the shoes back on, I drop the nylons, who cares? Or wait, will I need them as rope or something? Will I be forced to tie branches together with them for a bed? Should I sleep in the forest? There might never be a car tonight. Pray to God, No.
Just two months ago Colin had made that awesome pink birthday cake and asked for my forgiveness in the lovingest way possible. He had paid one of my mom’s credit cards off. He’s always so kind to her. Why did he do this to me? Thinks nothing of doing this to me? I think of his smile. Last week he was happy. Happy and attentive to Zoey picking her up and making her laugh like she never laughs with me alone.
A misty rain now flicks my face in minute tiny explosions of coldness. I throw my head back in it. Let’s see if I can lick the rain? I could get thirsty out here. What if I walk all night? I still wouldn’t even be half way home. But what else is there to do? Who knows what will happen to me tonight because I let Colin have me one night when I was mad at my mother and got wasted at a bar and got pregnant on our first date? Madness! Sometimes it seems my daughter was born out of insanity. Zoey. She’s all that matters. No matter how she got here. No matter who her dad and mother are. My black haired darling little drama queen. No matter how stupid my own decisions. She’ll cry to herself for hours tonight if I don’t get back, and my mother will be annoyed, saying I take advantage of her babysitting. When I tell my mom about tonight she will say it’s my fault, that I pissed him off, that he only does these things to teach me something. Almost like a joke.
Maybe it is a joke. I see some headlights coming up the hill. Please be a woman, please be a middle- aged compassionate woman! Please God! The car is a truck, not Colin’s, the engine slows down, humming.
“Hey there, Missey! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? All dressed up, isn’t she?” He says to his buddy. I get an impression of beards and mustaches some beer and voices that sound like they have decided there is a county accent here even when there is not.
Please be kind... as I hoist myself up into the truck seat I wonder: Did I ever have any choice ever? The choice to try to raise Zoey with no money? The choice to not get angry at my mom? The choice to never get into this truck?
But I have to get home to Zoey, so I must find a way out of this.
I love the tragic humor in this- and how she ponders back and forth with thoughts about Colin in her mind. I find this piece very Ne oriented :)
Damn Colin!

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Haven't written in ages - it sad. Taking a stab at prompt #2, hope my bad writing doesn't leave itself hanging out of an obnoxious habit of mine :D

He studied her face in the mirror; the vast expanse of space, the universe, contracted into the shape of an almond. Ran the palms of his hand across black space and he can feel space-time warp - how there is a boundary around a changing infinity. His mind popped open: Is there a bottom to the human soul? Or are we just an abyss, with obligations we must carry with us across arbitrary human culture and time? Where the boundary is broken, can I find a single entity that is mine, and mine alone: and a single entity that is hers, and hers alone?

You see, there is a part of us that belongs to everyone and no one, and I am not sure if I want to unravel that which I cannot keep.
 

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Haven't written in ages - it sad. Taking a stab at prompt #2, hope my bad writing doesn't leave itself hanging out of an obnoxious habit of mine :D

He studied her face in the mirror; the vast expanse of space, the universe, contracted into the shape of an almond. Ran the palms of his hand across black space and he can feel space-time warp - how there is a boundary around a changing infinity. His mind popped open: Is there a bottom to the human soul? Or are we just an abyss, with obligations we must carry with us across arbitrary human culture and time? Where the boundary is broken, can I find a single entity that is mine, and mine alone: and a single entity that is hers, and hers alone?

You see, there is a part of us that belongs to everyone and no one, and I am not sure if I want to unravel that which I cannot keep.
Oh, I really like this. INFP writers-- just amazing.
 

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@ai.tran.75. So my husband read this (Prompt #3 above) and really liked it, like wanted to hear more. So I got all cocky about it and somehow since it's so hard to get me to actually write stuff, even writing on the fly I get super attached to my stuff, I think. Please know I am chuckling when I say the next part: I was totally serious! No Alesha-humor should have touched the above writing at all. lol... my inspiration for it is that I worked with low-income mothers for 10 years. Sometimes they get with these guys so young and it's to escape horrible family life, but it's out of the frying pan and into the fire and then there are babies that make them dependent on everyone for help because they don't have resources or education. I was totally serious and thought I was writing something terrifying... lol.... so something I wrote on the fly needs some work you're telling me? Good feedback and thank you, hun. =) <3 I'm still chuckling....
 
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@ai.tran.75. So my husband read this (Prompt #3 above) and really liked it, like wanted to hear more. So I got all cocky about it and somehow since it's so hard to get me to actually write stuff, even writing on the fly I get super attached to my stuff, I think. Please know I am chuckling when I say the next part: I was totally serious! No Alesha-humor should have touched the above writing at all. lol... my inspiration for it is that I worked with low-income mothers for 10 years. Sometimes they get with these guys so young and it's to escape horrible family life, but it's out of the frying pan and into the fire and then there are babies that make them dependent on everyone for help because they don't have resources or education. I was totally serious and thought I was writing something terrifying... lol.... so something I wrote on the fly needs some work you're telling me? Good feedback and thank you, hun. =) <3 I'm still chuckling....
It is tragic - but the irony in it makes it humorous- I too want to know more as well. It is dark ( your story ) I have a very crude sense of humor ( hence my attraction to Ti )

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Prompt: He promised to meet her by the the bus stop, but it was snowing.

Only now had she noticed how her breath blew out like smoke. The cold air that nipped at her exposed hands occupying most of her attention. Just a quick trip in and out, a least that was what she told herself. She tried not to think bitterly about him. She's sure he has his reasons or something she supposed. Maybe it was the cold, she could understand why he would be put off about it. She had gone though. She had thought it even if I don't want to go out, if he's there it's unfair of me to just stay here, right? It's fine, I'm sure he had something important. That reassurance seemed to make it worse though, leading her down a trail of doubt. It's fine, maybe he's just late, she tried, attempting to comfort herself. It's fine, she repeated a few times, till she calmed. She looked down at the snow, shivering a little, as she remembered the winter surrounding her. She rubbed her hands together before bringing them to her face. It was no use. Never mind, I'll just wait another hour, then, then, I'll go. Another promise, another conviction, another way to be okay.
 
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