“Create an imaginary friend (human or not)”
I have a friend named Puzzles. I’m not quite sure if Puzzles is a he or a she, but this friend showed up as if from nowhere one day and hasn’t left my side since.
Puzzles is magical, you see, and invisible to everyone except me. Continue reading “Prompt 85: Imaginary friends”
“Two dollars isn’t a lot of money, unless…”
…you live in a backward universe where efficiency and simplicity are the concepts that define value and thus small and easily measured numbers carry more weight than long or fragmented ones. Two dollars makes you rich. But not as much as one dollar does.
Today, as part of the research I’m doing for this little writing project of mine, I read a lot about this one day in the Second World War: December 16, 1943.
Why that day, you ask? Well, according to our family records, this was the day that Allan Reid Cameron, my great-great-uncle, died while on a training exercise. His plane was brought down because of heavy fog that impaired visibility and led the pilot to crash land near or in Lincolnshire, England. All crew members on the plane perished. Continue reading “Bringing characters to life”
“A love story that starts and ends in 24 hours”
Thanks to Reedsy for the prompt!
Augustus Martinelli walked into his shop, as he did every morning, on the nose of 6:30. He was greeted, as usual, by the full, embracing fragrance of a multitude of flowers. He flipped on the light switch by the door and walked through the storefront, bidding good morning to each of the spring-kissed bouquets he inspected.
“And how are my peonies this morning?” he asked. “Not looking too droopy yet.”
Then he went on to the roses, and the bunches of violets, and, lastly, nearest his little cashier’s desk, the mixed bouquets he prepared every day in the morning, or when there was a lull of quiet in the store.
Continue reading “Prompt 75: 24 hour romance”
“Write a story in which each sentence will begin with a different letter of the alphabet, beginning with the letter A, and moving sequentially”
Audrey Jenkins was her name. But she preferred to go by AJ. Cats were her favourite animal. Dogs scared her.
Every day she would go to school. French was her first class. Grammar was always an issue.
History was next. In that class she excelled. Just as she did in music, too. Kraus was her teacher for that. Continue reading “Prompt 74: Using the alphabet”
“An elderly person finally takes the last picture on a film camera they’ve had for decades. Today they’re going to print it.”
Mary was weary of the task ahead of her. In her slow motions towards packing up the house, she had left Michael’s closet for the very end. She had not felt up to it at any other juncture.
Mary and Michael had lived in that house for over forty years. The house’s walls, its very essence, in fact, resonated with memories of their lives within it. Living through the transient presence of their children, friends, visitors, Mary and Michael had been the two permanent inhabitants, taking stock of everyone who passed through.
A few months ago, Michael had himself become a transient dweller as he transited past life into something else, unknown. Continue reading “Prompt 70”
I feel like soup is more than just food, don’t you? Soup is nourishment for the soul.
Picture this: it’s a cold, damp day, and you’re feeling kind of blue because your boss yelled at you for something that wasn’t your fault. You stop at the grocery store because you know that there’s nothing but a tub of mayonnaise and a half-eaten packet of Tostitos in your kitchen. You wander around aimlessly, trying to figure out what you feel like eating. Suddenly, as you sullenly walk through the fruit and vegetable section, you spot a butternut squash sitting on its own in the basket. You’re instantly transported to a day in your childhood when you weren’t feeling too great as well, and you see your mother place a steaming bowl of butternut squash soup right in front of you. You take your first sip and swallow. It warms you to your very core. It’s a warmth that begins at your centre and spreads out across your limbs, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Continue reading “Prompt 63”
“Write from the point of view of a nurse who hates the patient she is charged with helping”
Rose had a routine. In fact, it was a perfect routine. She would come into work at the Redford Physical Rehabilitation Centre at precisely 7:50 in the morning, so that she could start her rounds at 8:00. She was a stickler for punctuality, particularly when it came to her being on time. It was vital for her to be on time to both start her day and end it.
Continue reading “Prompt 54”
“Set something on fire”
I looked at the bouquet. It was a bunch of daisies. Bright yellow centres surrounded by pure white petals. Daisies. If he had been listening at all, he’d know I hated them. Loathed them, even.
Adding insult to injury, he had sent a note with them. It had two words on it. ‘Forgive Me’. It stared at me stupidly, silently calling me a fool.
How dare he?
How could he possibly think that this would work?
Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the box of matches that had been laying still and unused on the mantlepiece. I struck one against the strip on the box. It lit in one go. That almost never happened. The action of lighting the match was clearly fuelled by my anger. I lit one of the petals first, and watched it start to smoke. The flame licked around its partners and slowly reached the core of the flower.
I threw the whole bouquet into the fire place. The note followed soon after. I stared at it, feeling liberated as the words were erased by the charring that spread across the paper.
“Forgive me, my ass.”
“You are the Grim Reaper. Write three different opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles.”
I regret everything. Every life I’ve ended, every loved one I’ve taken away. There is not one that I do not mourn. No one understands the weight that I have had to carry on my shoulders since the very inception of time. I hope that this tale will shed some light on it and have you rethink how you see me. Continue reading “Prompt 51”
“Write a story that ends with the line ‘And this is the room where it happened’.”
Two sisters, four and five, play with their bears, each creating stories from their corner in the bedroom. Each in a world that seeps into the other; overlapping imaginings. The elder, always meticulous, had her bear poised as she brushed its plush fur, telling him a story of a princess in a faraway land. The other, more rambunctious in her approach, had her furry friend bouncing from one side of her space to the other as he chased imaginary bad guys that had tried to steal all his honey. Continue reading “Prompt 44”
People marching, mesmerized, all moving in the same direction, stepping at the same pace.
Corralled by banners and observers that delineate the path the marchers must follow.
Slow progress, allowing the audience to carefully absorb the celebration or the protest of those passing by.
A chant? Perhaps. Starting at the front and rippling across the procession, sometimes overflowing the boundaries and taken on by those watching intently, wanting to belong to the movement in some way.
The colours they wear have been selected specially for the day. Each garment, each symbol, each slogan representing key parts of their message. Multicoloured and multilingual pride in what they stand for. Well, walk for.
The leaders reach the end of the mapped route. Like a river unleashed into the ocean, the line collapses and disperses, spreading people outwards without a concrete sense of finality. Leaving the marchers wondering whether they should go home or circle back and start over again at the beginning.