Posts tagged ‘picture prompt’

Waiting

 

Twelve days. It’s been twelve days since I’d seen Jared. I didn’t want to worry. To follow after him even though he told me to stay, to constantly look towards the bridge he crossed over, hoping to see him racing back over to me. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust in his strength, his intellect. Him. So I waited, just like he said.

But it’s been twelve days. Nearly Twelve whole days.  287 hours, 47 minutes and 32 seconds.

I dug the heels of my bare feet into the ground, barely wincing as the rocks scrapped at my skin. It gave me something to focus on, something other than the lack of his presence beside me. I’m not clingy, I swear. I just didn’t realize how nice it was to have someone around, other than me, Lucy and Kay. And how worried I’d be when he was gone.

“Still waiting?” Kay leaned over my shoulder, pressing a cool hand to the back of my neck. His fingers were wet, as if he dipped them in the river. He must’ve been trying to catch fish with his bare hands again.

“Yeah,” I said. Read more…

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April’s Picture Prompt

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Dandelion fuzz… wishes… summer days… Whatever comes to you, write about it.

Picture Prompt – Canoe

Introducing: this week’s picture prompt!

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Here are a few questions to jump start your creativity: Where is this picture taken? Who owns the canoe? Why would a person go to  such a desolate looking place?

New Picture Prompt: The View

In reality, this photo was taken from the top of Willis Tower (usually still known as the Sears Tower) in Chicago, IL, USA. If that doesn’t strike a chord with you, write from your own perspective. Happy writing to you! 🙂

Home for Christmas

Based off this week’s prompt

I used to think that the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” was a happy go lucky kind of song. Once I listened to the lyrics. “I’ll be home for Christmas… If only in my dreams.” The speaker knew he wasn’t going to be home in time, but he had to reconcile with that. He made himself content with living his dream in his head.

Well, that is much like me this year. I’m a budding journalist for the New York Times. I enjoy covering everything all over the world, but my dream job has its downfalls. This year, two weeks after Thanksgiving and two weeks before Christmas, a violent gang war broke out in Brazil. Guess who was assigned to travel to Brazil and cover the story indefinitely?

Any other time of the year, my co-workers would have jumped at the opportunity. But this was Christmas. My fellow journalists had Christmas balls to host, benefits to attend, children to look after, and extended family flying hundreds of miles to be with them. I, on the other hand, had no children, no siblings, and my parents had died years ago. I spent Christmas with my husband, and spending time away from Aaron was my one regret of this assignment. This story appeared out of nowhere, and I, the one with the least family ties, was chosen to go spend Christmas thousands of miles away.

And that is why I’m here on Christmas Eve, sitting alone on my tiny Brazilian bed in my tiny Brazilian hotel room. I’d already spent all day writing updates on the gang and drug war, and it was time to sleep. The sun set hours ago, but the people in the streets are far from quiet. It’s almost midnight, almost Christmas morning really, but I can’t sleep.

I stare out the window. There is no snow, and no Christmas trees to be seen. I float down memory lane to when my parents were alive and when we’d set up a Christmas tree together. It was always a real one that we’d chop ourselves – none of that plastic tree nonsense. We made homemade ornaments and hung strings of colored lights around the branches. But that part of my past is over now. Now my family is Aaron. Aaron. A twinge of homesickness pinched my heart.

I would get no sleep thinking like that. I finally fish my Ipod out of my travel bag and set it to play “I’ll be Home for Christmas” on repeat. Bing Crosby sang the song dozens of times before I finally drifted off.

Christmas morning I awake to a strange sensation of light upon my face. I understand what sunlight feels like on my face, and even before I open my eyes, I know this light is different. It appears to be a dappled kind of colored light..

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

I shot up right in bed at the familiar voice. “Aaron?”

He was sitting on the chair at the end of my bed, and beside him sat a real and decorated tree. He smiled so big his whole face seemed to glow. Before anything could be said, he attacked me with a hug. I grinned into his shoulder.

“How on earth…? I thought we said we couldn’t afford this,” I questioned, still not letting go.

He shrugged. “It was a Christmas miracle of sorts. I got desperate and found a friend who had frequent flyer miles he wanted to give away.” He paused and pulled away. “You like the tree?” He asked. “You have no idea how difficult it was to find an evergreen here.”

I chuckled. “What about the lights?”

“Those are our lights from home. Airport security thought I was crazy.”

I thought I’d never make it home for Christmas, but I simply had to think about it differently. Home had come to me.

Simpler Days

Inspired by this week’s picture prompt

I never felt so alive as when I was with her. Maybe it was the way the sunlight always streamed in, turning everything it touched into gold. Maybe it was just me, since I was such a young thing, and quite impressionable. The first time I saw her, I was sitting, as I always was, in the gazebo at the end of Clover Park. It was always so desolate that time of day, and that’s why I took such notice of her. I noticed her radiant, raven hair, her contagious chuckle. She started to come at the same time of day, always after dinner time but before dark, almost every week night. Some days she’d talk, and I’d just listen, fascinated. “I really enjoy this time with you,” she’d say. I could’ve sworn I blushed. “It’s funny how things work,” she told me one day, her smile sparkling. “When I met you, I didn’t know how wonderful you are. I never thought this would happen.” I never thought so, either. You see, I’m not composed of flesh and bones, like most are. I’m cast iron and wood, and I’ve always let that define me. Until I met her. With her, things were different.

One evening, she stood up, and I thought she was about to leave. I longed to tell her to stay – stay forever. Then she told me something more beautiful than I could’ve imagined. Her voice started soft, and then gained volume as she gained confidence. “I’m telling the world that I’ve found the one.” She grinned from ear to ear. “I’ve found you, and that’s all that matters.”

I thought nothing could ruin our moment. Something did. I saw him, walking towards the gazebo, towards us. She threw her arms around him – not me, but him.

“So you’ll marry me?” He asked.

“Yes,” she cried, “A thousand times yes.”

How could she desert me like that? As she embraced him, I that she grasped something in her hand. A rectangular object. Now that I thought of it, she’d been holding that object to her ear during all or our talks together. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe she’d been talking to it all along. Maybe she didn’t mean any of the things I thought she said to me.

Well, in the ensuing months, I suppose I went through the five stages of grief. It’s rough – unrequited love. I went through a nostalgia phase. Why couldn’t she just come back, so I could hear all her beautiful words again? I longed for simpler days. Then I went through a phase of self-doubt. I was just a cast-iron bench. I sat in the gazebo at the far west end of Clover park, and she never stopped by to see me anymore. No one stopped to see me anymore. Why? It was because I was different. I was not made of flesh and bones, as they are. It’s hard to be discriminated against, especially when I couldn’t change who I was. Then I came to a realization, that just because I was different from them, it didn’t mean I wasn’t important. I had a purpose. Without the gazebo, without me, would the two of them have gotten together the way they did?

It’s been two years. I’ve quite reconciled myself with what happened. Last week, she started coming back – well, it was him, her, and a tiny, sleeping baby. I don’t mind the differences between us. She still has radiating hair, but now her smile radiates too, and with joy.

No, I am not flesh and bones, but I made someone happy. I realize now that bringing joy is the most noble of any accomplishment.

Picture Prompt – The Bench


Where is this bench? Why is it empty now? Was the bench placed in such a place in memorial of anyone or anything?

Stay tuned for this week’s prompt stories, and share your creation in the comments!

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