Posted in Writing, Writing 101, Writing Exercises

Writing 101: A Day At The Park (Take 2)

This was written in response to Writing 101: Point of View.

My first version keeps going back to password protection so here is my second attempt at posting.

 

The Old Woman

‘Johnny’s going to love this sweater. I hope it fits. That boy is growing far too quickly.’ Her hands shook slightly as she twisted the yarn around the needles.

The cracking of leaves caught her attention and she glanced up. A smile graced her face at the sight of the young couple. Oh to be young and in love again.

But she was far too old to be young, she would leave that to her soon to be 3 year old great-grandson.

 

The Woman

The sunlight beat a perfect rhythm on her face bringing out a laugh. She grabbed her fiance’s hand and tugged him into the piles of leaves.

“Come on Frederich. It’s a wonderful day to jump in the leaves.” She kicked at the leaves in front of her. “Can you imagine how beautiful our engagement photos will turn out?”

“Anna, the photos will turn out beautiful no matter what because you are in them.”

She smiled and tugged Frederich into a hug. Her eyes caught the glance of the elderly woman who was knitting on the park bench.

That would be her one day; knitting sweaters for her grandchildren.

 

 The Man

Anna made his life better. Watching her childlike joy as she played in the leaves made the fight for his life worthwhile.

He knew he had to tell her. She had plans for their future that can’t work out anymore. At least, not with him.

The shock of Anna grabbing his hand pulled him out of his thoughts. “Come on Frederich. It’s a wonderful day to jump in the leaves.”

He intertwined their fingers and smiled at her.

“Can you imagine how beautiful our engagement photos will turn out?” The light twinkled off of her eyes, making her look even more like an angel.

“Anna, the photos will turn out beautiful no matter what because you are in them.” I’m the one who will make them ordinary.

Anna pulled him into a hug, lightening his mood. He spun them around; making Anna giggle.

While spinning, he noticed the old woman watching them from her seat on the bench. He noticed the small sweater, half-formed in her hands.

A lone tear creeped down his face.

That was something he could never give Anna. If she stayed with him, she would never have the children she longed for.

Posted in Challenges, Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Serially Lost 2

This post was written in response to Writing 101: Death to Adverbs. To avoid the use of adverbs I used Edit Minion (which was made by the people who brought us Write or Die). This part is linked to Serially Lost.

 

 

The Cailleach Bheur was active in the square today. People pulled and tugged on their cloaks.

Mouse shivered as he waited. He held his breath. His glance darting from person to person. It wouldn’t be long.

“Are you alright?” The woman’s eyes pierced his soul. “Where are your parents?”

“Off.” Mouse shrugged. He knew how to get rid of her. “Bartering.”

“Well, you’re shivering.” The woman slipped the cloak from her shoulders. “Take this.”

Mouse shook his head. “I don’t need no charity miss. I’m good as is.”

“It’s not charity. It’s a gift.”

Mouse didn’t see her move until the cloak wrapped him in its embrace.

“But how is it I can give it back? I don’t know you?”

“It’s a gift. Think of it as the return of something lost.”

Mouse shook his head. He opened his mouth but realized the woman was gone.

At least the cloak held back the winter wind.

Posted in Challenges, Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Serially Lost

This post was written in response to Writing 101: Serially Lost. As of now, this is a stand alone; however, I am trying to come up with two more parts to complete this short tale.

 

 

“I lost it. I can’t believe I lost it. Wolf is gonna bury me when he finds out.” The mousey haired boy chewed on what was left of his nails as he paced. “I’m gonna be underground. I’ll be so far I’ll never get out.”

The creak of a door seemed to underline the boy’s last few words. The boy jumped and started chewing faster.

“Relax Mouse. It’s just me.” An older version of the boy stood by the door. “Wolf sent me to check on you.”

Mouse’s eyes went wide and his breathing picked up. “N-n-n-nothing’s wrong. I’m f-f-f-fine.”

The older boy rolled his eyes. “Tell me another story. Maybe I’ll live that one.”

Mouse shook his head.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll send Wolf up here. He’ll get it outta you.”

Mouse’s skin turned several shades whiter. “He’ll bury me. I lost it.”

“You’ll have to speak louder than that if you don’t want Wolf here.”

Mouse glared at his brother. “I said I lost it. Wolf will bury me when he finds out.”

“What did you lose that would send you underground? You know Wolf don’t care about most things.”

“He cares about this. I lost his knife. He gave it to me and I lost it. I needed to keep it safe.” Mouse put his hand back up to his mouth and resumed his chewing. “He’s gonna bury me.”

“He ain’t gonna bury you. If he was he woulda done it years ago the first time you lost something.” The older boy placed a hand on Mouse’s shoulder. “Now come on. We gotta tell Wolf before he finds out by himself.”

Mouse swallowed hard but followed his brother out of the room.

Posted in Post a Day/Week, Writing

Different Languages

Innis Seun 2“So, what you are telling me is that the girls where you are from speak very differently than we speak here?” Sheehan looked at Barbara with a confused expression on her face.

Barbara nodded. “Yes, they speak a lot different from here. They still speak English… or Innis as you call it here, however with the way they speak, it is almost as if they are speaking a different language.”

“They speak Innis while speaking a different language? So they speak two languages?” Sheehan picked up her left hand and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“No, they speak one language but they way they speak it sounds as if they are speaking a different language.” Barbara shook her head and her hair waved back and forth along her back.

Sheehan stopped walking for a moment and just looked at Barbara.

Barbara rolled her eyes and reached out to give Sheehan’s arm a tug to get Sheehan moving again. “The way they speak it sounds as if they are speaking a different language when they are not actually speaking a different language.”

“Well, could you give an example?”

Barbara seemed to think for a moment. “Well, like, they like talk like this and they say like whatever and like oh my god and like things like that.”

“What does that mean?”

Barbara laughed. “I did say it was almost as if they spoke another language. I much prefer how people speak here. At least everyone says what they mean.”

“Everyone does not say what they mean.”

“Well, they mean what they say. And that is the same thing.”

“That is the same as saying I breathe when I sleep is the same as I sleep when I breathe. The sentences have different meanings.”

“Are you quoting Alice in Wonderland?” Barbara said with a light laugh.

Posted in Writing

The General

Jeremiah's StoryHe leaned back in his chair and took a long drink from the cup in his hand. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was almost noon. Taking another long drink, the stern looking red-head looked at the door.

The man, who was dressed in a crisp white shirt and beige trousers, didn’t have to wait long until footsteps were heard coming from the hallway on the other side of the door. Soon after he heard footsteps, there came a knock at the door.

The doorknob turned and his manservant entered before the knock could be answered.

“Pardon me, but the general of Division 24 is requesting to speak with you. He is insisting that the matter cannot wait until after dinner.”

‘Why can’t anything wait until after I have eaten? Though, it has been a few days since I have driven fear into my armies.’ “Let him in. I could use the entertainment.”

“As you wish.”

The man turned his back to the door as his manservant left the room. Within minutes, a man dressed in full military uniform stood silently behind the chair.

‘At least this buffoon isn’t fool enough to speak before being spoken to.’

“Emperor.”

‘Or maybe he is. Pity, this general could have gone far. Too bad he couldn’t keep his mouth closed.’

“I am terribly sorry to intrude upon you.”

‘No you aren’t but you will be shortly.’

“However, there has been a breach in security. Section 13 of Division 11 has been compromised. They are using renegade tactics to hold off the rest of the Division.”

‘And a snitch as well? Telling of a security breach in a different Division? Let Division 11 handle it or go in and take control yourself.’

“I am requesting permission to send troops into Division 11 to aid their general.”

The emperor slowly turned his chair to face the general who was looking worried. After several minutes of silence, he spoke. “I don’t believe you do. If you truly wished to aid Division 11 you would have gone there rather than coming here to ask for permission.”

“Protocol dictates that permission be granted before troops are allowed to leave their Division.”

A slow nod greeted the general’s statement. “True, permission must be granted by the Division’s general. I will have to find one to give Division 24’s troops permission to aid Division 11.”

Sweat began to gather on the general’s face. “Sir?”

The emperor rang the bell which sat on a small table by his chair. The door opened, letting in the manservant. “Bradford, please send this  pathetic excuse for a man to the arena for the next war game. And, while you’re there, make sure he is placed in the same housing area as the renegades he helped to catch.”

“As you wish.” Bradford placed a hand on the former general’s shoulder and led him from the room.

Posted in Post a Day/Week, Writing

Road Trip

Sisterhood“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Emma asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Emma, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t know how to get to Winterwood? I haven’t been there since I was five.” Carrianne gritted her teeth in an attempt to keep her voice level.

“But you own property there.”

“Correction, Grampy owned property there and I only get the deed after I come of age,” Carrianne said in a slow manner. “Mom hired a caretaker and did everything over the phone. We never had to go there.”

Emma grew quiet and Carrianne grew more concerned.

Carrianne sighed. “Why are you asking? And don’t say ‘you’re curious’ because I know that’s not the reason.”

Emma stayed quiet for a moment, letting the sounds from the radio fill the small car. “Maybe we should pull over and ask for directions.”

“I gave you a map of the area before we even left. You have the map on your lap and have been looking at it for the last 20 minutes.”

“See, maps are funny. They don’t always have the town you’re looking for.”

Carrianne groaned. “Grab my phone and use the GPS app.”

“Yeah,” Emma dragged out the word until it was painfully distorted. “I tried that and it didn’t help. According to the maps of the world, Winterwood doesn’t exist. It’s like Narnia.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me sooner because?”

“Road trip?” Emma’s voice was small but hopeful.

Carrianne didn’t need to look to know her friend had on a wounded puppy dog expression. She sighed in defeat. “You owe me.”

“Road trip!” Emma did a happy dance in her seat.

Posted in Post a Day/Week, Writing

Burial

This piece is an accompaniment to Do You Remember Winterwood? and, as such, has a sad tone. If you have problems dealing with illness and death, I would ask you to skip this piece.

(Sadness warning included for Fibee5 and anyone else who needs it. 🙂 )

Continue reading “Burial”

Posted in Post a Day/Week, Writing

I Can Read Your Mind

This was written for the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Taglines. Where we were asked the question “What if people had taglines?”

I also used this opportunity for a 30-5 challenge. 30 minutes to write and 5 minutes to edit.

hrbar

Karen sat down at the round metal table and watched the people coming through the small café. She didn’t know who they were or where they were coming from. She couldn’t tell you their names but she could still tell you their purpose in life.

Ever since she was a small child she was able to tell at a glance whether someone was going to heaven or hell. Her grandmother said it was the second sight but Karen knew there was more to it.

That’s why she had come here, to this café. She was meeting with a known psychic to find out what she was doing.

Karen looked at everyone in the café and wondered if the psychic was there yet. She had tried to get a picture of the man but was told it would ruin the experiment.

She rolled her eyes at the memory of their conversation. The psychic, who was apparently well-known in the supernatural community but not the mundane community, kept pausing when he was speaking. If she didn’t know any better, Karen would have sworn that it was all a joke.

But she was the one who had contacted him. Rayne, the psychic of psychics. If you were trying to figure out your power than Rayne was the man for the job.

Karen looked around and watched as a few people entered through the open doorway.

Suddenly, Karen’s laughter filled the air.

Rayne, the best man to find out your psychic power, was actually a woman. A very pregnant woman.

Karen read the words above Rayne’s head again. Instead of the usual “Heaven”, “Hell”, or “Undecided”, Rayne’s tagline read “If a man can’t do it, a woman can.”

Posted in A.P. Roberts, Challenges, For the Promptless, Writing

The Alter Ego: Mirrors

I’ve decided to try my hand at Prompts for the Promptless byRarasaur. This weeks prompt was “The Alter Ego”. Rather than focus solely on an alter ego for myself, I wrote about one that a lot of people have encountered. While not focusing on me, this post does showcase some of my own insecurities.

prompts for the promptless, rarasaur

Mirrors lie.

They sparkle, they shine, and they lie.

Mirrors promise to show you beauty but when you look, you see only flaws in the reflection.

Sometimes you can stare for hours. You analyze everything you see; hoping against hope that you will see something good. Yet, at every glance, you only see the worst of who you are.

Bags under your eyes show the world how little sleep you get. Your eyes themselves are bloodshot and watery. If you didn’t know any better you would swear you had just gotten off a drinking binge.

Along your forehead the frown lines mix with laugh lines until you can no longer tell where each one came from. Of course, you’re young enough that you shouldn’t even have wrinkles so those lines worry you; causing even more lines to form.

The skin on your face is oily in some places and flaky in others. You wish they would even themselves out but there is little hope in that. And the sunburns gracing your cheeks make your skin looked even worse than the blackheads covering your nose.

You close your eyes before looking at the rest of your reflection. While taking your moment, you send up a little prayer that the rest of your body looks better than your face. Unfortunately, you know that your prayer will be as unanswered today as it was yesterday.

Your body has stored fat everywhere but where you want it. Your bra size is B but if the fat went to your chest instead of your stomach you would be at least a D. And your butt doesn’t even begin to fill out the large pants that barely fit around your thunder thighs.

It makes you want to cry when you see your reflection in the mirror.

You try to cover it up with fashion and make-up. You try to play up your strengths and enhance your beauty. But it never works.

Because mirrors lie.

Posted in Writing

Do You Love Him?

Jeremiah's Story“Do you love him?”

The question was simple, but Alyssa found that she couldn’t answer. As much as she wanted to love, she also knew she couldn’t.

“Well?” Rhiondra tapped the toe of her polished leather shoe on the floor. “Do you love David?”

“Rhiondra, unlike you, I do not have the privilege to fall in love.” Alyssa’s voice faultered as she thought of what she was going to say. “I am a purposed person. We are only meant to do what we are purposed for. I was purposed as a servant. I am to clean and cook not fall in love.”

“That is ridiculous. You should be able to love. In fact, you are able to love because I allow it.”

“It is not as simple as that Rhiondra. Love is not my purpose.” Alyssa tugged on the bottom of Rhiondra’s dress. “Can you stop moving so that I might hem your dress?”

Rhiondra waved off Alyssa’s comment but stopped moving. “It is as simple as that. And, if I were you, I would run away to be with my love. It would be very romantic.”

“It would be dangerous and deadly.” Alyssa stopped her work so that she could look Rhiondra in the eyes.

“But it would also be romantic.” Rhiondra’s eyes took on a faraway look.

Alyssa sighed. “Yes, Rhiondra, it would also be romantic.”