Somewhere Private. (Writing Prompt -- #7)

Brought to you by Creative Writing Prompts ^-^

Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath, and walked towards where he was sitting.
"Hey," she said, nodding to Caleb's friends. She tried for a meek smile but only managed to lift half of her lips up, resulting in a strange and totally awkward grimace. "I um--"
"Wait a second," said Patrick, leaning back in the booth. He laced his arms behind his head and openly stared at her. "Weren't you the girl who passed out this morning? In Gov?"
Something inside her roared in protest at this, threatening to overtake her control and assume charge from there. The tips of Angela's fingers tingled and her hands twitched, as if itching to punch Patrick in the face. But she swallowed and forced the feeling down, pressing it as far back in her mind as possible.
"Listen," she said, making herself look at Caleb. He had his gaze lowered, pinpointed on the cup of coffee in front of him instead, but Angela stood her ground with a surprising firmness she had no idea she possessed. She pressed her lips together. "Can I talk to you? In private?"
And that was definitely stretching it a little. She'd barely known Caleb for a month, which meant she had no right to ask him to speak with her in a private area. She knew this just by the looks on his friends' faces and she mentally cringed at it. But she didn't have a choice. It seemed like there was something going on with Caleb, a connection between him and the violent feelings she has been experiencing...and, at least, it was something he understood better than her. 
At that point Angela snuck a look to her side, her eyes searching for her friends. They were still grouped beside the counter, with Macy leaning across flirting shamelessly with the cashier, who must be at least a freshman in college. It surprised her that they were still there, but she was immensely grateful regardless. No matter what strange events happened to Angela, it was comforting (though surprising) to know that her friends would still be with her.
"Come on, man," said Patrick, shaking his head. "Don't go anywhere with her. Let's just get out of here."
She glanced at him and her teeth gnashed together. Honestly? She didn't understand why she had to put up with this, with any of this. If Caleb had wanted to help her--which he obviously did or else she would not be alive in the first place--then he would come to her. And so far, he hasn't. If anything, she should be the one waiting on him. It shouldn't be the other way around.
As if hearing these thoughts Caleb finally looked up, and when his gaze met Angela's, he smiled faintly.
"No, it's fine. I'll hear what she has to say."
Patrick seemed taken aback, a look on his face that matched the stupidity in his brain. Angela pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding her smile and feeling oddly triumphant. She watched as Caleb's friends got up, one by one approaching the door, each muttering excuses and disloyal comments that Angela was proud to realize her own friends have never uttered. When all of them had left she turned to face Caleb, suddenly unsure of herself again.
"Um," she began, but he only shook his head, gesturing to the small hallway next to the bathroom. "I thought we were going somewhere private?"
Angela exhaled. "Yeah," she said. "Right."

- E

I'll Follow You Into the Dark (Writing Prompt -- #6)

Let's all pretend that this actually happened to me, and that I have a high school job as a secretary for the C.I.A. (even though it didn't really happen to me, and I don't--and wouldn't want to--have such a job).

Brought to you by Creative Writing Prompts ^-^

It had been far too long of a day.
I leaned back against my chair and sighed, rubbing my hands over my eyes. Oh, thank God. I was finished. That report I had to sort through, the one filled with absolutely ridiculous intel on whatever was happening over in Greece, was finished. It was still on the desk in front of me, hot pink and scented, and I couldn't help but make a face at it and pinch the bridge of my nose. This report gave me so much grief, Connor had no idea. And if he asked me to sort through something else--
I exhaled slowly and glanced at the clock. 5:00, it said, and something exploded within me. Happiness and relief, morphed into one giant rush of emotion. No, Connor couldn't make me sort through anything else because it was time for me to go. It was bad enough that I had to work on a Saturday, and even worse when he told me I would be sorting through papers. The RP ones too, he had said. The Rubbish Papers. But my hours were up, and I was free to leave, free to return home and hopefully take a hot shower and stuff my face with clam chowder.
And what, exactly, had been the point of it anyway? If they were all really RPs--and even I was pretty sure that they were--why not just throw all of them through a shredder? It would've made anyone's life easier.
I could almost hear Connor's voice in my head. You don't know anything until you have double checked. Which was why we needed you.
Right, I thought. Then double check them yourself.
I stood up and grabbed my book bag, swinging it over one shoulder and striding over to the door as fast as I could. There were several things on my mind at that time: Car. Home. Shower. Food. Basic things for an average person, really, but not for someone who had a desk job for the C.I.A.
Shaking my head, I hitched the bag tighter against me and reached for the door.
And then I went blind.
The door had disappeared, the wall in front of me gone. In fact all around me, it was pitch black, the color of the darkest set of coal and charcoal, and I stood there for a moment frozen in shock. It wasn't until a few seconds later did I finally realize that the lights had just turned off; Connor had probably forgotten to tell someone to change the bulbs. It had to be it.
I sighed, exasperated, and reached out in front of me, my fingers digging around for the handle. But what they landed on was definitely not a handle. They touched flesh.
Immediately I pulled back, my feet backpedaling until I ran viciously into the edge of my desk.
What the hell? 
Someone chuckled. "What's the hurry, girl?"
I froze. The voice did not belong to Connor. It didn't belong to anyone I knew.
"Who's there?" And how did you even get in?
The floorboard creaked and the unmistakable sound of footsteps grew louder and louder as the owner of the voice made its way to me. "Pity it's so dark, isn't it?"
Again, I couldn't recognize the man. I swallowed. It had to be a joke. A test of some sort. I worked for the C.I.A.; this was a simulation to test me in case something did happen, something that required even a girl with a desk job to act.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do in times of action. I exhaled slowly once again and tried to make light of the situation.
"Uh," I said. "Who are you?"
The hidden man--how annoying--laughed out loud once again. "I can't tell you that."
Of course not. I went through the rest of the tactics, the seconds that ticked by eating away at my confidence. "Where did you come from?" 
I heard him walk towards me and I instinctively shifted to my right, putting myself hopefully farther away from him.
"I heard Greece is lovely this time of the year."
My body turned ice cold. 
Greece? Greece? As in the pink paper, the RP, the Rubbish I'd wanted to shred only minutes ago. 
"What?"
For a brief second, almost as if there were a strobe light in the room, the lights flashed on, illuminating the man's face--a horrible, scarred face with a lopsided smile--before turning off again just as quickly. I had no idea if it had been intentional, the electricity suddenly flaring up again, but I wasn't going to stay to find out. I darted forward, concentrating on a mental picture of the room, praying that whatever was in front of me would be the door. But instead of running into the door, I ran into a pair of arms that wrapped around my shoulders, dragging me roughly to the side.
I screamed.
"Oh, for God's sake," the man muttered, and a hand worked itself to my mouth, muffling the scream at once. "You're an exasperating person, you know that? Makes my job just that much harder."
I shook my head and began swinging my elbows around, searching blindly for something to jab. Somehow I managed to make him let go of me but his free hand only moved up to my neck, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing tightly, cutting off my ideas of screaming again.
"Stop fighting, girl," he said, his voice unbearably close to my ear. "Or something will happen to you."
Something was already happening to me, part of me wanted point out, but I couldn't even move my lips. Stars danced in front of my eyes and a dull pressure erupted in my head, dark and throbbing, as if someone were shoving a hammer into my skull. I couldn't breathe. I needed to breathe.
I wrenched my mouth open and sunk my teeth into his hand.
He swore loudly and released me, and I stumbled blindly forward, my shoulder hitting something hard. With fire scalding through my arm, I slid my hand down the wooden object, closing around a cool, brass handle and turned it as fast as I could.
The door swung open with a burst of light, taking me with it. But instead of hitting the ground, I landed on something softer, something unmistakably familiar.
"Great," someone said. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but you know, it's all good."
My eyes flashed open and I jumped to my feet, wrenching myself away from--arms. Arms that belonged to him. 
Humiliation washed over me, and for a split second I almost forgot about the man in the other room.
"Connor," I said. "Oh."
Connor scratched the back of his head, and I randomly wondered where his father was, why he had come up here alone. This was a classified hallway. He didn't work here--he just monitored the area. And he was young, too young to be trusted with such information unless he had an actual desk job, which he didn't.
He turned around calmly, facing a different figure in the hallway. "Caleb. Get that man out of the room. Unless you want me to do it?"
He sounded much too hopeful, but the man--Caleb--snorted and strode forward, disappearing into the room. Connor glanced at me and grinned.
"I can't say we didn't expect this. Hey, you want to stay here for another hour?"

(Not one of my better short stories, I will tell you that.)
I should probably get Chapter 3 of ARoN up, since I'm about a week late--if not more. But that probably won't happen. I'm going with a friend to see The Vow today, and then there's homework...and more WAP stuff to do for Depravity. Which, you know, totally sounds like an ideal day. (The Vow part does at least, I have to admit.)

- E

It's really not what you think it is (Writing Prompt -- #5)

Plus a subtle query letter writing exercise at the bottom of this post.


I usually try to not talk about myself too much on this blog. It should be a blog on my WIPs, my anticipated discoveries, writing, rants, and books. It shouldn't really particularly be about me, and my life, and how successful or ridiculous or absolutely fantastic I might be. But then again, if you look at the labels over there (--->) it does say that there are currently eighteen posts tagged "words of me", and counting. That, everyone, is the second most frequent label, right behind "writing" and just a few more than "Depravity". 

Confession: Do I rarely talk about myself? No, actually. I do talk about myself. A lot. But I'd like to say it's a healthy and average chunk "a lot", and not a completely self-absorbed "a lot". (But if I ever get too far into the self-absorbed section on this blog, let me know, and I'll switch back right away!) Yeah, that's great and all, right? But what does this have to do with this week's prompt?

Brought to you by Creative Writing Prompts ^-^

Fifteen year old Ella lives a hidden life.

In fact, her name isn’t even Ella. Raised in a society where math and science are encouraged and the arts squashed into a bloody pulp, Ella takes on a pen name and finds refuge in her writing, an unrecognized form of creativity that many people in her school view with eye rollings and scoffs. In order to avoid embarrassment and possible emotional-wrecking humiliation, Ella works in secret, driven to beat the odds and prove her worth to an unaccepting public. But with this goal comes three things: unexpected friendship, theoretical enemies, and a daunting deadline that will decide the rest of her future.

Inspirational and heart wrenching, It’s Really Not What You Think It Is will make readers sympathize with this young writer and egg her on as she approaches the most crucial period of her teenage life: high school graduation, and what comes afterwards.

Word count: 158. Close enough.

I actually exaggerated in that blurb. Like really exaggerated. I can promise you one thing though: my life really isn't that exciting. I didn't make all of that up, however; every word is true. But it's really not that dramatic. Trust me.

This is actually a pretty good way to practice writing query letters, blurbs...all of that good agentman-stuff. I mean it. Think of every single aspect of your life and try to put it in a way that people would want to hear about, to read about. Make it gripping, interesting. Use a subtle exaggeration if necessary (like I did!), but don't lie. This should be similar to your current WIP; though the genres might be different, the concept put into the query letters is still the same.

If your life were a book, what kind of blurb would you write?

- E

12 things to do when there's no electricity -- Writing Prompt (#4)

Brought to you by Creative Writing Prompts ^-^

1. READ A BOOK. 

Well there's an obvious one. Unless it's dark or something--then I guess you could read by candlelight? Moonlight? How romantic.

2. ROAST S'MORES.

By the open fire. Mmm. Or better yet:

3. START A BONFIRE.

Never been to one, unfortunately. Not at a bonfire permitted area? No worries. Open up that fireplace you never use, strike up a match, and there you go. Or if that doesn't work out, get a candle, light it up, and stick it in a glass jar--Harry Potter style. Or maybe you could just make do with the candle.

4. PLAY MAFIA. TELL SCARY STORIES. THE WORKS.

Once you have that bonfire-fireplace-candle jar going, gather up a few friends and relinquish your horror-filled creativity capacity. Maybe play a little of that Mafia game.

5. PLAY A BOARD GAME. LIKE MONOPOLY.

The never-ending board game, as I call it. Because, frankly, Monopoly has never ended for me. I dunno, maybe that's a good thing? The fact that no one I've ever played with (including myself) has ever gone bankrupt? Or maybe I just have an extremely short attention span, which is very probable. If Monopoly doesn't suit your fancy, then may I suggest LIFE? Or Sorry? Or maybe even that iCarly Charades game? (I do own that.)

6. SILENT DANCING.

Self-explanatory. Dance without music. See how your self-esteem ends up after that.

7. CLEAN THAT HOUSE. RAKE THOSE LEAVES. TRIM THOSE HEDGES.

Time to get started on those chores. Perfect time to get to them. Even more fun to do when it's dark outside. And it would be pitch-black as well, mind you, without the electricity.

8. RUN AROUND WITH A STICK, SHOUTING "LUMOS".

'Course, no one would really do that...

9. GET ACTIVE.

Stop being a hermit, and get out of the house. It's time to reconnect with your friends through a nice game of basketball, or a nice match of tennis, or whatever else you prefer. Go biking, go running. Go ice skating on that one frozen lake near your house if you must. 

10. MAKE FRUIT SALAD.

Peel apples, grapes, oranges, mangoes--anything, really. Even tomatoes. Which I strongly believe to be in the fruit group.

11. CAPTURE THE FLAG.

Percy Jackson style. Minus the swords and shields and magical weapons. 

12. GO SOMEWHERE LOCAL YOU HAVE NEVER GONE BEFORE.

A store, maybe. A restaurant. Or better yet, a forest, a hill, some place people seldom go. Who knows? Maybe you'll find something interesting there.

What's on your list?

- E

Cinderella the Bounty Hunter -- Writing Prompt (#3.5)

You can read Part 1 and what the whole prompt is about here. I'm about to change the story of Cinderella ^-^

-----------

"Come out, Alexandra."


Outside, everything was still, a warm afternoon filled with blinding sunlight but a stifling atmosphere. It was too silent. Too still, too stationary. Cinderella felt like she was suffocating, even standing on the balcony, motionless. She stayed there for a few seconds, counting to five, her breathing slow and controlled. Then she frowned.


"Alexandra," she said. "Come out. I know you're here."


Once again, no one replied. Cinderella exhaled and rubbed her face, suddenly feeling considerably exhausted. A breeze stirred the top of her head and a moment later, a new voice interrupted the stillness of the afternoon.


"Upset, are you?"


Cinderella didn't even turn around. She only nodded her head, her fingers clenching and unclenching. "What gave it away?"


A shadow fell across the railings of the balcony and a new figure joined Cinderella. She wore a long robe of spun indigo, her face young and smooth, her gold hair twisted into a tidy bun. Her eyes were an eccentric color--ice blue, lighter than even Prince Charming's--her lips pink and full. Cinderella faced her Fairy Godmother with a dry smile. She did not know where such strength came from, such rebellion over submission. If it had been yesterday, Cinderella would never have spoken out like that if Theresa and her step sisters had been in the same room. And the Prince and Sir Matthew--no, she would never have spoken like that in front of them either.


"Cinderella," said her Fairy Godmother kindly. "I don't understand. You were able to get what you had wanted, weren't you? The ball, the dance with your Prince--it was everything we had bargained for. And yet," she said, "you're not happy."


"Of course I'm not. The Prince doesn't even recognize me, for one...and the slipper, Alexandra. The slipper fits Lucy."


"Lucy?" To Cinderella's immense surprise, Alexandra seemed amused. "Well," she said. "That is indeed unexpected."


"Is it?" Suspicion threaded through those two words. Cinderella eyed her Fairy Godmother, brows pulled into a straight line. "Do you know anything about this, Alexandra?"


The Fairy Godmother smiled and poised her hands on her hips, arching her back so that her gaze was on the sky. "Me?" she said softly, her eyes brighter than usual. "Of course I don't, of course I don't."


"Liar."


Alexandra snapped her head back to its original position. "So what if I am lying?" she said. Her voice was soft. Dangerous. "Your Prince has abandoned you. You will never have him, you will never leave this atrocious shack again. Everything has been lost. Nothing should matter anymore, Cinderella."


"But it does," she said calmly. "Everything still matters. There is a way, isn't there, Alexandra? A way to get him back? A way to change things?"


Alexandra studied her charge with a tight smile. "Tell me, Cinderella," she said. "This...resolve of yours. Is it truly genuine?"


"Genuine," Cinderella repeated. "As in...?"


"As in true. Pure. Without greed and malice."


"Well," said Cinderella, "why would it not be?"


It seemed that was all the Fairy Godmother needed. She reached inside the sleeve of her robe and pulled out a long stick. Her wand. "The Prince recognizes you," she said, twirling the instrument between two fingers, "but he cannot go back on his word of marriage. He said he would marry the woman whose foot fit in the single glass slipper, and the Queen took this oath as seriously as she could. Marriage is not a light discussion topic among the royal family, Cinderella. It's bound by a magic even the Prince cannot break."


"Then what will I do?"


"I will turn back time, give you one more chance. Go to the ball and make the Prince bind himself to you before he can make a silly mistake and give Lucinda the chance of trying on the slipper. He loves you, Cinderella." The Fairy Godmother laughed, shaking her head. "He loves you more than he does Lucinda at least."


Cinderella swallowed, keeping this piece of information close to her heart. "And if I fail?"


"You have until midnight. If you fail, then you will return to the position you are in right now, one day before Prince Charming marries your step sister. And then there will be nothing you can do to stop it." Alexandra raised one eyebrow. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Cinderella?"


She didn't even pause to think. She nodded right away, pressing her lips together.


Alexandra smiled, raising her wand. "Then let's begin. And this time, may I advise not to lose your slipper?"


- E

Cinderella the Bounty Hunter Part 1 -- Writing Prompt (#3.5))

This week's prompt was way too long for me to copy down (because I couldn't just copy and paste the text) so I made a screenshot of it.

 

Time slowed down when the dreadful news delivered. 


Cinderella blinked and stared at Lucy's foot, her fingers curling into fists. Ridiculous, she thought faintly. They can't believe this. Clearly it doesn't make sense. 


But clearly it did. Sir Matthew managed a pained smile and stepped back, taking the glass slipper with him. "Well now," he said, nodding as if he too was trying to shake away his shock. "Well now," he said again. He glanced at Cinderella for one brief second before switching his gaze to the girl on the armchair. "Your name is Lucinda, correct?"


Lucy bobbed her head up and down eagerly, looking like a broken doll. "Oh, yes," she said, her voice light with fake breathlessness. "Yes, I am. And may I say that I am positively honored--"


"Wait one second," said Cinderella. She stepped out from her hiding spot behind the single white pillar of the house and Theresa gasped. Cinderella ignored her and continued forward, her eyes only on Sir Matthew. She could not bare to let them go to the Prince. "That slipper," she said loudly, "does not belong to her. I know you know this, Sir Matthew. Does she sound like the girl you talked to last night at the ball? Does she have the same figure, the same appearance as the girl who danced with you, who made you laugh--"


"Stop this at once Cinderella!" Theresa said shrilly. She pointed one shaking finger at her, her chest heaving from the exertion. She seemed paler than usual, a contrast that satisfied Cinderella; she was so used to seeing her step mother with rich, but obviously artificial color on her cheeks. "You stop this at once, Cinderella. Your words are nothing but lies, nothing but poison to our Prince's ears." Her lips curled into a sneer. "Do you honestly think he cares for what you have to say?"


"No one knows what you are talking about, Cinderella," said Lucy with a small smile. She sat up straighter and patted down a few strands sticking out from her bun. "It was a masked ball. I had been wearing wig, you see," she said, turning to Sir Matthew, flashing him what she believed to be a dazzling smile. "My natural hair color is of course a dull brown. Blonde is just so much brighter in comparison, don't you think?"


"I am blonde," Cinderella pointed out, but Julissa merely shook her head. 


"Not your kind of blonde," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Obviously not your kind. Yours is the color of soiled bricks, not the gold spun brilliancy Lucy wore last night."


Seething, Cinderella clamped her mouth shut, swallowing down a truthful and verbally violent retort that most likely would have earned her two days without food. She finally let her gaze flicker to the Prince, who had been staring at her the whole entire time. When their eyes met, she felt herself flush red, but the Prince remained impassive. The only indication that he felt anything was the twitch of the corner of his mouth. 


Cinderella swallowed, feeling suddenly very numb. She let her hands relaxed, but she felt nothing for the relinquishment of her anger. Her body seemed to have just lost its will to feel. "All right," said Cinderella quietly. She brought her eyes to the ground, a gesture she was so accustomed to by now. It felt right. Safe.


But no one was paying attention to her now. Sir Matthew was trying to wrench the glass slipper away from Lucy's greedy clutches while an insistent Theresa tried to convince him to let go. Julissa watched them, but she appeared as bored as always. Only Prince Charming seemed to have part of his attention on Cinderella.


Stupid, Cinderella told herself. He feels nothing. He doesn't even recognize me. And of course he didn't. Why would he? She was nothing more than a poor servant to her step mother and sisters. A dull color compared to Lucy's bright vibrancy and Julissa's bold shades.


Silently, while everyone else bickered over the glass slipper and wedding affairs, Cinderella slipped out of the room. But right as she left, she saw the Prince smile, as if he knew exactly what she was about to do.


I think I'll post Part 2 on Saturday o.o If I put the whole entire thing in one post, I dunno, it will clutter everything. And I hate cluttering. >.>

Reviewing UNDER THE NEVER SKY tomorrow !

- E

Edit: You can no read Part 2 here. ^-^

Why I'm bad with vocabulary -- Writing Prompt (#2)

Get a dictionary and choose 10 5 words from it without looking at the definitions. Write them down and create definitions for them. What do the words make you think of? What do you think they should mean?


Ah.










Oh, this brings back memories of SAT studying. The Critical Reading section of the SATs is supposed to be the most difficult section for a reason. Vocabulary is some difficult stuff (<--see? I used "difficult" twice. That's some serious vocabulary list I have in my head) Especially for me. Which might sound weird coming from an aspiring writer, but let's just forget about that for now.

If you do happen to know what these words mean beforehand...well. Don't laugh. I mean it -.-

- VESPERTINE: Did you know that Google Chrome says that this isn't even a word? It has a red squiggly line underneath it right now. Hrm. Interesting.
Anyway. I'm going to break this down: vesper + tine = vespertine. So what's a vesper? No clue. For some reason it reminds me of a snake (probably because it's sort of similar to the word "viper"), so I'm going to say that it's someone with...snake-like attributes. Or um...something slithery? Slimey? I'm just assuming this is a noun >.>
- MUGWUMP: Wait a second. Google Chrome says "vespertine" isn't a word, but when it comes to a word like "mugwump", it says it is one? Ridiculous, I'm telling you >.<
So mugwump. Probably an adjective. Definitely not having anything to do with mugs (just assuming that right now). Um...let's see. I'd be lying if I said that the first image that popped in my head when I saw this word wasn't an image of a mug, but that has nothing to do with the definition, I'm sure of it. It's probably an insult. Probably an offensive word someone would use. Like, "Hey, you're such a mugwump." Oh wait. That would make it a noun then o.o
- INCURSION: Curses? Cutting? Wait, no, that's incision. I think. Agh. I really don't know this one, I don't. All I can think of is incision right now.
- PURBLIND: All right, this one looks like pure-blind. Like "pure blood" but instead of blood, it's blind. So then...someone who's completely blind? No, that's too direct. Um. The definition of this word doesn't reflect anything good. There.
- VICISSITUDE: A pretty weird word to pronounce. Its pronunciation is equivalent to that of the name "Narcissus". Lots of "sss". Like a snake. Rhymes with "attitude". All I can think of is someone with some kind of harsh, offensive personality. But I really have no clue.

Well there you go. Some literary embarrassment right there, I guess. At least I can spell (what? what is this spell check you speak of?)

Reviewing Hourglass later today! And Happy MLK Day ^-^

- E

THE ACTUAL DEFINITIONS


- VESPERTINE: of, pertaining to, or occurring in the evening (way off with this one)
- MUGWUMP: a person who is unable to make up his or her own mind on an issue (bah. so it is a noun)
- INCURSION: an invasion of a place or territory (eh. cutting into a territory, maybe?)
- PURBLIND: nearly or partially blind (close enough)
- VICISSITUDE: a change or variation occurring in the course of something (right, I completely failed this one.)

The Creative Writing Prompt Introduction / The Greasy Paper Plate (#1)

In order to motivate myself to do my Spanish homework, I decided to get my brain going by using this nifty web site: Creative Writing Prompts for brain juice...flowingness. I dunno if that made any sense (or if Spanish homework even needs brain juice creativity, but let's just forget about that part) but...I found that site a long time ago, though I just never had the motivation to do much with it. I guess that's changed now. Who knows?

These things will be weekly! I know, I know. I barely even post monthly, so how could I possibly post weekly?

Ah, but one of my new year resolutions is to be a better blogger. So...there you go.

Anyway, here's this weeks.

Close your eyes briefly and think of one object in the room. Focus on it and try to recall as much detail as you can about it. After 3 minutes or so, open your eyes and write about that object without looking at it.

The Greasy Paper Plate

You are on the table, next to my netbook, taunting me like--like those pigs in Angry Birds (after I lose). You, with your grease spots and stains, compelling me to grab another blueberry muffin. Because once upon a time--well, five minutes ago--you once had a muffin upon you, but now that muffin is gone, consumed. By me.

You are white, but not completely clean; round, and not completely smooth. You were once a plate for pizza, a plate my dad picked up from Sam's Club. But you were left alone, by yourself, while the other plates were gradually thrown away one by one. But you, you were left alone until the moment my older sister put a blueberry muffin on you and carried it to me. You were the last paper plate. And now, you too are gone.

My sister asks me if I'm done with you, and almost without a second thought, I say, "Yes, yes I am", still with my eyes closed. I hear her move to the kitchen and the rustle of the plastic bag of the trashcan as you are dumped inside. I should feel guilty, parting with you, but I don't. I don't. All I can think about was how lovely that blueberry muffin looked on you.

I'm not sure why, but I really couldn't take this prompt seriously. Maybe it's because if I had, then it would've sounded REALLY boring. And dull. Possibly. Hm. Maybe you found what I just wrote dull as well. And silly. And ridiculous. 

Until next week then? :D

- E