Day 16

PROMPT: This story takes place at a restaurant. Three acquaintances have gone out to dinner together. Person A has just left his/her wife/husband and family. Person B supports this decision. Person C thinks this was criminally irresponsible. write the conversation. (Suggestion: try giving each character the voice of a different person that you actually know. For example, Person A might talk like one of your coworkers, and Person B might talk like your brother or sister. Choose people who are very different from each other. Then try to express each one's unique voice so clearly that you don't need to tell the reader which character said which sentence, that the reader can "hear" the difference between who says what.)

“I’ll just have the salmon please”
“Can I get a Caesar Salad?”
“I’ll… I think I’ll also take the salmon.”
The waiter wrote down their orders, made some perky, faux-excited comment and left them to their tense silence. I would have been the likeliest candidate to speak first. But Danielle, appropriately, was the one who broke it.
“It’s so good to be home. I’ve missed it here so much.”
“Sweetie, it’s so nice to have you here.” My mom always left the possibility for a ‘but’ at the end of a sentence. It was just the right amount of self-doubt injected into us our whole lives. But Danielle was often immune to it, as was now, apparently, the case.
“I feel awful having left.”
I stayed silent. Anything I said would be held against me later. I would try my best to not be my regular sardonic self.
Our mother would overcompensate. “Baby, it’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I wasn’t. I just feel bad is what I meant.”
I couldn’t ignore the obvious though. We’d been silent all day, and I think the theory was that this restaurant would be neutral ground. “So what about the baby?”
I cut the rest of the question short. The Does he not need a mother? The Did you even tell him you were leaving? I couldn’t even bring myself anywhere near the Do I even get to see him?
Danielle looked stricken by the reminder. “Ian is fine with Lee.”
“It’s okay, we don’t have to worry about that right now.”
“Oh no? So we don’t have to worry about the four year old whose mother disappeared overnight. Yeah studies have shown that does no damage at all.”
Oops. Seemed like my avoidance of sarcasm was a little short-lived.

Day 15

PROMPT: Nancy Kincaid and Dan Carey meet five years into the future. One of them is anti-social. Write these two characters stories based on this quick plot: giving her a cell phone proves to be a big mistake

Dan stood by the lamppost outside his office, smoking a cigarette. His phone lit up and he saw that it was his brother calling. He let it go to voicemail. His phone then took the liberty of informing him that this was the third missed call he had from his brother today. Nothing to be alarmed about in his experience, but maybe a text. He typed a brief message explaining he was busy and not leaving much open-ended. He would get a novel back anyway.

As he moved to return his phone to his pocket, a woman swept by him. “Can I borrow this real quick? Thanks!” She said as she took the phone right from his hand. Before he could register what was happening she was talking to someone. “You’re never going to find me. You might as well just leave me alone! Oh, and I hope you didn’t use your toothbrush this morning... Well maybe don’t do that again. Bye!”

She hung up the phone and Dan had a moment to get his bearings before she tossed it to him. “Thanks” she said. He blinked. “What the hell was that?”
She smiled at him. “Just had to make a quick call to rub it in my ex’s face that he’s never going to find me.”
“With my phone? Lady, you know it’s almost 2020… anyone can trace a phone.”
She paused and looked thoughtful for a moment.
“Oh. Yeah. You might want to destroy that. He’s kind of a jealous type.”

Day 14

PENALTY: Yesterday I skipped because I just didn't feel like it. I did have a headache, but mainly it was the not feeling like it. So 1000 words for me today.

PROMPT: Take a famous line from a famous piece of literature and run it through several different languages on an online translator (like Altavista’s Babelfish) with Korean or Chinese as the last language, and then translate it back to English. Look at what comes out, consider the new meanings hidden within it, and then build a story around it.
       Original quote from Farenheit 451: Its real beauty is that it destroys responsibility and                consequences.
       English→ Swedish → Armenian → Greek → Japanese → Korean → English
       New quote: True beauty is to destroy it is the responsibility and consequences.
This one got a little dark, admittedly. I found the prompt really interesting and what I came up with even more so. I didn't expect it to take me back to fire, but it just kind of happened.

I’ve never thought much about beauty. It was something that was or it wasn’t. There wasn’t much room for improvement or depreciation over time. Certain people had it. Certain things had it. I’d never thought much at all about being able to create it.

I’m not an artist. I’m not a creative type. I couldn’t care less about going to a museum or an art gallery. But lately I’ve been starting fires.

It started few months ago by accident. I was driving home from work and passed by a car fire. The road was pretty empty, so I pulled over to call 911. As I waited for someone to get there, I got out of my car. The smell of smoke and burned rubber hit me across the face. The heat felt like it was burning me even though I wasn’t close enough to the actual flames.

I couldn’t see anyone in the car. I walked a wide circle around it, watching pieces fall off and listening to the loud popping noises and the crackling of the fire. I was not at all scared or panicked. I’m not a very anxious person, but I’ve never felt so relaxed. Staring at the flames was like being hypnotized. It was so beautiful. I wanted to move closer, but the fire department arrived eventually. Watching them pour water on that fire was like being turned upside down and emptied. Suddenly it was dark and cold in my life again. I didn’t even know that it was before. I needed to see it again.

I didn’t just snap. I work a nine-to-five in a fairly big corporation. I’m a data modeler. I spend the day analyzing data, making charts and presentations, showing it to people. I explain why things work and why they don’t. I work with people on how to make projects better. It’s not mind-numbingly boring. It isn’t all that stressful. It’s pretty standard I think. My co-workers don’t bully me. My boss is a nice guy. I’m not married, but I’ve never really cared about that. It didn’t seem like it was for me. I’ve got friends that I see regularly. My parents are alive and well and we always had great family Thanksgivings with minimal drama.

That wasn’t it. Nothing in my life suddenly became unbearable. I didn’t make a decision- consciously or not- that I needed to act out against someone or something in my life. I just needed to see it again.

So a few days later, I took the jug of lighter fluid that I use for my barbecue and a long fireplace match, and I went for a drive. The shell of the burnt car was gone now. I went out of my way every day to pass by that street. It had taken two and a half days to disappear. It wasn’t anything more anyway. Just a reminder of that feeling.

I drove a few miles to build up the excitement. I didn’t feel nervous at all. I found a green sedan on an isolated street and parked a block away from it. I felt so calm as I backtracked to the car. I could feel relaxed just thinking about seeing the flames again. I didn’t want to break the window because I wanted to see them all shatter, but I don’t know any other way to break into a car.

It was harder then I expected and upset me a little. Somehow it took away from the cleanliness of the fire. But I opened the door and emptied the jug of lighter fluid, leaving it in the backseat. I lit the long match and touched it to a drop of fluid on the leather seat.

It ignited so quickly. I had to jump back, the heat was so overwhelming. I wanted it to be slow, but the flames took over the car in seconds. It wasn’t even that much lighter fluid. I stood back and watched the orange strips dance, wishing I had thought to bring a chair. I felt calm again.

I stood for about an hour, watching it burn and admiring its beauty before I heard sirens. It was hard walking back to my car. It was like the warmth was slowly leaving me step by step. I turned around a few times, but it wasn’t helping, so I just left it and went home.

I did this about once or twice a week for two months before it changed for me. It became second nature setting the fires and watching them burn for as long as I could. I wasn’t all that careful, but I didn’t really think that mattered. I watch a lot of cop shows, but I always kind of felt like those characters are better at their jobs than whoever we have locally.

It was a maroon SUV that changed it for me. I watched it burn for about ten minutes before doing my usual walk around the car. I’d gotten better at standing the heat, so I walked a little closer and saw a booster seat strapped into the back. I hadn’t noticed it before. There was no child but the reality of the struck. There could be someone in the car. And it didn’t wake me up. It sounded wonderful.

The next time I was more careful. I didn’t expect the cops to care much about arson, but this would be different. I wore gloves. I brought more lighter fluid. A few long matches. I drove around for a long time, not really sure what I was looking for. But I knew it when I saw it. A man in his black two-door car texting on his phone and listening to the radio. The street was empty, like most in the neighborhood. He sat there so unaware.

I wondered what he was doing just sitting in the car. Was he avoiding his wife? Waiting for a call from his mistress? Did he not have a home to go to? I thought about this as I walked around the car a few times, pouring lighter fluid across the top and back. He wasn’t paying any attention. I was pretty surprised when he didn’t notice at all. I don’t know what I would have done. But it didn’t matter. I kept going.

I needed to get some in the car though and I wanted to keep him inside. I taped the long match to top of the fluid bottle and lit it. He looked up finally. He must have seen the glint of the fire. I can understand that. But he didn’t register it fast enough. I smashed the driver’s side window and threw the jug on his lap right as the flame met the bottle.

That was the first time, but it’s been like that for a few months now. It’s not always as easy. Sometimes I have to really search for the right place or the right car. Sometimes it’s just a car. Other times it’s not. I’ve seen it in some papers, but I don’t make it a habit to read them.

The guilt comes some days, but I feel empty when I’m not watching something burn. I’ve never thought much about beauty, until now. True beauty is to destroy; it is the responsibility and the consequences. It’s in my control. It’s my decision what to destroy. And my god, is it beautiful.

Day 12

PROMPT: Instead of scouring the internets for a prompt, I was inspired by these Bill Gekas photos that I read found on Twitter, particularly this one.

It’s cold outside, and her fingers are uncovered even though she’s wearing gloves. She clutches her book to her chest to protect it from being taken by the wind. Every few steps she takes along the gravel path, she has to bring a hand to her grandmother’s knit cap, which her mother placed on her head in order to keep it from blowing away in the Autumn wind. The sky is grayish and she shivers as she walks.

Her light brown ringlets are tossed around with every step. They gradually fill with fallen leaves. Her hair is loosely held in place by the bright red scarf that her mother had wrapped haphazardly around her neck before sending her on her way. She takes her time making her way through the park.

It is quiet except for the howling of the wind, which she imagines are the sounds of animals in the trees. She pictures them moving through the woods, playing together, rolling around in the crunchy leaves. She jumps on a pile of leaves herself before kicking it up into the air.

Her father is supposed to meet her once she gets to the library. Sometimes he is there. Other times, she spends her afternoons reading and looking through books before she sets out to find her father. Often she finds him at one of her first stops, usually a bar or the barbershop where they play cards. Other times she wanders for a few hours before they meet on the street and he takes her somewhere with a bed.

But the path through the park is her favorite part of these days, especially in the Fall when she sees the leaves flying and imagines where they fly to and how long it will take them to get there. She thinks about how she would like to fly someday and thinks about the places she would go. She imagines there are cities in the clouds, where the sky is bright and the leaves breeze through on windy days. And millions of children bounce and float through the city and play all day long.

Day 11

PROMPT:10 minute free write: fire.

I’m not sure I really could’ve prepared myself for what I was going to see. It had been five years since the fire at my parents’ place. It was a fluke electrical fire. Bad wires, faulty something. I hadn’t quite known at the time. There were a few important details: Mom and Dad are fine and almost everything else is gone. I hadn’t come home then because I’d been too busy with work in LA. That’s what I’d told myself anyway. I think I used that as an excuse to not have to do the clean. I’d always been sentimental. I knew what going home to see that would do to me.

After that there just hadn’t been a good time. I’d come back to visit them for holidays. I’d seen the new apartment. I’d been directed to the box of things that were the remnants of my past life. Things that I would probably have no use for but had held onto because I thought someday I would need them. Math notes from 7th grade that I had expected to need in High School. Three of the same birthday card from my Grandfather from consecutive years.

I had gone through during my six months living at home after college graduation. I had sat on the floor and looked through my old bins of junk and cried for days at lost thoughts and memories. At people I’d forgotten, friendships that I suddenly missed so much it felt like a hole had been torn through my heart, the first CD I ever owned. Nostalgia had never been an easy emotion for me to swallow. I’d thrown out as much as I could, but my room remained the same cluttered collection of mementos from the past until the day it went up in flames. And I knew that I couldn’t confront the loss of those things head on.

The idea of losing so much and not even knowing what was gone paralyzed me. I spent nights awake for months trying to remember what was in the back corners of cabinets. My desk at work had a notepad in the top draw with a list that said “things that were in my room.” It killed me every time I remembered something new. Something else lost forever. Presents from camp friends. My keychain collection. My first pair of high heels. My prom dress.

But something had brought me down this street today. I couldn’t tell you what it was, since I’d been so adeptly avoiding it for so long. Yet I found myself here anyway, staring at the beautiful house that looked nothing like the one I’d grown up in. I stood in front of my car, facing the house for about ten minutes before deciding that the effect of the loss was gone now that it had been rebuilt. There was nothing left here to be nostalgic about.

I took a few steps across the street and put my hand on the tree that I had hit way too many times trying to parallel park in front of the house. I looked down to see the familiar knot at the base of the trunk that looked like the head of a snake emerging from the roots. Some things stay the same. I felt the emotions bubbling up and crossed back to my car, locking myself in as quickly as I could before the tears started. Clearly, I’d been wrong about there being nothing left.

Day 10

PROMPT:Open a fresh Google search. Close your eyes and randomly hit three keys on your keyboard. Open your eyes and see what Google auto-suggests. Use one of these recommendations to jump start a short story. (Letters: S U B-- the word I chose was subcentral)

The smell of garlic hit me so strongly and quickly that I instantly felt the need to find it. I was sitting alone at the subcentral terminal reading my book and eating a bag of pretzels that now seemed horribly inadequate. I turned my head and couldn’t see a single eating establishment in this area of the station. But it was unmistakable. People walked past me on their phones and tablets. No one else seemed to have been disturbed by it as I had. I turned back toward the empty bus slip. My stomach grumbled disappointedly as I returned to the bag of pretzels, but I had missed the bus before in situations just like this one.

The station was gradually growing darker as the sun set and the natural light diminished. It was a gorgeous day that was turning into a disgusting night. The winds were picking up and she expected that the bus would be driving through rain all night long. At least that’s what the weather had predicted. It wouldn’t have been a pleasant night anyway, but the threatening weather just brought a more ominous feel to it.

She wished she could bring her father whatever it was that she was smelling. He would probably love it. Growing up in a chef’s house gave her a unique ability to identify how good something would be from the smell. She couldn’t cook for her life, despite the years of her father trying to teach her. Now he had given up and she was starting to regret not trying harder. Maybe if she brought him the food, he would see it as a gesture.

She didn’t have any more time to think about it though. The bus pulled in and she gathered her bags and her ticket for the long trip home.

Day 9

PENALTY: I had intended to post last night. I printed out a prompt ahead of time to work on it on the train. But my sister is in town and we ended up staying up until 3 in the morning. Since this is kind of a gray area when it comes to the accidental vs the on-purpose skipping, and the last one was questionable too, I decided I needed to go for a 1000-er tonight. The problem is that I'm semi-conscious right now, so I'm not sure if what's I've type made sense.
***Edit: I was quite literally falling asleep while writing this last night- and I do mean actually typing with my eyes closed, nodding off, and then waking up to try and figure out what I was trying to write to make sure I got to 1000 words. I could just edit what i've written, but I decided to leave it all as is considering the point is to post not post something spectacular. This is a lesson in doing this earlier in the day... 

PROMPT: Write a story where love is created and maintained over a distance. The length and nature of that distance is up to you. It could be the distance between two continents, two cities, or even just between two windows or the rooftops of two neighboring buildings. What lies between, physically and metaphorically? What are the barriers that must be overcome? Are they overcome? How?

Dear Melodee,

         I know you told me not to write. But that was six years ago, and I think I still have things to say. I’ve been doing well. I’ve switched jobs three times since we last saw each other. I think I’ve settled this time for a while. Work place is good. People are nice. I get to make as much tea or coffee as I want in the office kitchen. Life is good.

         I think of you less now than I used to. There was a long time when things would remind me of you everywhere I went. It wouldn’t send me into a depression. I wouldn’t freeze and not be able to carry on with my day. It was just strange to me that I couldn’t call you up and tell you about them. That I couldn’t write a puzzle into one of our letters to help you figure out my day for yourself.

It was always small things. A specific orange color that reminded me of the dress that you have that you wear when people are going to want you to be in pictures. The chuckle that I sometimes hear in a bar or a restaurant that makes me think of your laugh when you were humoring because what I said wasn’t actually funny. It used to happen all the time, but it’s faded.

It still does happen though, and even all these years later, it brings me back to those moments. If I could draw, I would be able to draw a perfect likeness of that orange dress. Almost every picture I ever had of you had that dress. I wonder sometimes if you still have it.

I’m not writing to say that I want you back or even that I miss you. I guess what I wanted to say is that I think about you. Even now. My life has changed a lot. People, places, opportunities have come and gone. I’ve moved twice since we broke up. But I can still write this address without even having to think about it. And sometimes, I still want to use it. Like today. I know I live a thousand miles away, Mel. But I do wonder about that dress.

Bryan

Bryan,

I really felt like I had to respond to this. I opened it without looking at the envelope much and was halfway through reading it before I realized. Full disclosure, it would have taken a stronger person than I to quit reading there. Melodee Grant actually moved away a while back. I’ve been in the condo for the last two years, but there was another person in between us I believe. I get both of their mail all of the time. I wish I had a forwarding address to give you. I don’t. I hope you’re doing well in whatever the new job and the new place are.                  

For what it’s worth (which I do realize is essentially nothing) I found your letter very sweet and honest. I’ve certainly had breakups where I think I’ve moved on completely until a smell or a song hits me on the street and takes me back in time. Memory is weird like that. And breakups too. You have this store of intimate knowledge and shared experiences with a person who is no longer in your life. I don’t know if it ever stops feeling out of place, but it hasn’t yet for me. Good luck with everything. I hope this wasn’t too much of an invasion.

Vanessa

Vanessa,

         It was definitely surprising to get your letter and learn that Melodee is long gone. I guess I waited too long to share those “final thoughts.” I appreciate you writing back though. I agree with what you said. It’s like, you can move on, but it’s impossible to truly leave those people behind you. I hope the condo is treating you well, and that the second tap isn’t still dripping at nighttime.

Bryan

Bryan,

                  I was so glad that you wrote back to me. The faucet is still dripping at all hours, but I feel like you’ve given me the motivation I need to get on this right now. Good looking out! A from increasingly warmer places it seems from the postmark. Miami and then Texas? Hopefully Egypt isn’t next. I hear it’s pretty deadly this time of year…

                                                                                                            Vanessa

Vanessa,

            Greetings from frigid Ontario, Canada. I travel a lot for work, but I’m starting to wish it was limited to warm place after warm place. I have yet to be sent to Rio or anywhere Caribbean where I could just lay out on the beach in between meetings. It doesn’t seem fair that my co-workers are living it up in Paris right now (thought it is also cold, by the way) while I’m learning about the Loonie. How is the weather in New York?

Bryan

Bryan,

                  Poor Canada, always getting a bad rap. They have really clean subways you know. Perhaps you could get a doctor’s note that would limit you tragically to warm areas of travel. Not only would you get the perks, but your Paris friends might get bumped from good trips  because of your “limitations” That’s probably wrong though, right?

Vanessa

Vanessa

            It’s been so great talking to you these months. I feel like I know you. I wish there were going to be times for me to go out to New York. It would be great to put a face to this voice and writing. You were right about my boss, by the way. The woman doesn’t know what she’s doing and all of the changes she’s made came from sheer fear of this group of four people who completely control her. I’m ready for her to go down. Enough is enough already, but chances are it’ll all just stay the same.

                                                                        Bryan

Bryan,

                  I’m so happy for you! Quitting can be difficult, but you’re doing what is right for you, and no one gets to decide that aside from you. I know your new job doesn’t start for a few weeks. Come see me in New York. We can see the sites that you grew up with or just explore the next restaurants that have popped up since you’re gone. It would be so great to meet you in person.

Vanessa