On the Vine

She walked across the lawn, damp and trampled by the feet of her friends, her enemies, and people she’d neither met nor ever seen in the past four years. The heat pressed against her body like a blanket, causing pearls of sweat to grow both on and beneath her gown. It was suffocating, but her attempts to free herself from it were as futile as wanting to climb out of her own skin. She took a deep breath, squinted her eyes until the wide expanse of land and sky before her was but a blur, and walked on.

It was graduation day, and the world smelled like sunshine and secrets.

Memories sprang from their hiding places, as if every step set off a nostalgic time bomb. The thin white heel of her shoe sank into the soft ground below her and she remembered dressing up for her first college party, donning a little red dress and shoes much like the ones she wore now. She’d accepted a plastic cup of lukewarm beer from a stranger, had pretended to drink it, had pretended to enjoy herself, had pretended to exist in the midst of new names and faces, books she’d never read and songs she didn’t know. There were many days and nights when she thought she was dimensionless, invisible. She didn’t even think God would notice if she jumped from the roof of a building or dove into a bottomless pool of water. She felt small and imprisoned, as if she were trapped behind glass, denied the experience of both life and death.

But the hand on her shoulder, the gentle, warm greeting was real, as was the smile that accompanied it. All of these things are what had saved her. And suddenly those painfully awkward recollections seemed unworthy of her time, and crawled quietly back into the recesses of her mind.

“How’d you find me?” she asked, her fingers lacing through his. “Everyone looks the same – slightly hungover and absolutely ridiculous in these oversized gowns.”

“It was easy,” he replied. “I stared out into this crazy sea of people and you were the first real person I saw.”

(word count: 359)

Day 8: One Moment.

96: One Moment. Write a third-person fragment of story about one important moment in someone's life. Examine this moment from every possible angle. Think about smell, light, texture, distant and near sounds, and the details that will stick in the memory of the participant. Don't worry about telling a whole story (although you may learn that you can't not tell a story here, when you explain the importance of the moment and tie up some of the threads attached to this moment). 300 words.

*I replaced the Argument prompt for now, because it just didn't seem to be happening for me.

An American Day

Rustling young trees that line the street left puddles of shadows on the sidewalk that dance over the feet of all the fast paced, be-here-now pedestrians. I watch them in slow motion, feeling the lightness of my weightless shoulders, as I spill my hours doing absolutely nothing and going absolutely nowhere. I whittle away the earned time off sitting casually on a bench chained to a tree outside my too-small, too-expensive guest house behind a $16 million dollar cell block. I’m sorry, by cell block I meant junior executive mansion, the kind with rosebush trellises and bay windows that only looked out to other mansions built on Blackberrys and cocaine. This is the kind of city that only high-quality drug dealers and overpaid actors can own houses, at any rate. But enough about them; I took my first day off as soon as the 90 day evaluation period was over and here I am, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying not being at work. Well, I suppose I’m dreading going back to the block tomorrow. A man wearing black slacks and a button down white shirt with short sleeves starts to approach the bench, and he catches my eye warily.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” And I shrug my utter lack of care. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He offers, not looking at me but leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“It sure is,” I say, inhaling and exhaling deeply, eyes squinting in the sun.

“I took my first day off as soon as professionally possible,” He continues to talk, “there’s nothing better than stopping to smell the roses.” he smiles, and I concur.

(282 words)

FYI

Just an FYI to all the readers who actually are joining us for the adventure -- Gina is in the process of moving and apartment-hunting, and I've been embarrassingly overwhelmed by life this past week (poor excuse for not writing, btw), so this week will likely not be consistent. I plan on finishing the two prompts below, and then taking a break from this until Sunday.

In the meantime, I would love it if you take the time to leave a comment and introduce yourself -- even if one of us already knows you!

Thanks again, for your interest.

Fragile Victory

You broke my heart and it kept on beating, throughout the dark morning and the night, even darker. A soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction. You let go of my hand, and like a knife through the silence, cut the cords that had kept us so firmly bound. You broke my heart and it kept on beating. Sand sifted through my fingers, each fine grain a testament to the death of each new day. A soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction.

You walked down the beach, shadows crawling behind you. You left no footprints in your dusty wake. You broke my heart and it kept on beating. Past midnight, pitch-black, eyelashes ran from my dream, and collected on my pillow like sad, fallen stars. A soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction.

As the dream ended, the sun rose, and your voice finally spoke to me: Life has never been about love, and that’s why I’m leaving.

You broke my heart and it kept on beating a soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction.

(word count: 168)

Day 7: Villanelle

128: Villanelle. Write a very short story on the model of a villanelle, which is a nineteen-line poem of five three-line stanzas, plus a four-line stanza at the end. The first and third lines of the first stanza alternate as the last lines of the next four stanzas. Then, in the final four-line stanza, those same first and third lines of the story become the last two lines of the poem, in order. ABC DEA FGC HIA JKC LMAC. For the purposes of this exercise, your "lines" may be full sentences or not. If you chose not to use a full sentence, make sure this incomplete sentence will be completed by several different concluding phrases without harming meaning too much. It might be best to write this first of all in the form of a poem. After you've set it up, then turn it into prose. 250 words.

Vaporized

I’m a thousand miles away from home - but still, it’s everywhere around me. Here, the sky is usually clear, but today…today, the clouds seem to be marching overhead in a strange, nostalgic parade. It’s as if a tribute to my entire life is on display for the whole world to see but I’m the only one who knows it.

Stretched out on my back, I capture sets of clouds from my slanted vantage point and see first the rabbit my aunt gave me for my seventh birthday, then the face of the boy I lost my virginity to in twelfth grade. The two images collapse against each other and I blink my eyes to find a wedding veil flowing in the sky. My right hand moves instinctively to the ring finger of my left. I look down, wait for the tears to crawl back into their ducts, look up again.

The clouds grow darker, overwhelming the sky, sucking out all of the light. I think I see a lightning bolt flash above my head but it’s really an airplane leaving a jagged trail across the looming night. I remember the day he died, and how I couldn’t sleep for days. Didn’t want to eat, or breathe, or even simply try to survive.

Without warning, the canvas overhead brightens, infused with new life. I see my own face in the clouds. I’ve learned how to smile again, and I’m beaming in a theatre filled with passionate applause. The stage is not at all what I expected it to be; my palms aren’t clammy, I’m not restrained. The music and my blood are one and the same. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more free.

It’s truly amazing, all of the things that we’re able to see while not really looking for anything at all.

(word count: 304)