Y'know I used to HATE prompt writing. Hate hate hate it. I avoided it forever. Then I started following a YA author, dropping by her blog, and Follow Friday-ing her Twitter. Well, my friend
Michell Zink has a weekly writing prompt she calls Thursday Night Write. She posts a picture for inspiration, and the picture to the left was this week's pic. So...here's what I came up with:
Chelsey Street should ring with my hurrying footfalls. The fog swallows all sound, sucking away my harsh breaths as if I’m not even here. As if I’m already dead. And, with Joshua walking calmly away from me, I may end up that way. Frozen, a Phoenix no more.
Joshua knows what he’s leaving. Me. Our tangled, tortured summer months. Our past lives, too. And he’s leaving me to the one soul he’d always tried to protect me from.
“Josh!” I scream, but he never looks back. “Don’t leave me,” is a useless whisper.
My heart aches with every step he takes, and clenches when the fog erases his presence as if he’d never touched me. In the space of one breath, the night shifts from heartache to breath-catching panic. Chills icier than the October fog pour down my skin and I know I am not alone. Aric is close. That familiar pressure dances on nerves I didn’t know I had until I met him, until he awakened something ugly and sharp-toothed in me.
Shreds of thoughts cut through my mind, pretty poison. The same siren call that rings in my soul, flows in my veins and always, always misses my heart. Joshua is there, my talisman against the darkness.
Aric’s beautiful forever is a bitter hollow promise. Forever without Joshua is eternal torment, and yet he left me, unwilling to engage in a fight we’ve fought before. A fight that left us both dead...
I'm thinking this may become a scene for a book I'm plotting with my daughter. ^_^
e two long parallel white scars angling across my forearm from a bad mopping incident. Lying to myself and saying I liked the quiet, alone time, I used to clean houses before I decide to seriously pursue publication. The houses were pretty, mostly upscale cottages on Lake Michigan. One of the last times I cleaned I fought a mop and the mop won. The sponge head broke off and the metal it was screwed to ripped across my forearm. Then, I had to clean up the blood with cleaning rags. Yippee.
