Write It Wednesday: 10/31

Welcome to this week's Write It Wednesday!  My submission is: below, and the link-up follows.  You have until Saturday 11/3 to submit your entries. I can't wait to read your writings!

10/31 Prompt:

This week, my inspiration came as a larger idea. So I broke down and wrote three excerpts from the story. Perhaps I will continue to piece together the whole thing!

~~~~~

Laughter filled the air as the party sat around a table. Half-drunken spirits perched amidst the playing cards as smoke hazily fogged the spaces in between. The room was lined with dark wood paneling and dimly lit by only one hanging lamp over the table. The men were dressed in suits, the women in varying colors of cocktail dress. Bryant Joseph, a successful CEO of a trading company, sat back in his chair, observing the crowd. His bald head reflected the overhead lighting, showcasing a round face with dark angular eyebrows. He had a mischievous grin, making him surprisingly attractive. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his hand, Bryant’s focus landed on Vivian Livingston.

“Miss Livingston?” Bryant asked assertively through the crowd.

Vivian looked up, a porcelain face under a mop of red curls pinned playfully atop her head. Her red-dressed lips formed a surprised “o” as her lash-framed blue eyes turned to Bryant.

“Yes, Mr. Joseph?” Her reply was flirtatious, despite the fact that she was sitting precariously upon the lap of Reed Blakesly.

‘Well, Miss Livingston, I’d like to ask you a question.” The corner of Bryant’s lip turned up as though he’d just shared a wise quip.

“Ask away, Mr. Joseph,” Vivian turned to address the rest of the table. “Mr. Bryant Joseph has a burning question. I’m sure we’d all love to hear.”

Bryant smirked. “Ok, Miss Livingston. I’d like to know: What would you do with your life if you could live forever?”

His question was met with a giggle. “What wouldn’t I do would be a better question. I’d travel the world, eat frosted treats from the bakery every day, and I’d spend all my money on ridiculous things, of course.” The crowd laughed along with her.

“But, Mr. Joseph,” she went on, “as nice as that thought is, it’s frivolous to discuss. Because there is a cycle to life. We are born, we live. And some day we have to leave this world. It’s just how things work. So why talk about things that will never be? We all have to die someday, isn’t that right?”

“Well,” Bryant started, the smirk widening on his face, “What if you didn’t have to?”

***

Vivian closed the brown trench coat tighter as she quickly left the building, throwing herself into the cold winter air. The sky was grey, heavy with clouds that she could just make out thanks to the street lights glowing through the night. Her hand rested on a hard cylinder beneath her coat. Vivian held on tightly to what would be her literal lifeblood as her heels clickity-clacked, block after block.

42nd Street, 41st Street, 40th Street. Vivian made her way south toward the river. Every once in awhile she glanced back, knowing any moment they would realize what was missing. Then they would alert the Guard. The Guard would know to look for her. She knew her time was limited.

The wind whipped through the city streets, flooding her with an invisible sense of urgency. With each step she drew closer to her destination, yet it seemed so far away. Cars passed, unknowing the weight of past events and events that were about to transpire. Everything would change. Life, as it was known, would no longer be the same. Or, rather, go back to how it used to be.

Vivians red curls fell into her face, and she used her free hand to impatiently sweep them away. Her face as porcelain as it has always been and her slender hands, unmarred. The glint of her engagement ring momentarily distracted her.

William.

If there was any doubt in her mind, any waivering, the mere thought of William brought Vivian back to her senses. She knew in her heart that her motives were part selfish; she was doing this to save herself. But everything in Vivian’s being was set on saving William. This was not truly for her, but for him. For them.

And the rest of the world.

With new resolve, she quickened her pace, and found the Narrows Bridge up ahead. Lying on the outskirts of the city, the area leading up to the bridge was desolate. It was Saturday evening, and everyone was enjoying dinner at fancy restaurants and shows at upscale theatres. In the suburbs, mothers and fathers were settling children into warm beds.

Yes, Vivian thought. I am doing this for us all. This is no way to live. We were meant for better things than this.

Step by step, Vivian made her way to the bridge’s pedestrian walkway. The Narrow’s Bridge connected two parts of the expansive city, and the walkway was a scenic path over the Vansant River.

The scene was picturesque.  Both sides of the city were gleaming with lights, and there was the constant bustling of cars and people along the interwoven streets. At the center of the bridge, Vivian could look out over the river. It seemed to stretch for infinity.

Infinity, Vivian scorned. Forever.

Slowly, she untied the belt of her coat, and carefully unearthed the cylinder she had promised to protect. Shaking it ever so slightly, she could hear the rattle of the tiny granules, hit the sides of the container.  Like sand in an hourglass, ticking away every hour until there is nothing left. Tiny granules of life, stolen for profit, unconcerned for the future repercussions.

Because if you could live forever you had it all, right?

Shaking her head in defiance of the thought, Vivian untwisted the metal lid. I will make this right, she promised. This is the better way. They can’t enslave us anymore. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of an alarm pricked her ears. It was time. Pushing her hand out away from the safety of the bridge and over the water, Vivian looked left and right, sensing the Guard would be moments from locating her. With heart palpitating, she slowly turned her wrist, and watched the white sand-like grains tumble toward the edge of the cylinder. With force, she turned the container completely, emptying it of it’s contents.

The granules created a cloud as they fell gracefully toward the water. It could have been snow with the way the wind stole them to dance.  Vivian watched until the cloud dissolved into nothingness.

She knew her job was complete.

***

They watched as the sun dipped low over the purple mountains.  From the wooden front porch, they watched the sunset each night, a mark of time passing. He reached out for her hand, a familiar movement that he did almost without thinking. Her skin was soft, forming paper-thin ridges along her long slender fingers. Reaching up with his other hand, he touched her cheek. Her cheeks were now full, no longer taut but still rosy. The curls that fell upon her forehead were silver, but suggested that at one time not long ago they were the color of rust. He knew her eyes, blue as ever, saw the lines of an old man when they looked upon him. But William would not trade the finality of his life for anything.

Freedom was priceless.

Lines formed at the corners of her face as she smiled at him. Vivian would be known as heroine to generations to come. Generations that would now have a true history, and would never know a life with no end.  

She patted his hand, “I love you.”

Without hesitation, he responded, “Always.”

~~~~~

If you missed the last few Write It Wednesdays, you can read the  past submissions here.

Write It Wednesday Link Up

Write It Wednesday PROMPT 10/31

I have been loving the Write It Wednesday post series. I need the challenge. I love taking a sentence and seeing where it will lead.  Even better? Seeing how other people use the prompt in totally unique ways. You can catch up on the Write It Wednedays from 10/10, 10/17, and 10/24 in case you missed them. 

How does it work? I'll share a writing prompt below. You take the next few days to write a piece using the exact sentence prompt somewhere in the body of the work. You can go with any writing style you like: random paragraph, short story, poem, vignette - whatever tickles your fancy. I will post my piece on Wednesday along with a link-up where you can submit you writings.

This writing project is for ALL writers.  Working those creative writing muscles is challenging but leads us to better writing. So don't be shy.  

Remember, you don't have to be a blogger to link up. You can use Google Docs or Instablogg create a one time post (see my quick tutorial on how to create a post for sharing in Google Docs).

Here is this week's prompt is brought to you courtesy of my friend, Dan. This one intrigued me!

Here it is:

Isn't this week's prompt just suspenseful enough to be perfect for Halloween?  Grab a pencil and write until your heart is content. Be sure to check back on Wednesday so you can link up. And PLEASE - leave a comment here if you'll be participating!

Write It Wednesday 10/24

Welcome to this week's Write It Wednesday!  My submission is below, and the link-up follows.  You have until Saturday 10/27 to submit your entries. I can't wait to read your writings!

~~~~~

The stone house stood firmly in the center of a sprawling lot dotted with flower gardens, trees and pathways. Meticulously formed beds of mulch and perinnials and large, healthy trees stretching tall spoke of a well-loved property. The front porch grinned as the cars pulled up, and droopy window eyes with half-closed blinds gave the impression that the visitors had woken the home from a deep slumber.

“I’m so glad you called about this house, Jenny. I don’t know how you found it so quickly, it was just listed!”

Their realtor, Marie, had taken Jenny and Todd through several houses recently. She was a jovial woman, with a curly mop of brown hair and wide set green eyes. Her round cheeks were always pushed up with a smile and her handshake was firm.

Jenny took in the house as she peered over her sunglasses. The white siding, green shutters. As they walked up the front steps, her hand instinctively grasped the iron handle of the railing. The front door opened into a large two-story foyer.  The grey slate echoed their footsteps as the group familiarized themselves with the interior landscape.

Todd moved into the living room, whose focal point was a large brick hearth.  They could hear Marie reading facts off of an information sheet in the kitchen.

“...and the oven is only one month old! Stainless steel, to boot!”

He turned to Jenny. “Hon, what do you think so far? It’s nice right?”

Todd’s words barely reached Jenny, who had meandered into the family room.

Sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating an eclectic assortment of of modernly angular furniture sitting astutely upon spotless tan carpeting. Although the furniture was all wrong, it was the same sunlight hitting the same spots as it always had.  Jenny looked from corner to corner, taking in every inch of wall. She knew where every family picture had been hung, where the cherry end table had perched next to the worn-in floral couch.  The room had been more comfortable, warmer somehow, all those years ago.

Looking back out into the hallway to the staircase, she could almost see her five-year old form bounding down the steps for breakfast, her mother greeting her in the kitchen with a freshly poured bowl of cereal. As decades had gone by, the house on Higgins Lane had become a faded memory. Jenny’s family moved just before her eighth birthday into a home across town. In the new home, Jenny and her sisters had celebrated birthdays, climbed trees, posed for pictures before dances. It was the house they said goodbye to before heading off to college, and where they returned every year for holidays.

But it wasn’t where their lives had begun.

They walked the house that day, opening doors, looking out windows, admiring the updated bathrooms. Jenny found herself playing a slideshow of memories, savoring every one as it passed. She had not grown up in this house, but it was part of her life.  Who has lived here? She wondered. Have they loved it? Really cherished it?

Marie locked the door behind them as they exited the home into the front yard. Todd took Jenny’s hand into his, asking her thoughts without a word.  

“So? What did you think?” Marie held her clipboard with a pen poised at the ready.

Jenny looked at Todd before answering. “It’s fantastic. We’d love to put in an offer.”

“OH wonderful! We’ll just have to go over...”  

Marie’s words faded into the background and Jenny daydreamed of her life picking up full circle from where it started.

~~~~~

If you missed the last 2 weeks you can read the 10/10 Write It Wednesday and 10/17 Write It Wednesday submissions.

Write It Wednesday Link Up

Write It Wednesday PROMPT 10/24

I have been loving the Write It Wednesday post series. I need the challenge. I love taking a sentence and seeing where it will lead.  Even better? Seeing how other people use the prompt in totally unique ways. You can catch up on the Write It Wedneday from 10/10 and 10/17, in case you missed them. 

How does it work? I'll share a writing prompt below. You take the next few days to write a piece using the exact sentence prompt somewhere in the body of the work. You can go with any writing style you like: random paragraph, short story, poem, vignette - whatever tickles your fancy. I will post my piece on Wednesday along with a link-up where you can submit you writings.

This writing project is for ALL writers.  Working those creative writing muscles is challenging but leads us to better writing. So don't be shy.  

Remember, you don't have to be a blogger to link up. You can use Google Docs or Instablogg create a one time post (see my quick tutorial on how to create a post for sharing in Google Docs).

Here is this week's prompt:







Are the creative writing gears already turning in your noggin?  Grab a pencil and write until your heart is content. Be sure to check back on Wednesday so you can link up. And PLEASE - leave a comment here if you'll be participating!

Write It Wednesday 10/17/2012

Welcome to this week's Write It Wednesday!  My submission is below, and the link-up follows.  You have until Saturday 10/20 to submit your entries. I can't wait to read your writings!

~~~~~

His fingers entwined themselves intuitively through hers, as his other hand brushed her hair behind her ear. All afternoon Grace had waited for this moment, feeling his skin brush hers.

“I love you.”

The words buzzed in her ears and her stomach burned subtly. He smiled, a great big smile showing off his perfect teeth set in a boyish face with big brown eyes. He made it seem so easy, loving her. Loving him had been the easiest thing she’d ever done.

“I love you too, Jake.”

She could say it a thousand times and it would always be new. The ember glowing in her chest would never dull, only emanate outward to ignite her her arms, legs, fingers, toes. Six months ago, Jake was a meaningless face in a hallway of people Grace passed every day in her office. Six months ago, his brown eyes caught hers and a grin puckered the corner of his cheeks.

They walked lazily around the public gardens, the landmark of their first date. It was not long after their first glance before Jake had called Grace to ask her out. She was struck by his sweetness, how he opened doors and pulled out her chair. The perfect gentleman. The next date followed a few days later. Then the next. Soon dates transformed into daily life.

Grace marveled that six months ago, she hadn’t known Jake. And now, he was her life. They spent secret moments dreaming of the future: their home, their kids, their hair turning grey together. Jake gave her life direction, and the blank pages of the next chapters of her story now had words, paragraphs, meaning.

She turned her head to see his face. Handsome, with strong cheeks and a rounded chin. His brown wavy hair fell in messy locks on his forehead, causing him to constantly be brushing them back. Grace gently swept this soft mane to the side with her slender fingers. This was the face she would wake up to each morning, and close her eyes to each night. She could trace his features even with her eyes closed. He was perfection.

“Grace?”

An unfamiliar voice drew her back to the present. A sterile smell filled her nose, the harsh lights hurting her eyes. She looked at the man speaking to her. A white coat with the classic stethoscope prop around his neck. His voice was white noise until she shook her head and the room came into focus.

Grace could feel the smooth skin encased between her hands. She knew every wrinkle, the smoothness of his nails, the scar adorning the knuckle of his thumb.  She knew these hands, but they felt far away. Glancing over at the rail-lined bed, she recognized the form beneath the sheets, but the face was that of an unrecognizable stranger. Bruises, swellings, deep gashes. A horror movie.

This is just a movie, Grace told herself. An unbearably long scene in a grotesque movie. She counted back from 100, hoping she would wake up. She pinched her arm, stomped her foot, but this was not her subconscious.

This was her reality.

“Grace. We did everything we could. I am so sorry.”

Her face was hot and moist. This confused her until she let go of his hand and touched her cheeks. Wet. Tears.  Why was she crying? She felt the man’s heavy hand on her shoulder.

“He’s gone, Grace.”

She heard his words, and knew they were real, but could not bring herself to believe them.

~~~~~

In case you missed the 10/10 Write It Wednesday, you can read the submissions here.

Write It Wednesday Link Up

Write It Wednesday PROMPT for 10/17/12

We have had a FANTASTIC start to the weekly Write It Wednesday link up!  Last week's prompt garnered some awesome pieces. If you haven't read them yet, you can find the WIW 10/10/12 link up here. I'm looking forward to seeing who participates this week and what we are inspired to write!

How does it work? I'll share a writing prompt below. You take the next few days to write a piece around the prompt (paragraph, short story, poem, vignette - whatever tickles your fancy), and then submit it on Wednesday when I post the WIW Link Up.

This writing project is for ALL writers.  Working those creative writing muscles is challenging but leads us to better writing. So don't be shy.  

Remember, you don't have to be a blogger to link up. You can use Google Docs or Instablogg create a one time post (see my quick tutorial on how to create a post for sharing in Google Docs).

Here is this week's prompt:






Whew!  Take the next few days to think and write, and I'll post my entry along with the link up first thing Wednesday morning. Leave a comment on this post if you'll be participating!

Happy writing!

Write It Wednesday 10/10/2012

Welcome to the first Write It Wednesday!  My submission is below, and the link-up follows.  I can't wait to read your writings!

~~~~~

The door slammed against the wall with such force a framed picture smashed to the floor. Under his feet a hardwood floor stretched to a staircase leading to the second story and a hallway leading to the kitchen. Pictures of smiling faces lined a narrow table and prints of brick buildings were arranged along the wall. It was the classic interior of a picture-perfect suburban home. Today, Brian could care less about the entryway he just walked into and the smiling faces trapped in frames.

“Hello?” a voice called from the other room.

Brian walked toward the voice, navigating the unfamiliar pathway. His fists were clenched so tight white knuckles appeared beneath his tan skin. The clamor of his heavy footsteps echoed through the kitchen as he turned toward what he believed to be the living room. I will punch him in the face, Brian thought.

He rounded the corner and a woman screamed.

“Who are you?! Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” Her shrill voice bounced from the walls.

The slender woman jumped behind an easy chair. Her hair was shoulder length and brown, her face was surprisingly attractive. A TV blared in the background. Brian was about to turn it off when a man stepped in front of him.

“You can have whatever you want. Just leave. We don’t want any trouble.” The man held up a golf club to show he was serious.

Let him hit me, Brian thought. I would welcome his pithy advances before I end his life.

Brian took in the man before him. He was thin, built like a runner, with dark wavy hair. A chiseled face with deep-set blue eyes. He wore flannel pants and a cream wool sweater to fight off the chilly night. Some might call him handsome, but Brian found his quivering lip loathsome. This? Brian screamed in his head. THIS is what she wants?

“I should kill you right now.” Brian’s voice was low and menacing.

The woman behind the chair let out a stifled shriek.

“Anything you want. Just take it. Please,” The man's voice wobbled off-key.

“Don’t you know who I am?” Brian snarled.

The man shook his head and backed toward the chair.

“I’m Julie’s husband.”

Brian’s statement was met with a blank stare.  

“Julie’s husband.” Brian said again, disdain dripping from his words.

The woman peered out from behind the chair and exchanged a confused glance with her husband.  The husband shrugged, the alarm not leaving his face.

Brian was getting impatient. “Julie. You know. The woman you’ve been screwing.”

The woman gasped. “Keith, what is he talking about?”

The man looked bewildered and shook his head. “I have no idea, Katie.”

He turned to face Brian and asked, “Who is Julie?”

Brian sent his fist into a nearby wall. When he removed his hand, a perfect fist-shaped indentation was left and drywall crumbled to the floor.

“Julie. My WIFE. You’ve been SLEEPING WITH HER, you schmuck.”

Keith put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, as she had begun to cry. “Katie, I don’t know this man. I don’t know his wife. He is clearly crazy. And dangerous.”

Rage boiled in Brian’s body. I’m crazy? He stewed. I’m not the one going around schlepping the wives of other men. Without breaking eye contact with the couple huddled on the floor, Brian reached into his coat pocket. His hand clutched a crumpled piece of paper and he brought it out.

“Then how do you explain this, Ben? You liar!” Brian spit the last word with contempt.

The man, with his head cocked warily, inched closer to peer at the paper in Brian’s hand.

Brian’s mind went back to the day before, when he had come across the scripted letter as he was cleaning off the desk in the kitchen.  The desk was always a cluttered mess, and Julie bemoaned it daily. They both worked hard hours in the city, but that day Brian had arrived home earlier than usual. When he walked in the door, he was greeted by the papers piled high on the desk, and he thought he’d surprise Julie by having it cleaned off when she came home.

Bill after bill, he separated the papers into piles. Invitations, greeting cards, flyers of discounts for the local dollar store. Much of it had to be thrown away, and the important papers were filed in appropriate folders. Soon, Brian could see the desk, and he felt quite proud of the progress. Julie will be so grateful, he mused happily.

Just as he finished the last few piles, he noticed the corner of piece of paper peeking out from where the wall and the desk met. He tugged at it, finding it to be a letter addressed to his wife. The handwriting was an unfamiliar scrawl. Brian peeked into the envelope, and was about to put it in the “personal items” pile when he saw the greeting.  I can’t stop thinking about you, Jules...

Brian tore through the letter, reading painful proclamations of love and uncomfortable details of intimacy from a faceless man named Ben. He read the letter five times, tears streaming down his face and his heart racing. The man named Ben called her Jules. No one called her Jules. The hate had risen out of Brian’s chest and into an animalistic howl. He stormed out of the house and spent the night driving, yelling and crying. Until he arrived in the driveway on the envelope’s return address.

He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Now, Brian waved that same envelope in the face of the cowardly cheater before him.

“Who writes this? You’re married, you sick bastard!” Brian motioned to the sobbing woman on the floor.

The man looked at him with wild confusion before asking, “Who’s Ben?”

Brian was caught off guard by the question. The man looked more intently at the envelope.

Timidly, he said, “I think you have the wrong person.”

Brian laughed. “Yeah, right. Just be a man and own up to it. Look your wife in the eye and tell her the truth. How long has it been going on, Ben? How long have you been sleeping with my wife?”

The man responded with more urgency. “No, you really have the wrong guy. Look at the address. It says ‘501 South Birch Street.’”

Brian’s head was spinning. “So?”

The woman, her head clearing, quietly piped up, “Keith. My husband’s name is Keith.”

Brian turned to look at her. Black smudged her cheeks where tears had flowed through her mascara. Her hands were visibly shaking as she hesitantly tried standing.

“Our address is 501 North Birch Street. You have the wrong house.” She said, her voice stronger.

The wrong house. Brian’s mind wrapped around the turn of events. The wrong house. In his emotional state and quest for vegence, Brian had barely taken note of street signs. He remembered look up, seeing Birch Street and careening the car down the cul-de-sac. He had thrown the car in park and madly dashed to the front door, where he barged into the wrong house and threatened a completely innocent family. No one moved for several moments as the realization settled in.

Brian finally stepped back toward the kitchen, gingerly righting an end table he had knocked over in his tirade.

“I...I apologize for the confusion. It' just...my wife...I...Have a good night,” he said quietly as he made his way to the front door. Keith and his wife didn’t move a muscle as they disappeared out of his sight. Brian picked up the picture frame that had fallen to the floor when he first opened the door, placing it gently on the entry table.

“I just....sorry again,” Brian offered one last time as he walked out to into the night.

And with that he closed the door, sending the crunchy autumn leaves on the front step swirling in the air.

~~~~~

Write It Wednesday Link Up

Write It Wednesday Prompt for 10/10/12

I've been trying to challenge myself recently to practice my creative writing. I love writing, and it's one of the reasons I started blogging in the first place. But as blogging goes, writing blog posts lends itself less to writing creatively and more to narrative, informative or tutorial writing. And I love it (obviously, I'm still blogging). But I need to work the creative writing muscles, so I thought I'd challenge myself to create a prompt and write a narrative around it.

Then I thought, "Hey! Maybe my awesomesauce readers would enjoy this, too."

So each week on Sunday, I will share a writing prompt. It will most likely be a narrative sentence (ie: "And the cat ran."). I am asking participants to use that sentence somewhere in their writing: as the first line, as the last line, somewhere in the middle. It's your choice. You can write in whatever style of writing you'd like: short story, vignette, poem, or just a paragraph that could someday be placed in your best-selling novel.

It's all about fun, people.

Then we'll link up on Wednesday, where I'll give you a place to put the URL of your post! Yay! 

Now, you you don't have to be a blogger to link up. You can use Google Docs or Instablogg create a one time post (see my quick tutorial on how to create a post for sharing in Google Docs).

I think it will be fun to read through what everyone comes up with! Isn't it neat how many people can interpret one sentence differently?

This week's prompt:

Work on it over the next few days, and when I post my writing on Wednesday there will be a link-up at the bottom where you can post your writings as well.

If you'll be writing and linking up, leave a comment so I can be sure to look out for you!


Update: Here is the link up from 10/10. Head over to read the great submissions!