Fallen

This week’s prompt came courtesy of RanGen and consisted of three words: Grace, Confusion, and Brilliance.

Honestly, this was a little too easy. When I started playing around with these words I was able to get all three in a single sentence. I toyed with the idea of doing a series of sentences using all three words, but ended up looking for different meanings for the words.

His fall was a lengthy one and he landed hard on the grass-covered dirt of the earthly realm. At first he looked around in confusion, not really understanding what had happened.

The realization of what he’d lost came as a shock. He had been cast out, no longer one of the Chosen. He had gambled with his brilliance and lost everything.

Unused to corporeal form he rose slowly to his feet, dusting off his wings and folding them to his back out of sight. He was at a crossroads, both literally and figuratively.

Glancing upwards he saw nothing but blue sky. Determination filled him as he picked a direction at random and began to walk. He’d be back. If it was the last thing he ever did he would return and once more bathe in the light of the Grace. No matter what.

Moving Out

I had an idea for the prompt from the Story Shack first, but there was no way I could stretch it to make 600 words. So I went with the one from The Plot Generator instead:

Your main character –name – Elizabeth Chan
An adjective to describe him or her - adorable
Somebody who might try to help your main character – Sarah Gloop
His or her relationship to the main character - sister
Jobs – doctor, gardener, fishmonger
An object - book
An adjective that could describe an object - crumpled
A number between 2 and 400 - 3
A location - Devon
Three more adjectives – feathery, backward, worrying
Three animals, singular – frog, fox, badger
Something a ghost might appear when photographed – skeletal
Two body parts, plural – fingers, legs
A type of accident – dancing
An adjective that could be used to describe a place – noisy

This time I’m just going to bold the words I included – I don’t know about you, but I found the changing colour really annoying. :-D

“I thought Devon was in England,” Sarah Gloop said to her sister.

“You’re thinking of Devonshire,” Elizabeth replied, then frowned. “At least I think you are. At any rate, this Devon is in Alberta.”

“I still don’t know why you and Henry have to move there,” Sarah grumbled, an adorable frown on her face.

“They need a new doctor,” Elizabeth told her patiently, trying to fit the book she was holding into the box of crumpled paper. “There. Seven down, three to go.”

“You should have married Larry the fishmonger. At least then you’d be Elizabeth Smith.”

“Sarah! I thought you liked Henry!”

“I do, it’s just . . . he’s like one of those dancing figures we put up at Halloween, all long fingers and clacking legs – he’s positively skeletal. It’s as though one of these days he’ll just fly apart.”

“What utter nonsense! And there’s nothing wrong with my name. Elizabeth Chan is perfectly respectable.”

Sarah blew out a noisy breath, blowing the feathery bangs out of her face. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said apologetically. “I think I’m just a little jealous. You’ve found your true love and the closest I’ve come is that fling with the gardener last year.”

“You’re forgiven, of course,” Elizabeth told her. “Now help me take these boxes out to the truck.”

Sarah’s attitude was worrying, but Elizabeth was sure it was something they’d be able to overcome in the future. After all, it only took one bite from Henry to convince her. Closing the door behind her, she left her old life behind without so much as a backward glance, and hurried towards her future.

Aardvarks and Hedgehogs

Okay. I know what you’re thinking. What the heck does “aardvark” have to do with any of the prompts I got from Seventh Sanctum? Well, nothing really. Nothing, as in the five prompts I generated did nothing for me. LOL

When I was busy generating prompts Monday night and Tuesday morning, I copied down a couple of the earlier attempts but thought I could do better and continued on. This prompt actually came from The Plot Generator. Unfortunately I didn’t write down what options I clicked on, so your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, here are the plot particulars that were generated for me.

Your main character: Phil DeVito, male
An adjective to describe him or her: intelligent
Secondary character: Graham Bond, male
His or her relationship to the main character: uncle
Jobs: navigator, gardener, homemaker
An object: piano
An adjective that could describe an object: peculiar
A number between 2 and 400: 32
A location: Scotland
Three more adjectives: windy, cursed, ample
Three animals, singular: aardvark, rabbit, tortoise
Something a ghost might appear when photographed: distorted
Two body parts, plural: elbows, fingers
A type of accident: boating
An adjective that could be used to describe a place: chilly

That’s a lot to include, when you think about it, but it was also a lot of fun. Just to help you keep track, I’ll highlight the specifics I include in green.

Aardvarks and Hedgehogs

Phil DeVito had to admit, Uncle Graham had outdone himself this time. He regarded the piano through the glass of scotch he was holding, the distorted image making the aardvark shape look like it was melting.

“Why an aardvark?” he asked. “Why not a rabbit, say, or a tortoise?

Uncle Graham shifted his ample form in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. Fingers steepled, he looked at his highly intelligent 32 year old nephew and grinned.

“Amos MacIntyre was my best friend back in Scotland - Mac and Bond, that was us. He was a navigator by trade, until that terrible boating accident on the North Sea. Chilly, that.”

“What’s chilly?” Phil asked, having a bit of trouble following his uncle’s train of thought.

“The North Sea.” Graham took a sip of his drink. “Windy too.”

“But where does the aardvark fit into all this?”

“Yes, well. After the accident Amos though he was cursed so he became a gardener.” He lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

Phil took a sip of his drink as he waited patiently for his uncle to answer his question.

“He moved to America. I can’t remember the name of the place…I know it was hot there, and he took up with a housewife or a homemaker or someone like that.” He shook his head. “At any rate, the place was just lousy with aardvarks and he developed a fondness for them.”

“I still don’t understand why you painted a piano to look like an aardvark,” Phil said.

“He saved my life, don’t you know.” Graham looked at him seriously. “I was on that boat that sank too. The piano is my gift to him.”

“I didn’t know you were in the navy Uncle.”

“I wasn’t.” He finished his drink. “I was a stowaway.”

Phil looked at him in astonishment.

“Maybe it wasn’t aardvarks,” Graham mused. “Maybe it was hedgehogs.”

When Crime Pays

I have to admit I had a wee bit of fun with this one.

And I apologize to any programmers out there for the liberties I took with the job description. Programming is hard work—if it wasn’t everyone would be doing it. Obviously I don’t know a whole lot about it, but I do know a few programmers and I am in awe of them. :-D

Word count: 600
Genre: Crime
Character: A programmer
Material: A pencil
Sentence: "It was her!"
Bonus: Your character is imprisoned.

Sometimes my job can be really boring. A lot of what a programmer does is just sit in front of a computer screen looking at mile after mile of code streaming past, watching for errors – so mind numbingly boring. It’s no wonder I started amusing myself by taking a stroll through the bank’s computer system. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, I was just curious.

Their firewalls were okay and security was pretty good, not as tight as I could have made it, but that’s not what I was there for. I was just there to upgrade the accounting software to the new system and figure out why it didn’t work with the old system.

I was pretty sure I had all the kinks worked out between the old and new programs, but I wanted to wait until it was running for a while to make sure. On a whim, to pass time while I waited, I decided to check the rest of their system, just to make sure everything else was running smoothly. I was doing them a favor, for crying out loud! I never expected to find anything amiss.

But wouldn’t you know it, a red flag went up on some purchase orders for pencils. You’d think with the bank finally getting on board with the computer age the number of pencils they were going through would be reduced, but that wasn’t the case. So I took a look to see why pencils of all things were a problem.

Not only was someone buying an excessive number of pencils, they were pretty pricey ones at that. Then I took a closer look. The pencils themselves weren’t expensive, but the bank was being charged an outrageous amount for them. And there was a big discrepancy between what the bank was being charged and what was paid to the manufacturer. Where was all that extra money going?

I should have just reported what I’d found right away, but I didn’t know how to do that without admitting I was poking around in something I shouldn’t have been in the first place. Instead I started tracing the money to where it was going. It was all going into a single account in the same bank – the idiot embezzling didn’t even have the sense to stash it in an offshore account. Taking an even closer look I discovered that the stealing had been going on for years, well before the bank started using computers.

Right about then someone complained about my work, that I was incompetent and took too long at my job. One of my friends warned me that the head teller, who’d been with the bank from the very beginning, was trying to get me fired.

That snide bitch hadn’t liked me from the moment I stepped foot in her bank. I played it cool though and continued with my job. And I still curious about who’d been accumulating all that money. Imagine my surprise when I uncovered the culprit. It was her!

I knew the ax was about to fall and I’d have to act quickly. So I did what I had to do, then I set a harmless virus to activate when the computer system updated in the morning. It was risk-free, honest. A joke. But it was enough to send me to prison for three years for messing with the bank’s computers.

But that just gives me three years to figure out how to spend that 4.7 million I transferred to a bank in the Cayman Islands.

Happy Days

Maybe I knew you could do it (on Tuesday’s post), but I should have given myself a little more thought. I didn’t remember about the prompt until early Friday evening. And then I sat there simmering in the sweltering summer heat, trying to imagine “winter is long and extremely cold” and failing miserably.

So this morning I turned on the air conditioning and thought about it some more. Then I checked my email and Facebook (several times). Finally I convinced myself that empires were not going to rise and fall on my deathless prose, just start typing and be done with it.

Then I poured myself another coffee and did just that.

Word count: 500
Genre: Drama
Character: A child hater
Material: Not enough money
Sentence: "I'd like a day without punishing you."
Bonus: Winter is long and extremely cold.

The small, squat building was painted a pale pink, the happy colour at odds with what had gone on inside of it. The antiquated playground equipment lay abandoned, the swings hanging still, the monkey bars dusted with snow, the slide listing to one side. A half deflated ball nestled in the frozen sand box.

It had been a long and extremely cold winter, a fact the media reminded people of daily, but if it had not been for that, it might never have been discovered what was happening in that pretty pink building. But the boiler was old, like everything else, and working beyond its capacity. A pipe had burst and needed to be repaired.

Even so, it was by sheer accident the repairman stumbled upon the secret of Happy Days Daycare. He was declared a hero by the authorities. Who knows how far things might have gone if he hadn’t opened the wrong door?

The extreme cold of winter was forgotten as the story caught fire. It was the case everyone talked about – Sophie Fairchild, whom the press dubbed Satan Fairchild, an innocuous seeming woman with a heart of pure, black evil.

Pictures showed her to be short and slender, skin pale and smooth, mousey brown hair held off her face in a bun. She looked almost ordinary, until you looked into her eyes – dead eyes set in a face that never smiled.

The director of the day care facility cited the lack of funding as the reason why a better check of Ms. Fairchild’s credentials hadn’t been made in the first place, how things had gotten so out of hand. The center itself was part of a chain of daycare centers, all of which were currently closed pending the vetting of the other employees.

When the parents were asked if they’d ever had concerns about the day care, many of them shamefacedly admitted they had, but there were no other daycares available. Besides, things couldn’t be as bad as the children described. Ms. Fairchild might not be the warmest person around, but any time they had any contact with her she was unfailingly polite. It couldn’t be easy running a day care by herself. And children often exaggerate, right?

The families of the children involved in the incident were offered counseling. In fact, the number of caring counselors who volunteered for the opportunity to help was staggering, almost as staggering as the number of charges brought against Ms. Fairchild.

During the trial, Ms. Fairchild was asked what motivated her to act as she had against innocent children. She remained tight-lipped, as she had throughout her trial. Some believed her mind had snapped, that she wasn’t really there mentally.

In some respects they were right. When the judge handed down her sentence it wasn’t his voice she heard, but that of her mother. “Just once I’d like a day without punishing you.” Sophie was still waiting for that day.

Viva La Revolucion!

This week's prompts actually required some thinking on my part. Especially the first one.

The words for the first prompt were so disparate that I couldn’t think of using them for anything other than a poem. Which was a little surprising, but it’s nice to do something different once in awhile.

The second prompt generated a flash piece that is both weird and a little sad.


Prompt One

Forestall, review, applause, vocalize, govern

Viva La Revolucion

Forestall your protests;
the time will soon be upon us.
Ideas are rising
like floodwaters in the spring.

Review the past
if you do not believe.
Though it comes not again
we can still learn from it.

Applause is given
for measures taken;
plan for the future
if there’s to be a tomorrow.

Vocalize your concerns
to anyone who will listen,
to affect the changes
you wish to see.

Govern your thoughts
and keep them hidden
from those who deny
the revolution is coming.


Prompt Two

Child Eternal
Light Attributes: Determination to remain young in body, mind, and spirit. Ability to see things with fresh eyes.
Shadow Attributes: Inability to grow up and be responsible. Extreme dependency on others for physical security.

There was nothing remarkable about her, especially in the beginning. It was only later, when she reached twelve years of age and stopped growing, that her parents realized she was different. They consulted several doctors but they could find nothing wrong. She was a medical anomaly.

The years passed and she never changed – it was as though her mind and body had been frozen in time. When she was eighteen years old another distinction became evident. She had a unique way of seeing the world. Each time she was shown something she saw it differently.

By this time she was no longer attending school, she just didn’t have the capacity to learn beyond the twelve year old level, so her parents started her on the talk show circuit. She had her fifteen minutes of fame, but all too quickly the novelty wore off and she was yesterday’s news.

Her parents grew tired of having an eternal child to care for. They talked in secret about different solutions and finally found a boarding school for special needs children. It was far enough away that they wouldn’t be expected to visit, close enough for her to come home for holidays.

Life went on in this way for some time and would have continued for many years had there not been an incident at the school involving several of the girls and several boys from the academy across the river. Their daughter was sent back to them and they turned their attention to a lawsuit against the school that they had trusted to protect their daughter.

Before they reached a settlement agreement, they realized something strange was happening to their daughter. It was not just that she was more withdrawn than she had been, she seemed to be …growing. For the first time in fifteen years she needed new clothing, not because her old clothes were worn out, but because she’d outgrown them.

No longer could she see the world with her unique point of view. It was as though with the loss of her innocence she lost all that made her special. For the life of them, her parents did not know whether this was for better or for worse.

One Outta Two Ain’t Bad

What was I thinking when I picked last week’s prompts? Oh, that’s right. I was thinking I still had three baby-sitting free days left and it should be a cake-walk. Never mind that the editing had slowed to a crawl and there was other stuff going on.

I may still do the poem from the first prompt, but it won’t be any time soon. You think it’s easy to write twenty lines all starting with the same letter? You give it try. Go on, I dare you. I double dog dare you.

I did write something for the other prompt, but I fully admit I didn’t start it until this morning so it’s a real rush job. Now it’s back to the…gardening. What can I say? It’s a beautiful day outside today and they’re too rare to spend inside writing. LOL

Prompt Two
Write a story from the perspective of Harold the Armchair. What does he think about all day? Does he like being sat on? Do his parents approve of him being an armchair?

My father was a papasan chair and my mother was an elegant wing chair. They were always just a little disappointed I turned out to be nothing more exotic than a common armchair. But I was happy being short and squat, my plump form covered in a tasteful geometric print.

I started out like many chairs, in the showroom of a large furniture warehouse. People would walk slowly down the rows and often they’d stop in front of me to admire me, sometimes even sit down to test me out. There were all kinds of people – short, tall, skinny, fat; the ones I liked the least were those sticky fingered children with their chocolate and candy.

But all too often I heard the adults tell the salespeople, “I love the way this chair feels, but does it come in any other colour?”

Finally I was sold to a designer, at a discounted price because I was a floor model, who liked my browns and golds.

“This chair will be perfect for the house I’m working on,” he gushed. “The colours are just fabulous!”

And so I was loaded up onto the big delivery van and taken to my new home in the Van Dusens’ rumpus room where I thought I’d give years of seating pleasure. Unfortunately, the Van Dusens rarely used their rumpus room, save for an occasional game of pool. Once a week the housekeeper would vacuum my upholstery and fluff my cushions, but other than that I was pretty much left alone.

Several years later, I have no idea how many because frankly I never thought to keep track, the Van Dusens divorced and I, along with the rest of the furniture in the rumpus room, ended up in storage.

A number of years passed before we saw the light of day again. This time we’d been sold in one big lot at a storage unit auction and taken to a used furniture store. Surprisingly I was at the store for a very short time before I was purchased by a family who was furnishing their garage as a play room.

To my dismay, I was covered in a heavy, dark blue slipcover. It itched at first, but eventually I got used to and was actually grateful for it when they got the dog, who liked to curl up on me. There’s nothing worse than dog hair, the couch and club chairs told me.

Time passed. The children grew up and seldom came out to the play room, although the dog still liked to take naps on me. I must admit I was beginning to show my age too. My stuffing was not so plump and despite the slipcover my faux velvet upholstery was wearing thin in spots. It was no surprise when I was loaded onto a truck one day, along with several boxes and a few other pieces of furniture that were no longer used.

Our destination this time was a retirement home. I was placed in a sunny corner in the common room where the residents could sit and look out into the garden, sometimes even have a nap. And if my springs squeaked a little when they sat down, well, so did theirs.

I couldn’t ask for a better place to end my days.

Blueprints and Dishes

Being the champion procrastinator I am, I of course had to try and do some research on the nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” Why did the dish run away with the spoon? It turns out no one knows. Unlike many nursery rhymes that have a dark side to them, this one is just as it appears – pure nonsense.

As for the blueprints . . . It doesn’t seem that long ago I did a prompt story about a secret room, so I wanted to go for something a little different. I think I succeeded. :-)


Prompt One
While preparing your garden at the beginning of spring, you find the blueprints for your house buried in the earth. When you pull it out and examine it, you find that there is a room in the blueprint that doesn’t exist in your house. Both disturbed and intrigued, you set off to find the missing room. Write what happens next.

Why would anyone brick up a storage room? That was my first thought as I stared at the wall of blocks in front of me in the basement of my new house. Was this something the previous owners had done, or did they even know about it?

I’d bought the house for a song. The kid the realtor hired to cut the grass said it had a bit of a bad reputation. Some rumour about the house reverting back to the original owner a couple of times, but I couldn’t quite recall the circumstances – foreclosure due to missed mortgage payments or something like that.

According to the blueprint I’d found – buried under a dead forsythia bush in the backyard, if you can believe it – there should be a large storage room behind this wall. It might even be big enough to use as a work shop or an extra bedroom.

The wall looked pretty solid, bricks and mortar fitting snugly together, but at the same time there was something a little odd about it. A closer examination showed a faint seam along one edge. Maybe I wouldn’t have to use a sledge hammer on it after all.

It took the better part of an hour of persistent searching, but I finally found a brick that was just faintly askew. I pushed on it and there was a click, then a section of the wall popped open enough that I could pull the hinged panel the rest of the way open.

Behind the brick, which was actually a thin layer of brick stuck to plywood, cunningly disguised to look like a solid wall, was a metal door. Curiouser and curiouser. The door had one of those wheels on it, like a ship’s hatch or a bunker, and it took both hands to get it to turn. Maybe this was one of those bomb shelters that had been all the rage in the 50s.

There was a hiss of air as the seal around the door was broken. Of course it was dark inside, but I was prepared and grabbed the flashlight I’d set aside. The flashlight didn’t brighten it by much, but I could definitely tell this was no bomb shelter. Nor were there any shelves to indicate it had been used for storage, at least not at this end. So what had it been used for?

It was a long, narrow room, and the dim light barely reached a pile of…something at the furthest end. I took a couple of steps forward and the metal door slammed shut with a clang. I swung around and the light played over the metal - there was no handle from this side of the door. I pounded on it with my fist.

“Hey! Is someone there? Let me out!” The door wasn’t on a spring and I hadn’t noticed a draft – someone had to have shut it on me. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you need to open this door. Right now!”

The walls seemed to close in on me and I struggled to quell the rising panic. There had to be another way out. I swung the flashlight around and started towards the other end of the room.

“Oh my god.” The light from the flashlight fell on the pile of clothing. Only it wasn’t a pile of clothing, but a body. Actually, two bodies. One was desiccated, it must have been here for ten years or more. The other wasn’t quite as old, maybe five years. Looks like I’d found two sets of previous owners.

From the way they were positioned, it was apparent they’d been trying to dig their way out with their bare hands. The first had managed to break through the crumbling cinder-blocks of the basement wall, the second about three feet further than that into the earth on the other side.

A shiver passed over me. How far would I get before I died?


Prompt Two
Write a love story about the dish and the spoon from the classic nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” How did they meet and why did they decide to run away together? Will their relationship last?

Hey diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed
To see such sport
That the dish ran away with the spoon.

“There’s the fiddle, it’s almost time!”

Several dishes and pieces of cutlery ranged themselves along the table’s edge to get a better view. A white bread and butter plate with pink roses around its edge sidled up to a long, elegant soup spoon.

“There she goes!”

There was a ragged cheer as the cow launched herself into space and jumped over the moon.

“Here now, we’ll have none of that!” a large serving fork barked out, shoving the pretty little dish away from the spoon. “Plates go with knives and forks, spoons go with bowls.”

At that moment, the little dog started to laugh, drawing the serving fork’s attention his way.

“Quick, while he’s distracted,” the spoon said.

Holding hands, the plate and spoon slid down the long waterfall of the tablecloth, making their escape. Unfortunately, the floor below was ceramic tile. They hit hard and the bread and butter dish shattered.

The spoon lay distraught amidst the wreckage of his lady love. “There’ll never be another dish like you,” he sobbed.

“You got that right,” the serving fork called from above. “She was a limited edition collector’s plate.”

The little dog continued to laugh, a hint of madness in its voice.

Cats and Cookies

Have you noticed I tend to go one long and one short with these things usually? I have to admit, I wasn’t really feeling it for these prompts at first. Then I came up with something a little moody for the first one.

The second one seemed to take forever, mainly because as much as I love fairy tales, I couldn’t figure out which one to use for my story. And then it got a little long winded, but it is what it is.

Prompt One
Go over to your bookshelf, close your eyes, and pick up the first book you touch. Open the book to a random page, read the first full sentence on that page, and use it as the inspiration for a story or scene. Please include the original line at the beginning or end of your response.

From Bram Stoker’s Dracula: When I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow.

It had not been an easy climb and I would have given up halfway had curiosity not taken root in me. No ghost this, but the figure resolved itself into that of a large, white cat, sitting as though it, too, had been carved from the same white marble as the bench below it.

We stared at each other, the cat and I, for the space of several heart beats. I was afraid to move, as it turned its head and became enigmatic and motionless. The air up here was cool with a hint of dampness promising rain. A chill breeze had the dead leaves dancing around the pedestal of the bench, but the cat’s fur remained unruffled.

The clouds chose that moment to part just enough so that a beam of sunlight fell upon the cat, turning the white fur into a blazing nimbus. My breath caught, and two points of living sapphire turned to stare at me once more.

I shut my eyes against the radiant beauty and when I opened them again, the clouds had covered the sun once more and the cat was gone. Was it real? Was it a spirit? Was it all just a dream?

With ponderous steps I went over to the marble bench and sat down. The view was spectacular, the cemetery spread out on all sides below, the checkerboard of light and dark racing with the cloud cover.

There was no sign of the cat. Nor did I ever see it again.


Prompt Two
Write a scene that involves a fairy tale trope turned on its head or otherwise deviating from typical expectations. For example: A princess who’s cruel to her kind stepmother; a golden goose that lays explosive eggs, a big, frightening wolf who really just wants a friend.

It was the girl’s idea. It usually was. Though both children were somewhat greedy and grasping she was the one who generally came up with the plots and plans.

She was the one who started the rumors about their parents being so poor they couldn’t afford to feed her and her brother, and how it was their mother’s idea to take them out into the woods and leave them there.

The first time it happened they were returned home by the constable, who gave their parents a fine and a stern lecture on what would happen to them if they ever tried such a thing again. The boy felt bad for his part in it, but the girl felt a great deal of satisfaction.

“That’ll teach them for trying to make me do chores,” she said to her brother.

The next time they had to go further afield because the constable had started to keep an eye on their farm. There was a rich couple, two villages over, that the girl knew of. She timed it just right and she and her brother stumbled out of the woods right as the couple were returning home. It was easy making the couple believe they’d been abused and abandoned. The boy had always been on the thin side, like his father, while the girl wore her least favorite dress and made sure it was torn and dirty.

For a while it had been great fun. They were dressed in the finest clothes and fed the best food, and had presents heaped upon them. But then the girl overheard the man telling his wife that they needed to let the authorities know about them, so that proper action could be taken against their terrible parents. That night they gathered up what they could carry and slipped away towards home.

Along the way they stumbled across the cottage where an old woman ran a rather successful bakery. In fact, she’d just recently renovated the house to make it look like it was made of gingerbread – a great advertising gimmick. The girl looked thoughtfully at the “Help Wanted” sign in the window and the boy could almost see the wheels turning. He had a feeling this was not going to bode well for him.

They returned home to a lukewarm greeting from their parents and one even less so from the constable.

“Here, now. Where have you two been? And don’t give me no tales about your parents losing you in the woods ‘cause they haven’t left the farm in more ‘n an week.”

“Why of course not, officer,” the girl said sweetly. “We were but visiting friends in another town. So sorry if you were worried.”

The constable harrumphed and went back to his jail where he didn’t have to worry about things like missing children and runaway children and the like.

The girl and her brother took the fine clothes and toys they’d collected to the market, where they sold them for a rather nice profit. Then the boy sat on a hay bale at the edge of the marketplace sipping a mug of apple cider while he watched his sister flit through the crowds dropping a coin here and a rumor there about the old woman being a witch with a predilection for eating children.

“There,” she said with satisfaction as she returned to collect her brother. “That’ll take care of the competition.”

The following day she and her brother presented themselves to the old woman at the gingerbread house.

“Well,” the old woman said, “You’re a little young and you’ve no experience , but seeing as no one else seems to want to work for me, I’ll take you on a trial basis.”

The boy actually quite liked working for the old woman. She was kind and soft spoken and never scolded him if he happened to break something, which sad to say was quite often. His sister pitched in with an uncharacteristic zeal which got him wondering. What was she up to?

He found out more than a week later when his sister took him aside. “The old woman seems to like you,” she whispered. “You need to play it up and get her to tell you the secret ingredient to her gingerbread.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because, you idiot, it’s the only recipe I’m lacking. I’ve figured out all the rest of them and with the gingerbread we can get rid of the old woman and take over her business.”

The boy looked at her askance.

“Don’t just stand there like a big, fat gob. Go get that recipe!”

The girl left on an errand. The boy knew exactly what to do. When the girl returned she looked at him expectantly and he nodded slightly.

“You’re brother and I just finished making up a batch of gingerbread,” the old woman said, “But I can’t seem to get the oven lit. Do you think you could give it a try?”

“Of course,” the girl said with insincere sweetness. She bent over, having to stick her head partway into the oven to get it lit. As she did so, she felt a tremendous shove from behind.

“Get the door!” she heard her brother yell. The iron door clanged shut behind her and in an instant she began to smell smoke.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“I think this is the best batch of gingerbread yet,” the boy said to his new partner.

“Why thank you, dear,” the old woman said, beaming. “The secret is in the fuel you use for the fire.”

Visions and Pirates

Believe it or not, I had something written to both of these prompts by the end of Tuesday, same day as I posted them. What I forgot was to type them out and schedule them to appear earlier this morning.

Oh, well. I’m only a little late, right? And they do say better late than never. LOL


Prompt One
You’re at work, like any normal day, and happen to look out the window as you head to the break room for a second cup of coffee. What you see makes you stop in your tracks. What is it?

It was fast turning into one of those days. First, I was almost late to work because the car wouldn’t start, then I was late to the meeting I’d forgotten all about. To top it off, I just couldn’t seem to wake up.

“This calls for another cup of coffee,” I muttered, getting to my feet.

“Save some for the rest of us,” my cubical mate, Sheila, said.

The break room was empty, but at least the coffee pot was full. Guess there might be hope for today after all. Or at least that’s what I thought as I went back to my desk. But then I happened to glance out the window on my way by. I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to tear my eyes away from the view.

“That’s a good way to catch flies,” Henry said as he passed by on his way to the break room.

I don’t know how long I’d been standing there with my mouth open. “Have you seen that?” I nodded towards the window.

Henry glanced towards the window and did a double take. “Oh my god,” he whispered.

In a short time Henry and I were joined by Bob, Francine, and Harold, from accounting, who had come upstairs to use our break room because their coffee maker was broken.

“For Christ’s sake Jonas,” Sheila said, coming up the hallway. “Just how long does it take to get a cup of coffee?” She didn’t appear phased by the small crowd at all.

Wordlessly, Francine pointed at the window. Sheila turned and let out a small gasp. “How did that get there?”

“I don’t know,” Harold said grimly, “But we’d better get back to work before the boss finds out.” Murmuring in agreement, we all went back to our desks.


Prompt Two
One day, while reading your favourite book on the beach, you notice a boat slowly drifting to shore. It eventually lands near your spot. A person, draped in pirate clothes, yells to you from the boat, “I have a treasure map and I need help. Are you in?”

I had saved for three years for this vacation in Cuba. This was not one of the popular resorts, it was tucked out of the way, overlooked by most tourists, which is just the way I wanted.

After three years of extra long hours in customer service, the last thing I wanted was to have people around me on my vacation.

It was early enough in the morning that only a few of the other guests at the small hotel were up. After a delicious breakfast in the dining room, I took my bag and went out to the beach.

I don’t think there’s a bad beach on the whole island. This one was a wide strip of sand bordering the curve of a bay. I was aiming for the spill of rocks leading right to the water, a few palm trees casting long shadows.

The hotel was just a spec in the distance as I spread out my blanket in the shade and dumped the contents of my bag onto it – bottles of water, sun screen, snacks, and three paperback books. Everything I’d need for the day.

I settled back with a sigh, opening up one of my favourite books. It held my attention for the better part of an hour when something made me look up and out over the water.

There was a large speck out there. I shaded my eyes with my hand and squinted, but couldn’t make out what it was. A passing ship maybe? For the next while I alternated between reading and watching the spec, which seemed to be drawing closer.

The sun was high in the sky when I abandoned all pretense of reading and stood to watch the approaching speck. It was close enough now for me to see that it was some kind of large sailboat, a rather old-fashioned one at that. And there was a man on board dressed up like some kind of pirate.

Was someone shooting a movie somewhere? Had I accidentally intruded on their set? I glanced quickly around – there were no signs posted.

“Avast, ye landlubber,” the man called when he was within shouting distance. “What land be this?”

“Cuba,” I answered, bemused. He was younger than I’d expected, but tall and lean with his dark hair pulled back from his face in a long tail. He appeared to be the only one aboard the boat.

“Cuba ye say?” He let loose a string of curses. “Damned storm blew me further off course than I thought.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Why to find me treasure, lass.” He gave me a speculative look. “Care to come along? I could use a hand.”

I glanced down at the book lying facedown on the blanket. The one with the muscular man in the billowy shirt standing on the deck of a beautiful, three-masted sailing ship. Then I looked at the boat with its raggedy sail, and its equally shabby but earnest looking pilot.

It was a no brainer.

Secret Rooms and Trees

I think the first of these prompt offerings is begging to be developed into a longer story. But the second one is short and sweet, and just might be included as part of a scene in the book I’m currently working on.

This makes me feel pretty good about the prompts, like I’m not wasting my time with them. A potential story and furthering something in progress – it doesn’t get much better than this.


Prompt One
You have discovered what appears to be an ordinary room. But as soon as you enter the room, time stops for you. When you leave the room, time picks up right where you left off. What do you use this room for?

They’d been living in the house for three weeks when Marissa discovered the secret room.

She hadn’t wanted to move, she’d been perfectly happy in their old house, but Doug insisted. They needed more space, he said. It was a bigger house and a better school district. And the best part, to his way of thinking, was that it was right beside his mother.

This house was old, with floors that creaked and heavy wood paneling that darkened the hallways and study. How hard would it be to remove that paneling, she wondered. She pulled gently at a corner of it under the stairs, thinking if it was already loose it should come off easily.

To her surprise, the whole panel swung open on silent hinges.

“Well! I don’t recall the realtor mentioning a room under the stairs,” she said aloud. “Maybe it’s a secret room.”

Cautiously she poked her head inside. It didn’t smell stale or musty, so she ran her hand along the inside of the wall until she found a light switch.

“Oh!”

Light flooded the room a multicoloured glass shade hanging from the ceiling. The room was larger than she expected, almost like a second study. “Only nicer,” she murmured.

Marissa glanced at her watch. It was 2:45. She had fifteen minutes before the girls would be home from school, more than enough time for a quick peek around.

The same dark paneling as the hallway lined the walls, and there was a lovely red Oriental carpet on the floor. There was a fireplace along one wall with two red velvet wing chairs in front of it. The opposite wall was one big bookcase, and off to the side was a roll top desk.

“I always wanted a roll-top desk,” she murmured.

The carpet was unmarked and there wasn’t a spec of dust on the furniture. It was as though the room had just been cleaned, waiting for her use.

She glanced at her watch again. “Damn!” It was still 2:45. Her watch must have stopped. She hurried out of the room, carefully making sure the door was secure behind her.

Marissa didn’t mention the room to anyone that night. If it was a secret room then she wanted to keep it that way – a secret.

The grandfather clock in the hallway was just ringing 10:00 when Marissa returned to the room the next morning. She had a cup of coffee with her and she was hoping to steal half an hour to read a chapter or two from the book she’d been trying to read for the past two months.

Much later, Marissa closed the book on its final chapter with a sigh. The she realized what she’d done and gave a guilty start. “I can’t believe I just did that!” She exclaimed. “It must be nearly time to get supper started.”

The clock in the hallway was just finishing its chime as she hurried by. She glanced at it, then did a double take.

“That’s not possible!”

It was still 10:00. Marissa glanced back at the panel concealing the secret room, then back at the clock. “Is it?”

Over the next several days, Marissa experimented with several different time pieces. Every one of them stopped just over the threshold to the room. Time itself stopped in the room.

“Finally,” Marissa said with a smile on her face. “Finally I’ll have some time to myself to do what I want to do.”


Prompt Two
Write a story that begins with the title of the book you’ve most recently read and ends with the name of your favourite character that you’ve written.

“In the Forests of the Heart grow trees unlike any ever seen before. Giant, like the redwoods, but filled with stories and songs. Serious, like the might oak, but with a puckish sense of humour. Twisted, like the Hawthorne, but capable of great peace and beauty. Walk among them and enter a world of utter tranquility.”

She shut the book, a pensive look on her face.

“Sounds like the afterlife to me,” he said. “Or one of them anyway.”

“You think there’s more than one?”

“I think there are as many as there are religions to believe in them.”

“Well I hope that’s not the afterlife I’m headed for. After all that time I spent in the Darkwood Forest, I’ve had more than enough of trees, thank you very much.”

Dominic grinned at her. “Then maybe you should find a different bedtime story, Jessica.”