Welcome to the first edition of what I hope will be a weekly post. I’ve had three awesome prompts to work on this week, and I’ve enjoyed them immensenly. I can’t wait to see what you readers think of them, so please don’t be shy to let me know!
Prompt #1 (Maria Reads)
“I’m a zombie girl, in a zombie world…” I’ve given you an earworm now, haven’t I? Well, imagine how I feel after listening to that same chorus a thousand times last night. People are so unoriginal when they’re drunk, really; like I hadn’t heard that before? I was working all night, and as much as I need and appreciate the money, I’m starting to think serving drinks in a Halloween themed pub may not be for me any longer. The music is deafening, the work monotonous, and there’s only so many times you can look at guys dressed as superheroes and resist the urge to roll your eyes. Although the female Ghostbusters that have been coming in lately have been really nice. But as much as I like looking at how their uniforms hug their bodies, the night work is starting to take its toll on me. My sleep is fucked up and I’ve got an infection in one of my eyes because of the white contact lenses. So it’s decided, I’ll call my boss and tell him to look for someone else, I’m done.
I will miss this moment, though. I leave the pub after dawn and come here for a well earned coffee every morning after work. People looked at me weirdly at first – I was dressed as a zombie after all – but now they’re used to it and I’m never more invisible than when I’m wearing all this make up. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s nice; having coffee surrounded by the same people every morning. These people know who I am, but they don’t know me, and I could say the same about them. I’m sure coming here for a coffee tomorrow, with my hair up and my glasses on won’t feel the same. And still, there’s a small part of me that hopes I’m wrong, that this feeling will remain, that they will look at me and see the girl that used to dress like a zombie. I’ve spent so much time being a zombie lately I’ve forgotten what being a human beign feels like.
Prompt #2 (Lennan Adams)
He remembers doing it since he was a kid waiting for his dad to pick him up from school. He would sit on a bench and look at people, making up complete stories for them. The woman walking quickly dressed in a pantsuit and heels was late for work, because she had just stopped to have some coffee with the person she hoped would be her future lover. The young woman running while wearing her headphones was not listening to any music, but didn’t want to anyone to talk to her; she was sorting through a problem in her head and the only thing she was interested in hearing were her thoughts. The old man walking slowly with the help of a cane had been a soldier, and fallen in love with another soldier from his Unit. He’d kept it a secret and returned home after the war, only to find him waiting for him at his door, ready for their life together.
People told him he had an overeager imagination, that he would grow out of it when he grew up, but he didn’t. Whenever he had a chance to observe people – while having a coffee or waiting in line at the bank – he kept imagining their lives. Until him.
He saw him for the first time in the restaurant where he works; he was having lunch alone, and he tried to imagine why. But every time he thought he’d come up with an idea, all he could think of was sitting there, sharing his lunch and talking like old friends. He went back to the restaurant the next day, alone again, and he was still trying to imagine a part of his life, but he saw himself in all his musings. He saw them leaving the restaurant together, kissing just out of the door. He imagined a walk to a home, hands intertwined. He saw a hallway, shared breaths and roaming hands, but whose hands he couldn’t tell.
He kept coming to the restaurant, and every time he got more and more lost in his imagination. Until tonight, while browsing the Internet at home he finds a post that defines exactly what he’s feeling. He’s missing hands that have never touched him. He misses something that he has never felt. People have warned him about the risks of living in his own head, but he hasn’t truly understood them until now. It’s decided; tomorrow he’ll introduce himself and try to make his thoughts a reality.
Prompt #3 (Nane CrownLess)
Nane wanted a little story a photographs that is being carried by the wind and the people who see it and what they think.
I’m flying! I was scared at first, when the hand let me go, but the feeling of terror slowly gave place to this feeling of freedom. I’d been living in the inside of a photo album nobody opened anymore for too long. I get I’m only a small memory, but I am pretty and deserve to be looked at, if I do say so myself. I’m inhabited by the shadows of two men sharing the heat of a fire. I say the shadow because that’s what a picture contains, just a small moment captured in time. I can’t tell you what the men were thinking or feeling, and neither what they were doing just seconds before or after they were recorded on me. But I’ve seen them looking at me a few times, and looking and smiling at each other, so whatever it was it was probably a good thing. Until they stopped looking at me. The last time I saw one of them he was alone and there were tears – there’s still a splash from one of them on me. And then today someone took me from my page and let me fly.
Some people on the street tried to catch me, but the wind wouldn’t let them. Some looked at me, and at my image, and tilted their heads. I like to think they were trying to figure out what was happening in that escene; some of them may even have made up complete conversations in their heads. Some children run after me and tried to catch me, making it into a game. But I’m still flying. I wish someone could catch me and fold me into a crane, so I could do it for longer. I don’t know where this will end, but if I know something for sure is that this freedom has been worth it.
And that’s all for today! I hope you’ve liked these little stories. And please, give me more prompts for next week 🙂 You can leave them here in the comments or @ me on Twitter (@LauraBailo)