Genevieve tugged on the scraps of cloth encasing her waist. Dingy brown in color but still, they slimmed her already thin waist. Shaping her into more of an hourglass figure, she carefully smooths the ripples that had formed in her skirt. She clears her throat as she surveys herself in the mirror before her.
Dark chocolate eyes fall over the image before her. Long twisted strands of hair in the beginnings of dreadlocks hung limp down either side of her face, framing it lovely. Tiny brown speckles litter her cheeks and nose as though sprayed by a paintbrush, a rosy tone laid down beneath them. Her youthful face, frozen in an expression of disinterest. Olive green tresses hang over her overthin frame, bundling and bunching in excess and cinched at her middle with a brown length of fabric. The layers just barely managing to conceal the parts of her that made her a woman, although those parts were slight. Barefoot feet peer out at the base of her threads, a bit dirty. Genevieve sighs as she stares at herself. Bored with her plainness. She turns from the mirror and snatches a wicker basket from the kitchen counter. She holds it with both hands before her, staring herself down again until her sigh repeats. She rolls her eyes slowly, pouts a bit, and then heads over to the laundry. She collects a medium scrap of cotton fabric and lines her basket expertly. She delicately folds over the edges and heads toward the door of her cottage home. She clutches a rope dangling from up on the ceiling and tugs, loosing the clasp on the doorlock. She pushes the door open to reveal the bright, shining, green day. Gen’s feet drag over the plush and fluffy grass, trimmed neatly across her front lawn. Pink and yellow blossoms reach out of the ground to border her walkway on either side. The air soaked in the sappy sweet smell of flowers and the wet growth of Spring. She makes note to ignore all of these things as she takes a sharp left out of her property and down the dirt road toward the markets. After a moderate stroll through the woodlands, she comes up on the edge of the markets. Shops alive with the sound of chitchat, gossip, and bargaining.

—

Not finished.

(Prompt used is actually the first sentence. This is from another prompt app. I just wanted all my things in the same place.)

I do not know what happened.

I remember feeling warm and cold at the same time. Like sweaty and shaking together. I remember darkness with bursts of light so bright that my eyes had no time to adjust. I remember grass between my toes, I remember mud under my fingernails. I remember the taste of the woods, musky and earthy and wet on my tongue. I remember the cool breeze tickling over my flesh and goosebumps racing each other over my exposed skin. I remember distant sounds of cars speeding down the thruway, sprinkled with the pleasant interruption of the croak of several frogs. I remember feeling frightened that tomorrow may not come. I remember feeling safe as I wandered out from the long stretch of trees.

There was only then, there was only each individual moment. Hazy flashes of images like a slide show on repeat.

But I do not know what happened.

(Prompt used is actually the first sentence. This is from another prompt app. I just wanted all my things in the same place.)

Love, it seems, can be as brutal as death. The cruel sentence scratched it’s way through any lingering thoughts she had of her. How could she have been so stupid? So thoughtless? She had known from the start what they had agreed upon. Still, she’d gotten attached. Carla had made it too easy for her. To dip her toes in the pool of her shining personality and in the blink of an eye end up soaked to the bone in her beautiful hazel eyes and the way that she laughs when she’s nervous. The way the sun beams over her cheek bones as her smile pronounces them. The way her hands would… Ugh.. Lyse couldn’t wipe it clean. The memories demanded to stay. They stood too firmly, rooted into her like the way she’d want to be with Carla. Permanent. She sighs heavy, her eyes welling up with salt as she directs her visage toward her apartment’s front door. The same door that had let Carla leave the night before. She took all of her things and every single happy or hopeful piece of Lyse with her as she went.

His uneasy heart refused to be ignored as it pounded heavy under his ribcage. Every beat felt like it was pulsing through his entire body. He stood still as a statue at the edge of the clearing, scarce foliage and trees separating him from the others. His eyes, green like the forest smoked over in a fog, dart to the other players he could see. Sizing them up and letting each evaluation sink in. The female to his right was crouched, a wild look on her face. She held a broad wooden shield tight with both hands, her knuckles white from the pressure. A smart choice he supposed, to bring something of that sort. Eyes flit to the player on his left. A tall, muscular boy of Swedish origin. His skin pale, his hair light to match his eyes. He glowers at Jacob, drags his thumb slow across the base of his neck and bares his teeth like an animal. He’d brought what appears to be a heavy metal chain-link shirt. The glinting silver covered his shoulders, torso and hangs down past his hips. Jacob chews a bit on the edge of his mouth, fighting back an anxious sigh. How’s that non-lethal? He wonders. Jacob exhales slow and returns his gaze to the mountain of supplies that laid in a mess at the center of the field, ears pricked in hopes to might hear the sound of the release horn before the others. Nimble fingers wander over to his left pocket, fingertips tapping over the item he’d chosen. An extra large crochet needle. Perhaps an unusual choice for a man. Jacob swats a few stray hairs away from his eyes, no time right now to adjust the knot the rest of his hair was twisted into. Suddenly, the horn sounds. So loud that it drowns out the thumping in his chest, and he darts forward into the tall grass. He grabs fistfuls of the stringy plant as he goes, stuffing them into his pockets. He reaches the pile as the blond boy does. Their eyes meet and hold as they both blindly grab a random suitcase. The blond boy turns to run from the stack as Jacob backpedals, not wanting to take his eyes away. An arrow shoots over the pile seemingly from nowhere and flies with speed through the atmosphere, it buries itself right through the calf of the blond boy. He bellows and goes down hard into the grass. Jacob’s eyes wide with panic as he reaches the edge of the forest safely. He ducks down low at the base of a tree and pops his suitcase open with a forced sigh. Within, he finds various salves and tinctures.. All unlabelled but one, marked Silly. He cocks his head and pulls out a burlap satchel fit to carry these things. He tucks his crochet needle into the bag with the handfuls of grass. He stares for a moment at the multiple different jars and tins. Some of these must be good for something, his brain suggests.

(Some times I have some trouble creating happy pieces; since sad or dark ones always helped me feel like I was letting go of sad or dark thoughts of mine. That used to be the only reason I could really write. To let go. To feel that release. They flow out of me more naturally.. I don’t know. So I thought I’d challenge myself, since I’m trying to beat my writer’s block to death. Here goes..)

I’m Charlie and I’ve been around for 10 sets of weather changes. I’ve been at the doggy in between for 7 sun ups and 6 sun downs. There might be other animals here too but I’ve never seen any. The nice lady who brings food is making her way down my aisle with breakfast. I always make sure to show her I appreciate what she does by licking her hand when she offers it through the chain link. I also never forget to wag my tail as hard as I can to greet her. Everybody else is always very noisy. Don’t they know humans have sensitive ears? Some times nice lady takes me out of the in between and we enjoy a walk outside. I love when it’s bright out and warm. But I do also like when it’s wet, there’s more smells outside then. Anyways, I’ve been here before. I know it’s just an in between because I left last time. My first family was amazing. I went there when I was just a pup. They came to Smell Mom’s house and picked me out of everyone. I had a boy and Mom. We filled our sun ups with grass time, walks, and ball throw. Snacks that changed flavor all the time. It was like a dream. My favorite thing about life is happy. I remember all the good times so clearly in my head over those 7 sets of weather changes. The sun up they brought me to the in between was just like any other. I hadn’t been a bad dog or anything. I’m a good dog. Boy was crying a lot and so was Mom. I knew it wasn’t easy to leave me here. We were such great friends. I really love them and I knew they love me. The first time at the in between was scary, I’ll admit it. But nice lady was there back then too. So she helped me a lot with my worries. I was shaking the first few days. I didn’t feel like eating. All I could think about was that I was, I am. A good dog. On the third sun up, Dad came. We walked around the in between’s grass. He made me feel calm and relaxed. We sat together on the bench by the in between’s front door and greeted people that were going in or out. Dad would tip his hat and I would wag my tail. He stayed with me at the in between nearly the whole sun up and then we went to the front desk. Dad used a stick on some white papers and nice lady told me to just keep being myself because I am a good dog. Then we went home. Happy with Dad was totally different than it was with boy. That was fine by me. Dad liked to watch picture box and sit on the couch. He would eat food box dinner every night and share with me. He taught me what roast beef is too. That stuff is good. He would tell me stories about when he was a pup. We didn’t really do walk but we did do grass time. Dad liked to sit in his chair outside while I sniffed the yard and made sure it was safe. Occasionally, Dad would do ball time but he would get tired after a few back and forths. That’s okay. I love Dad. The day I went back to the in between, I woke up earlier than usual. My bed was on the ground of Dad’s room next to his. Something smelled off. I nosed Dad a few times to tell him it was sun up like always but he didn’t budge. He smelled different. Some time passed and Dad still didn’t wake up. Strangers came in our house. People I’ve never met. That made me nervous. They took Dad. I tried to bark from far away but I don’t think they understood. Where he goes, I go. I was alone for a little while in home. Then nice lady came from the in between to pick me up. I was happy to see her but I brought her to Dad’s room. Could she smell that? Did she know they took him and she was there to bring me where he went? Nice lady had tears in her eyes when she hooked my leash onto my collar. She let me ride in the front on the way. When we pulled up onto the street of the in between, I recognized the smell right away. I was worried about Dad. Was nice lady not going to bring me to him? Nice lady told me a few times over the next few sun ups that Dad was gone and she was sorry. Said I’ve been dealt a crumby hand, whatever that means. She promised that she would find someone else for me to love. But I wanted Dad. So it’s been 7 sun ups and 6 sun downs now. It gets kind of boring here. No one gets any ball throw or treats that change flavor or couch with picture box. Nice lady has brought me roast beef a few times though. Today, she’s staying by me extra long. She looks so happy. I know happy. Her happy makes me happy. The sun up becomes a sun down and nice lady comes over and starts to open my door. It’s a little dark for walk but that’s still fine by me. Nice lady is so happy and excited, if she had a tail it would probably propel her forward with it’s wag. We went to her car again. I was confused but I got in. She brought me to her home. When we got there, there was a big sign that said “Welcome Home Charlie” and I can’t read but I have a feeling it was for me. She kept pointing at it and petting my head. There was a bed next to her bed just for me. She got me treats I’ve never had before and we had roast beef every 7th sun up. We do walk and ball throw and grass time and picture box and couch AND nice lady’s bed AND rope pull. I love nice lady. I call her Mom now. She brought a piece of Dad’s bedcover from old home for me to sniff when I wanted and sometimes, boy would visit. I can’t really keep up with him anymore but that’s fine by me. It makes me happy to see him. I’ll never forget Dad but I am happy. Life with Mom is full of happy, bursting at the seams like all of my new squeakies. Oops. She brings me to places I’ve never been. She waits for me to finish my sniff before continuing a walk. She also got me foot covers for wet and cold wet. They aren’t my favorite but I make it work. I’ll do anything Mom asks because I love her and she loves me. I think she is my soulmate. She never lets me forget that I’m Charlie and I am a good dog.

(Happy sad? Sad happy? Ehh.. I tried.)

My name is Dylan. I am young enough to buy alcohol but old enough to think twice about it. My hair is sandy blond and shaggy like those guys in the popular bands from 2005. My eyes are blue but not normal blue; they’re blue like the bottom of the ocean. My skin is kissed by the sun every day and it shows with it’s caramel tone. I think about how many miles of open water our planet has all the time. I used to surf and skateboard and rollerblade. I used to be so active that I could barely stand still. That was before.

I remember when I was younger, I ran outside to the tune of the local ice cream truck. When my bare feet hit the warm sidewalk, I realized it was much farther away than I thought. Dad was working on one of his old cars in the driveway. The hunter green hood was propped up and he was halfway underneath it. He always tried to teach me things about cars. It was an in one ear and out the other conversation every time. With a huff, I sat on the grass. The merry jingle of the ice cream far off then; I could barely hear it. Dad turned around with a smirk and said, “You can’t always get what you want. But if you try some times, you’ll get what you need.” At the time, as a 10 year old, I didn’t know they were lyrics and I hardly understood what he meant. But at 24, it resonates. Dad always knew what to say.

I remember when I was probably about 16. Mom texted me while I was in my last class at school. I think it was science, biology. That day we were learning about how different species affect each other in the food chain. Her text read, “Be home on time, special dinner tonight. Love you.” I sighed loudly as I read it. Mrs. Dean scolded me for using my phone in class. I had plans to meet up with a few friends after school at the skate park. It was with that text that I decided I probably couldn’t go. Bummer. When my bus dropped me home, I went straight inside. I dropped my backpack by the front door and noticed that the table was set like it was for holidays. Mom made fried chicken cutlets, string bean casserole, loaded baked potatoes, and grilled lemon asparagus. For dessert, she made cranberry apple pie all from scratch. As delicious as it all was, the best part of the meal was my Mom’s smile. She loved nothing more than her family and seeing them happy. And she didn’t need a reason to make it happen. Mom knew exactly how to make a house feel like a home.

Shortly before I moved out of the house and into my first apartment; my little sister Dana asked me to help her set up her computer in her bedroom. She’d gotten it for her birthday and she wasted no time in wanting to set it up. I had a lot of experience with computers after being one of the leads in the Robotics club at school. I connected all the cords and checked all the outputs for her with ease. I centered it perfectly on her cherrywood desk. When I finished, she sat on the bar stool style chair and pressed the power button with her pointer finger. The screen came to life. The grin that spread across her face filled me with joy. She was so happy to finally be able to have the freedom of the internet in her own private space. “You’re the greatest,” she beamed. Dana always knew how to make me feel on top of the world; like I was needed, talented, important.

My name is Dylan. I always wanted a house on the beach, with sand right outside my front door. The ocean makes me feel like I am at the edge of the world. It’s an unmatchable feeling. Waves crashing up at the edge of my “front lawn”. It was a dream of mine. I reminisce all the time about when I felt like I had everything I could ever want. Before I grew up and had to fend for myself. A baby bird flying away from his nest. To his house on the water. If only I had known what was to come.

The week that I lost all of it, it happened all at once. Dad passed suddenly, some rare sickness that was genetic. Turns out he’d had a feeling it was coming but he put it out of his mind. He was hospitalized for a short time. There wasn’t much they could do. It was so quick, Mom hadn’t even collected herself enough to tell me. Then he was gone. 3 days later, Dana was driving Mom to the Urgent Care. She hadn’t eaten since losing Dad. She lost all of her sparkle in an instant. The rug was pulled out from under her. She was weak; she was sad. It was 4:32pm in the afternoon. The Urgent Care was 6 minutes from the house. A drunk driver crashed into the passenger side of the their car. Mom was killed instantly and Dana died 6 hours later from internal injuries. Dad was 46. Mom was 44. Dana was 19. I cried for weeks. I couldn’t sleep.

I quit my job. It all felt like a dream. I needed time to come to terms with this new life. I moved back home. I walked around the empty house every day, alternating between crying and sitting in silence for hours. This house used to be filled with the laughter of the people I love. It used to smell like cinnamon and oregano and vanilla. It used to be alive. Now it was a husk. This house was my house on the beach. It had all I could ever ask for all in one place. It held my happiness in every blade of grass in the backyard. It stored my childhood in it’s wallpaper. My family lived on in the photos framed on nearly every wall and mantle. If only I had realized all of that before.

My beach house is empty. The walls are old, water damaged, and fraying. The doors are long gone; there was no need to hold anything in or out anymore. The carpeted floor, once pristine and white, is buried under hills and mountains of sand. The ocean, unwavering, still crashes across my “front lawn”. The last thing I remember was standing in the bathroom. I remember pills. Tablets, capsules, liquids. I took them all. I don’t know why. Maybe I was tired. My eyes were so blurry and watery and burning all the time. They never got a break. But it didn’t take long for them to close after that.

In the living room, a mother and father discuss that day’s news. Giggling and shoving each other playfully as they speak. Sitting indian style at their feet, a young girl draws an elaborate picture with crayons. She pauses briefly to look up and smile. Standing in the door frame, is Dylan. All he can smell is brine. All he can feel is love. All he can see is the edge of the world. All he can hear is the waves and the calls of distant seagulls. All he can taste is salt.

Every Saturday, she sat in the same booth in the same corner of the café. Her name was Chloe. I remember because I always used to write her name on her drinks. She was slight with long dark hair that held her like a wooly blanket against the cold. Her petite button nose barely managed to hold up thick black rimmed glasses. Full ice blue eyes stared through the glass at the screen of her MacBook. Dainty, delicate fingers spilled out from her sweater’s sleeves to rattle endlessly across the keyboard. Every so often, she would bring a fist to her mouth, crinkling her black surgical mask into her dewy skin. So many before had sat right beside her, even so in her booth. Trying and sometimes pleading with the attractive young girl to converse, to engage. I’d always thought Surely they’ve invaded her space.. Surely she’ll say something. But it seemed that nothing and no one could catch Chloe’s eye. No one was worth her pulling out her AirPods and spending her breath. Nothing was worth the wasted minutes that could be better used on her computer. Every Saturday, she sat undisturbed for hours on end. Fingertips dancing across the keys at a speed most people barely considered possible. She’d pause only to sip her medium hot vanilla latte and then back to her work. Years later, I found out that she was writing romance novels. Or rather, novels of almost romance. Of missed opportunities or close encounters. I often found myself, nosey as I am, thinking if they could have all been non-fiction. Based on true events. Chloe never tried to meet anyone; she only ever tried not to. She was inspired by the lack of the story instead of the story itself. Her pieces have been gabbed over in best-sellers lists, in magazine articles, on forums across the internet. She became hugely popular for her work. It was an entirely different concept and it struck so hard with so many. I frequently find myself recalling Chloe sitting in the corner of the café typing her heart away. Knowing what I know now, I wonder if she put her whole heart into it or if her heart wasn’t actually involved at all.

“Does anyone want to wager a guess?” Professor Barn taps his yard stick against the blackboard. Upon it, a long and complicated Equation of the Week lay unsolved Monday through Friday as usual. No one caught his eye. “Brandon Hughes? You’ve hardly contributed all year. Any ideas?” Brandon made unwavering eye contact with the Professor, his bottom lip trembling. “I-.. I..” He stammers. The period bell rings. Professor Barn sighs and throws a fist into his palm. “Ah.. Well, see you all on Monday then. Have a nice weekend. Travel home safely.” A handful of Brandon’s peers look out the window at this and just now notice the sudden downfall of snow. An absolute mass of students pours out of the school’s front doors; filing into their respective buses and cars. Brandon shuffles quickly past them all toward the trail beside the school, his typical route home. His sneakers sink into the snow as it accumulates, an inch or so already past his ankles. He tries to rush but he can’t go as fast as usual due to the weather. At home, his younger brother is no doubt about 5 minutes from home on his bus and will need Brandon to let him inside. Brandon being older by 6 years earned him a house key on his 15th birthday. Just 3 months ago. The forest looks so serene and peaceful in it’s blanket of white sparkling snow. Every branch and rock fully covered. Brandon stares forward as he walks, about halfway home now. He spots a red-tailed hawk soar across the trail way from the east to the west. The flash of red grabs his attention against the bright white landscape. His vision follows it until he can no longer see it. Before he can evade it; a large rock meets Brandon’s sneaker and trips him up. He stumbles and tries to catch himself but ends up falling face first into the snow. He coughs and sits up; wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket. That’s when he sees it. A pool of thick red liquid that’s melted the snow just beside him. The substance leads off to his right; trails deep into the woods. He stares in the direction of the trail for a moment. His brother needs him to be home in a timely manner but.. He’d never seen such a thing in his woods before. Brandon grew up here. He knows this area and these woods quite well. He spent many summers exploring them to nearly all of their edges. If he’d gone off to the left; he would end up on Old Man Barty’s property. To the right, he’d end up in the deeper parts of the forest. There were countless caves, cliffs and wildlife. Trees for miles in every direction if you manage to find it’s center. He pauses. He takes a few steps parallel to the trail of red liquid. He inspects the substance and deems it is definitely blood. Fresh blood, no less. Warm enough to melt the freshly fallen snow. A few more paces. He tries to gaze down the way at what this trail might lead him to be cannot see very far. Brandon continues along the path of blood, curiosity getting the better of him. He pauses again and lifts his left sleeve; checking his watch. 2:47pm. His brother will have been home by now, waiting in the snow. He sighs, feeling somewhat torn. He should be responsible and go home to his brother. But he had never stepped outside of his normal. He could solve a mystery, a murder, a kidnapping. Why wasn’t he frightened? It hadn’t crossed his mind. He takes a few more steps down the trail of blood; careful not to disturb the trail itself. Following it deeper into the forest; he turns and looks back every so often. After a few minutes, he comes to a cave. There is blood splattered all around it’s entrance, even dripping from the cave’s mouth. Snow has nearly encapsulated the cave, making it’s entrance very small and narrow. Brandon tries to see down into it, craving the excitement and the mystery, but it is pitch black inside. He is hesitant to actually touch any of the blood and he would have to in order to enter the cave. He sighs loudly and combs fingers through his hair, considering his options. “Mmmm!” emits from within the cave and Brandon’s mouth falls open. “Hello?,” he murmurs.

She had been staring out the window for hours now, waiting for the slightest of flurries to swell into giant flakes of snow. The sky was a dull but soothing grey and the trees surrounding the property were swaying lazy in the breeze. She could see out past the wilted grass to the lake behind her room; it’s edges were kissed by frost and just starting to sparkle. It had been so long since she’d felt wind comb through her tangled blonde hair. So long since the stars fell out of the clouds and melted down her cheeks. So long since she’d stood in that field that stretched like an eternity out to the water’s edge. All these things were fading memories; she could hardly remember what they were like. For 10 years, she’d been inside. Not just inside, but in one of two rooms. Long draped curtains hang heavy on either side of the massive bay window. She sits kneeling on a navy blue loveseat that rests firmly against the bleached white wall. The rest of the room was always a blur between medications and meal times. She could only ever focus her mind, focus her thoughts when she gazed outside. She often felt as though she’d been there staring out that window for the entire 9 years, 10 months, and 17 days she’d been at the facility. Her foggy brain nearly always focused on long lost memories of outside, with the occasional passing thought of Does numbing everything fix whatever’s wrong? The trees of late Autumn reach almost naked toward the sky. Their branches like fingertips frostbitten and outstretched to the heavens. The storm picks up before spring green eyes that dart back and forth across the landscape. It’s starting to stick. Deep warm exhales plume over the glass sprouting fog over it’s crystalline surface; she brushes a sweater cloaked fist across the glass to clear it away. It only felt like seconds before She came in to coax her to the table. Time to eat, time to medicate. “Avaline,” Her voice sounds so far away. “Avaline,” she repeats. She holds a fork full of something beige up near her mouth. Avaline turns away and tries, as if in slow motion, to swat the fork away. The woman runs flat hands over her torso, straightening out her white scrubs. She sighs and stares at the back of Avaline’s head as she peers back toward the window. “Must we do this every evening?” She sighs again. She stands abruptly, her chair screeching across the wood floor. After just a few steps, she reaches the door to Avaline’s room and rapped it’s glossy surface 3 times. Contently in her own world, Avaline stares still out the window. If she could only find some way out of here, some way to form her words. Words that become slurred, choked, and taken twice a day. Just when the sun starts to peak through the clouds, the snow starts to fall heavy all over again. She was nothing but a husk of a person. They had taken away all she was more than half of her life ago. After so much time, the days start to blend together. The routine starts to fade away. Nothing even feels real anymore. All that ever changed in her day to day was the window. Avaline’s eyes flutter closed. She can feel the wind against her bare back. She can feel the mud squelch between her toes, curling up over their edges and threatening to suck her in. The dead, black grass sinks with her, overcome by the water and dirt. She focuses. The gritty, wet moisture feels so foreign over her skin. She feels the cold setting into the balls of her feet. Snowflakes like almonds tumble down from the clouds, landing on what’s left of her warmth and cooling it all away. They melt slowly down over her cheeks, down her shoulders, and over her chest. Just like she remembered. She lays her body down in the field. Limp and empty and wonderstruck as her first days on Earth. She could finally feel. Avaline stretches her hands and her feet; lengthening her whole figure. Hands rest gentle in the grass. She settles into the wintery field as if she were a beautiful blooming daffodil in the first weeks of spring. She felt like she belonged. The image becomes shaky. It crumbles apart. “Avaline!” the woman shouts; and her eyes open.