Writing Prompt

A candle. A candle is small in its stature. It is a small cylinder of wax. Sometimes it can be in the shape of a square. Or perhaps even a triangle. A candle can be any color. It can be red. Blue. Green. Or even pink. Their wicks stand small but mighty as they hold the power to alight even the largest of flames. They bend with the pressure of the fire as death is inevitable even to wicks. From the wick burns a fire with both the power of life and death engulfed in its warm embrace. It can light up a room. It can warm a cold family. It can cook food that would be otherwise inedible. But it also holds death. It can burn buildings to the ground with nothing left but ashes. It can heat a world so much that they all melt away. It can char objects to a crisp. And how shocking it is that a simple candle such a small plain cylinder could hold such an ability. For the fire that burns inside this simple unassuming candle. Why that flame holds the power of destroy the world.

But then again it’s only a candle. How much harm could it possibly do?

I don’t remember much of last night as I slowly sit up in bed. My head feels like it’s a cinder block and my muscles scream as I stand up and stumble into the bathroom.

The first thing is that I’m shirtless and I’ve slept in my jeans. The second thing is there is a white powdered stain on my face and jeans and as I look at my face I notice a red stain of lipstick smeared my face after inspecting my reflection in the mirror. My brain starts to ache as I think back to last night and who might’ve left this mark but images come and go.

I’m stumbling up to the bar. I see a girl ordering a drink. Her hair was dyed a dark red. I slowly move over and I honestly don’t know if it was because the bartender was there or I wanted to talk to her. She must’ve thought that was the case because she immediately turned away from me as I ordered my drink.

I lean back and grab at my head, which feels like it’s pulsing. I can’t tell if I’m hungover or still drunk and consider the latter as I walk to my kitchen cupboards to get some paracetamol. As I wash them down more events start to flood back to me...

Time passes. She’s talking to me and we’re in a corner booth. She points towards the back room and beckons me to follow her.

There are many people. I don’t remember any names just faces and features. At some point they crowd around the table and encouraged me to follow. I looked down and see pills, powder and any substance under the sun sitting there waiting to be taken and start seeing the people there grab at their personal choices. I hesitate but move closer.

Everything’s blurry and vibrant. The colours of the bar are intense and the music is pulsing through me like a heartbeat. I order another drink and-

I’m in the back room again with the girl and we’re sitting down and she looks over to me and leans closer and-

I snap out of it as I make a cup of coffee. I feel satisfied with my recollection and realise that my heads still feels fuzzy. I look down at my jeans again. I’m still on something from last night. As I realise this, the room starts to spin again and my vision starts to become unreliable and before I collapse on the floor I have one last flash of the back room and the girl as everything goes black.

No commas

Eleanor Nuudrep wasn’t like most children in neither physical nor emotional aspects. She was 9 years of age yet Eleanor only reached 4’5 and carried herself poorly so that she stood at 4’2. Eleanor also had flat and thin hair that draped and conformed to the entirety of her body. Her most striking feature of all were her incredibly humongous hazel eyes that sunk into her face in a way that cast shadows below them. Eleanor also refused to wear normal fitting clothes or clothes that were considered normal at all. She wore large clothes that swallowed her tiny frame. These clothes also happened to be remarkably indistinguishable from those of the Victorian era. Eleanor’s physical appearance was nearly as striking as her disturbingly odd personality. Eleanor’s personality resembled the somberness of her appearance in the sense that she seldom interacted or cared for anyone but her mother. Eleanor had an incredible difficulty forming friendships or any meaningful relationships. She was once bullied by her peers but because she lacked any response they soon learned to leave her be. This meant avoiding Eleanor while she sat in the far corner of the courtyard while reading alone and making hushed remarks about her to peers because that’s all you could really do about poor Eleanor Nuudrep. Her impaired social skills did not prevent her from succeeding academically at all. Her teacher even remarked her as being one of the most advanced students they’d ever seen. Her home life didn’t differ much from her school’s. Eleanor spent roughly 2 hours completing simple homework assignments as she was obsessively meticulous and shut herself in her mother’s study to ensure her focus. Her hobbies including reading and piano as long as her occasional interest in baking. It should be mentioned that Eleanor was mute.

Eleanor’s mother who’s name was Bernadette had a worry growing inside her that never ceased. She saw her muteness and horribly impaired ability to connect and her hear sank with every recognition of it. She couldn’t fathom how someone like her had produced such an odd child. Her entire life was squashed to better suit her daughter and she almost wanted to hate her for it. Her social life had been sparkling until she couldn’t stand the shame of explaining why her daughter hid herself away any time she had a guest over any more. She did care about Eleanor endlessly and wanted to preserve her comfort so she decided that cutting ties would be proper. She did not think that anymore. Bernadette no longer laughed or sang or danced or really spoke at all in her own home. She was an incredibly lonely and felt nearly tortured by her daughter but loved her so much that she locked those thoughts and feelings away in the same place that she hid most other things from Eleanor. Bernadette desperately tried to connect with her daughter and lost the satisfaction she once found in Eleanor’s rare smile because it just wasn’t enough.