Writing Prompt

“I always knew Jake and Jennifer would end up together in the end…” the father paused as everyone stared at him in shock. The groom froze in place as his bride who was very much not Jennifer sunk into her seat. Her fears had been confirmed, her husband was seeing Jennifer behind her back and what’s worse is that his father knew about it! Who else knew? Her mother in law? Her family? Why keep it from her knowing she was going to get married to him? She felt sick. She felt angry. “I can explain!” The groom begins moments before she gets out of her seat and throws her glass full of champagne over him. She rushes away followed by her entourage of bridesmaids who try to console her. But there are no words that can salvage her special day.

A tinny high-pitched ringing started again in his left ear. Just out of the corner of his eye, a flock of aides scrambled into panic just offstage. “And that’s why,” he continued, “we have to get to work now. Progress isn’t something we can keep kicking down the road. At least, it’s not something I can. So, I ask you, I invite you, to join me as we work to make our hopes for the future, the reality of tomorrow.” He glanced down at Cara in the front row, her face held in shock. She knew the prognosis, but there was no way she could have guessed that he would say anything about it tonight. She moved her hand across her lap and held onto her son’s forearm. Unlike Cara, he did not know. On the stage, Chancellor Kello held his breath. The pitch in his ear faded to a low murmur which swept through the still seated crowd. His eyes flitted about the faces, searching for one clear gauge, but every individual seemed to be experiencing some flight of emotions all their own. There was a grumble growing amongst the Senators, seated to the right of the stage. Many of them turned to face their peers, whispering indignantly and casting concerned glances across the hall to where the Barons sat. As terse whispers grew to shouts, Kello cast one last look to Cara. He was terrified of what would happen next.

I said what I said, then an awkward pause followed. Unexpectedly, a hoodie with dark sunglasses walked up to the stage so he could slam stapled documents on the podium in front of me and turn to face the audience, then me, tilting his head to the side and firmly and rudely saying into the mic, “You have been served!” Then he turned back to the audience for a second and made a gang sign. Then left the auditorium. It was so quiet, everyone could hear the door slam behind him. I was stunned. Embarrassed and a little frightened, maybe? Time moved in slow motion. From the stage, like in a dream, I stare tiresome glassy-eyed back at the audience. What just happened and why? Don’t say anything, said my intuition. Repercussions, whatever they may be, are sure to follow. Unless, of course, this church wants me to show up for tithing settlement. People will get nosy, especially since I refused to join two years ago partly because of a triangulator. From the front row, she held a continuous harsh stare directed at me. She couldn’t believe what I just revealed about her…which was hearsay. Even though we were still legally married, two years ago she walked out of my life. Then, all a sudden, shows up here, today. I heard she plans to marry someone else she met at a church dance while we were still together. I quietly returned to my seat in the very back ready to face the socializing that would follow. More life skills to learn.

The speech is almost over, but her hands are still shaking. She takes a deep breath, which she disguises as a hearty laugh. All she had to do was finish. Why was this so difficult? She thinks back to what happened backstage; her manager, Erin, had coached her as she got her makeup done. “Remember, whatever you do, Cori, don’t talk about these issues as if you’ve personally experienced them. You’re here to support this organization, and that’s it.” “Why can’t I again?” She wondered as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror in front of her. To her, her makeup looked finished, but her makeup artist was a perfectionist. Her gloss had to be extra glossy, and her beauty had to be youthful. In front of this world, she was a mannequin, something only to be admired. And admired things were only required to look beautiful and to be expressive, but not too expressive. Yes, she was a mannequin, but tonight the sadness she tried to hide is glistening in her eyes. “Are you forgetting what happened when you admitted you struggle with anxiety?” Her manager said, causing her to blanch. She remembered all right. She remembered all of the mocking comments she had received online. The public's scrutiny said that if she could do anything, it clearly meant she was faking her condition for attention. One time, she posted a picture of herself outside enjoying a day at the park and received a slew of comments mocking her supposed anxiety. As if it wasn’t something she tried to overcome every day. The worst of those comments was one stating that she probably said she had anxiety to cover up her secret drug addiction. You would think one comment like that wouldn’t gain traction. The source was some random user on a website who had never met her, but no, people ran with it. She couldn’t even pick up her meds without someone mocking her for being an addict. “You wanted this job, Cori,” her mother had reminded her years ago while she was doing press for her second movie. “With fame comes public scrutiny, you just have to gain thicker skin.” She sighed as she thought of her mother’s words. “Yes, I remember, but…won’t this be different. We’re talking about a—“ Her manager interrupted her before she could finish. “If you think they thought you were an attention-whore for having anxiety…they’ll be even worse if you say you were abused,” Erin informed her, then placed a comforting hand over hers. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.” “I know,” she replied, downtrodden. Now, here she was, almost done and almost free. Yet, as she comes even closer to an end, her eyes linger over the organization’s name, Eleanor Wadlow’s Foundation for Abused Women. A pained feeling hits her heart, and suddenly words slip out of her mouth before she can stop. “I was abused by a partner and places like this are true sanctuaries,” her eyes widened, and her mouth falls open as she realizes what she said She starts to stutter, but there is nothing she can do, as her words are already said. And her truth was already revealed. Reporters covering the event threw questions at her, flocking together with eyes full of thrill for the hunt. As usual, she is the prey. Always the prey, but no, she will no longer be the victim, not anymore. Yet, even with that train of thought, her anxiety is twisting up inside of her. She mutters out nonsensical words and feels herself being pulled away. Before she realizes it, she’s back behind the stage, and her manager is looking at her with saddened eyes. “Cori, we are going to have to do so much damage control. I’ll call your PR team and—“ “No,” she says, her tone surprisingly stern. “This could ruin you!” Erin exclaims. Cori’s hands finally stopped shaking. She takes deep breaths, starting to steady herself. She looks at the mirror once again, and she doesn’t see a mannequin any longer. After so long of pushing herself aside, she finally sees herself in the mirror. She has sad eyes but they are full of wisdom from what she has learned. Her youth is still intact, but she has blossomed into a woman who knows what she wants. Her anxiety sticks, but there’s a fight in her that hasn’t been there in so long. “Let it.”

The sweat is rolling down my back as I take the stage, the one I will cross again in exactly 23 minutes. If everything goes to plan. I have waited four long years for this moment. The time where all the attention is on me, not my sister, not my best friend, not my team, me. I worked my ass off to get here. I want to stay here, right here for as long as I can but the crowd is starting to stir. I should begin, it’s time to move on. “Hello class of 2023! Can you believe we made it this far? I would like to begin by saying I am honoured you chose me as your valedictorian.” I earned this, I bled and cried for this. “Through the last 4 years we have gone through so much together, we have made friends, loves, and occasionally enemies. But it was all worth it to be here today, to celebrate our successes and to discuss our futures.” It was all worth it right? Of course who am I kidding, this is what I’ve always wanted. “I don’t have enough time to thank everyone who has helped myself and the rest of us to get to this point. Because everyone in this room has affected all of us graduates” some more than others. “The next steps are going to be great new adventure for all of us” also terrifying, Emma shut up they can’t know. “Some of us are entering the workforce, or starting families, and some of us like me are going to university and college. Possibly going super far away from everything they’ve ever know.” Breath, Emma you got this. “And although that can seem nerve racking…” Emma breath. Breath. “…” FUCKING BREATH. “WHO AM I KIDDING! This is going to suck, we’re leaving our entire lives behind, we’re going to lose touch with everyone we care about and look at the people who we love move on through a fucking screen. We’re going to promise to come back every year but that’ll happen what once. None of you will be my friends within a year. I am standing up here pretending to be confident in our futures when the truth is half of us will drop out, another 20% of us will get pregnant or get someone else pregnant, and the rest of us will go start new lives without you all. Our highschool friendships won’t last and guys guess what highschool sweethearts aren’t real. So fuck this speech because none of you will remember who I am in 5 years anyways.” I did not just do that.

What is the secret of Anne McPuoud? Well rumor has it that she skipped town. She and her prom queen crown. I hated that girl, She made me hurl, From the horrible stench Of her ego. What happened? No one knows, no one cares Just like looking at one out of a head of hair. Well I did it And it did it well. I couldn’t shake the story from my lips As my important speech came forward I said this. I had admitted what I had done, And on me was pulled a gun. 1 knife, 1 crown, I guess that’s enough to change this whole damn town. (I won’t be writing for the next month, off at overnight camp!h

I couldn’t write today and I feel rlly guilty but I’m going thru something irl and I don’t have any motivation or creativity. (Writers block) but I still have to write so here ~ Dory

The President of the United States coughed. The audience, made up of the Extra-Galactic Alliance, stared at him in shock. “Ummm,” the President said. “You know these darn teleprompters … sometimes they have hiccups … of course I meant to say, we look forward with ANTICIPATION to our continued alliance … nothing at all about DOMINATION …heh heh…” His eyes shifted as he spoke. I really need a vacation, he thought.

There wasn’t a sound in the crowd that swarmed below me. Everyone’s mouths hung open like fly traps, just waiting for my next move. Somehow, it felt as if I was the fly. My red hair fluttered in the wind around me, flames flickering against the blue sky. The movement of one singular person immediately caught my eye, parting the sea of sheep’s below. I knew who it was, although I wasn’t sure how. “Leah,” says the voice, the voice I had grown to love some how. “Take it back,” he says, pushing to the front of the swarm. Armed men dressed in back step in his way, blocking, blocking, blocking. “Take it back Leah!” I couldn’t take it back, and the moment of calm was over. Two sets of strong hands grasp me by my arms, and I didn’t even try to struggle. Declaring what I am, who I am, was all I had left. And those blue eyes, brighter than the sun, struggling to get past the brutes at the bottom of the stairs. “Leah Turner, you have declared yourself a witch, the devils agent, and from this moment you are sentenced to death. Take her away.” Sir Yellow, so I called him, was grinning as he finished his sentence, his yellow eyes and yellow teeth glaring in the sun. I didn’t even mind, because he wasn’t going to phase me. Not now. The crowds screams of anger and fear wracked my brain, their voices tangled together like weeds in my ears. It didn’t stop my next words. “Let the wind take me away, let the wings of every bird hear me soar,” my chanting made everyone panic more. All I could think is ‘it’s not me you should be afraid of you fools!’ But it was too late. Carter was below me, crying, pleading, pushing. There was nothing else to do but fly away.

Stage lights blazed. The praise band jammed freestyle as the choir returned to their pews. Arms outstretched Senior Pastor Sam lifted his hands for quiet. He gave Sandy, the head usher, a subtle nod. Sandy smiled as she uncovered the gold collection plates. Ten ushers stood in unison and gathered the plates. As the band wound down the ushers took their positions in the aisle. Sam surveyed his congregation, their energy crackled and popped. “Brothers and Sisters, Sister Willow is going to update us on her journey with cancer, her healing with God’s love, can the church say amen, so open your hearts to her testimony,” Sam said. Head shaved but with expertly tweezed brows and lush lashes, Willow stood under a baby spotlight. Willow drank in the anticipation. Her friends, her small group ministry, these were her people. Corbin gave her a thumbs up from the first row of pews. “I’m complete garbage.” The congregation gasped. “I mean I’m a total liar and you’re all idiots for believing me,” Willow said and then slapped her hand over her mouth. Accusations flew from the outraged parishioners. The words erupted around Willow’s fingers. “Look at me, do I look sick? Corbin and I are sick of working for a living. I never felt good enough. I thought getting a husband and having babies would make me enough. Pretending to have cancer made me the special I needed. I want your money, I want the freebies, but I need your attention. “ Sam grabbed her and dragged Willow from the sanctuary. “The pastor takes 25 percent of your gifts but he only tells the first lady he’s taking 10 percent because he has a love nest with the music director! Corbin, help. Why am I saying this!” The pastor’s wife fainted. A drum rolled down the aisle. The lead soloist smacked the music director repeatedly as he raced offstage. The words “love me love me” howled from the pastor’s study as congregants ran amok. Gabby pulled out of the church’s parking lot and headed home. Her ex Corbin had always called her a little witch and for once he was right.