Writing Prompt

The world moved much too fast for Aisling’s taste.

Her head rang with its incessant chatter, and each creeping deadline ticked in her ears like a bomb.  And, while every self help book on her shelf encouraged a work-life balance, there was hardly ever time to finish all her work, never mind anything self indulgent or lively.

That is, of course, except for those silent Sunday noons in the park, when the sun shone bright upon the chartreuse stained trees, and the breeze whistled a fine melody through the grass blades at her feet.  It was the single, immortal hour she always managed to carve out of each week, no matter how many assignments she had due or overtimes she worked.  And she always liked to spend it looking at the clouds.

Ah, yes, the billowing clouds! Magnificent stories were crafted by their otherworldly shapes, painted by the universe using only the finest watercolors.  Every week, Aisling watched them float across the sky, a soft smile gracing her expression.  She escaped with her daydreams, carried by the clouds’ marching parade, for that one glorious, voiceless hour.  And in that hour, her soul was finally able to take flight.

**One afternoon, on what was a perfectly normal day in early April, the townsfolk of Dark Thorn Hallow were abruptly disturbed from their daily routines by an explosion. Not just any explosion, but an explosion that emanated from the small stone tower sat admist a rocky outcropping on the outskirts of town. The tower witch housed a rather peculiar fellow. A fellow known for making wizard potions. **

For he was a wizard…!

…Apprentice.

Hence the explosions.

Yes! Explosions.

“ wait for it!” Mayor Standfirm absentmindedly called out to the villagers whom had only moments before been milling around their small marketplace and were now bracing themselves against the nearest and sturdiest object they could find. He, himself, holding firm to a nearby counter with one hand, while in the other, he held an important document that he casually perused.” I think that might’ve been a code yellow - meaning, at least one aftershock.”

“Speaking of yellow - Look at the clouds!” Farmer Turnsoil groused from his crouched position next to his wife. “e’s better not’ve made more magic clouds! I mean, last time I saw clouds like that they turned all the potatoes in my farm into hedgehogs. I had to wrangle.—“

“Chartreuse,” Mrs. Turnsoil muttered offhandedly, more interested in the knitting, she had pulled out then her husband’s latest tirade about the local magic user.

Farmer Turnsoil paused, shooting his wife, a bewildered look. “What?”

“They’re chartreuse,” Mrs. Turnsoil returned his look with an indulgent smile., pleased in the knowledge that once again she had managed to get her husband off the topic of those God foresaken hedgehogs.

“What in God‘s name is—“

**BOOM! **

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“Okay everybody,” the mayor called out as he flipped another page in his important documents, “I think we’re clear.”

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**And everybody went about their day. **

Thick clouds rest on mountains, they are the souls of the lost.

The trees underneath them are thick and warm, like chartreuse spilled on the cliffs.

While in the distance an indulgent factory chugs the emerald alcohol,

Smoke presses out of its fake chimneys, Not a cloud- only a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Indulgent are the skies, With clouds high and wise. Peering on my disguise, Which hide dying eyes.

Chartreuse is the sunset. Life over now beget. Lived fully no regrets. Old age no more to fret. Tessa🦋

On a windy day, she wears a chartreuse-colored jacket as she walks along a path. She hums to herself, glancing overhead at the clouds above. Soon the forest trees ahead will block her view. Straightening her sight, she thinks about her destination. A small cabin hidden in the woods. She was to stay there for a couple of months for a mental retreat. Her traitorous friends had told her that the solitude would do her some good. And her best friend, however, had practically forced her into it.

“You need to be indulgent every once in a while,” her friend had said to her while aimlessly scrolling on their phone.

“I am, just yesterday I splurged.” She said while wearing her cleaning gloves.

She was in the middle of cleaning her living area.

“Yes, on a vacuum.”

“A premium vacuum.” She replied back emphasizing the word premium. “And it’s pink!”

“I’m not sure why I hang out with you,” her friend said with judgmental eyes. “Look at you, you think cleaning your house on a Friday night is fun.”

She looked down at her cleaning clothes which consisted of pants covered in dust and a long-sleeved shirt with a kitten on it. She didn’t understand what the problem was because lots of people found cleaning fun. A statement she said to her friend.

“They find it cathartic not fun, hon.” Her friend said with pitying eyes. “I have a solution for you. You’ll stay in my cabin and learn the word relax.”

She protested and protested but somehow still ended up here. But it was okay. She could do this and show her friend just how relaxed she could be. After all, an unintended cabin in the woods must have some mess for her to clean.

I walk into the park where I am supposed to be meeting my best friend. I take my phone out of my back pocket and look to see if there are any messages from him. I see the message that says running five minutes late. I look up at the clouds while I wait and think they’re beautiful, so many shapes. Five minutes later, I hear the nickname my best friend gave me being yelled “monkey” and look up to see my best friend Jake walking up with a giant picnic basket in his hand. He opens the picnic basket, pulls out a red blanket with hearts all over it and spreads it on the ground. We sit down and he continues to pull other things out, four ham sandwiches with cheese, six bags of chips, three bags of my favorite candy, a bottle of chartreuse, and two wine glasses. He hands me one of the sandwiches, a bag of chips and pours a glass of chartreuse for me. After he pours his, he looks at me and remarks with a proud tone “congratulations on your promotion to general manager, you earned it!” We clink our glasses to that. We eat our food and catch up.

J: How are your parents and younger sister? Me: My indulgent parents give my sister everything she wants. She is currently failing all her college classes and they decide to buy her a new car. J: I don’t understand how buying a new car helps with her grades. Me: I don’t either. When I told my parents I got a promotion all I got from them was a smile. Our relationship has changed. J: I am sorry about that. Me: Thanks. J: I’m glad we’re best friends. Me: I’m glad too.

The chilled bottle touched her lips as she took a long well deserved sip of chartreuse.

She sat back in her chair with her feet resting on the coffee table before her.

Ideally she would have been drinking outside but the hot weather was vanquished by storm clouds that continue to thunder outside.

If her husband was here she’d never dare be so indulgent, but he wasn’t. He was away doing business or meeting other women. Who cares? Right now she could relax watching her favourite films, sipping her favourite drink, and finally enjoying the box of chocolates her kids got her for Mother’s Day.

Kids at school, husband away, now it was her time to take care of herself and enjoy the rare occurrence of an empty house.

His arms wrap around me Engulfing me in aromatic clouds His words so sweet His sting so intrusive

His eyes a pale blue The sky has no comparison His lips so bountiful Wrapping perfectly around my lips like chartreuse satin sheets

Every kiss sweeter than the last Anxiously waiting for the sugar period to pass He feels so sinful I’ve always been warned to stay away from anything too sweet I, however, am feeling nothing but indulgent

Hotel bar. 8pm on a Thursday night.

Zenia taps her pointer finger idly on the marble bartop, ponders the rail thin 20-something bartender behind it. He shakes a cocktail and pours something greenish into a glass- Chartreuse perhaps?

Another city on the rotation, another client site to visit. Its all led her here, to a thick cloud of ennui that hangs over her regardless of where her body takes her.

Maybe becoming a strong independent career woman was an overrated choice. Maybe the old fart at the end of the bar could be sugar daddy material.

Zenia shakes these indulgent thoughts from her head. She would hate to be under any man’s thumb (literally or figuratively) and besides, she’s probably too old for them anyway.

Taking the last sip of her Negroni (sans orange slice twist, the horror!) she stands up, stiffens her spine, and heads for the elevators. After all, tomorrow morning she’s due for another flight.

Flittering my eyes open, almost groggy from sleep. Sunlight poured from the surroundings. My eyes no longer met my bedroom ceiling as expected, instead, clouds steadily in motion; through a sea of blue. Although unfamiliar, I only felt serenity gently coursing through me. ‘Funny’. I thought to myself. ‘I’m sure I had gone to bed’. Slowly drinking in the indulgent richness of the twinkling sunlight, I reached my hands to the ground beside me. Soft grass. I could smell it now. I plucked a single blade from below me, softly bringing it to my view. Bright chartreuse sparkling in the warm rays of the sun. ‘I must be dreaming’, I thought to myself. Even my thoughts sounded slowed down, almost as if echoing through the ambience.

Just as I thought I was adjusting to my surroundings, I felt my eyes begin to close again. Still unafraid, I succumbed to the fatigue. Not realising how intensely my ears had been flooded, the whispering of the wind previously heard, began to fade. The ambrosial smell of the earth and flowers, dwindling.

Deeper I felt myself being pulled into an all consuming darkness, then…nothingness.