Writing Prompt

Anne’s room was spacious with jade green walls and gray vinyl wood floors. She had one frame with encased arrowheads, but otherwise her walls were barren. The ceiling was slant and there were two windows with beige curtains. The trim on the windows and on the door was old, scuffed, and beaten. Half of it was stained a dark brown and the other half was an Americana brown. Anne had left a crowbar, a brush, and a can of stain at one corner in her room where the baseboard hadn’t been nailed into the wall. It was laying on the floor next to the other tools. In one slant corner she had a dark, pine knotted bed frame with a headboard and a pillow. The white sheets were coming off at one end and the blankets were scrambled in a knot. At the foot of her bed was a toolbox so overflowing with tools it couldn’t be closed; so she always kept it open. And then parallel to her bed she had a television and a gaming set. Next to that, a barnwood dresser that was spilling over with unfolded clothes.

Black Walls It’s her favourite colour

Large Bed Larger than her mother

Carpets From the renovation

Severed heads It’s decoration

Chaos

One corner, BOOM, closet

Other, GIANT COLLECTION OF STUFFED ANIMALS!

An empty dresser….

Paper randomness dangling from ceilings

Awards on walls, many random mirrors.

Purple: flowers, bed- and brown furniture!

Oh did I forget to mention that all my furniture is dead Aunt furniture.

I sleep in my Aunt Marylins bed.

Great way to creep people out during sleep overs.

“Good night!”

”Good night!”

….

”This is my dead Aunts bed-”

Yeah it goes over well ya know.

And clutter- so many random things!

Rocks, paper, books, keep sakes!

I'm a hoarder, just like my dad-

Sorry dad. Its true 🥹

Oh yeah my face exists now.

I don't know how to feel about it.

My rooms colorful and clutter and random.

Like me.

Have a good day y'all.

I gotta serve food at swim meets soon. So.

…

Ya

The room was filled with wonder hidden draws revealing collections of books coins and purses Ceiling was filled with miniatures military toys and collectibles from the many autographs he had found A secret collection of oddities from his daily life milk bottle caps ft around the world stamps. Decorations wise it was like a a p or ice box from th ever who movies like the tardis Never ending infinite in size to the edge of the universe On the wall it was a proudly displayed Einstein his theories black holes and aliens

“You kept it? After all these years?” Elodie gasped.

The messy, childish drawings were kept neatly in her friend’s dresser. The staples that kept them together in a picture book were still intact.

Penelope nodded. “It was the first handmade gift I’d ever received. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of something that was made with love, even if you weren’t the greatest artist back then.”

The scribbles of green for the grass, the yellow circle in the corner for the sun, the black stick figures for the people in the short story. The rainbow words narrated what happened in these pictures, telling the story of two friends having a play date.

Penelope grinned. “I’ve kept many more things than that.”

She pointed a finger upwards. The blue ceiling was adorned with origami hearts organized in rainbow order. Elodie stared in awe.

“I made those for Valentine’s Day in fifth grade,” Elodie said.

Penelope nodded.

“Why have you kept all these things? Especially after we…” Elodie paused, gathering herself, “after we fell out.”

Penelope sensed the sadness gathering in Elodie’s soul. The fallen bridge between them had only just begun its reconstruction. Recollections of past actions remained in their minds, like stubborn rubble. The heated arguments replayed every so often like a broken record.

“Because what we had was wonderful…” Penelope whispered, smiling wistfully, as if being whisked away back to the years of their undeniable bond.

“You truly believe that?” Eloise doubted. A lump forms in her throat.

“I have never lied to you, Ellie. And I am not lying to you now.”

Silence followed. The comfortable kind that settled inbetween the shelves of a library.

The kind that brought people closer.

The Detective steps into her apartment, his senses heightened. His eyes catch a pair of black gloves, neatly rolled black handwraps, and a black mouthguard, all inside a large black sports bag by the entrance. The sight sends a shiver down his spine, hinting at a suspect who is intimidating, perhaps even dangerous. A woman who might engage in bar fights, not out of necessity, but for the thrill. He makes his way into the kitchen. It’s light, rather minimalistic, and a bit too empty for his taste. As he opens the fridge, he finds some broccoli, salmon, and tuna. He opens the Cupboards and finds nothing but vegan protein, some rice, and pasta. This woman must be skinny as hell, he thinks for himself. He is saying a silent prayer, thankful for his wife, who is always stocking up the kitchen inventory. What a nightmare it must be to be with a woman so unprepared for the most basic human urges, such as eating.

The apartment feels cold and impersonal. As he walks into the living room, he finds a glass table with three chairs, some dumbbells, and a black couch without any blankets or decorative cushions. There are no photographs and no cosy furniture. The room is well-lit, and the wooden, light-beige floor removes some of the frosty feeling he felt when entering the hallway and kitchen before. He wonders if the suspect might be one of those women who denies herself everything.

He walks further into yet another hallway and sees three more rooms: the bathroom, the office, and the bedroom. He gazes into the office and is surprised by the abundance of books in this room. To his surprise, there were many pink books: "The History of Fashion," "Audrey Hepburn," and "How to be a Diva." He shrugs his shoulders. He has been a detective for twenty years and is still amazed by the personality clues he finds in other people's homes.

Finally, the bedroom. He isn’t surprised by its sterile nature anymore; it has one bed, a giant wardrobe, and a night table. He is curious about the clothes, and upon opening the wardrobe, his jaw drops. This isn’t the cold-blooded, bar fight gal he assumed. This is a lady! Pink petticoats, red and black A-Line dresses, White Jumpsuits, and giant black hats, Audrey Hepburn style. WHO is this lady?

The bedroom is in complete disarray, with a broken door hanging off its hinges as if it has been forcefully struck by a powerful force. The floor is littered with a chaotic array of items as if a whirlwind has ripped through the room. Sheets of paper with intricate drawings and writings cover the floor, and a vintage typewriter sits on a desk with half of a captivating story typed out. Art supplies and tools are scattered haphazardly, creating a sense of creative frenzy. The bed is neatly made, yet it appears as if it has endured the impact of a storm, and colorful drawings are carefully taped to every inch of wall space in the room.

I'm wearing my grandmas top It smells like her The house I lived in when I was 2 Every other Christmas And every new years eve It smells like spanglish and the best rice It smells like late nights With my cousins on a stolen device Playing games we were too young for Eating snacks we were too old for It smells like the songs we used to sing And the laughs we used to have It smells like the dishwasher we would load And the homework we would do And the programmes we would watch Kids ones with no speaking So everyone would understand It smells like fluffy slime leaking Too much of this and too little of that We would get the ratio right one day We would throw it in the bin the next We would say hello all the time And goodbye on the 3rd day Three sleepless nights because Sleep is boring and doesn't smell like Our teddies having adventures And midnight walks on the balcony I wonder when we last said hello I wonder when we last said goodbye I wonder if it will be the last I wonder if it is my fault That we're out of touch (edit) I've sat with it for a while Worn it all morning Mourning I've decided I don't like the smell It's sickening. Suffocating. The top is tight and loose Soft and strangling It's heavy and hot And cold like the the sleepovers at hers With no blanket So I'm wrapping the bed sheet Tighter and tighter Around my torso Hopefully it restricts my growth And I'm 2 at her house forever

Made to make a mother break apart Designed to send boys home in a box Created to end a life before it starts Sending kids under ground below rocks

We’ve done it forever. It’s human instinct But we’ve come a long way from clubs and stones And now with these weapons that kill in an instant? No more is this spears or arrows

See how fast rows of soldiers become rows of graves They won’t go home a hero’s, just a name on list One of millions, no one remembers their name But that doesn’t mean that they won’t be missed

Casualties; injured of dead, they’re marked the same As if life or a limp are equal It doesn’t matter they’re just pawns in the game No one said war wasn’t brutal

The “enemy” like us. Boys covered in red To young to know better. Just doing what’s right It’s there a simpler way without blood shed? Can we please work this out. Do we need to fight

Peace not destruction Solutions not weapons. Understanding not violence Love over hate There has to be a better way

Jeannette lives in a studio apartment with a partition separating her “bedroom” and “living room” her bedroom is bigger and that is where her desk is. Her desk is on the left side of the room(right of the bed) and has a screen in the wall behind her desk. Her desk has a key pad on it, a mouse, and a thumbprint reader or “key”.