Writing Prompt

This was during my uni years, I was really struggling at one point with finances. I just had gotten fired from my part-time job and was stressed about making rent. I had a friend at the time, one of those that looks you in the eyes and sees your soul. She would always know when something was up and no amount of bullshit was tolerated. She read me like an open book. On our breaks we would go on the third floor of our uni building and climb out a toilet window on the grim metal fire escape. There, we sat on the cill and smoked cigarettes. We had a wonderful view of the back of the victorian buildings roofs nearby and all their gutters and pipes. It was a wonderful spot to talk. “What’s wrong?” She asked me. I knew there was no point in lying. I had stopped trying to do that months ago. “I got fired and now I’m short on rent money” “Oh, well why don’t you ask your parents for help? Im sure they won’t mind” Now, I do come from a wealthy background, but I was a prideful creature. I had become independent in the past few years and it felt nice. I struggled, but it was good for me mentally. “I don’t want to. I finally broke free, I gained my father’s respect. I want to be independent, I can’t just rely on my safety net like that whenever I want to” She rolled her eyes at me and said the following: “See, darling, when you have food at home, in your fridge, do you go out and spend money on more food, or do you just eat the food at home? It doesn’t make sense to buy more food, because the food at home will go bad and you’ll have to throw it out. Your parents love you and they took the time to fill your fridge. Just let them help you. Everyone struggles occasionally and it’s okay to ask for help when you need it. Now pass me the lither”

Robyn looked at her feet. She had ran through the forest and her boots were fairly untouched by the snow-blessed mud. She reminisced her training in the forest with her master. A kind and benevolent man. She grew up with no mentor other than him. He would shoot an arrow that would pierce through several trees. He could skewer several birds in one shot. He taught her her favourite skill yet. Being untraceable and light-footed were key to survival, both in the forest and in the city.

They stood at one end of a forest path, the path saturated with rain water. He instructed her to get to the other side. That if she were to enter the puddles, she would risk being caught in a bear trap. A submerged trap did better in catching its victim when it is invisible to the naked eye. Robyn struggled to come up with a solution. The archer told her to pay attention. He shifted and zoomed past from tree to tree. It happened so quickly, Robyn did not have time to comprehend what happened, let alone time to blink. She was stunned and impressed.

“I call this the Bandit’s Dash. Mainly because bandits who are in a hot pursuit, need to dash to escape. I will teach you this.”

Robyn was glad to have this archer as almost a father figure. He told her that he had found her abandoned in the forest.

“People always take what they want from nature and leave their unwanteds behind. I want you to appreciate this forest. We take what we need but always give back.”

Robyn nodded and donned her hood.

“Teach me.”

Softly, he took her into his arms

The happiest he’d ever been

At 18

Waiting for us to join him

But he was light years ahead

Grandfathers eyes narrowed as he glanced over from his chair beside the fireplace “Do you want to talk about it?” he said softly. I sighed. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t know how. Or what I’d even say. He knew that too but he always asked anyway. The warmth of the fire beside him called out to me. I kicked the heel of my boots to remove them, water spilling out as I pulled them off. A cold shiver took hold of my body and shook it deeply. I parked myself beside him and sat in silence trying to quiet my mind by listening to the crackle of the flames and feeling the warmth against my cool skin. “Here” grandfather said, holding out his hand. Puzzled, I looked from my palm to his face. “A penny”, I said inquisitively. His smile widened. “I’m too old for penny sweets, grandfather”, I wasn’t even sure they sold sweets for a penny anymore. Things were a lot more expensive these days. I chuckled to myself. “No dear, I don’t give you this to spend. I want you to keep it. Forever. And I want you to use it”. Use it? He just told me not to spend it. I can see this chat ending very soon. I start to shuffle in my seat, readying to excuse myself for bed. My cheeks are pink now and my eyes starting to tire. I humour him “I will keep it in my pocket for as long as I live” I said sarcastically, instantly regretting the tone as soon as my words were spoken. He was a good man. And I wasn’t being very nice. “Sorry” I said and meant it. Still grinning ear to ear he shuffled his chair closer to mine and put both hands over mine and he squeezed the penny into my palm. “Sometimes, Olive dear, you don’t want to talk because you don’t know how you feel, what choice to make, what path to chose, what to let go or what to hold on tighter too. Life can be hard. The mind can be so overrun by thoughts and others expectations, you can’t hear it” he paused and nodded his head. “Hear what?”I say softly. Intrigued, I leaned in closer. “Your intuition, dear”. I’m definitely confused now, what’s intuition got to do with an old brass penny. I tossed the coin around my fingers and wondered if grandfather was losing his marbles. But there was something about the coin I just could not place - a feeling of mystery or magic or even both. I stared at my hands for a while. My grandfather continued “You have the power inside you. We all do. The power to draw upon the universal energy that will guide you. Show you the way. Whenever you are feeling like you don’t know the answers, make a bet with yourself and flip the coin. As soon as you throw the coin in the air, you’ll know which side your hoping it lands. That right there, is your intuition. It was there all along, you just couldn’t hear it through your thoughts. Use the coin my dear but never spend it”. My eyes filled with tears and my throat tightened. I wanted to say thank you but the words just wouldn’t come out. Squeezing his hands tighter, tears rolled down my face and my heart clenched. I nodded. And he understood. My grandfather has not lost his marbles, he is the wisest man I know. And I will cherish this coin, and him. Forever.

Wise with words Wise with confidence Wiser with knowledge than without Wiser with experience throughout

Clean cut image Perfect straightforwardness Liked by so many Envied by many more

Thinking before saying Respect and politeful Always using their brain To avoid the most spiteful

Mind over matter Is a rule that they follow Like respectfulness is key A concept easier to swallow

Wise men say little That isn't well considered So take good advice.

I think the wisest person would be who had been through most. Thick and thin. Their experiences that changed them. Not the one with most academical knowledge but the one with knowledge of life. The one who understands your thoughts and feelings, who is kind and caring. I think the wisest person is the kindest person.

Inside of a five-foot-three body lies a heart and a brain. Although the body itself may be aging fast, the heart and the brain stay young. The heart has been hurt quite a lot, and the brain has learned from it. From what was a sweet, innocent girl became a fierce, grounded, and level-headed woman. Everything she has learned has come from experience. She had no one to pass knowledge down to her. This was her first lesson. As the years went on, she grew wiser, learning more and more every day. She once had a mentor that she looked up to, but that had went south quick due to health issues. This was not the first time she felt abandoned, so the feeling did not sting as much. Years treaded by and now she was in her forty’s, giving her knowledge to young women who turned to her for advice. Who knew so much knowledge could come from such a beautiful, petite human. She looked fresh but also like she had been through war. She had history and a lot of it. But sadly, she had no one to tell her war stories to. One day, a young girl, about fifteen, showed up at her doorstep knowing she was the woman to go to for help. This young girl had a list of questions. Before she could speak, the older and much wiser woman invited her inside. They sat down at the dining room table and went through the list. About an hour or two had passed by before they finished up their conversations. The wise woman showed the wiser young girl out and wished her luck. Now that the young girl had heard the war stories and gained knowledge she didn’t even know was possible, she was a young woman. The older woman was finally at peace with herself, considering her story was told. As the young woman walked the block to her home, she thought carefully about each word the older woman said. She had experienced so much throughout her lifetime. This woman was and IS history.

“Screw that, man”. He spoke from the kitchen, hands in his corduroy trouser pockets. He was barefoot, after slipping his knock-off sliders against the warm radiator. His plaid shirt hung loose off his shoulders. “Who cares anyways?”, he continued, staring out the window. The floodlights of the soccer pitch below our apartment cut through the winter darkness, and he was often in the habit of vacantly staring at traffic, his endless mind mulling over his next words like a Christmas wine; slow, steady, careful. He slowly turned to face me, resting his weight on one foot. He carefully pulled his hands out of his pockets, raising them in unison: “He’s getting tunnel vision; just like everyone else in this course. The further into the tunnel you go, the harder it is to step back for perspective”. On this last word, he shook his hands in frustration out from his chest. His soul speaks through his hands. He returns to staring vacantly, but turns his back on me to reach for the kettle. It was time for our evening coffee. Coffee is a ritualistic event in our home; therapeutic, medicinal, mindful. It grounds us, like a gravitational force, something we needed recently. Final year in university proves to be even more difficult without a curriculum to go on, as reflected in the empty bags of coffee beans stacking up on the windowsill beside the bin. This was an evening ritual for us; a study break at 6:00pm. 15 minutes of respite. He whistled as he carried two mugs of steaming coffee into the sitting room, placing both on our glass table before throwing himself onto the cushion beside me. He melts into the blanket and cushions, relaxed, his book on the arm of the sofa beside him. He reached forward and picked up his mug, sniffing the steam and inhaling deeply. He always closes his eyes when he takes the first sip of coffee, shutting out the world for one second. “I can get the honey notes in this one, for sure”. “Why do you think people get tunnel vision?”, I spoke for the first time in 10 minutes. He lifted his chin as if staring at the gods for an answer. He slowly lifted his right foot across his left knee, and cupped his mug of coffee in his palms. “It’s because we all want to be the best. Its hard to go from being one of the smartest teenagers in a room to being with 200 other people just like you. You either sink or swim; I like to think you and I are floating”. He sips his coffee. “It all comes back to perspective, really. While everyone else is in the tunnel, staring towards the light at the other end, I’m stood 20 feet back from the entrance, admiring the view around me”. He always had a way with words. He could entertain me for hours with his anecdotes. “Stress is nothing but a resistance to what is ahead of you, and it's the resistance that kills you. You can’t control what will come up in these exams, so why let yourself succumb to their expectations?”, he finishes, reaching across the table for one of the plastic wrapped chocolates from the tin. His leather belt held up his corduroys; he must have had those trousers for years. Yet there wasn’t even a thread loose in them. Taking care of your clothes reflects the way you take care of yourself, after all. “All I know is, I want more out of my final year of college than a high rank”, he announced, a rim of chocolate at the corners of his mouth. He absently wiped his lips with his fingers, and lifted his mug to inhale the deep scent of his coffee. It wouldn’t be long before our study break would be over. “Knowing your rank should be optional. I know my own self- worth, and its without the help of a number out of 200”. He drained his coffee, and carried his mug back to the sink. His footsteps padded across the timber and tiles, before

replacing his now-warm sliders on his feet from beside the radiator. I must remember to do that next time. I find myself taking on his advice more often lately, while he will continuously stare out the kitchen window, mulling over endless ideas. Who knows what wisdom tomorrow’s coffee break will bring.

My mom is wise I am a shy she always says “ in 10 years what will it matter,” or “ what will happen if you ask and they say no where you better of before or after.”