Writing Prompt

WRITING OBSTACLE

A homograph is a word that has multiple meanings but is spelt the same way for each - e.g. a 'wave' in the sea, or to 'wave' at someone.

Choose a homograph, and write a short story or poem, in any genre, where you use your chosen word for more than one of its meanings.

Writings

The Garden Project

Today is my first day of school at HarmonyHorizon Academy and I’m not ready! I woke up that morning at 5:30 am. I decided to curl my jet-black hair and changed into the issued school uniform, a blue skirt and white button up top with Mary Jane’s. I said goodbye to my mom after I ate breakfast and headed to the bus stop.

When I got to my school the bell was ringing to go to first period. I bolted down the dimly lit hallway straight into the teacher, Mrs Langley. “Are you Miss Samantha?” She sounded astonished. “Yes ma’am. I’m sorry I’m late” I sounded more meek that I’d like to. “Go to your seat Miss Samantha.” I could tell I wasn’t going to like this class.

“Today I’m going to be discussing the main class project”. Mrs Langley began. “As a class, we are going to make a garden to help our community.”
Great! I thought sarcastically. I do not have a green thumb. The teacher handed out a packet that outlined the project, what we needed to get and the grading rubric. “Each student needs to bring their favorite flower.” I realized that I don’t even have a favorite flower. The bell rang to dismiss us from class. I rose and grabbed my schoolbooks.

After school I stepped off the bus and saw a flower garden. In it was roses, lilacs and tulips. The roses actually looked pretty. I waked over to the garden. “Would you like any flowers?” A man asked me. “Yes, do you have any rose seeds?” The man went back behind the stand next to the garden and handed me two packs of rose seeds. “Thanks! This is for a school project.” I said goodbye to the nice man and walked home.

The next day in Mrs Langley’s class I showed her the rose seeds. “Would you like to add them to the class garden” “yes ma’am” I replied and we went outside. The garden was in the glass lot outside the school. The sun was out and it beamed over the garden making the flowers glisten. I planted the flowers right next to some chrysanthemums that my class mate Jamie planted. I stood back and admired its beauty. Mrs Langley came out. “This looks great Miss Samantha.” “You know, this wasn’t so bad. I can’t wait to see them grow.

I realized that there is beauty in the world this was an example of it.

A Homograph

I should have seen it coming.

Ever since the day I met him, he always wanted change. It started small; the way I dressed, the way I laughed, smiled. But then the adjustments got bigger. More personal. The way I spoke, the way I moved - never preserve, always alter.

We would take a photo. He would edit me beyond recognition before I even got a chance to see it. Even skin tone here, erase a pimple there. It was the way I looked, but that wasn’t how he wanted to remember me. He never wanted me how I was, he wanted me to be his version of perfection. Never preserve, always alter.

When he proposed, he told me I couldn’t have the ring because - after looking at it next to my finger - he decided he had changed his mind and wanted something that was a little more of a ‘statement’. Like a ball and chain. Never preserve, always alter.

We agreed on an understated civil service; limited guests, chilled evening buffet with a little disco and then a weeks’ honeymoon on the coast. So naturally the plans were confirmed as a big white wedding with 150+ guests, a 5 course sit down meal with live music and a 6 month celebration tour around Asia. Never preserve, always alter.

The bridesmaids wanted short baby pink dresses? They ended up in floor length emerald evening gowns. Alter.

I wanted a small bouquet of wildflowers from my parents garden? I got a centrepiece of roses the size of my head. Alter.

I asked my father to walk me down the aisle to Frank Sinatra’s ‘The Way You Look Tonight’? He had already arranged for his grandfather to escort me to Wagner’s ‘Bridal Chorus’, as per his family’s traditions. Alter.

The chicken was beef. The family friend DJ was a 50 piece philharmonic orchestra. The small planned budget was my parents inheritance and leftover mortgage debt combined. Alter.

Alter. Alter. Alter.

So why wasn’t I surprised when that was exactly where he left me? At the altar.

The Watch

Grant stood on watch. He brushed his grey bushy moustache with his fingers. He adjusted his coonskin cap as it became a bit warm under it. It was a cold night so he didn’t mind it. He stood between the wilderness and a semi-civilised class. He wasn’t really on one side or the either. He was a middle ground of the two. However, saying that, it was the people above him that paid his wages. Besides that, he couldn’t picture himself out there. He was old and his body wasn’t as resilient or fit as it used to be. If the filth didn’t kill him, his body would break with the constant manual labour in the junk. He used to be a hunter but due to an accident with a blunderbuss. He was ordered to stand duty on this wall. With his skills he was tasked to lead this guard shift.

He put his hand on the edge of the wall. He looked out into the vast landscape. Scavengers moving in the night. He lifted his wrist to glance at his watch and nodded to himself. He scanned the skies expectantly. He wasn’t quite sure what happens but it adds excitement when he was was watching in the otherwise still night sky. There it was. On time. Trails of glittering sparkles drew lines downwards in the night. Dancing with the stars on the far side of the world before landing in the wastelands. This always caused more scavenger movement and he told his guards to keep vigilant.

Although it was rare for scavengers to gain the courage to approach the wall, it was indoctrinated thoroughly so that they know the rules and the consequences for breaching them. Saying this, it calmed the mind to be safe than sorry. The last scavenger attempt failed but only barely so it was told. He checked his rifle to ensure it was primed and ready to fire. Again, he re-adjusted his coonskin cap and watched into the night.

Wave

I remember it like it was yesterday. The rotting wood that my house was built out of was chilled. The night was eerie. Mama tucked me into bed and the chipped window blew a sharp gust of air inside, which froze my arms poking out of the quilt papa made for me. I held my stuffed bear, Rosalie close as mama and papa sang a lullaby for me. The night seemed tense. I was too young to understand, but the worst thing to ever happen was about to happen to me. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, excited for what tomorrow had in store. Mama and papa left to go down to their room. A deafening crash shook me awake. It sounded close, but not too close. I assumed it was a thunderstorm so I went to mama and papas room. They were always good at distracting me from thunder claps, turning them into a beat for them to sing along to. I sluggishly stepped into their room, thumb in my mouth. They look at me terrified. My mum mouthed one word to me. “Run!” Then the second crash came. It blew me backwards, and turned our house to rubble. My ears were ringing uncomfortably, and I passed out. I woke up in someone’s arms. A firefighter, carrying me through the rubble. “Another survivor! What’s your name, sweetie?” He asked me softly. I was so traumatised that I didn’t respond. He set me down with the other children, but I immediately stood up. Where were my parents? Where was Rosalie? I dove through the rubble that was once out cottage, until I saw my gorgeous handmade bear, now missing an arm. I hugged her tight as I searched for my parents. I’m sure I was told to sit down more than once, but I couldn’t. Not until I found them. That’s when I heard mamas sweet voice calling out to me. I turned around and there they were, covered in soot, crying with joy. I sprinted to them and we embraced. I wish that moment could have lasted forever. “Listen, darling, we’ve found a way for you to get out of here, but we have to leave now.” I was elated. We were free! We headed down to the docks, and my parents handed me a bag. “What about you?” My heart pounded as they revealed the truth to me. “We aren’t coming. There isn’t enough space.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. Papa lifted my chin. “Chin up chicken! We’re coming on a different boat. We’ll be there before you know it.” We embraced, all of us sobbing, and I stepped onto the small cramped boat. It pulled out of the station, the waves bobbing up and down. I took a deep breath, tears blurring the view of my parents, and, Waved.