Writing Prompt

I waved goodbye, Sitting atop the boxes you’d left behind, Watching as you pulled from my driveway.

Gravity came in waves, Drowning me in relief, guilt, and sorrow. I felt the moon yanked from the sky.

I stepped into fresh air, But even the air seemed eager to swallow me. I touched skin, And saw unfamiliar faces wash over me in waves.

Then you appeared.

I tried to wave you off, But you would not go— A shell, carried back to shore.

You brushed the waves from my eyes, Tucking them behind my ear.

We sat on a balcony in Florida, Watching the waves kiss the shore Then pull away, Only to embrace once more.

And like the shore, I could not escape you.

Time to get set and join the set. I set a reminder and now it’s time to be on set. I’ve set my mind on this and now I’m set up to do this.

What if tears tear straight through my eyes and through the skin of my cheeks? Would it matter what wounds the tears leave behind? Would it matter if I shrieked from the acidic tears melting my skin, dissolving my face into an unrecognizable mess?

What if tears tear through my heart because of how you tear me apart with your words and starve me of love because, to you, nothing I ever do is good enough?

To say goodbye to the toxicity built up in me from the poison you infuse in me, by me having to tear, I have to tear through that toxicity. Either I get rid of the toxicity through my tears or I tear through the toxicity to get rid of you.

Wave in the sea hurtles at speed in the windy like chariots in the clouds Surface disturbed Rise and roar of thunderous fire Water Vapor rising and clawing Eroding the coast Crashing on the rocks the ripples felt around the coast and in to distance a woman waves at the horizon.

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.

Blink. And I'm plunged into darkness. The dark isn't the start of my fear it's the unknown. It's that the stretching desolate space around me could be hiding anything, But how can I see in the dark.

Blink. And a tear starts to form. The corners of my vision become blurred as the tiny droplet spills over the edge and down onto my burning cheeks, Only to be followed by more to come, And that's the last thing I remember seeing.

Blink. And my heart is racing. The nerves in my mind spiral a million miles per hour to try and keep up with my beat, Only to be left far behind As my heart reels blindly in the dark.

Blink. And 100 heartbeats are born but 100 are also stopped But I'm still stuck in mine. I can't escape and time is running out as everything runs faster but somehow seems to be keeping me captive longer.

Blink. And I'm thrown But I'm thrown off course as my thoughts fight to keep up with my sobs and a million words course through my mind but I can't find the only one I'm searching for Help.

Blink. And I'm breathless But not only a little I'm gasping to save myself my lungs are screaming for air that I can't give to them Because I can't find it I can't see in this dark

Blink. And is this sleep, Or something far much worse?

It was Fall again, her favourite time of the year. Maple coloured leaves began their fall from the heights of the tree branches, withering not long after landing on the pavement. As night fell, the girl wandered aimlessly throughout a bustling park, enjoying the views of the season. A child running took a fall and scraped their knee in her path. She looked down, concerned, but decided not to intervene as the child’s Mother quickly appeared on the scene. The girl left the park and re-entered the ever darkening city. It’s property value has fallen dramatically since the fall of it’s plastic production in the nineties. The waste from the production plants had caused much of the local wildlife to fall ill and die from pollution causing rioting and protesting. The girl trudged on deciding to head back to her apartment in the heart of the city. Her hair fell gently on her shoulders. A passing boy took notice of her beauty, so much so that he had almost fallen in love. A missed opportunity, perhaps? Nevertheless the girl continued to her lonely apartment. As she arrived, snow started to softly fall from the sky. Winters air began to cascade from the north. The girl clambered about with her keys before entering her apartment and locking the door from the inside. She quickly showered and headed off to bed. She had had a busy day, so it didn’t take her long to fall asleep.

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.

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.

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.