Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
STORY STARTER
The Stranger
Write a story or poem with this as the title
Writings
Rose is sixteen.
Three whole years older than her sister when she went missing.
Her sister at the age of thirteen disappeared in the night like a magician. An eight year old Rose thought it was a trick. That Thorn would poof right back in her room like it never happened.
But it wasn’t a magic trick.
And she never came back.
Everyone says it was a Stranger that took her sister. Maybe her friend Rex was a Stranger and kidnapped her. Maybe it was a random Stranger. But a Stranger was always involved in the stories of Thorn’s disappearance.
Rose doesn’t believe any of that crap. Because Strangers aren’t dangerous. At least not all of them. The Fire Woman, or Firefly as she became known as in Rose’s head, saved her from a house fire. She didn’t need to, could’ve let young Rose die, but she didn’t.
Firefly, a Stranger, is a hero. Evidence that these people with dangerous powers don’t all use their abilities for harm.
While no one believed that a Stranger rescued her, she knew. And that’s all the proof she needed.
She’s sixteen now.
Her controversial views on Strangers does not make her a popular girl at school or at home. But she doesn’t hide. She talks every chance she gets about her experience. Because someday, someone will agree with her. Someone that can actually do something about the inequality. Hopefully.
So the day starts out like any other day. Doing the 4 G’s. Get up for school. Get Linny and ET ready. Get food in them. Get everyone to bus stop.
Linny is eleven but acts like a wise old lady. She’s very particular and critical. But somehow comes out with the right answer almost 95% of the time. She can argue her point and convince you in just one conversation.
ET is six and embodies that age more than any other child Rose has ever met. He is curious and bubbly. He doesn’t fear anything. Except Strangers as per their mother.
Yes, there’s always been a five year age gap between every child. People joked all the time that their parents’ lucky number was five. Rose guesses it only made some cosmic sense that her parents divorced on their twentieth year of being married.
Linny and ET never give her a lick of trouble to go to school thankfully. Their mother says that this is in efforts to instill life skills and independence in them, especially Rose. Though she thinks it’s just because Thorn isn’t there to put that on. So it falls to Rose.
“Rose?”
Someone calling her name jolts her back to reality. She’s in the cafeteria, waiting for them to let the students to go to their lockers and then homeroom.
Mr. Till, the vice principal, is in front of her. She’s alone at a table, since no one wants to sit next to a Stranger sympathizer. That’s ok with her. She’s used to it. Being anything else would mean she wouldn’t be herself.
“Sorry, lost in thought. What did you say?” She asks.
“Don’t worry, I know it’s a Monday. We have a new student who is in a lot of your classes. Could you show him around?” He gestures behind him. Though she can’t see around him with her principal’s tall frame.
It confuses her. Why her of all people?
Principal Till and Rose know each other well. She often is sent to his office with her loud opinion that tends to offend other students. Often, he acknowledges that she’s a good student but hands her detention anyway. She does have to face some kind of punishment, even if she didn’t do anything wrong.
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t sure, Rose,” he states, giving her a pointed look. One that she can’t say no to.
“Ok, sure,” she agrees with a shrug.
This guy probably will hate her and find someone else to show him around by second period anyway.
He steps to the side, and she can see the new student for the first time. Jet black hair, much like her own. Pale as if he’s sick, but that might be his normal skin tone. Dark brown eyes that borderline black that study her with apprehension. Objectively attractive, she guesses.
Though she doesn’t care. There’s a lot more than looks that matter.
“This is Koa Tan. He is transferring from North Millington High.”
That gets her attention. She sits up straighter, eyes more focused now. Millington is known for being a Stranger school.
With that in her mind, she notices the band on his wrist. It’s an identifier. It’s red. No Stranger goes to this school. Until now.
“Koa, this is Rose Tackett. She’ll be your guide.”
He leaves them with just their names and heads out.
Now she knows why he chose her. She’s got a positive view on Strangers. On paper, she is the best person for the job.
Koa slumps into the seat across from her, never taking his eyes off her. It’s a tad unsettling.
“Hi, Koa. Nice to meet you,” she greets, holding her hand out to him.
Just staring at the gesture, he practically grumbles at her, “Don’t try to be nice. I can find my own way.”
Taken aback, she retracts her hand. Who does this guy think he is? He has no idea what kind of person she is.
Though she guesses that he may be used to a certain kind of person. So she tries her hardest not to judge him.
He’s probably been through a lot as a Stranger.
“Here I thought I was being nice,” she jokes.
He doesn’t laugh.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he says.
Laughing, at how wrong he is, Rose gives him a break since he doesn’t know her yet. “Believe it or not, this really is me. No mask.”
His eyes narrow at her. “Everyone wears a mask,” he points out. She shrugs in response. He’s mostly right. Mostly.
“I try very hard not to. My sister used to live that way. I intend to follow her example,” she divulges.
He picks up on her use of words. “Used to?” He asks, tilting his head, curious. Finally an emotion that isn’t negative.
“Anyway, we’re in the same homeroom. Let me see your schedule,” she avoids his question and steers it to his schedule. She knows she’s not even a little subtle. But he lets her off and wordlessly hands over his paper.
Scanning the classes and teachers, they have every single class together. Mr. Till wasn’t kidding.
This will be either really fun or really painful. She’s not very enthusiastic on the former.
“If you want, I can show you to your first couple classes. If you can’t stand me by like third period, then you can ditch me,” she offers. She thought it was a very kind offer.
“If I can’t stand you?” He questions incredulously. He clearly isn’t paying attention to the fact that everyone avoids her table. It’s practically social suicide, maybe even as a Stranger.
Lazily gazing at her too short fingernails, Rose says, “I’ve been told that I’m very unlikeable. Loud with how I feel.”
He actually smiles, so now she knows he is capable of that. Which is good to know. “That’s lovely.”
“Thank you,” she responds happily, choosing not to comment on his tone. She must come off serious because he is quick to point it out, “That was sarcastic.”
“I’m aware,” she retorts.
After she speaks, it grows quiet between them. It isn’t uncomfortable exactly. Just a smidge awkward.
Glancing at the time, there’s five minutes before they release them to homeroom.
This could be a long five minutes if he never initiates conversation.
“So why’d you move schools?” She inquires to fill the time. It is a genuine curiosity of hers. Why come to a place where he would for sure face discrimination?
He sighs, but answers anyway, even if it a chore. “Stupid program my school started and apparently they partnered with your school for it.”
It’s like a lightbulb turns on in her head. Rose remembers hearing about the program. She never thought it would happen here. People are so….one sided in this town. Narrow minded. It would appear that there are better places to begin this. “Wait, are they trying to integrate Strangers?” She blurts out, a bit too excitedly.
His eyebrows raise in surprise and perhaps some confusion. Maybe she came off a bit too strong there. “You sound way too happy about that. Why are you happy about that?”
Rustling through her backpack, she reaches her flowery folder. She hands it to him.
He gives her a weird look, but he opens it. “Strangers: The Other Viewpoint,” he reads the title out loud. “By Rose Tackett.”
“That’s me,” she answers proudly. That school article she fought tooth and nail to get published and caused her to get some harassment. But it was hers.
She can see Koa skim it quickly. It was something that she wanted to share and had to practically blackmail the English teacher to get her to agree for it to be in the school newspaper.
Once he gets to her story of Firefly saving her, his stare towards her becomes softer. Like he had his guard up and it came down slightly. Only a little. Like he understood her. And maybe she can understand him.
“You serious?” He questions.
“That’s how I really feel. Ask anyone,” she says, gesturing to the whole cafeteria. Some people close by stop to roll their eyes and utter some insults under their breath. She lets it roll off her back. Koa glares at them and they quickly turn back around.
“Does this have to do with Thorn?”
Her head snaps. Instead of her attention on the others near them, she hones in on Koa.
“What?” Rose asks, not so eloquently, but she swears her brain is short circuiting. Exposed wires sparking in her head, threatening an explosion.
“Your sister?” He states, but it sounds more like a question.
A million unknowns swirl in her mind. Something about Koa is different. Not just because he’s a Stranger.
For the first time in her life, Rose thinks she might get the answers she always chased after.
Koa might be the key.
Staring him dead in the eye, they appear honest. She’ll see how long that lasts.
“I never told you her name.”
I was what you would call a normal average joe.
Nothing special about me at all.
I was blunt, had an all around flat personality, and in a group of friends who were the average of highschool. I was blocky with the average size, a boy who wasn’t skinny or fat, just large. An African-American with a shaved head and a freckle in my eye and on my top lip.
I lived with my grandparents and their friend, Miss Smith. My parents loved each other, as friends, and went around the world together, forgetting that they still had divorce papers to sign.
I lived in an average town. Not too small, not too big. People stayed in their groups. No one at school looked at me too much, or ignored me completely. They often waved; they often didn’t. I was just there.
See, nothing special at all.
And I liked it that way.
I really did.
“Sooo, Walden…”
“What?”
“Do you have any plans tonight?”
My three friends stared at me eagerly. Lance with his always excited brown eyes and overgrown hair. Maddy with her bushy eyebrows and pixie cut. And Darl peeking at me through his black bangs.
I shrugged. I was twelve with nothing to do, but this seemed the appropriate answer. I didn’t know the future.
They all groaned and Lance went as far as thudding his head on the table. “We should’ve guessed you’d say that.”
“He says it all the time, Lance, we knew.” Maddy smiled at me and patted my hand. “Walden is Walden.”
Then they continued their conversation, Darl nodding when it mattered, and I was left staring at my mush of sloppy joe, finding it strange I didn’t feel happy about being so predictable.
_I sat down on _the futon in our living room, leaning over to our low table to finish up the rest of my homework. My grandpa shuffled into the room, cane in his hand and a permanent frown on his face. My face. It seemed I got all my facial structure from him.
I didn’t think I’d look like him when I grew older though. We lived different lifestyles.
“Don’t you got friends, boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then where the hell are they!”
“Out somewhere.”
“So, why are ya’ still here?” His shaky voice was starting to raise. He lifted his cane into the air as to make himself larger and intimidating. He reminded me of an animal at that moment; I’d forgotten the name though.
I lifted my papers. “I have ho—“
Grandpa slammed the papers back to the table with the end of his cane. “Get out and do something! Ya’ hear me! Ya’ can’t stayed holed up in ‘ere for the for the rest of your life. You ain’t a rock, boy.”
I stood and stacked my papers neatly. “Yes sir.”
I was near the edge of town when I realized they never said where they were going. I couldn’t go back, though, Grandpa said he wouldn’t let me in until eight tonight. I sighed, then leaned my rusty bike against the thick oak of a tree. The woods were behind me, and it felt as though it was whispering to me in the wind.
I blinked, then shook my head. That’s not average. And I was average. I, Walden Jones, was average.
“Why are you just standing there?” A voice said above me.
I looked up as saw a boy in the trees. “Hello.”
“Why aren’t you asking me why I’m up here?” I couldn’t see him fully because of how high he was, but I could see his shoes. They were white and dirty.
What kind of person wore white shoes in the woods? They looked expensive too.
“That’s your own business.”
“Really?” He sounded like he was smiling. His voice gave his age away. It was young and preppy with that cheeky, innocent lip. I wondered if I ever sounded like that when I was younger.
I probably didn’t.
“I like you. What’s your name.” It was more of a demand than a question.
“I’m not telling my name to a stranger.”
He grunted and the branch above me shook. A few seconds later, there was wide violet eyed boy with twigs and leaves stuck in his blond, almost white hair, in front of me. His shirt was a nice hue of green, the collar stained with brown and open. His khaki pants where in the same state, but he didn’t seem to mind. He smiled, his skin crinkling at the edges of his eyes, and he bowed.
“Lavender Polcock, has graced you with his presence.”
I said the first thing that came to my mind. “You sound like a snob.”
“And you smell like cinnamon. Well, really a sticky cinnamon bun. You know? The ones that are hot and melt in your mouth and are sooo good that you just have to lick your fingers afterword. My mom always tells me that that’s impolite. I lick them anyway when she’s not looking.”
“Oh.”
Lavender cocked his head, then touched my wrist. “What’s your name, Cinnamon Bun?”
“It’s not that.”
“I know, that’s why I asked.”
“Walden.”
“That’s your name?”
“Yes, why else would I say it?”
“You sound like a snob.”
“And you smell like mud.”
Lavender harrumphed, crossing his arms as he lifted his head and tried to look down at me. Of course, I was two times his height, so he couldn’t achieve that. “For your information! I like dirt. And chickens. I really, really like chickens.”
“Okay.” I didn’t understand why he was still talking. I got my bike back in my hands to try and show him I wanted to leave. Either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care because he kept talking.
“I don’t live here, Wally. Can I call you that? Man, you smell like cold cinnamon buns now—you don’t like that name, do you? I’ll call you Walden. I came here with my family to visit my cousins for some “Acension Ceremony” or whatever. My mom tried to dress me up, but you see how that’s going. It was sooo stuffy in there and this collar was choking me. I thought I was going to die! And— Hey, where are you going?”
“I…want to go home, Lavender.”
Lavender shivered with what looked like glee. “Oh, oh! Can you say my name again. Please?”
“No. It’s getting dark. I have to go back home and you have to go to your family.” I hopped back on my bike, ignoring Lavender’s sad face. This—whatever this was—was not what an average person like me should get into. Whatever went on with rich folk didn’t matter to me. I was Walden Jones, an average boy who lived an average life in his average town. Just Walden.
Lavender whined. He stepped closer to me and grabbed my hand. “Don’t be sad, Wally—I mean Walden. I’m sorry if I talk too much. My sister says I do, so I’m sorry. Don’t leave yet.”
I stood there for a second, staring into his eyes and wondering why I wanted to leave.
Why would you want to leave this boy alone in the forest? He wanted to be with you so why go?
I shook my head and pushed him away, heart thudding with an emotion I couldn’t name. “Don’t—don’t—“
I never finished, and got my feet on the pedals and flew back home. Away from Lavender. Away from whatever just happened.
The Stranger had snuck into your room in the dead of night, slipping between the window gap you had left cracked open to let in the cool night air. They had appeared like a shadowy blip in the colorfulness of your tiny room.
The Stranger was a swath of particles embedded in the physical world, like a deformation or blemish in the perfect simulation of time and space. They were neither visible nor invisible. They were simply there, an energy that occupied volume and area.
The Stranger, once in your home, carefully walked the length of your wooden floored room. They admired the way you existed in this world, the way you chose to decorate your room, and the colors you seemed to favor for aesthetic purposes. You, in all your simple glory, were the type of human who did not value order and precision. The Stranger knew, before even seeing you, that you were the chaotic sort who enjoyed living in a room overcrowded with meaningless items.
The Stranger assumed, after the first appraisal of your living quarters, that you were the lonely type. It would explain your enjoyment of filling your surroundings with items to close the spaces between one thing and the other. You enjoyed your possessions, the Stranger assumed, because it gave you a sense of ‘having’, something you seemed to lack in this world.
The Stranger made their way to your bed, a wiry frame that still held the faded remains of peeling stickers from your childhood. They watched your sleeping form, unaware and unassuming of the shift of energy in your home. The second the Stranger laid their eyes on you they pitied you. For they instantly knew that their first analysis had been correct. You were lonely, and that loneliness was accompanied by the knowledge that very few would miss you if you ceased to exist in this world.
The Stranger knew that no one would know the difference between you and someone who simply looked like you. The veneer, however imperfect and imprecise, would fool everyone who knew you because those people you surrounded yourself with every day didn’t remember you long enough to keep your image in their minds. They didn’t pay attention to your eyes or your lips, or the way you smiled and the way you walked. They didn’t know your sense of humor or your hopes and your dreams; they didn’t even know the tremor of your voice or the nervous way you fidgeted as you spoke. To them, you were just a person they knew, a temporary being that only existed when you were under their gaze. Now, alone in your bed with the covers drawn close, you were nothing; to them, you no longer existed.
So, as the Stranger passed by your bed, running their hands over your trinkets and your memories, they knew that they had found exactly who they were looking for- a Stranger like themselves, a nobody.
The Stranger knelt beside your sleeping form, a pang of empathy slivering beneath their chest as they looked down at you. They leaned forward, placing a single kiss on each cold cheek and atop your forehead. A sign of respect, an apology for breaking into your home, and a goodbye.
The Stranger ran their hands over the sheets that covered your sleeping form, scattering the tiny, rounded capsules that lay loose between the folds of your blanket. They tucked the corners of the patchwork blanket around your body, creating a warm cocoon around you.
Slowly, the Stranger stood at full height and scanned your room. Their eyes caught on something, a bright yellow flash of color on your dresser. As they drew closer, they saw that it was a bouquet of plastic daffodils, sitting in a dusty glass vase.
The Stranger smiled.
So you liked daffodils?
The Stranger made a mental note of that, remembering to bring you a fresh bouquet the next time they visited you. The Strangers mind, now an encyclopedia of botany and florals, had made sure to keep note of the flowers their victims favored. It was the least they could do after breaking into their homes unannounced.
The Stranger was about to leave, their leg already hoisted over the windowsill, when they heard a thump from somewhere else in the house.
They frowned, they could have sworn you lived alone. The Stranger hesitantly climbed down from the windowsill and drifted towards the open door of your bedroom. They crept around the small confines of your apartment, mindful of sticking to the shadows.
When they got to your living room their eyes roamed around the space, skimming over empty coffee cups and half-abandoned canvases on the wooden floor. Suddenly, a blur of orange movement caught their eye, and they whipped their head towards the source.
There, curled up on the arm of the couch, was a tawny plump cat, its long tail coiled around its body.
‘So you don’t live alone’, thought the Stranger, ‘you have a companion'.
The Stranger walked towards the cat, their mind churning at the sudden realization that they hadn’t understood the situation at all, at least not fully. You had a pet and judging by the cat toys that littered the floor and the large scratching post that took up half your living room space, you loved the thing. So why would you leave it all alone? Why would you leave your window open knowing a Stranger could come in at any time?
Then it dawned on them, you hadn’t meant to leave the window open. You had made a mistake. You hadn’t wanted the Stranger to break into your home, at least not tonight with your beloved cat still in the house.
A heavy, crackling pain settled in the Stranger’s chest as the dots connected in their mind. They shouldn’t have been here tonight. The window hadn’t been left open to intentionally let the Stranger in. It had been an accident, a poor stroke of judgment from a very lonely and impulsive person. The Stranger bent over the couch and scooped the cat in their arms. The cat stirred, prying open its large slitted eyes. It looked up at the Stranger, or at least it seemed to look up at them, its head tilted curiously. Then it looked away, as though it had realized that the Stranger was not a threat, it was nothing but a shadow that existed, suspending the cat in mid-air. A soft ‘meow’ filled the room as the cat looked over the Strangers shoulder, towards the bedroom. The Stranger pressed its lips to the cat’s ear, murmuring that its owner was asleep and that they would be caring for the creature while its owner rested.
The Stranger made its way back to the room, the cat still bundled in its arms. They got to the window from which they had entered and turned back to look at your sleeping form one last time. The cat followed their gaze, a hushed sound escaping its mouth as it looked at you. The Stranger drew the cat closer to its chest and lifted one leg over the lip of the window, then it lifted the other. Soon, the Stranger and the cat were gone, leaving behind a very empty and very lonely house.
She stood on the open observatory deck. The one hundred and first floor, utterly shrouded in a warm, wet blanket of cloud. There was nothing to see apart from a diffuse glow of indigo light from the tower’s liberty lamp, which showed a different colour each night.
The man had not appeared. It was a quarter past six. He said he would meet her here. Perhaps he was simply delayed. Was it the wrong day or the wrong time, she wondered? No, this was the time and place. She was certain. The man said Taipai 101, Observation deck 101F at 18:00 Saturday. She could not have got this wrong.
The wind suddenly cleared the cloud and the vista of Taipai appeared like a sparkling, patterned carpet stretching in every direction. She looked from right to left along the observation deck but there was no one. She clutched the railings and studied the lights of the city below her. The view was spectacular. She was so anxious she could hardly breath.
As quickly as it disappeared, the cloud suddenly returned. The view was extinguished and the indigo glow returned. She felt the wetness of the cloud on her eyelashes. She had met the man whilst shopping for groceries on her way home from work. She was standing by the wine shelves and the man stood next to her. He said he had information about her son.
She’d heard this same thing from other strangers in the past and been cruelly disappointed many times before. She paid out a great deal of money over the years for information but all for nothing. Her son disappeared when he was eight. He would be 16 now. She was desperately hopeful. She was terribly sure also that she would be disappointed again.
The man appeared out of the swirling fog. He was standing right next to her. “Give me two hundred thousand Taiwan dollar and your son will be returned to you.” “That’s a lot of money, how do I know that I can trust you?” she asked. She’d been here many times before. “You don’t,” he said, “but here is something that should give you confidence.” He held out a small green toy monkey. Her son had one just like it when he disappeared. She took it from him. “How do I know this is his?” she asked, it existence was widely reported in the press. “Smell it,” he said. She held it to her nose and burst into tears. The unmistakable smells of her lost child sparked a deluge of remembering. She could feel her heart pounding, her heart bursting. All of her hopes, all of her dreams in the smell of her boy. She hardly dare speak. “I will give you the money,” she said. “Then you will see your son,” he said, “come to this place when the clouds are next lit green by the lamp. Bring the money.” Thursday, she thought.
Continuation of "It's Just Better This Way"
Waking up feeling as though I've been in a terrible car crash, I couldn't help noticing how awful today's already started. I rolled away from the bright sun peaking through my windows, not before clutching at my aching head. Something had to be wrong. I never felt this awful before, and oddly, I didn't feel like myself. That was the first time I felt something nearly indescribable as this.
I felt an arm snake around my waste before pulling me into a warm chest. I opened an eye in fear, cautiously looking over my shoulder to find a man snuggled behind me. Then, that was when more questions started to invade my mind, but they all went away when I heard him calling for my attention.
"Morning," he smiled before yawning. "I'm going to get up and make breakfast. I'll let you rest a bit longer, but I got to feed the kids."
Now, I didn't know what was going on. Everything seemed so screwed up, and I couldn't find where it had all started.
Where am I?
Who is the man leaving the room?
Kids? What kids is he talking about?
I just dropped my head back on the pillow with a wince, forgetting that my head felt like an over crowded zoo. Obviously, I couldn't just stay in bed all day, no matter how cozy it felt. I got to go and restore my memories from last night.
Sliding my legs out from under the blankets, I stood up as soon as my feet touched the cold floor, stretching out my body. Passing by a mirror, I quickly caught my reflection and gasped at what I was able to see.
I had long black hair that fell down to my waist, hazel blue eyes that were brighter than the sky, fully rounded cheeks that jut out a bit, full pink lips, and a small button nose. Cautiously looking down at my body, I would say I've gained about twenty pounds and four and a half inches tall. The woman in the mirror looked beautiful, but why am I picturing someone else?
Instead of long black hair, hers was shoulder-length and brown. Instead of hazel blue eyes, hers were chestnut. And instead of a button nose and full lips, she had a slender nose and narrow pointed lips. She was a whole other person, yet I don't recollect who she was, or why I even remembered her.
I rubbed my hands over my face as I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But when I caught a dark purple tattoo on my wrist that said "Ur-da-Boss", something flickered in the back of my mind. Somehow, I've seen this tattoo before. But my mind couldn't fully comprehend it. And just when I couldn't go more insane, a little girl ran into the room and jumped on me.
"Mommy, Mommy! It's time for breakfast!"
Turning back towards the mirror with wide eyes, I wondered deeply as I stared at the woman that I've became.
"Who, is, this, stranger?"
This is the end to this series of stories. If you liked it, please tell me what were your favorite parts. ❤️
I don’t know who I am anymore, I’m just a stranger. I look at the mirror but I don’t know who’s standing there. I’m a stranger and I don’t know how to fix this. Will me changing my personality help? I don’t know... I’m just a stranger and I can’t find the real me... I tried everything I could do but nothing helped. I’m just a stranger and I can’t fix it.
L. I first saw you as a stranger. You didn’t know me and I didn’t know you. I wasn’t going to talk and you weren’t going to talk.
O. Then a accident caused us to talk. We were still strangers. But we talked more and more and more. I wanted to leave but you wanted me to stay.
V. I believed that you were my friend. But you weren’t. I trusted you with my secrets. I started to feel something.
E. I was in love. I finally wanted to say something but you didn’t. I told you how I felt and you told me what I wanted to hear.
It was all a lie.
Similar writing prompts
STORY STARTER
"He watches from afar. What shall we do about him?"
With this is as the first line, continue the story.