Here goes!
1/1/10
Prompt: "After two glasses of wine, my non-drinking mother..." (Amy Roy, my mom)
Total Time: 5 minutes
Word Count: 237
After two glasses of wine, my non-drinking mother was getting a little tipsy. She didn’t really get drunk on two glasses, but she definitely got talkative. Usually it was hilarious (and by usually, I mean on the rare occasions it happened), but tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I’d just spent practically the whole day shoveling snow off our ridiculously long, unpaved driveway, and all I wanted was to lock myself in my lair with my highspeed computer and my new favorite video game. But of course, she wanted to talk.
And it wasn’t really about anything. I mean, I’m always up for a good conversation, but not trivial things, like the results of your latest facebook quiz, or who just changed their relationship status from “in a relationship” to “it’s complicated”. I never really understood what the whole “it’s complicated” thing was for. I mean, you were either dating someone, or you weren’t. What’s the big deal about that? It’s not like everyone else needs to know all your little relationship woes. Honestly, they probably don’t even care.
Luckily for me, the conversation, if you can call it that, was short-lived. One of her friends apparently signed on, and her attention was instantly focused on them. I breathed a sigh of relief and trudged into my room. The computer hummed on and I closed my eyes briefly, savoring the moment. Paradise, here I come.
1/2/10
Prompt: "The faded paint was chipped and peeling on the wall..." (Me)
Total Time: 8 minutes
Word Count: 346
The first thing I noticed when I walked through the door was the stench. God, it smelled like someone had locked a litter of puppies in here for a month. When I mentioned this to Lara, however, she just tossed me a wry grin and told me I wasn’t really that far from the truth.
Honestly, I had no idea what possessed her to lease this place, or what made her think it would be the perfect spot for her shop, but I’d promised her I’d help her get started, so here I was, stuck with the monumental task of making this place presentable.
I took a deep breath and took stock of my surroundings. It was a surprisingly large room, with boarded up windows all along the front wall. The faded paint was chipped and peeling on the walls, and would probably need to be completely stripped and redone. The floors were carpet, and absolutely disgusting. They would need to be completely ripped out, probably along with the subfloors. Fortunately there weren’t any major structures in the room—no counters or built-in bookshelves. If there were, my job would have been a lot harder.
I turned to Lara, the sarcastic comment I’d been about to share dying on my lips as I saw her hopeful face. She was so excited about this, I couldn’t shatter her dreams, even though I knew it would take months to get the whole place done. I managed to smile. “Don’t worry, hun, of course I’ll fix it up for you.”
Her whole face lit up like a fir tree at Christmas time, which was probably when I’d get this place done. “Really?” she asked, not quite sure if she should believe me or not.
I grinned lightly back. “Of course, I promised, didn’t I? Now come on, let’s go grab some coffee before the snow starts again.”
I slipped my arm over her shoulder and we headed back out into the cold. I’d get it done for her, and it would be the best-looking shop in the whole town.
1/3/10
Prompt: "Black had definitely been a bad idea..." (Me)
Total Time: 10 minutes
Word Count: 458
She sighed again, running her hands through her hair. Black had definitely been a bad idea. It’s not like she couldn’t change it anytime she wanted, but to do so now would reveal her powers—not something she wanted done at the moment. She’d chosen black hair for her disguise for one reason—no one would recognize her in it. She was a natural red-head, with extremely fair skin, and pale, luminescent green eyes. It was that fair skin that currently condemned her hair color. All the black seemed to do was wash her out. It looked terrible, even though it looked like natural hair. It had no evidence of dye, the black was quite natural looking, and streaked with a faint hint of copper. She’d been quite proud of the affect at first, until she saw it against her skin.
She cursed it again. If only she’d seen it before going out into the field. Now if she changed it, her mark would notice immediately, and her cover would be blown. Ah well, what’s done is done. Now she just had to wait, patiently, for the mark to finish his coffee and lead her to the treasure. She used the term treasure loosely. It was really a weapons cache, one hidden from the government illegally. Under most circumstances, she would have been helping the mark hide it, considering how most governments were corrupt and well-deserving of rebellion, but not this one. No, she would help this government.
The northern country of Kretos was ruled not by a king, emperor, or president, but by a council of twelve, six men and six women, two from each societal station on the island. None were given any precedence over the other, and they all had to be in agreement for a law to be passed. Not only that, but they were replaced every two years, and their replacements were nominated and voted on by the people of Kretos. It was actually a very well functioning system, and fair, surprising in today’s day and age. Even the hired guns appreciated it, and many, like this one, had come to escape governmental corruption.
She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and rose swiftly. The mark was moving out into the snowstorm. If only he knew the trouble he was in, maybe he would have given his government a little more appreciation. He was lucky, she mused thoughtfully. Any other government would have given her strict orders to kill, but this one, well, she was equipped with tranc darts and a stun gun…killing was strictly forbidden. At least, in theory, but if he made so much as one wrong move—well, this was one woman who never gave up her knives. Ever.
1/4/10
Prompt: "The lilac bush was in full bloom..." (Amy Roy, my mom)
Total Time: 1 minute
Word Count: 63
She walked slowly down the narrow dirt path, breathing in the heady scent of spring. The snow had finally melted, and the robins were singing sweetly in the apple trees. The lilac bush was in full bloom, as were the dogwood trees that lined the little path. Her skirt swished pleasantly in the gentle breeze, and she sighed happily.
Spring was finally here.
1/5/10
Prompt: "The house was dark, and the bread on the counter was growing mold..." (Moriah Lee, my little sister)
Total Time: 9 minutes
Word Count: 389
No one was about. The house was dark, and as he made his way into the kitchen, he saw that the bread on the counter was growing mold. It had been left open, the round loaf just sitting on the cutting board, the knife still stuck where someone had been cutting a slice. A jar of milk was sitting beside it, now rancid in the oddly warm room. No fire burned in the woodstove, and the coals in the fireplace were cold. Despite the cold November air outside, the interior of the house was warm, almost balmy. He made his way up the creaking old stairs, past the oil painting of snow-covered mountains and into the first bedroom. This must have been the guest room. There were no linens on the bed, and no clothing in the dresser. The next bedroom however, was much more lived in. The bed was mussed, as if someone had just slept there, but the sheets were cool, showing no sign of body heat. A set of flannel pajamas were tossed on the floor, and the dresser drawers were open, suggesting that someone with less than impeccable habits had recently gotten dressed. How odd.
He cautiously stepped back downstairs, heading towards the root cellar next. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing. How very strange. It seemed as though the entire house had simply been paused, stopped out of time for weeks—at least, that was the last time the neighbors has seen or heard the young man who lived here. A sound from upstairs shook the sheriff from his ponderings, and he slowly and carefully crept back up to the ground floor. Imagine his total surprise when he saw the young man in the kitchen, his hand on the knife, finishing the slice he’d started two weeks ago. He looked up, startled, when he saw the sheriff, then grinned.
“Sheriff Jones, what’re you doin’ in my root cellar?”
The sheriff took a deep breath, completely and utterly floored. If not for the sour milk and moldy bread, it would seem as if the young man had never left. But he had, and the question was, where had he gone, and would he even remember it?
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