Day 34 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a party where something crazy happens.
Shannon: “You are so lucky all of your neighbors are cool. I would never get away with half the stuff you do at these parties. Do you hear how loud the music is playing? I’m shouting and we’re outside,” Chrystal spoke her mind, and then went back to her drunken air drumming.
I was a little buzzed myself as I was getting into the music. “That’s because everybody is here. They love this, it gives them something to do,” I yelled. “I’m probably the coolest person they know. They wouldn’t cross me.” At that moment a guy ran between us and did a flip into the pool. Everybody exploded with excitement and it started a competition of who could do the crazier stunt.
We watched the other contests for a while until I noticed some people on the other side pointing behind us and covering their mouths.
I looked to the side to see that Chrystal already turned around. “Either I’m really wasted, or you’re house is smoking rainbows. It’s so beautiful,” she put her hand on her heart and started tearing up. “I’ve never seen something so pretty.”
I patted her shoulder, feeling compelled to comfort her. Then my own problems sunk in, “That’s not beautiful. That’s my house. They’re letting off smoke grenades or something. They’re going to start a fire. Now I’ve got to stop them,” I complained.
“No, no, no,” she panicked, getting in front of me. “Don’t stop them,” she turned her head to stare again.
I left her like that, sneaking past her, to stop the music and the fun to save my house from becoming a smoke-filled prison. Hmm, she was right though. It was a magnificent sight.
Erin: “This is a terrible idea,” I shook my head as my brother lit what must have been the 70th candle.
“No this is a great idea,” his eyes flashed with the fire. “Someone who lives to be 99 deserves 99 candles.”
“Grandma hates fire,” I reminded. She was who I got my fear from. “She is never going to make it to 100 if you scare her into a heart attack.”
“She’ll be fine,” he insisted lighting the last candle.
He lifted the cake and wobbled slightly. “Ken,” I shouted as my worst fear was on the brink of happening.
“I’m screwing with you,” he chuckled. So, as any sister would, I slapped him. Then he tripped and he screamed and I screamed and the carpet set on fire. My worst fear was no longer on the brink. It was happening.
It’s Friday…time to get crazy. Crazy with our writing!
Pelky Sisters 
Russell & I (Kate) have decided to add an extra challenge to the month of September. Each story we write for this month will be from the perspective of the same character. Hopefully we’ll learn a lot about the characters we choose.
Lily Anne Heart will be leading us through the next month of prompts. Yay!
Thunderous roars reverberated on the uneven paving stones of the university courtyard as the students assembled there, well past the midnight tolling, huddled closer together. A nippy breeze rustled the old growth oaks that lined the outdoor space. Darkness so complete you could see millions of bright pin pricks in the sky had descended as the crowd began to gather, anticipation was heavy in the crisp air.
Again the howls came, this time louder and accompanied with a more intense rumble. There were screams and shouting as some of the students grew restless and tense. But as some green students turned to leave they were pulled back into the crowd aggressively as though this night were the most important in the world.
I had found a comfortable spot to lean against a tree trunk, gazing down at our tiny town of Briarwood, away from the rambunctious din. Shivering slightly I watched as a few wayward leaves drifted from the branches high above me, falling down toward the sleepy city. No one except the entire university was awake on this night; it was the annual Ignis (Fire) Festival held every August tenth. It was an open event but the fun at parties up here was often overshadowed by egregious amounts of drinking, inappropriate spell craft and raucous music until the sun rose. Those reasons deemed them strictly, “young people,” revelries.
Fortunately the date fell during summer vacation meaning students wouldn’t have to nurse their hangovers while attending class and teachers could pretend to be cool again. Wards would be lowered by those professors to keep the sound and tasteless activities from affecting Briarwood folks too much; the visual spectacles, however, couldn’t be hindered that easily.
The sixth and final roar sounded, as though the creator of the sound was on top of us, and an enormous winged beast soared high above the school. Its dark, leathery wings blotted out a swath of stars as it circled us viciously. But the unmistakable glint of metal that shone from its neck reminded my heart, as it pounded rapidly, that it was all a show. Around here the entertainment for these parties was pretty outrageous.
Beating its mighty wings it descended slowly until its clawed feet could brush the tops of the trees it took a massive amount of air into its mighty lungs and spewed white-hot fire at the upper branches. As the dry leaves burned and ash rained on the chattering cluster below the great beast breathed on the ancient castle walls, symbols bursting into colourful flames across the worn brick façade. From the castle’s disused parapets rained a volley of fluorescent arrows which burst into red bursts and hung in midair as though held by wires.
When the screaming from first years subsided and the dragon’s great figure prowled the empty skies for prey the revelries really began; from the other side of the giant courtyard a stage sprung up with a band shrieking some kind of rock. On either side of that tables had magickally appeared with kegs of vocamortus, the most potent alcoholic beverage known to anyone, and a wide variety of snacks. For the most part the food was a last-minute thought by the planning committee after someone asked what non-drinkers could consume.
Above me the tree’s upper branches were still ablaze, though the flames were contained and the embers turned colour before your eyes and burst when they touched the ground. A few feet away a cluster of returnees was huddled, discussing something in secret. Near the stage some of the first years were sipping cups of VM (the brand of vocamortus native to Briarwood) timidly and nodding to the beat. Peering around at the other trees couples were smashed against the rough bark with piles of chocolate wrappers scattered about; some students spiked the food with enchantments and no one ever did a thing about it.
When a sad, charred leaf landed on my shoulder I plucked it from the flimsy fabric and held the poor thing in my pale hands. Murmuring a potent transformational spell at the deep green sprig I closed my eyes and let the world around me melt; the only thing I could hear was the breathing of the old tree beside me and the beating of my own heart. I rested a blind hand on the coarse bark and breathed life from the tree into its kin, letting my own energy tangle with the energy in the air around me. Gently I opened my eyes to see a perfectly-formed dove had taken the place of the leaf.
It hopped about on my hand before the pale olive wonder fluttered away on the breeze. When I turned, eyes shining, back to the party I saw a set of dinner plate eyes staring at me. The owner of the eyes was a tall, thin elven woman who was carefully picking her way through the rowdy crowd to where I stood. Nervous, I twirled my hair to calm myself as the woman’s warm amber eyes met mine from a few feet away.
Smiling awkwardly I almost shouted, “Hi. I’m Lily.” Without thinking I stuck my hand out in the most formal introduction I could muster, kicking myself mentally.
But the woman stepped gracefully forward to take my hand and returned the grin sincerely, “I am Keana of Placica forest.” Her slender fingers gripped mine with a ferocity I hadn’t expected. When she moved to lean against the antique brick wall overlooking the town and turned to me her delicate features creased in mild frustration, “How did you do that? With the bird. That was amazing.” Wonder permeated her tone.
Giggling a bit I breathed, “Old transformative spell I learned from an ecology text. It only works one way, from plant to animal, and it requires the mother plant to work.” As I was speaking my eyes were glued to a group of boys altering the fire sigils on the wall to spell obscene words to distract from the attention. This woman was stunning; why would she want to talk to me at a party with every young person in the town? She batted her eyelashes at me and the question fell away.
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Created to Write:
With the guys finally gone, the girls start in the kitchen, baking cookies and getting out chocolate. Heather tries to help while standing, but Nikki directs her to sit down and mix batter when she can see pain on Heather’s face.
With the cookies baking, they all convene to the living room. They pick a few movies, then Jacey gets something out of her bag. “Look what I brought~!”
She shows a disk for karaoke. She puts it in and Heather is the first up. When she’s done, then she picks Nikki. Then Jacey goes, and Grandma Lucille is convinced to try as well.
The timer goes off and Jacey goes to get the cookies.
They all sit for the first movie, Heather on the longer side of the couch with Jacey cuddled up to her right side. Lucille sits on the other arm rest and Nikki sits on the floor with her back to the couch. halfway into the second movie, there’s a crash outside.
Nikki pauses the movie when Lucille stands up to look outside the window.
“Grandma…?” Heather asks.
Lucille looks back at the girls, “I can’t tell. But…”
“Wolf?” Heather asks.
“…It came from near the chickens,” Lucille states.
Heather starts to stand up. “Heather, no. You aren’t in any condi-”
“Someone has to scare it away,” Heather states.
“I will,” Jacey says, “I’ll change into an animal to scar it off. …Whatever it is.”
“And if it’s the guys pranking us?” Nikki asks.
Jacey smirks, “Then I’ll scare them.” She goes out. Lucille disappears, only to come back with the shotgun. Jacey steps outside, going towards the coop. Heather uses her crutches to watch from the window. Jacey turns into a lion and stalks over to the coop. There’s a few snarls, and a roar. A cougar bolts from the coop, red on its paws.
After a beat, Jacey comes back. Heather scans her over, finding no injuries. Jacey changes back and walks in. “Cougar killed a chicken,” she says.
“Oh no… which one?”
“The… the one with a few black streaks on its wings,” Jacey describes, “had an orange beak.”
“Is it still there?” Lucille asks.
“Yeah. There are scratch marks, but the cougar didn’t bite it,” Jacey explains.
“You aren’t thinking of cooking it, are you?” Nikki asks.
Heather and Lucille share a look, then shrug. “Boiling water takes the bacteria out,” Lucille says.
Jacey eyes the cookies, and takes the plate, “I… uh…” her stomach growls. She chuckles wryly, “Energy loss.”
Heather waves, “It’s fine. I understand that.”
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