Writing Prompt: Day 38

38.jpg Day 38 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Incorporate these 3 words: Ledge, Obsession, & Armchair.

Shannon: I once knew a man who was obsessed with ledges. He had what could only be described as a primitive drive to go to the top of every building he found himself in. I didn’t know how, but he could always get past the strictest security and find his way to the top.

He wasn’t doing it to chase danger, or taunt death, but instead to take in the view. He never grew up with the greatest of means, and he refused to stay under anyone’s thumb. When we reached the top once said if he could get the highest point, than at least for a moment he above them. I guess it’s where he drew his power.

I’ve heard from friends that he lives on a mountain now. He traded in his roofs for nature, and he actually owns the property, so it’s actually legal this time. Apparently he placed an armchair outside close to an edge and he watches the world underneath him, like some kind of king. I wish I could shake my head and smile at his strange fascinations, but when I think of him up there it reminds me I’ve never found anything that could give me that kind of joy.

They tell us obsessions are bad, but they are unconditional in the moment, and for just one day I’d like to know what feels like to be carried away by one of my own.

Erin: “Keyon, what are you doing,” I ran out and yanked him off of the armchairs armrest he was standing on.

“I’m a super hero,” he whined, tucking his bed sheet back into the neck of his shirt. He had developed an obsession with powers ever since he watched his first classic hero’s tale.

“No, you are not,” I scolded. “You are a little boy who is going to break his neck.”

“No, when I jump off the ledge I will learn how to fly,” he tried to climb back up to the arm.

“I will put you in a time out if you don’t stop trying to kill yourself,” I yanked him back by the waistband of his pants.

Stretch these words.

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 38

  1. Kate:
    I sighed as I wandered through the silent and still wilderness of Pulcharbor Forest, listening for the faint footfalls of the dark creatures occasionally caught in its web of beauty. Though the forest was nicknamed the Lovely Trees forest you couldn’t let the name fool you; its purpose was to protect the township of Briarwood at any cost. When the town was first created out of the wilds the surrounding forests were spelled with an enchantment so ancient it could be traced back to Cor, where all magick sprung from. This powerful spell seeped deep into the roots and grew more powerful as the army of leaves caught more evil, magickal creatures in its earthy clutches.
    Now, anyone who walks its paths alone is in grave peril lest the forest sense malicious intent; they will lure you deep into the darkness where no one can hear your screams. As I strolled, grateful for my ornate walking stick, I listened as the trees whispered to each other on the subtle breeze. Self-consciously I could tell the foliage was gossiping about me, the half-mortal taking a leisurely stroll among their sacred trunks. When you were a Flora you could just sense things sometimes; almost like they were speaking directly to you.
    Chuckling at my silliness I hummed a calming tune my mom used to sing when I was little. Even if I didn’t inherit her gorgeous songbird voice I could carry a tune just like my dad. There was a hush that fell around me as I began to sing softly as though they were listening to me; I could feel them leaning their massive branches toward the path to hear better. Ignoring them as best I could I tramped along the empty, overgrown path.
    When I finally arrived at the lookout Riley had spoken about I was nearly knocked off my feet by the beauty. Straight ahead was the town, laid out below me and sparkling like jewels. Dropping my bag and walking stick I sauntered right to the edge, where the forest dropped off in a sheer cliff down to the creek. I’d heard stories growing up of mortal hikers making it past the murderous forest only to fall to their deaths here. There were also horrible stories of lovers planning to meet here; ones that would make your heart break into a million pieces to hear.
    Off to the side was an ugly piece of furniture you could barely call an armchair but was a city landmark, apparently. Though the buttery avocado plaid fabric had been left out in the elements for a good fifty years it sat in pristine condition in the strangest of locations. As the story went a class of Aer students came up here one Aer Festival to prove they were badass and brought with them the ugly chair that had sat in their dorm all year; it had soaked up all their juvenile energy and emotions. When they finally reached the cliff’s edge they dared each other to levitate the seat above the town.
    Having obviously ingested a fair amount of vocamortus, and having brought a keg or two with them, they each took a turn flying over the city. But once the last kid had arrived safely the students didn’t want to bring the stained piece of outdated furniture back down the hill so they attempted to throw it off the cliff. What they didn’t anticipate was someone screwing up the spell, which happens often with first years at the university.
    Instead of plunging into the river the chair hovered just out of the students’ reach and refused to go back to the cliff until they had left. To this day the ridiculous armchair floats away if someone with an Aer affinity is within several hundred yards.
    Fortunately for me I have no such affinity so the chair felt safe around me; so safe it let me sit on its plush fabric as I admired the view. After a few moments taking in the spectacular landscape I got up to leave, picking up my bag and walking stick. But as I turned to the forest the whispers grew to a fever pitch; they were quarrelling about whether my intentions were pure or not, I could feel it. My options were to hope the trees made the correct decision or stay here for the rest of my days.
    But there was a third option buzzing around the deepest, darkest corner of my mind like a bee; I could jump. The thought wouldn’t go away and I could feel the idea taking roots. Spells that could make this a viable option flew about wildly in my mind as panic set in. I didn’t want to be stuck up here or eaten by trees.
    Taking a few semi-deep breaths I was able to calm myself enough to think clearly; the last spell I’d considered would turn me into a dove but I didn’t know the counter spell so that surely wouldn’t do. In my panic I nearly forgot to admire the sun sinking behind the mountains on the other side of town; watching the sky turn striking garnets and amethysts before settling into the deep indigos for the night. Simply watching the stars peeking out and the town below coming to life, mirroring the sky above, was relaxing enough to set my heart right.
    I gripped my bag and opened the pouch containing my spell book; a thickly bound, ancient tome I’d been obsessed with when I realized my affinity wasn’t strong enough to register during examinations. As I leafed through, creating a ball of light that hovered just above my shoulder to see by in the pitch darkness, I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood at my predicament. Suddenly the spell was before my eyes; a powerful levitation spell for mortals. If a mortal could cast it, I certainly could.
    After gaining my bearings I gathered my belongings and took a few steps back. A breath later I was soaring through the freezing air. Seconds later I was plunging downward with the spell just slowing down the decline subtly. Unable to breath I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and braced for the inevitable, but hopefully fast, lethal landing.
    But I suddenly slammed into something leathery and warm; definitely not the cold, hard ground. Tentatively opening one eye I blinked at Nola’s armour-clad back a foot in front of me. She was cackling hysterically as the wind whipped her hair about her head. As I drew my first breath since the jump I looked down at the leathery scales of the great maroon dragon I was riding on and screamed into the wind.
    Nola turned and called, “Lil, hold onto me. Nettle isn’t great at landings.” Rolling my eyes at my own stupidity I gripped her armour tightly as we landed; I vowed to never trust Riley or Nola ever again.


  2. Created to Write:
    Heather turns a corner, and finally understands her friends’ insistence. She pulls up to the curb and parks her motorcycle. She walks over to the house, which is covered in bright colorful canvases. There are some strung from the balcony ledge above the small front porch.
    Finn is sitting among his masterpieces, watching and waiting for potential customers. “Nikki’s right,” Heather says, looking around with her hands on her hips, “you have a serious obsession.”
    Finn looks at Heather, “Excuse me? Says that girl that will play music twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week?”
    Heather eyes him carefully, then chuckles, “Alright, what have you got? I’m up for spending a little of Starks money.” She holds up a wallet, which is pretty fat.
    “Where’d you get that?” Finn asks, lowering his sunglasses.
    Heather shrugs, “I told him it was for a good cause. I think he’s just spending guilt money again.” Heather then loses half her smile, remembering the night before. Stark hasn’t been sleeping well.
    “Well, let’s see. What are you looking for?” Finn says, jumping out of his armchair.
    “Something… that will really pop off the page,” Heather says slyly.
    Finn chuckles, “Well, I can’t do those, sorry. But, I do think your mom would love this one.”
    He takes out a picture out behind a stack. It is a beautiful landscape, where thick winter melts into colorful spring.
    “Finn, that would be perfect!” Heather praises, “You drew that?”
    Finn stares at her, “Did I?”
    Heather scoffs, “Sorry, I’ve only seen you animate. This is your first canvas work I’ve gotten to look at.” Heather opens the wallet, “How much?”
    “Free ninety-nine.”
    “This is for a fundraiser, right?” Heather says.
    “So, how much is it?”
    Finn offers the canvas, “This one is a gift, for your mother’s birthday. But pick out another one, and I’ll double the original price to clear your conscious.”
    Heather takes the gift, then looks around. She browses the paintings as Finn interacts with more customers.
    Her eyes settle one. The top half is a beautiful sunset, while the rest is a green and brown forest. There’s a rock in the middle ground, with a wolf situated on top, looking off the canvas. There are a few wolves in ready stances below the rock as well.
    “Matches your eyes,” Heather hears behind her. She smiles.
    “I like it,” she tells the voice.
    “I’m glad. Because I was worried you’d pick the lion one down the aisle.”
    Heather looks back at August, then proceeds to find the one he’s talking about. “Oh, I see what you mean!” she exclaims, “I love both of them. But…” she tsks, “I don’t think I have enough for both.”
    “Isn’t that Stark’s wallet?” August says.
    “…You’re right.” Heather goes back and picks the wolf one, “But I think this captures my essence more.”
    Heather goes over to Finn to haggle prices, then realizes something; they can’t fit on the back of her mode of transport.


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