Writing Prompt: Day 51

51.jpgDay 51 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about the exact moment your character realizes he/she is in love.

Shannon: “When did you first know you were in love with me,” Will asked as we laying on a blanket in the sand, relaxing by the beach.

I took a deep breath in and stretched my arms above my head. Why did he have to start with a hard one? I turned around to lie on my stomach and rest my cheek on my arms so I could get a better look at him. “Do you remember when we broke up?”

“I tried not to think about it,” he turned his head to stare back at me.

“I actually like to think about it,” I disagreed, “because one day I was walking alone just thinking and eventually the roulette wheel in my mind landed on you, which wasn’t big surprise. I tried to spin again, but it was stuck. When I was thinking I came to this epiphany that I was always going to care about you. You were different than any of my other relationships. I didn’t ever want to forget about you, even if we never saw each other again. That’s how I knew, and I just hoped it would work out in the end, and that you would feel the same,” I shrugged my shoulders slightly. “Now you tell me. When did you know?”

He shook his head, “That’s not how this game works. You have to ask a different question,” he smirked.

“No come on, tell me.” I begged.

He stuck to his guns, “You’re just going to have to wait for another day.”

Erin: “Hello,” Frank answered the phone with some question in his voice. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk,” I said dreading the conversation we were about to have.

“Okay, what do we need to talk about,” he sounded so secure.

“Well,” I started. “I think we need to take a step back.”

“A step back,” he repeated with confusion in his voice.

“I just need a little more space than you’re willing to give me,” I tried not to mumble too much. I always mumbled when I was nervous.

“Since when, I thought you liked me keeping you in my day,” his voice started to fade out.

“You need to know where I am at all times, you’re always at my place on the weekend, I can’t escape you,” I didn’t consider holding back until my words were already out.

“Because I love you and care about what you’re up to,” he asked.

“I feel smothered.”

“Okay fine, I’ll ignore you some days,” he offered.

“I was thinking more of a step back,” I stuttered slightly.

“How far,” he waited.

“All the way back. I don’t think I am the type of girl for you,” I respected him too much to not cut the ties completely.

“Well okay then,” he hung up without a farewell. Those three words were the last that I heard from him. That night when I didn’t hear from him couldn’t sleep. In the morning I could barely breath, too bad I didn’t realize I loved him until I heard him hang up on me.

Write about the moment when the relationship your characters have change.

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 51

  1. Kate:
    Across the bar stood a woman in a ravishing scarlet dress with boots that made her a good four inches taller than the guys she was whispering with. I’d been eyeing her since she stepped into the seedy place. While it was certainly off the beaten path they had a wide variety of patrons; from sleazy lawyer types to women of high class. But no one held a candle to the woman in the red dress.
    One of the waiters, you couldn’t prove they just minded the tables, saw my glances and strutted over to clean my table. Dirt flew off his damp grey cloth as he whisked it across the table’s pot-marked surface, all the while twitching to make sure no one was watching. Leaning over he breathed the stench of rancid alcohol and rotting teeth in my face, “Don’t do it. She doesn’t actually dance with anyone; she’s just here for free booze.” As he righted himself I saw tattoos snaking up his arm, intertwined with old scars and scabs. Without looking me in the eye he moved on to the next table, leaving a faint whiff of liquor in the air behind him.
    I sighed as I realized a bar was the last place I would ever find friendly conversation and stared into the murky brown whiskey left in my tumbler. Taking a sip I glanced around the dark room without really seeing anything. My eyes didn’t see the couple in the back smoking cigars in a leather booth, their table scattered with the remains of a fortnight’s worth of drink. After a few moments of quiet chatter the woman, painted up to hide her age, shrieked with drunken laughter, completely ignoring the dirty looks from behind the bar.
    I also didn’t notice paint peeling away from the ceiling, revealing graphic language. There was no one passed out on a table in the center of the room, drooling on the chipped tabletop. No one tending the bar took a long swig from a bottle before vomiting into what I hoped was a sink.
    Though I didn’t want to stay I needed some rather specific ingredients that weren’t legal in any sense of the term; the magickal communities frowned upon their use and the mortal lawmen wouldn’t be merciful if they found out. I needed them for one spell and one alone. Hugo, a tempus, and I were attempting to share our abilities with one another. While it was a dangerous enchantment we were attempting I knew, with our combined knowledge of powerful potions and ancient spell work, we could achieve the previously unattainable.
    After being in Narlton for three weeks I hadn’t met a single magickal being until Hugo Moray made his presence known by sending a hurricane through my front door. For the most part I wanted to be rid of all traces of magick, other than my potions, plants and spell books, but this Hugo fella seemed nice. He let me be unless there was something important he wanted to talk about; this sharing abilities spell hadn’t been spoken of for centuries due to its low success rates.
    That was how I came to be sitting in a stained booth in the seediest bar I could find waiting on a man who could procure some truly awful materials. Suddenly my phone began to vibrate angrily, blinking out a steady rhythm, from the table and I attempted to ignore it. I figured my guy had cancelled and drained the last drops of the burning liquid from my glass.
    When I lifted the hunk of near-useless metal I read the message with boredom, my lips moving to give me something to do, “Lil, did he show up yet? We need to do this tonight.” It wasn’t our dealer; it was Hugo who was meant to figure out when we needed to do the spell. Somewhere in the back of my mind was a little voice screaming that he was up to no good, but I ignored the annoying tone with ease.
    The door swung wide open on its hinges, the storm blowing in and the lights flickering madly. Footsteps echoed to the ceiling as a broad-shouldered coat stepped across the worn flooring. It hovered for a moment, boot tapping impatiently, before sauntering toward me. As it sat the door slammed shut with a crash that shook the whole building, right down to the studs.
    I raised my eyebrows, thrust my glass to the side without touching it and shoved my flashing phone back in my pocket. By the time I glanced up to properly introduce myself the coat was folded neatly on the bench and a slim woman sat before me. With matching emerald eyes and dirty blonde hair that framed her soft face I had to pause before speaking. When I hesitated she cocked her head to the side and smiled a delicate, inviting grin. “You-you’re Quin?” I stuttered. We had thought Quin was a surname, not a first name.
    Again with that friendly, kissable grin as she responded in a soft voice, “Yeah, it was my father you were corresponding with. He’s just not up for milk runs anymore.” When I turned away in embarrassment, twisting a loose thread around my fingers, she continued, “I have all the supplies you requested, Lily. It’s all in my-uh,” she saw the flush in my cheeks as I tried to hide it, “uh-my truck.”
    I peered at her subtly and saw the same nervous expression in her face; if there had been a spell to tell if someone was attracted to you I would have used it. Flabbergasted by my own addled brain, I forgot about needing ingredients and blurted out, “Are you single?” before I could contain the automatic response. When she turned bright scarlet I chuckled darkly at my own stupidity and ripped the loose thread from my wrist.
    After a moment Quin reached for my glass and covered the clear surface with her hands, obscuring the melted ice from my view. She returned the laugh heartily and whispered, “Actually, yeah, I am.” Grabbing her coat and strutting out as though I should follow her she went through the door like a mortal. As I threw some money on the table for the drink I glanced at the glass.
    What I had originally thought was a nervous gesture had been a complex spell; floating on the thin layer of water was a fully-formed white lily flower. I ran after the woman who made me believe in love at first sight.


  2. Created to Write:
    August helps Heather limp into the house. “Let’s check your brace,” August says, “in case anything was damaged.”
    Heather sits on the counter as August stands nearby, unsure what to do. Heather starts to feel the brace through her skirt, in case anything is loose.
    “…How do you feel?” August asks.
    “Better, but my knee hurts,” Heather says, focusing mostly on her leg than his words.
    August nods. He looks at her face, slightly contorting in concentration.
    After a moment more, Heather nods to herself, “It’s intact. I should stay off my knee though.”
    “Should I get your wheelchair?” August asks, eager to leave the room. Heather nods, hesitantly. August does, helping her off the counter and sitting in the wheelchair.
    Heather wheels herself to the living room. August is hesitant to follow. He plays over the night in his head. He then sits on the couch and looks at Heather. “Why did you do it?”
    “He wasn’t following the rules,” Heather says, “someone had to help that girl.”
    “Yeah, but… You could have told one of us to handle it. Instead, you walked over, asserted yourself, and kicked his butt, brace and all,” August summarizes.
    Heather looks at August, “I’m not as fragile as I appear. I feel, stronger, now. And you weren’t exactly helpful.”
    ‘Yeah, that’s because I’ve never seen you fight before,’ August thinks to himself, ‘I’ve never seen that look in your eyes, that nothing will stop you and you had control of the room.’
    Heather locks the wheelchair and stands so she can control her fall onto the couch. She groans as her knee protests, but other than that, she’s silent.
    August tries not to look at her. “You’re different, Heather.”
    “How so?” She asks, reaching for the remote.
    “You… different from when I first met you,” he answers. “Well, different from when I first came here, I mean. You are more like who you were when I first met you. Not that you are the exact same,” he rambles, “I mean… you’re right, you’re stronger now. Not just physically, but-” He sighs, ‘Best to just stop talking.’
    Heather looks at him, his face flush and his eyes avoiding her gaze. Before she can stop it, a small giggle erupts from her lips. August looks at her try to cover it up. Heather turns on the tv, not looking at August.
    He sees the way the moonlight filters through the glass, settling on her skin and reflect off the remote in her hand. She doesn’t have the same gaze that she had at the dance, but he still sees the embers in her blue eyes.
    ‘Oh… you’re in trouble now, August,’ he thinks, ‘why did it take me so long to see it?’


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