Writing Prompt: Day 67

67.jpgDay 67 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a character inspired by a day of the week: Wednesday.

Shannon: Wednesday can be a drag. She’s a pretty slow moving gal and and always manages to get in the way, but as soon as you get past her you know you’re in the clear. She can be a bit of a downer at times if you let her suck you into her black hole of depression, but she can usually see the light after a good talk. Then she becomes a beacon of hope, and she can be quite energizing.

Erin: She was finally coming into her own. She had passed through the stage of self-loathing. The loathing of all of the people around her storm had also rolled through. She’d eliminated most of the activities that were draining her of life. She could tell within ten more years she would be even more into her own than she knew possible and that knowledge made her happy.

Hump day of the work week, not really the writing week, but let’s do this anyway.

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 67

  1. Hanging around in the courtyard, I eyed the short boy with a myriad of dry textbooks open around him. Glasses carefully balanced on the slim bridge of his nose, he scoured the pages for something important, without much luck. I peered around the sundrenched pavement; students laughed as they ate their lunch at concrete picnic tables and around tree trunks, soaking up as much brilliant light as they could before they’d be forced back into the classrooms. When I sauntered across to his spot in the dry grass, I smiled warmly and coughed politely.
    His sky-shard eyes were rimmed with deep circles when he tilted his angular face toward me, squinting into the sun. But the smile wasn’t reciprocated, so I sighed and attempted a different tactic, “Is this space taken?” I asked shyly kicking at the ground with my toe. When he looked around comically, I sniggered.
    “Uh, yeah, it’s a free space,” turning back to his schoolwork, he studiously ignored me as I plopped my bag down and attempted to get comfortable in the blazing sunshine. Without appearing too nosy, I glanced over at his books when I thought he wasn’t looking; some kind of child psychology text, a couple mathematics books in different levels, some ancient history tome that hadn’t seen the sun in years and a few English books whose pages were severely earmarked. Still searching the pages for whatever it was he needed to know, the guy looked more than a little lost amongst all those words.
    When I could take no more of watching him pitifully going over the pages, I spoke up, “Hey, I couldn’t help noticing you’re having a tough time finding what you’re searching for.” Smiling, I stuck out my hand in a formal greeting, “I’m Eliza.” There was a moment where he seemed to be weighing his options carefully, but I suppose the risk of talking with someone didn’t compare to the possibility of aid.
    Shrugging his shoulders, upsetting the perfect crinkles in his navy shirt, he sighed, “Yeah, you got something to help with that?” Though he wasn’t thrilled about my attention, I could see a glisten of hope in his eyes and knew I just had to dig it out.
    I grinned widely and pulled out my tiny, hidden spell book, a cobalt pen and a pad of fluorescent yellow sticky notes. Flipping madly through the thin pages, I could feel his pale eyes on me and scrolled past luck charms and hangover potions before I came upon my quarry. Carefully scrawling, in the fanciest curly letters I could muster, the enchantment on a note, I finally glanced up into his short, tawny hair. “Okay, say this quietly while thinking about the info you want,” pausing to dig through my bag again, I passed the page over and bit my tongue in concentration. Pulling a small glass jar from an inside pocket, I held a small quantity of sage mixed with book ashes and ground chamomile out to him, “And, when you’re ready, throw this over your books. ‘Kay?”
    Above out heads, a crow cawed menacingly, but I just smiled at this complete stranger who I’d just asked to do magick in the crowded courtyard. Mentally cursing the society I worked for and secretly hoping the kid before me blew their cover, I dropped the contents of my hand into his and sat back, waiting. “Ah, alright,” he glanced nervously around before taking a deep breath and mumbling, “Invenire response.” When nothing happened, the student rolled his eyes and turned to me with shame.
    Breathing out, I sighed, “Try again. It takes a few tries to work. I promise,” sincerity coated every single syllable.
    This time when he murmured, his brow creased and his eyes were glued to the pages in front of him; for someone who wrote for the skepticism column in the university’s paper, he was believing in something pretty profound. Something happened in his eyes when he finished reciting the spell three times, and he threw the frosted green dust in the air. It fell in a cluster over one of the math texts, scattered across the whole pages. But he shut his eyes again, beginning to chant again, and a stiff breeze whipped through the courtyard, swirling the herbs around a line partway down the first page.
    When he opened his eyes, he smiled for the first time since I sat down, and chuckled. “I’m Wally, by the way,” he stated as an afterthought. “So, I’ve seen the fliers. I guess that’s you?” He gently brushed the sage from the books and began to pack up in anticipation of learning more. Ever since the society put of vague fliers about a secret, magickal group at the school I’d been sent to gather students who thought they knew what was going on. It was easier when no one knew a thing.
    “Alright Wally, guess we’ve got some work to do,” standing up and stretching my back, I snatched my bag from the grass and slung it across my chest. Without glancing back, I strode across the crowded yard with students gathered for lunch and made it gratefully to the shade. All that vitamin d was starting to give me a headache.
    A few moments later Wally strode into the shadow and stared at me expectantly, “So, where are we going? Is it some secret classroom no one but us can get into?” Nearly jumping out of his skin, the young man before me barely resembled the man staring from book to book in the sunshine; this guy had a purpose and joy that shone through. I had a horrible feeling he was going to be the most annoying student the society wanted.
    Again, I turned and stalked away from the once-somber Wally, and turned down the next corridor. When I was standing before the door, deciding whether I was going to obey the society’s wishes or not, the doorknob turned of its own accord and the door swung open. Swearing under my breath, I looked into the modelled ceiling rafters for some semblance of reasoning. But the would-be teacher was already peeking into the room with a child-like intrigue. Gently, I pushed him through and the door sealed itself.


  2. Created to Write:
    When Nikki and Finn step up to the door of the Sallow house, they see a note for them. “Jacey is changing into animals of her mood.”
    The two share a look of concern. “Think she’s in a bad mood?” Finn asks.
    Nikki shakes her head, hesitantly, “This is Jacey, she’s… she’s never in a bad mood. …Right?”
    Finn shrugs.
    Nikki grabs the door knob. “One way to find out.”
    They step inside, to see a blur run passed them. Nikki stops, blocking Finn’s way with her arm.
    “Nikki, what is it?” Finn asks, trying to peek over her shoulder.
    The blur comes back.
    “Don’t let her outside!” Rick yells, just in time for Nikki to pull Finn into the house and slam the door. An adorable corgi hits the door with a little thud, turning around on it’s claws and bolts for another room. Little yips follow the corgi running at break neck speed.
    Nikki looks at Rick, who’s disheveled state attests to the situation.
    “She won’t turn back,” Rick whines.
    “Do you know the problem?” Finn asks, still staring at the place Jacey was last at.
    “No no,” Rick says, walking closer. Nikki is slightly concerned at his panicked state. Jacey may never have a bad day, but Rick never panics. “She refuses to turn back.”
    Jacey comes back, running around their legs. She weaves between Finn’s then sprints to the kitchen.
    “…How long?” Finn asks.
    Rick sighs, drawn out and exhausted, “…Six hours.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s