Writing Prompt: Day 68

68.jpgDay 68 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a character inspired by a day of the week: Thursday.

Erin: There were times when he felt important. He felt important because everyone lit up when he walked into a room. The only problem was he was walking in a room and that meant his brother would be walking in shortly after. When they smiled at the sight of him walking into a party they were really smiling at the notion of the boy who was sure to be hiding somewhere close.

Shannon: Thursday is a bit of tease. He shows a lot of promise of a wild adventure, but never follows through. He’s actually pretty calm and laid back, if he could be honest with himself. I think he wants more excitement, but for some reason he can’t seem to create it for himself. He needs a spark to ignite him, otherwise he will just stay still.

Halfway through our character week.

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 68

  1. I watched her from afar for a long time; her straight, caramel hair was tied back in a decorative bun, an avocado blazer flowed over a dark brown belly shirt and her face creased jovially when she threw her head back to laugh at someone’s joke. All around her, students gathered to listen intently to her exorbitant plans for the weekend. Every week was the same, according to the society anyway. This strange, attractive woman would make outrageous propositions around Thursdays, always at noon, to a cheering and jeering crowd of rowdy popular kids, but she never actually went through with the brilliant ideas.
    That was how I came to be stalking the woman basking in the glow of the sun and admiration of her peers. But that didn’t explain why there was a nervous kind of guy shadowing me; literally standing in my shadow so as not to attract any attention at all. Wally held a small book close to his chest, nearly growling at anyone who looked sideways at it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get rid of him unless I could prove it with evidence and witnesses.
    Sighing, I continued to gaze at the congregation as my target flicked back her hair and pranced down off the picnic table she’d been addressing her audience from. Without a sideways glance, she was through the wide open hallway doors with two comrades hot on her heels. As I slid backward, sidling carefully to avoid stepping on Wally’s toes again, I listened intently for the hollow clack of high heels on the cold wooden floors. When the tones fell on my ears, I perked up and began steadily sauntering down the hallway with an air of authority, a small stack of textbooks in my tense arm.
    She strode right past me, two students racing after her with way more books than they could possibly need, without a glance. When I stepped out to chase after her, Wally was right behind me, catching at my sleeve like a lost child. “Eliza, she’s going to arrive at her dorm room in half an hour after checking a few postings,” he muttered from underneath his cobalt glasses, peering up at me.
    Of course he had information I didn’t; why would the society make it easy to get rid of this dork. Breathing deeply, I smiled down at him and we started along the grand, warmly-lit halls to the dormitory wings across campus. Passing our secret entrance, I paused to admire my own reflection in the mirrored glass; I was concocting a plan as I peered at myself. “Hey, Wally, think you could hang back here and hunt up some spells for me?” I couldn’t look at him as I spoke, but when the silence stretched on I turned to see his fallen face.
    “I suppose so,” he groaned, rapping on the solid wooden panel abysmally. When it swung open and he disappeared I rolled my eyes at my own harshness; he had just wanted to learn more.
    But I shook the negativity off and continued on my journey without the slight hindrance. Colourful flags had been strung up across the next few hallways proclaiming various championship teams we hosted from football (American) and lacrosse to chess and mathematics. Posted on every bulletin board I passed was an ominous notice about a secret magickal society that wanted people to apply, but didn’t have any further information.
    When I hesitated, mid-stride, before the crinkled, torn page to scan it for clues, my head began to pulse. I’d heard of these kinds of enchantments, but had my doubts as to their potency; clearly they worked incredibly well. Used to single out people within certain parameters, it was a bit of passive magick that could be quite draining, but useful.
    Turning away from the debilitating sign, I groaned as the sound of my boots against the wooden floors reverberated around the halls, pounding into my head like a jackhammer. Fortunately, as I crossed into the next hall, the grip of the spell faded and my mind became clear again, allowing for a simple locator charm to take hold. Left turn, down an empty hallway, right turn, straight ahead, up one flight of magnificent stairs and down to the end of the hall where a tiny glowing maze of dots hopped onto the doorframe. Calmly pressing the multi-colour vest I wore with my hands, I knocked on the door without touching it.
    I waited for what seemed like an eternity while soft classical music turned into some horrible racket known as mainstream pop. As the door finally opened I realized what took so long for her to answer; her caramel hair was tied in a messy bun, a fashionable sweater had been thrown over a comfortable t-shirt and whatever she had been working studiously at was now in an unkempt pile beside her bed. Secretly, this adventurous girl was actually interested in school. Too surprised to speak, I just grinned madly before she spoke in an annoyed, bitchy tone, “What do you want?”
    That snapped me out of the shock and I shook my head, “Sorry, hi Thelma, my name is Eliza.” Some strange scent hit my nostrils like an old family recipe that you never expected anyone else to know. When I peered behind her, I could see a freshly-extinguished candle sitting on a shelf and it hit me; this was a sage and herb blend used to improve concentration. Without thinking I blurted out, “You’re doing magick.”
    Silence stood between us like a brick as a beat vibrated the room behind Thelma. I’d just said something horribly personal aloud; something that I was required to share with others, but was forbidden from asking of anyone else. When she regained some semblance of control over her lungs, she whispered, “How did you know that? No one else knows. You must-” she began, letting the rest of the sentence reside, unfinished yet known by all, in the air.
    My lip twitched up in a nervous half-smile and I chuckled darkly, “Yeah, I recognise the blend of herbs for focus; I use it often. Obviously you do it yourself or you wouldn’t burn it. It’s more powerful this way,” I babbled, unable to stop myself. But Thelma was peeking around the corners of her doorframe, checking to ensure no one was overhearing us. “Can I come in?” I asked bluntly, wishing it had been an easier introduction.


  2. Created to Write:
    After hours of focused work, Rick presses the button to begin fabricating his creation.
    He leans back in his chair, his hands behind his head. ‘Finally.’
    He stares at the ceiling. The clock across from him ticks at a slowing pace.
    Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
    Rick looks at the machine, which makes a soft whir that the clock slowly overtakes.
    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
    Rick checks the timer; thirty minutes of the six hour process is complete.
    Tick.. Tock. Tick.. Tock.
    Rick stands up after staring at the clock. He walks around the workshop for something else to work on. But this was his last project. He doesn’t feel hungry, so lays down on the couch to take a nap.
    Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock… Tick-
    Rick stands up, unable to sleep. He walks back to the desk and stares at the clock while slumped in the chair. His dad says he shouldn’t leave the workshop until the machine finishes fabricating.
    It’s going to be a long wait.
    The fabricator beeps. Chris can hear Rick’s response of, “YES! FINALLY!”
    Chris nods to himself.
    “I take it the glove attachments are done?” Jacey asks. Chris chuckles.


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