Day 103 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Incorporate as many things of one color as you can.
Erin: My friend always took Saint Patrick’s Day too seriously. He put on his full emerald suit. He turned his breakfast into green eggs and ham with some food die. Then he drank his morning shamrock shake. At work, he wore his olive colored glasses to make up for the people in the office who were not on “his level.” His desk was scattered with hand cut clovers and streamers of various shades of green. For lunch, he ate all of the foods he could match with his color scheme: Peas, string beans, cucumbers, granny smith apples, asparagus, pistachio pudding and spinach chips dipped in guacamole. After his work day was over he would go out to survive on green beer until he was lulled into a green wonderland dream coma. It was no wonder he always looked sickly green the next day when he came in.
Shannon: He was nearly the perfect man for me. His appearance was made up of all the features I usually swooned over: tall, dark hair, deep brown eyes. Check, check, check. Nice personality and a good sense of humor? Another check. So what’s his glaring flaw? Well, he has this primitive need to explore the great outdoors. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about a person having a passion, but I wish I didn’t have to get dragged into his so often.
I get to spend the rest of the weekend in the middle of the cold woods with Caleb and his chocolate lab, Bruce. No camper, no electricity, and no plumbing. We’re roughing it. However, I don’t think I’m ever leaving my spot next to the fire as soon as he gets it started. I’ve burrowed into a blanket and I’m trapping Bruce by my side to try to suck up some of his heat, but Caleb just thinks I’m keeping him out of the way. “Want to do me a big favor,” he asks looking over his shoulder.
I sign to make him feel bad and to earn more girlfriend points. Bye, bye warmth. “I guess.”
“I need more wood for the base. The dirt is too damp. I can’t keep the flame going. Some dead leaves might help too,” he flashes a smile so won’t get angry about it.
Fine I grumble, getting up, “But as soon as I see a snake I’m out,” I warn as I take each step cautiously, trying to avoid the mud puddles.
“Like you’re out of here, you’re going home?”
“Don’t worry, just out of commission. You can’t lose me that easy,” I clarify as I accidentally step on soft ground. I try to pull my shoe out before it sinks in too far, but it’s too late. I’m going to be mess by the end of this.
What is going to be the color of your story?