Writing Prompt: Day 111

111.jpgDay 111 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a lost character.

Erin: I don’t know what I want to do with my life. All I know is that this place I have ended up is pure torture. Somewhere along the line I made a wrong turn. I’m not sure which one it was or where I made it, but I am determined to undo my mistake. I will too, once I decide where to start.

Shannon: “We’ve been here before,” my friend, Jenna, pointed out solemnly.

“How would you know that every place we go looks the same,” I argued.

“I made a mark on this tree,” she pointed at her distinct carving. “I thought you might be leading us in a circle. Are we lost?”

I was about ready to take one more round of searching before I let her in on the panic, but she already seemed pretty calm. “Yeah I think we might be, but we just need to find a road and get out of the woods. It’s just getting so dark and it’s so quiet. Do you have idea what direction we should try next?”

She was still calm, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You get us lost and don’t mention it, because you didn’t want to worry me,” she reviewed my logic out loud. “You don’t get to drag somebody down with you without giving them all the facts,” she was angry, but I knew it wasn’t just about being lost. “What if I knew how to get out at some point? Then I could have saved us both, but I got caught up in your mess?”

“I’m sorry,” I spoke genuinely, “but did actually know where we were at some point?”

“We’ll never know.” She glared at me before walking off into the direction she wanted try next.

Where in the world is your character?

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 111

  1. Eliza’s heart was pounding so loud she feared the monsters lurking just out of sight in the shadows could smell the blood pumping through her fragile body. There was something eerily familiar about the path she strolled along; something that sent shivers up her spine and put a horrible, dry taste in her mouth. Above her auburn curls, a lone crow shrieked in the afternoon sunshine, rays setting its sleek feathers alight with brilliant blue hues, and it inclined toward the nervous figure. When she turned to look at it with her eyes big as dinner plates, it was already wheeling away in defiance of her interest.
    Behind her, a branch cracked and she instinctively spun, walking stick outstretched to fend off any ill-meaning creatures, but the trail was empty save a chickadee hopping about in a peaceful search for any scraps of food it could fine. Chuckling at her silliness, Eliza glanced down at her cell phone and huffed loudly; according to the blinking screen she was still on the path she was supposed to be on, but she still hadn’t reached the first fork in the road. After passing two, taking a left and right respectively as she recalled at orientation, she was feeling a bit lost having no more information about where she was going.
    When another crow passed by overhead, though it could have been the same one as before since they all had beady little eyes, she stiffened and tapped on the tiny signal icon. A large warning popped up as she did, declaring she was out of range; that explained, unfortunately, why she seemed to be on the right path. In actual fact, the screen had been showing her location as the same place for easily an hour.
    She stayed still for a long while, so long that the shadows crept up the tree canopies noticeably, and attempted to steady her skipping heartbeat. There were strange figures wandering among the trunks if she squinted just right, and the ridiculous observations of an overactive imagination didn’t do her pursuit of peace of mind any favours. On the deepening trail that took a sharp turn before her, someone or something called brazenly and smashed through the forest without much thought and put Eliza’s survivalist mind to the test. Crouching low to the ground, she closed her weary eyes and listened intently to discern the direction the commotion was headed.
    Deciding it was making its way toward her, she began to recall the analog directions she’d been given and her pulse quickened again. Somewhere along the way, she definitely made a wrong turn, but couldn’t remember which instruction she’d ignored. Either she took a right when she ought to have gone left or should have gone straight when she took a steep left turn. The paths merged together in her mind and became an unmanageable tangle of greying branches, piles of multi-coloured leaves and fierce forest-dwelling animals.
    Without a proper idea of a heading, she started to backtrack, hoping beyond any semblance of hope that the terrible noises she was hearing were from her own team and not the creatures that called this place home. The forest wasn’t somewhere you wanted to get lost these days; whether it be the pitch darkness of night or fading shadows of day.

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  2. Created to Write:
    August walks into the house and first goes to the phone. He hesitates for only a second before dialing his home number. He waits for a second. “Hea…Hello?” Josh asks, “This is Josh Evert.”
    August takes a deep breath, “Hey man.” August could swear that he heard Josh fumble with the phone.
    “August!?”
    ***
    August was allowed to borrow the truck, and he drove back to New York. He tried to leave Mocha at the farm, but she wouldn’t have it. So the dog tagged along.
    Once August reached the familiar sights and smells of the city, he practically sighed; this was his world. He is tempted to drive to each of the places he misses, but there is one that is more important, and it has an actual purpose other than leisure.
    He pulls up to the house and steps out. Mocha moves to leap out with him, “Stay Mocha,” August says firmly. Mocha sits down, whining a little.
    August closes and locks the truck, then walks up to the front door. He reaches for the knob, but it turns on its own. The door opens to show Josh on the other side.
    “…It’s a long story,” August says.
    Josh grabs his arm and pulls him into a hug. “August,” Josh breathes. August hugs back. Josh tightens his grip.
    “Lemme guess, never ditch the team again?” August quips.
    “We thought you died, brother.”
    August stares over Josh’s shoulder, his arms going slack. ‘Dead? The Morse family wasn’t…’ August backs up, looking at Josh, “Did you tell the Morse family about why I was gone?”
    Josh shook his head, “They didn’t need to know. And… SHIELD wouldn’t let us.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    “Solo mission. Could be gone for a while,” Josh says, ashamed. “…I was starting to consider telling them… what we thought happened to you.”
    “I’m not dead,” August assures, grasping his brother’s shoulders to look him in the eye, “I’m alive, as real as you and Mom. As real as everything we’ve done since we built the team.”
    Josh nods, but hugs August again. Mikio joins the group, scolding August half-heartedly, with tears in her eyes. August lets her, just happy to hear her voice again. “So, are you going to tell us that long story?” Josh asks. “Wait, let me call the team. They’ll want to hear this.”
    “I’m sure your brother is tired, Joshua,” Mikio says, “he’ll want to rest.”
    “No, Mama, I’m fine. But first thing’s first, I’d like to talk to Heather,” August says.
    Josh pauses in dialing Rick’s number, not looking up.
    August feels his gut wrench, “…Is Heather in New York?”
    Josh puts the phone down. “…I- We, don’t… We don’t know, August.”
    The gut wrenching suddenly feels like blunt trauma.
    Josh sees the creases in August’s face as he looks at the floor. “You should sit down-”
    “Tell me. Right here, right now,” August says, looking at Josh. Tears threaten at his eyes, his hands are shaking so he curls them into fists, his breathing elevates, and his knees shake. He’s searching for anything that means that Heather’s okay, that he can see her. But Josh is telling him that he doesn’t know where she is.
    “Sit down, Augustus,” Mikio says firmly. August looks at her, but she isn’t giving him an option. August sighs, walking to the kitchen. Josh stands across from him with the open window. Mikio starts making some tea.
    “Start at the beginning,” August says.
    “Heather did come back. She arrived at our doorstep, only desperate to see someone she knew,” Josh explains, “someone… that understood her past.”
    “Where was she before?” August asks.
    “With a gifted person Stark knew,” Josh says. August clenches his fist tighter. “Heather said he was okay. She just didn’t fully know him.”
    “Do you know the person?”
    “Only his superhero name, Spiderman.”
    August tilts his head in acknowledgement, then asks, “What happened?”
    “…Stark and Romanoff arrived. Heather wanted to fight them, not wanting to be separated from someone close. But they insisted that she had to go with them. She only listened to Romanoff.
    “She explained how Heather was under supervision and couldn’t contact friends and family until she’s cleared of… charges.”
    August narrows his eyes, “What charges?”
    “…Child soldier-”
    August swears.
    “Augustus!” Mikio says behind him.
    “…Sorry Mama. What!?” August says.
    “We haven’t seen her since,” Josh finishes, “that was… about a month and a half ago.”
    August is quiet, tempted to swear again. “…So she’s at Avengers Tower?” He asks slowly.
    “No.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Rick has an internship at the Tower. The Avengers moved to a different facility, leaving R&D stuff there, and other Stark Tech levels. Rick confirmed that Heather is not at the Tower,” Josh says clearly, in case his brother was going to check it out himself.
    “So… she’s at the new facility,” August says, desperate.
    “We. Don’t. Know,” Josh enunciates, “even if we did, we can’t get close to her. She’s already had a lengthen of her supervision term. If we interfere, it will be even longer before she can see her family again.”
    August folds his arms over the counter and lets his forehead fall into them. Tears build up and he’s tempted to just let them drown him.
    He feels a tap on his arm. He tilts his head enough to see a cup of tea next to him. He sniffs, sitting up. He slowly drinks the tea, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
    “You miss her,” Mikio says gently, “but as much as we miss Heather, she needs her family. We must be patient, Augustus.”
    August puts the cup down, “I’ve been away for how long, Mom? Haven’t I waited enough?”
    Mikio makes a thoughtful ’hm’ noise, then walks away. August notices the keys for the truck are gone. Mikio comes back, carrying a leather book. “I’ve been reading this since you two left. Josh and I have gone with Nikki to her church. And one thing I’ve learned…” she sets the Bible on the counter, “is that God works in His time, not ours. We may feel like it is time, while He tells us to wait.”
    August groans a little, but doesn’t protest against it. He’s just so… tired.
    The front door opens, “August? What is a dog doing in the Morse truck?”

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