Day 128 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a loss of trust.
Shannon: The worst thing about losing trust in someone is that the burden is hardly felt by the person lost it and wholly felt by the person who gave it. When you lose faith in someone you see them in a different light. It’s a view you wish you could reverse, but you can’t. No matter how much you try to believe they’re the same person you used to know, you realize what they’re capable of. They let you down, and that doesn’t mean they’re going to do it again, it just means they can. You used to believe they’d never hurt you and they’d have your back in any battle. Then you witness them abandon you right as the knife goes into your back, or worse they’re the one holding the weapon. Some things you can’t forget.
Erin: “I’m done with you,” my lab partner grumped putting away his books.
“Why is that,” I decided to humor him on the way out the door.
“You made me fail man,” he hit my shoulder.
“On the test? How is that,” I countered.
“Like you don’t know that I copy you,” he said like it was some obvious fact. The teacher thought so too. That’s why we arranged for me to hand in a test with the most idiotic answers. When he had all of the same ones we knew it was true.
“Trust me everyone knows,” I scoffed vowing to never blindly trust an assigned partner again.
Trust is a valuable asset, how is it lost in your character?
“Merry Christmas, Jenny!” cooed my mother in her syrupy voice, gently patting the mass of winter blankets and flannel sheets that entombed me deeply in slumber. After a calculated pause, she tried a different tactic in a girlishly high-pitched tone, “Santa was here! There’s lots of presents under the tree from him!” The whole, embarrassing order was topped off with a childish squeal I didn’t think my mother could make.
Rolling over in the mountain, I eyed her with hooded lids and growled in the most dangerous voice I could muster, a creature who would eat my mother’s sweet voice in one gulp, “I know, mom. Santa’s not real.” Though I attempted to hide my disappointment, it was heavy as the cursed words hung in the wintry air between us. “I trusted you two to tell me the truth and I find out you’ve been lying to me about Christmas my whole life?” I cried into the snowy comforter, watching my mother’s mouth open and close without a sound, and flipped over to face the wall with my eyes streaming. This was the worst Christmas present ever: I’d grown up.
Starry Knight sees the tar like material that is made from the villain they are facing. He takes a step back, fear over taking him as sweat falls down his face and neck. “Starry?” Command says through the comms.
Starry turns and runs as he hears screams from across the park.
“Starry! Where are you going!?” Ghost yells, right before he is dragged across the lawn, grass coming up with him.
Starry keeps running, then turns a corner and sits behind a pile of boxes and recycling. He takes his hat off, trying to breathe. “Starry,” Command says, “Starry, come in.”
“I can’t do this Rick,” he gasps, “I can’t. He’s-”
“Finn, you are part of a team,” Rick says.
“My cousin is out there, damnit! If you walk away from them now, I will never forgive you!”
Finn looks around the pile, seeing bits of the black ink.
“We trusted you, Finn, and you are breaking that trust right now.”
Finn leans his head back, trying to breathe. He then gets up and sprints down the alleyway. “I’m sorry Rick,” he says, before taking the comm out of his ear and goes in the opposite direction of the park, hoping Liquid Steele won’t follow him.