Day 132 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a character in a peaceful place.
Shannon: I love floating in a pool. Ears below the surface, body weightless. The second I become one with the water I crease to exist as a human with a lot on her mind, one with many responsibilities, and one who could be doing so much more with her time. Right now I feel the sun shining on my face, and I can’t think of anything more important then to stop running and just enjoy the moment. A moment where time stands still.
Erin: My husband sent me off to the spa to relax me. Little did he know, the last thing I needed was the peace and quiet he granted me. The entire time that she was working out my tension I was stiffening more and more. Because I was thinking about the triplets tearing there room up, Rachel sneaking out with her boyfriend, and Mary coming home from school after dealing with her bully. I pictured them eating sugary cereal and watching scary movies until they were overly energized and running around the house terrified. I could not get my brain to stop spiraling until I was home, in the middle of the mess, with the power to change it.
Give your characters a little peace.
Pelky Sisters 
“Ahhhhhh,” I breathed in the warm living room, delighting in the flickering heat that swept across my bare fingers and gently kissed my face. Lined up along the mantelpiece were an oddball collection of crèche scenes with placards explaining where they were from and what their makeup was; all hand-written, of course. From the left to right, tall African statuettes huddled around a manger made entirely of straw; three tiny sets were clustered together in a raised semicircle in the middle; a round Peruvian group wore striped hats and rode upon llamas next; lastly, there were the stupidly precious ones that rested under a protective glass dome. My mother would be proud of the display, I figured, but you could never tell with her.
Crackling away in the hearth was a ferocious fire which was quickly devouring the crisp tinder I’d started it with, growling for more to eat. Just out of the flames’ reach, I’d hung the stockings with special attention paid to labelling them with each family member’s name. A few were made entirely of stiff felt which was coming apart and the seams and becoming riddled with burn-like holes. One was entirely encrusted in sparkling jewels, a couple matched in boring minimalist shades and a set of eight were silk-screened with portraits of the family members emblazoned on them.
Each year everyone in our entire extended family descended upon someone’s house, whether that be by car, plane or train, bringing with them the kids, grandkids and pets. Unfortunately for me, this was the year I played host and I had only one spare bedroom, one fold-out bed and far too many guests than I could put up in a hotel. Pretty soon I would be inundated with children, dogs and half-drunk adults who’d piled into cars for hours, sat in airports for days and taken picturesque train rides with no personal space to think of for longer than anyone should have to endure. But I’d picked the stocking card out of the hat last Christmas and had taken possession of the sacred family heirlooms that were passed between groups as the years went on.
Attempting to ignore all that, I admired the spectacular handiwork the Christmas tree was; a not-too-tall faux tree stood in the corner ringed with twinkling LEDs and a strangely quaint assortment of ornaments hung like a second set of needles from the branches. Light music flowed from the television and store-bought cookies were hand-decorated on the counter for the adults to nibble while candy canes littered a glass bowl for the little ones. On the stove sat a pot with sugar, cinnamon, oranges and clove to make the whole apartment smell more festive than it ever had.
When I took a deep breath, my eyes strayed back to the book spread open in my lap and I chuckled heartily, wishing I hadn’t already run out of eggnog. Everything here was to calm and relaxing and peaceful; it was as though I would be alone for the remainder of the season, instead of inundated with family members I saw but once a year.
A knock came to the door, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.
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When Jacey is done with her evening practice, Rick walks over to his dad and cousin, already in his swim shorts. “Go get dressed.”
Jacey races to her room, her uncle yelling, “No shape shifting while your there!” behind her. Jacey changes into her one piece and does her hair up in a braid. She finds Rick with a couple towels at the tree line. Jacey sprints after him and they race to the pond nearby.
Jacey wasn’t wearing shoes, so she keeps running even after Rick stopped. She jumps, somersaults, and cannonballs into the middle. Rick joins her soon after, diving into a deeper area ringed with algae. They surface and Jacey splashes at Rick. She goes under the water before he can splash back. She opens her eyes and watches the little fish and plants through the murky water. Rick joins her, cheeks full of air.
Jacey swims around. She starts to lose air, but she doesn’t want to surface yet. She closes her eyes, focusing on a specific part of fish, the gills. She feels a tap on her shoulder and looks at Rick. He shakes his head. Jacey sighs, then surfaces. “What if it works?” She asks.
“We don’t know if you can change into part of an animal,” Rick says.
“But if I can?”
“You shouldn’t try while underwater,” Rick argues. Jacey has a retort ready, but just nods; he’s just looking after her.
She swims around more, diving deeper to finger the plants. Then she pulls herself onto the muddy bank. She lays on the grass with a towel around her waist. Rick skips stones, with only half of them successfully doing so.
“Ready to go back?”
“No…” Jacey says, staring up at the break in the trees, where she can see light blue sky with wisps of clouds.
Rick lays down a few feet away, the second towel lain out under him. “Me neither.”
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