Writing Prompt: Day 135

135.jpgDay 135 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a day where nothing goes right.

Erin: I woke up one hour after I needed to be at work. When I got outside my car wouldn’t start. All of my neighbors were already gone so I had to call the shop down the road. Another hour passed before I was on the road. I got pulled over because I was speeding in an attempt to get to work sometime close to my shift. After I was given a ticket instead of a warning a nail popped a hole in my tier. I didn’t have a spare so I had to call she shop again. And I called my boss, because there was no way I was going to try and continue my day. I was going to lock myself in my house where I was hopefully safe.

Shannon: My morning started with me spilling hot oatmeal on my hand, leaving a red burn mark I was sure would irritate me the entire day and maybe longer. I should have known the day was going to be a mess from then on out, but I had to hope things would get better. Well, that was before I popped a hole in my tire, and had to walk my bike to work. No surprise that made late to my shift, and of course my boss was there to see me and write me up for a warning strike.

Turns out it didn’t matter. I was supposed to start out the day by running the Ferris wheel, but it broke down last night. I soon learned that meant I was on garbage duty. Forget hope, I just need to survive the day.

Your character may not be able to catch a break, but maybe you can by writing about it.

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 135

  1. Part 2 of paper – The Other World? tentatively titled – must revise at some point before I submit
    How did I get here, to this strange and backwards place, you might ask? Well, that’s a rather long and convoluted story of woe beyond anything you can fully comprehend in the normal, average world in which you live. – too dramatic? – You see, I’d been residing in the false joy that saturated the North Pole for weeks when I stumbled upon the opening to another, stranger yet, land. It was completely by accident, or was it planned? That didn’t matter when I came face to face with an alien desert of blindingly bright snow reflecting a dawning blue sun, breathing in the bitter taste of new air.
    The whole matter began in the middle of my journey – consider adding this explanation to the first part to avoid confusion – with the discovery of Anemos, a goddess-like entity who dwells on the frozen arctic tundra across which I was mystically led. Once as far from the town site as possible, she had urged me to jump through a fissure in the ice, and with my weak human mind, I’d done it. After a sleep that could very well have lasted centuries, if not for my impending deadline, I had awoken in a damp cave surrounded by strange elven figures who informed me that they’d pulled me back from the other land. Obviously, this place wasn’t to be messed with if I’d been sent through by this possibly-malicious force and had to be rescued by a number of happy, can you believe that, elves.
    That was where things started to go south faster than a reindeer on Christmas Eve. – too soon? – Joss had explained about the magic that ran deeply through that entire land, creating monsters and emotions we couldn’t begin to comprehend here, and chartered a sled to take me to my hotel. As soon as Alia heard I’d be leaving, she grew sad, her delicate ears turning down in a pathetic fashion, and she begged to join the quest. She wanted to know more about humans, but I wasn’t in a particularly good mood having not been in control of anything for a day or so.
    Off we went across the glittering snow on sleds pulled by bears that had been grown entirely from snow; they were the product of a risky bit of magic that gave the snow itself a sentient consciousness and abilities to move coherently. We passed by a large hole in the ice likely a mile wide and our snow bears began acting strange, first deciding they didn’t care to go on, before they started circling the chasm. Glancing into the gorge, I caught a gut-wrenching look into the shivering depths. It was as though the whole thing were a giant mirror, reflecting a clear, starry night complete with a sliver of blood-red moon and shooting stars that leached their golden shades into the brown sky.
    Zak and Zane were attempting to steer, or even slow, their steeds but they ignored them as though they were particularly annoying flies. When Boris, who was clearly the most scientist-like of the bunch, began shouting instructions to the others in a language I’d heard a few workers mumbling in the crew started to get antsy. Everyone was gathering up equipment and steeling themselves to jump ship when I did the stupidest thing I’ve done in my entire career.
    As I fell through the hole and watched the cracked edges flying past me, I sucked in a deep breath, preparing for impact with the strange sky. Instead of landing on something solid or splashing through water, the effect was more like breaking a mirror as the surface made a horrible noise like shattering glass and tendrils of breaks fanned out like waves in a still pool. I sputtered under the alien sky, breathing in the warm, prickly air and treading water slowly in my winter jacket. At the edge, I could make out a figure standing there to greet me, her pale fingers lace together and a curt frown creasing her lips.
    When I made it out of the water and tore free of the heavy coat, I glanced at the woman with my ears ringing from the pressure change. Struggling to my feet, I was immediately apprehended by two men after a slight nod from the woman, and was escorted, still drenched, away from the rift. The woman, I would learn later, is Anemos’ mirror version. Every celestial being apparently has an opposite in the other realm; Anemos forced hers through and took her place in the magicless world we live in because her powers would be appreciated and adored. Somena was this woman’s name and she was a soul with immense regret and intense resentment for anyone in our world, her home world.
    I was thrown in a jail I don’t care to elaborate on in the slightest as the mere thought is enough to bring an ache to my heart and a tang to my tongue. After that, I was refused a phone call or explanation as to what the charges were, though I figure there weren’t any. I’ll never know exactly how long I was there, but it felt like an eternity; I’d asked for a few sheets of paper and a pen after counting the brownish stars out my window for the eighth time (there were four hundred and ninety three that I could see) and began to write out a will. When the sheets were entirely full of my miniscule, illegible ramblings, I realized I wasn’t even writing anything coherent.
    Within a few hours, just as the green sun was touching the first, glistening mountain ranges, I’d gone almost completely insane. They brought more slips of this strange, semi-translucent paper that smelled faintly of peppermint and I wrote almost right through them in gibberish mixed with flashes of pure genius I can’t even take credit for, I don’t think.
    End of Part 2


  2. August steps into Avengers Tower. He is stopped before he reaches the elevator. “Excuse me, young man,” a guard says.
    “I have to talk to the Avengers,” August says. He shows the card they gave him.
    The guard stands down, but sighs, “I’m sorry, son, but this isn’t their base of operations anymore.”
    “Can you tell me where?” August says, trying to hide his surprise.
    The guard sighs, “I don’t think-”
    “Please, sir. This is an emergency. I need to talk to them.”
    The guard thinks for a moment, then sighs deeply, “Alright, I know how to get that. Come with me.” August follows him, but grumbles in his head about more travel.
    He drives into the Avenger’s Facility space. It’s big and impressive, but August doesn’t care, as long as they know where Heather is. He stops at the entrance. He holds his card up for the guards to see, “Ask the Avengers, they know me!” He calls up. After a few minutes, he’s let through. Ironman is there to greet him.
    August almost punches him, but stays his hand. “Kid.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Where’s Heather?”
    Stark lifts his face plate up. He looks as if he hasn’t been sleeping. “I heard you were gone for a while.”
    “Where’s Heather?” August repeats.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Is there someone else to talk to?”
    “Cap, Sam, and Natasha are AWOL, Clint’s retired, and Vision and Wanda are in London,” Stark says. He crosses his arms, “So, no.”
    “What about War Machine?”
    “Therapy,” Stark says.
    August is starting to consider punching the hero, regardless if his hand will break, “So you have no idea where she is?”
    “Sorry, kid. I don’t.”
    “Do you know where any SHIELD facilities are?”
    Stark shakes his head, “No.”
    August sighs, running a hand down his face. “This was a waste of time.” He turns towards the truck.
    “Hey kid.” August stops. “It’s getting late and you look like crap. We’ve got guest rooms.”
    August looks back at him, “Take your own advice, Stark. Someone has to be around to save the world.”
    August looks at the slip of paper. The coordinates are right, but it looks nothing like the place he though it would be. ‘Looks can be deceiving,’ August tells himself. He goes to the door and knocks. When nothing happens, he knocks again, harder. Finally, he steps back and kicks the door. His foot hurts and the door doesn’t budge.
    A gas canister comes out of nowhere and he takes a lungful before he can cover his nose. He falls to the ground and sees a pair of shoes coming towards him.
    August wakes up in an interrogation room. Coulson is standing across from him. August has restraints on his wrists. He yanks at them, but they’re secure. “What are you doing here, Mr. Evert.”
    “Where’s Heather?” August says.
    “I’m not the one answering questions.”
    “Forget the tough agent act, Coulson. I know she’s here.”
    “…Whether or not that is true, you shouldn’t be here. So I’m going to let you off on a warning.”
    “I’ll just keep trying,” August says.
    “No you won’t,” Coulson says. He leans over the table at August, “If she is around people she knows, the government will lengthen her separation from them.”
    August narrows his eyes at the agent.
    “If you want to see Heather as soon as possible, then when I release your restraints, you will put on the blindfold, follow Agent Mack to the door, get in your truck and drive away.”
    “And Heather?”
    “She’s in good hands.”
    August gulps to himself, leaning into the chair, “She’s okay?”
    “Yes. A bit grumpy considering the situation, but she’s healthy and moving.”
    August closes his eyes, picturing a healthy and moving Heather. He practically tears up. “I haven’t seen her in so long…” he whispers.
    He knows he can’t do anything without the government getting involved. He wants to see Heather, to hug her, to kiss her, and just to lay with her under the stars again. But he can’t. Not yet.
    He doesn’t want to wait, but he has to. “Watch out for her, please?”
    “I already do that, for Captain Rogers,” Coulson says.
    “Can you tell her I was here? That I found her? That… That I’m home?” August asks, practically pleads.
    “No. She can’t have any contact or knowledge of people outside this facility.” August looks ready to murder, yet he’s mourning. “I’m sorry. She… she misses you.”
    August looks down. He holds the side of the cuffs with the locks up. Coulson releases him. August stands. Coulson holds out the blindfold. “Welcome back to the States.”
    August doesn’t respond, but puts the blindfold on. He walks out the now open door and Mack leads him by the shoulder to the door. The blindfold comes off and the door closes and locks. August looks at the truck. He climbs inside, feeling numb with every action. He closes the door and stares at the building. His hand doesn’t want to move.
    He aches. He knows where she is and yet he’s leaving. He looks down and the key is in his hand. It fits into the slot without him registering he moved it. The truck starts and begins to move. He’s off the street, then out of the city. He’s on a random dirt road, with no one near by. He stops the truck in the middle of the road. He stares ahead, tears building.
    He hits the steering wheel and yells at himself.


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