Writing Prompt: Day 140

140.jpgDay 140 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a forbidden relationship.

Shannon: We talked through the fence. I pretended to read, back pressed against the wood and he’d pretend to be working on fixing up an old moped and other pieces of broke down junk that was never going to work. We were told never to speak to each other again, after our families got into a big fight. It’s not that we thought the fight was stupid, I mean it was both of their livelihoods that the other was jeopardizing, but fraternizing with the enemy’s child didn’t seem like such a big deal to either of us. We didn’t think we were doing anything wrong, and we didn’t understand how it would ever work for us to stop being friends.

I peaked through the hole in the fence nonchalantly to get a peak at him, in case anyone was watching from the window. As far as they would know this was just my favorite reading spot. “You still working on that moped,” I smirked, book blocking my mouth.

“You still reading the same book,” he responded with the other end of our own greeting to let the other know the coast was clear. We had our own secret language and code words. We made sure nobody else would ever know, and that’s what made our bond so strong, because we were the only two people who could keep it alive.

Erin: The problem that I had with the government genetic modifications was that they thought they knew too much. They thought they knew that I a girl of my status would never give a guy of his status a chance. But I did. Not only did I give him a chance, I fell in love with him. Our chemistry was toxic when mixed though. I didn’t care tough. I let him hold me and I held him. While we were comforting each other we were also killing each other. However, I would rather live a short passionate life than a long life of nothing.

Write about what you shouldn’t be allowing.

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One thought on “Writing Prompt: Day 140

  1. The candy-cane-striped package arrived on Chelsea’s childhood doorstep, neatly placed beside the ‘Season’s Greetings’ welcome mat, Christmas morning with no note or return address. No one had seen or heard anything happening on the deck since the family cat, Jinx, had decided to bring them a nice dead mouse. As far as anyone knew, the only reason Matt, Chelsea’s fiancé, had gone out was for a smoke break, but it was really because her parents were going to be the death of him, he was certain. But since he was out there, he admired the way the smoke curled under the roof and scattered a small roost of chickadees from their warm spot in the eaves and noticed the tiny, brightly-wrapped box.
    When he swaggered back inside, inspecting and shaking the box like anyone would, he passed it quietly to Chelsea, who raised her eyebrows and narrowed her melted-caramel eyes. “No idea, hon, it was sitting on the mat when I was out there,” he answered her unasked question with a sniffle; man, it was freezing out there. The thin, plaid lumberjack jacket he wore back home wasn’t enough for the furious winters of Chelsea’s childhood, though he was more stylish than anyone for miles in their puffy winter coats. After a moment admiring the box, she placed it on the mantle and plucked her mother’s stocking down, putting on a brilliant smile that lit up the whole room, and passed it to her. Not another word was spoken of the mystery gift.

    When her parents had gone to bed, after a few too many rum and eggnogs on top of the white wine Chelsea brought for them, she kissed Matt goodnight and he lingered for a moment before yawning on the way to bed. It took her a few moments staring into the dying embers in the hearth to buck up the courage to open it; she’d known all along who the present was from, and that was why she ignored it at first. Settling into the fabric armchair with her peppermint tea and the box, she stroked the perfectly-creased wrapping paper and thought about the giver; the memories tinted rosy with nostalgia and too much alcohol. It had been so long ago, another time in all their lives, when she was deciding on the direction her life was going to take and a relationship with him would have thrown a wrench in those lofty plans.
    Gently ripping the tape and unfolding the package, Chelsea let the paper fall to her feet and stared at the tiny white box with scribbled notes written all around it like a note someone wrote to themselves. As she read the chaotic writing, she recognized the fast-thinking trains of thought and smiled inwardly at the giver. The inscriptions talked in broken sentences about broken hearts and soulmates and being alone for eternity; he’d always been a dramatic sort, hadn’t he?
    Within the box was a bracelet she’d pointed out one day at the mall when they’d been together. She’d only talked about it that one day, citing the price as too much to splurge on herself, and had forgotten all about the sleek silvery scrollwork that wound around a simple band until it was staring at her. On top of it was a tiny, folded piece of paper that had her name written in slightly-neater handwriting. Inside was a small poem he’d obviously written for her and a note that just said, “I always meant to give you this; I knew it would match the part of my heart you took with you.”
    An high squeaky sob fell from her lips as she read the line over and over to herself, unable to bring herself to even touch the shiny metal bangle. Their relationship had been a forbidden one of change meetings and longing, but it hadn’t left as big a scar on Chelsea as it had him.

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