Writing Prompt: Day 145

145.jpgDay 145 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about someone who gets stuck in a situation without money.

Erin: “Oh no,” I smacked all of my pockets seven times before finally giving up.

“What,” my friend asked.

“I don’t know where my wallet is,” I felt my heart flutter.

“Of course, you did,” he griped.

“Not on purpose,” I argued.

“Yeah right.”

“Screw you. I’m going to go look for it.” I was fuming and determined to prove a point.

Shannon:  “Pay now, or you’re getting off the light rail at the next stop,” the man was stern.

“Please I’m just trying to get back to my hotel. Someone stole my bag and I don’t have anything right now. I don’t how to get back any other way. Please,” I begged genuinely. I felt naked without any lifelines on hand.

“You don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” he shook his head just as we stopped moving. “Out you go,” he directed me to the door.

“I’m not lying,” I reiterated before I took another step, wanting it to be the last thing he heard.

“You’re not the only one who needs a free ride,” he shoved my back coldly, causing me stumble out.

I headed over to the map with a goal to figure out where I was, and how far I needed to go. My journey wasn’t within walking distance, so I was going to have to get creative, or maybe find a kind stranger.

Money is not everything, but it is something, and your character does not have it.

One thought on “Writing Prompt: Day 145

  1. Standing under a bus shelter on the shortest day of the year, headed to my little sister’s perfect little Christmas dinner, I squinted at the graffiti-laden board detailing the routes and schedules. Obviously, the buses didn’t run, but I didn’t really want to show up at Anna’s house soaked from head to toe with snow in my hair, knocked-up and late. Plus, I didn’t have money for the bus, even if the rest of the world were shifting in my favour. My perfect sister’s dinner would have been spoiled by my toxic self showing up, anyhow; she married the perfect guy, had three spectacularly perfect children, and was a professional-level home cook.
    Deciding that memorizing the routes wasn’t going to get me anywhere, I sighed deeply and clutched my torn hoodie tighter around my shivering body; it was so cold I couldn’t feel any parts of my body. All the streets were deserted as people spent the evening with their families being loved and cared for. Every shop on this street had strings of Christmas lights hung low on their windows, cheerful sayings scribbled in neat printing, and looked like they’d all pitched in for matching Christmas trees.
    When I sat down on the icy metal bench to watch the snow falling down around me, illuminated by the festive streetlights, I could almost imagine it was the most joyful day of the year.

    Like

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