Day 149 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Include the words cellar, whisk, and beggar.
Erin: There is a reason I refuse to go into the cellar. When I was a kid the beggar from downtown had found his way into the storm window and camped out in the corner. When I was playing hide-and-seek, I found him while I was running around looking for my brother. I was immediately terrified. He wasn’t looking to harm anyone, just looking for warmth, but since then I was terrified of finding something even more unsettling. So, when I was forced to clean out my parent’s wine cellar it was time for me to break my fear. I did, and the only unexpected thing I found was a whisk my mother must have forgot in the midst of cooking and grabbing a bottle. Replacing my old memory with one of remembrance of my mother’s nature helped me move on and for that I was grateful.
Shannon: “I need your help right away. You can set your stuff in the bedroom next to wine cellar. If I find even one bottle missing from those shelves I’ll kick you back out on the streets and you’ll be a beggar again. I’ll make sure you never find another job in this town. I don’t take you as the type to bite the hand that feds you, but I’ve been wronged before,” the older women explained as she directed me to the dark stairs. When I waited at the top she got a little impatient, “What’s wrong, what are you waiting for?”
“It’s dark,” I twitched. “Is there a light somewhere?”
She reached for the switch by the doorway. “Are you afraid of the dark,” she questioned.
I nodded, looking down, relaxed by the illumination.
“There is a switch near the door in every room. Do you think you’ll be ok, or do you want me show you?”
I tried to hold back my head from jerking, but I knew I looked uncomfortable. “No I’ll be fine,” I was telling the truth.
“Good, there is a shower down next to your bed room. Once you get cleaned up and changed into the uniform I gave you, come up here and I’ll teach you how to use a dough whisk. Move as quick as you can. The bread has to be ready by tomorrow morning,” she patted my back. I was happy she understood my movements. She seemed to know I couldn’t control them, and they weren’t a reflection of my feelings. It usually took people a lot longer to gain even a slight understanding of my disease.
Three words of your story is already done.