Writing Prompt: Day 156

156.jpgDay 156 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a character that can manipulate one of the four elements.

Shannon: “Hey Dahlia,” I heard his snobby voice above my head, and as usual it made my skin crawl. I looked back to see he was sitting in the tree, legs resting on a large branch. “Does it bug you that I can destroy everything you ever you’ve ever created in a matter of seconds,” Ryker questioned juggling a flame between his hands.

I usually ignored his threats, trying to keep the peace and prevent him from ever acting to prove the strength of his power. However, as I looked at my garden of flowers I couldn’t hold tongue any longer. “You think I’m afraid of you ability to destroy,” I got up to move closer.

“I think you should be,” he held the flame close to the tree’s bark to tease me, but I didn’t react. I wasn’t going to beg, not this time.

“Destruction is easy. You don’t think I couldn’t do just as damage as you, if that was what I really wanted? Anyone could,” my blood was boiling and I was starting to get louder. I must have kept my anger in too long. “Destruction is not unique, and it’s not impressive. It’s weak, and it’s a quick way out of tough situation. Creating something that makes a difference in someone’s life, now that’s hard. That takes a lot more thought and effort than a quick flick of a wrist. What have you ever built, but a firestorm that ruins every good thing it touches? But go ahead burn it all,” I pointed at a harmless patch of life. “When the flames are out you’ll have so much left to show for it, and sadly I know you’ll be so proud.” I breathed out shaking my head. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the flowers, admiring them one last time before walking away.

“Hey,” he yelled as I heard him jump to the ground. I turned back, ready for him to throw the flame at me, but it was already out and it wasn’t in my flowers either. “I can create warmth. Isn’t that good?” He seemed conflicted, and his face was strained as he waited for my response. Apparently he didn’t need me to point out what he already knew.

“Warmth is good,” I agreed, “Warmth is really good.”

Erin: “There is no way that we are going to be able to get to the other side of the mountains in time.”

“Says who,” I challenged rubbing my hands together.

“Me, math, science, any kind of logic.”

“Well you all clearly don’t know me,” I thrust my hand at the first mountain and it sprouted pink flowers.

“Wow, pretty flowers will make up for our impending doom,” she challenged starting to walk with a chuckle.

“Don’t doubt me,” I pointed at the next mountain and it turned orange, the next only grew bigger until I got to the forth and it disappeared. I continued that motion rapidly until our path was clear and drivable.

“How did you…”

“I told you I can manipulate the earth with my mind. Whose sanity are you questioning now?”

Which of the four will your character get?

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 156

  1. (Go big or go home, right? Well, my goal for January is to write an average of 2,000 words a day…)

    I woke up in a strange, humid dorm room to horribly loud snoring across the room, the culprit’s figure obscured by the darkness that stuck to everything. Scattered about the spacious chamber were odd piles of neatly-folded clothes and textbooks that hadn’t yet been sifted through; both of us had brought way too much literature with us. Glowing peacefully in the far corner was a miniature salt lamp that Jane, my dorm mate, promised would be good for the energies in the room. While I think she’s likely full of it on that one, it does cast a warm, comforting light on the otherwise murky room. Outside our bay window, a pleasant walkway snaked through towering maples and ambled up to the main campus building.
    As I peered through a crack in the blackout curtains, the silvery moon shattered the clouds and cast its spectacular glow upon the stark marble façade of the main building, lighting it up as though the stone itself were alive. But, a few minutes later, the sphere moved on and was shrouded in cloud again. Sprinting along the path was a dark figure with a flowing cobalt coat that trailed behind them in the still air. I shifted my covers to I could follow the shadow as it jogged up the alabaster staircase on this side of the building before it was blocked from view by a massive tree trunk. Even four storeys up, I couldn’t make out where they’d got to.

    Because Jane and I had arrived a month before regular classes began, we decided to stick together as much as possible; Port Obscurity was on a massive island dominated by Winter’s Bend University, and was difficult to navigate if you didn’t know where you were going. In the first week we’d been thrown off course attempting to get to the first of three coffee shops in the village no less than eight times. Trying to arrive in the gorgeous greenhouses on the other end of the campus, for example, in a timely fashion seemed impossible, though some returning students had found ways to get around the time requirements.
    It wasn’t until a couple days before classes were to begin, we already had our demanding schedules perfected, when we discovered the real way students got to their classes on time.
    Jane was basking in the few hours of sunlight that managed to squeeze through the clouds as I sat on the concrete edging of one of the great fountains that peppered the extravagant landscape. Off in the distance I spotted a small group of well-dressed students who were deliberately making their way across the open field, gossiping amongst themselves like a gaggle of geese. When the tallest, perhaps most dashingly handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on, thrust his hand out to me with a fake smile plastered on his chiseled features. Taking it and wringing it heavily, I felt a spark of electricity shoot through our intertwined fingers, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, I’m Dan. I see that you’re new and figured you might like an invitation to this party some of us,” as he drawled on in a caramel voice, he gestured widely at the group, “are throwing.”
    Reaching into his dinner jacket pocket, he pulled out a rather official-looking parchment sealed with old-fashioned wax and a complicated seal embedded in the wax. As I was gazing at the letter, the fountain behind me let out an enormous blast of icy salt water and showered us all with the brine. In shock, I muttered a rushed apology and, without a parting glance at the boy, I grabbed Jane by her sleeve and ran toward our dorm room.
    Across the intricately-patterned paving stones we clattered until we’d reached the misty grove of trees I’d come to call home, where we finally stopped to lean against the rough bark to catch our breaths. When she’d managed to gulp down enough oxygen to satisfy her brain, Jane laughed out loud in a genuine nature and asked, “What the heck was that about, Nira? Why’d we run?” Though her expression was of shallow interest, leading me to assume she was simply annoyed at being dragged away from the sun, the questions she posed panged uncomfortably in my heart like hitting the wrong note on an old guitar.
    Pausing to wrap my mind around the sudden, impulsive actions, I sighed deeply and put on my most convincing nonchalant face, “Well, I was just so surprised by the water going off like that, and that Dan guy was super hot, that I freaked, okay? Sorry Jane, I was just a little odd,” I concluded my explanation with my audience seeming to ignore me in favour of her perfect nails. If I hadn’t met Jane before term began, I likely wouldn’t have become friends with her at all; she was too self-involved and was too hipster for me to even describe. Every single item she brought from home had some kind of cultural importance, not to mention her taking only the most popular classes and being adamant on finding the best clique for us to join.

    After that afternoon I was nervous about accidentally creating that kind of chaos with the fountains and steered clear of them as best I could; yes, I can control water to a degree, but the power mostly controls me. Fortunately for me, Jane didn’t notice when a glass of water was suddenly squirming across the floor like a gelatinous organism or when that night the rain dripped up our window panes like some bizarre form of gravity manipulation. My powers over water had been on the fritz since I shook that jerk’s hand and I couldn’t figure out why or how to fix it, especially without giving Jane any ideas. When I squealed at the window, though, Jane had huffed angrily, said she might be back and left the building with a change of clothes and her purse.
    My luck had turned with her departure, but when I went to retrieve my waterproof diary from the bag I’d been lugging around all day something slipped to the floor and lay there, pleading with me to open it, on top of some of Jane’s crumpled t-shirts. I lifted the letter from the floor and held it in trembling fingers to my bedside light, listening intently in case Jane came back from wherever it was she’d said she was off to in the dead of night. Examining the seal, I noticed something strange; instead of a crimson crest, like the one Dan had attempted to give me, the flowery symbol was pressed into shivering ice-coloured wax. Though I couldn’t say for certain, I had my suspicions that the crest was different as well.
    For a few moments I ran through the afternoon in as much detail as my mind would allow, attempting to understand how someone, likely Dan or one of his followers, had managed to slip the letter into my bag without my noticing. It wasn’t until I shook my head that I realized I hadn’t actually opened the letter to see where or when this party was; perhaps Jane had received a text, because that was a much more likely form of communication than medieval paper letters, and had gone to the party without me. Fearing I may be snuffing the only other student I’d really met since my arrival, I tore through the seal and unfolded the parchment.
    Scrawled in neat, looping handwriting was a short note addressed to me by name, and with a disturbing notation beside my name.
    Dear Miss Nira Adrelli, Aqua,
    We regret to inform you that the gentleman who was in contact this afternoon is no friend to you, or your roommate, Jane. While this may come as a surprise, his wiles are beyond our measure, we assure you that our assessment is true and just with regard to his character. Had you accepted his letter and attended the party, the eventualities are too dire to put into words without scaring you from our fair university. Instead, I must implore you, and Jane, to attend our meeting to be held at 11pm tomorrow night. Within this letter is a key and you will find a riddle at the end of the note, in case anyone of unsavory intentions were to confiscate it. To solve the puzzle you will need to use your powers as an Aqua elemental.
    In place of a signature was a short line: Under the petals lies our sign, your power will reveal the line. As I read the riddle over in my mind, digesting the insanity of the whole thing, the obvious dawned on me as brightly as the summer solstice sun.

    Scampering across the field in the middle of the night, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as rain coated my light hoody. Not wanting to be recognized in the scattered light posts, I wore a pair of baggy pants, a bulky hoody and kept the hood up over my face. I ducked around the shimmering pools of light and muttered under my breath about the stupidity of being out in the cold and wet; I was going to have a cold just before classes started.
    But when I was leaning against the concrete surround on the fountain we’d been lazing by, I shuddered at the memory of salt water spraying up because of me. It stay calm, though, as I moved my gaze to the enormous blossom that was spewing a steady stream of crystal clear water into the night sky. Leaning down with my face almost touching the water itself, I could just make out some odd bumps below one of the flower’s massive petals. Without thinking about what I was doing, I reached a hand over the choppy water and pushed the liquid down and away from the bumps.
    As I did this, I felt someone’s eyes on me and lost my grip, water splashing around my hand and soaking my sleeve with an icy chill. Swearing under my frosty breath, I turned to watch a shadow creeping across to my dorm building to hide behind a large fern bush. The light was still casting a brilliant glow through the curtains of my dorm, because I didn’t want anyone to suspect us of sneaking out in the middle of the night, but I hadn’t anticipated it attracting attention.
    Turning hastily back to my work, I took steadying breaths, and began again with moving the water away from the inscription. “Three-hundred-and-eighty-two, nine, four,” I whispered to myself in the torrential downpour, committing the sequence to memory, though the puzzle seemed far from over.

    When I finally arrived back at my dorm, having made sure the figure I’d seen before was nowhere to be seen, I write the numbers down and mulled them over in my mind. Obviously the three-hundred number was a classroom, because there were nearly five-hundred classrooms on the campus, if not more which just didn’t have numbers yet. It was a long night of tossing about before I could get to sleep with the help, begrudged, of Jane’s stupid salt lamp.

    The next afternoon I ditched Jane in the village, after faking a stomache ache, and disappeared down one of the echoing hallways, took a few turns, attempted to appear as though I had a legitimate purpose being in a deserted hall on a sunny day and finally found the right one. As far as interesting doors went, the three-hundred-and-eighty-second classroom’s door was classically intriguing. With deep veins that ran right from the top to bottom and wrought iron handle and numbers set into it, the style was old and rich. Panelling was hand-carved into the surface as though the crafter had suddenly remembered to put more interest into their work at the last minute, but it was exquisite in execution.
    As I placed my palm on the solid wood I felt a surge of understand, as clear as a bell, wash over me. “Of course, panel number nine and turn the key four times,” I murmured and practically skipped back to my dorm. I’d solved the puzzle and would be attending a secret meeting; I just hoped I’d have time for all that and schoolwork.

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  2. Heather passes the corner, only to be blown back by the Inhuman. She hits a brick wall, crumpling to the ground. She looks up in time to see the Inhuman running away.
    It’s just a little boy.
    She watches him go around another corner, then stands to find Coulson and the team. “Did you find the Inhuman?”
    “You mean the little boy that knocked the wind out of me?” Heather asks, “yeah, I saw him.”
    Coulson gets her hints, “We need to bring him in?”
    “Why? He’s probably scared-”
    “Regardless of his age, he’s dangerous,” Mack states.
    “Did you think I wouldn’t come onto the mission if I knew his age?”
    “You would have had to come either way,” Coulson states.
    “Then why didn’t you tell me?” Heather asks.
    Mack gets a beep, “He’s on the move, this way.”
    Coulson steps in front of Heather, “You need to give more effort.”
    “If I don’t will I be taken off Inhuman round up?”
    “If you don’t, I’ll report you aren’t cooperating. Which means you’ll be here longer, and neither of us want that,” Coulson corrects.
    “Then don’t tattle tale,” Heather brushes passed him.
    “I have to be honest in my reports.”
    “But not honest with those under you, right?” Heather asks over her shoulder. Coulson sighs, following Mack as well.
    “What would Captain Rogers say at a time like this?”
    “Compartmentalization is the first step away from trust building,” Heather says, putting her back to a corner and peeking around it. Coulson can’t help but agree.

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