Writing Prompt: Day 22


Day 22 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Make your character a prodigy at something mundane.

Shannon: Carl had a strange gift, but one that we all appreciated. He could clean up snow like no other, and never needed the help of any machines. Even when assistance was available, he’d never accept the help. They would only get in his way.

He told us he was going downstairs to clean up the parking lot about fifteen minutes before our workday was over. Everyone in our department immediately went to the windows. We never gave up the opportunity to watch, because the way he worked was nothing short of a dance.

His only tools were a shovel, a bag of rock salt, and his preferred blue and sliver snowbrush and scraper. He started with the sidewalk, shoveling it in a maze like pattern and releasing the build up with what looked like the flick of his wrist. After he was done he sprinkled the rock salt like confetti, spreading it with so much joy.

Next he moved onto the cars, he’d go around in the morning asking all of the employees during every snowstorm if they minded if he cleaned their car. Everyone was too grateful and trusting to deny his offer. Still he would ask anyway, too respectful to go on without permission. He was dusting the snow off the cars as if he were fighting off their demons, but still gentle on their structure as he scrapped away the ice hidden underneath. Snow was surrounding him like glitter. The way he cleaned snow turned the task into an art form.

Erin: “Do you have one of those folding mechanisms like they have a clothing stores,” my mom asked as she strolled into my walk-in closet.

“No,” I leaned on the door of the closet.

“So, you just folded these shirts like normal,” she asked holding up a white tee.

“Is that so hard to believe,” I didn’t get why she was so surprised. When I lived at home she always put my clothing away, but that didn’t mean I was incapable of doing the task on my own.

“The hems are perfectly lined up with the fold. It looks like a machine did this. You must spend hours putting this closet away, she continued to speculate.

“No longer than the average person,” I argued.

“You’re too much of a perfectionist, there is no need for them to be folded this perfectly,” she grumbled unfolding the top one.

“I don’t care if they are folded perfectly,” I illuminated fixing it within a few seconds. “I’m just good at folding.” I walked out as my mother looked to my closet in wonder.

Even something plain can be made amazing if someone has a talent for it. What is your character’s.

Writing Prompt: Day 21


Day 21 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Give us insight into your character by describing their wardrobe.

Shannon: “Was grandma ever in any plays? I asked from the closet, pulling out an outfit with a black plastic cover and set it on the bed.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s been mentioned to me a few times, but I have never been told many details. Why,” my father answered.

“I found a few of these in the back of closet,” I unzipped the cover, revealing a beautiful, green renaissance dress. “Looks like she’s held onto a few outfits.”

“Whoa,” my cousin, Amber, ran up. “She must have looked breathtaking in this,” she sprawled out the skirt to get a better look.

“Karen,” my dad called for his sister, who was looking through grandma’s photos, trying to figure out who should get what.

“Do you need something,” she questioned as soon as she was in the doorway.

“Do you know anything about the plays mom was in?”

She shook her head, sadly. “I used to ask, but she would always brush the conversation off. That women was so stubborn,” she wiped the corner of her left eye, and smiled. “But I did find some pictures. Why are you asking now?”

“Elise found some costumes,” my dad explained as Amber held it up to twirl dress around a bit.

“Oh my…” Karen didn’t finish her thought as put her hand over her mouth. “I asked her if she still had the costumes she made, and she told me she got rid of all of them.” She walked closer to examine its details. She smiled with a few more tears running down her face. “Let’s find out what else she kept.”

Erin: Tyler dressed for very few occasions, he always wore the same thing. A tee shirt and shorts would work for everything. Sometimes he would swap out his athletic shorts for khakis in events like formal weddings or awards ceremonies. If he really wanted to impress he would wear a polo shirt. His favorite combination was orange short and a black shirt with blue writing and a hole in the armpit.

I can remember a few times where he had to wear a button up and tie for a school performance. I would have said he looked nice, only all I could see was how stiff he was. Tyler wasn’t himself in those black pants, and I couldn’t blame him when he ripped them off the second he was home. Tyler may have been at risk for frostbite at times with his fashion choices, but at least he knew how he was happiest.

What you wear says a lot about you… I think they say that… What do you say?

Writing Prompt: Day 20


Day 20 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Start with the line, “Even canned goods go bad eventually.”

Erin: Even canned goods go bad eventually. They turn sour. If you let them in at that point, they will hurt you. I think people are the same. Most of us are produce. Once you buy us you have a short period of time before we go bad. The best people are frozen or canned. Lenard was canned. For so many years of my life he was there for me. He would always be there in an emergency.

I didn’t know his expiration date until it was passed. I think I had been avoiding looking at the passed day. When I opened him up, I knew he was gone. He wouldn’t nurture me anymore, he would make me sick. He would ruin any other food he touched. He already ruined her. She could have him, and they could rot together.

I wasn’t shattered by this realization though. I knew he was human. No one was truly non-perishable. Even the most kind, loyal people were just slowly spoiling. The only way to avoid seeing it was to chew them up and swallow them before you got to see the damage.

Shannon: “Even canned goods go bad eventually,” my dad shook his head.

“No,” I argued. “Hugo can race again. He can win. I know it. I feel it,” I pet my horse’s neck. “We can’t sell him,” I begged.

“You’ve grown attached to him,” my father pitied me. “I told you not to do that. We couldn’t have any horses if we made decisions off of feelings,” he scolded. “Say goodbye now. It will be easier. I’ll be sending him off in the morning,” he advised with an emotionless face.

I started leading Hugo to the stall, but I could read it in his eyes: he needed another lap around the track. He was born to run, and since the first time we raced together I knew I was born to ride him. We were a partnership, one so smooth we had our own language.

I hopped onto his back immediately, since we were both still geared up. I never had to push him to race, and over time I’d learned to let him talk control. He was the best horse we ever had, and my first winner. I cued him to run after a minute of taking in the starting line with him. As the wind was rushing across my face, I held on tight to the reins. If he could run any faster we’d be flying. One bad race, and we were supposed to give this up? My dad was wrong. He slowed down after the first lap, as he was trained to do. “You’re not going anywhere buddy,” I whisper, leaning forward to hug his neck.

This could go many ways. This is what we went with, what would be your story?

Writing Prompt: Day 19


Day 19 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Your character is stuck on a deserted island with an enemy.

Shannon: “Are you done spelling out help yet, or do you need me to bring you more rocks? This is taking way too long. There is only so much daylight left,” Russ complained.

“Shut up. I’m doing the best I can. You can place the rocks too if you are annoyed by my pace,” I defended myself, plopping down the rock I was holding more aggressively.

“I’m over this. I’m finding shelter and wood. We need a fire. Do it yourself,” he yelled before storming off.

“It wasn’t my idea to work together,” I mumbled, not feeling like putting up much more of a fight. In all honestly, I didn’t mind he was moving on to our next task. Not only would I get some freedom from him, but hopefully he’d complete his mission too.

When I finished the “P”, he had still not resurfaced from the trees. I could have faith in him, and believe that he’d done all he’d set out to do, but I knew him well, and that was unlikely. I started collecting my own fire building materials and piled them on the sand by the shore our raft washed up onto.

I still hadn’t found him after I was satisfied with my pile. I considered looking for him, but I knew he’d just yell at me for not doing anything useful with my time. I started carving out the stick I’d use to try to cause some friction. When I was at an acting camp as a child they challenged us to make a fire to teach a lesson on resilience. Based on the smoke that was steadily building, I could no longer say the instructors never taught me anything.

I had a strong fire building by the time Russ finally came back. “I couldn’t build a fire but I found a cave down the shore that way,” I heard him yelling before I could see him. “Oh, good,” he looked at my fire. “It turns out you are good for something.”

He pushed the last button keeping me under control. “You know what,” I got up to confront him, “Everyone who was on that plane with us didn’t make it to the raft. They didn’t get a second chance to appreciate the fact that they’re breathing. We could be dead, and all you want to do is spend whatever time you have left complaining,” I pushed his shoulders and he pushed back, accidentally knocking me to the ground.

“You think this is how I want to die,” he yelled, “Stuck on an island with a person I wouldn’t even want at my funeral?”

I smashed my hands into the sand, getting more riled up. “Do you know how sick I am of this stupid feud we’ve been having for the last few years? I get it, you think I stole your thunder. I stole you Oscar by being in the same movie as you and stealing the spotlight. I’m sorry I won, but eventually you’ve got to move on with your life. You can’t blame me for giving up on yourself. You’re a great actor, but now all you do is act like you’ve been wronged.”

“You didn’t play the role the way it was intended to be played. You went off script. I’ve been waiting my whole life to get in a movie with you again so I could prove everyone wrong, and now because of my selfishness my whole world went down with that plane,” I watched his face wrinkle and water slowly emerge from his eyes as he fell to his knees. He was in a relationship with the movie’s director, and my heart ached for him that he wasn’t able to save her.

I went over to rub his back, if he’d accept my offer, and he did. “She died doing what she loved, next to the person she loved most. We can only wish we’ll be that lucky” I stated and he nodded, breaking down a little more.

Erin: “Here, I had this in my pocket,” I offered Jim a piece of chocolate.

“What’s your motive fatty,” he mistakenly sassed back.

“My motive is that I was trying to be nice. Because dumb piece of trash, regardless of me detesting your presence, you are the one I am stuck with. You are the only person I have for potentially forever, so I was trying to be nice. But screw that and screw you. All gloves are off bub,” I grumbled deciding that learning how to make a fire was my best bet.

“Hey Jewels,” he ran after me. “Your right, I’m sorry.”

“This is never going to work. We are going to die here and the last ugly face I am going to see is yours,” I cried.

“No,” he put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be nicer. I actually really like you. We can have an okay time.”

“Yay, an okay time,” I mocked him, gathering up some twigs.

“No, what I am trying to say is I will put effort into this. I want a fresh start,” he offered.

“A fresh start,” I thought on it.

“Yeah,” he encouraged.

“Promise,” I asked not sure if I could trust him.

“Promise. Truce?”

A smile overtook my face as I knew my answer, “No I would rather be alone on this island than with you. I’m going to kill you.”

When in doubt make your characters’ lives harder.

Writing Prompt: Day 18


Day 18 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a story where the outcome is highly effected by weather.

Shannon: I watched my little sister looking out the window at the strong windstorm we were having. I thought she was just memorized by its strength, but then realized she was up to something as she grabbed a sheet of paper and slid it under the cracked window.

“Hey be careful. What you doing?” I ran over to her.

“I’m sending notes,” she smiled back at me and pushed another through the slot. It went zipping to the side immediately. It could end up anywhere in this weather.

“No you are littering,” I corrected her, picking up the rest of her sheets immediately. “Who do have to send notes to anyway?” I read the first one. Some letters were backwards and the words were spelt in kid’s speak, but I made out the first message. In crayon she had tried to write, I hope your day is happy and you smile a lot. I pressed my lips together, and smirked. She was more than a little adorable. “Is this for a friend?” I held it up.

She shook her head.

“Who is it for?”

“Everyone,” she cheered. “I want everyone to be happy. I drew them pictures too.”

I put my hand over my mouth. I was conflicted between whether I should cry or stop her. “Alright, I didn’t see you doing any of this if anyone asks, but that’s really nice,” I whispered putting up my hand to give her a very proud high-five.

Erin: My team had been working for years to make it to the national championship. The first time I pitched was before I could even read. So, I couldn’t help but feel like my life was leading up to this one life altering game.

In the bus on the way to the field I focused all of my energy into getting into the zone. My noise canceling headphones pared with keeping my eyes completely shut led to me successfully isolating myself in another land. I was about to head to another galaxy where the atmosphere would create the perfect medium to throw and wobble, drop, shake ball. I came up with that one when I was ten. Just as I hit the end of earths limits a tap on my shoulder brought me crashing back down.

“What,” I spat, my eyes landing on our catcher. He knew better.

“Look outside,” if I didn’t know better I would say we had crashed into a lake. The road was a river and the sky seemed to think there was still not enough moisture.

“Beautiful,” I was ready to go back and find my zone.

“Game’s cancelled,” he quickly elaborated, and just like that my life defining moment would be postponed for another day.

Some things are out of our character’s control… actually all things, they are in your control. Cool, you are powerful, use it.

Writing Prompt: Day 17


Day 17 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Your character is punished in a weird/funny way.

Shannon: “The only way we are ever going to go to breakfast tomorrow is if we have some kind of repercussion when we don’t want to get up,” Charlotte determined as I was climbing into my loft for the night.

“Yeah, but what repercussion can overcome morning brain?” The promise of a blanket’s warmth was my weakness whenever our alarms would go off and Charlotte would question if we were going or not. Then we’d get into a charade of “if you want to” and “I don’t care” and eventually fall back asleep.

“Ooo I’ve got an idea. How about whoever gets up first gets to slap the person who is still sleeping in the face,” she suggested and then giggled maniacally.

Even though it was dark I felt the need to lift my upper body to rest on my elbows and look over to her. It sounded like the worst possible way to wake up, but definitely effective. “Are you serious?”

“It will work, won’t it?”

“I mean yeah,” I agreed with a laugh, “But I’m terrified. How am I supposed to sleep?”

“You only lose if you fall back asleep. It’s not like I’m going to quietly wake up and slap you in the face. It’s only fair. Are you in?”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “Ok I’m in.”

Next Morning:

“Still want to get breakfast or do you want to go back to sleep,” Charlotte questioned.

“Are you going to slap me in the face if I go back to sleep?”

She paused, “No, I never honestly thought I could bring myself to do it anyway.”

“Ahhh, I think I’d rather sleep,” I decided, feeling less pressure to stay awake.

“Ok,” she yawned and that’s the last thing I remember before dozing off again.

Whack. I woke up to a sharp pain in my cheek, and saw Charlotte standing over my bed. “Ha ha, you lose.”

“Hey,” I rubbed my faced. “You said you wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know me at all,” she shook her head. “But hey, on the bright side we finally get a good breakfast,” she shrugged.

Erin: My mother has always been a fan of cruel and unusual punishment. In her defense, I have always been prone to cruel and unusual behavior. The punishment always fit the crime, to a terrifying degree. The first time I stole I had to anti-steal, and no, not give to charity like one would assume. I had to sneak my belongings into stores and leave them on the shelves, where they would most likely be forgotten or thrown out. It made the punishment that much worse.

The time my mother deemed a skirt inappropriate that I then wore the next day to school was a start of a long two months and the first ever double whammy. First, I had to go to church in it to be judged by God and Pastor Nicole. The following months I had to let my mother dress me. My mom had bad taste when she was happy. Angry mom would do great in outfitting haunted house workers. She even bought me some new clothing, so I would have a turtleneck appropriate for the 111-degree weather. I still cringe when I see my polka dot top, knowing I had once worn it with plaid pants.

When I spent the night with my boyfriend she kicked me out and said I would have to act like an adult if I thought I was one. Crashing in his house ended my relationship with that boy. I don’t know if mom knew back then we couldn’t make it if we got too close. I may have just pushed her past her limit. I used to think my mom was a little nuts, and now looking back as an adult I know she’s nuts. But then again, here I am putting a parental lock on every TV channel other than the learning one, so I have no place to judge. But I mean, I turned out okay, right?

How you get people to behave does not always involve behaving yourself… think on that, and think on this, and write on this!

Writing Prompt: Day 16


Day 16 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Let the three pictures inspire you.

Erin: I was taken from my home in the middle of one of my favorite memories. Dad says I need to start calling this my home, but I never will. The last day I was truly home I was out blowing bubbles with my father. I blew the biggest bubble I had yet. The bubble seemed indestructible. As it floated to a landing on the grass and rested I could swear it was a lawn ornament.

That all changed when the lady in pearls turned my orb into ice crystals. When the bubble froze past the tipping point it exploded into a glitter shield around her. Right before she disappeared the lady in pearls shouted, “It’s time Luke.”

Luke is my dad. Luke is now my teacher, my friend, my doctor, and my prison guard. Luke won’t tell me why we are here, or if we will ever get out. He is my only companion, but he refuses to admit what happened that day. He refuses to admit that we aren’t blowing bubbles anymore, but that we are trapped in one.

Shannon: I soon learned our lesson was in the woods today after decoding the note sitting on my teacher’s desk. I just needed to find a few more clues to lead me to him. The first one was hidden in a birch tree, the next under a well-studied stone, and finally I’d uncovered the red string that would lead me the rest of the way.

After a short distance, circling around a few trees and crossing one small stream, I’d reached my destination. He had his display board ready to go, and gestured for me to sit on a large tree stump. “Hey, I made it, don’t I get a prize,” I questioned, hopping onto the tree so I could squirm around until I was sitting pretzel-legged.

“You don’t get a prize unless you solve this riddle,” he corrected me.

“Boo,” I grumbled. “That’s not how this works.”

“How this works is I teach you to be a critical thinker. That’s why you’re in this class. Someone saw potential in you, and your prize is proving that they were right.”

“Well that’s no fun,” I folded my arms, trying to seem disinterested to get my way.

“You don’t find learning fun,” he asked, looking right through me.

“It’s a chore,” I lied, even though I secretly loved the challenge.

“Well that’s a pity,” he shrugged, “but you’re here, I might as well give you a problem anyway,” he waited for me to chime in, but I had nothing to add.  “So a woman with blonde hair, wearing pearls and a hat, is sitting in front of you. She presents you with three magical glass orbs, and says you may chose one as a gift and take on its power. One contains gold leaves, one contains rose petals, and the last one contains dandelion seeds. Which one do you choose?”

I thought for a few minutes, deducting what each one most likely symbolized. I figured gold symbolized wealth, the rose love, and the dandelion seeds power. Then again the gift could be deceiving.  Roses have thorns, dandelions are weeds, and gold can cause more trouble than it’s worth. There was too much risk in picking, and not enough information to deduct from. “I pick the pearls, if it’s an option,” I decided.

“I guess they are orbs,” my teacher smiled. “Sure you can have the pearls, but why not pick from the magic? What if one of the orbs had the power to made your life better?”

“You can’t miss what you never had. I couldn’t take the risk, because I couldn’t live with the regret. However, I am sure I could live with not choosing, and hopefully those gifts would come to me on their own.”

“Well, well. It looks like you don’t always need a prize after all.”

These picture ones are always fun, give it a go.

Writing Prompt: Day 15


Day 15 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Pick a popular villain and write an untold backstory.

Shannon: Gaston age 10:

“What silly game are you girls playing now,” Gaston questioned the twins, peaking in from their shed’s window.

“Ugh,” they pouted in unison. “None of your business, leave us alone Gaston,” Laura shooed him away and shut the curtain.

He quickly hurried to the door before they could lock it. “Hey, I’m not asking to make fun of you. I was just out hunting with my dad, and we came back early. Maybe I could play too?”

“This game is only for girls,” Paula argued, sitting at the table pretending to drink from her teacup.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Claudia added, cradling her doll. “We are playing house, and doing girl things.”

He pondered how he could stay for only a moment before coming up with an idea, “Well, I could be the husband. I could come in after a long day of trading. You must need one of those.” He longed to stay. The twins were the most beautiful girls in the town, and he couldn’t understand why, but he wanted their attention more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He’d do anything to impress them.

“We don’t need a husband,” Laura laughed. “We want the prince,” Laura turned the chair to reveal a painting of the young prince that they belted to the backrest.

The sight of the young royalty made his fists clench, he teeth lock, and his nose flair. “Now what’s so great about him?”

“He has a castle,” Laura smiled.

“And servants,” Claudia chimed in.

“And we’d be princesses,” Paula cheered, “which means he would invite us to the ball.”

“Plus he is so gorgeous,” Laura swooned folding her hands together. The other two nodded.

“I’m better looking then him,” Gaston grumbled. “Anyway, the prince doesn’t even know you exist. I’m the best you’ve got.”

The twins broke out into a fit of laughter. “You don’t even compare to the Prince silly boy. You’re ugly, you’re weak, and you’re poor,” Laura listed. “Who could ever love you?”

“You’re wrong,” he shook his head backing away, feeling heartbreak for the first time, finally learning how they truly felt about him. His foot caught on the doorway and he fell to the grown.

“And clumsy,” Paula pointed at him, using her other hand to cover her laughter as the other girls joined her.

“Goodbye Gaston,” Laura waved before shutting the door.

Erin: “Sheldon, when do you think this need to be the best started,” my therapist asked from her upright position in her chair.

“When did your need to be sitting taller than your clients start,” I scoffed scrambling out of the indent I was slowly slipping into within the lounge chair. She wrote some notes that I would surely be able to find a way to see after our appointment. She was in for a long ride.

“This is the office I have been given. Would you prefer we switch chairs?”

“Yes,” I ordered, knowing that answer would make her life harder.

“Lovely,” she tried to smile like she didn’t care. When she tried to offer me a lift I swatted at her gesture.

“I can get up just fine,” I scoffed. After wrapping my arms around the chair and making a steady climb the tuna took her own seat.

“Is this more comfortable for you,” she asked making more notes in her book.

“If I didn’t have to be here that would be better,” I offered.

“This is a requirement of your probation,” she reminded. “Let’s do a word exercise. I will say a word and you say the first one that comes to your mind.”



“Teeth “






“Krusty Krab”


“Chum Bucket”


“Mr. Krabs”






“When was the first time you saw yourself as small,” she asked. Her pen was racing after that exercise.

“When I first went to school, that was the first time that I realized my family was different,” I remembered back to my first friend. I remembered the first time his clumsiness brought me to the hospital.

“How did being smaller than everyone else make you feel,” she continued to push.

“Vulnerable, looked down upon, underestimated,” I started listing.

“Was weakness something that you believed connected with size on your first day of school,” she asked looking at me with a soft smile. People thought I was insane.

“Being small is connected with weakness. When you look like me you have to take care of yourself. The world doesn’t owe me any favors and is not giving me any. If I want something I have to take it.” I grinned making plans then and her eyes finally showed some fear behind them.

How could he/she? Let us know.

Writing Prompt: Day 14


Day 14 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Your characters bond over something unique.

Shannon: I sat down at my usual table in the library to get an early start on my homework. After whizzing through two Spanish worksheets I moved onto my assigned math problems. I got through the first equation with help from my notes, mimicking the one we went through in class. However, the next word problem had me stuck on where to even start. I’d have to save this one for my tutor after school. As I skipped it I realized I’d have to do the same with next one, and then the one after that, and another, and who was I kidding there was no point in continuing.

Why sit and struggle when I could spend my time doing what I really enjoyed. I pulled out the full script of The Things I Hate About You that I tried to discreetly print off using the library’s printer the week before without success. The librarian gave me the stink eye the whole time, not sure what I was up too, but I tried to pass it off as a homework assignment. She wasn’t buying it.

In my English class last year we had a lesson plan on scripts, and I’ve been obsessed with reading them ever since I got my first glimpse. I wanted to write my own someday, but I knew there were so many hidden secrets and rules I had yet to discover. For now I’d stick to studying them, and stepping into the writer’s initial vision.

“Excuse me,” a guy interrupted me when I was halfway through Kat’s dialogue. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to bug you, but are you reading a script?”

I was a little taken off-guard at why he wanted to know, but he wasn’t wrong, “A…yes,” I nodded and he immediately sat down in the chair next to me.

“Cool, I’m James by the way,” he introduced himself quickly, and continued to speed talk through what he had come over to say, “I love screenplays, and no one I ever met understands what is so special about them, but they are amazing right? There is so much thought that goes into these movies that no one ever gets to see. It’s like behind the scenes access. What movie are you reading? I’m reading Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” he continued to ramble without giving me a chance to answer. I laughed at his ability to keep going as if the conversation involved both of us. “Oh no, this is just a homework assignment and I just ambushed you didn’t I,” he cringed. “I tend to do that I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” I stopped him from getting up, feeling the need to say it three times to slow him down. “I do read them for fun, I’m reading Ten Things I Hate About You, you are absolutely right about everything you said about screenplays, I loved reading the Monty Python script,” I continued to list, “And my name is Mia. I think that’s everything,” I smiled.

He looked a little embarrassed, but happy at the same time. “I guess I got a little excited. Tell me more.”

Erin: The first seven times I met my best friend we didn’t talk. We were both sat at a bench in the park. I was there every weekend and it was becoming abundantly clear he would be frequently aligning up with my visits. “I’m Kenneth,” I introduced myself one day.

He told me his name that day and that was the end of our conversation. He didn’t want to talk, and to be real, I didn’t when I was there either. A few weeks later as we both sat in silence. He invited me to get brunch with him. We did.

As we worked on our giant omelets we discussed our love of turning off our electronics and spending a few hours when we had a free chance people watching. As we slowly became closer it became abundantly clear we had a lot in common and a lot to talk about. We never talked at the park though. The park was for quiet, reflection, and judging.

Whoop, there it is. What weird things can you come up with that people could bond over?

Writing Prompt: Day 13


Day 13 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a story where someone gives someone else flowers for an unusual reason.

Shannon: I placed the flowers in front of him on the kitchen table. “Who gave you these,” he questioned.

“No one,” I explained, “Actually, they’re for you.”

He gave me a funny look, like I had lost my mind thinking this gift was something he could appreciate. “Why,” he tried to mask his disapproval.

“They’re called forget-me-nots,” I attempted to lead into the true reason.

“Ah,” he flashed a smile with an uncomfortable amount of force. “I like how blue they are,” he humored me. “My favorite color, is that why you picked them out?”

“No,” I sighed. They were a front for what I really wanted to say, the good news before the bad. “I picked them because I want to break up. I’m sorry. I don’t think this relationship is working for either of us anymore.”

He started staring at the petals, and I watched his mouth curve in a sad smirk. He looked blindsided. The one reaction I didn’t want see. “Mmm,” he hummed, “So you are another girl that hates me now?”

I shook my head, “No,” I argued, “Why would I give you flowers if I hated you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand you. Why would you give me flowers at all? This isn’t exactly a situation that can be brightened with flowers,” he placed his head in his hands.

I paused, surprised to see him so upset. I didn’t think he would give me the time to explain. “I didn’t buy them thinking they’d be your band-aid. I hate doing this. I can’t stand that just because I don’t want to date you anymore it means I am supposed to say goodbye forever,” my words caused his face to reappear. “I also don’t want your only memory of me to be how we broke up,” the word was harder to say than I expected. “We had some really good times didn’t we,” I smiled, as my eyes started to water.

He nodded.

I reached out to cover my hand over his and squeeze it tightly. “Than promise that when you think of me in the future you’ll remember the good times,” I begged.

He stared for a bit, but his eyes slowly lightened, “Of course. How could I not,” he gestured to the flowers in an attempt to lighten the mood for both of us.

Erin: Logan is my lab partner. He is the quite mysterious black haired kid in the back corner of the room. Sometimes when I look back at him our eyes lock for a moment and he blinks once holding the contact before going back to looking at the professor. I always feel like he knows something I don’t.

As we go through rewording our report to meet the template requirements we were given he slides my computer out of my reach. “What are you doing,” I question, a little skeptical of what my favorites and search history will reveal about me.

“It’s my turn to type,” he doesn’t even look up, just starts transferring our notes.

“Cool,” I oblige. My experience with male lab partners had been spotty. I know that I shouldn’t categorize the bad partners by their private parts. In my defense, at one point in time one of them told me he knew I would do the work if he didn’t, because I was a girl. That slightly justifies my sexism, right?

“You’re very intelligent,” he says in the middle of typing.

“Pardon,” I’m not sure how to react to his statement.

“I’m checking the grammar,” another thing other lab partners “trust me” to do. “How you write shows how smart you are.” He looks up. His eyes are a mix of gray and blue. The muddling of the blue suits him. He holds my eyes longer than he ever does in class.

“Thank you. The fact that you say that, makes you intelligent in my opinion.” He gifts me a chuckle. “I am absolutely famished. Do you want to meet me at the Pizza Pit?”

“You don’t have to invite me,” he offers as we both packed our bags.

“Every rational student has eaten by now. I can’t eat a whole pizza by myself. You’re coming.” Logan has his lip pierced, so when he smiles the metal flashes the light in my eye.

I order without him, because mysterious boy may have stood me up. The bacon chicken ranch pizza is placed on the table and not even seconds later flowers are placed next to them. I shoot my confused eyes to the culprit muddling up the perfect table of pizza. Logan. “Um, they’re just to thank you.” He seems confused by my confusion and the whole restaurant is flooded by discomfort.

“I have to be your lab partner,” I remind. Reaching to the bottom of the physics hat has resulted in me getting flowers from rose tattoo boy, Logan. Logan, is my lab partner. Logan’s flowers look like Logan’s tattoo. I’ve always been well aware of his presence in our class, but the name I learned from the hat of fate.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to invite me to eat with you. I’ve never been invited to hang out with anyone outside of class,” the blue in his eyes intensifies in the light. His voice is like frosting, I find his statement hard to believe.

“Well oh boy, now that you brought me flowers this is a date,” I shrug.

The blush that overcomes his face gives his harsh appearance an innocence, “this doesn’t have to be…”

“Too late,” I enjoy the red being upped a shade at a time.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated.”

“Hey idiot. I’m smart remember. You brought me flowers for being nice. I want this to be a date,” I take a bite of the pizza. “You’re not vegetarian are you Logan?”

“No,” once his lip ring escapes him pulling it into his mouth it sends off countless happy flashes.

I would give you flowers for reading this, but that seems like…impossible. The story is the only gift we have I guess.