For a fun way to get back into writing, Sam and I played a ten minute writing challenge tonight. We each wrote down five names, places, activities, or scenarios on scraps of paper, put them into a box, and drew them out randomly. Then we wrote on that subject for ten minutes. We each did three turns, so these snippets represent my three attempts. None of them got to the fully formed story stage and they likely have many weak elements to them, but I think that, with a lot of work, they each could potentially serve as the foundation for a story. At any rate, it just feels good to be writing again for fun. I haven’t written much of anything since I finished my thesis, and most of my writing for the past few years has been for class. It’s time to get down to it and write some stuff for me!
“The Playground” (Prompt: Playground)
Jeremy hoisted himself up the wooden siding that surrounded the slide. The slats were spaced just far enough apart to allow him room to slide his fingers in between. The boards were coarse, worn by years of rain, and snow, and sun.
“Come on, Jer!” Brian shouted.
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder and saw his best friend with his fist raised in a you got this, man kind of way. Six or seven other children were arranged in a haphazard semi-circle to the left and right of Brian. Some of them were mimicking his buddy’s confidence and support, while others were watching more intensely, as if anxiously awaiting the snap of a rotten board. Hannibal would definitely fall into the latter category. As Jeremy’s eyes met his, he caught a sudden flash, brief, but malevolent nonetheless. It wasn’t surprising. The two had been in constant competition since day one of kindergarten. Now that they were almost done with elementary school and puberty was beginning to initiate Darwin’s natural selection process within their ranks, it was increasingly important to both boys to win every single battle.
Today’s battle was making the climb.
“Gonna Fly Now” (Prompt: Run a Marathon)
The blood had started pooling in her sock around the twelfth mile. Jake had told her it might do that. The pavement was uneven and her shoes were falling apart. Rescued from the Walmart discount rack four months ago when it became clear that her window to get moving again was rapidly closing. She didn’t know what it was about those shoes—possibly it was the pastel pink shoelaces, or the cheap red reflector that the designer (do shoes in Walmart have designers?) had decided to include on the back, or maybe it was the thought of simply running away from everything. Racing against the constant stream of anger, betrayal, and missed opportunities until finally everything could pass her by and leave her free to move forward. Maybe it was just because they were her size. Whatever it was, April had picked them up and gone for a run around the block that same night.
It was during one of these runs a few days later that she met Jake. He was lean and strong. His muscles were not bulky, but instead were spread around his body in a very even manner. Efficient, Jake had called it.
“The Final Slice” (Prompt: Your family is starving and you only have one slice of bread. Who gets it and Why?)
Kenneth returned to the dining room table to find his family’s eyes looking up at him expectantly. The crumpled plastic bag rustled in his hand and four sets of eyes followed the noise to the source.
“There must be more,” Daniel, his oldest whispered with disbelief. Kenneth shook his head. “But that’s impossible. You said you were going to get more.”
“I know,” Kenneth began. “But I—.” He stopped there. There was no reasonable way for him to finish that sentence. Nothing he could interject that would remove the pall of despair that had fallen over the four people he had committed to keep safe and comfortable.
“Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it?” Daniel spat. “We’ve truly been reduced to dogs, fighting over a measly scrap.”
“Nobody’s fighting,” Kenneth said.
“How many slices are left?” Denise asked, rising from the table and holding out her hands for the bag. Kenneth reluctantly handed it over and covered his mouth as he watched her stretch out the plastic and expose the one, pathetic bit of bread left.
“We can split it,” she said, wrapping a comforting hand around his to ease the tremble.
“Lot of good that’ll do,” Daniel said. “One piece, split five ways? That’s hardly enough to bother swallowing.”
Lighting the Umbra 