Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Writing Prompt Backload...

So, obviously I have not written some writing prompts. But I cam going to try to play catch up...

Writing Prompt #6: The Mail Is Here
She sends me a letter, a Thank You for my Thank You and I feel nauscious about opening it. Can't we just forget the holidays happened? Can't we stop sending forged promises about time we will spend together in the future? When can we decide that this year is not the dictator of the next few and let sleeping dogs lie at least for a few more months? She has picked out a nice card, one with a rose on it, and my stomach does a piroette. The paper feels heavy in my hands, like a cinderblock carried in the air between my fingers. She thanks me for a very special Christmas and all I have been saying is how awful it was. It is not easy to have Christmas dinner with a loaded gun on the table. Someone should have told her to buy applejuice instead.

Writing Prompt #7: Well-traveled
It was before midnight though felt much later. The pubs in Edinburgh close early, but this was a special pub and fell somewhere in between a nightclub and speakeasy. Most of the women had closely-cropped hair, mostly buzz cuts, as if all of the lesbians in Scotland were only allowed this hairstyle once it became known that hey were "different." My frined, the tall one who played basketball at Brown. The one with big brown doe eyes and a laugh that stole the attention of each room she crashed into, the one with the heart breaking right in front of me every European step we took, turns to me and coyly slips a clear drink out a red straw. She suddenly approaches me, hips rolling back and forth, the walk of a tiger before she devours her prey. She asks what I would if she kissed me. I slowly back up, not having an answer for her, not wanting to embarass her by not, not wanting to have an awkardness between each other as we continue onto London the next day. She carefully pins me up against a wall, balancing her weight on her front foot, leaning her arm above me and up against the wall and just before she goes in, She rolls her eyes. "Ugh, you are painfully straight." She focuses her attention back on her straw and she takes a look around at her options. "Are we in a gay bar or a lesbian bar?" I look to her, the expert, and we both decide it is time to leave.

1 comment:

Carmen said...

i love that story