It seemed Granger’s Avenue attracted all sorts. Crazies. Magicians. Higglers. Sometimes even wandering clusters of orphaned kids. But strangest of them all was the dollmaker. An old man who left his kitsch creations on the gates of each house. Cracked, wooden caricatures that were sloppily painted with garish faces. Most cursed him as an evil omen, but each family that quietly thanked him were met with a gracious fortune.
Thanks to SammiCox again for a great word challenge. I’ve never used the word kitsch before; it sounds so fancy in spite its meaning 😅
I hope you were all able to have a fantastic Saturday 🌼
She only wanted his heart, but he wasn’t hers to possess.
It’s been a little over a year since I last participated in SammiCox’s weekend writing challenge. I didn’t get much of a chance to sit down with my books and thoughts today, but I still wanted to get something written — even if it’s just 11 words.
He’d been gone for an eternity. Time had tumbled from its axis the second the latch clicked in place. But, as soon as he returned to her, her ragged pulse calmed with her quieting sobs. He undid the iron cuffs securing her to the bed and she flung herself against him. In his hand was an apple which she took after she kissed him. Just as he’d taught her. Her yellowed teeth sank into the plump fruit. Juice squirted over her scarred lips.
“Are you satisfied?”
It had taken her months to learn the right answer: “You’re all I need.”
His touch was always like a phantom wind. A zephyr grazing her cheek. As if he was afraid fire would trail his hand and burn her. And he always kept his distance whenever they walked together. Careful that their hands never bumped or brushed together. The subtlety of his avoidance perplexed her. But she would swallow every question, losing concern in the glimmer of fondness from his silver gaze.
Maybe there was a condition he was sensitive to, something he wasn’t ready to share with her just yet. Which was fine. They’d only been talking for a month, meeting by the lake in the evenings beneath the indulgent starlight. And as they strolled that night, him listening to her recall a cherished childhood memory, she grabbed hold of his hand. Just to surprise him. Just to feel the warmth of his large hand within her own. But her fingers caught nothing, except a fleeting, chilling breeze.
There was an old museum set for demolition in a few days. But no-one cared for the history preserved inside. Some thought it should’ve been destroyed a long time ago for its preservation of faces from a generation lost and forgotten to time. It was nothing like viewing the preserved skin and bones of animals. This was different. Horrifying. Grey faces maintained with bulged stitches in glass displays, that were kept stretched over expressions of terror. Children weren’t allowed in that room. But college history students, like herself, could still access the room as long as she presented her school ID.
She sketched those faces on the last day the museum was open to the public. It was said he who forgot his past was doomed to repeat it. Something cruel had wiped out an entire generation. And she was going to find out what it was.
Sammi’s writing prompt has become my saving grace to an extent. I’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch with writing. My book is full of entries, but somehow I’ve become very hesitant to post these days. I don’t know what sort of funk this is. But I do hope everyone is doing well and having a happy weekend!
There were some people who couldn’t leave others alone. Julius had a natural curiosity towards people; he’d wave and smile at them. Strike up random conversations with an enviable disarming prowess that eased any doubt. He tinkered with the trappings that kept them in their shells and drew them out.
Naturally, he was popular. But not for his good looks or magnanimous charm. The bodies of his befriended targets kept popping up. One by one.
This weekend’s writing prompt inspired me to go with the sinister. Remember you can always take part in Sammi’s writing challenge and check out the creative entries by other writers on her page. I hope everyone’s having a great weekend!
He was clumsy their first night together. Despite bold intentions to make her his, an anxious quiver followed his roaming touch. Their noses bumped awkwardly with each rhythmless kiss. But that virginal ineptitude charmed her into steadying his amateur caress, guiding his touch and body into the fluid intimacy of lovemaking.
This prompt took several rewrites to trim to size. Odd number word limits can be so hard. If you’d like to participate in Sammiscribbles‘ challenges, check out her page for great prompts! I hope everyone’s having a great weekend 🦋
They didn’t have to say a word. The unrestrained sneers that tightened their faces to look like ugly, arrogant pigs, judged her as unworthy. Impure and unsightly. A whore. It didn’t matter that she had cried through her uncle’s brute advances. Her frightened screams, that had scratched her throat raw, had been silenced on forgetful winds in the night. Her swollen belly was their proof she had wanted him. They had no sympathy for the haunted vacancy sagging her pubescent face; only a scathing repugnance toward her soiled purity. Yet, she held her head high.
I thought I wouldn’t be able to write anything for this weekend’s prompt. But I thought of the word and societal biases; where women are help up to more harsh scrutiny than men in certain circumstances, which inspired this post. Sammiscribbles‘ is great with these challenges and you can join in too. Happy writing, everyone!
Something was wrong. Maxwell’s voice wasn’t the same chipper pitch she knew. She could hear the grimace in his even tone.
She swallowed, “Are you okay?”
“Olivia…this might be my last phone call.”
It took me a few tries before I found something to be solid enough (I think) for this prompt. Another challenging one; fitting a sensible story in 33 words isn’t easy. But thanks Sammiscribbles for helping me and other writers exercise our creativity. I hope everyone is having a great weekend!