Amy squinted at the mirror, fingers pressed to its cold surface framed in mahogany. Her expression twisted, confused at the empty space that should’ve shown her reflection. Everything else in her bedroom had one, so where was hers? She yelled out as her mother entered her room, gasping when she saw herself…in bed?
But…that’s absurd! I’m standing right here!
I’m a little sad since I broke my writing streak (unintentionally). However, SammiCox’s Weekend Writing Prompts still help me to stay on track.
I rewrote this entry a number of times, but I think this was the best way I could end it for a story in 61 words. I hope you’re all doing well! ✨
What do you see, through the looking glass? Fingers part threadbare blinds of faded scarlet. Eyes wary of the world spinning on apathetic hums; familiar notes of a known pantomime.
Phantom arachnids crawl over the senses with itching persuasion. What’s the point of going out today? Hang the mask back on the shelf. Pour a bowl of cereal. Let the radio fill the quiet spaces. Today, we won’t hang ourselves on the puppet master’s strings.
When energies like elements collide, something magical happens. Lightning bolts race down the spine as goosebumps chase the sensation of shivers so intense, it can hardly be contained behind a composed visage. That’s how it always happened in her mind, but perhaps she was being too romantic.
A day late for this prompt by SammiCox, because it slipped my mind. But better late than never! And this also helps me to keep up my writing streak. I hope you’re all doing well ✨🌼
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.
Rupert’s hand would always go to his pocket when his sensibilities strayed too far beyond the fray. His focus would glaze, amber irises dimming like the telltale signs of life slowly ebbing from a character in a tragic film. He’d rub the things sheltered in his left pocket. Three rubiginous balls. Cold, plastic shells cocooning the essence of the lives lost to him in the fire that razed his home three years ago. His three girls.
He’d stopped questioning his sanity at the faint, pulse-like vibrations thrumming from within. Instead, he’d learned to draw comfort from the warmth ghosting the scars that scorched his crooked fingers. The bones had never truly slipped back in place after that desperate attempt to break the grill with his bare hands and get his girls out. He clenched the balls tight, eyes squeezed shut to snuff the flames that licked at the edge of his memories. The screams faded from recall. He was almost certain he felt a small hand grip his own.
He looked out to the cyan loch softly rippling as seagulls called. His vision focused to catch the sun in a bashful descent of soft pinks and purples. He stroked the balls again. Rolled them around gently in his palm. Whether it was real, or all in his head, it was all he had. All he could cling to. It was all he had to keep him grounded.
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!