Write a Story That Uses a Church in an Interesting Way

The deal is done; the residences of 5966 and 5968 Davy Lane are no longer.

The much argued and debated condos of the former St. Augustine’s Catholic Church are completely vacated and the ownership has changed hands.  The town of Rosemeyer is now in possession of the building and land, thanks to the Estate donations of five community leaders.

As the days go by, Rosemeyer residents go on their daily lives, stopping every so often to drive down the dead end lane that leads to the Church.  The community watches as tradesmen go in and out, bringing out demo material and appliances; and bringing in gyproc and paint.

After many months, the long and hard work is completed, and the former St. Augustine’s Catholic Church – which had once been transformed into swanky condos – has become a community centre for a growing and diverse town.  Condos, converted into meeting rooms, a daycare, a place of worship for smaller demographics within the community, a place for youth to escape from bad influence and meet with mentors…  The building, so long ago blessed, is now returned to Rosemeyer in full.

Write a Scene That Makes No Sense at All

He once wore a yellow cap that had no brim.  It was well known that this Sunday would bring the most horrible of people to town; his mother-in-law.  An awful and most peculiar fact about the town is that it had no official clock.

If only a centaur would come by, she would know how exactly to cook the pie.  Sometimes advice is needed, even when no one knows what you are doing and a secret must be kept.

Back at his front step, Peter kneeled on the knobbly cement and attempted to peel a strawberry, fresh from the rooftop.  The mayor arrived in the afternoon as expected and his sister squealed with agony while he continued to reconstruct the squirrels nest from no certain memory.  They all slept.

Write a Story Using at Least One Swedish Word

Oh the food coma.

At least once a year, your family has a celebration of some kind…or, at least, most seem to (provided they are speaking to each other)…  At this celebration – whether it is Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, the Matriarch’s birthday, or an end-of-summer soiree – it is traditional to fill your plate from the hot buffet and cold smörgåsbord, talk with your mouth full of delicious eats to various family members, and then once again return for more of the home-cooked-goodness and family favourites that currently surround you.

Once you are sufficiently stuffed, it is then common practice for the desserts to be laid out in an incredibly appetizing manner.  This visual torture is only increased ten-fold by the gorgeous vapors of brewing coffee and tea floating through the air, and the knowledge that if you don’t eat Great-Aunt Iris’ apple pie now, you might not ever taste that five star flaky pastry and perfectly spiced filling EVER AGAIN.  She won’t live forever, after all.

So, although stuffed to the point of exhaustion, you select what you believe are the smallest pieces and slices of everything delicious, and eat. every. last. crumb.  Every morsel makes it in, and not an item is wasted.  “A moment on your lips, forever on your hips”?  Whatever.

Then the food sweats start in, and you regret that last bit of pound cake immensely.  You think that a tea might settle things, but on the drive home you realize that all it did was increase the likelihood of sour burps…  In agony, you roll out of the car and head inside, only to drop your keys and crash onto the couch.  The TV comes on, and there you lie in the annual family food coma, telling yourself that next year will be different.  For reals.  Next year you’ll be different.

*burp*

Describe the Colour Red. Stay Away from the Expected.

The colour red is in unexpected places.

Red is in the colour of the twisted thoughts that come when you’re alone.  The thoughts that make you feel insecure in yourself, in your relationships both romantic and platonic.  Red is what drives the shaky feeling in your chest and the knot in your gut when you have no idea what is going on and why things are so quiet.

Red feels like green, sometimes.  Sometimes, when it’s quiet, the red feels like green and in response, the green brings back the true feeling that is RED.  Complementary, yet entirely different – and still; the same.

Aloneness often feels like red.  Dark, solid, strong, and surrounding red.  The pigmented walls that surround each layer of yourself that is hidden from the world and those who you’re yearning to let in.

Red is hunger.  But not the hunger for food….the hunger for…  The hunger for all of the things you worry about.

Write a First Person Narrative with Your Non-Dominant Hand

(Since I write my entries in a blog, I figured I’d write this one on paper with my non-dominant (right) hand, and then just upload a photo of my attempt.  Feeling pretty crummy right now, so bear with my mopey words….)

Use the Word “Rummaged” in a Way You’ve Never Seen it Used Before

Piles.

Slightly slipping stacks of stories, piles of memories and grief.

No catalogue, just chaos.

A slight rumble – a shake; the somewhat organized masses fall.

What were once piles, are now a disorganized and disastrous mound of tales and woes.

Still, bright corners stick out from the black pages.

White flecks among the dark.

When the right moment comes, one must dig.  You dig and you find those white pages.

You dig and exhume, you turn over and probe.

The pages are compiled, and all is right with the world for an instant.

You have rummaged and saved the bright moments from the pile of darkness that seems to be “life”.

Flipping through the pages brings relief; if only for a moment.

Soon the wind picks up and the black pages swirl.

You startle and trip, you drop those white pages.

The world spins and turns and mixes the good and the bad.

You suffer and stack, attempting to make sense of the mess you’re standing in.

It all begins again.

Write a Scene from the POV of Darkness (Darkness as in Lights Out, not Evil)

I love the afternoon.

In the afternoon, I prepare for MY turn.  As Light departs for slumber, I flicker in with shades of grey, navy blues, and finally my rich, inky black.

My late afternoon sweep over land and sea reminds the people of earth that it is soon time for dinner, soon time for dates, soon time for private and quiet moments.

My flooding into windows and rooms reminds parents that it is soon time for little ones to have their baths and be read a story, before drifting off to dreamland.

My emergence rings the alarms of those on the night shift and the yawns of those heading home from a day of work.

My presence brings out the stars and the aurora borealis and removes the risk of blindness and sunburns.

Unfortunately, the people of earth sometimes interpret my presence as a way to get away with horrible, horrible things.  Murders, assaults, theft, arson…you name the crime, and it was likely done with me in the background (there’s such surprise when a negative event is done “in broad daylight”….Light has it so easy, you know?).

I rule the night, and in some places of the world, the day as well (although only for about six months of the year…I share with Light – it’s only fair).  Eventually, the hour comes and Sun stretches wildly, shining in rays of all sorts of colours….reds, pinks, purples, oranges, yellows (she’s far too bright and cheery in the wee hours of the day.  Morning people, sheesh).

As Light wakes and rises, I feel sleep grasping at me…good-day, all.

 

Write a Scene from the POV of Darkness (Darkness as in Lights out, not Evil)

It makes me giggle silently, every time.

The power goes out, and they stumble; whacking toes on table legs, forgetting to not flush the toilet (those with wells, that is) after they wee in the dark, not remembering where they put the candles and flashlights….complete hilarity.  The house-pets get a kick out of it too, honestly.  They have those reflecting things in their lenses (I’m no biologist, okay?) that allow them to see in the dark, you know?  They sit and watch their humans bang off things and curse from boredom as they sit in the dark (because no one can ever find their damn candles and flashlights!  Honestly!).

I admit I’m not a fan of this crazy ‘daylight savings time’ the humans have come up with…  Why can’t they just rise with Dawn and slumber with me, like way back yonder.  Now they’re fighting themselves out of bed with alarms and lights and caffeine….they know they oughta be in bed still, but some corporate loony decided to shake things up…..bastards.

It’s been nice chatting with you, but as you know, I have to keep a move on…the world is round, after all.  Darkness never rests, and freakin’ Dawn is on my ass, as always.

Write a Story That Contains Only Non-sequiturs

(this is freakin’ HARD…I have no idea if I’m doing this correctly………

Literary devices, I squish ants on me……!!)

Sara had brown hair and Joseph had a bicycle, which were nauseating realizations for both of them.

Joseph once ran a marathon which reminded him that Sara had promised him a roast beef dinner which, then, made him suddenly crave her homemade waffles.  Sara figured he needed waffles like he needed a extra pillow on his bed.

Joseph ended up inviting Sara over to his backyard for breakfast where they drank margaritas and watched old reruns of ‘Mr. Dressup’ (which of course were shown on FOX) with the radio cranked loud so that the Russians could hear it.

After they had had enough of the shenanigans, Sara asked Milton to go to the city with her so that she might marry the plumber that fixed the broken door at her school last week.  Milton agreed, and off Sara went with Joseph to the local general store, to meet with the foolish man from church and smack him around a little bit.

Once her shock and dismay over the entire situation passed by, Sara left the mall and found Joseph skipping in anger down the street.  They piled into the red wagon and made their way to the gas station, where they bought some fruit.

Joseph persuaded Sara to stay at the carnival by feeding her tortillas and ketchup, one by seven, as they galloped all the way back to the campsite.

Although they left dead and in their work dress, they arrived angry and completely aware of their former locations.

Sara now had Josephs firetruck and he decided chocolate was for losers.

 

In the beginning.

Write a scene that starts with the line, “Short? SHORT?”

“Short?  SHORT?”

Jason threw up his hands, turned around and walked away, mumbling to himself.

Laura stormed after him; “yeah, you’re SHORT.  You’re insane, you’re cruel, a-a-and you’re SHORT.  Fuck it, I’ll be honest.  You may think you’re perfect, but boy – you’re not.  You chew with your mouth open, you spit and fart in public, you can’t go out and call it a ‘good time’ unless you get pissed drunk, you never finished university, you haven’t stayed in a job for more than a year and a half without getting fired or storming off like they wronged you somehow, you….JASON, I’M TALKING TO YOU”

At those words, Jason stopped dead in his tracks, head hanging.  “Laura -” he sighed, “Laura, it’s obvious this is over.  Why can’t we just walk away and be done with it?”

As she walked around to face him, Laura stared at his hanging head, wide-eyed.  She never turned her back to him, not wanting to show weakness like she had so many times before.  This was the last argument, the last fight.  This was it, this was all there would ever be.

“I loved you.  How could you say things like that to my…”

He snapped his head up, staring her right in the eyes: “Laura I was DRUNK – I…”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR FUCKING EXCUSES ANY…” Laura’s voice caught in a sob.  She stopped, took a deep breath, and continued: “I don’t want to hear any more excuses.  I am beautiful no matter my size, I am not a bitch, and I am certainly not your fucking maid.  I am better than that, and I’m better than YOU…then what YOU gave me – no, HAVEN’T given me…you’ve never fulfilled a promise.  Your true thoughts have come out after all this time, and there’s no sealing them away.  I’m done.”

Jason watched her stifle a sob, and wipe away her tears.  He wanted nothing more but to comfort her – hold her…  He wanted to take away her pain, remove the hurt that he knew he caused, time and time again.  He wanted to make her love him again, see that things could be different, but he knew there was only hurt in their future if they continued on…  She was better off hating him…leaving him…

Quietly, he spoke: “Laura, I’m sorry.”

She glanced up, tear-filled eyes searching his…he tried to hide his emotions, but she saw it all over his face.  With a deep breath in, and a long exhale out, she calmed herself before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him close.  The two stood in silence, breathing the perfume of each others bodies.  After what seemed like ages, she pulled back, leaving only one hand connected to his fingertips.  He stared at her hand in his – her fingers pale and smooth, lying within his rough hands, stained with years of hard labour.

“I’m sorry too.  Bye Jason.”

She turned and walked away, slipping her fingertips out of his grasp.  He watched her put her boots on first, then wrapping herself in the scarf and coat that made her look like a winter goddess, all wrapped in grays and blues…  She pulled on her mittens and opened the door.  As she stepped out the door, Jason felt himself take a half-step forward…he couldn’t help but feel that he should yell – scream – beg her not to go.  But Jason stopped himself, stayed silent…staring.

Laura lifted her mittened hand and mouthed one last “bye” as she pulled the door closed, and wandered off into her forever…  She without him, and he without her.