I don’t know why, I really, really don’t: But the lines I’m going to share below have repeated in my head lately. I first published this sometime in 2008 (PROMPTuesday #13 to be exact) and I want to provide the story starter again. I feel like it’s singing a siren song.
You get that, right?
SO, for today’s exercise, I’d love you to add to the sentences provided below. Complete the paragraph and continue the story.
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“Wait!” I screamed after her. “Your hat!”
She ignored me, which was to be expected. We hadn’t talked, not really anyway, in more than 10 years. I scooped up her black hat. The mesh veil fluttered beneath my fingers…
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Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.
First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here.
Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.
I attempted this weeks, not sure how great it is but I guess it’s OK. HA. Hope you’re feeling 100%
You’ve started something in my brain with this prompt and so my entry is just a snippet of something that is already taking on a life of its own. I imagine future entries in which I let this story take me where it will…
[Late and longer than it’s supposed to be]
“Wait!” I screamed after her. “Your hat!”
She ignored me, which was to be expected. We hadn’t talked, not really anyway, in more than 10 years. I scooped up her black hat. The mesh veil fluttered beneath my fingers as I ran to catch up to her. At 6’2”, six inches taller than me, her stride had always been long and purposeful. She tried to make her steps smaller, more delicate, but it required sustained concentration and most times, she’d forget.
“Ke—Chelsea, wait. Don’t run off like this,” I said as I pulled up alongside her, still jogging a bit to keep up. “I’m sorry. It’s just, well, it takes some adjustment, you know.”
“You have never been supportive of me,” she cried, finally stopping and leaning against the wall of an all-night pharmacy. “Give me a cigarette.”
I dug out a Parliament and offered her a light. Her acrylic nails grazed my hand and I flinched a little, but didn’t pull away. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious,” she said, giving me a withering glare.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But, c’mon, you have to leave me a margin of error here. I mean, you were my brother for 32 years. I’m trying to understand. I really am. Just, you have to understand that occasionally, I’m going to slip up and call you Kevin.” I saw a glimmer of forgiveness in her eyes as she took a long drag off the cigarette.
“Well, you’ll have to understand that occasionally I’m going to slip up and call you Asshole,” she retorted.
“Fair enough,” I said. “Let’s go back to the restaurant. Mom is thrilled. She always wanted a daughter. And you look fabulous, by the way.”
“Up yours.”